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Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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generously made available by The Internet Archive)
THE
HISTORY
OF THE
ISLAND OF DOMINICA.
CONTAINING
A DESCRIPTION OF ITS SITUATION, EXTENT,
CLIMATE, MOUNTAINS, RIVERS,
NATURAL PRODUCTIONS, &c. &c.
TOGETHER WITH
AN ACCOUNT OF THE CIVIL GOVERNMENT, TRADE, LAWS,
CUSTOMS, AND MANNERS OF THE DIFFERENT INHABITANTS
OF THAT ISLAND. ITS CONQUEST
BY THE FRENCH, AND RESTORATION
TO THE BRITISH DOMINIONS.
By THOMAS ATWOOD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, NO. 72, ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD.
M DCC XCI.
INTRODUCTION.
It is greatly to be lamented, that although the island of Dominica
is so very capable of being rendered one of the chief, if not the
best, the English have in the West Indies; yet, from a want of
knowledge of its importance, or inattention, it is at this time
almost as much unsettled, as when it was ceded to Great Britain,
near thirty years ago.
This is the more remarkable, from the great consequence the
possession of it is to the English, in case of a rupture with
France, it being the key of the British dominions in that part
of the world, and from its situation between the two principal
settlements of the French, Martinique and Guadeloupe, it is the
only place in the West Indies, by which there is a possibility for
Great Britain to maintain the sovereignty of those seas.
It has moreover many conveniences for the service of both an army
and fleet, which few other West India islands can boast; and was
it to be well settled with British subjects, would be of material
assistance to our other possessions, by furnishing them with many
articles of which they very often are greatly in need.
For the purpose of bringing forth to view these capabilities of
Dominica, the following history of that island is submitted to the
candid perusal of a generous public by the author; whose chief
inducement for writing it, was his hope, that it might be some
small means of service to a country, in which he has spent several
years of his life, and the prosperity of which, it is his ardent
wish to see speedily promoted.
The history of distant settlements belonging to Great Britain, it
is presumed, cannot fail of being acceptable to every Englishman
who wishes well to his country; and however deficient this essay of
his may be, in point of erudition, correctness, or correspondent
circumstances, yet, from its being the first on the subject, the
author hopes it may meet with a favourable reception.
It falls not within the compass of this work to enter into details
of acts of the legislature, the conduct of governors, or of
individuals of that island; these he leaves for a more extensive
work, or for abler pens to record; and if what is here submitted
to public perusal serve in the least to promote the welfare of
the present and future inhabitants of Dominica, and thereby the
interests of the British nation at large, the purpose of the author
by this publication will be fully answered.
London, May 1791.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. I.
_Description of the island, its situation, extent, climate,
and other subjects; together with an account of
the conquest of it, its cession to Great Britain, and the disposal
of the lands by the crown._ Page 1
CHAP. II.
_Description of the soil, mountains, and woods; of valuable timber,
and other trees; also of the birds of the woods peculiar
to the island._ 17
CHAP. III.
_Of the rivers and lakes in the island, river and fresh water
fish, also of sea fish, land crabs, and a description of the native
quadruped, and other animals._ 35
CHAP. IV.
_Of the most remarkable reptiles and insects of the island, their
venomous and other qualities, with remarks._ 51
CHAP. V.
_An account of the different articles of West India produce raised
in the island; the number of sugar and coffee plantations
therein, with remarks._ 72
CHAP. VI.
_Names and descriptions of particular West India fruits which
grow in the island; also of European and American fruits,
herbs, vegetables, and flowers; with observations on their
properties, &c._ 86
CHAP. VII.
_Of the trade of the island, previous to its reduction by the
French last war, with a relation of that circumstance; and
the articles of capitulation to which it surrendered._ 104
CHAP. VIII.
_Of the government of the island under the French, with a relation
of the distressed situation of the English inhabitants, until
its restoration to Great Britain; an account of that event,
and several other subjects._ 138
CHAP. IX.
_An account of the division of the island into parishes and towns,
with a description of its capital, the principal buildings,
fortifications, and harbour; together with observations on
Prince Rupert’s Bay, and the grand Savannah in that
island._ 171
CHAP. X.
_The civil government, officers, courts, and other subjects relative
to them; also a description of the militia of that island._ 195
CHAP. XI.
_Description of the white inhabitants, free people of colour, and
native Indians of the island; their manners and customs,
with observations._ 208
CHAP. XII.
_Of the <DW64> slaves of this island, their rebellion and reduction,
the usage, manners, customs, and characters of these people
in general in the West Indies._ 224
CHAP. XIII.
_Of the present trade of the island, and the free port of Roseau,
with remarks. Conclusion._ 276
THE
HISTORY
OF THE
ISLAND OF DOMINICA.
CHAPTER I.
DESCRIPTION OF THE ISLAND, ITS SITUATION, EXTENT, CLIMATE AND
OTHER SUBJECTS; TOGETHER WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE CONQUEST OF IT,
ITS CESSION TO GREAT BRITAIN, AND THE DISPOSAL OF THE LANDS BY
THE CROWN.
The island of Dominica is situated in 15 degrees, 25 minutes, north
latitude; 61 degrees, 15 minutes, west longitude from London; and
43 degrees, 40 minutes, from Ferro.
The discovery of this Island was claimed by the three kingdoms, of
England, France, and Spain; but the right of possession remained
undecided, and Dominica was considered as a neutral island, by
three Crowns; till the year 1759, when, by conquest, it fell under
the dominion of Great Britain; and was afterwards ceded to England,
by the treaty of peace concluded at Paris, in February 1763.
On the cession of the island to the English, Commissioners were
appointed under the Great Seal, and sent out there with authority,
to sell and dispose of the lands by public sale, to English
subjects, in allotments. “Of not more than one hundred acres of
such land as was cleared; and not exceeding three hundred acres in
woods, to any one person, who should be the best bidder for the
same.” These allotments were disposed of for the benefit of the
Crown, and were confirmed to the purchaser, by grants, under the
Great Seal of England; with conditions in each grant, “That every
purchaser should pay down twenty per cent of the whole purchase
money, together with sixpence sterling per acre, for the expence of
surveying the land; and that, the remainder of the purchase money
should be secured by bonds; to be paid by equal installments, in
the space of five years, next after the date of the grant. That,
each purchaser should keep on the lands so by him purchased, one
white man, or two white women for every hundred acres of land, as
it became cleared; for the purpose of cultivating the same. Or in
default thereof, or non payment of the remainder of the purchase
money, the lands were to be forfeited to his Majesty, his heirs and
successors.”
The Commissioners were also impowered to execute leases to the
French inhabitants, of such lands as were found in their possession
at the time of the surrender of the island; and which lands were
thus leased to those inhabitants, who were desirous of keeping
them in possession, on consideration of their taking the oaths of
allegiance to his Britannic Majesty.
These leases were executed for a term, not less than seven, some
fourteen, and others for forty years absolute; renewable at the
time limitted for the expiration of the same. With conditions in
every lease, “That the possessor, his heirs or assigns, should pay
to his Majesty, his heirs or successors, the sum of two shillings
sterling per annum, for every acre of land, of which the lease
should consist.” “And, that they should not sell or dispose of
their lands, without the consent and approbation of the Governor,
or Commander in chief of that island, for the time being.”
The Commissioners were likewise impowered to make grants, under the
Great Seal, of lots to poor settlers; to such English subjects, as
should be deemed fit objects of his Majesty’s bounty; in allotments
of not more than thirty acres of land, to any one person. With
authority also to the said Commissioners, to reserve and keep such
lands, in the most convenient parts of the island as they should
think proper for fortifications, and the use of his Majesty’s army,
and navy. Together with a boundary of fifty feet from the sea
shore, round the whole island; and reserving all mines, of gold and
silver, which might thereafter be discovered there, for the use of
his Majesty, his heirs and successors[1].
This island is 29 miles in length, and 16 miles in breadth, but in
some parts it is broader, being of a very irregular figure. It is
rugged and mountainous in some parts; but spacious plains, and fine
extensive vallies are interspersed throughout the island, which are
in general very productive.
The climate of this country is hot at times, in places on the sea
coast, that are much sheltered by mountains; but in the open parts
of the island, at no great distance from the sea shore, it is
moderately cool at most times, and greatly resembles the climate
of England, in summer. This is occasioned by the almost constant
breezes blowing from the mountains, which moderating the heat,
render it more supportable than it is, in those islands of the West
Indies that are more level. In the interior mountainous parts, it
is perfectly cool in general; owing to the vast quantity of tall
woods, and the heavy rains which fall in those places, in some part
or other almost every day; which render it so cold, in the night
especially, that people who reside there are obliged to use woollen
coverings on their beds, in the same quantity as in winter time in
England[2].
The climate is, however, reckoned very wholesome, especially in
those places where invalids usually go for the recovery of their
health, which is frequently re-established by a few weeks residence
there. Besides, a good breeze generally blows from the mountains
most part of the day, which greatly moderates the heat on the sea
coast; and persons who live there temperately are seldom afflicted
with the disorders, incident to most other West India islands.
The wet season in this country commonly sets in about the end of
August, and continues till about the beginning of January, but
with frequent intervals of fine weather. The severity of the rainy
season, is usually in the months of September and October, when
very heavy continual rain falls for days together; nay, it has
been known to fall there for two or three weeks at a time, with
very little intermission. The island, however, is seldom without
rain, in some part or other; and often during a promising day, the
disappointed traveller meets with such sudden, and heavy showers,
that in an instant wet him to the skin, nor is an umbrella or great
coat of much service, the rain falling in such large drops, and
often accompanied with such severe gusts of wind, that the umbrella
is rather an inconvenience; but let him be careful to change his
wet cloaths as soon as possible, for inconsideration, in this
respect, has proved fatal to many in this climate.
When the rains are violent and of long continuance, they do great
mischief in the island, among the plantations; carrying away large
tracts of land with coffee, plantain trees, sugar canes, and ground
provisions; which are all hurried into the sea. In the towns also,
they often do much damage, causing the rivers to overflow their
banks, or breaking out in fresh places, carry away houses, or
whatever else stands in the way of these dreadful torrents.
Thunder and lightening is seldom so severe in Dominica, or does
so much damage there as in many other parts of the West Indies;
although there have been some instances of lightening striking
vessels in the road, damaging houses and killing people; but such
instances are very rare.
Nor are earthquakes, those alarming phænomena of nature, so
frequent, or so destructive in this, as in many other West India
islands; yet, it is asserted by some of the first inhabitants,
that earthquakes happened here formerly very frequently; especially
soon after the English first took possession of the country; when
they were felt severely, several times in a day, for the space of
some weeks together, which so terrified the inhabitants, that they
were on the point of quitting the place, but happily they soon
subsided. These people say likewise, that although no material
damage happened at that time, yet that the island was split in
several places; and in particular, a large chasm was made in a
mountain there called Demoulins, so very deep, that though they
attempted with several coils of cordage spliced together, yet they
were unable to fathom it. There is, however, no appearance left of
that remarkable circumstance, which yet by no means contradicts the
veracity of their report.
Hurricanes, those dreadful scourges of the West Indies, are seldom
very severe in Dominica; and in comparison with the mischief they
generally do in other islands, may more properly be termed only
heavy gusts of wind, especially when compared with the destruction
done by that in the Leward islands the first of September, 1772;
the most dreadful one that for some time has been felt in the West
Indies. In the hurricane season, the damage received in Dominica
is principally occasioned by the very heavy rains, or by the sea,
which sometimes in those seasons tumbles into the bays, especially
that of Roseau, in a very frightful manner; and making on the
shore, overwhelms the vessels that unfortunately happen to be there
at anchor; and sweeps away the houses, or whatever else is in the
way of its destructive force.
A particular circumstance of this kind, which happened there the
last day of September, 1780, was the most remarkable that has
occurred in this island, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant,
and did the most mischief. It did considerable damage among the
plantations, and in Roseau destroyed several houses on the bay, and
several vessels in the road.
The effects of these hurricanes in the West Indies are truly
astonishing; for the wind, with a fury hardly credible, blowing
from different points at one and the same instant, carries all
before it; the rain is as it were taken out of the sea, and hurled
on the land in clouds; which from not having time to exhale, is as
salt as the briny element from which it was driven; and falls in
drops as large as hail stones, affecting the hands and naked face,
in the same manner as a severe hail storm; the whole of the scene
is truly alarming and beyond description dreadful.
The mornings and evenings in Dominica are in general remarkably
pleasant and cool; that is to say, from day break till eight
o’clock in the morning, and between five and six o’clock till bed
time in the evening. Early in the morning is the time, when those
who can afford it, and wish to preserve their healths, will do
well to employ their leisure time till breakfast, either riding on
horseback, or taking a walk, to enjoy the cool, enlivening breezes.
Bathing, previous to these exercises, is also the best preservative
of health, and here people have the opportunity of doing it either
in the rivers or in the sea.
Frequently bathing in cold water is productive of much benefit to
persons in warm climates; as, exclusive of that which arises from
cleanliness, so necessary in hot countries, it braces the nerves,
and keeps the body refreshingly cool the whole day after. By taking
a ride there on horseback, a person in the space of half an hour
is transported from an uncomfortable warm air on the sea coast, to
a pleasantly cool retreat in the interior parts of the country;
which, in an evening especially, he may leisurely enjoy, till
disposed to return to town; when the breezes, by that time set in
to blow from the mountains, permit him to sleep the remainder of
the night in cool tranquillity.
The taking a morning or evening’s walk in this island, by the sides
of the rivers, whose glassy surface glides swiftly on, or murmuring
water-falls foam to the view, is very pleasing. Does fancy lead
him to enjoy the scene, a mile or two, he still finds ample
amusement. Viewing the rapid streams, he sees the silvered fry,
sporting on its surface, in astonishing numbers. The serpentine
windings of the rivers in some parts; in others, the waters wide,
deep, and silently flowing along; and in many places, numberless
falls of water, tumbling down the sides of steep precipices, or
rushing over the tops of huge stones in the beds of the rivers,
at once charm both the sight and hearing. Is he fond of the
delightful study of botany; here an extensive field is open for his
speculation, and numberless curious shrubs, plants, and flowers,
that grow spontaneously, afford him ample scope for enquiry?
Rising early in a morning in this country, you have the delightful
pleasure of exploring the wonders of the heavens; the morning star,
with a rapidity that exceeds all bounds of conception, running
its daily course; the sun emerging from the sea, all glorious
to behold; and in the words of the Psalmist, “Coming forth like
a bridegroom out of his chamber;” and all the lesser planets
twinkling into obscurity. In the evening in Dominica, is the most
amazingly glorious scenery that can possibly be imagined; the
heavens bespangled with innumerable stars, which the dense climate
of Europe hides from mortal sight, or which are but barely to be
distinguished, are in this island open to full view; and the lovers
of astronomy have there an opportunity to make new discoveries in
that science.
In the evenings, although the air is cool, yet it is not
accompanied by those noxious vapours, so remarkable for their
dangerous effects in some parts of the West Indies; so that it is
not uncommon for people in this Island to sit whole evenings in the
open air, without any detriment to their healths.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It is the opinion of many people, that there are mines of both
those metals in this island; particularly of silver; pieces of
silver ore having been found in the interior N. E. part.
[2] In the interior parts of this island, it is impossible to
preserve salt in its proper state; for as soon as it is brought
thither, it dissolves into a thick liquid, from the remarkable
dampness of the air. This dampness is also prejudicial to articles
of furniture that are glued, which frequently, after a long
succession of rain, will fall to pieces.
CHAPTER II.
DESCRIPTION OF THE SOIL, MOUNTAINS, AND WOODS OF VALUABLE TIMBER,
AND OTHER TREES: ALSO OF THE BIRDS OF THE WOODS, PECULIAR TO
THE ISLAND.
The Soil of Dominica, in some places, is a light, brown-
mould, that appears to have been washed down from the mountains,
and mixed with decayed branches, and leaves of trees. In the level
country, towards the sea coast, and in many places of the interior
parts, it is a fine, deep, black mould, which is peculiarly adapted
to the cultivation of the sugar cane, coffee, cocoa, and all other
articles of West India produce. The under stratum of the soil is
a yellow, or brick clay, in some parts, in others it is a stiff
tarrace; but it is in most parts very stoney.
The land is in general very productive, especially in the interior
parts, but towards the sea coast, it requires to be frequently
manured; because the surface of it usually opens into large chasms
in dry weather, thereby exposing the soil to the excessive heat
of the sun; so that its vegetative quality can only be restored
by dunging. This, however, is not very easily done by the greater
part of the planters; because they have not in general a sufficient
number of cattle on their plantations, in proportion to the land
under cultivation, of the sugar cane in particular; from whence, in
a great measure, and to the want of <DW64>s, is to be attributed
the small quantity of sugar exported from this settlement to
England.
Several of the mountains of this island are continually burning
with sulphur, of which they emit vast quantities. From these
mountains issue numbers of springs of mineral water, whose virtues
are extolled for the cure of many disorders; in some places the
water is so very hot, as to boil an egg, &c. in less time than
boiling water, and this heat is retained at some distance from its
source.
These sulphureous mountains are certainly among the most wonderful
phænomena of nature, and command our astonishment and admiration.
To see vast tracts of land on fire, whose smoke, like clouds,
stretches far around; brimstone in flames, like streams of water
issuing from the sides of precipices; in the vallies large holes
full of bituminous matter, boiling and bubbling like a caldron;
the earth trembling under the tread, and bursting out with loud
explosions, are objects truly terrific to the beholders; who, on
the spot, are struck with awe and admiration, on viewing such
dreadful works of the Almighty, who causes them to exist, for
purposes only known by him[3].
Others of the mountains are exceedingly large and high, whose
summits, sides and feet are covered with vast tall woods, which
together with the under woods, are so crouded as to be almost
impervious to the eye, and that for several miles around. From the
tops and sides of these descend numberless springs and water-falls,
which form the most delightfully romantic cascades, of fine, cool,
wholesome water, as clear as crystal, excepting in places where it
is tinctured with sulphur.
The woods of Dominica, which constitute nearly two thirds of the
island at present, including the parts that are incapable of
cultivation, on account of steep and rugged mountains, afford
a vast fund of excellent timber: consisting of locus-wood,
bullet-tree, mastic, cinnamon, rose-wood, yellow-sanders,
bastard-mahogany, iron-wood, several species of cedar, and various
other sorts of wood, useful for building houses, vessels and
canoes, for furniture, for dying, and other necessary purposes.
In the woods, an awful, yet pleasing solitariness prevails; but
that which makes them the more agreeably romantic, is the noise
of falling waters, the whistling of the wind among the trees, the
singing and chirping of an innumerable quantity of birds among
the branches, and the uncommon cries of various kinds of harmless
insects, which together with the dark shadiness of the trees, form
a solemn but delightful scene for contemplation.
The trees in the woods are of uncommon height, and by far exceed
in loftiness the tallest trees in England. In this island their
tops seem to touch the clouds, which appear as if skimming swiftly
over their upper branches, and looking up the trees is painful to
the eye. Many of the trees are like wise of enormous girt, and
their spreading boughs extend far around; those of the fig-tree
especially, under whose inviting shade hundreds at a time may
repose themselves, without fear of being wet by the heaviest shower
of rain, or dread of the influence of the scorching sun-beams.
In the woods the trees are, in common, covered with different
foliage, so that it is usual to see one tree dressed out with the
rich liveries of several, all growing in beautiful variety: the
trunk and branches, covered with ivy and other plants, growing on
them like house-leeks.
That the leaves of different trees should be found on one tree,
is an object worthy of speculation; but yet, in my opinion, is no
other way to be accounted for, than by supposing that the seeds of
different trees, being scattered by the wind, fall into the heart
of the same plant, like house-leeks, and are thus incorporated into
the tree on which they are seen growing.
The different species of ivy, or rather wild vines, in the woods,
grow to a great size, and have the appearance of so many cords,
or thick ropes, fastened to the branches. Some of these are
very tough, strong, and useful; and hoops, baskets, and other
wicker utensils are made of them: also walking-sticks, called
supple-jacks, which, if cut in the proper season, are very durable,
and so pliant, that both ends may be bent together without
breaking them. These being in general regularly knotted, and of
a good polish, are much admired for walking-sticks, or to use on
horseback instead of whips; for both which purposes many of them
are frequently sent to England, where they are well known.
Among other valuable trees in the woods of Dominica is the
gum-tree, which yields great quantities of that article. The
circumference of the body of this tree is generally very great,
and its timber is, on that account, made into canoes; which is
done by digging or burning out the inside, and shaping the log
into form. The gum falls from the body and branches of the tree
in great quantities, in substance like white wax, and was very
serviceable to the planters of that island, during the time it was
in possession of the French last war; this gum being used instead
of oil, which could not then be had, to burn in lamps in the
boiling houses when making sugar. The Romish priests of this island
use it likewise in their censers at funerals, and other ceremonies
of their church, it having a very aromatic smell when burning;
and it is supposed to contain virtues which might be valuable in
medicines, was it better known.
The timber also of this tree, as well as that of several others
in the woods, makes good shingles for covering of houses, and was
very serviceable for making staves for sugar and coffee casks, at
the time the Americans refused supplying the English colonies with
them. Several fine sloops and schooners have likewise been built of
the timber of this island; and the vessels that have been built of
it are esteemed preferable, both for strength and durability, to
others built of timber imported from North America.
Cabbage trees are in great plenty in Dominica, and are very
serviceable on the plantations, as their trunks sawed, or split,
make good laths or rails for cattle-pens, being very durable: the
branches and leaves are used for thatching of houses; and the
cabbage part of them is excellent eating. These trees are of great
height, have much the appearance of the cocoa-nut tree, and bear a
berry much like a date. The cabbage part is in the top, whence it
is taken after the tree is cut down; and when that part is boiled
it is equally as good, and tastes much like the bottom part of an
artichoke. It also makes a very good pickle, some of which is often
sent to England as presents.
The woods of Dominica abound with wild pigeons, mountain doves,
ring-neck doves, ground doves, partridges, mackaws, parrots, hawks,
diablotins, and a variety of singing and other small birds; among
which is the mountain whistler, the thrush, and wren: from the
singing, whistling, and chirping of which, the woods resound in a
most delightful manner.
The wild pigeon is of the size of the common house pigeon, has a
red bill and legs, and its feathers are of a dark blue, tinged with
a gold colour. They build on the tops of the highest trees, lay
only two eggs at a sitting, but hatch several times in the season,
which is from February to August. Their flesh is of a dark colour,
and is very fat when they are in season, which is after their
breeding time is over, when it has a most delicious flavour, and is
greatly relished.
The mountain dove is also nearly the size of a house pigeon, has
the same red- bill and legs, but its feathers are of a
brown colour. It differs but little from the ring-neck dove, being
only a size larger, and builds its nest on trees in the mountains,
or at the sides of steep precipices, where it makes a pleasing,
loud, plaintive noise. The ring-neck dove builds in coverts in the
woods, as does also the partridge, which is likewise a species of
the dove kind, but from its great resemblance, it is called the
pieddrié by the French. The flesh of the three kinds is much liked,
but has a bitter taste, as has that of most other birds of the
country, owing to the berries they feed on; this taste, though at
first disagreeable, is soon relished by most people, and they are
reckoned very wholesome. The ground dove is not much bigger than a
lark when stripped of its feathers, which are of a brown colour.
It has a red bill and legs, makes a pleasing plaintive noise, and
when killed in season its flesh is very fat, and of a delicious
flavour; for which reason it is generally called the West-India
ortolon.
The mackaw is of the parrot kind, but larger than the common
parrot, and makes a more disagreeable, harsh noise. They are in
great plenty, as are also parrots in this island; have both of them
a delightful green and yellow plumage, with a scarlet-
fleshy substance from the ears to the root of the bill, of which
colour is likewise the chief feathers of their wings and tails.
They breed on the tops of the highest trees, where they feed on the
berries in great numbers together; and are easily discovered by
their loud chattering noise, which at a distance resembles human
voices. The mackaws cannot be taught to articulate words; but the
parrots of this country may, by taking pains with them when caught
young. The flesh of both is eat, but being very fat, it wastes
in roasting, and eats dry and insipid; for which reason, they are
chiefly used to make soup of, which is accounted very nutritive.
The hawks are of two kinds, the one of the largest size of those
species, the other that of the small sort in England. They are both
very ferocious, commit great depredations among the other birds in
the woods, and on the plantations often destroy fowls and house
pigeons.
The diablotin, so called by the French, from its uncommonly ugly
appearance, is nearly the size of a duck, and is web-footed. It
has a big round head, crooked bill like a hawk, and large full
eyes like an owl. Its head, part of the neck, chief feathers of
the wings and tail, are black; the other parts of its body are
covered with a milk-white fine down; and its whole appearance
is perfectly singular. They feed on fish, flying in great flocks
to the sea side in the night-time; and in their flight make a
disagreeable loud noise like owls: which bird they also resemble,
by their dislike of making their appearance in the day-time, when
they are hid in holes in the mountains, where they are easily
caught. This is done by stopping up some of the holes, which lead
to their hiding places, and placing empty bags over the rest, which
communicate under-ground with those stopped: the birds at their
usual time of going forth to seek their food in the night-time,
finding their | 1,873.955264 |
2023-11-16 18:48:17.9353600 | 2,945 | 13 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo
FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS;
or, Two Ways of Living in the World.
Edited by By T. S. Arthur
PHILADELPHIA:
1856
PREFACE.
WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume, the
materials for which have been culled from the highways and byways of
literature, where our eyes fell upon these fitting sentiments, the
authorship of which we are unable to give. They express clearly and
beautifully what was in our own mind:--
"If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects that surround
as in their true flight, we should see beauty where now appears
deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing but discord. To
be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety in the world; we
cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if we preserve a calm eye
and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails and manage our helm, as to
avoid the quicksands, and weather the storms that threaten shipwreck.
We are members of one great family; we are travelling the same road, and
shall arrive at the same goal. We breathe the same air, are subject
to the same bounty, and we shall, each lie down upon the bosom of
our common mother. It is not becoming, then, that brother should hate
brother; it is not proper that friend should deceive friend; it is not
right that neighbour should deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can
harbour enmity against his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life;
he embitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the
medium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy and
suspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit of charity
from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindness swell up as a
fountain, so that the golden age will become no fiction and islands of
the blessed bloom in more than Hyperian beauty."
It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is the right
way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men, has the book
now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truths that glisten on
its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and the errors it points
out be shunned as the foes of yourself and humanity.
CONTENTS.
GOOD IN ALL
HUMAN PROGRESS
MY WASHERWOMAN
FORGIVE AND FORGET
OWE NO MAN ANYTHING
RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL
PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET
KIND WORDS
NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS
GOOD WE MIGHT DO
THE TOWN LOT
THE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROP
A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS
MR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONS
ROOM IN THE WORLD
WORDS
THE THANKLESS OFFICE.
LOVE
"EVERY LITTLE HELPS"
LITTLE THINGS
CARELESS WORDS
HOW TO BE HAPPY
CHARITY--ITS OBJECTS
THE VISION OF BOATS
REGULATION OF THE TEMPER
MANLY GENTLENESS
SILENT INFLUENCE
ANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLY
THE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN
"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE"
BLIND JAMES
DEPENDENCE
TWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTOR
KEEP IN STEP
JOHNNY COLE
THE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTOR
JOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTON
THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT
TWO SIDES TO A STORY
LITTLE KINDNESSES
LEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH
"ALL THE DAY IDLE"
THE BUSHEL OF CORN
THE ACCOUNT
CONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTH
RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE
FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS.
GOOD IN ALL.
THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth
of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice,
daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged,
importunate. "Ah! he has a _bad_ look," and your pocket is safe. He
starves--and he steals. "I thought he was _bad_." You educate him in
the State Prison. He does not improve even in this excellent school.
"He is," says the gaoler, "thoroughly _bad_." He continues his course of
crime. All that is bad in him having by this time been made apparent
to himself, his friends, and the world, he has only to confirm the
decision, and at length we hear when he has reached his last step. "Ah!
no wonder--there was never any _Good_ in him. Hang him!"
Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word.
If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whatever there is
of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want of resemblance to the
common Father. "God made man in His own image." "What! yon reeling,
blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yon crafty trader; yon
false statesman?" Yes! All. In every nature there is a germ of eternal
happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard's heart there is a memory of
something better--slight, dim: but flickering still; why should you not
by the warmth of your charity, give growth to the Good that is in him?
The cynic, the miser, is not all self. There is a note in that sullen
instrument to make all harmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle
master to touch the strings.
You point to the words "There is _none_ good." The truths do not oppose
each other. "There is none good--_save one._" And He breathes in all.
In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, we are helpless,
mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in the heart: a guide to
the source of Light, or an instrument of torture. We can make it either.
If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, it will warm, guide, cheer us. If
in the midst of selfishness, or under the pressure of pride, its flame
will be unsteady, and we shall soon have good reason to trim our light,
and find new oil for it.
There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes not in
the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race. There is
no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appeal to it. Seek
in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage, educate _them._ There
is no man to whom some circumstance will not be an argument.
And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, all
the labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical the
theories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in
_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle all
arrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves, but
not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soon should
we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold of Love--this
universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed and humanized our prisons,
to find this Good; and in the chambers of all our hearts it is to be
found, by labouring eyes and loving hands.
Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strength of
vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Are none
of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to the generous,
trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who has loved us,
despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, and has nurtured
that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we know not how like we
are to those whom we despise! We know not how many memories of kith and
kin the murderer carries to the gallows--how much honesty of heart the
felon drags with him to the hulks.
There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than most of
us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm. Do
not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmen should be
rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good. Lady Macbeth
would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled her father as he
slept.
It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, because
never acted on, that the same energies, the same will to great vices,
had given force to great virtues. Do we provide the opportunity? Do we
_believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceived in any one, is not all,
thenceforth, deceit? if treated with contempt, is not the whole world
clouded with scorn? if visited with meanness, are not all selfish? And
if from one of our frailer fellow-creatures we receive the blow,
we cease to believe in women. Not the breast at which we have drank
life--not the sisterly hands that have guided ours--not the one voice
that has so often soothed us in our darker hours, will save the sex: All
are massed in one common sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there
are many Ruths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France
when he lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was his
sister.
And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends to some
feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conquered the
hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynolds made an
exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous to Northcote, and had
time to think of the poor Plympton schoolmistress. The cold are not all
ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--the queen triumphed; the woman _died._
There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazy whine
of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided, unschooled
childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew the baby-roundness
of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew no youth of fire--no
manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. When you see the trader,
without any pride of vocation, seeking how he can best cheat you, and
degrade himself, glance into the room behind his shop and see there his
pale wife and his thin children, and think how cheerfully he meets
that circle in the only hour he has out of the twenty-four. Pity his
narrowness of mind; his want of reliance upon the God of Good; but
remember there have been Greshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and
remember, too, that in our happy land there are thousands of almshouses,
built by the men of trade alone. And when you are discontented with the
great, and murmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in his
hiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read how John
of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There have been Burkes
as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow, and Peel forgot
not Haydn.
Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man,
Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in the lowest,
there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles and Alexander
had great, but different virtues, and although the refinement of the
one may have resulted in effeminacy, and the hardihood of the other in
brutality, we ought to pause ere we condemn where we should all have
fallen.
Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, and
everywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern of
Diogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath set in
the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage and the
squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourly exchanging
deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms of dingy warehousemen
and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoarded coins are for wife
and child and friend; shining into prison and workhouse, where sin and
sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rusty bars into distant homes and
mourning hearths; shining through heavy curtains, and round sumptuous
tables, where the heart throbs audibly through velvet mantle and silken
vest, and where eye meets eye with affection and sympathy; shining
everywhere upon God's creatures, and with its broad beams lighting up
a virtue wherever it falls | 1,873.9554 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.0305400 | 1,545 | 24 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
Internet Archive.
Transcriber's notes:
1. This book is derived from the Web Archive,
http://www.archive.org/details/trumpeterskking00schegoog.
2. The oe diphthong is represented by [oe].
THE TRUMPETER OF SAeKKINGEN.
THE
THE TRUMPETER OF SAeKKINGEN
A Song from the Upper Rhine.
BY
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY
MRS. FRANCIS BRUeNNOW.
_Translation authorised by the Poet._
London:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO.
1877.
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS.
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
O Song, at home well known to fame,
That German hearts hath deeply stirred
And long hath made of Scheffel's name
A dear and honoured household word,
Go forth in thy first foreign dress,
Go forth to Albion's noble land!
Will she not greetings kind express,
And warmly clasp the stranger's hand?
The Emerald Isle will surely give
A welcome neither cold nor faint;
For on thy pages still doth live
The name of Erin's ancient Saint.
Across the sea my country's shores
As Hope's bright star before me rise;
Will she not open wide her doors
To one who on her heart relies?
Farewell, oh work of vanished hours;
When suffering rent my weary heart,
Thy breath of fragrant woodland flowers
Did life renew, fresh strength impart.
Oh Scheffel! may thy years be long!
And may'st thou live to see the time,
When this thy genial Schwarzwald song
Will find a home in every clime.
_Basel_, _June_, 1877.
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION
PREFACE TO THE FIFTIETH EDITION
FIRST PART.
HOW YOUNG WERNER RODE INTO THE SCHWARZWALD
SECOND PART.
YOUNG WERNER WITH THE SCHWARZWALD PASTOR
THIRD PART.
ST. FRIDOLIN'S DAY
FOURTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER'S ADVENTURES ON THE RHINE
FIFTH PART.
THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER
SIXTH PART.
HOW YOUNG WERNER BECAME THE BARON'S TRUMPETER
SEVENTH PART.
THE EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAIN LAKE
EIGHTH PART.
THE CONCERT IN THE GARDEN PAVILION
NINTH PART.
TEACHING AND LEARNING
TENTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER IN THE GNOME'S CAVE
ELEVENTH PART.
THE HAUENSTEIN RIOT
TWELFTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER AND MARGARETTA
THIRTEENTH PART.
WERNER SUES FOR MARGARETTA
FOURTEENTH PART.
THE BOOK OF SONGS
YOUNG WERNER'S SONGS
SONGS OF THE CAT HIDDIGEIGEI
SONGS OF THE SILENT MAN
SOME OF MARGARETTA'S SONGS
WERNER'S SONGS. FIVE YEARS LATER
FIFTEENTH PART.
THE MEETING IN ROME
SIXTEENTH PART.
SOLUTION AND END
NOTES.
DEDICATION.
"Who is yonder light-haired stranger
Who there like a cat is roaming
O'er the roof of Don Pagano?"--
Thus asked many honest burghers,
Dwellers on the Isle of Capri,
When they from the market turning
Looked up at the palm-tree and the
Low-arched roof of moorish fashion.
And the worthy Don Pagano
Said: "That is a strange queer fellow,
And most strange his occupation.
Came here with but little luggage,
Lives here quite alone but happy,
Clambers up the steepest mountains,
Over cliffs, through surf is strolling,
Loves to steal along the sea-shore.
Also lately'mid the ruins
Of the villa of Tiberius
With the hermits there caroused.
What's his business?--He's a German,
And who knows what they are doing?
But I saw upon his table
Heaps of paper written over,
Leaving very wasteful margins;
I believe he is half crazy,
I believe he's making verses."
Thus he spoke.--And I myself was
This queer stranger. Solitary
I had on this rocky island
Sung this song of my dear Schwarzwald.
I went as a wand'ring scholar
To far countries, to Italia;
With much art became acquainted,
Also with bad vetturinos,
And with many burning flea-bites;
But the sweet fruit of the lotus,
Which doth banish love of country
And the longing to return there,
I have never found here growing.
'Twas in Rome. Hard lay the winter
On th' eternal sev'n-hilled city:
Hard? for even Marcus Brutus
Would have caught a bad catarrh then;
And the rain seemed never-ending.
Like a dream then rose the vision
Of the Schwarzwald, and the story
Of the young musician Werner
And the lovely Margaretta.
In my youth I have stood often
By their graves close to the Rhine shore;
Many things which lie there buried
Are, however, long forgotten.
But like one to whom a sudden
Ringing in his ears betokens
That at home of him they're thinking,
So I heard young Werner's trumpet
Through the Roman Winter, through the
Carnival's gay flower-show--
Heard it from afar, then nearer,
Like the crystal which of vap'rous
Fine materials is condensing
And increases radiating;
So the figures of this song grew--
Even followed me to Naples.
In the halls of the Museum
Who should meet me but the Baron
Shaking his big cane and smiling,
And before Pompeii's gate sat
The black tom-cat Hiddigeigei.
Purring, quoth he: "Leave all study;
What is all this ancient rubbish,
E'en that dog there in mosaic
In the tragic Poet's dwelling,
In comparison with me--the
Epic type of all cat-nature?"
| 1,874.05058 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
DANTE
THE VISION OF DANTE
A STORY FOR LITTLE CHILDREN AND A TALK TO
THEIR MOTHERS
BY
ELIZABETH HARRISON
SECOND EDITION
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE
PUBLISHED BY THE CHICAGO KINDERGARTEN COLLEGE
ART INSTITUTE BUILDING, CHICAGO, ILL.
1894
COPYRIGHTED
BY ELIZABETH HARRISON
1892
The Lakeside Press
R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS CO., CHICAGO
_PREFACE._
_Is not the reason why the Divine Comedy is called a “world poem” to be
found in these significant facts: it portrays the sudden awakening of a
human soul to the consciousness of having gone astray; it shows the
loathsome nature of sin; it pictures the struggle necessary to be freed
from sin; it emphasizes that God is ready to help as soon as the soul is
ready to be helped; and at last it declares that the Vision of God will
come to the soul which perseveres in the struggle? These are the
essential truths which make the great poem of Dante one of the
masterpieces of the world of art. May not it--as well as all other truly
great things--be given to little children in a simple way?_
THE VISION OF DANTE.
I want to tell a wonderful story to you, dear children. It has been told
over and over again for six hundred years, yet people keep reading it,
and re-reading it, and wise men never tire of studying it. Many great
artists have painted pictures, and sculptors have made statues, and
musicians have composed operas, and clergymen have written sermons from
thoughts inspired by it. A great poet first gave it to the world in the
form of a grand poem which some day you may read, but I will try to tell
it to you to-day as a short story. I am afraid that you would go to
sleep if I should undertake to read the poem to you. You do not yet know
enough about life to understand it.
Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a man whose name was Dante.
He had done wrong and had wandered a long way from his home. He does not
tell us how or why. He begins by saying that he had gone to sleep in a
great forest. Suddenly he awoke, and tried to find his way out of it,
first by one path and then another; but all in vain.
Through an opening where the tall trees had not grown quite so thick, he
saw in the distance a great mountain, on the top of which the sun was
shining brightly. “Ah!” thought he to himself, “if I can but reach the
top of that mountain I am sure I can see a long way in every direction.
No woods can grow tall enough to keep me from finding my path then!” So
with fine courage he started toward the mountain, but he had not walked
far when a beautiful, spotted panther stood with glaring eyes in his
pathway. He trembled, for he knew that going forward meant that he would
be destroyed. He turned hastily aside into another path, but he had gone
only a short distance in this direction before he saw a huge lion coming
towards him. In greater haste than before he turned into still another
path. His heart was beating very fast now, and he hastened along without
taking much notice of what lay before him. Suddenly he came upon a lean
and hungry wolf, which looked as if he could devour half a dozen men.
Dante turned and fled back into the dark woods “where the sun was
silent.” He thought, “What is the use of trying to get out of this
terrible forest? There are wild beasts on every side. If I escape one I
am sure to be devoured by another; I might as well give up trying.” He
had now lost all hope.
Just at this moment he saw a man coming towards him. The face of the man
was beaming with smiles as if he had some good news to tell. Dante ran
forward to meet him, crying, “Have mercy on me, whoever you are! See
that
[Illustration: Copyrighted | 1,874.052278 |
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Produced by eagkw, Chris Curnow, Google Print 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 HERITAGE OF DRESS
[Illustration: VERY EARLY MAN IN JAVA. (_Chapter II._)
_PLATE I._]
THE HERITAGE
OF DRESS
BEING NOTES ON THE HISTORY
AND EVOLUTION OF CLOTHES
BY
WILFRED MARK WEBB
FELLOW OF THE LINNEAN SOCIETY OF LONDON
CURATOR OF ETON COLLEGE MUSEUM
WITH ELEVEN PLATES
AND ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE FIGURES IN THE TEXT
LONDON
E. GRANT RICHARDS
1907
TO MY WIFE
HILDA E. WEBB
PREFACE
It would be difficult to find a subject of more universal interest than
that of dress, and hosts of books have been written which deal with the
attire that has been adopted at different times and by various nations
or social classes. The ornamental and artistic sides of the question
have also received much consideration, but the volumes that have
appeared serve chiefly as works of reference. The present book aims at
being of more immediate interest and usefulness; it starts with things
as they are, and is really a popular contribution to the natural history
of man.
On all sides the advantages of observation and the need for the
nature-study method in education are being rightly urged, but there is
a tendency to narrow the purview. Anything in our environment is worthy
of notice, and though attention is well directed towards that which is
least artificial, we should not leave man and his works altogether on
one side. There is material for observation, research, and deduction,
even in a bowler hat and a cut-away coat.
One of the pleasantest features in connection with the making of this
book has been the kind and ready help which I have received from all
sides. Here and there throughout the text the names of friends and
correspondents who have given their assistance have been mentioned. To
these I offer my hearty thanks, as well as to the following, who with
suggestions, information, or with material for illustrations, have
contributed in no small way to the interest of the book: Messrs. Fownes
Brothers & Company, Mr. Allan A. Hooke, Mr. W. S. Ward, Mr. Karl, of
Messrs. Nathan & Company, Messrs. Tress & Company, Messrs. Lincoln &
Bennett, Mr. M. D. Hill, the Rev. A. W. Upcott, Head Master of Christ's
Hospital, Miss Clark, Miss Hodgson, the Rev. R. Ashington Bullen, Mr.
Henry Miller, of the Church Association, Mr. Ravenscroft, of Messrs. Ede
Sons & Ravenscroft, Mr. Paley Baildon, Mr. George Hertslet, of the Lord
Chamberlain's Office, Messrs. Wilkinson & Company, Mr. C. M. Muehlberg,
Mr. W. S. Parker, of Messrs. Debenhams, Ltd., Capt. H. Trench, Major
J. W. Mallet, of the _Army and Navy Gazette_, Mr. Basil White, of
Messrs. Hawkes & Company, Mr. W. H. Jesson, Messrs. Souter & Company,
Mr. William Lawrence, Mr. Heather Bigg, Dr. J. Cantlie, and the Rt. Hon.
Viscountess Harberton.
A glance at the bibliography, which is given on pages 363-7, will show
the principal books and papers to which reference has been made.
In connection with the illustrations, special thanks must be given to
Monsieur Maurice Sand, the Editor of the _Review of the University of
Brussels_, for his kind permission to reproduce a number of the figures
used to illustrate a translation of Sir George Darwin's article. These
are Figures 14, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 30, 31, 33, 46, 48, 62,
63, and 82. Acknowledgments are due to Mr. St. John Hope for Figures
86-8, to Messrs. A. & C. Black for Figures 123 and 124 and 132 and 133,
and to Messrs. Prewett & Co. for Figures 111 and 112.
For the original of Plate II, I am indebted to the kindness of Captain
R. Ford, of Plate III to Mr. Henry Stevens; Plate IV has been taken from
a brass rubbing in Rugby School Museum, through the kind offices of Mr.
J. M. Hardwich | 1,874.15496 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=IgMiAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE FATE:
A TALE OF STIRRING TIMES.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"THE COMMISSIONER," "HENRY SMEATON," "THE OLD OAK CHEST," "THE
WOODMAN," "GOWRIE," "RUSSELL," "THE FORGERY," "BEAUCHAMP,"
"RICHELIEU," "DARK SCENES OF HISTORY," &c., &c.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-one, by
GEORGE P. R. JAMES,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
PREFACE.
Change of scene I believe to be as invigorating to the mind as change
of air is to the body, refreshing the weary and exhausted powers, and
affording a stimulus which prompts to activity of thought. To a writer
of fiction, especially, the change may be necessary, not only on
account of the benefits to be derived by his own mind from the
invigorating effects of a new atmosphere, but also on account of the
fresh thoughts suggested by the different circumstances in which he is
placed.
We are curiously-constructed creatures, not unlike the mere brute
creation in many of our propensities; and the old adage, that "custom
is a second nature," is quite as applicable to the mind as to the
body. If we ride a horse along a road to which he is accustomed, he
will generally make a little struggle to stop at a house where his
master has been in the habit of calling, or to turn up a by-lane
through which he has frequently gone. The mind, too, especially of an
author, has its houses of call and by-lanes in plenty; and, so long as
it is in familiar scenes, it will have a strong hankering for its
accustomed roads and pleasant halting-places. Every object around us
is a sort of bough from which we gather our ideas; and it is very
well, now and then, to pluck the apples of another garden, of a flavor
different from our own.
Whether I have in any degree benefited by the change from one side of
the Atlantic to the other--a change much greater when morally than
when physically considered--it is not for me to say; but I trust that,
at all events, the work which is to follow these pages will not show
that I have in any degree or in any way suffered from my visit to and
residence in America. I have written it with interest in the
characters portrayed and the events detailed; and I humbly
desire--without even venturing to hope--that I may succeed in
communicating some portion of the same interest to my readers.
A good deal of laudatory matter has been written upon the
landscape-painting propensities of the author; and one reviewer,
writing in Blackwood's Magazine, has comprehended and pointed out what
has always been one of that author's especial objects in describing
mere scenes of inanimate nature. In the following pages I have
indulged very little in descriptions of this kind; but here, as every
where else, I have ever endeavored to treat the picture of any
particular place or scene with a reference to man's heart, or mind, or
fate--his thoughts, his feelings, his destiny--and to bring forth, as
it were, the latent sympathies between human and mere material nature.
There is, to my mind, a likeness (a shadowing forth--a symbolism) in
all the infinite variations which we see around us in the external
world, to the changeful ideas, sensations, sentiments--as infinite and
as varied--of the world of human life; and I can not think that the
scenes I have visited, or the sights that I have seen, in this
portion of the earth--the richness, the beauty, the grandeur, the
sublimity--can have been without influence upon myself; can have left
the pages of nature here a sealed book to one who has studied their
bright, mysterious characters so diligently in other lands.
Nay, more, I have met with much, in social life, well calculated to
expand the heart, as well as to elevate the mind, which I should be
ungrateful not to mention--kindness, hospitality, friendship, where I
had no claim, and enlightened intercourse with powerful minds, in
which I expected much, and found much more.
Sweet and ineffaceable impressions, ye can not have served to deaden
the feelings or to obscure the intellect!
I will rest, then, in hope that this work, the first which I have
commenced and completed in America, may not be worse than its many
literary brethren, and merely pray that it may be better. Let the
critics say, Amen!
G. P. R. JAMES.
_Stockbridge, Massachusetts_, 30_th July_, 1851.
THE FATE.
CHAPTER I.
There is no mistake more common among historians, no mistake more
mischievous, than to take for granted, without deduction, all the
statements of the satirists and splenetics of past-by ages as to the
manners and customs of their own times, and of the people with whom
they mingled. There are half a dozen, at least, of the pleasant little
passions of human nature which lead men, especially men of letters, to
decry their companions, their friends, and their neighbors--nay, even
their countrymen and their country. To say nothing of "envy, hatred,
malice, and all uncharitableness"--sins common enough to be wisely
prayed against--pride, vanity, and levity point the pen, direct the
words, or furnish forth a little drop of gall to every man who is
giving an account of the times in which he lives and the country in
which he dwells, for those who are living or to live at a distance of
space or time from himself. It is pleasant to place our own brightness
on a dark back-ground; and the all but universal propensity of mankind
to caricature derives an extraordinary zest in its exercise, when, by
rendering others around us contemptible or odious, we can bring out
our own characters in bolder relief. But there are other, perhaps even
meaner motives still, which induce men frequently to portray their own
times in broad and distorted sketches. The faculty of admiration is a
very rare one; the faculty of just appreciation a rarer one still; but
every one loves to laugh; every one feels himself elevated by the
contemplation of absurdities in others. There is a vain fondness for
the grotesque lurking in the bosoms of most men; and a consciousness
that sly or even gross satire, and delicate or coarse caricature, are
the best means of giving pleasure to the great mass of mankind, is
probably one reason why we find such depreciatory exaggeration in the
writings of all those who have given pictures of their own times. The
letters of Petrarch, the statements of Hollingshed, the pictures of
Hogarth, the romances of Smollett and Fielding, all furnish, it is
true, certain sketches of their own times from which we can derive
some valuable information, but so distorted by passion, by prejudice,
by a satirical spirit, or a love of the ridiculous, that the portrait
can | 1,874.24649 |
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Transcriber's Note:
This is only an excerpt from the novel.
All-Story Weekly
_July 13-August 10, 1918_
PALOS OF THE DOG
STAR PACK
by J. U. Giesy
* * * * *
1. OUT OF THE STORM
It was a miserable night which brought me first in touch with Jason
Croft. There was a rain and enough wind to send it in gusty dashes
against the windows. It was the sort of a night when I always felt
glad to cast off coat and shoes, don a robe and slippers, and sit down
with the curtains drawn, a lighted pipe, and the soft glow of a lamp
falling across the pages of my book. I am, I admit, always strangely
susceptible to the shut-in sense of comfort afforded by a pipe, the
steady yellow of a light, and the magic of printed lines at a time of
elemental turmoil and stress.
It was with a feeling little short of positive annoyance that I heard
the door-bell ring. Indeed, I confess, I was tempted to ignore it
altogether at first. But as it rang again, and was followed by a rapid
tattoo of rapping, as of fists pounded against the door itself, I
rose, laid aside my book, and stepped into the hall.
First switching on a porch-light, I opened the outer door, to reveal
the figure of an old woman, somewhat stooping, her head covered by a
shawl, which sloped wetly from her head to either shoulder, and was
caught and held beneath her chin by one bony hand.
"Doctor," she began in a tone of almost frantic excitement. "Dr.
Murray--come quick!"
Perhaps I may as well introduce myself here as anywhere else. I am Dr.
George Murray, still, as at the time of which I write, in charge of
the State Mental Hospital in a Western State. The institution was not
then very large, and since taking my position at the head of its staff
I had found myself with considerable time for my study along the lines
of human psychology and the various powers and aberrations of the
mind.
Also, I may as well confess, as a first step toward a better
understanding of my part in what followed, that for years before
coming to the asylum I had delved more or less deeply into such
studies, seeking to learn what I might concerning both the normal and
the abnormal manifestations of mental force.
There is good reading and highly entertaining, I assure you, in the
various philosophies dealing with life, religion, and the several
beliefs regarding the soul of man. I was therefore fairly conversant
not only with the Occidental creeds, but with those of the Oriental
races as well. And I knew that certain of the Eastern sects had
advanced in their knowledge far beyond our Western world. I had even
endeavored to make their knowledge mine, so far as I could, in certain
lines at least, and had from time to time applied some of that
knowledge to the treatment of cases in the institution of which I was
the head.
But I was not thinking of anything like that as I looked at the
shawl-wrapped face of the little bent woman, wrinkled and wry enough
to have been a very part of the storm which beat about her and blew
back the skirts of my lounging-robe and chilled my ankles. I lived in
a residence detached from the asylum buildings proper, but none the
less a part of the institution; and, as a matter of fact, my sole
thought was a feeling of surprise that any one should have come here
to find me, and despite the woman's manifest state of anxiety and
haste, a decided reluctance to go with her quickly or otherwise on
such a night.
I rather temporized: "But, my dear woman, surely there are other
doctors for you to call. I am really not in general practice. I am
connected with the asylum--" "And that is the very reason I always
said I would come for you if anything happened to Mr. Jason," she cut
in.
"Whom?" I inquired, interested in spite of myself at this plainly
premeditated demand for my service.
"Mr. Jason Croft, sir," she returned. "He's dead maybe--I dunno. But
he's been that way for a week."
"Dead?" I exclaimed in almost an involuntary fashion, startled by her
words.
"Dead, or asleep. I don't know which."
Clearly there was something here I wasn't getting into fully, and my
interest aroused. The whole affair seemed to be taking on an
atmosphere of the peculiar, and it was equally clear that the gusty
doorway was no place to talk. "Come in," I said. "What is your name?"
"Goss," said she, without making any move to enter. "I'm house-keeper
for Mr. Jason, but I'll not be comin' in unless you say you'll go."
"Then come in without any more delay," I replied, making up my mind. I
knew Croft in a way--by sight at least. He was a big fellow with light
hair and a splendid physique, who had been pointed out to me shortly
after my arrival. Once I had even got close enough to the man to look
into his eyes. They were gray, and held a peculiar something in their
gaze which had arrested my attention at once. Jason Croft had the eyes
of a mystic--of a student of those very things I myself had studied
more or less.
They were the eyes of one who saw deeper than the mere objective
surface of life, and the old woman's words at the last had waked up my
interest in no uncertain degree. I had decided I would go with her to
Croft's house, which was not very far down the street, and see, if I
might, for myself just what had occurred to send her rushing to me
through the night.
I gave her a seat, said I would get on my shoes and coat, and went
back into the room I had left some moments before. There I dressed
quickly for my venture into the storm, adding a raincoat to my other
attire, and was back in the hall inside five minutes at most.
* * * * *
We set out at once, emerging into the wind-driven rain, my long
raincoat flapping about my legs and the little old woman tottering
along at my side. And what with the rain, the wind, and the unexpected
summons, I found myself in a rather strange frame of mind. The whole
thing seemed more like some story I had read than a happening of real
life, particularly so as my companion kept pace with me and uttered no
sound save at times a rather rasping sort of breath. The whole thing
became an almost eery experience as we hastened down the storm-swept
street.
Then we turned in at a gate and went up toward the large house I knew
to be Croft's, and the little old woman unlocked a heavy front door
and led me into a hall. It was a most unusual hall, too, its walls
draped with rare tapestries and rugs, its floor covered with other
rugs such as I had never seen outside private collections, lighted by
a hammered brass lantern through the pierced sides of which the rays
of an electric light shone forth.
Across the hall she scuttered, still in evident haste, and flung open
a door to permit me to enter a room which was plainly a study. It was
lined with cases of books, furnished richly yet plainly with chairs, a
heavy desk, and a broad couch, on which I saw in one swift glance the
stretched-out body of Croft himself.
He lay wholly relaxed, like one sunk in heavy sleep, his eyelids
closed, his arms and hands dropped limply at his sides, but no visible
sign of respiration animating his deep full chest.
Toward him the little woman gestured with a hand, and stood watching,
still with her wet shawl about her head and shoulders, while I
approached and bent over the man.
I touched his face and found it cold. My fingers sought his pulse and
failed to find it at all. But his body was limp as I lifted an arm and
dropped it. There was no rigor, yet there was no evidence of decay,
such as must follow once rigor has passed away. I had brought
instruments with me as a matter of course. I took them from my pocket
and listened for some sound from the heart. I thought I found the
barest flutter, but I wasn't sure. I tested the tension of the eyeball
under the closed lids and found it firm. I straightened and turned to
face the little old woman.
"Dead, sir?" she asked in a sibilant whisper. Her eyes were wide in
their sockets. They stared into mine.
I shook my head. "He doesn't appear to be dead," I replied. "See here,
Mrs. Goss, what did you mean by saying he ought to have been back
three days ago? What do you mean by back?"
She fingered at her lips with one bony hand. "Why--awake, sir," she
said at last.
"Then why didn't you say so?" I snapped. "Why use the word back?"
"Because, sir," she faltered, "that's what he says when he wakes up.
'Well, Mary, I'm back.' I--I guess I just said it because he does,
doctor. I--was worrit when he didn't come back--when he didn't wake
up, to-night, an' it took to rainin'. I reckon maybe it was th' storm
scared me, sir."
Her words had, however, given me a clue. "He's been like this before,
then?"
"Yes, sir. But never more than four days without telling me he would.
Th' first time was months ago--but it's been gettin' oftener and
oftener, till now all his sleeps are like this. He told me not to be
scared--an' to--to never bother about him--to--to just let him alone;
but--I guess I was scared to-night, when it begun to storm an' him
layin' there like that. It was like havin' a corpse in the house."
I began to gain a fuller appreciation of the situation. I myself had
seen people in a cataleptic condition, had even induced the state in
subjects myself, and it appeared to me that Jason Croft was in a
similar state, no matter how induced.
"What does your employer do?" I asked.
"He studies, sir--just studies things like that." Mrs. Goss gestured
at the cases of books. "He don't have to work, you know. His uncle
left him rich."
I followed her arm as she swept it about the glass-fronted cases. I
brought my glances back to the desk in the center of the room, between
the woman and myself as we stood. Upon it I spied another volume lying
open. It was unlike any book I had ever seen, yellowed with age; in
fact not a book at all, but a series of parchment pages tied together
with bits of silken cord.
I took the thing up and found the open pages covered with marginal
notes in English, although the original was plainly in Sanskrit, an
ancient language I had seen before, but was wholly unable to read. The
notations, however, threw some light into my mind, and as I read them
I forgot the storm, the little old woman--everything save what I read
and the bearing it held on the man behind me on the couch. I felt sure
they had been written by his own hand, and they bore on the subject of
astral projection--the ability of the soul to separate itself, or be
separated, from the physical body and return to its fleshy husk again
at will.
I finished the open pages and turned to others. The notations were
still present wherever I looked. At last I turned to the very front
and found that the manuscript was by Ahmid, an occult adept of
Hindustan, who lived somewhere in the second or third century of the
Christian era.
With a strange sensation I laid down the silk-bound pages. They were
very, very old. Over a thousand years had come and passed since they
were written by the dead Ahmid's hand. Yet I had held them to-night,
and I felt sure Jason Croft had held them often--read them and
understood them, and that the condition in which I found him this
night was in some way subtly connected with their store of ancient
lore. And suddenly I sensed the storm and the little old woman and the
silent body of the man at my back again, with a feeling of something
uncanny in the whole affair.
* * * * *
"You can do nothing for him?" the woman broke my introspection.
I looked up and into her eyes, dark and bright and questioning as she
stood still clutching her damp shawl.
"I'm not so sure of that," I said. "But--Mr. Cro | 1,874.246704 |
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[Illustration]
TREAT 'EM ROUGH
LETTERS FROM
JACK THE KAISER KILLER
_By_
RING W. LARDNER
AUTHOR OF
My Four Weeks in France, Gullible's Travels, Etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
FRANK CRERIE
INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1913
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN, N.Y.
[Illustration]
JACK THE KAISER KILLER
CAMP GRANT, Sept. 23.
_FRIEND AL:_ Well Al I am writeing this in the recreation room at our
barracks and they's about 20 other of the boys writeing letters and I
will bet some of the letters is rich because half of the boys can't talk
english to say nothing about writeing letters and etc. We got a fine
bunch in my Co. Al and its a cinch I won't never die in the trenchs
because I will be murdered in my bed before we ever get out of here only
they don't call it bed in the army.
They call it bunk and no wonder.
Well Al I have been here since Wed. night and now it is Sunday and this
is the first time I have not felt sick since we got here and even at
that my left arm is so sore it is pretty near killing me where I got
vacinated. Its a good thing I am not a left hander Al or I couldn't get
a ball up to the plate but of course I don't have to think of that now
because I am out of baseball now and in the big game but at that I guess
a left hander could get along just as good with a sore arm because I
never seen one of them yet that could break a pain of glass with their
fast ball and if they didn't have all the luck in the world they would
be rideing around the country in a side door Pullman with all their
baggage on.
Speaking about baseball Al I suppose you seen where the White Sox have
cinched the penant and they will be splitting the world serious money
while I am drawing $30.00 per mo. from the Govmt. but 50 yrs. from now
the kids will all stop me on the st. and make me tell them what hotel we
stayed at in Berlin and when Cicotte and Faber and Russell begins to
talk about what they done to the Giants everybody will have themself
paged and walk out.
Well Al a lot of things come off since the last time I wrote to you. We
left Chi Wed. noon and you ought to seen the crowd down to the Union
station to bid us good by. Everybodys wifes and sisters and mothers was
there and they was all crying in 40 different languages and the women
wasn't allowed through the gates so farewell kisses was swapped between
the iron spokes in the gates and some of the boys was still getting
smacked yet when the train started to pull out and it looked like a
bunch of them would get left and if they had I'll say their wifes would
of been in tough luck.
[Illustration: Florrie was all dressed up like a horse and I bet a lot
of them other birds wished they was in my shoes (p. 10).]
Of course wife Florrie and little son Al was there and Florrie was all
dressed up like a horse and I bet a lot of them other birds wished they
was in my shoes when the kissing battle begun. Well Al we both
blubbered a little but Florrie says she mustn't cry to hard or she would
have to paternize her own beauty parlors because crying makes a girl
look like she had pitched a double header in St. Louis or something. But
I don't know if you will believe it or not but little Al didn't even
wimper. How is that for a game bird and only 3 yrs. old?
Well Al some alderman or somebody had got a lot of arm bandages made for
us with the words Kaiser Killers printed on them and they was also signs
stuck on the different cars on the train like Berlin or Bust and etc.
and the Stars and Strips was flying from the back platforms so we
certainly looked like regular soldiers even without no uniforms and I
guess if Van Hindburg and them could of seen us you wouldn't of needed a
close line no more to take their chest measure.
Well all our bunch come from | 1,874.254147 |
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EARLY RENAISSANCE ARCHITECTURE
IN ENGLAND.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
ARCHITECTURE OF THE
RENAISSANCE IN ENGLAND.
ILLUSTRATED BY A SERIES OF VIEWS
AND DETAILS FROM BUILDINGS ERECTED
BETWEEN THE YEARS 1560 and 1635, WITH
HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL TEXT....
The Illustrations comprise 145 Folio Plates, 118 being reproduced
from Photographs taken expressly for the work, and
180 Blocks in the Text.
2 vols., large folio, in cloth portfolios £7 7s. Net.
or half morocco, gilt £8 8s. Net.
[Illustration: PLATE I.
HENRY VII.'S CHAPEL, WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
INTERIOR VIEW, SHOWING VAULTING AND SCREEN.]
EARLY RENAISSANCE
ARCHITECTURE
IN ENGLAND
A HISTORICAL & DESCRIPTIVE ACCOUNT OF THE
TUDOR, ELIZABETHAN, & JACOBEAN PERIODS,
1500-1625
FOR THE USE OF STUDENTS AND OTHERS
BY
J. ALFRED GOTCH, F.S.A.
AUTHOR OF "ARCHITECTURE OF THE
RENAISSANCE IN ENGLAND," ETC.
WITH EIGHTY-SEVEN COLLOTYPE AND OTHER PLATES AND
TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
LONDON
B. T. BATSFORD, 94 HIGH HOLBORN
MDCCCCI
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS,
LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.
PREFACE.
It should, perhaps, be observed that although this book is entitled
_Early Renaissance Architecture in England_, it deals with much the
same period as that covered by my former work _The Architecture of the
Renaissance in England_, but with the addition of the first half of
the sixteenth century. The two books, however, have nothing in common
beyond the fact that they both illustrate the work of a particular
period. The former book exhibits a series of examples, to a large
scale, of Elizabethan and Jacobean buildings, with a brief account
of each: whereas this one takes the form of a handbook in which the
endeavour is made to trace in a systematic manner the development of
style from the close of the Gothic period down to the advent of Inigo
Jones.
It is not the inclusion of the first half of the sixteenth century
which alone has led to the adoption of the title _Early Renaissance_:
the limitation of period which these words indicate appeared
particularly necessary in consequence of the recent publication of
two other books, one being the important work of Mr. Belcher and Mr.
Macartney, illustrating buildings of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, under the title of _Later Renaissance Architecture in
England_; and the other being Mr. Reginald Blomfield's scholarly book,
_A History of Renaissance Architecture in England_, which, although
it starts with the beginning of the sixteenth century, does not dwell
at any length upon the earlier work, but is chiefly devoted to an
exhaustive survey of that of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The value of a work on Architecture is greatly enhanced by
illustrations, and I am much indebted to the numerous gentlemen who,
with great courtesy, have placed the fruits of their pencil, brush, or
camera at my disposal: their names are given in the Lists of Plates and
Illustrations. More particularly I desire to acknowledge the kindness
of the Committee of that very useful publication _The Architectural
Association Sketch Book_, in giving permission for some of their plates
to be reproduced; and among other contributors I have especially to
thank Colonel Gale, Mr. W. Haywood, and Mr. Harold Brakspear; while
to Mr. Ryland Adkins I am indebted for several valuable suggestions
in connection with the text of the Introductory chapter. Mr. Bradley
Batsford has rendered ungrudging assistance at every stage of the
undertaking, which has particularly benefited from his broad and
liberal views in regard to the illustrations. My thanks are also due to
those ladies and gentlemen who allowed me to examine, and sometimes to
measure and photograph their houses; and I am indebted to Mr. Chart,
the Clerk of Works at Hampton Court Palace, for much useful information
imparted during my investigations there.
Each illustration is utilized to explain some point in the text, but
in many cases the reference is purposely made short, the illustration
being left to tell its own story.
J. ALFRED GOTCH.
WEST HILL, KETTERING.
_August, 1901._
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--INTRODUCTORY 1
II.--THE INVASION OF THE FOREIGN STYLE 10
III.--THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE HOUSE PLAN
FROM ABOUT 1450 TO 1635 41
IV.--EXTERIOR FEATURES--THE LAY-OUT OF HOUSES,
LODGES AND GATEWAYS, DOORWAYS AND PORCHES 73
V.--EXTERIOR FEATURES--GENERAL ASPECT, EXTERNAL
APPEARANCE, WINDOWS OF VARIOUS KINDS 94
VI.--EXTERIOR FEATURES--GABLES, FINIALS, PARAPETS
CHIMNEYS, RAIN-WATER HEADS, GARDENS 116
VII.--INTERIOR FEATURES--ROYAL PROGRESSES, THE MANNER
OF DECORATING ROOMS, WOOD-PANELLING 138
VIII.--INTERIOR FEATURES--TREATMENT OF THE HALL,
OPEN ROOFS, THE SMALLER ROOMS, DOORS AND DOOR
FURNITURE, CHIMNEY-PIECES, CEILINGS, PENDANTS,
FRIEZES 159
IX.--INTERIOR FEATURES--STAIRCASES, THE GREAT CHAMBER,
THE LONG GALLERY, GLAZING, &c. 184
X.--MISCELLANEOUS WORK--STREET HOUSES, MARKET
HOUSES, ALMSHOUSES, TOWN HALLS, VILLAGE CROSSES,
SCHOOLS, CHURCHES AND THEIR FITTINGS, &c. 200
XI.--SIXTEENTH CENTURY HOUSE-PLANNING--ILLUSTRATED
FROM THE COLLECTION OF JOHN THORPE'S
DRAWINGS 226
XII.--ARCHITECTURAL DESIGNERS OF THE SIXTEENTH
CENTURY 253
LIST OF WORKS ON EARLY RENAISSANCE ARCHITECTURE 267
INDEX 271
LIST OF PLATES.
NOTE.--The letters "A.A.S.B." denote that the subject is
reproduced from _The Architectural Association Sketch Book_, with
authority of the Draughtsman and by permission of the Committee.
PLATE
I.--HENRY VII.'S CHAPEL, WESTMINSTER ABBEY, INTERIOR
VIEW _Frontispiece._
S. B. Bolas, London, photo.
FACING
II.--HENRY VII.'S TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY PAGE
H. O. Cresswell, del. 14
III.--DETAILS FROM THE TOMB OF HENRY, LORD MARNEY,
LAYER MARNEY CHURCH Fred Chancellor, del. 18
{ FAN VAULTING, CHAPEL OF THE REDMOUNT, KING'S LYNN }
{ W. Galsworthy Davie, photo.}
IV.{ } 19
{ VAULTING OF PORCH, COWDRAY HOUSE, SUSSEX }
{ J. A. G., photo.}
V.--THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY'S CHANTRY, CHRISTCHURCH;
VIEW FROM CHOIR 20
VI.--THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY'S CHANTRY, CHRISTCHURCH;
DETAIL OF NICHES ON NORTH SIDE 22
{ PART OF SCREEN, ST. CROSS, WINCHESTER }
VII.{ W. Galsworthy Davie, photo.} 26
{ PAULET TOMB, BASING CHURCH J. A. G., photo. }
VIII.--SCREEN IN THE CHAPEL, KING'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE 28
{ TITLE PAVING FROM LACOCK ABBEY }
{ Harold Brakspear, del.}
IX.{ } 38
{ SINGLE TILES FROM THE SAME PAVEMENT }
{ W. Haywood, del.}
X.--CHEST FROM ST. MARY OVERIE, SOUTHWARK
Victor T. Jones, del. [A.A.S.B.] 40
XI.--COMPTON WINYATES; GENERAL VIEW 47
XII.--COMPTON WINYATES; THE ENTRANCE PORCH
C. E. Mallows, del. 48
XIII. (DOUBLE)--DETAILS FROM LAYER MARNEY TOWER
Arnold B. Mitchell, del. 52-3
XIV.--THE ENTRANCE GATEWAY, HENGRAVE HALL
J. Palmer Clarke, Bury St. Edmund's, photo. 56
XV.--THE ENTRANCE PORCH, MORETON OLD HALL
Maxwell Ayrton, del. 58
XVI.--A GABLE FROM THE FRONT, MORETON OLD HALL
Maxwell Ayrton, del. 58
XVII.--SOUTH SIDE OF COURTYARD, KIRBY HALL
M. Starmer Hack, del. 60
XVIII.--JOHN TH | 1,874.353208 |
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Transcriber's Notes
Archaic, dialect and inconsistent spellings have been retained as they
appear in the original. With the exception of minor changes to format or
punctuation, any changes to the text have been listed at the end of the
book.
In this Plain Text version of the e-book, symbols from the ASCII
character set only are used. The following substitutions are made for
other symbols, accents and diacritics in the text:
[ae] = ae-ligature
[:a] = a-umlaut
['e] = e-acute
[a'], [e'] = a-grave, e-grave
[OE] and [oe] = oe-ligature (upper and lower case).
[hand] = a right pointing hand symbol.
Other conventions used to represent the original text are as follows:
Italic typeface is indicated by _underscores_.
Small caps typeface is represented by UPPER CASE.
Footnotes are numbered in sequence throughout the book and presented at
the end of the section or ballad in which the footnote anchor appears.
Notes with reference to ballad line numbers are presented at the end of
each ballad and are indicated in the form [Lnn] at line number nn.
* * * * *
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
BALLADS.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.
VOLUME IV.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857 by LITTLE,
BROWN AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of
Massachusetts.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
BOOK IV.
CONTINUED.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME FOURTH.
BOOK IV. (continued.)
Page
9 a. Young Beichan and Susie Pye 1
9 b. Young Bekie 10
10 a. Hynd Horn, [Motherwell] 17
10 b. Hynd Horn, [Buchan] 25
11 a. Katharine Janfarie 29
11 b. Catherine Johnstone 34
12. Bonny Baby Livingston 38
13. The Broom of Cowdenknows 45
14. Johnie Scot 50
15. Brown Adam 60
16 a. Lizie Lindsay, [Jamieson] 63
16 b. Lizzie Lindsay, [Whitelaw] 68
17. Lizae Baillie 73
18. Glasgow Peggy 76
19. Glenlogie 80
20. John O'Hazelgreen 83
21. The Fause Lover 89
22. The Gardener 92
23. The Duke of Athol 94
24. The Rantin' Laddie 97
25. The Duke of Gordon's Daughter 102
26. The Laird o'Logie 109
27. The Gypsie Laddie 114
28. Laird of Drum 118
29 a. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, [Ramsay] 123
29 b. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, [Percy] 129
30 a. Waly, waly, but Love be bonny 132
30 b. Lord Jamie Douglas 135
31. The Nutbrowne Maide 143
32. The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 158
33. The Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green 161
34. The Famous Flower of Serving Men 174
35. The Fair Flower of Northumberland 180
36. Gentle Herdsman, Tell to me 187
37. As I came from Walsingham 191
38. King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid 195
39. The Spanish Lady's Love 201
40. Patient Grissel 207
41. The King of France's Daughter 216
42. Constance of Cleveland 225
43. Willow, Willow, Willow 234
44. Greensleeves 240
45. Robene and Makyne 245
APPENDIX.
Lord Beichan and Susie Pye 253
Sweet William 261
Young Child Dyring 265
Barbara Livingston 270
Lang Johnny Moir 272
Lizie Baillie 280
Johnnie Faa and the Countess o'Cassilis 283
Jamie Douglas 287
Laird of Blackwood 290
The Provost's Dochter 292
Blancheflour and Jellyflorice 295
Chil Ether 299
Young Bearwell 302
Lord Thomas of Winesberry and the King's Daughter 305
Lady Elspat 308
The Lovers Quarrel 311
The Merchant's Daughter of Bristow 328
GLOSSARY 339
YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE.
An inspection of the first hundred lines of Robert of Gloucester's
_Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Beket_, (edited for the Percy Society by
W. H. Black, vol. xix,) will leave no doubt that the hero of this
ancient and beautiful tale is veritably Gilbert Becket, father of the
renowned Saint Thomas of Canterbury. Robert of Gloucester's story
coincides in all essential particulars with the traditionary legend,
but Susie Pye is, unfortunately, spoken of in the chronicle by no
other name than the daughter of the Saracen Prince Admiraud.
We have thought it well to present the three best versions of so
popular and interesting a ballad. The two which are given in the body
of this work are Jamieson's, from _Popular Ballads_, ii. 117, and ii.
127. In the Appendix is Kinloch's, from _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p.
260. Other printed copies are _Lord Beichan_, in Richardson's
_Borderer's Table Book_, vii. 20, communicated by J. H. Dixon, who has
inserted the same in _Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs_, Percy
Society, vol. xvii. p. 85; _Lord Bateman_, the common English
broadside (at p. 95 of the collection just cited); and _Young
Bondwell_, published from Buchan's MS. in _Scottish Traditionary
Versions of Ancient Ballads_, p. 1, (Percy Soc. vol. xvii.) identical,
we suppose, with the copy referred to by Motherwell in _Scarce Ancient
Ballads_, Peterhead, 1819. There is a well-known burlesque of the
ordinary English ballad, called _The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman_,
with comical illustrations by Cruikshank. On this was founded a
burlesque drama, produced some years ago at the Strand Theatre,
London, with great applause.
"This ballad, and that which succeeds it in this collection, (both on
the same subject,) are given from copies taken from Mrs. Brown's
recitation, collated with two other copies procured from Scotland, one
in MS., another very good one printed for the stalls; a third, in the
possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher of Epsom, taken from
recitation in the North of England; and a fourth, about one third as
long as the others, which the Editor picked off an old wall in
Piccadilly."
Jamieson's interpolations have been omitted.
In London was young Beichan born,
He longed strange countries for to see;
But he was taen by a savage moor,
Who handled him right cruellie;
For he viewed the fashions of that land; 5
Their way of worship viewed he;
But to Mahound, or Termagant,
Would Beichan never bend a knee.
So in every shoulder they've putten a bore;
In every bore they've putten a tree; 10
And they have made him trail the wine
And spices on his fair bodie.
They've casten him in a dungeon deep,
Where he could neither hear nor see;
For seven years they kept him there, 15
Till he for hunger's like to die.
This Moor he had but ae daughter,
Her name was called Susie Pye;
And every day as she took the air,
Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 20
O so it fell, upon a day
She heard young Beichan sadly sing;
"My hounds they all go masterless;
My hawks they flee from tree to tree;
My younger brother will heir my land; 25
Fair England again I'll never see!"
All night long no rest she got,
Young Beichan's song for thinking on;
She's stown the keys from her father's head,
And to the prison strong is gone. 30
And she has open'd the prison doors,
I wot she open'd two or three,
Ere she could come young Beichan at,
He was locked up so curiouslie.
But when she came young Beichan before, 35
Sore wonder'd | 1,874.353292 |
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DOWN TOWN BROOKLYN
A Report to the Comptroller of the City of
New York on Sites for Public Buildings
and the Relocation of the Elevated
Railroad Tracks now in Lower
Fulton Street, Borough
of Brooklyn
[Illustration: BOROUGH OF BROOKLYN]
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
MCMXIII
CONTENTS
LETTER FROM THE COMPTROLLER
REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE
First Plan
Second Plan
Third Plan
Fourth Plan
Fifth Plan
Sixth Plan
ADDITIONAL REPORT
SUPPLEMENTAL REPORT
LETTER FROM THE COMPTROLLER
April 18th, 1913.
_Dear Mr. Pratt:_
It appears to me that the time has now arrived when some definite
policy should be formulated regarding a number of needed improvements
in the Borough of Brooklyn, with particular reference to a settlement
of the court house, bridge terminal and other questions. We have had
considerable discussion regarding these matters, and while this
discussion has developed, as it naturally would, many divergent views,
I am confident that it has also served a most useful purpose because
now we all have a much better idea of the work that has to be
undertaken and the importance of intelligent and united action
governing it.
It is very necessary that some one should take the lead and I,
therefore, suggest that you endeavor at the earliest possible time to
effect a meeting of those interested as citizens and officials in
developing the best plan for Brooklyn's improvement, with a view to
having a definite policy proposed and so determined at this time that
the only thing necessary in the future will be the authorization of
the funds to carry the plan into effect.
There should be a civic center in Brooklyn. We have a nucleus of such
a center in the present Borough Hall. We need a new terminal for the
Brooklyn entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge, a better approach to that
bridge by the present elevated railroad lines, the removal of the
elevated railroad tracks from lower Fulton Street, a new court house,
a new municipal building and a thorough improvement of that section
running from the intersection of Myrtle Avenue and Washington Street
to the terminal of the Brooklyn Bridge, using this improved section
for the purpose of carrying out a general beautification of the
proposed civic center.
All of these things cannot be done at once, but they are all a part of
what should be a general plan. I believe that if the subject be
approached in a spirit of civic patriotism a general plan can be
developed which will mean the ultimate procurement of all these
much-needed improvements, and in such a way as to be of the greatest
benefit to Brooklyn as a borough.
Yours truly,
WILLIAM A. PRENDERGAST,
_Comptroller_
MR. FREDERIC B. PRATT
Brooklyn, New York
* * * * *
Upon receiving the foregoing letter, Mr. Pratt conferred with a large
number of officials and citizens interested in the progress of
Brooklyn, and acting upon their advice formed a committee of ten,
believed by him to be representative of the various points of view,
for the purpose of making a systematic study of the problems set forth
and to formulate a report with definite recommendations. The report
and recommendations of the committee appear in the following pages.
REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE
OF TEN CITIZENS OF BROOKLYN APPOINTED AT THE SUGGESTION OF WILLIAM A.
PRENDERGAST, COMPTROLLER OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK
Since the appointment of this committee on the 30th day of April,
1913, it has had frequent meetings, conferences and hearings.
Conferences have been had with representatives from organizations that
have given time and study to the subjects within the scope of this
committee. Several public hearings were held, notice of which was
given in the public press. Written communications have been invited
from all persons interested. Architects have been employed to advise
and we have had the help of competent engineers.
At the outset the committee has been compelled to recognize the
situation of Brooklyn and its relation to Manhattan and Greater New
York. Brooklyn has always labored under the disadvantage that,
although its residents have helped create the great assessed
valuations in lower Manhattan, it did not before consolidation receive
any benefit from the taxation of those values. In this respect
Bro | 1,874.452117 |
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LIBRARY OF THE
WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE
ANCIENT AND MODERN
CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER
EDITOR
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE
GEORGE HENRY WARNER
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Connoisseur Edition
VOL. XVI.
NEW YORK
THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY
Connoisseur Edition
LIMITED TO FIVE HUNDRED COPIES IN HALF RUSSIA
_No_. ..........
Copyright, 1896, by
R. S. PEALE AND J. A. HILL
_All rights reserved_
THE ADVISORY COUNCIL
CRAWFORD H. TOY, A. M., LL. D.,
Professor of Hebrew, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass.
THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL. D., L. H. D.,
Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of
YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn.
WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH. D., L. H. D.,
Professor of History and Political Science,
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N. J.
BRANDER MATTHEWS, A. M., LL. B.,
Professor of Literature, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City.
JAMES B. ANGELL, LL. D.,
President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich.
WILLARD FISKE, A. M., PH. D.,
Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages
and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N. Y.
EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A. M., LL. D.,
Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer,
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal.
ALCEE FORTIER, LIT. D.,
Professor of the Romance Languages,
TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La.
WILLIAM P. TRENT, M. A.,
Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of
English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn.
PAUL SHOREY, PH. D.,
Professor of Greek and Latin Literature,
UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill.
WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL. D.,
United States Commissioner of Education,
BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D. C.
MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A. M., LL. D.,
Professor of Literature in the
CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D. C.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
VOL. XVI
LIVED PAGE
AULUS GELLIUS Second Century A.D. 6253
From 'Attic Nights': Origin, and Plan of the Book;
The Vestal Virgins; The Secrets of the Senate;
Plutarch and his Slave; Discussion on One of
Solon's Laws; The Nature of Sight; Earliest
Libraries; Realistic Acting; The Athlete's End
GESTA ROMANORUM 6261
Theodosius the Emperoure
Moralite
Ancelmus the Emperour
Moralite
How an Anchoress was Tempted by the Devil
EDWARD GIBBON 1737-1794 6271
BY W. E. H. LECKY
Zenobia
Foundation of Constantinople
Character of Constantine
Death of Julian
Fall of Rome
Silk
Mahomet's Death and Character
The Alexandrian Library
Final Ruin of Rome
All from the 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire'
WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT 1836- 6333
Captain Reece
The Yarn of the Nancy Bell
The Bishop of Rum-ti-foo
Gentle Alice Brown
The Captain and the Mermaids
All from the 'Bab Ballads'
RICHARD WATSON GILDER 1844- 6347
Two Songs from 'The New Day'
"Rose-Dark the Solemn Sunset"
The Celestial Passion
Non Sine Dolore
On the Life Mask of Abraham Lincoln
From 'The Great Remembrance'
GIUSEPPE GIUSTI 1809-1850 6355
Lullaby ('Gingillino')
The Steam Guillotine
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 1809- 6359
Macaulay ('Gleanings of Past Years')
EDWIN LAWRENCE GODKIN 1831- 6373
The Duty of Criticism in a Democracy ('Problems of
Modern Democracy')
GOETHE 1749-1832 6385
BY EDWARD DOWDEN
From 'Faust,' Shelley's Translation
Scenes from 'Faust', Bayard Taylor's Translation
Mignon's Love and Longing ('Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship')
Wilhelm Meister's Introduction to Shakespeare (same)
Wilhelm Meister's Analysis of Hamlet (same)
The Indenture (same)
The Harper's Songs (same)
Mignon's Song (same)
Philina's Song (same)
Prometheus
Wanderer's Night Songs
The Elfin-King
From 'The Wanderer's Storm Song'
The Godlike
Solitude
Ergo Bibamus!
Alexis and Dora
Maxims and Reflections
Nature
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL 1809-1852 6455
BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD
From 'The Inspector'
Old-Fashioned Gentry ('Mirgorod')
CARLO GOLDONI 1707-1793 6475
BY WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON
First Love and Parting ('Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni')
The Origin of Masks in the Italian Comedy (same)
Purists and Pedantry (same)
A Poet's Old Age (same)
The Cafe
MEIR AARON GOLDSCHMIDT 1819-1887 6493
Assar and Mirjam ('Love Stories from Many Countries')
OLIVER GOLDSMITH 1728-1774 6501
BY CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY
The Vicar's Family Become Ambitious ('The Vicar of Wakefield')
New Misfortunes: But Offenses are Easily Pardoned Where
There is Love at Bottom (same)
Pictures from 'The Deserted Village'
Contrasted National Types ('The Traveller')
IVAN ALEKSANDROVITCH GONCHAROF 1812- 6533
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
Oblomof
THE BROTHERS DE GONCOURT 6549
Edmond 1822-1896
Jules 1830-1870
Two Famous Men ('Journal of the De Goncourts')
The Suicide ('Sister Philomene')
The Awakening ('Renee Mauperin')
EDMUND GOSSE 1849- 6565
February in Rome
Desiderium
Lying in the Grass
RUDOLF VON GOTTSCHALL 1823- 6571
Heinrich Heine ('Portraits and Studies')
JOHN GOWER 1325?-1408 6579
Petronella ('Confessio Amantis')
ULYSSES S. GRANT 1822-1885 6593
BY HAMLIN GARLAND
Early Life ('Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant')
Grant's Courtship (same)
A Texan Experience (same)
The Surrender of General Lee (same)
HENRY GRATTAN 1746-1820 6615
On the Character of Chatham
Of the Injustice of Disqualification of Catholics
(Speech in Parliament)
On the Downfall of Bonaparte (Speech in Parliament)
THOMAS GRAY 1716-1771 6623
BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP
Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard
Ode on the Spring
On a Distant Prospect of Eton College
The Bard
THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY 6637
BY TALCOTT WILLIAMS
On the Athenian Dead at Plataea (Simonides); On the
Lacedaemonian Dead at Plataea (Simonides); On a
Sleeping Satyr (Plato); A Poet's Epitaph (Simmias
of Thebes); Worship in Spring (Theaetetus); Spring
on the Coast (Leonidas of Tarentum); A Young Hero's
Epitaph (Dioscorides); Love (Posidippus); Sorrow's
Barren Grave (Heracleitus); To a Coy Maiden
(Asclepiades); The Emptied Quiver (Mnesalcus);
The Tale of Troy (Alpheus); Heaven Hath its Stars
(Marcus Argentarius); Pan of the Sea-Cliff
(Archias); Anacreon's Grave (Antipater of Sidon);
Rest at Noon (Meleager); "In the Spring a Young
Man's Fancy" (Meleager); Meleager's Own Epitaph
(Meleager); Epilogue (Philodemus); Doctor and
Divinity (Nicarchus); Love's Immortality (Strato);
As the Flowers of the Field (Strato); Summer
Sailing (Antiphilus); The Great Mysteries
(Crinagoras); To Priapus of the Shore (Maecius); The
Common Lot (Ammianus); "To-morrow, and To-morrow"
(Macedonius); The Palace Garden (Arabius); The
Young Wife (Julianus AEgyptius); A Nameless Grave
(Paulus Silentiarius); Resignation (Joannes
Barbucallus); The House of the Righteous
(Macedonius); Love's Ferriage (Agathias); On a
Fowler (Isidorus) Anonymous: Youth and Riches; The
Singing Reed; First Love again Remembered; Slave
and Philosopher; Good-by to Childhood; Wishing;
Hope and Experience; The Service of God; The Pure
in Heart; The Water of Purity; Rose and Thorn;
A Life's Wandering
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME XVI
PAGE
The Alexander Romance ( Plate) Frontispiece
Gibbon (Portrait) 6271
Ruined Rome (Photograph) 6316
Gladstone (Portrait) 6359
Goethe (Portrait) 6385
"Faust and Margaret in Prison" (Photogravure) 6408
"The Bride's Toilet" (Photogravure) 6466
Goldoni (Portrait) 6475
Goldsmith (Portrait) 6501
Grant (Portrait) 6593
Gray (Portrait) 6623
"Stoke Poges Church and Churchyard" (Photogravure) 6626
VIGNETTE PORTRAITS
Gilbert Goncharof
Gilder De Goncourt
Giusti Gottschall
Godkin Gower
Gogol Grattan
Goldschmidt
AULUS GELLIUS
(SECOND CENTURY A. D.)
Perhaps Gellius's 'Attic Nights' may claim especial mention here, as one
of the earliest extant forerunners of this 'Library.' In the original
preface (given first among the citations), Gellius explains very clearly
the origin and scope of his work. It is not, however, a mere scrap-book.
There is original matter in many chapters. In particular, an ethical or
philosophic excerpt has often been framed in a little scene,--doubtless
imaginary,--and cast in the form of a dialogue. We get, even, pleasant
glimpses of autobiography from time to time. The author is not, however,
a deep or forceful character, on the whole. His heart is mostly set on
trifles.
Yet Gellius has been an assiduous student, both in Greece and Italy; and
his book gives us an agreeable, probably an adequate, view of the fields
which are included in the general culture of his time. Despite its
title, the work is chiefly Roman. In history, biography, antiquities,
grammar, literary criticism, his materials and authors are prevailingly
Latin. He is perhaps most widely known and quoted on early Roman life
and usages. Thus, one of his chapters gives a mass of curious
information as to the choice of the Vestal Virgins. We are also largely
indebted to him for citations from lost authors. We have already quoted
under Ennius the sketch, in eighteen hexameters, of a scholar-soldier,
believed to be a genial self-portraiture. These lines are the finest
specimen we have of the 'Annales.' Similarly, under Cato, we have quoted
the chief fragment of the great Censor's Roman history. For both these
treasures we must thank Gellius. Indeed, throughout the wide fields of
Roman antiquities, history of literature, grammar, etc., we have to
depend chiefly upon various late Latin scrap-books and compilations,
most of which are not even made up at first hand from creative classical
authors. To Gellius, also, the imposing array of writers so constantly
named by him was evidently known chiefly through compendiums and
handbooks. It is suspicious, for instance, that he hardly quotes a poet
within a century of his own time. Repetitions, contradictions, etc., are
numerous.
Despite its twenty "books" and nearly four hundred (short) chapters, the
work is not only light and readable for the most part, but quite modest
in total bulk: five hundred and fifty pages in the small page and
generous type of Hertz's Teubner text. There is an English translation
by Rev. W. Beloe, first printed in 1795, from which we quote below.
Professor Nettleship's (in his 'Essays in Latin Literature') has no
literary quality, but gives a careful analysis of Gellius's subjects and
probable sources. There is a revival of interest in this author in
recent years. We decidedly recommend Hertz's attractive volume to any
Latin student who wishes to browse beyond the narrow classical limits.
FROM 'ATTIC NIGHTS'
ORIGIN AND PLAN OF THE BOOK
More pleasing works than the present may certainly be found: my object
in writing this was to provide my children, as well as myself, with that
kind of amusement in which they might properly relax and indulge
themselves at the intervals from more important business. I have
preserved the same accidental arrangement which I had before used in
making the collection. Whatever book came into my hand, whether it was
Greek or Latin, or whatever I heard that was either worthy of being
recorded or agreeable to my fancy, I wrote down without distinction and
without order. These things I treasured up to aid my memory, as it were
by a store-house of learning; so that when I wanted to refer to any
particular circumstance or word which I had at the moment forgotten, and
the books from which they were taken happened not to be at hand, I could
easily find and apply it. Thus the same irregularity will appear in
these commentaries as existed in the original annotations, which were
concisely written down without any method or arrangement in the course
of what I at different times had heard or read. As these observations at
first constituted my business and my amusement through many long winter
nights which I spent in Attica, I have given them the name of 'Attic
Nights.'... It is an old proverb, "A jay has no concern with music, nor
a hog with perfumes:" but that the ill-humor and invidiousness of
certain ill-taught people may be still more exasperated, I shall borrow
a few verses from a chorus of Aristophanes; and what he, a man of most
exquisite humor, proposed as a law to the spectators of his play, I also
recommend to the readers of this volume, that the vulgar and unhallowed
herd, who are averse to the sports of the Muses, may not touch nor even
approach it. The verses are these:--
Silent be they, and far from hence remove,
By scenes like ours not likely to improve,
Who never paid the honored Muse her rights,
Who senseless live in wild, impure delights;
I bid them once, I bid them twice begone,
I bid them thrice, in still a louder tone:
Far hence depart, whilst ye with dance and song
Our solemn feast, our tuneful nights prolong.
THE VESTAL VIRGINS
The writers on the subject of taking a Vestal Virgin, of whom Labeo
Antistius is the most elaborate, have asserted that no one could be
taken who was less than six or more than ten years old. Neither could
she be taken unless both her father and mother were alive, if she had
any defect of voice or hearing, or indeed any personal blemish, or if
she herself or father had been made free; or if under the protection of
her grandfather, her father being alive; if one or both of her parents
were in actual servitude, or employed in mean occupations. She whose
sister was in this character might plead exemption, as might she whose
father was flamen, augur, one of the fifteen who had care of the sacred
books, or one of the seventeen who regulated the sacred feasts, or a
priest of Mars. Exemption was also granted to her who was betrothed to a
pontiff, and to the daughter of the sacred trumpeter. Capito Ateius has
also observed that the daughter of a man was ineligible who had no
establishment in Italy, and that his daughter might be excused who had
three children. But as soon as a Vestal Virgin is taken, conducted to
the vestibule of Vesta, and delivered to the pontiffs, she is from that
moment removed from her father's authority, without any form of
emancipation or loss of rank, and has also the right of making her will.
No more ancient records remain concerning the form and ceremony of
taking a virgin, except that the first virgin was taken by King Numa.
But we find a Papian law which provides that at the will of the supreme
pontiff twenty virgins should be chosen from the people; that these
should draw lots in the public assembly; and that the supreme pontiff
might take her whose lot it was, to become the servant of Vesta. But
this drawing of lots by the Papian law does not now seem necessary; for
if any person of ingenuous birth goes to the pontiff and offers his
daughter for this ministry, if she may be accepted without any violation
of what the ceremonies of religion enjoin, the Senate dispenses with the
Papian law. Moreover, a virgin is said to be taken, because she is taken
by the hand of the high priest from that parent under whose authority
she is, and led away as a captive in war. In the first book of Fabius
Pictor, we have the form of words which the supreme pontiff is to repeat
when he takes a virgin. It is this:--
"I take thee, beloved, as a priestess of Vesta, to perform religious
service, to discharge those duties with respect to the whole body of the
Roman people which the law most wisely requires of a priestess of
Vesta."
It is also said in those commentaries of Labeo which he wrote on the
Twelve Tables:--
"No Vestal Virgin can be heiress to any intestate person of either sex.
Such effects are said to belong to the public. It is inquired by what
right this is done?" When taken she is called _amata_, or beloved, by
the high priest; because Amata is said to have been the name of her who
was first taken.
THE SECRETS OF THE SENATE
It was formerly usual for the senators of Rome to enter the Senate-house
accompanied by their sons who had taken the praetexta. When something of
superior importance was discussed in the Senate, and the further
consideration adjourned to the day following, it was resolved that no
one should divulge the subject of their debates till it should be
formally decreed. The mother of the young Papirius, who had accompanied
his father to the Senate-house, inquired of her son what the senators
had been doing. The youth replied that he had been enjoined silence, and
was not at liberty to say. The woman became more anxious to know; the
secretness of the thing, and the silence of the youth, did but inflame
her curiosity. She therefore urged him with more vehement earnestness.
The young man, on the importunity of his mother, determined on a
humorous and pleasant fallacy: he said it was discussed in the Senate,
which would be most beneficial to the State--for one man to have two
wives, or for one woman to have two husbands. As soon as she heard this
she was much agitated, and leaving her house in great trepidation, went
to tell the other matrons what she had learned. The next day a troop of
matrons went to the Senate-house, and with tears and entreaties implored
that one woman might be suffered to have two husbands, rather than one
man to have two wives. The senators on entering the house were
astonished, and wondered what this intemperate proceeding of the women,
and their petition, could mean. The young Papirius, advancing to the
midst of the Senate, explained the pressing importunity of his mother,
his answer, and the matter as it was. The Senate, delighted with the
honor and ingenuity of the youth, made a decree that from that time no
youth should be suffered to enter the Senate with his father, this
Papirius alone excepted.
PLUTARCH AND HIS SLAVE
Plutarch once ordered a slave, who was an impudent and worthless fellow,
but who had paid some attention to books and philosophical disputations,
to be stripped (I know not for what fault) and whipped. As soon as his
punishment began, he averred that he did not deserve to be beaten; that
he had been guilty of no offense or crime. As they went on whipping him,
he called out louder, not with any cry of suffering or complaint, but
gravely reproaching his master. Such behavior, he said, was unworthy of
Plutarch; that anger disgraced a philosopher; that he had often disputed
on the mischiefs of anger; that he had written a very excellent book
about not giving place to anger; but that whatever he had said in that
book was now contradicted by the furious and ungovernable anger with
which he had now ordered him to be severely beaten. Plutarch then
replied with deliberate calmness:--"But why, rascal, do I now seem to
you to be in anger? Is it from my countenance, my voice, my color, or my
words, that you conceive me to be angry? I cannot think that my eyes
betray any ferocity, nor is my countenance disturbed or my voice
boisterous; neither do I foam at the mouth, nor are my cheeks red; nor
do I say anything indecent or to be repented of; nor do I tremble or
seem greatly agitated. These, though you may not know it, are the usual
signs of anger." Then, turning to the person who was whipping him:
"Whilst this man and I," said he, "are disputing, do you go on with your
employment."
DISCUSSION ON ONE OF SOLON'S LAWS
In those very ancient laws of Solon which were inscribed at Athens on
wooden tables, and which, from veneration to him, the Athenians, to
render eternal, had sanctioned with punishments and religious oaths,
Aristotle relates there was one to this effect: If in any tumultuous
dissension a sedition should ensue, and the people divide themselves
into two parties, and from this irritation of their minds both sides
should take arms and fight; then he who in this unfortunate period of
civil discord should join himself to neither party, but should
individually withdraw himself from the common calamity of the city,
should be deprived of his house, his family and fortunes, and be driven
into exile from his country. When I had read this law of Solon, who was
eminent for his wisdom, I was at first impressed with great
astonishment, wondering for what reason he should think those men
deserving of punishment who withdrew themselves from sedition and a
civil war. Then a person who had profoundly and carefully examined the
use and purport of this law, affirmed that it was calculated not to
increase but terminate sedition; and indeed it really is so, for if all
the more respectable, who were at first unable to check sedition, and
could not overawe the divided and infatuated people, join themselves to
one part or other, it will happen that when they are divided on both
sides, and each party begins to be ruled and moderated by them, as men
of superior influence, harmony will by their means be sooner restored
and confirmed; for whilst they regulate and temper their own parties
respectively, they would rather see their opponents conciliated than
destroyed. Favorinus the philosopher was of opinion that the same thing
ought to be done in the disputes of brothers and of friends: that they
who are benevolently inclined to both sides, but have little influence
in restoring harmony, from being considered as doubtful friends, should
decidedly take one part or other; by which act they will obtain more
effectual power in restoring harmony to both. At present, says he, the
friends of both think they do well by leaving and deserting both, thus
giving them up to malignant or sordid lawyers, who inflame their
resentments and disputes from animosity or from avarice.
THE NATURE OF SIGHT
I have remarked various opinions among philosophers concerning the
causes of sight and the nature of vision. The Stoics affirm the causes
of sight to be an emission of radii from the eyes against those things
which are capable of being seen, with an expansion at the same time of
the air. But Epicurus thinks that there proceed from all bodies certain
images of the bodies themselves, and that these impress themselves upon
the eyes, and that thence arises the sense of sight. Plato is of opinion
that a species of fire and light issues from the eyes, and that this,
being united and continued either with the light of the sun or the light
of some other fire, by its own, added to the external force, enables us
to see whatever it meets and illuminates.
But on these things it is not worth while to trifle further; and I recur
to an opinion of the Neoptolemus of Ennius, whom I have before
mentioned: he thinks that we should taste of philosophy, but not plunge
in it over head and ears.
EARLIEST LIBRARIES
Pisistratus the tyrant is said to have been the first who supplied books
of the liberal sciences at Athens for public use. Afterwards the
Athenians themselves with great care and pains increased their number;
but all this multitude of books, Xerxes, when he obtained possession of
Athens and burned the whole of the city except the citadel, seized and
carried away to Persia. But King Seleucus, who was called Nicanor, many
years afterwards, was careful that all of them should be again carried
back to Athens.
A prodigious number of books were in succeeding times collected by the
Ptolemies in Egypt, to the amount of near seven hundred thousand
volumes. But in the first Alexandrine war the whole library, during the
plunder of the city, was destroyed by fire; not by any concerted design,
but accidentally by the auxiliary soldiers.
REALISTIC ACTING
There was an actor in Greece of great celebrity, superior to the rest in
the grace and harmony of his voice and action. His name, it is said, was
Polus, and he acted in the tragedies of the more eminent poets, with
great knowledge and accuracy. This Polus lost by death his only and
beloved son. When he had sufficiently indulged his natural grief, he
returned to his employment. Being at this time to act the 'Electra' of
Sophocles at Athens, it was his part to carry an urn as containing the
bones of Orestes. The argument of the fable is so imagined that Electra,
who is presumed to carry the relics of her brother, laments and
commiserates his end, who is believed to have died a violent death.
Polus, therefore, clad in the mourning habit of Electra, took from the
tomb the bones and urn of his son, and as if embracing Orestes, filled
the place, not with the image and imitation, but with the sighs and
lamentations of unfeigned sorrow. Therefore, when a fable seemed to be
represented, real grief was displayed.
THE ATHLETE'S END
Milo of Crotona, a celebrated wrestler, who as is recorded was crowned
in the fiftieth Olympiad, met with a lamentable and extraordinary death.
When, now an old man, he had desisted from his athletic art and was
journeying alone in the woody parts of Italy, he saw an oak very near
the roadside, gaping in the middle of the trunk, with its branches
extended: willing, I suppose, to try what strength he had left, he put
his fingers into the fissure of the tree, and attempted to pluck aside
and separate the oak, and did actually tear and divide it in the middle;
but when the oak was thus split in two, and he relaxed his hold as
having accomplished his intention, upon a cessation of the force it
returned to its natural position, and left the man, when it united, with
his hands confined, to be torn by wild beasts.
Translation of Rev. W. Beloe.
GESTA ROMANORUM
What are the 'Gesta Romanorum'? The most curious and interesting of all
collections of popular tales. Negatively, one thing they are not: that
is, they are not _Deeds of the Romans_, the acts of the heirs of the
Caesars. All such allusions are the purest fantasy. The great "citee of
Rome," and some oddly dubbed emperor thereof, indeed the entire
background, are in truth as unhistorical and imaginary as the tale
itself.
Such stories are very old. So far back did they spring that it would be
idle to conjecture their origin. In the centuries long before Caxton,
the centuries before manuscript-writing filled up the leisure hours of
the monks, the 'Gesta,' both in the Orient and in the Occident, were
brought forth. Plain, direct, and unvarnished, they are the form in
which the men of ideas of those rude times approached and entertained,
by accounts of human joy and woe, their brother men of action. Every
race of historic importance, from the eastern Turanians to the western
Celts, has produced such legends. Sometimes they delight the lover of
folk-lore; sometimes they belong to the Dryasdust antiquarian. But our
'Gesta,' with their directness and naivete, with their occasional beauty
of diction and fine touches of sympathy and imagination,--even with
their Northern lack of grace,--are properly a part of literature. In
these 'Deeds' is found the plot or ground-plan of such master works as
'King Lear' and the 'Merchant of Venice,' and the first cast of material
refined by Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate, Schiller, and other writers.
Among the people in mediaeval times such tales evidently passed from
mouth to mouth. They were the common food of fancy and delight to our
forefathers, as they gathered round the fire in stormy weather. Their
recital enlivened the women's unnumbered hours of spinning, weaving, and
embroidery. As the short days of the year came on, there must have been
calls for 'The Knights of Baldak and Lombardy,' 'The Three Caskets,' or
'The White and Black Daughters,' as nowadays we go to our book-shelves
for the stories that the race still loves, and ungraciously enjoy the
silent telling.
Such folk-stories as those in the 'Gesta' are in the main made of, must
have passed from district to district and even from nation to nation, by
many channels,--chief among them the constant wanderings of monks and
minstrels,--becoming | 1,874.549782 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.6295260 | 1,886 | 104 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Lisa Reigel and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
WERWOLVES
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
SOME HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND WALES
THE HAUNTED HOUSES OF LONDON
SCOTTISH GHOST TALES
BYEWAYS OF GHOSTLAND
GHOSTLY PHENOMENA
THE REMINISCENCES OF MRS. E. M. WARD
WERWOLVES
BY
ELLIOTT O'DONNELL
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1912_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. WHAT IS A WERWOLF? 1
II. WERWOLF METAMORPHOSIS COMPARED WITH OTHER BRANCHES OF
LYCANTHROPY 20
III. THE SPIRITS OF WERWOLVES 44
IV. HOW TO BECOME A WERWOLF 55
V. WERWOLVES AND EXORCISM 71
VI. THE WERWOLF IN THE BRITISH ISLES 92
VII. THE WERWOLF IN FRANCE 110
VIII. WERWOLVES AND VAMPIRES AND GHOULS 126
IX. WERWOLVES IN GERMANY 143
X. A LYCANTHROPOUS BROOK IN THE HARZ MOUNTAINS; OR, THE
CASE OF THE COUNTESS HILDA VON BREBER 161
XI. WERWOLVES IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AND THE BALKAN PENINSULA 174
XII. THE WERWOLF IN SPAIN 194
XIII. THE WERWOLF IN BELGIUM AND THE NETHERLANDS 212
XIV. THE WERWOLVES AND MARAS OF DENMARK 225
XV. WERWOLVES IN NORWAY AND SWEDEN 236
XVI. WERWOLVES IN ICELAND, LAPLAND, AND FINLAND 256
XVII. THE WERWOLF IN RUSSIA AND SIBERIA 270
WERWOLVES
CHAPTER I
WHAT IS A WERWOLF?
What is a werwolf? To this there is no one very satisfactory reply.
There are, indeed, so many diverse views held with regard to the nature
and classification of werwolves, their existence is so keenly disputed,
and the subject is capable of being regarded from so many standpoints,
that any attempt at definition in a restricted sense would be well-nigh
impossible.
The word werwolf (or werewolf) is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _wer_,
man, and _wulf_, wolf, and has its equivalents in the German _Waehrwolf_
and French _loup-garou_, whilst it is also to be found in the languages,
respectively, of Scandinavia, Russia, Austria-Hungary, the Balkan
Peninsula, and of certain of the countries of Asia and Africa; from
which it may be concluded that its range is pretty well universal.
Indeed, there is scarcely a country in the world in which belief in a
werwolf, or in some other form of lycanthropy, has not once existed,
though it may have ceased to exist now. But whereas in some countries
the werwolf is considered wholly physical, in others it is looked upon
as partly, if not entirely, superphysical. And whilst in some countries
it is restricted to the male sex, in others it is confined to the
female; and, again, in others it is to be met with in both sexes.
Hence, when asked to describe a werwolf, or what is generally
believed to be a werwolf, one can only say that a werwolf is an
anomaly--sometimes man, sometimes woman (or in the guise of man or
woman); sometimes adult, sometimes child (or in the guise of
such)--that, under certain conditions, possesses the property of
metamorphosing into a wolf, the change being either temporary or
permanent.
This, perhaps, expresses most of what is general concerning werwolves.
For more particular features, upon which I will touch later, one must
look to locality and time.
Those who are sceptical with regard to the existence of the werwolf, and
refuse to accept, as proof of such existence, the accumulated testimony
of centuries, attribute the origin of the belief in the phenomenon
merely to an insane delusion, which, by reason of its novelty, gained a
footing and attracted followers.
Humanity, they say, has ever been the same; and any fresh idea--no
matter how bizarre or monstrous, so long as it is monstrous enough--has
always met with support and won credence.
In favour of this argument it is pointed out that in many of the cases
of persons accused of werwolfery, tried in France, and elsewhere, in the
middle of the sixteenth century, when belief in this species of
lycanthropy was at its zenith, there was an extraordinary readiness
among the accused to confess, and even to give circumstantial evidence
of their own metamorphosis; and that this particular form of
self-accusation at length became so popular among the leading people in
the land, that the judicial court, having its suspicions awakened, and,
doubtless, fearful of sentencing so many important personages, acquitted
the majority of the accused, announcing them to be the victims of
delusion and hysteria.
Now, if it were admitted, argue these sceptics, that the bulk of
so-called werwolves were impostors, is it not reasonable to suppose that
all so-called werwolves were either voluntary or involuntary
impostors?--the latter, _i.e._, those who were not self-accused, being
falsely accused by persons whose motive for so doing was revenge. For
parallel cases one has only to refer to the trials for sorcery and
witchcraft in England. And with regard to false accusations of
lycanthropy--accusations founded entirely on hatred of the accused
person--how easy it was to trump up testimony and get the accused
convicted. The witnesses were rarely, if ever, subjected to a searching
examination; the court was always biased, and a confession of guilt,
when not voluntary--as in the case of the prominent citizen, when it was
invariably pronounced due to hysteria or delusion--could always be
obtained by means of torture, though a confession thus obtained,
needless to say, is completely nullified. Moreover, we have no record of
metamorphosis taking place in court, or before witnesses chosen for
their impartiality. On the contrary, the alleged transmutations always
occurred in obscure places, and in the presence of people who, one has
reason to believe, were both hysterical and imaginative, and therefore
predisposed to see wonders. So says this order of sceptic, and, to my
mind, he says a great deal more than his facts justify; for although
contemporary writers generally are agreed that a large percentage of
those people who voluntarily confessed they were werwolves were mere
dissemblers, there is no recorded conclusive testimony to show that all
such self-accused persons were shams and delusionaries. Besides, even
if such testimony were forthcoming, it would in nowise preclude the
existence of the werwolf.
Nor does the fact that all the accused persons submitted to the rack, or
other modes of torture, confessed themselves werwolves prove that all
such confessions were false.
Granted also that some of the charges of lycanthropy were groundless,
being based on malice--which, by the by, is no argument for the
non-existence of lycanthropy, since it is acknowledged that accusations
of all sorts, having been based on malice, have been equally
groundless--there is nothing in the nature of written evidence that
would justify one in assuming that all such charges were traceable to
the same cause, _i.e._, a malicious agency. Neither can one dismiss the
testimony of those who swore they were actual eye-witnesses of
metamorphoses, on the mere assumption that all such witnesses were
liable to hallucination or hysteria, or were hyper-imaginative.
Testimony to an event having taken place must be regarded as positive
evidence of such an occurrence | 1,874.649566 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.6303120 | 7,435 | 8 |
Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one has to submit, is irreligious...
It is Christian to pray that God would give the Spirit to make us strong
to overcome the feelings and the doubts of nature... Where this
faith, obtained in this way, exists, it has always been supported by the
conviction that the Man lives who brought life and immortality to light.
To hold fast this faith is the goal of life, for only what we consciously
strive for is in this matter our own. What we think we possess is very
soon lost."
"The feelings and the doubts of nature!" The Divine Discontent, the
striving against the doubt that every honest soul experiences and admits.
Thus the contrast between her and these others who accepted and went
their several ways was brought home to him.
He longed to talk to her, but his days were full. Yet the very thought
of her helped to bear him up as his trials, his problems accumulated; nor
would he at any time have exchanged them for the former false peace which
had been bought (he perceived more and more clearly) at the price of
compromise.
The worst of these trials, perhaps, was a conspicuous article in a
newspaper containing a garbled account of his sermon and of the sensation
it had produced amongst his fashionable parishioners. He had refused to
see the reporter, but he had been made out a hero, a socialistic champion
of the poor. The black headlines were nauseating; and beside them, in
juxtaposition, were pen portraits of himself and of Eldon Parr. There
were rumours that the banker had left the church until the recalcitrant
rector should be driven out of it; the usual long list of Mr. Parr's
benefactions was included, and certain veiled paragraphs concerning his
financial operations. Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Plimpton, Mr. Constable, did not
escape,--although they, too, had refused to be interviewed....
The article brought to the parish house a bevy of reporters who had to be
fought off, and another batch of letters, many of them from ministers, in
approval or condemnation.
His fellow-clergymen called, some to express sympathy and encouragement,
more of them to voice in person indignant and horrified protests. Dr.
Annesley of Calvary--a counterpart of whose rubicund face might have
been found in the Council of Trent or in mediaeval fish-markets
--pronounced his anathemas with his hands folded comfortably over his
stomach, but eventually threw to the winds every vestige of his
ecclesiastical dignity....
Then there came a note from the old bishop, who was traveling. A kindly
note, withal, if non-committal,--to the effect that he had received
certain communications, but that his physician would not permit him to
return for another ten days or so. He would then be glad to see Mr.
Holder and talk with him.
What would the bishop do? Holder's relations with him had been more than
friendly, but whether the bishop's views were sufficiently liberal to
support him in the extreme stand he had taken he could not surmise. For
it meant that the bishop, too, must enter into a conflict with the first
layman of his diocese, of whose hospitality he had so often partaken,
whose contributions had been on so lordly a scale. The bishop was in his
seventieth year, and had hitherto successfully fought any attempt to
supply him with an assistant,--coadjutor or suffragan.
At such times the fear grew upon Hodder that he might be recommended for
trial, forced to abandon his fight to free the Church from the fetters
that bound her: that the implacable hostility of his enemies would rob
him of his opportunity.
Thus ties were broken, many hard things were said and brought to his
ears. There were vacancies in the classes and guilds, absences that
pained him, silences that wrung him....
Of all the conversations he held, that with Mrs. Constable was perhaps
the most illuminating and distressing. As on that other occasion, when
he had gone to her, this visit was under the seal of confession, unknown
to her husband. And Hodder had been taken aback, on seeing her enter his
office, by the very tragedy in her face--the tragedy he had momentarily
beheld once before. He drew up a chair for her, and when she had sat
down she gazed at him some moments without speaking.
"I had to come," she said; "there are some things I feel I must ask you.
For I have been very miserable since I heard you on Sunday."
He nodded gently.
"I knew that you would change your views--become broader, greater. You
may remember that I predicted it."
"Yes," he said.
"I thought you would grow more liberal, less bigoted, if you will allow
me to say so. But I didn't anticipate--" she hesitated, and looked up at
him again.
"That I would take the extreme position I have taken," he assisted her.
"Oh, Mr. Hodder," she cried impulsively, "was it necessary to go so far?
and all at once. I am here not only because I am miserable, but I am
concerned on your account. You hurt me very much that day you came to
me, but you made me your friend. And I wonder if you really understand
the terrible, bitter feeling you have aroused, the powerful enemies you
have made by speaking so--so unreservedly?"
"I was prepared for it," he answered. "Surely, Mrs. Constable, once I
have arrived at what I believe to be the truth, you would not have me
temporize?"
She gave him a wan smile.
"In one respect, at least, you have not changed," she told him. "I am
afraid you are not the temporizing kind. But wasn't there,--mayn't there
still be a way to deal with this fearful situation? You have made it
very hard for us--for them. You have given them no loophole of escape.
And there are many, like me, who do not wish to see your career ruined,
Mr. Hodder."
"Would you prefer," he asked, "to see my soul destroyed? And your own?"
Her lips twitched.
"Isn't there any other way but that? Can't this transformation, which
you say is necessary and vital, come gradually? You carried me away as
I listened to you, I was not myself when I came out of the church.
But I have been thinking ever since. Consider my husband, Mr. Hodder,"
her voice faltered. "I shall not mince matters with you--I know you will
not pretend to misunderstand me. I have never seen him so upset since
since that time Gertrude was married. He is in a most cruel position.
I confessed to you once that Mr. Parr had made for us all the money we
possess. Everett is fond of you, but if he espouses your cause, on the
vestry, we shall be ruined."
Hodder was greatly moved.
"It is not my cause, Mrs. Constable," he said.
"Surely, Christianity is not so harsh and uncompromising as that! And do
you quite do justice to--to some of these men? There was no one to tell
them the wrongs they were committing--if they were indeed wrongs. Our
civilization is far from perfect."
"The Church may have been remiss, mistaken," the rector replied. "But
the Christianity she has taught, adulterated though it were, has never
condoned the acts which have become commonplace in modern finance. There
must have been a time, in the life of every one of these men, when they
had to take that first step against which their consciences revolted,
when they realized that fraud and taking advantage of the ignorant and
weak were wrong. They have deliberately preferred gratification in this
life to spiritual development--if indeed they believe in any future
whatsoever. For 'whosoever will save his life shall lose it' is as true
to-day as it ever was. They have had their choice--they still have it."
"I am to blame," she cried. "I drove my husband to it, I made him think
of riches, it was I who cultivated Mr. Parr. And oh, I suppose I am
justly punished. I have never been happy for one instant since that
day."
He watched her, pityingly, as she wept. But presently she raised her
face, wonderingly.
"You do believe in the future life after--after what you have been
through?"
"I do," he answered simply.
"Yes--I am sure you do. It is that, what you are, convinces me you do.
Even the remarkable and sensible explanation you gave of it when you
interpreted the parable of the talents is not so powerful as the
impression that you yourself believe after thinking it out for yourself
--not accepting the old explanations. And then," she added, with a note
as of surprise, "you are willing to sacrifice everything for it!"
"And you?" he asked. "Cannot you, too, believe to that extent?"
"Everything?" she repeated. "It would mean--poverty. No--God help me
--I cannot face it. I have become too hard. I cannot do without the
world. And even if I could! Oh, you cannot know what you ask Everett,
my husband--I must say it, you make me tell you everything--is not free.
He is little better than a slave to Eldon Parr. I hate Eldon Parr," she
added, with startling inconsequence.
"If I had only known what it would lead to when I made Everett what he
is! But I knew nothing of business, and I wanted money, position to
satisfy my craving at the loss of--that other thing. And now I couldn't
change my husband if I would. He hasn't the courage, he hasn't the
vision. What there was of him, long ago, has been killed--and I killed
it. He isn't--anybody, now."
She relapsed again into weeping.
"And then it might not mean only poverty--it might mean disgrace."
"Disgrace!" the rector involuntarily took up the word.
"There are some things he has done," she said in a low voice, "which he
thought he was obliged to do which Eldon Parr made him do."
"But Mr. Parr, too--?" Hodder began.
"Oh, it was to shield Eldon Parr. They could never be traced to him.
And if they ever came out, it would kill my husband. Tell me," she
implored, "what can I do? What shall I do? You are responsible. You
have made me more bitterly unhappy than ever."
"Are you willing," he asked, after a moment, "to make the supreme
renunciation? to face poverty, and perhaps disgrace, to save your soul
and others?"
"And--others?"
"Yes. Your sacrifice would not, could not be in vain. Otherwise I
should be merely urging on you the individualism which you once advocated
with me."
"Renunciation." She pronounced the word questioningly. "Can
Christianity really mean that--renunciation of the world? Must we take
it in the drastic sense of the Church of the early centuries-the Church
of the Martyrs?"
"Christianity demands all of us, or nothing," he replied. "But the false
interpretation of renunciation of the early Church has cast its blight on
Christianity even to our day. Oriental asceticism, Stoicism, Philo and
other influences distorted Christ's meaning. Renunciation does not mean
asceticism, retirement from the world, a denial of life. And the early
Christian, since he was not a citizen, since he took the view that this
mortal existence was essentially bad and kept his eyes steadfastly fixed
on another, was the victim at once of false philosophies and of the
literal messianic prophecies of the Jews, which were taken over with
Christianity. The earthly kingdom which was to come was to be the result
of some kind of a cataclysm. Personally, I believe our Lord merely used
the Messianic literature as a convenient framework for his spiritual
Kingdom of heaven, and that the Gospels misinterpret his meaning on this
point.
"Renunciation is not the withdrawal from, the denial of life, but the
fulfilment of life, the submission to the divine will and guidance in
order that our work may be shown us. Renunciation is the assumption,
at once, of heavenly and earthly citizenship, of responsibility for
ourselves and our fellow-men. It is the realization that the other
world, the inner, spiritual world, is here, now, and that the soul may
dwell in it before death, while the body and mind work for the coming of
what may be called the collective kingdom. Life looked upon in that way
is not bad, but good,--not meaningless, but luminous."
She had listened hungrily, her eyes fixed upon his face.
"And for me?" she questioned.
"For you," he answered, leaning forward and speaking with a conviction
that shook her profoundly, "if you make the sacrifice of your present
unhappiness, of your misery, all will be revealed. The labour which you
have shirked, which is now hidden from you, will be disclosed, you will
justify your existence by taking your place as an element of the
community. You will be able to say of yourself, at last, 'I am of use.'"
"You mean--social work?"
The likeness of this to Mrs. Plimpton's question struck him. She had
called it "charity." How far had they wandered in their teaching from
the Revelation of the Master, since it was as new and incomprehensible to
these so-called Christians as to Nicodemus himself!
"All Christian work is social, Mrs. Constable, but it is founded on love.
'Thou shaft love thy neighbour as thyself.' You hold your own soul
precious, since it is the shrine of God. And for that reason you hold
equally precious your neighbour's soul. Love comes first, as revelation,
as imparted knowledge, as the divine gist of autonomy--self-government.
And then one cannot help working, socially, at the task for which we are
made by nature most efficient. And in order to discover what that task
is, we must wait."
"Why did not some one tell me this, when I was young?" she asked--not
speaking to him. "It seems so simple."
"It is simple. The difficult thing is to put it into practice--the most
difficult thing in the world. Both courage and faith are required, faith
that is content to trust as to the nature of the reward. It is the
wisdom of foolishness. Have you the courage?"
She pressed her hands together.
"Alone--perhaps I should have. I don't know. But my husband!
I was able to influence him to his destruction, and now I am powerless.
Darkness has closed around me. He would not--he will not listen to me."
"You have tried?"
"I have attempted to talk to him, but the whole of my life contradicts my
words. He cannot see me except as, the woman who drove him into making
money. Sometimes I think he hates me."
Hodder recalled, as his eyes rested on her compassionately, the
sufferings of that other woman in Dalton Street.
"Would you have me desert him--after all these years?" she whispered.
"I often think he would be happier, even now."
"I would have you do nothing save that which God himself will reveal to
you. Go home, go into the church and pray--pray for knowledge. I think
you will find that you are held responsible for your husband. Pray that
that which you have broken, you may mend again."
"Do you think there is a chance?"
Hodder made a gesture.
"God alone can judge as to the extent of his punishments."
She got to her feet, wearily.
"I feel no hope--I feel no courage, but--I will try. I see what you
mean--that my punishment is my powerlessness."
He bent his head.
"You are so strong--perhaps you can help me."
"I shall always be ready," he replied.
He escorted her down the steps to the dark blue brougham with upstanding,
chestnut horses which was waiting at the curb. But Mrs. Constable turned
to the footman, who held open the door.
"You may stay here awhile," she said to him, and gave Hodder her hand....
She went into the church....
II
Asa Waring and his son-in-law, Phil Goodrich, had been to see Hodder on
the subject of the approaching vestry meeting, and both had gone away not
a little astonished and impressed by the calmness with which the rector
looked forward to the conflict. Others of his parishioners, some of whom
were more discreet in their expressions of sympathy, were no less
surprised by his attitude; and even his theological adversaries, such as
Gordon Atterbury, paid him a reluctant tribute. Thanks, perhaps, to the
newspaper comments as much as to any other factor, in the minds of those
of all shades of opinion in the parish the issue had crystallized into a
duel between the rector and Eldon Parr. Bitterly as they resented the
glare of publicity into which St. John's had been dragged, the first
layman of the diocese was not beloved; and the fairer-minded of Hodder's
opponents, though appalled, were forced to admit in their hearts that the
methods by which Mr. Parr had made his fortune and gained his ascendency
would not bear scrutiny.... Some of them were disturbed, indeed,
by the discovery that there had come about in them, by imperceptible
degrees, in the last few years a new and critical attitude towards the
ways of modern finance: moat of them had an uncomfortable feeling that
Hodder was somehow right,--a feeling which they sought to stifle when
they reflected upon the consequences of facing it. For this would mean
a disagreeable shaking up of their own lives. Few of them were in a
position whence they might cast stones at Eldon Parr....
What these did not grasp was the fact that that which they felt stirring
within them was the new and spiritual product of the dawning twentieth
century--the Social Conscience. They wished heartily that the new rector
who had developed this disquieting personality would peacefully resign
and leave them to the former, even tenor of their lives. They did not
for one moment doubt the outcome of his struggle with Eldon Parr. The
great banker was known to be relentless, his name was synonymous with
victory. And yet, paradoxically, Hodder compelled their inner sympathy
and admiration!...
Some of them, who did not attempt peremptorily to choke the a processes
made the startling discovery that they were not, after all, so shocked by
his doctrines as they had at first supposed. The trouble was that they
could not continue to listen to him, as formerly, with comfort.... One
thing was certain, that they had never expected to look forward to a
vestry meeting with such breathless interest and anxiety. This clergyman
had suddenly accomplished the surprising feat of reviving the Church as a
burning, vital factor in the life of the community! He had discerned her
enemy, and defied his power....
As for Hodder, so absorbed had he been by his experiences, so wrung by
the human contacts, the personal problems which he had sought to enter,
that he had actually given no thought to the battle before him until
the autumn afternoon, heavy with smoke, had settled down into darkness.
The weather was damp and cold, and he sat musing on the ordeal now
abruptly confronting him before his study fire when he heard a step
behind him. He turned to recognize, by the glow of the embers, the heavy
figure of Nelson Langmaid.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Hodder," he said. "The janitor said you
were in, and your door is open."
"Not at all," replied the rector, rising. As he stood for a moment
facing the lawyer, the thought of their friendship, and how it had begun
in the little rectory overlooking the lake at Bremerton, was uppermost in
his mind,--yes, and the memory of many friendly, literary discussions in
the same room where they now stood, of pleasant dinners at Langmaid's
house in the West End, when the two of them had often sat talking until
late into the nights.
"I must seem very inhospitable," said Hodder. "I'll light the lamp--it's
pleasanter than the electric light."
The added illumination at first revealed the lawyer in his familiar
aspect, the broad shoulders, the big, reddish beard, the dome-like head,
--the generous person that seemed to radiate scholarly benignity, peace,
and good-will. But almost instantly the rector became aware of a new and
troubled, puzzled glance from behind the round spectacles..."
"I thought I'd drop in a moment on my way up town--" he began. And the
note of uncertainty in his voice, too, was new. Hodder drew towards the
fire the big chair in which it had been Langmaid's wont to sit, and
perhaps it was the sight of this operation that loosed the lawyer's
tongue.
"Confound it, Hodder!" he exclaimed, "I like you--I always have liked
you. And you've got a hundred times the ability of the average
clergyman. Why in the world did you have to go and make all this
trouble?"
By so characteristic a remark Hodder was both amused and moved. It
revealed so perfectly the point of view and predicament of the lawyer,
and it was also an expression of an affection which the rector cordially,
returned.... Before answering, he placed his visitor in the
chair, and the deliberation of the act was a revelation of the
unconscious poise of the clergyman. The spectacle of this self-command
on the brink of such a crucial event as the vestry meeting had taken
Langmaid aback more than he cared to show. He had lost the old sense of
comradeship, of easy equality; and he had the odd feeling of dealing with
a new man, at once familiar and unfamiliar, who had somehow lifted
himself out of the everyday element in which they heretofore had met.
The clergyman had contrived to step out of his, Langmaid's, experience:
had actually set him--who all his life had known no difficulty in dealing
with men--to groping for a medium of communication....
Hodder sat down on the other side of the fireplace. He, too, seemed to
be striving for a common footing.
"It was a question of proclaiming the truth when at last I came to see
it, Langmaid. I could not help doing what I did. Matters of policy,
of a false consideration for individuals could not enter into it.
If this were not so, I should gladly admit that you had a just grievance,
a peculiar right to demand why I had not remained the strictly orthodox
person whom you induced to come here. You had every reason to
congratulate yourself that you were getting what you doubtless would call
a safe man."
"I'll admit I had a twinge of uneasiness after I came home," Langmaid
confessed.
Hodder smiled at his frankness.
"But that disappeared."
"Yes, it disappeared. You seemed to suit 'em so perfectly. I'll own up,
Hodder, that I was a little hurt that you did not come and talk to me
just before you took the extraordinary--before you changed your
opinions."
"Would it have done any good?" asked the rector, gently. "Would you
have agreed with me any better than you do now? I am perfectly willing,
if you wish, to discuss with you any views of mine which you may not
indorse. And it would make me very happy, I assure you, if I could bring
you to look upon the matter as I do."
This was a poser. And whether it were ingenuous, or had in it an element
of the scriptural wisdom of the serpent, Langmaid could not have said.
As a lawyer, he admired it.
"I wasn't in church, as usual,--I didn't hear the sermon," he replied.
"And I never could make head or tail of theology--I always told you that.
What I deplore, Hodder, is that you've contrived to make a hornets' nest
out of the most peaceful and contented congregation in America. Couldn't
you have managed to stick to religion instead of getting mixed up with
socialism?"
"So you have been given the idea that my sermon was socialistic?" the
rector said.
"Socialistic and heretical,--it seems. Of course I'm not much of an
authority on heresy, but they claim that you went out of your way to
knock some of their most cherished and sacred beliefs in the head."
"But suppose I have come to the honest conclusion that in the first
place these so-called cherished beliefs have no foundation in fact,
and no influence on the lives of the persons who cherished them, no real
connection with Christianity? What would you have me do, as a man?
Continue to preach them for the sake of the lethargic peace of which
you speak? leave the church paralyzed, as I found it?"
"Paralyzed! You've got the most influential people in the city."
Hodder regarded him for a while without replying.
"So has the Willesden Club," he said.
Langmaid laughed a little, uncomfortably.
"If Christianity, as one of the ancient popes is said to have remarked,
were merely a profitable fable," the rector continued, "there might be
something in your contention that St. John's, as a church, had reached
the pinnacle of success. But let us ignore the spiritual side of this
matter as non-vital, and consider it from the practical side. We have
the most influential people in the city, but we have not their children.
That does not promise well for the future. The children get more profit
out of the country clubs. And then there is another question: is it
going to continue to be profitable? Is it as profitable now as it was,
say, twenty years ago?
"You've got out of my depth," said Nelson Langmaid.
"I'll try to explain. As a man of affairs, I think you will admit, if
you reflect, that the return of St. John's, considering the large amount
of money invested, is scarcely worth considering. And I am surprised
that as astute a man as Mr. Pair has not been able to see this long ago.
If we clear all the cobwebs away, what is the real function of this
church as at present constituted? Why this heavy expenditure to maintain
religious services for a handful of people? Is it not, when we come down
to facts, an increasingly futile effort to bring the influences of
religion--of superstition, if you will--to bear on the so-called lower
classes in order that they may remain contented with their lot, with that
station and condition in the world where--it is argued--it has pleased
God to call them? If that were not so, in my opinion there are very few
of the privileged classes who would invest a dollar in the Church. And
the proof of it is that the moment a clergyman raises his voice to
proclaim the true message of Christianity they are up in arms with the
cry of socialism. They have the sense to see that their privileges are
immediately threatened.
"Looking at it from the financial side, it would be cheaper for them to
close up their churches. It is a mere waste of time and money, because
the influence on their less fortunate brethren in a worldly sense has
dwindled to nothing. Few of the poor come near their churches in these
days. The profitable fable is almost played out."
Hodder had spoken without bitterness, yet his irony was by no means lost
on the lawyer. Langmaid, if the truth be told, found himself for the
moment in the unusual predicament of being at a loss, for the rector had
put forward with more or less precision the very cynical view which he
himself had been clever enough to evolve.
"Haven't they the right," he asked, somewhat lamely to demand the kind of
religion they pay for?"
"Provided you don't call it religion," said the rector.
Langmaid smiled in spite of himself.
"See here, Hodder," he said, "I've always confessed frankly that I knew
little or nothing about religion. I've come here this evening as your
friend, without authority from anybody," he added significantly, "to see
if this thing couldn't somehow be adjusted peaceably, for your sake as
well as others'. Come, you must admit there's a grain of justice in the
contention against you. When I went on to Bremerton to get you I had no
real reason for supposing that these views would develop. I made a
contract with you in all good faith."
"And I with you," answered the rector. "Perhaps you do not realize,
Langmaid, what has been the chief factor in developing these views."
The lawyer was silent, from caution.
"I must be frank with you. It was the discovery that Mr. Parr and others
of my chief parishioners were so far from being Christians as to indulge,
while they supported the Church of Christ, in operations like that of the
Consolidated Tractions Company, wronging their fellow-men and condemning
them to misery and hate. And that you, as a lawyer, used your talents to
make that operation possible."
"Hold on!" cried Langmaid, now plainly agitated. "You have no right--you
can know nothing of that affair. You do not understand business."
"I'm afraid," replied the rector, sadly, "that I understand one side of
it only too well."
"The Church has no right to meddle outside of her sphere, to dictate to
politics and business."
"Her sphere," said Holder,--is the world. If she does not change the
world by sending out Christians into it, she would better close her
doors."
"Well, I don't intend to quarrel with you, Holder. I suppose it can't be
helped that we look at these things differently, and I don't intend to
enter into a defence of business. It would take too long, and it
wouldn't help any." He got to his feet. "Whatever happens, it won't
interfere with our personal friendship, even if you think me a highwayman
and I think you a--"
"A fanatic," Holder supplied. He had risen, too, and stood, with a smile
on his face, gazing at the lawyer with an odd scrutiny.
"An idealist, I was going to say," Langmaid answered, returning the
smile, "I'll admit that we need them in the world. It's only when one
of them gets in the gear-box...."
The rector laughed. And thus they stood, facing each other.
"Langmaid," Holder asked, "don't you ever get tired and disgusted with
the Juggernaut car?"
The big lawyer continued to smile, but a sheepish, almost boyish
expression came over his face. He had not credited the clergyman with
so much astuteness.
"Business, nowadays, is--business, Holder. The Juggernaut car claims us
all. It has become-if you will permit me to continue to put my similes
into slang--the modern band wagon. And we lawyers have to get on it, or
fall by the wayside."
Holder stared into the fire.
"I appreciate your motive in coming here," he said, at length, "and I do
you the justice of believing it was friendly, that the fact that you are,
in a way, responsible for me to--to the congregation of St. John's did
not enter into it. I realize that I have made matters particularly
awkward for you. You have given them in me, and in good faith, something
they didn't bargain for. You haven't said so, but you want me to resign.
On the one hand, you don't care to see me tilting at the windmills, or,
better, drawing down on my head the thunderbolts of your gods. On the
other hand, you are just a little afraid for your gods. If the question
in dispute were merely an academic one, I'd accommodate you at once. But
I can't. I've thought it all out, and I have made up my mind that it is
my clear duty to remain here and, if I am strong enough, wrest this
church from the grip of Eldon Parr and the men whom he controls.
"I am speaking plainly, and I understand the situation thoroughly. You
will probably tell me, as others have done, that no one has ever opposed
Eldon Parr who has not been crushed. I go in with my eyes open, I am
willing to be crushed, if necessary. You have come here to warn me, and
I appreciate your motive. Now I am going to warn you, in all sincerity
and friendship. I may be beaten, I may be driven out. But the victory
will be mine nevertheless | 1,874.650352 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.6322630 | 290 | 6 |
Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Punch, Or The London Charivari
Volume 107, November 10th, 1894
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
[Illustration: THE PARLIAMENTARY FLYING MACHINE.
_Maxim_--"KEEP IT UP!"]
* * * * *
THE CHRONICLES OF A RURAL PARISH.
I.--FONS ET ORIGO MALI.
Snugly nestling in a cosy corner of Blankshire--that county which at
different times and places has travelled all over England--our village
pursues the even tenor of its way. To be accurate, I should say _did_
pursue, before the events that have recently happened--events in which
it would be absurd modesty not to confess I have played a prominent
part. Now we are as full of excitement as aforetime we were given over
to monotony. _Nous avons_---- No! _J'ai change tout cela._
It came about in this way. I have always till the 25th of September (a
chronicler should always be up to dates) been entirely free from any
ambition to excel in public. After a successful life I | 1,874.652303 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.6367030 | 7,436 | 19 |
Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
[Illustration: "I'LL UNLOCK IT BIMEBY--MAYBE." (_See page 91._)]
THE DESERTER
AND OTHER STORIES
_A Book of Two Wars_
BY
HAROLD FREDERIC
AUTHOR OF "IN THE VALLEY," "SETH'S BROTHER'S WIFE,"
"THE COPPERHEAD," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
MERRILL, SANDHAM, GILBERT GAUL AND GEORGE FOSTER BARNES
BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
BY
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
THE DESERTER.
I. DISCOVERIES IN THE BARN 3
II. A SUDDEN DEPARTURE 20
III. FATHER AND SON 42
IV. THE "MEANEST WORD" 60
V. THE DEPUTY MARSHAL 80
VI. A HOME IN THE WOODS 98
VII. ANOTHER CHASE AFTER MOSE 117
A DAY IN THE WILDERNESS.
I. THE VALLEY OF DEATH 139
II. LAFE RECONNOITRES THE VALLEY 157
III. THE BOUNTY-JUMPER 177
IV. RED PETE IN CAPTIVITY 198
V. LAFE RESCUES AN OFFICER, AND FINDS HIS COUSIN 216
HOW DICKON CAME BY HIS NAME.
I. THE MAKING OF A SOLDIER 239
II. A BURST FOR FREEDOM 260
III. A STRANGE CHRISTMAS EVE 279
IV. UP IN THE WORLD 299
WHERE AVON INTO SEVERN FLOWS.
I. HUGH THE WRITER 319
II. SIR HEREWARD'S RING 350
III. HOW HUGH MET THE PRINCE 381
ILLUSTRATIONS.
"'I'LL UNLOCK IT BIMEBY--MAYBE'" _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"'SH-H! TALK LOWER!'" 27
"'GIMME THAT GUN!'" 61
"'DROP IT--YOU!'" 175
LAFE AND THE BOUNTY-JUMPER 195
"'I'M STEVE HORNBECK'S SON!'" 231
"SIR WATTY CAME STALKING DOWN" 249
"'WHOSE BLOOD IS THIS?'" 285
"HE ADVANCED AND KISSED THE LADY'S HAND" 357
"TWO DOZEN PIKE-HEADS CLASHED DOWN AS BY A SINGLE TOUCH" 385
THE DESERTER.
CHAPTER I.
DISCOVERIES IN THE BARN.
It was the coldest morning of the winter, thus far, and winter is no
joke on those northern tablelands, where the streams still run black in
token of their forest origin, and old men remember how the deer used to
be driven to their clearings for food, when the snow had piled itself
breast high through the fastnesses of the Adirondacks. The wilderness
had been chopped and burned backward out of sight since their pioneer
days, but this change, if anything, served only to add greater
bitterness to the winter's cold.
Certainly it seemed to Job Parshall that this was the coldest morning
he had ever known. It would be bad enough when daylight came, but the
darkness of this early hour made it almost too much for flesh and blood
to bear. There had been a stray star or two visible overhead when he
first came out-of-doors at half-past four, but even these were missing
now.
The crusted snow in the barnyard did throw up a wee, faint light of its
own, for all the blackness of the sky, but Job carried, besides a
bucket, a lantern to help him in his impending struggle with the pump.
This ancient contrivance had been ice-bound every morning for a
fortnight past, and one needn't be the son of a prophet to foresee that
this morning it would be frozen as stiff as a rock.
It did not turn out to be so prolonged or so fierce a conflict as he
had apprehended. He had reasoned to himself the previous day that if
the pump-handle were propped upright with a stick overnight, there
would be less water remaining in the cylinder to freeze, and had made
the experiment just before bedtime.
It worked fairly well. There was only a good deal of ice to be knocked
off the spout with a sledge-stake, and then a disheartening amount of
dry pumping to be done before the welcome drag of suction made itself
felt in the well below, like the bite of a big fish in deep water.
Job filled his bucket and trudged back with it to the cow-barn,
stamping his feet for warmth as he went.
By comparison with the numbing air outside, this place was a dream of
coziness. Two long lines of cows, a score or more on a side, faced each
other in double rows of stanchions. Their mere presence had filled the
enclosure with a steaming warmth.
The ends of the barn and the loft above were packed close with hay,
moreover, and half a dozen lantern lights were gleaming for the hired
men to see by, in addition to a reflector lamp fastened against a post.
The men did not mind the cold. They had been briskly at work cleaning
up the stable and getting down hay and fodder, and the exercise kept
their blood running and spirits light. They talked as they plied shovel
and pitchfork, guessing how near the low-mercury mark of twenty below
zero the temperature outside had really fallen, and chaffing one of
their number who had started out to go through the winter without
wearing an overcoat.
Their cheery voices, resounding through the half-gloom above the soft,
crackling undertone of the kine munching their breakfast seemed to add
to the warmth of the barn.
The boy Job had begun setting about a task which had no element of
comfort in it. He got out a large sponge, took up the bucket he had
brought from the well, and started at the end of one of the rows to
wash clean the full udder of each of the forty-odd cows in turn. In a
few minutes the milkers would be ready to begin, and to keep ahead of
them he must have a clear start of a dozen cows.
When he had at last reached this point of vantage, the loud din of the
streams against the sides of the milkers' tin pails had commenced
behind him.
He rose, straightened his shoulders, and shook his red, dripping hands
with a groan of pain. The icy water had well nigh frozen them.
It was a common thing for all about the barn to warm cold hands by
thrusting them deep down into one of the barrels of brewers' grains
which stood in a row beyond the oat-bin. The damp, crushed malt
generates within its bulk so keen a heat that even when the top is
frozen there will be steam within. Job went over and plunged his cold
hands to the wrist in the smoking fodder. He held them there this
morning for a luxurious extra minute, wondering idly as he did so how
the cows sustained that merciless infliction of ice-water without any
such comforting after-resource.
Suddenly he became conscious that his fingers, into which the blood was
coming back with a stinging glow, had hit upon something of an unusual
character in the barrel. He felt of it vaguely for a moment, then drew
the object forth, rubbed off the coating of malt, and took it over to
the lamp.
It was a finger-ring carved out of a thick gutta-percha button, but
with more skill than the schoolboys of those days used to possess; and
in its outer rim had been set a little octagonal silver plate, bearing
some roughly cut initials.
Job seemed to remember having seen the ring before, and jumped to the
conclusion that some one of the hired men had unconsciously slipped it
off while warming his hands in the grains. He went back with it to the
milkers, and went from one to another, seeking an owner.
Each lifted his head from where it rested against the cows flank,
glanced at the trinket, and making a negative sign bent down again to
his work. The last one up the row volunteered the added comment:
"You better hustle ahead with your spongin' off; I'm just about through
here!"
The boy put the circlet in his pocket--it was much too large for any of
his fingers--and resumed his task. The water was as terribly cold as
ever, and the sudden change seemed to scald his skin; but somehow he
gave less thought to his physical discomfort than before.
It was very funny to have found a ring like that. It reminded him of a
story he had read somewhere, and could not now recall, save for the
detail that in that case the ring contained a priceless jewel, the
proceeds of which enriched the finder for life. Clearly no such result
was to be looked for here. It was doubtful if anybody would give even
twenty-five cents for this poor, home-made ornament. All the same it
was a ring, and Job had a feeling that the manner of its discovery was
romantic.
Working for a milkman does not open up so rich a field of romance that
any hints of the curious or remarkable can be suffered to pass
unnoticed. The boy pondered the mystery of how the ring got into the
barrel. For a moment he dallied with the notion that it might belong to
his employer, who owned the barn and almost all the land within sight,
and a prosperous milk-route down in Octavius.
But no! Elisha Teachout was not a man given to rings; and even if he
were, he assuredly would not have them of rubber. Besides, the grains
had only been carted in from town two days before, and Mr. Teachout had
been nursing his rheumatism indoors for fully a week.
It was more probable that some one down in the brewery at Octavius had
lost the ring. When Job had been there for grains, he had noticed that
the workers were cheerful and hearty fellows. No doubt they might be
trusted to behave handsomely upon getting back a valued keepsake which
had been given up as forever gone.
Perhaps--who could tell?--this humble, whittled-out piece of
gutta-percha might be prized beyond rubies on account of its family
associations. Such things had happened before, according to the
story-books; and forthwith the lad lost himself in a maze of brilliant
day-dreams, rose-tinted by this possibility.
He could almost behold himself adopted by the owner of the brewery--the
fat, red-faced Englishman with the big watch-chain, whom he had seen
once walking majestically among his vats. Perhaps, in truth, Job was a
trifle drowsy.
All at once he roused himself with a start, and began to listen with
all his ears. The milkers behind him were talking about the ring. They
had to shout to one another to overcome the fact of separation and the
noise in their pails, and Job could hear every word.
"I tell you who had a ring like that--Mose Whipple," one of them called
out. "Don't you remember? He made it with his jack-knife, that time he
was laid up with the horse kickin' him in the knee."
"Seems's if I do," said another. "He was always whittlin' out somethin'
or other--a peach-stone basket, or an ox-gad, or somethin'."
"Some one was tellin' me yesterday," put in a third, "that old man
Whippf sick abed. Nobody ain't seen him around for up'ards of a
fortnight. I guess this cold snap'll about see the last o' him. He's
been poorly all the fall."
"He ain't never ben the same man since Mose 'listed," remarked the
first speaker; "that is if you call it 'listin' when a man takes his
three hundred dollars to go out as a substitute."
"Yes, and don't even git the money at that, but jest has it applied to
the interest he owes on his mortgage. _That's_ payin' for a dead horse,
if anything is in this world!"
"Well, Mose is the sort o' chap that _would_ be workin' to pay for
some kind o' dead horse all his life, anyway. If it wasn't one it'd
be another. Never knew a fellow in all my born days with so little
git-up-and-git about him. He might as well be shoulderin' a musket as
anything else, for all the profit he'd git out of it.
"A chip of the old block, if there ever was one. The old man always
wanted to do a little berryin', an' a little fishin', an' a little
huntin', an' keep a dozen traps or so in the woods, an' he'd throw up
the best-payin' job in the deestrict to have a loafin' spell when the
fit took him--an' Mose was like him as two peas in a pod.
"I remember one year, Mose an' me hired out in the middle o' March, an'
we hadn't fairly begun early ploughin' before he said he wasn't feelin'
right that spring, an' give up half his month's wages to go home, an'
then what do we see next day but him an' his father down by the bridge
with their fishpoles, before the snow-water'd begun to git out o' the
creek. What _kin_ you do with men like that?"
"Make substitutes of 'em!" one of the milkers exclaimed, and at this
there was a general laugh.
Every one on the farm, and for that matter on all the other farms for
miles round, knew that Elisha Teachout had been drafted the previous
summer, and had sent Moses Whipple to the front in his place. This
relation between the rich man and the poor man was too common a thing
in those war times to excite particular comment. But, as Mr. Teachout
was not beloved by his hired men, they enjoyed a laugh whenever the
subject came up.
Job had gone over to the lamp, during the progress of this talk, and
scrutinized the ring. Surely enough, the clumsily scratched initials on
the little silver plate, obviously cut down from an old three-cent
piece, were an M and a W.
This made it all the more difficult to puzzle out how the ring came in
the barrel. The lad turned the problem over in his mind with increasing
bewilderment.
He had known Mose Whipple all his life. His own father, who died some
years ago, had accounted Mose among his intimate friends, and Job's
earliest recollections were of seeing the two start off together of a
spring morning with shot-guns on their shoulders and powder-flasks hung
round their bodies.
They had both been poor men, and if they had not cared so much for
hunting--at least if one of them had not--Job reflected that probably
this very morning he himself would be sleeping in a warm bed, instead
of freezing his hands in the hard employ of Elisha Teachout.
It was impossible not to associate Mose with these recriminatory
thoughts; yet it was equally impossible to be angry with him long. The
boy, indeed, found himself dwelling upon the amiable side of Mose's
shiftless nature. He remembered how Mose used to come round to their
poor little place, after Job's father's death, to see if he could help
the widow and her brood in their struggle.
After Mrs. Parshall had married again, and gone West, leaving Job to
earn his own living on the Teachout farm, Mose had always kept a kindly
if intermittent eye on the boy. Only the previous Christmas he had
managed, somehow, to obtain an old pair of skates as a present for Job,
and when he had gone to the war in the following August, only the fact
that he had to sell his shot-gun to pay a pressing debt prevented his
giving that to the boy for his own.
The news that old Asa Whipple was ill forced its way to the top of
Job's thoughts. He resolved that that very day, if he could squeeze in
the time for it, he would cut across lots on the crust to the Whipple
house, and see how the lonely old man was.
As the milkers said, old Asa had been "poorly" since his Mose went
away. It was only too probable that he had been extremely poor as well.
Even when Mose was at home, theirs was the most poverty-stricken
household in the township. Left to his own resources, and failing
swiftly all at once in health, the father had tried to earn something
by knitting mittens and stockings.
It had looked funny enough to see this big-framed, powerfully built old
man fumbling at his needles like some grandmother in her rocking-chair
by the stove.
It occurred to Job now that there was something besides humor in the
picture. He had been told that people were making woollen mittens and
stockings now, like everything else, by machinery. Very likely old Asa
couldn't sell his things after he had knit them; and that might mean
starvation.
Yes, that very day, in spite of everything, he would go over and see.
He had finished his task now. The milkers had nearly finished theirs.
Two of the hired men were taking the cloth strainers off the tops of
all the cans but one, and fastening on the covers instead. He could
hear the bells on the harness of the horses outside, waiting with the
big sleigh to rush off to town with the milk. It was still very dark
out-of-doors.
Job put away his water-bucket, warmed his hands once more in the
grains-barrel, and set about getting down a fresh supply of hay for the
cows. Six weeks of winter had pretty well worn away the nearest haymow,
and the boy had to go further back toward the end of the barn, into a
darkness which was only dimly penetrated by the rays of the lantern.
Working thus, guided rather by sense of touch than of sight, the boy
suddenly felt himself stepping on something big and rounded, which had
no business in a haymow. It rolled from under his feet, and threw him
off his balance to his hands and knees. A muttered exclamation rose
from just beside him, and then suddenly he was gripped bodily in the
clutch of a strong man.
Frightened and vainly struggling, Job did not cry out, but twisted his
head about in the effort to see who it was that he had thus strangely
encountered. There was just light enough from the distant lantern to
reveal in the face so menacingly close to his--of all unlooked-for
faces in the world--that of Mose Whipple!
"Why, Mose!" he began, in bewilderment.
"Sh-h! Keep still!" came in a fierce whisper, "unless you want to see
me hung higher than Haman!"
CHAPTER II.
A SUDDEN DEPARTURE.
The man upon whose sleeping form Job had stepped in the haymow sat up
and looked about him in a half-puzzled fashion, mechanically brushing
the loose particles from his hair and neck.
"I s'pose it's mornin'," he whispered, after a minute's silence. "How
long'll it be before daylight?"
Job, released from the other's clutch, had scrambled to his feet, and
stood staring down in astonishment at his old friend, Mose Whipple. He
had regained his fork, and held it up as if to repel a possible second
attack.
"What did you want to pitch on to me that way for?" he asked at last in
displeased tones.
"Sh-h! Talk lower!" urged Mose under his breath. "I didn't mean to hurt
you, sonny. I didn't know who you was. You come tromplin' on me here
when I was fast asleep, and I took hold of you when I wasn't hardly
woke up, you see, that's all. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
[Illustration: "SH-H! TALK LOWER!"]
"No," Job admitted grudgingly. "But there wasn't no need to throw me
down and choke me all the same."
"I thought it was somebody comin' to catch me," explained the other,
still in a whisper. "But who else is here in the barn? What time is it
gettin' to be?"
"They're just through milkin'," replied the boy. "They're gettin' the
cans out into the sleigh. They'll all be gone in a minute or two. Time?
Oh, it ain't six yet."
"That's all right," said Mose, with a weary sigh of relief. He added,
upon reflection: "Say, sonny, can you manage to get me something to
eat? I've gone the best part of two days now without a mouthful."
"Mebbe I can," responded Job, doubtingly. Then a sudden thought struck
him. "Say, Mose," he went on, "I bet I can tell what you did the first
thing when you came into the barn here. You went and stuck your hands
into the grains there--that's how it was."
The man displayed no curiosity as to the boy's meaning. "Yes, by
jiminy!" he mused aloud. "I'd 'a' liked to have got in head first. I
tell you, sonny, I was about as near freezin' to death as they make
'em. I couldn't have gone another hundred rods to save my life. They'd
have found me froze stiff on the road, that's all."
"But what are you doing here, anyway?" asked Job. "You ain't gone and
deserted, have you?"
"Well," said the other, doggedly, "you can call it what you like. One
thing's certain--I ain't down South, _be_ I?"
"Something else is pretty certain, too," the boy put in. "They'll hang
you, sure!"
Mose did not seem to have much doubt on this point. "Anyway, I'll see
the old man first," he said. "It's pitch dark outdoors, ain't it?"
The boy nodded. "I must git along with my work," he commented, after
another little silence. "What are you figgerin' on doin', anyway,
Mose?" he asked gravely.
"Well, I'm goin' to sneak out while it's still dark," said the man,
"and git across lots to our place, and just wake up the old man,
and--and--well, see how he is, that's all. Mebbe I can manage it so
that I can skip out again, and nobody be the wiser. But whether or no,
that's what I'm bound to do. Prob'ly you've heard--is he--is his health
pretty middlin' good?"
"Seems to me some one was saying something about his being kind o'
under the weather lately," replied Job, with evasion. "I was thinkin'
of goin' over this afternoon myself, if I could git the time, to see
him. The fact is, Mose, I guess he _is_ failing some. It's been a
pretty tough winter for old folks, you know. Elisha Teachout's been
laid up himself with rheumatics now for more'n a fortnight, and he
ain't old exactly."
"He ain't had 'em half bad enough!" cried Mose, springing to his feet
with suddenly revived energy. "If he's let the old man suffer--if he
ain't kept his word by him--I'll--I'll take it out of his old hide if I
have to go to jail for it!"
"You've got enough other things to go to jail for, and get hung for
into the bargain, I should think," said Job. "You'd better not talk so
loud, either."
Surely enough, one of the hired men seemed to have remained in the
barn, and to have caught the sound of voices--for the noise of his
advancing footsteps could be heard on the floor between the stanchions.
Mose threw himself flat, and rolled under the hay as best he could. Job
began to sing in a low-voiced, incoherent way for a moment, and then
loudly. Prying up a forkful of hay, he staggered under the burden back
to the cows, singing as he came toward the intruder.
It was only Nelse Hornbeck, an elderly and extra hand who worked at
starvation wages during the winter, chopping firewood and doing odd
chores about the house and barns. When he saw Job he stopped. He was in
a sociable mood, and though he leaned up against one of the stanchions
and offered no sign of going farther, displayed a depressing desire for
conversation.
The boy came and went, bringing in the hay and distributing it along
under the double row of broad pink noses on either side. He made the
task as long as he could in the hope of tiring Nelse out, but without
avail.
"I dunno but I'm almost sorry I didn't enlist myself last fall,"
drawled Hornbeck, settling himself in an easy posture. "So far's I can
make out, Mose Whipple and the rest of the boys are having a great
sight better time of it down South, with nothin' to do and plenty o'
help to do it, than we are here to hum. Why, Steve Trimble's
brother-in-law writes him that they're havin' more fun down there than
you can shake a stick at; livin' snug and warm in sort o' little houses
built into the ground, and havin' horse-races and cock-fights and so on
every day. They ain't been no fightin' since Thanksgivin', he says, and
they're all gittin' fat as seals."
"Well, why _don't_ you enlist then?" demanded Job, curtly, going on
with his work.
"I dunno," said the hired man in a meditative way. "I guess I'm afeard
o' gittin' homesick. I'd always be hankerin' to git back and see my
folks, and they won't let you do that, nohow. A lot of 'em tries to
sneak off, they say, but Steve's brother-in-law says they've got
cavalry-men on horseback all around outside the camps, and they just
nail everybody that tries to git out, and then they take 'em back to
camp and shoot 'em. That's what they do--lead 'em out before breakfast
and shoot 'em down."
"I thought they hung deserters," said Job, pausing with his fork in
air.
"Some they hang and some they shoot," replied Nelse. "I don't see as it
makes much difference. I'd about as lieve be one as the other. I guess
they make it a rule to hang them that gits off into the North and has
to be brought way back again. That's only reasonable, because they've
give 'em so much extry trouble."
Job was interested. "But suppose a man does get up North--I guess they
ain't much chance of their ever findin' him after that."
"Ain't they?" exclaimed the hired man, incredulously. "Why, it's a
thousand to one they catch him! They've got their detectives in every
county just doin' nothin' but watchin' for deserters. They git paid for
every one they catch, so much a head, and that makes 'em keep their
eyes peeled."
"But how can you tell a deserter from any other man," pursued Job, "so
long as he's got ordinary clothes on and minds his own business and
keeps away from where he's known?"
"Oh, they always point for home--that's the thing of it. What do they
desert for? Because they're homesick. So all the detectives have got to
do is to watch their place, and nab 'em when they try to sneak in. It's
as easy as rollin' off a log. They always git caught, every mother's
son of 'em."
Tiresome Nelse Hornbeck was still talking when Job came to the end of
all possible pretexts of employment in the cow-barn, and was only too
obviously waiting to accompany the boy over to the house to breakfast.
At last Job had to accept the situation and go.
The boy dared no more than steal for a moment back into the hay, feel
about with his foot for where Mose lay hidden in the dark, and drop the
furtive whisper, "Going to breakfast. If I can I'll bring you some."
Then, in company with Nelse, he left the barn, shutting and hooking the
door behind him. It occurred to him that Mose must have effected an
entrance by the door at the other end, which was fastened merely by a
latch. Otherwise the displacement of the outer hook would have been
noticed.
It was lucky, he thought in passing, that Elisha Teachout did not have
padlocks on the doors of his cow-barn, as he had on those which
protected his horses and wagons and grain. If he had, there would have
been the lifeless and icy body of Mose, lying on the frozen roadside,
to be discovered by the daylight.
Poor Mose! he had saved his life from the bitterly cold night, but was
it not only to lose it again at the hands of the hangman or the firing
party?
Job remembered having seen, just a few weeks before, a picture in one
of the illustrated weeklies of a deserter sitting on his own coffin,
while files of soldiers were being drawn up to witness his impending
punishment. Although the artist had given the doomed man a very bad
face indeed, Job had been conscious at the time of feeling a certain
human sympathy with him.
As his memory dwelt now on the picture, this face of the prisoner
seemed to change into the freckled and happy-go-lucky lineaments of
Mose Whipple.
The boy took with him into the house a heart as heavy as lead.
Breakfast was already well under way in the big, old-fashioned,
low-ceiled kitchen of the Teachout homestead. Three or four hired men
were seated at one end of the long table, making stacks of hot
buckwheat cakes saturated with pork fat on their plates, and then
devouring them in huge mouthfuls.
They had only the light of two candles on the table. So long as there
was anything before them to eat, they spoke never a word. The red-faced
women over at the stove did not talk either, but worked in anxious
silence at their arduous task of frying cakes fast enough to keep the
plates before the hungry men supplied.
For once in his life Job was not hungry. He suffered Nelse Hornbeck to
appropriate the entire contents of the first plate of cakes which the
girl brought to the table, without a sign of protest. This was not what
usually happened, and as soon as Nelse could spare the time he looked
at his companion in surprise.
"What ails you this mornin'?" he asked, with his spoon in the grease.
"Ain't you feelin' well?"
Job shook his head. "I guess I'll eat some bread 'n' butter instead,"
he made reply. He added after a pause, "Somehow, I kind o' spleen
against cakes this mornin'."
"They ain't much good to-day, for a fact," assented Nelse, when he had
eaten half-way through his pile. "I guess they want more sody. It beats
me why them women can't make their cakes alike no two days in the week.
First the batter's sour, and then they put in more sody; and then it's
too flat, and they dump in a lot o' salt; and then they need more
graham flour, and then the batter's too thick, and has to be thinned
down with milk, and by that time the whole thing's wrong, and they've
got to begin all over again."
Nelse chuckled, and looked up at Job, who paid no attention.
"If we men fooled around with the cows' fodder, every day different,"
Nelse went on, "the way the girls here do with ours, why, the whole
barnful of 'em would 'a' dried up before snow blew. But that's the way
with women!" Mr. Hornbeck concluded with a sigh, and began on the
second heap of cakes.
The boy had not listened. A project had been gradually shaping itself
in his mind, until now it seemed as if he had left the cow-barn with it
definitely planned out. As soon as the other men, who for the moment
were idling with | 1,874.656743 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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AUBREY'S 'BRIEF LIVES'
_ANDREW CLARK_
VOL. I.
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
[Illustration]
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK
[Illustration: JOHN AUBREY: AETAT. 40
_From a pen-and-ink drawing in the Bodleian_]
_'Brief Lives,' chiefly of Contemporaries,
set down by
John Aubrey, between
the Years 1669 & 1696_
EDITED FROM THE AUTHOR'S MSS.
BY
ANDREW CLARK
M.A., LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXFORD; M.A. AND LL.D., ST. ANDREWS
_WITH FACSIMILES_
VOLUME I. (A-H)
Oxford
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1898
[Illustration: Oxford]
PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
BY HORACE HART, M.A.
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
PREFACE
The rules laid down for this edition have been fully stated in
the Introduction. It need only be said here that these have been
scrupulously followed.
I may take this opportunity of saying that the text gives Aubrey's
quotations, English and Latin alike, in the form in which they are
found in his MSS. They are plainly cited from memory, not from book:
they frequently do not scan, and at times do not even construe. A few
are incorrect cementings of odd half lines.
The necessary excisions have not been numerous. They suggest two
reflections. The turbulence attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh seems to
have made his name in the next age the centre of aggregation of quite
a number of coarse stories. In the same way, Aubrey is generally nasty
when he mentions the noble house of Herbert, earl of Pembroke, and
the allied family of Sydney. There may be personal pique in this, for
Aubrey thinks he had a narrow escape from assassination by a Herbert
(i. 48); perhaps also there may be the after-glow of a Wiltshire 'feud'
(i. 316).
The Index gives all references to persons mentioned in the text, except
to a few found only in pedigrees, or otherwise quite insignificant;
also to all places of which anything distinctive is said.
ANDREW CLARK.
_January 4, 1898._
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
FRONTISPIECE: JOHN AUBREY, AETAT. 40.
PAGE
SYNOPSIS OF THE LIVES ix-xv
INTRODUCTION 1-23
LIVES:--=Abbot= TO =Hyde= 24-427
VOLUME II
FRONTISPIECE: AUBREY'S BOOK-PLATE.
LIVES:--=Ingelbert= TO =York= 1-316
APPENDIX I:--AUBREY'S NOTES OF ANTIQUITIES 317-332
APPENDIX II:--AUBREY'S COMEDY _The Countrey Revell_ 333-339
INDEX 341-370
FACSIMILES _At end._
I. Castle Mound, Oxford. Riding at the Quintin.
II. Verulam House.
III. Horoscope and cottage of Thomas Hobbes.
IV. Plans of Malmsbury and district.
V. Horoscope and arms of Sir William Petty.
VI. Wolsey's Chapel at Christ Church.
SYNOPSIS OF THE 'LIVES'
In the text the Lives have been given in alphabetical order of the
names. This was necessary, not only on account of their number--more
than 400--but because Aubrey, in compiling them, followed more than one
principle of selection, writing, first, lives of authors, then, lives
of mathematicians, but bringing in also lives of statesmen, soldiers,
people of fashion, and personal friends.
The following synopsis of the lives may serve to show (i) the heads
under which they naturally fall, (ii) their chronological sequence.
The mark † indicates the year or approximate year of death; ‡ denotes a
life which Aubrey said he would write, but which has not been found; §
is attached to the few names of foreigners.
BEFORE HENRY VIII.
WRITERS.
_Poets._
Geoffrey Chaucer (†1400).
John Gower (†1408).
_Prose._
Sir John Mandeville (†1372).
MATHEMATICS.
John Holywood (†1256).
Roger Bacon (†1294).
John Ashindon (†13..).
ALCHEMY.
George Ripley (†1490).
CHURCH AND STATE.
S. Dunstan (†988).
S. Edmund Rich (†1240).
Owen Glendower (†1415).
William Canynges (†1474).
John Morton (†1500).
HENRY VIII--MARY (†1558).
WRITERS.
Sir Thomas More (†1535).
§Desiderius Erasmus (†1536).
MATHEMATICS.
Richard Benese (†1546).
Robert Record (†1558).
CHURCH AND STATE.
John Colet (†1519).
Thomas Wolsey (†1530).
John Innocent (†1545).
Sir Thomas Pope (†1559).
Edmund Bonner (†1569).
* * * * *
Sir Erasmus Dryden (†1632).
ELIZABETH (†1603).
WRITERS.
_Poets._
Thomas Tusser (†1580).
Edmund Spenser (†1599).
Sir Edward Dyer (†1607).
William Shakespear (†1616).
_Prose._
§‡ Petrus Ramus ( | 1,874.657787 |
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Transcribed from the 1914 Gay and Hancock, Ltd. edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
A Summer in a Cañon
A CALIFORNIA STORY: _By_
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD.
12 AND 13 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
LONDON
1914
_All rights reserved_
* * * * *
_Popular Edition_ 1914
_Reprinted_ 1914
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
PREPARATION AND DEPARTURE 1
CHAPTER II
THE JOURNEY 32
CHAPTER III
LIFE IN THE CAÑON—THE HEIR APPARENT LOSES 53
HIMSELF
CHAPTER IV
RHYME AND REASON 99
CHAPTER V
THE FOREST OF ARDEN—GOOD NEWS 133
CHAPTER VI
QUEEN ELSIE VISITS THE COURT 164
CHAPTER VII
POLLY’S BIRTHDAY: FIRST HALF IN WHICH SHE 188
REJOICES AT THE MERE FACT OF HER EXISTENCE
CHAPTER VIII
POLLY’S BIRTHDAY: SECOND HALF 203
CHAPTER IX
ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 232
CHAPTER X
MORE CAMP-FIRE STORIES 249
CHAPTER XI
BREAKING CAMP 268
SCENE: _A Camping Ground in the Cañon Las Flores_.
PEOPLE IN THE TENTS.
DR. PAUL WINSHIP _Mine Host_.
MRS. TRUTH WINSHIP _The Guardian Angel_.
DICKY WINSHIP _A Small Scamp of Six Years_.
BELL WINSHIP _The Camp Poetess_.
POLLY OLIVER _A Sweet but Saucy Lass_.
MARGERY NOBLE _A Nut-Brown Mayde_.
PHILIP NOBLE _The Useful Member_.
GEOFFREY STRONG _A Harvard Boy_.
JACK HOWARD _Prince of Mischief_.
HOP YET _A Heathen Chinee_.
PANCHO GUTIERREZ _A Mexican man-of-all-work_.
CHAPTER I
PREPARATION AND DEPARTURE
‘One to make ready, and two to prepare.’
IT was nine o’clock one sunny California morning, and Geoffrey Strong
stood under the live-oak trees in Las Flores Cañon, with a pot of black
paint in one hand and a huge brush in the other. He could have handled
these implements to better purpose and with better grace had not his arms
been firmly held by three laughing girls, who pulled not wisely, but too
well. He was further incommoded by the presence of a small urchin who
lay on the dusty ground beneath his feet, fastening an upward clutch on
the legs of his trousers.
There were three large canvas tents directly in front of them, yet no one
of these seemed to be the object of dissension, but rather a redwood
board, some three feet in length, which was nailed on a tree near by.
‘Camp Frolic! Please let us name it Camp Frolic!’ cried Bell Winship,
with a persuasive twitch of her cousin’s sleeve.
‘No, no; not Camp Frolic,’ pleaded Polly Oliver. ‘Pray, pray let us have
Camp Ha-Ha; my heart is set upon it.’
‘As you are Strong, be merciful,’ quoted Margery Noble, coaxingly; ‘take
my advice and call it Harmony Camp.’
At this juncture, a lovely woman, whose sweet face and smile made you
love her at once, came up the hill from the brookside. ‘What, what!
still quarrelling, children?’ she asked, laughingly. ‘Let me be
peacemaker. I’ve just asked the Doctor for a name, and he suggests Camp
Chaparral. What do you say?’
Bell released one coat-tail. ‘That isn’t wholly bad,’ she said,
critically, while the other girls clapped their hands with approval; for
anything that Aunt Truth suggested was sure to be quite right.
‘Wait a minute, good people,’ cried Jack Howard, flinging his
fishing-tackle under a tree and sauntering toward the scene of action.
‘Suppose we have a referee, a wise and noble judge. Call Hop Yet, and
let him decide this all-important subject.’
His name being sung and shouted in various keys by the assembled company,
Hop Yet appeared at the door of the brush kitchen, a broad grin on his
countenance, a plucked fowl | 1,874.747549 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.7313370 | 621 | 25 |
Produced by Martin Ward
Weymouth New Testament in Modern Speech
Preface and Introductions
Third Edition 1913
Public Domain--Copy Freely
These files were produced by keying for use in the Online Bible.
Proofreading was performed by Earl Melton. The printed edition
used in creating this etext was the Kregal reprint of the Ernest
Hampden-Cook (1912) Third Edition, of the edition first published
in 1909 by J. Clarke, London. Kregal edition ISBN 0-8254-4025-4.
Due to the plans to add the Weymouth footnotes, the footnote
markers have been left in the text and page break indicators.
Other special markings are words surrounded with "*" to indicate
emphasis, and phrases surrounded with "<>" to indicate bold OT
quotes. See WEYMOUTH.INT in WNTINT.ZIP for the introduction
to the text, and information on Weymouth's techniques.
The most current corrected files can be found on:
Bible Foundation BBS
602-789-7040 (14.4 kbs)
If any errors are found, please notify me at the above bbs,
or at:
Mark Fuller
1129 E. Loyola Dr.
Tempe, Az. 85282
(602) 829-8542
----------- Corrections to the printed page ---------------------
Introduction says personal pronouns referring to Jesus, when spoken
by other than the author/narrator, are capitalized only when they
recognize His deity. The following oversights in the third edition
were corrected in subsequent editions. Therefore we feel justified
in correcting them in this computer version.
Mt 22:16 Capitalized 'him'. Same person speaking as in v.15.
Mt 27:54 Capitalized 'he'.
Joh 21:20 Capitalized 'his'
Heb 12:6 Capitalized last 'HE' (referring to God).
==== changes made to printed page.
Lu 11:49 Added closing quote at end of verse as later editions do.
Lu 13:6 come > came (changed in later editions)
Ro 11:16 it > if (an obvious typesetting error corrected in later editions)
1Co 11:6 out > cut (an obvious typesetting error corrected in later editions)
Php 4:3 the Word 'book' in 'book of Life' was not capitalized in
various printings of the third edition, but it was in later
editions. So we have capitalized it here.
2Ti 1:9 deserts > desserts (misspelling perpetuated in later editions)
==== no change made:
Eph 6:17 did not capitalize 'word' as in Word of God.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
The Translation of the New Testament here offered to
English-speaking Christians is a bona f | 1,874.751377 |
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Produced by Al Haines
CHINESE FOLK-LORE TALES
BY
REV. J. MACGOWAN, D.D.
[Transcriber's note: the original book from which
this etext was prepared was missing pages 3 and 4,
and 13 and 14.]
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1910
GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.
CONTENTS
I. THE WIDOW HO
II. KWANG-JUI AND THE GOD OF THE RIVER
III. THE BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF LIU-KUNG
IV. THE FAIRY BONZE
V. THE MYSTERIOUS BUDDHIST ROBE
VI. THE VENGEANCE OF THE GODDESS
VII. "THE WONDERFUL MAN"
VIII. THE GOD OF THE CITY
IX. THE TRAGEDY OF THE YIN FAMILY
X. SAM-CHUNG AND THE WATER DEMON
XI. THE REWARD OF A BENEVOLENT LIFE
I
THE WIDOW HO
One day in the early dawn, a distinguished mandarin was leaving the
temple of the City God. It was his duty to visit this temple on the
first and fifteenth of the moon, whilst the city was still asleep, to
offer incense and adoration to the stern-looking figure enshrined
within.
This mandarin was Shih-Kung, and a juster or more upright official did
not exist in all the fair provinces of the Empire. Wherever his name
was mentioned it was received with the profoundest reverence and
respect; for the Chinese people have never lost their ideal of Tien-Li,
or Divine Righteousness. This ideal is still deeply embedded in the
hearts of high and low, rich and poor; and the homage of all classes,
even of the most depraved is gladly offered to any man who
conspicuously displays this heavenly virtue.
As Shih-Kung was being carried along in his sedan chair, with his
numerous retinue following closely behind him, he happened to notice a
young woman walking in the road in front of him, and began to wonder
what it was that had brought her out at such an unusually early hour.
She was dressed in the very deepest mourning, and so after a little
more thought he concluded that she was a widow who was on her way to
the grave of her late husband to make the usual offerings to his spirit.
All at once a sudden, furious whirlwind screamed about the woman and
seemed determined to spend its force upon her; but beyond her nothing
was touched by it. Not a leaf on the trees near by was moved, and not
a particle of dust on the road, except just where she stood, was in the
least agitated by the fierce tempest that for the moment raged around
her.
As Shih-Kung gazed at this strange occurrence, the woman's outer skirt
was blown up in the air, and he saw that underneath was another garment
of a rich crimson hue. He then knew at once that there was something
radically wrong, for no woman of ordinary virtuous character would ever
dare to wear such a glaring colour, while she pretended to be in deep
mourning. There was something suspicious, too, in the sudden tornado
that blew with such terrific violence round the woman only. It was not
an accident that brought it there. It was clearly the angry protest of
some spirit who had been foully misused, and who was determined that
the wrong-doer should not escape the penalty for the evil she had
committed.
Calling two of his runners to him, Shih-Kung ordered them to follow the
woman and to see where she was going and what she did there, and then
to report to him immediately.
[Transcriber's note: pages 3 and 4 missing from source book]
the coffin of the dead, and was to be solved there and there only. His
course now seemed easy, and it was with a mind full of relief that he
entered his home.
He at once issued a warrant for the arrest of the widow, and at the
same time sent officers to bring the coffin that contained the body of
her husband from its burying-place.
When the widow appeared before the mandarin, she denied that she knew
anything of the cause of her husband's death. He had come home drunk
one night, she declared, and had fallen senseless on the ground. After
a great deal of difficulty, she had managed to lift him up on to the
bed, where he lay in a drunken slumber, just as men under the influence
of liquor often do, so that she was not in the least anxious or
disturbed about him. During the night she fell asleep as she watched
by his side, and when she woke up she found to her horror that he was
dead.
"That is all that can be said about the case," she concluded, "and if
you now order an examination of the body, it simply means that you have
suspicions about me, for no other person was with him but myself when
he died. I protest therefore against the body being examined. If,
however, you are determined to do so, I warn you that if you find no
signs of violence on it, you expose yourself according to the laws of
China to the punishment of death."
"I am quite prepared to take the responsibility," replied the mandarin,
"and I have already ordered the Coroner to open the coffin and to make
a careful examination of the body."
This was accordingly done, but no trace of injury, not even the
slightest bruise, could be discovered on any part of the dead man's
body.
The county magistrate was greatly distressed at this result of the
enquiry, and hastened to Shih-Kung in order to obtain his advice as to
what steps he should now take to escape the punishment of death which
he had incurred by his action. The Viceroy agreed that the matter had
indeed assumed a most serious aspect. "But you need not be anxious,"
he added, "about what you have done. You have only acted by my orders,
and therefore I assume all responsibility for the proceedings which you
have adopted to discover the murderer."
Late in the afternoon, as the sun began to disappear behind the
mountains of the west, Shih-Kung slipped out by a side door of his
yamen, dressed as a peddler of cloth, and with pieces of various kinds
of material resting on his shoulders. His disguise was so perfect that
no one, as he passed down the street, dreamed of suspecting that
instead of being a wandering draper, he was in reality the
Governor-General of the Province, who was trying to obtain evidence of
a murder that had recently been committed in his own capital.
Travelling on down one street after another, Shih-Kung came at last to
the outskirts of the town, where the dwellings were more scattered and
the population was less dense. By this time it was growing dark, so
when he came to a house that stood quite apart by itself, he knocked at
the door. An elderly woman with a pleasant face and a motherly look
about her asked him in a kind and gentle voice what he wanted.
"I have taken the liberty," he replied, "of coming to your house to see
whether you would not kindly allow me to lodge with you for the night.
I am a stranger in this region," he continued, "and have travelled far
from my home to sell my cloth. The night is fast falling, and I know
not where to spend it, and so I beg of you to take me in. I do not
want charity, for I am quite able to pay you liberally for any trouble
I may cause you; and to-morrow morning, as early as you may desire, I
shall proceed on my wanderings, and you will be relieved of me."
"My good man," she replied, "I am perfectly willing that you should
lodge here for the night, only I am afraid you may have to endure some
annoyance from the conduct of my son when he returns home later in the
evening."
"My business leads me into all kinds of company," he assured her, "and
I meet people with a great variety of dispositions, but I generally
manage to get on with them all. It may be so with your son."
With a good-natured smile, the old lady then showed him into a little
room just off the one which was used as a sitting room. Shih-Kung was
very tired, so he threw himself down, just as he was, on a trestle bed
that stood in the corner, and began to think over his plans for solving
the mystery of the murder. By-and-by he fell fast asleep.
About midnight he woke up at the sound of voices in the next room, and
heard the mother saying:--"I want you to be very careful how you treat
the peddler, and not to use any of your coarse language to him.
Although he looks only a common man, I am sure he is a gentleman, for
he has a refined way with him that shows he must have come from no mean
family. I did not really want to take him in, as I knew you might
object; but the poor man was very tired, and it was getting dark, and
he declared he had no place to go to, so that at last I consented to
let him stay. It is only for the night, and to-morrow at break of day
he says he must be on his travels again."
"I do most strongly dislike having a strange man in the house," replied
a voice which Shih-Kung concluded was the son's; "and I shall go and
have a look at him in order to satisfy myself about him."
Taking a lantern in his hand, he came close up to where Shih-Kung was
lying, and flashing the light upon his face, looked down anxiously at
him for a few moments. Apparently he was satisfied, for he cried out
in a voice that could easily be heard in the other room: "All right,
mother, I am content. The man has a good face, and I do not think I
have anything to fear from him. Let him remain."
Shih-Kung now considered that it was time for him to act. He stretched
himself and yawned as though he were just waking out of sleep, and
then, sitting up on the edge of the bed, he looked into the young man's
face and asked him who he was.
"Oh!" he replied in a friendly way, "I am the son of the old lady who
gave you permission to stay here for the night. For certain reasons, I
am not at all anxious to have strangers about the house, and at first I
very much objected to have you here. But now that I have had a good
look at you, my objections have all vanished. I pride myself upon
being a good judge of character, and I may tell you that I have taken a
fancy to you. But come away with me into the next room, for I am going
to have a little supper, and as my mother tells me that you fell asleep
without having had anything to eat, I have no doubt you will be glad to
join me."
As they sat talking over the meal, they became very friendly and
confidential with each other, and the sam-shu that the son kept
drinking from a tiny cup, into which it was poured from a steaming
kettle, had the effect of loosening his tongue and causing him to speak
more freely than he would otherwise have done.
From his long experience of the shady classes of society, Shih-Kung
very soon discovered what kind of a man his companion was, and felt
that here was a mine from which he might draw valuable information to
help him in reaching the facts he wished to discover.
Looking across the table at the son, whose face was by this time
flushed with the spirit he had been drinking, and with a hasty glance
around the room, as though he were afraid that some one might overhear
him, he said in a low voice, "I want to tell you a great secret. You
have opened your heart a good deal to me, and now I am going to do the
same with you. I am not really a peddler of cloth, as I have pretended
to be. I have been simply using that business to disguise my real
occupation, which I do not want anyone to know."
"And what, may I ask, may be the trade in which you are engaged, and of
which you seem to be so ashamed that you dare not openly confess it?"
asked the son.
"Well, I am what I call a benevolent thief," replied Shih-Kung.
"A benevolent thief!" exclaimed the other in astonishment. "I have
never heard of such a thing before, and I should very much like to know
what is meant by it."
"I must tell you," explained the guest, "that I am not a common thief
who takes the property of others for his own benefit. I never steal
for myself. My practice is to find | 1,874.948069 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Julia Neufeld and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics
(_italics_).
AESOP'S FABLES.
EMBELLISHED WITH
One Hundred and Eleven
EMBLEMATICAL DEVICES.
[Illustration: Man reading]
Printed at the Chiswick Press,
BY C. WHITTINGHAM;
FOR CARPENTER AND SON, OLD BOND STREET;
J. BOOKER, NEW BOND STREET; SHARPE AND
HAILES, PICCADILLY; AND WHITTINGHAM
AND ARLISS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1814.
CONTENTS.
_Fable_ _Page_
1 The Cock and the Jewel 1
2 The Wolf and the Lamb 4
3 The Lion and the Four Bulls 7
4 The Frog and the Fox 9
5 The Ass eating Thistles 11
6 The Lark and her Young Ones 13
7 The Cock and the Fox 16
8 The Fox in the Well 19
9 The Wolves and the Sheep 21
10 The Eagle and the Fox 23
11 The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing 26
12 The Fowler and the Ring-Dove 28
13 The Sow and the Wolf 30
14 The Horse and the Ass 32
15 The Wolf, the Lamb, and the Goat 35
16 The Kite and the Pigeons 38
17 The Country Mouse and the City Mouse 41
18 The Swallow and other Birds 46
19 The Hunted Beaver 48
20 The Cat and the Fox 50
21 The Cat and the Mice 52
22 The Lion and other Beasts 54
23 The Lion and the Mouse 56
24 The Fatal Marriage 58
25 The Mischievous Dog 60
26 The Ox and the Frog 62
27 The Fox and the Lion 65
28 The Ape and the Fox 67
29 The Dog in the Manger 70
30 The Birds, the Beasts, and the Bat 72
31 The Fox and the Tiger 75
32 The Lioness and the Fox 78
33 The Oak and the Reed 80
34 The Wind and the Sun 82
35 The Kite, the Frog, and the Mouse 85
36 The Frogs desiring a King 87
37 The Old Woman and her Maids 90
38 The Lion, the Bear, and the Fox 92
39 The Crow and the Pitcher 95
40 The Porcupine and the Snakes 97
41 The Hares and Frogs in a Storm 100
42 The Fox and the Wolf 103
43 The Dog and the Sheep 106
44 The Peacock and the Crane 108
45 The Viper and the File 110
46 The Ass, the Lion, and the Cock 112
47 The Jackdaw and Peacocks 114
48 The Ant and the Fly 116
49 The Ant and the Grasshopper 119
50 The Countryman and the Snake 121
51 The Fox and the Sick Lion 124
52 The Wanton Calf 127
53 Hercules and the Carter 130
54 The Belly and the Members 133
55 The Horse and the Lion 136
56 The Husbandman and the Stork 138
57 The Cat and the Cock 140
58 The Leopard and the Fox 142
59 The Shepherd's Boy 145
60 The Fox and the Goat 147
61 Cupid and Death 149
62 The Old Man and his Sons 151
63 The Stag and the Fawn 154
64 The Old Hound 157
65 Jupiter and the Camel 159
66 The Fox without a Tail 161
67 The Fox and the Crow 163
68 The Hawk and the Farmer 166
69 The Nurse and the Wolf 168
70 The Hare and the Tortoise 170
71 The Young Man and his Cat 173
72 The Ass in the Lion's Skin 175
73 The Mountains in Labour 177
74 The Satyr and the Traveller 179
75 The Sick Kite 182
76 The Hawk and the Nightingale 184
77 The Peacock's Complaint 186
78 The Angler and the Little Fish 188
79 The Geese and the Cranes 190
80 The Dog and the Shadow 192
81 The Ass and the Little Dog 194
82 The Wolf and the Crane 197
83 The Envious Man and the Covetous 199
84 The Two Pots 201
85 The Fox and the Stork 203
86 The Bear and the Bee-Hives 205
87 The Travellers and the Bear 207
88 The Trumpeter taken Prisoner 209
89 The Partridge and the Cocks 211
90 The Falconer and the Partridge 214
91 The Eagle and the Crow 216
92 The Lion, the Ass, and the Fox 218
93 The Fox and the Grapes 220
94 The Horse and the Stag 222
95 The Young Man and the Swallow 224
96 The Man and his Goose 227
97 The Dog and the Wolf 229
98 The Wood and the Clown 232
99 The Old Lion 234
100 The Horse and the Loaded Ass 236
101 The Old Man and Death 238
102 The Boar and the Ass 240
103 The Tunny and the Dolphin 242
104 The Peacock and the Magpie 244
105 The Forester and the Lion 246
106 The Stag looking into the Water 248
107 The Stag in the Ox-Stall 251
108 The Dove and the Ant 254
109 The Lion in Love 256
110 The Tortoise and the Eagle 259
PREFACE,
_BY S. CROXALL_.
So much has been already said concerning AEsop and his writings, both by
ancient and modern authors, that the subject seems to be quite
exhausted. The different conjectures, opinions, traditions, and
forgeries, which from time to time we have had given to us of him, would
fill a large volume: but they are, for the most part, so inconsistent
and absurd, that it would be but a dull amusement for the reader to be
led into such a maze of uncertainty: since Herodotus, the most ancient
Greek historian, did not flourish till near an hundred years after AEsop.
As for his Life, with which we are entertained in so complete a manner,
before most of the editions of his Fables, it was invented by one
Maximus Planudes, a Greek Monk; and, if we may judge of him from that
composition, just as judicious and learned a person, as the rest of his
fraternity are at this day observed to be. Sure there never were so many
blunders and childish dreams mixed up together, as are to be met with in
the short compass of that piece. For a Monk, he might be very good and
wise, but in point of history and chronology, he shows himself to be
very ignorant. He brings AEsop to Babylon, in the reign of king Lycerus,
a king of his own making; for his name is not to be found in any
catalogue, from Nabonassar to Alexander the Great; Nabonadius, most
probably, reigning in Babylon about that time. He sends him into Egypt
in the days of Nectanebo, who was not in being till two hundred years
afterwards; with some other gross mistakes of that kind, which
sufficiently show us that this Life was a work of invention, and that
the inventor was a bungling poor creature. He never mentions AEsop's
being at Athens; though Phaedrus speaks of him as one that lived the
greatest part of his time there; and it appears that he had a statue
erected in that city to his memory, done by the hand of the famed
Lysippus. He writes of him as living at Samos, and interesting himself
in a public capacity in the administration of the affairs of that place;
yet, takes not the least notice of the Fable which Aristotle[1] tells us
he spoke in behalf of a famous Demagogue there, when he was impeached
for embezzling the public money; nor does he indeed give us the least
hint of such a circumstance. An ingenious man might have laid together
all the materials of this kind that are to be found in good old authors,
and, by the help of a bright invention, connected and worked them up
with success; we might have swallowed such an imposition well enough,
because we should not have known how to contradict it: but in Planudes'
case, the imposture is doubly discovered; first, as he has the
unquestioned authority of antiquity against him; secondly, (and if the
other did not condemn him) as he has introduced the witty, discreet,
judicious AEsop, quibbling in a strain of low monastic waggery, and as
archly dull as a Mountebank's Jester.
[1] _Arist. Rhet._ Lib. ii. chap. 21.
That there was a Life of AEsop, either written or traditionary, before
Aristotle's time, is pretty plain; and that there was something of that
kind extant in Augustus' reign, is, I think, as undoubted; since Phaedrus
mentions many transactions of his, during his abode at Athens. But it is
as certain, that Planudes met with nothing of this kind; or, at least,
that he met not with the accounts with which they were furnished,
because of the omissions before-mentioned; and consequently with none so
authentic and good. He seems to have thrown together some merry conceits
which occurred to him in the course of his reading, such as he thought
were worthy of AEsop, and very confidently obtrudes them upon us for his.
But, when at last he brings him to Delphos (where he was put to death by
being thrown down from a precipice) that the Delphians might have some
colour of justice for what they intended to do, he favours them with the
same stratagem which Joseph made use of to bring back his brother
Benjamin; they clandestinely convey a cup into his baggage, overtake him
upon the road, after a strict search find him guilty; upon that pretence
carry him back to the city, condemn and execute him.
As I would neither impose upon others, nor be imposed upon, I cannot, as
some have done, let such stuff as this pass for the Life of the great
AEsop. Planudes has little authority for any thing he has delivered
concerning him; nay, as far as I can find, his whole account, from the
beginning to the end, is mere invention, excepting some few
circumstances; such as the place of his birth, and of his death; for in
respect of the time in which he lived, he has blundered egregiously, by
mentioning some incidents as contemporary with AEsop, which were far
enough from being so. Xanthus, his supposed master, puts his wife into a
passion, by bringing such a piece of deformity into her house, as our
Author is described to be. Upon this, the master reproaches the slave
for not uttering something witty, at a time that seemed to require it so
much: and then AEsop comes out, slap dash, with a satirical reflection
upon women, taken from Euripides, the famous Greek tragedian. Now
Euripides happened not to be born till about fourscore years after
AEsop's death. What credit, therefore, can be given to any thing Planudes
says of him?
As to the place of his birth, I will allow, with the generality of those | 1,874.948216 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by
Google Books (Harvard College Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=8tYMAAAAYAAJ
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]
THE ABBESS OF VLAYE
By STANLEY J. WEYMAN
* * *
THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF. A Romance. With Frontispiece and Vignette.
Crown 8vo, cloth, $1.25.
THE STORY OF FRANCIS CLUDDE. A Romance. With four Illustrations. Crown
8vo, $1.25.
A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne, Sieur de
Marsac. With Frontispiece and Vignette. Crown 8vo, cloth, $1.25.
UNDER THE RED ROBE. With twelve full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
cloth, $1.25.
MY LADY ROTHA. A Romance of the Thirty Years' War. With eight
Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, $1.25.
FROM THE MEMOIRS OF A MINISTER OF FRANCE. With thirty-six
Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth, $1.25.
THE MAN IN BLACK. With twelve Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00.
SHREWSBURY. A Romance. With twenty-four Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
$1.50.
THE RED COCKADE. A Novel. With forty-eight Illustrations by R. Caton
Woodville. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
THE CASTLE INN. A Novel. With six full-page Illustrations by Walter
Appleton Clark. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
SOPHIA. A Romance. With twelve full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo,
$1.50.
COUNT HANNIBAL. A Romance of the Court of France. With Frontispiece.
Crown 8vo $1.50.
IN KINGS' BYWAYS. With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
* * *
New York: Longmans, Green, and Co.
[Illustration: "HE HAD DISMOUNTED, AND HAD HIS HAT IN HIS HAND"]
[_Page_ 113]
THE ABBESS
OF VLAYE
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
_Author of "Under the Red Robe," "A Gentleman of France,"
"My Lady Rotha," "The Red Cockade," "Count
Hannibal," "The Castle Inn," etc_.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 and 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1904
Copyright, 1903, by
STANLEY J. WEYMAN.
* * *
Copyright, 1904, by
STANLEY J. WEYMAN.
* * *
_All rights reserved_.
ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK.
TO
HUGH STOWELL SCOTT,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF LONG SUMMER DAYS SPENT WITH HIM
AMID THE SCENES WHICH SUGGESTED IT,
THIS STORY IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY HIS FRIEND.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
INTRODUCTION--A King in Council.
I. Villeneuve-l'Abbesse.
II. The Tower Chamber.
III. Still Waters Troubled.
IV. The Dilemma.
V. The Captain of Vlaye.
VI. In the Hay-field.
VII. A Soldiers' Frolic.
VIII. Father Angel.
IX. Speedy Justice.
X. Midnight Alarms.
XI. The Chapel by the Ford.
XII. The Peasants' Camp.
XIII. Hostages.
XIV. Saint and Sinner.
XV. Fears.
XVI. To Do or Not to Do?
XVII. The Heart of Cain.
XVIII. Two in the Mill.
XIX. The Captain of Vlaye's Condition.
XX. The Abbess Moves.
XXI. The Castle Of Vlaye.
XXII. A Night by the River.
XXIII. The Bride's Dot.
XXIV. Fors l'Amour.
XXV. His Last Ride.
THE ABBESS OF VLAYE.
INTRODUCTION.
A KING IN COUNCIL.
Monsieur des Ageaux was a man of whom his best friends could not say
that he shone, or tried to shine, in the pursuit of the fair sex. He
was of an age, something over thirty, when experience renders more
formidable the remaining charms of youth; and former conquests whet
the sword for new emprises. And the time in which he lived and
governed the province of Perigord for the King was a time in which the
favour of ladies, and the good things to be gained thereby, stood for
much, and morality for little. So that for the ambitious the path of
dalliance presented almost as many chances of advancement as the more
strenuous road of war.
Yet des Ageaux, though he was an ambitious man and one whose appetite
success--and in his degree he had been very successful--had but
sharpened, showed no inclination to take that path, or to rise by
trifling. Nay, he turned from it; he shunned if he did not dislike the
other sex. Whether he doubted his powers--he was a taciturn, grave
man--or he had energy only for the one pursuit he loved, the
government of men, the thing was certain. Yet he was not unpopular
even at Court, the lax Court of Henry the Fourth. But he was known for
a thoughtful, dry man, older than his years and no favourite with
great ladies; of whom some dubbed him shy, and some a clown, and
all--a piece of furniture.
None the less, where men were concerned, he passed for a man more
useful than most; or, for certain, seeing that he boasted no great
claims, and belonged to no great family, he had not been Governor of a
province. Governors of provinces in those days were of the highest;
cousins of the King, when these could be trusted, which was rare;
peers and Marshals of France, great Dukes with vast hereditary
possessions, old landed Vicomtes, and the like. Only at the tail of
the list came some half-dozen men whom discretion and service, or the
playfulness of fortune had--_mirabile dictum_--raised to office. And
at the tail of all came des Ageaux; for Perigord, his province, land
of the pie and the goose liver, was part of the King's demesne, the
King was his own Governor in it, and des Ageaux bore only the title of
"Lieutenant for the King in the country of Perigord."
Yet was it a wonderful post for such a man, and many a personage, many
a lord well seen at Court, coveted it. All the same the burden was
heavy; a thing not to be dismissed in a moment. The King found him no
money, or little; no men, or few. Where greater Governors used their
own resources he had to use--economy. And to make matters worse the
man was just; it was part of his nature, it was part of his passion,
to be just. So where they taxed not legally only, but illegally, he
scrupled, he held his hand. And, therefore, though his dignity was
almost as high as office could make | 1,874.951372 |
2023-11-16 18:48:18.9332260 | 7,098 | 30 |
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by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions.
HTML version by Al Haines.
OWINDIA:
_A TRUE TALE OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER INDIANS_,
NORTH-WEST AMERICA.
By Charlotte Selina Bompas
THE STORY OF OWINDIA.
A pretty open spot on the bank of the Great Mackenzie River was the
place where Owindia first saw light. One of the universal pine
forests formed the back ground, while low shrubs and willows, with a
pleasant, green carpet of mossy grass, were the immediate
surroundings of the camp.
The banks of the Mackenzie often rise to a height of sixty feet
above the river. This was the case in the spot where Michel the
Hunter had pitched his tent, or "lodge" as it is called. A number of
other Indians were camped near, led thither by the fish which is so
abundant in our Northern rivers, and which proves a seldom failing
resource when the moose or reindeer go off their usual track. The
woods also skirting the river furnish large supplies of rabbits,
which even the Indian children are taught to snare. Beavers too are
most numerous in this district, and are excellent food, while their
furs are an important article of trade with the Hudson Bay Company;
bringing to the poor Indian his much prized luxury of tea or tobacco,
a warm blanket or ammunition. As the Spring comes on the women of the
camps will be busy making "sirop" from the birch trees, and dressing
the skins of moose or deer which their husbands have killed in the
chase. There are also the canoes to be made or repaired for use
whenever the eight months' fetters of ice shall give way.
Thus we see the Indian camps offer a pleasant spectacle of a
contented and busy people; and if they lack the refinement and
luxuries of more civilized communities, they have at all events this
advantage,--they have never learnt to need them.
Michel, the Indian, was a well-skilled, practised hunter. Given a
windy day, a good depth of snow, and one or two moose tracks on its
fair surface, and there was not much chance of the noble beast's
escape from Michel's swift tread and steady aim. Such is the
excitement of moose-hunting; and such the intense acuteness of the
moose-deer's sense of smell and hearing, that an Indian hunter will
often strip himself of every bit of clothing, and creep stealthily
along on his snow-shoes, lest by the slightest sound he should betray
his presence, and allow his prey to escape. And Michel was as skilled
a trapper as he was hunter; from the plump little musk-rat which he
caught by the river brink to the valuable marten, sable, beaver,
otter, skunk, &c., &c., he knew the ways and habits of each one; he
would set his steel trap with as true an intuition as if he had
received notice of the coming of his prey. Many a silver fox had
found himself outdone in sharpness and cunning by Michel; many a lynx
or wild cat had fought for dear life, and may-be, made _one_
escape from Michel's snares, leaving perhaps one of its paws in token
of its fierce struggle, yet had perished after all, being allured in
some opposite direction by tempting bait, or irresistible scent laid
by the same skilful hand. In bear hunting also Michel was an adept,
and he lacked not opportunity for this sport on the banks of the
Mackenzie. Many a time would he and, perhaps, one other Indian glide
down the river in his swift canoe, and suddenly the keen observant
eyes would detect a bear walking stealthily along by the side of the
stream! In an instant the two men would exchange signals, paddles
would be lifted, and, every movement stilled, the men slowly and
'cannily' would make for shore. In spite of all, however, Bruin has
heard them, he slakes his thirst no longer in the swift-running river
nor feasts luxuriously on the berries growing by the shore. The woods
are close at hand, and with a couple of huge strides he reaches them,
and is making with increasing speed for his lair; but Michel is his
match for stealth and swiftness, and when one sense fails, another is
summoned to his assistance. The eye can no longer see the prey, but
the ear can yet detect here and there a broken twig revealing the
exact track it has taken. With gun carried low, and treading on in
breathless silence and attention, the hunters follow, and soon a shot
is heard, succeeded by another, and then a shout which proclaims poor
Bruin's death. Alas, that gun which has done such good service for
his family, which was purchased by many a month's labour, and
carefully chosen with an Indian's observant eye: what misery and
crime was it not to effect even in that very spot where now the
little group of Indians dwelt happy and peaceful, little dreaming of
the deed of violence which would soon drive them panic-stricken from
their homes!
A very marked feature in the character of the Indian is jealousy.
How far the white man may be answerable, if not for the first impulse
of this, at all events for its development, it were perhaps better
not to inquire. The schoolboy is often first taught jealousy by the
undisguised partiality for his more attractive or highly gifted
companion, evinced by his teachers; the Indians are at present in
most respects but children, and they are keenly sensitive to the
treatment they receive from those, who, in spite of many benefits
bestowed, they cannot but look upon as invaders of their soil, and
intruders upon some of their prerogatives. In our Mission work we
find this passion of jealousy often coming into play. It is most
difficult to persuade the parents to trust us with their children,
not because they doubt our care of them, but for fear of their
children's affections being alienated from their own people. It is
sometimes hard for the same reason to get the parents to bring their
children to Holy Baptism: "You will give my boy another name, and he
will not be 'like mine' any more."
And Michel the Hunter was but an average type of the Indian
character; of a fiery, ardent nature, and unschooled affections, he
never forgot a wrong done him in early youth by a white man. His
sweetheart was taken from him, cruelly, heartlessly, mercilessly,
during his absence, without note or sign or warning, while he was
working with all energy to make a home for the little black-eyed
maiden, who had promised to be his bride. If Michel could but once
have seen the betrayer to have given vent to his feelings of scorn,
rage, and indignation! To have asked him, as he longed to ask him, if
this was his Christian faith, his boasted white man's creed! To have
asked if in those thousand miles he had traversed to reach the red
man's home, there were no girls suited to his mind, save only the one
betrothed to Indian Michel! He would have asked, too, if it were not
enough to invade his country, build houses, plant his barley and
potatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear, his furs and
peltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his home
treasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds sacred?
It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could have
spoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong and
injury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. The
Italian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" and
whether this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow his
resentment, and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel's
spirit, and made him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man he
afterwards became. And among many other consequences of his youth's
tragedy was an unconquerable horror of the white man; not but that,
after a time, he would work for a white man, and trade with him, so
long as he need not look upon him. He would send even his wife (for
Michel took unto him a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson with
his furs to trade, rather than trust himself in the neighbourhood of
the "Tene Manula" (white man). Once, it was said, that Michel had
even so far overcome his repugnance as to pitch his camp in the
neighbourhood of Fort Simpson. He was a husband and a father then,
and there were a number of Indians encamped in the same locality. It
might be hoped that under these circumstances the past would be
forgotten, and that the man would bury his resentment, and extend a
friendly hand to those, not a few, among the white men who wished him
well; but jealousy is the "rage of a man." In the middle of the night
Michel roused his wife and little ones, declaring that the white man
was coming to do them some mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his head
he soon launched it off, and in his mad haste to be away he even left
a number of his chattels behind.
Only once more did Michel appear at the Fort, and that on a
memorable occasion which neither he nor any who then beheld him will
be likely to forget.
It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog-sleigh,
laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson,
and having discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver,
who was none other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceeded
to the small "Indian house," as it is called, to spend the rest of
the night among her own people. She was a pleasing-looking young
woman, with bright expressive eyes, and a rather melancholy cast of
countenance. She was completely enveloped in a large green blanket,
from the folds of which peeped over her shoulder an infant of a few
months old, warm and comfortable in its moss-bag. A blessed
institution is that of the moss-bag to the Indian infant; and
scarcely less so to the mother herself. Yet, indeed, it requires no
small amount of patience, skill, and labour before this Northern
luxury can be made ready for its tiny occupant. Through a good part
of the long winter nights has the mother worked at the fine bead-work
which must adorn the whole front of the moss-bag. By a strange
intuitive skill she has traced the flowers and leaves and delicate
little tendrils, the whole presenting a marvellously artistic
appearance, both in form and in well-combined colours. Then must the
moss be fetched to completely line the bag, and to form both bed and
wrapping for the little one. For miles into the woods will the Indian
women hike to pick the soft moss which is only to be met with in
certain localities. They will hang it out on bush and shrub to dry
for weeks before it is wanted, and then trudge back again to bring it
home, in cloths or blankets swung on their often already-burdened
shoulders. Then comes the picking and cleaning process, and thawing
the now frozen moss before their camp fires. Every leaf and twig must
be removed, that nothing may hurt the little baby limbs. And now all
is prepared; the sweet downy substance is spread out as pillow for
the baby head, and both couch and covering for the rest of the body.
Then the bag is laced up tight, making its small tenant as warm and
cozy as possible; only the little face appears--the bonnie, saucy
Indian baby face, singularly fair for the first few months of life,
with the black bead-like eyes, and soft silken hair, thick even in
babyhood.
Accomba threw off her blanket, and swinging round her baby, she
seated herself on the floor by the side of the roaring fire, on which
the friendly Indians heaped billet after billet of fine dry wood,
till the whole room was lighted up by the bright and cheerful blaze.
It was not long before a number of other Indians entered,--most
unceremoniously, as Indians are wont to do, and seated themselves in
all parts of the room, for they had heard the sound of sleigh bells,
and were at once curious to know the business of the new arrival. A
universal hand-shaking took place, for all were friendly, being
mostly of the same tribe, and more or less closely all connected.
Pipes were then lighted alike by men and women, and a kettle of tea
was soon singing on the fire. Accomba draws out from the recesses of
her dog sleigh one or two huge ribs of dried meat, black and
unsavoury to look at, but forming very good food for all that.
This is portioned out among the assembled company; a bladder of
grease is added, and seized with avidity by one of the party; a
portion of this was then melted down and eaten with the dried meat;
while the steaming tea, sipped out of small tin cups, and taken
without sugar or milk, was the "loving cup" of that dark-visaged
company. And far into the morning hours they sat sipping their
favourite beverage, and discussing the last tidings from the woods.
Every item of news is interesting, whether from hunter's camp, or
trapper's wigwam. There are births, marriages, and deaths, to be
pondered over and commented upon; the Indian has his chief, to whom
he owes deference and vows allegiance; he has his party badge, both
in religion and politics; what wonder then that even the long winter
night of the North, seemed far too short for all the important knotty
points which had to be discussed and settled!
"You have had good times at the little Lake," said Peter, a brother
of Michel's, who was deliberately chewing a piece of dried meat held
tight between his teeth, while with his pocketknife he severed its
connection with the piece in his hand, to the imminent peril of his
nose.
"I wish I were a freedman: I should soon be off to the Lake myself!
I am sick of working for the Company. I did not mind it when they set
me to haul meat from the hunters, or to trap furs for them, but now
they make me saw wood, or help the blacksmith at his dirty forge:
what has a 'Tene Jua' to do with such things as these?"
"And I am sick of starving!" said another. "This is the third winter
that _something_ has failed us,--first the rabbits, then the
fish ran short; and now we hear that the deer are gone into a new
track, and there is not a sign of one for ten miles round the Fort.
And the meat is so low" added the last speaker, "that the 'big
Master' says he has but fifty pounds of dried meat in the store, and
if Indians don't come in by Sunday, we are to be sent off to hunt for
ourselves and the wives and children are to go to Little Lake where
they may live on fish."
"We have plenty of fish, it is true," said Accomba; "we dried a good
number last Fall, besides having one net in the lake all the winter;
but I would not leave the Company, Peter, if I were you,--you are
better off here, man, in spite of your'starving times!' You _do_ get
your game every day, come what may, and a taste of flour every week, and
a little barley and potatoes. I call that living like a 'big master.'"
"I had rather be a free man and hunt for myself," put in another
speaker; "the meat does not taste half so good when another hand than
your own has killed it; and as for flour and barley and potatoes,
well, our forefathers got on well enough without them before the
white man came into our country, I suppose we should learn to do
without them again? For my part, I like a roe cake as well as any
white man's bread."
"But the times are harder than they used to be for the Tene Jua
(Indian men) in the woods," said Accomba with a sigh; "the deer and
the moose go off the track more than they used to do; it is only at
Fort Rae, on the Big Lake, that meat never seems to fail; for us poor
Mackenzie River people there is hardly a winter that we are far from
starvation."
"But you can always pick up something at the Forts:" replied a
former speaker; "the masters are not such bad men if we are really
starving, and then there is the Mission: we are not often turned away
from the Mission without a taste of something."
"All very good for you," said Michel's wife; "who like the white man
and know how to take him, but my man will have nothing to say to him.
The very sight of a pale face makes him feel bad, and sends him into
one of his fits of rage and madness. Oh, it has been dreadful,
dreadful," continued the poor woman, while her voice melted into a
truly Indian wail, "for my children I kept alive, or else I would
have thrown myself into the river many a time last year."
"Bah," said Peter, who being the brother of Michel, would, with true
Indian pertinacity, take part with him whatever were his offences;
and, moreover, looking with his native instinct upon woman as the
"creature" of society, whose duty it was to endure uncomplaining,
whatever her masters laid upon her. "Bah; you women are always
grumbling and bewailing yourselves; for my part, if I have to starve
a little, Kulu (the meat) is all the sweeter when it comes. I suppose
Michel has killed enough to give you many a merry night, seated round
the camp fire with some good fat ribs or a moose nose, and a fine
kettle of tea; then you wrap yourself in your blanket, or light your
pipe and feel like a 'big master.'"
Peter's picture of comfort and enjoyment pleased the Indians, and
they laughed heartily and testified their approval, all but poor
Accomba. She hung her head, and sadly fondled the baby at her breast.
"You may laugh, boys," she said at length, "and you know what
starving is as well as I do, though you are pretty well off now; it
is not for myself I speak, I can bear that kind of thing as well as
other women, but it comes hard for the children. Before Se Tene, my
man, killed his last moose, we were starving for nearly two moons; a
little dried fish and a rat or two, and now and then a rabbit, was we
got: even the fish failed for some time, and there was hardly a duck
or partridge to be seen. We had to eat two of the dogs at last, but,
poor things, they had little flesh on their bones."
"Eh! eh! e--h!" exclaimed the Indians, who however undemonstrative
under ordinary circumstances, can be full of sympathy where they can
realize the affecting points of a story.
"And the children," asked one of the party, "I suppose the
neighbours helped you a little with them?"
"One of my cousins took little Tetsi for a while," replied the poor
woman, "and did what she could for him, but they were all short of
game as we were, only their men went off after the deer, and plenty,
of them got to the lakes for duck; but Michel,--"
"Well, what did he do? I suppose he was off with his gun the first
of any of them?" said Peter. "I'll venture there shall not be a moose
or deer within twenty miles, but Michel the Hunter shall smell him
out."
"Yes, he went at last," sighed Accomba; "but my man has had one of
his ugly fits upon him for all the winter; he would not hunt anywhere
near the Fort, for fear of meeting a white face; and he vowed I was
making friends with them, and bidding them welcome to the camp, and
so he was afraid to leave it; and then at last, when I begged him to
go and get food for his children, he swore at me and called me a bad
name, and took up his gun to shoot me."
"Oh, I suppose he only said that in sport," said another of the
party; and yet it was plain that Accomba's story had produced a great
sensation among her auditors.
"_In sport!_" exclaimed Accomba, now fairly roused to excitement by the
apparent incredulity of her listeners; "_In sport_, say you? No, no,
Michel knows well what he _says_, though sometimes I think he is hardly
responsible for his actions; but look you, boys, my husband vowed to
shoot me once, and I stayed his arm and fell on my knees and tried to
rouse him to pity; but I will do so no more, and if he threatens me
again I will let him accomplish his fell purpose, and not a cry or sound
shall ever escape my lips. But you, Tetsi," continued the poor woman,
who was now fairly sobbing, "you are his brother, you might speak to him
and try to bring him to reason; and if I die, you must take care of my
poor children,--promise me that, Tetsi and Antoine, they are your own
flesh and blood, do not let them starve. 'Niotsi Cho,' the Great Spirit
will give it you back again."
There was a great silence among the Indians when Accomba had
finished speaking. An Indian has great discernment, and not only can
soon discover where the pathos of a story lies, but he will read as
by intuition how much of it is true or false. Moreover, Michel's
character was well known among them all, and his eccentricities had
often excited their wonder and sometimes their censure. The poor
woman's story appealed to each one of them: most of all did it appeal
to the heart of Sarcelle her brother, who was another occupant of the
room that evening.
"It is shocking, it is monstrous." exclaimed he at full length. "My
sister, you shall come with me. I will work for you, I will hunt for
you and your children. Michel shall not threaten you again, he is a
'Nakani' man; he does not know what he says or what he does, he is a
bad 'Nakani.'"
"I think some one has made medicine on him," said another; "he is
possessed, and will get worse till the spell is off him."
This medicine making among the Northern Indians is one of the most
firmly rooted of all their superstitions. The term is by no means
well chosen or descriptive of the strange ungodly rite; it is in
reality a charm or spell which one man is supposed to lay upon
another. It is employed for various purposes and by different means
of operations. You will hear of one man'making medicine' to
ascertain what time the Company's boats may be expected, or when
certain sledges of meat may come to the Fort. Another man is sick and
the medicine-man is summoned, and a drum is beaten during the night
with solemn monotonous 'tum, tum, tum', and certain confidential
communications take place between the Doctor and his patient, during
which the sick man is supposed to divulge every secret he may
possess, and on the perfect sincerity of his revelation must depend
his recovery.
The accompaniments of this strange scene vary according to
circumstances. In some cases a basin of blood of some animal is made
use of; in most instances a knife or dagger plays an important part.
I have seen one of these, which, by-the-by, is most difficult to
obtain, and can only be seen by special favour. It is made of bone or
ivory, beautifully carved and notched at the edges, with various dots
or devices upon it, and all, both dots and notches, arranged in
groups of sevens! After some hours the spell may be supposed to work,
the sick man feels better, the excitement of the medicine-man
increases, all looks promising; yet at this moment should a white
face enter the house or tent, still more, should he venture to touch
either doctor or patient, the spell would be instantly broken, and
the whole process must be commenced anew.
The spell has been wrought upon a poor Cree Woman at Ile la C. She
is perfectly convinced as to who did her the injury, and also that it
was her hands which it was intended should suffer. Accordingly each
Spring, for some years past, her hands are rendered powerless by a
foul-looking, scaly eruption, which comes over them. Indians have
been known to climb an almost inaccessible rock, and stripping
themselves of every vestige of clothing, to lie there without food or
drink, singing and invoking the wonder-worker until the revelation of
some secret root was made known, by which their design for good or
evil might be accomplished!
A Cree Indian, a man of sound education, related once the following
story:--"I was suffering in the year 18----from great distress of
body, and after seeing a doctor and feeling no better, I began to
think I must be the victim of some medicine-man. I thought over my
adventures of the last year or two, to discover if there were any who
had reason to wish me evil. Yes, there was one man, a Swampy Indian.
I had quarrelled with him, and then we had had words; and I spoke,
well, I spoke bitterly (which I ought not to have done, for he was
the injured man) and he vowed to revenge himself upon me. This was
some years since, however, and I had never given him a thought since
the time of our quarrel, but now I was certain a spell was over me,
and he must have wrought it,--I knew of no other enemy, and I was
determined to overcome it or die. So I saddled my horse and rode
across country for thirty miles till I reached the dwelling of the
Swampy. The man was outside, and started when he saw me, which
convinced me more than ever that I was on the right scent. I put up
my horse and followed my man into the house whither he had retreated;
and wasting no time, came to the point at once. Drawing my revolver
and pointing it to his heart, 'Villain,' I exclaimed, 'you have made
medicine on me: tell me your secret or I shall shoot you dead.' I
never saw a more cowed and more wretched-looking being than my man
became. I expected at least some resistance to my command; but he
offered none; for without attempting to stir or even look me in the
face, he smiled a ghastly smile, and muttered, 'It has done its work
then--well, I am glad! Look in your horse-saddle, and never provoke
me more.' I hesitated for a moment whether to loosen my hold upon the
man, and to believe so improbable a story; but on the whole I deemed
it better to do so. He had fulfilled his threat of revenge, and had
caused me months of suffering in body and mind; he knew me well
enough to be sure that I was in earnest when I told him that his life
would be forfeited if the spell were not removed. So I released my
hold and quitted the house. On cutting open my saddle I discovered
that the whole original lining had been removed and replaced by an
immense number of baneful roots and herbs, which I burnt on the spot.
How this evil deed had been effected I could not even surmise, but so
it was, and from that hour I was a different man--my mind recovered
its equilibrium, I was no longer affected by pain and distress of
body, or haunted by nightly visions. Those who smile at the
medicine-man, and are sceptical as to his power, may keep to their
own opinions; I believe that the Almighty has imbued many of His
creatures, both animate and inanimate, with a subtle power for good
or evil, and that it is given to some men to evoke that power and to
bring about results which it is impossible for the uninitiated to
foresee or to avert!"
But we have wandered too far from Accomba and her sad history. We
must now transport the reader to that portion of the shores of the
Mackenzie which was described at the opening of our story. The scene
indeed should be laid a few miles lower down the river than that at
first described, but the aspect and condition of things is but little
altered. A number of camps are there, pitched within some ten,
twenty, and thirty yards of each other. The dark brown, smoke-tinted
leather tents or lodges, have a certain air of comfort and
peacefulness about them, which is in no wise diminished, by the smoke
curling up from the aperture at the top, or the voices of children
running in and out from the tent door. These are the tents of
Mackenzie River Indians, speaking the Slave tongue, and mostly known
by name to the Company's officers at the neighbouring forts or
trading posts, known also to the Bishop and Clergy at the Mission
stations, who have often visited these Indians and held services for
them at their camps, or at the little English churches at Fort
Simpson, Fort Norman, etc. etc., and those little dark-eyed children
are, with but few exceptions, baptized Christians. Many of them have
attended the Mission Schools for the few weeks in Spring or Fall,
when their parents congregate round the forts; they can con over
portions of their Syllabic Prayer-books, and find their place in the
little Hymn books, for "O come, all ye faithful," "Alleluia! sing to
Jesus;" and "Glory to thee, my God, this night," while such anthems
as "I will arise," and others are as familiar to the Slave Indians as
to our English children. Yes, it is a Christian community we are
looking at; and yet, sad to say, it is in one of those homes that the
dark deed was committed which left five little ones motherless, and
spread terror and confusion among the whole camp.
It was a lovely morning in May, 1880. The ice upon the Mackenzie
River had but lately given way, having broken up with one tremendous
crash. Huge blocks were first hurled some distance down the river,
then piled up one above another until they reached the summit of the
bank fifty or sixty feet high, and being deposited there in huge
unsightly masses, were left to thaw away drop by drop, a process
which it would take some five or six weeks to accomplish. Some of the
men had lately returned from a bear hunt, being, however,
disappointed of their prey--a matter of less consideration than
usual, for Bruin, being but lately roused from his long winter sleep,
was in a less prime condition than he would be a few weeks later.
Michel, the hunter, had one of his "ugly fits" upon him;--this was
known throughout the camps. The women only shrugged their shoulders,
and kept clear of his lodge. The men paid him but little attention,
even when he skulked in for awhile after dark to smoke his pipe by
their camp fire. But on this morning neither Michel nor his wife had
been seen outside their camp; only one or two of the children had
turned out at a late hour and looked wistfully about, as if longing
for someone to give them food and other attention.
Suddenly, from within the lodge | 1,874.953266 |
2023-11-16 18:48:19.1306690 | 2,661 | 8 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
SLAV TALES
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _From "The Plentiful Tablecloth," p. 351._]
Fairy Tales of the Slav Peasants and Herdsmen
From the French of Alex. Chodsko
Translated and Illustrated by Emily J. Harding
London: George Allen
156 Charing Cross Road
1896
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
NOTE BY THE PUBLISHER
Very few of the twenty fairy tales included in this volume have been
presented before in an English dress; this will doubtless enhance
their value in the eyes of the young folk, for whom, principally, they
are intended. It is hoped that older readers will find some additional
interest in tracing throughout the many evidences of kinship between
these stories and those of more pronounced Eastern origin.
The translation has been carefully revised by a well-known writer, who
has interfered as little as possible with the original text, except in
those instances where slight alterations were necessary.
The illustrations speak for themselves, and are what might have been
expected from the artist who designed those for the "Lullabies of Many
Lands," issued last Christmas.
_November 1895._
CONTENTS
THE ABODE OF THE GODS--
I. THE TWO BROTHERS
II. TIME AND THE KINGS OF THE ELEMENTS
III. THE TWELVE MONTHS
THE SUN; OR, THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF THE OLD MAN VSEVEDE
KOVLAD--
I. THE SOVEREIGN OF THE MINERAL KINGDOM
II. THE LOST CHILD
THE MAID WITH HAIR OF GOLD
THE JOURNEY TO THE SUN AND THE MOON
THE DWARF WITH THE LONG BEARD
THE FLYING CARPET, THE INVISIBLE CAP, THE GOLD-GIVING RING,
AND THE SMITING CLUB
THE BROAD MAN, THE TALL MAN, AND THE MAN WITH EYES OF FLAME
THE HISTORY OF PRINCE SLUGOBYL; OR, THE INVISIBLE KNIGHT
THE SPIRIT OF THE STEPPES
THE PRINCE WITH THE GOLDEN HAND
IMPERISHABLE
OHNIVAK
TEARS OF PEARLS
THE SLUGGARD
KINKACH MARTINKO
THE STORY OF THE PLENTIFUL TABLECLOTH, THE AVENGING WAND,
THE SASH THAT BECOMES A LAKE, AND THE TERRIBLE HELMET
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
THE ABODE OF THE GODS--
I. THE TWO BROTHERS.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
II. TIME AND THE KINGS OF THE ELEMENTS.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
III. THE TWELVE MONTHS.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
THE SUN; OR, THE THREE GOLDEN HAIRS OF THE OLD MAN VSEVEDE.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
KOVLAD--
I. THE SOVEREIGN OF THE MINERAL KINGDOM.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
II. THE LOST CHILD.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE MAID WITH HAIR OF GOLD.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE JOURNEY TO THE SUN AND THE MOON.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
THE DWARF WITH THE LONG BEARD.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE FLYING CARPET, THE INVISIBLE CAP, THE GOLD-GIVING RING,
AND THE SMITING CLUB.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE BROAD MAN, THE TALL MAN, AND THE MAN WITH EYES OF FLAME.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE HISTORY OF PRINCE SLUGOBYL; OR, THE INVISIBLE KNIGHT.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
THE SPIRIT OF THE STEPPES.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE PRINCE WITH THE GOLDEN HAND.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
IMPERISHABLE.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
_Half-page design_
_Full-page design_
OHNIVAK.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
TEARS OF PEARLS.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
_Full-page design_
THE SLUGGARD.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
KINKACH MARTINKO.
_Heading_
_Full-page design_
THE STORY OF THE PLENTIFUL TABLECLOTH, THE AVENGING WAND,
THE SASH THAT BECOMES A LAKE, AND THE TERRIBLE HELMET.
_Heading_
_Half-page design_
THE ABODE OF THE GODS
I. THE TWO BROTHERS
II. TIME AND THE KINGS OF THE ELEMENTS
III. THE TWELVE MONTHS
[Illustration: The Two Brothers]
Once upon a time there were two brothers whose father had left them
but a small fortune. The eldest grew very rich, but at the same time
cruel and wicked, whereas there was nowhere a more honest or kinder
man than the younger. But he remained poor, and had many children, so
that at times they could scarcely get bread to eat. At last, one day
there was not even this in the house, so he went to his rich brother
and asked him for a loaf of bread. Waste of time! His rich brother
only called him beggar and vagabond, and slammed the door in his face.
The poor fellow, after this brutal reception, did not know which way
to turn. Hungry, scantily clad, shivering with cold, his legs could
scarcely carry him along. He had not the heart to go home, with
nothing for the children, so he went towards the mountain forest. But
all he found there were some wild pears that had fallen to the ground.
He had to content himself with eating these, though they set his teeth
on edge. But what was he to do to warm himself, for the east wind with
its chill blast pierced him through and through. "Where shall I go?"
he said; "what will become of us in the cottage? There is neither food
nor fire, and my brother has driven me from his door." It was just
then he remembered having heard that the top of the mountain in front
of him was made of crystal, and had a fire for ever burning upon it.
"I will try and find it," he said, "and then I may be able to warm
myself a little." So he went on climbing higher and higher till he
reached the top, when he was startled to see twelve strange beings
sitting round a huge fire. He stopped for a moment, but then said to
himself, "What have I to lose? Why should I fear? God is with me.
Courage!"
So he advanced towards the fire, and bowing respectfully, said: "Good
people, take pity on my distress. I am very poor, no one cares for me,
I have not even a fire in my cottage; will you let me warm myself at
yours?" They all looked kindly at him, and one of them said: "My son,
come sit down with us and warm yourself."
[Illustration]
So he sat down, and felt warm directly he was near them. But he dared
not speak while they were silent. What astonished him most was that
they changed seats one after another, and in such a way that each one
passed round the fire and came back to his own place. When he drew
near the fire an old man with long white beard and bald head arose
from the flames and spoke to him thus:
"Man, waste not thy life here; return to thy cottage, work, and live
honestly. Take as many embers as thou wilt, we have more than we
need."
And having said this he disappeared. Then the twelve filled a large
sack with embers, and, putting it on the poor man's shoulders, advised
him to hasten home.
Humbly thanking them, he set off. As he went he wondered why the
embers did not feel hot, and why they should weigh no more than a sack
of paper. He was thankful that he should be able to have a fire, but
imagine his astonishment when on arriving home he found the sack to
contain as many gold pieces as there had been embers; he almost went
out of his mind with joy at the possession of so much money. With all
his heart he thanked those who had been so ready to help him in his
need.
He was now rich, and rejoiced to be able to provide for his family.
Being curious to find out how many gold pieces there were, and not
knowing how to count, he sent his wife to his rich brother for the
loan of a quart measure.
This time the brother was in a better temper, so he lent what was
asked of him, but said mockingly, "What can such beggars as you have
to measure?"
The wife replied, "Our neighbour owes us some wheat; we want to be
sure he returns us the right quantity."
The rich brother was puzzled, and suspecting something he, unknown to
his sister-in-law, put some grease inside the measure. The trick
succeeded, for on getting it back he found a piece of gold sticking to
it. Filled with astonishment, he could only suppose his brother had
joined a band of robbers: so he hurried to his brother's cottage, and
threatened to bring him before the Justice of the Peace if he did not
confess where the gold came from. The poor man was troubled, and,
dreading to offend his brother, told the story of his journey to the
Crystal Mountain.
Now the elder brother had plenty of money for himself, yet he was
envious of the brother's good fortune, and became greatly displeased
when he found that his brother won every one's esteem by the good use
he made of his wealth. At last he determined to visit the Crystal
Mountain himself.
"I may meet with as good luck as my brother," said he to himself.
Upon reaching the Crystal Mountain he found the twelve seated round
the fire as before, and thus addressed them:
"I beg of you, good people, to let me warm myself, for it is bitterly
cold, and I am poor and homeless."
But one of them replied, "My son, the hour of thy birth was
favourable; thou art rich, but a miser; thou art wicked, for thou hast
dared to lie to us. Well dost thou deserve thy punishment."
Amazed and terrified he stood silent, not daring to speak. Meanwhile
the twelve changed places one after another, each at last returning to
his own seat. Then from the midst of the flames arose the
white-bearded old man and spoke thus sternly to the rich man:
"Woe unto the wilful! Thy brother is virtuous, therefore have I
blessed him. As for thee, thou art wicked, and so shalt not escape our
vengeance."
At these words the twelve arose. The first seized the unfortunate man,
struck him, and passed him on to the second; the second also struck
him and passed him on to the third; and so did they all in their turn,
until he was given up to the old man, who disappeared with him into
the fire.
Days, weeks, months went by, but the rich man never returned, and none
knew what had become | 1,875.150709 |
2023-11-16 18:48:19.4340920 | 980 | 8 |
The Project Gutenberg Etext of The 1913 Webster Unabridged Dictionary
Version 0.50 Letters M, N & O: #665 in our series, by MICRA, Inc.
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The 1913 Webster Unabridged Dictionary: Letters M, N & O
February, 1999 [Etext #665]
The Project Gutenberg Etext of The 1913 Webster Unabridged Dictionary
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| 1,875.454132 |
2023-11-16 18:48:19.4363530 | 1,385 | 16 |
Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) [root] stands for the root symbol; [alpha], [beta], etc. for greek
letters, [oo] for infinity symbol and [dP] for partial differential
symbol.
(6) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE HALLER, ALBRECHT VON: "From a literary point of view the
main result of this, the first of his many journeys through the
Alps, was his poem entitled Die Alpen, which was finished in March
1729, and appeared in the first edition (1732) of his Gedichte."
'poem' amended from 'peom'.
ARTICLE HAMBURG: "... and if the progress of the tide up the river
gives indication of danger, another three shots follow." 'another'
amended from 'other'.
ARTICLE HARBOUR: "Ostend is the only jetty harbour in which a large
sluicing basin has been recently constructed, but it can only
provide for the maintenance of deep-water quays in its vicinity;
..." 'harbour' amended from 'habour'.
ARTICLE HARMONICA: "... Franz Leppich's panmelodicon in 1810,
Buschmann's uranion in the same year, &c. Of most of these nothing
now remains but the name and a description in the Allgemeine
musikalische Zeitung..." Added 'in'.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME XII, SLICE VIII
Haller, Albrecht to Harmonium
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
HALLER, ALBRECHT VON HANDICAP
HALLER, BERTHOLD HANDSEL
HALLEY, EDMUND HANDSWORTH
HALLGRIMSSON, JONAS HANDWRITING
HALLIDAY, ANDREW HANG-CHOW-FU
HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS, ORCHARD HANGING
HALLOWE'EN HANGO
HALLSTATT HANKA, WENCESLAUS
HALLUCINATION HANLEY
HALLUIN HANNA, MARCUS ALONZO
HALM, CARL FELIX HANNAY, JAMES
HALMA HANNEN, JAMES HANNEN
HALMAHERA HANNIBAL (Carthaginian statesman)
HALMSTAD HANNIBAL (Missouri, U.S.A.)
HALO HANNINGTON, JAMES
HALOGENS HANNINGTON
HALS, FRANS HANNO
HALSBURY, HARDINGE GIFFARD HANOI
HALSTEAD HANOTAUX, ALBERT AUGUSTE GABRIEL
HALT HANOVER (province of Prussia)
HALUNTIUM HANOVER (city of Prussia)
HALYBURTON, JAMES HANOVER (Indiana, U.S.A.)
HALYBURTON, THOMAS HANOVER (New Hampshire, U.S.A.)
HAM (son of Noah) HANOVER (Pennsylvania, U.S.A.)
HAM (town of France) HANRIOT, FRANCOIS
HAMADAN HANSARD, LUKE
HAMADHANI HANSEATIC LEAGUE
HAMAH HANSEN, PETER ANDREAS
HAMANN, JOHANN GEORG HANSI
HAMAR HANSOM, JOSEPH ALOYSIUS
HAMASA HANSON, SIR RICHARD DAVIES
HAMBURG (German state) HANSTEEN, CHRISTOPHER
HAMBURG (German seaport) HANTHAWADDY
HAMDANI HANUKKAH
HAMELIN, FRANCOIS ALPHONSE HANUMAN
HAMELN HANWAY, JONAS
HAMERLING, ROBERT HANWELL
HAMERTON, PHILIP GILBERT HAPARANDA
HAMI HAPLODRILI
HAMILCAR BARCA HAPTARA
HAMILTON HAPUR
HAMILTON, MARQUESSES & DUKES OF HARA-KIRI
HAMILTON, ALEXANDER HARALD
HAMILTON, ANTHONY HARBIN
HAMILTON, ELIZABETH HARBINGER
HAMILTON, EMMA HARBOUR
HAMILTON, JAMES HARBURG
HAMILTON, JAMES HAMILTON HARCOURT
HAMILTON, JOHN HARCOURT, SIMON HARCOURT
HAMILTON, PATRICK HARCOURT, SIR WILLIAM VENABLES VERNON
HAMILTON, ROBERT HARCOURT, WILLIAM VERNON
HAMILTON, THOMAS HARDANGER FJORD
HAMILTON, WILLIAM HARDEE, WILLIAM JOSEPH
HAMILTON, SIR WILLIAM (1730-1803) HARDENBERG, KARL AUGUST VON
HAMILTON, SIR WILLIAM (1788-1856) HARDERWYK
HAMILTON, | 1,875.456393 |
2023-11-16 18:48:19.6296960 | 80 | 6 |
Produced by Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
THE EMPTY SLEEVE:
OR THE
LIFE AND HARDSHIPS
OF
HENRY H. MEACHAM,
IN THE
UNION ARMY.
_BY HIMSELF | 1,875.649736 |
2023-11-16 18:48:19.7264070 | 624 | 20 |
Is The Bible Worth Reading
And Other Essays
By
Lemuel K. Washburn
New York
The Truth Seeker Company
1911
CONTENTS
Dedication
Is The Bible Worth Reading
Sacrifice
The Drama Of Life
Nature In June
The Infinite Purpose
Freethought Commands
A Rainbow Religion
A Cruel God
What Is Jesus
Deeds Better Than Professions
Give Us The Truth
The American Sunday
Lord And Master
Are Christians Intelligent Or Honest
The Danger Of The Ballot
Who Carried The Cross
Modern Disciples Of Jesus
A Poor Excuse
Profession And Practice
Where Is Truth
What Does It Prove
Human Responsibility
Abolish Dirt
Religion And Morality
Jesus As A Model
Singing Lies
A Walk Through A Cemetery
Peace With God
Saving The Soul
The Search For Something To Worship
Where Are They
Some Questions For Christians To Answer
The Image Of God
Religion And Science
The Bible And The Child
When To Help The World
The Judgment Of God
Christianity And Freethought
The Brotherhood And Freedom Of Man
Whatever Is Is Right
The Object Of Life
Man
The Dogma Of The Divine Man
The Rich Man's Gospel
Speak Well Of One Another
Disgraceful Partnerships
Science And Theology
Unequal Remuneration
The Old And The New
Guard The Ear
The Character Of God
Not Important
Oaths
Dead Words
Confession Of Sin
Death's Philanthropy
Our Attitude Towards Nature
Reverence For Motherhood
The God Of The Bible
The Measure Of Suffering
Nature
Creeds
Don't Try To Stop The Sun Shining
Follow Me
Can We Never Get Along Without Servants?
A Heavenly Father
Worship Not Needed
Was Jesus A Good Man
How To Help Mankind
On The Cross
Equal Moral Standards
Authority
A Clean Sabbath
Human Integrity
Is It True
Keep The Children At Home
Teacher And Preacher
Fear Of Doubts
Bible-Backing
Beggars
Habits
Can Poverty Be Abolished
The Roman Catholic God
Human Cruelty
Infidelity
Atheism
Christian Happiness
What God Knows
The Meaning Of The Word God
What Has Jesus Done For The World
The Agnostic's Position
Orthodoxy
Ideas Of Jesus
The Silence Of Jesus
Does The Church Save
Save The Republic
A Woman's Religion
The Sacrifice Of Jesus
Fashionable Hypocrisy
The Saturday Half-Holiday
The Motive For Preaching
The Christian's God
Indifference To Religion
Sunday Schools
Going To Church
Who Is The Greatest Living Man
[Illustration.]
Lemuel K. Washburn
DEDICATION
The writer of this book dedicates it to all men and women of common
honesty and | 1,875.746447 |
2023-11-16 18:48:30.0254700 | 2,358 | 13 | Project Gutenberg Etext The Choir Invisible, by James Lane Allen
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The Choir Invisible
by James Lane Allen
September, 2000 [Etext #2316]
Project Gutenberg Etext The Choir Invisible, by James Lane Allen
******This file should be named 2316.txt or 2316.zip******
Transcribed for Project Gutenberg by Susan L. Farley.
Project Gutenburg/Make A Difference Day Project 1999.
Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
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We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
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The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
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up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has
a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
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We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
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million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text
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of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
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* | 1,886.04551 |
2023-11-16 18:48:30.0260440 | 2,960 | 13 |
E-text prepared by Susan Skinner and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THOMAS CARLYLE
* * * * *
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By Hector C. Macpherson.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By Oliphant Smeaton.
HUGH MILLER. By W. Keith Leask.
JOHN KNOX. By A. Taylor Innes.
ROBERT BURNS. By Gabriel Setoun.
THE BALLADISTS. By John Geddie.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor Herkless.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By Eve Blantyre Simpson.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. Garden Blaikie.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. Keith Leask.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By Oliphant Smeaton.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. Omond.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir George Douglas.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By John Wellwood.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor Saintsbury.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By Louis A. Barbe.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. Grosart.
JAMES THOMSON. By William Bayne.
MUNGO PARK. By T. Banks Maclachlan.
DAVID HUME. By Professor Calderwood.
* * * * *
THOMAS CARLYLE
by
HECTOR C MACPHERSON
Famous Scots Series
Published by Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
Edinburgh and London
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and the
printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
Second Edition completing Seventh Thousand.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Of the writing of books on Carlyle there is no end. Why, then, it may
pertinently be asked, add another stone to the Carlylean cairn? The
reply is obvious. In a series dealing with famous Scotsmen, Carlyle has
a rightful claim to a niche in the temple of Fame. While prominence has
been given in the book to the Scottish side of Carlyle's life, the fact
has not been lost sight of that Carlyle owed much to Germany; indeed, if
we could imagine the spirit of a German philosopher inhabiting the body
of a Covenanter of dyspeptic and sceptical tendencies, a good idea would
be had of Thomas Carlyle. Needless to say, I have been largely indebted
to the biography by Mr Froude, and to Carlyle's _Reminiscences_. After
all has been said, the fact remains that Froude's portrait, though
truthful in the main, is somewhat deficient in light and
shade--qualities which the student will find admirably supplied in
Professor Masson's charming little book, "Carlyle Personally, and in his
Writings." To the Professor I am under deep obligation for the interest
he has shown in the book. In the course of his perusal of the proofs,
Professor Masson made valuable corrections and suggestions, which
deserve more than a formal acknowledgment. To Mr Haldane, M.P., my
thanks are also due for his suggestive criticism of the chapter on
German thought, upon which he is an acknowledged authority.
I have also to express my deep obligations to Mr John Morley, who, in
the midst of pressing engagements, kindly found time to read the proof
sheets. In a private note Mr Morley has been good enough to express his
general sympathy and concurrence with my estimate of Carlyle.
_EDINBURGH, October 1897._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE 9
CHAPTER II
CRAIGENPUTTOCK--LITERARY EFFORTS 29
CHAPTER III
CARLYLE'S MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 42
CHAPTER IV
LIFE IN LONDON 65
CHAPTER V
HOLIDAY JOURNEYINGS--LITERARY WORK 79
CHAPTER VI
RECTORIAL ADDRESS--DEATH OF MRS CARLYLE 112
CHAPTER VII
LAST YEARS AND DEATH OF CARLYLE 129
CHAPTER VIII
CARLYLE AS A SOCIAL AND POLITICAL THINKER 138
CHAPTER IX
CARLYLE AS AN INSPIRATIONAL FORCE 152
THOMAS CARLYLE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE
'A great man,' says Hegel, 'condemns the world to the task of explaining
him.' Emphatically does the remark apply to Thomas Carlyle. When he
began to leave his impress in literature, he was treated as a confusing
and inexplicable element. Opinion oscillated between the view of James
Mill, that Carlyle was an insane rhapsodist, and that of Jeffrey, that
he was afflicted with a chronic craze for singularity. Jeffrey's verdict
sums up pretty effectively the attitude of the critics of the time to
the new writer:--'I suppose that you will treat me as something worse
than an ass, when I say that I am firmly persuaded the great source of
your extravagance, and all that makes your writings intolerable to many
and ridiculous to not a few, is not so much any real peculiarity of
opinion, as an unlucky ambition to appear more original than you are.'
The blunder made by Jeffrey in regard both to Carlyle and Wordsworth
emphasises the truth which critics seem reluctant to bear in mind, that,
before the great man can be explained, he must be appreciated.
Emphatically true of Carlyle it is that he creates the standard by which
he is judged. Carlyle resembles those products of the natural world
which biologists call'sports'--products which, springing up in a
spontaneous and apparently erratic way, for a time defy classification.
The time is appropriate for an attempt to classify the great thinker,
whose birth took place one hundred years ago.
Towards the close of the last century a stone-mason, named James
Carlyle, started business on his own account in the village of
Ecclefechan, Dumfriesshire. He was an excellent tradesman, and frugal
withal; and in the year 1791 he married a distant kinswoman of his own,
Janet Carlyle, who died after giving birth to a son. In the beginning of
1795 he married one Margaret Aitken, a worthy, intelligent woman; and on
the 4th of December following a son was born, whom they called Thomas,
after his paternal grandfather. This child was destined to be the most
original writer of his time.
Little Thomas was early taught to read by his mother, and at the age of
five he learnt to 'count' from his father. He was then sent to the
village school; and in his seventh year he was reported to be 'complete'
in English. As the schoolmaster was weak in the classics, Tom was
taught the rudiments of Latin by the burgher minister, of which strict
sect James Carlyle was a zealous member. One summer morning, in 1806,
his father took him to Annan Academy. 'It was a bright morning,' he
wrote long years thereafter, 'and to me full of moment, of fluttering
boundless Hopes, saddened by parting with Mother, with Home, and which
afterwards were cruelly disappointed.' At that 'doleful and hateful
Academy,' to use his own words, Thomas Carlyle spent three years,
learning to read French and Latin, and the Greek alphabet, as well as
acquiring a smattering of geometry and algebra.
It was in the Academy that he got his first glimpse of Edward
Irving--probably in April or May 1808--who had called to pay his
respects to his old teacher, Mr Hope. Thomas's impression of him was
that of a 'flourishing slip of a youth, with coal-black hair, swarthy
clear complexion, very straight on his feet, and except for the glaring
squint alone, decidedly handsome.' Years passed before young Carlyle saw
Irving's face again.
James Carlyle, although an austere man, and the reverse of
demonstrative, was bound up in his son, sparing no expense upon the
youth's education. On one occasion he exclaimed, with an unwonted
outburst of glee, 'Tom, I do not grudge thy schooling, now when thy
Uncle Frank owns thee to be a better Arithmetician than himself.' Early
recognising the natural talent and aptitude of his son, he determined
to send him to the nearest university, with a view to Thomas studying
for the ministry. One crisp winter's morning, in 1809, found Thomas
Carlyle on his way to Edinburgh, trudging the entire distance--one
hundred miles or so.
He went through the usual university course, attended the divinity
classes, and delivered the customary discourses in English and Latin.
But Tom was not destined to 'wag his head in a pulpit,' for he had
conscientious objections which parental control in no way interfered
with. Referring to this vital period of his life, Carlyle wrote: 'His
[father's] tolerance for me, his trust in me, was great. When I declined
going forward into the Church (though his heart was set upon it), he
respected my scruples, my volition, and patiently let me have my way.'
Carlyle never looked back to his university life with satisfaction. In
his interesting recollections Mr Moncure Conway represents Carlyle,
describing his experiences as follows:--'Very little help did I get from
anybody in those years, and, as I may say, no sympathy at all in all
this old town. And if there was any difference, it was found least where
I might most have hoped for it. There was Professor ----. For years I
attended his lectures, in all weathers and all hours. Many and many a
time, when the class was called together, it was found to consist of one
individual--to wit, of him now speaking; and still oftener, when others
were present, the only person who had at all looked into the lesson
assigned was the same humble individual. I remember no instance in which
these facts elicited any note or comment from that instructor. He once
requested me to translate a mathematical paper, and I worked through it
the whole of one Sunday, and it was laid before him, and it was received
without remark or thanks. After such long years, I came to part with
him, and to get my certificate. Without a word, he wrote on a bit of
paper: "I certify that Mr Thomas Carlyle has been in my class during his
college course, and has made good progress in his studies." Then he rang
a bell, and ordered a servant to open the front door for me. Not the
slightest sign that I was a person whom he could have distinguished in
any crowd. And so I parted from old ----.'
Professor Masson, who in loving, painstaking style has ferreted all the
facts about Carlyle's university life, sums up in these words: 'Without
assuming that he meant the university described in _Sartor Resartus_ to
stand literally for Edinburgh University, of his own experience, we have
seen enough to show that any specific training of much value he
considered himself to owe to his four years in the Arts classes in
Edinburgh University, was the culture of his mathematical faculty under
Leslie, and that for the rest he acknowledged merely a certain benefit
from being in so many class-rooms where matters intellectual were
professedly in the atmosphere, and where he learned to take advantage
of books.' As Carlyle put it in his Rectorial Address of 1866, 'What I
have found the university did for me is that it taught me to read in
various languages, in various sciences, so that I go into the books
which treated of these things, and gradually penetrate into any
department I wanted to make myself master of, as I found it suit me.'
In 1814, Carlyle obtained the mathematical tutorship at Annan. Out of
his slender salary of L60 or L70 he was able to save something, so that
he was practically independent. By and by James Carlyle gave up his
trade, and settled on a small farm at Mainhill, about two miles from
Ecclefechan. Thither Thomas hied with unfeigned delight at holiday time,
for he led the life of a recluse at Annan, his books being his sole
companions.
Edward Irving, to whom Carlyle was introduced in college days, was now
settled as a dominie in Kirkcaldy. His teaching was not favourably
viewed by some of the parents, who started a rival school, and resolved
to import a second master, with the result that Carlyle was selected.
Irving, with great magnanimity, gave him a cordial welcome to the 'Lang
Toon,' and the two Annandale natives became fast friends. The elder
placed his well-selected library at the disposal of the younger, and
together they explored the whole countryside. Short visits to Edinburgh
had a special attraction for both, where they met with a few kindred
spirits. On one of those visits, Carlyle, who had not cut off his
connection with the university, called at the Divinity Hall to put down
his name formally | 1,886.046084 |
2023-11-16 18:48:30.0520600 | 764 | 14 |
Transcribed from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
{Book cover: cover.jpg}
THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL
BY
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON
GAY AND BIRD
22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND
LONDON
1902
{I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a 'fine dizzy, muddle-headed
job': p01.jpg}
TO THE HENS, DUCKS, AND GEESE
WHO SO KINDLY GAVE ME
SITTINGS FOR THESE
SKETCHES THE BOOK
IS GRATEFULLY
INSCRIBED
CHAPTER I.
{Thornycroft House: p1a.jpg}
THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-.
{Picture of woman and goose: p1b.jpg}
In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most modest of
my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of Belgian hares and
rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly fancy the role of Goose
Girl, because it recalls the German fairy tales of my early youth, when I
always yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what I now am.
As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, a fat
buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I chanced upon
the village of Barbury Green.
One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could see
with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a little,
struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-boy who was my
escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless day, I descended from
the trap and said to the astonished yokel: "You may go back to the
Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two here. Wait a moment--I'll send
a message, please!"
I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody.
"I am very tired of people," the note ran, "and want to rest myself by
living a while with things. Address me (if you must) at Barbury Green
post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple clothing
there--nothing but shirts and skirts, please. I cannot forget that I am
only twenty miles from Oxenbridge (though it might be one hundred and
twenty, which is the reason I adore it), but I rely upon you to keep an
honourable distance yourselves, and not to divulge my place of retreat to
others, especially to--you know whom! Do not pursue me. I will never be
taken alive!"
Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and having
seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud of dust, I
looked about me with what Stevenson calls a "fine, dizzy, muddle-headed
joy," the joy of a successful rebel or a liberated serf. Plenty of money
in my purse--that was unromantic, of course, but it simplified
matters--and nine hours of daylight remaining in which to find a lodging.
{Life converges there, just at the public duck-pond: p3.jpg}
The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one of the | 1,886.0721 |
2023-11-16 18:48:30.7273950 | 646 | 30 |
Produced by Nick Wall, David K. Park and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
FERN VALE
OR THE
QUEENSLAND SQUATTER.
A NOVEL.
BY COLIN MUNRO.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL II.
LONDON:
T. C. NEWBY,
30 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
MDCCCLXII.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY THE CALEDONIAN PRESS,
"The National Institution for Promoting the Employment of Women in the
Art of Printing."
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
CHAPTER II 32
CHAPTER III 48
CHAPTER IV 77
CHAPTER V 105
CHAPTER VI 128
CHAPTER VII 146
CHAPTER VIII 180
CHAPTER IX 205
CHAPTER X 232
CHAPTER XI 253
CHAPTER XII 287
CHAPTER XIII 325
FERN VALE.
CHAPTER I.
"What are these,
So withered, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't?"
MACBETH, _Act 1, Sc. 3_.
"Those fellows have been up to some mischief I am certain," said Tom
when the blacks departed, as described in the last chapter. "I am
confident my brother has not given them anything; and if they have got
any rations at Strawberry Hill, they must have stolen them. However, if
you intend going over to their corroboree, I'll accompany you."
"I do intend going," said John, "for I have never seen them in such
force as they'll be to-night, and I am curious to see the effect. Do
you know what is the nature of the ceremony of their kipper corroboree?"
"I can't exactly say," replied Tom, "their ordinary corroborees are
simply feasts to commemorate some event; but the kipper corroboree has
some mystery attached to it, which they do not permit strangers to
witness. I believe it is held once a year, to admit their boys into the
communion of men; and to give 'gins' to the neophytes, if they desire to
add to their importance by assuming a marital character. I believe it is
simply a ceremony, in which they recognise the transition of their
youths from infancy to manhood; though they keep the proceedings veiled
from vulgar eyes."
"When, then," continued John, "the kippers are constituted men, and get
their gins, are their marriage engagements of a permanent nature; I | 1,886.747435 |
2023-11-16 18:48:30.9257560 | 1,889 | 21 |
Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Delphine Lettau, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration]
THE
BOOK OF STORIES
FOR THE STORY-TELLER
by
FANNY E. COE
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
LONDON CALCUTTA SYDNEY
_First published March 1914_
_by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
_39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W. C._
* * * * *
_Preface_
There is no need here to enter a plea for story-telling. Its value in
the home and in the school is assured. Miss Bryant, in her charming
book, _How to Tell Stories to Children_, says, "Perhaps never, since
the really old days, has story-telling so nearly reached a recognized
level of dignity as a legitimate and general art of entertainment as
now." And, in the guise of entertainment, the story is often the
vehicle conveying to the child the wholesome moral lesson or the bit
of desirable knowledge so necessary to his well-being at the time.
Thus it has come to be recognized that the ability to tell a story
well is an important part of the equipment of the parent or the
teacher of little children.
The parent is often at a loss for fresh material. Sometimes he "makes
up" a story, with but poor satisfaction to himself or his child. The
teacher's difficulty is quite otherwise. She knows of many good
stories, but these same stories are scattered through many books, and
the practical difficulty of finding time in her already overcrowded
days for frequent trips to the library is well-nigh insurmountable.
The quest is indefinitely postponed, with the result that the stories
are either crowded out altogether, or that the teacher repeats the few
tales she has at hand month after month, and year after year, until
all freshness and inspiration are gone from the story time.
The stories in the present collection are drawn from many nations and
from widely differing sources. Folk tales, modern fairy tales, and
myths have a generous showing; and there is added a new field as a
source for stories. This is Real Life, in which children soon begin to
take decided interest. Under this heading appear tales of child life,
of child heroes, of adult heroes, and of animals.
Mr Herbert L. Willett, of the University of Chicago, has said: "It is
not through formal instruction that a child receives his impulses
toward virtue, honour and courtesy. It is rather from such appeal to
the emotions as can be made most effectually through the telling of a
story. The inculcation of a duty leaves him passionless and unmoved.
The narrative of an experience in which that same virtue finds
concrete embodiment fires him with the desire to try the same conduct
for himself. Few children fail to make the immediate connection
between the hero or heroine of the story and themselves."
Because of this great principle of imitation, a large number of the
stories in this little volume have been chosen for their moral value.
They present the virtues of persistence, faithfulness, truthfulness,
honesty, generosity, loyalty to one's word, tender care of animals,
and love of friends and family. Some themes are emphasized more than
once. "Hans the Shepherd Boy," "The Story of Li'l' Hannibal," and
"Dust under the Rug," teach wholesome facts in regard to work. "The
Feast of Lanterns" and "The Pot of Gold" emphasize the truth that
East or west,
Hame's best.
Filial devotion shines from the stories of "Anders' New Cap," "How the
Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went out to Dinner," and "The Wolf-Mother
of Saint-Ailbe."
The form of each story is such that the parent or teacher can tell or
read the story, as it appears in the book, with only such slight
modification as his intimate knowledge of the individual child or
class would naturally prompt him to make.
The compiler wishes especially to express her appreciation for many
helpful suggestions as to material received from Mrs Mary W. Cronan,
teller of stories at various branches of the Boston Public Library.
* * * * *
_Contents_
FOLK TALES
PAGE
THE FOX AND THE WOLF 11
THE FOX AND THE CAT _R. Nesbit Bain_ 16
THE HOBYAHS _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 19
HOW THE SUN, THE MOON, AND THE WIND
WENT OUT TO DINNER _Fanny E. Coe_ 23
A LEGEND OF THE NORTH WIND _Mary Catherine Judd_ 26
HOW THE ROBIN'S BREAST BECAME RED _Flora J. Cooke_ 30
HOW THE ROBIN CAME 32
THE STORY OF THE RED-HEADED WOODPECKER 35
THE LITTLE RABBITS _Joel Chandler Harris_ 38
"HEYO, HOUSE" _Joel Chandler Harris_ 44
TEENCHY DUCK
_From the French of Frederic Ortoli_
_Translated by Joel Chandler Harris_ 49
ST CHRISTOPHER 63
WONDERING JACK _James Baldwin_ 68
THE FEAST OF LANTERNS
_From W. T. Stead's "Books for the Bairns"_ 81
MODERN FAIRY TALES
PRINCE HARWEDA AND THE MAGIC PRISON _Elizabeth Harrison_ 93
THE HOP-ABOUT MAN _Agnes Grozier Herbertson_ 107
THE STREET MUSICIANS _Lida McMurry_ 118
THE STRAW OX _R. Nesbit Bain_ 124
THE NECKLACE OF TRUTH _Jean Mace_ 131
ANDERS' NEW CAP _Anna Wohlenberg_ 136
DUST UNDER THE RUG _Maud Lindsay_ 142
A NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS _Annie R. Annan_ 149
THE STORY OF LI'L' HANNIBAL _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 157
HOW WRY-FACE PLAYED A TRICK ON
ONE-EYE, THE POTATO-WIFE _Agnes Grozier Herbertson_ 164
THE POT OF GOLD _Horace E. Scudder_ 176
THE FROG-TSAREVNA _R. Nesbit Bain_ 188
OEYVIND AND MARIT _Bjoerne Bjoerneson_ 197
THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES 207
MYTHS
RHOECUS _Fanny E. Coe_ 214
KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS _Flora J. Cooke_ 217
THE STORY OF PEGASUS _Fanny E. Coe_ 219
THE WOLF-MOTHER OF SAINT AILBE _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 223
WHO WAS THE MIGHTIER? _Fanny E. Coe_ 231
STORIES FROM REAL LIFE
HANS THE SHEPHERD BOY _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 234
NATHAN AND THE BEAR _M. A. L. Lane_ 236
THE MAN ON THE CHIMNEY _Fanny E. Coe_ 241
POCAHONTAS _E. A. and M. F. Blaisdell_ 244
THE DAY KIT AND KAT WENT FISHING _Lucy Fitch Perkins_ 247
THE HONEST FARMER _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 257
DAMON AND PYTHIAS _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 259
LINCOLN'S UNVARYING KINDNESS _Fanny E. Coe_ 261
HOW MOLLY SPENT HER SIXPENCE _Eliza Orne White_ 265
HANS AND HIS DOG _Maud Lindsay_ 275
* * * * *
_The Fox and the Wolf_
_A Russian Fable_
Once upon a time there was a fox so shrewd that, although he was
neither so fleet of foot, nor so strong of limb, as many of his
kindred | 1,886.945796 |
2023-11-16 18:48:31.1366490 | 1,088 | 28 |
Produced by Rosanna Murphy, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
_The Early History of the Scottish Union Question_
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION.
"With considerable literary skill he has compressed into a brief compass
a most readable and impartial account of the efforts which from the time
of Edward I. went on to weld the two countries into one."--_Edinburgh
Evening News._
"Mr. Omond tells his story brightly and with full
knowledge."--_Manchester Guardian._
"A genuine contribution to British history."--_Dumfries Courier._
"There is much to interest and inform in this volume."--_Liverpool
Mercury._
"The conciseness of the sketch, instead of detracting from the worth of
the work, rather enables the author to give a more vivid description of
the course and progress of events."--_Dundee Advertiser._
"Mr. Omond has laid students of British history under a debt of
gratitude to him for his work on the Scottish Union question."--_Leeds
Mercury._
"Mr. Omond is at home in the struggles which led up to the act of Union
in 1707."--_British Weekly._
"His book, modest and unpretentious as it is, is a careful contribution
to the study of one of the most important features of the history of the
two kingdoms, since 1707 united as Great Britain."--_Liverpool Daily
Post._
"A handy summary of the history of such international relations, written
with an orderly method and much clearness and good sense."--_The
Academy._
"A handy, well-written volume."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"A very interesting, as well as very instructive book."--_Literary
World._
[Illustration: JOHN HAMILTON, LORD BELHAVEN.]
_The Early History
of the
Scottish Union Question_
_By
G. W. T. Omond_
_Author of
"Fletcher of Saltoun" in the "Famous Scots" Series_
_Bi-Centenary Edition_
_Edinburgh & London
Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
1906_
_Now Complete in 42 Volumes_
_The Famous Scots Series_
_Post 8vo, Art Canvas, 1s. 6d. net; and with gilt top and uncut
edges, price 2s. net_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
JAMES HOGG. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
THOMAS CAMPBELL. By J. CUTHBERT HADDEN.
GEORGE BUCHANAN. | 1,887.156689 |
2023-11-16 18:48:31.2254620 | 1,603 | 10 |
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
COLLECTANEA
* * * * *
_DE DIVERSIS REBUS_
* * * * *
ADDRESSES AND PAPERS
BY
SIR PETER EADE, M.D., LOND.
_Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians_; _Hon. Fellow of King’s_
_College_, _London_; _Consulting Physician to the Norfolk and Norwich_
_Hospital_, _to the Jenny Lind Infirmary for Sick Children_, _and_
_to the Norwich Dispensary_; _Honorary Freeman of_
_the City of Norwich_
* * * * *
LONDON
JARROLD AND SONS, 10 AND 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.
_All Rights Reserved_
1908
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON RECREATION GROUNDS FOR NORWICH 9
II. ON TEMPERANCE AND AIDS TO TEMPERANCE 15
III. ON TORTOISES—_With Illustration_, 1908 29
IV. A FURTHER NOTE UPON TORTOISES 38
V. MY CHRISTMAS GARDEN PARTY 44
VI. MY CITY GARDEN IN “A CITY OF GARDENS” 53
VII. PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS TO THE NORFOLK AND 72
NORWICH NATURALISTS’ SOCIETY
VIII. ON ST. GILES’S CHURCH AND PARISH, NORWICH 90
IX. THE TOWER OF ST. GILES’S CHURCH—_With 99
Illustration_
X. ON SIR THOMAS BROWNE—_With Portrait_ 121
PREFACE.
The following Addresses and Papers on various subjects have been selected
from many others contributed by the Author, as thought to be possibly of
sufficient interest in their respective spheres to justify their
reproduction in a collected form. They are very diverse in their
character, and embrace a great variety of topics.
It has been well said that all men are delighted to look back; and the
Author, whilst thus recalling past work, can only express the hope that
some of these Papers may have contributed, however infinitesimally, each
in their own way and at their respective times, to help forward the
appreciation of the then present, or the progress of the world’s welfare
or knowledge in the future.
_Norwich_, 1908.
I.
PROPOSED PROVISION OF RECREATION GROUNDS FOR NORWICH.
Condensed Report of Speech in Norwich Town Council, 1880, reprinted from
the _Norwich Mercury_ of October 23rd, 1880:—
Dr. Eade, pursuant to notice, rose to call attention to the question of
recreation or playgrounds for the children of Norwich.
He reminded the Council that four or five years ago, after some
considerable talk with leading citizens, he ventured in the public Press
to call attention to the deficiency which existed in Norwich in respect
of recreation or playgrounds, and also of public baths. Ever since that
time the question had, more or less, started up at intervals, while
certain steps had been taken, which, in the course of time, would
probably result in something being achieved. But, as time went on, the
city was growing rapidly, open spaces were built upon, and he and those
who were anxious to see something done were passing away. He had,
therefore, taken upon himself once again to call attention to the
subject, and to ask the Council to take action upon it.
After remarking upon the great importance now generally attached to
questions affecting the public health, sanitation, or preventive
medicine—for these were synonymous terms—and the intimate connection now
everywhere recognised between the general welfare of the population of
our great cities, and the absence of disease, with the consequent
reduction in the death-rate, Dr. Eade said that it was entirely from the
point of view of the public health that he wished to call attention to
this subject. The physical growth, the physical well-being, and the
physical development of the population formed a large branch of this
subject; and he was afraid that, with regard to this, Norwich could not
be said to be in the forefront of progress. Even since he first mooted
the question many of the open spaces which he then believed available for
the purpose had been built over or otherwise dealt with.
Norwich, once a city of gardens, was rapidly becoming a cramped and
over-crowded city—at least, in its older portions; and in the new
portions no provision was made for the physical welfare of the
population, and no opportunities were given for the physical development
of the children. Not in a single instance had a good wide roadway been
opened up in the new districts; on the contrary, he was sorry to see in
one or two of the most populous districts roads which ought to be great,
wide thoroughfares, nothing better than narrow lanes. One most
remarkable instance was Unthank’s Road, which was being built up at the
lower part where it was extremely narrow, so that instead of being made a
great artery for the traffic of the city, it was converted into a mere
lane, and it ought to be called Unthank’s Lane—not dignified by the name
of road.
No doubt before many years were over the city would have to incur a large
expenditure in widening that and other roads. How short-sighted, then,
was the policy of allowing such encroachments to go on!
To show what bearing these points had on public opinion long ago, Dr.
Eade pointed out that even in Shakespeare’s time the question was raised,
as was seen in “Julius Cæsar.” Mark Antony, in his speech to the
citizens, first asks—“Wherein did Cæsar thus deserve your love?” and then
the reply comes (by his Will) “To every Roman citizen he gives
seventy-five drachmas;” and afterwards—
“Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
His private arbours, and new planted orchards
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you
And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures,
To walk abroad and recreate yourselves.”
Dr. Eade proceeded to say he wished there were Julius Cæsars at the
present time desirous of making wills for the benefit of Norwich. He
then quoted the opinions of Lord Shaftesbury and the _Lancet_ as to
places of public recreation and their influence upon the physical and
moral welfare of the population, and added, that he fully agreed with the
writer in the _Daily Press_, signing himself “C. I. T.,” when he
wrote—“The city expects the authorities to guard the health and lives of
the humbler population at all costs.”
Other towns had done and were doing that which he wanted them to do in
Norwich. Towns as large as Birmingham and as small as Falmouth, had
provided public parks, and many had more than one. Birmingham had seven
parks and recreation grounds, Sheffield four, and Bradford three | 1,887.245502 |
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PROBLEMS IN PERICLEAN BUILDINGS
PRINCETON MONOGRAPHS IN ART AND ARCHAEOLOGY II
PROBLEMS IN
PERICLEAN BUILDINGS
BY
G. W. ELDERKIN, PH.D.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR, PRECEPTOR IN ART AND ARCHAEOLOGY,
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS
PRINCETON
LONDON: HENRY FROWDE
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1912
Copyright, 1912, by Princeton University Press
for the United States of America.
Printed by Princeton University Press,
Princeton, N. J., U. S. A.
CONTENTS
I. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE IRREGULARITY OF THE PROPYLAEA 1
II. AN INTERPRETATION OF THE CARYATID PORCH 13
III. THE ERECHTHEUM AS BUILT 19
IV. THE ERECHTHEUM AS PLANNED 49
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. EAST WINDOW OF THE PINAKOTHEKE.
2. THE PINAKOTHEKE AS SEEN FROM THE BASE OF THE BASTION OF THE TEMPLE OF
WINGLESS VICTORY.
3. THE PINAKOTHEKE AS SEEN FROM A POINT NEAR THE AXIS OF THE CENTRAL
PORTAL.
4. PLAN OF PROPYLAEA WITH ZIGZAG ROAD OF ASCENT.
5. SCENE ON AN ARCHAIC AMPHORA.
6. NORTH END OF WESTERN INTERIOR FOUNDATION OF THE ERECHTHEUM. VIEW FROM
THE EAST.
7. THE GROUND PLAN OF THE ERECHTHEUM AS BUILT.
8. THE NORTH SIDE OF THE DOOR IN THE WEST WALL.
9. NORTH WALL AT PLACE OF CONTACT WITH THE EASTERN CROSS-WALL.
10. THE CUTTING IN THE MARBLE BLOCK AT THE N. E. CORNER OF THE EASTERN
CELLA BELOW THE SUPPOSED FLOOR-LEVEL.
11. THE INTERIOR N. W. CORNER OF THE TEMPLE.
12. THE ORIGINAL PLAN OF THE ERECHTHEU
M.
I
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE IRREGULARITY OF THE PROPYLAEA
The irregular position of the door and the windows of the north-west
wing of the Propylaea has long been remarked, though no explanations of
the phenomenon have been offered. Bohn, _Die Propylaeen der Akropolis zu
Athen_, p. 23, says of the south wall of this wing: "Die Wand welche die
Halle von dem eigentlichen Gemach trennt, ist von einer Tuer und zwei
Fenstern durchbrochen. Erstere liegt jedoch nicht in der Mitte, die
letzteren wiederum unsymmetrisch zu ihr. Irgend einen Grund, irgend eine
axiale Beziehung zu den Saeulen vermochte ich in dieser abweichenden
Anordnung nicht zu finden." The east wall of the Erechtheum, on the
other hand (_A. J. A._, 1906, Pl. 8), was pierced by a central door and
two windows equidistant from it. That such symmetrical arrangement
should obtain in the Erechtheum and not in the closely contemporary
Propylaea very justly occasions surprise. It is the purpose of this
study to attempt to explain the irregularity in the latter.
The first fact to be observed with regard to the facade of the
Pinakotheke is concisely stated by Bohn (_op. cit._, p. 23): "Die
Stellung der Saeulen bestimmt sich dadurch dass die Tangente an die
Westseite der oestlichsten genau in die entsprechende Flucht der
Hexastylstuetzen faellt." The position of the anta at the eastern end of
the lesser colonnade is also fixed by the requirement that it stand
directly beneath a triglyph. This anta in turn determined the position
of the eastern window, for the west face of the anta and the window are
equidistant from the east wall of the Pinakotheke (Fig. 1). The
coincidence can hardly be accidental. If the position of the eastern
window was thus determined by considerations of appearance from a
well-defined exterior point of view, it is probable that the position
of the other two openings in the wall was similarly determined by a
point or points somewhere in the line of approach to the building rather
than by any consideration for objects within the Pinakotheke. Such a
point is readily found at the base of the Nike bastion, from which both
windows and door are simultaneously visible between the columns (Fig.
2). The western window appears at the extreme left of the
intercolumniation; the eastern, at the extreme right. If the observer
advance from this point toward the Pinakotheke, the windows remain
constantly in sight but appear to move more and more toward the middle
of the intercolumniations (Fig. 3).
Along no other line outside the portico can the three openings be viewed
thus simultaneously. Along the line noted, they may be viewed not only
simultaneously but in such mutual relation as to give a necessarily
varying yet satisfying appearance of symmetry. The facts point to two
almost unavoidable inferences: first, that the line of these points
determines for us the position of the last stretch of the zigzag road
which led up to the Acropolis; second, that the asymmetrical placing of
door and windows was due to the architect's desire that the facade
should produce a complete and unified impression upon the approaching
observer. This wish of the architect, further, explains the unusual
depth of the portico of the Pinakotheke. As has already been stated, the
position of the east window was fixed by the anta before it. Such being
the case, the depth of the portico was necessarily conditioned by the
visibility of the window from the bastion of the Nike temple. Had the
wall been moved forward, the window would in greater or less degree have
been concealed by a column, and the architect's purpose in so far
defeated. In view of the unusual depth of the portico the effect of
moving the wall still further back scarcely requires consideration.
[Illustration: FIGURE 1
VIEW OF THE EAST WINDOW OF THE PINAKOTHEKE SHOWING ITS RELATION TO THE
EAST ANTA OF THE PORTICO]
If the last stretch of the zigzag road has been correctly determined,
the next stretch below must have reached from the Nike bastion to a
point below the pedestal of the monument to Agrippa. This pedestal, in
turn, affords important evidence confirming the theory that such was the
course of the road. The monument to Agrippa was erected in 27 B.C., that
is, before the Greek way was replaced by the Roman steps in the first
century A.D. (Judeich, _Topographie von Athen_, p. 199, note). Its
peculiar orientation has never been explained, but now, in view of the
preceding analysis, is easily explicable. From the bend in the road at
the base of the bastion, the equestrian statue, which surmounted the
high pedestal, was seen in exact profile. This is proved by a glance at
the plan (Fig. 4) in which the axis of the road and the N-S axis of the
pedestal converge at the base of the bastion. From the turn in the road
just below the pedestal, the inscription on its west face could be
easily read. But from the conjectured road which is drawn in Judeich,
_op. cit._, Plan II, it was impossible for a person to read easily the
inscription or see the equestrian group in exact profile. Thus it seems
beyond question that the pedestal of the monument was oriented with
reference to the ancient Greek roadway, the first clue to which is given
by the peculiar arrangement of the door and windows of the Pinakotheke.
The road thus determined possesses the signal advantage over the other
that it permitted an impressive view through the great portal and an
impressive approach to it from directly in front.
The simultaneous visibility of door and windows from the normal line of
approach is a hitherto unobserved feature of Periclean building which is
again happily illustrated in the closely contemporary Erechtheum. The
certain restoration by Stevens (_A. J. A._, 1906, Pl. 9) of the east
wall of this temple, shows that the door and windows were so placed as
to be simultaneously visible from points in the axis of the door (Fig.
7). At a distance of about 10 m. from the stylobate, the windows
appeared in the middle of the intercolumniations.[1] The level ground in
front of the facade made possible an approach from straight in front. In
order that the windows might be simultaneously visible, they were
crowded close to the door--a fact which probably compelled the architect
to use a bronze-plated door frame instead of a stone one such as he used
in the north door. The former permitted longer wall blocks between the
door and window than the latter would have allowed.
In the case of the Propylaea, the approach was by a zigzag road up a
steep grade. The last stretch of this road was oblique to the N-S axis
of the Pinakotheke. If the facade was to be viewed from that last
stretch of the zigzag road, an asymmetric arrangement of door and
windows was absolutely necessary. The windows and door had to be moved
to the right of their normal position. The east facade of the Erechtheum
and the Pinakotheke both illustrate the same law that door and windows
behind a colonnade shall be simultaneously visible from before the
colonnade. In the east facade of the Erechtheum, however, this law is
observed in a perfectly normal arrangement; in the Pinakotheke,
observance of the general law necessitated an abnormal arrangement of
the openings.
Yet an insurmountable difficulty in the way of complete observance of
the law lay in the necessity for considering the demands of two widely
separated points of view, one in the line of approach to the Propylaea,
the other within the portico. A glance at the plan of the Propylaea
(Fig. 4) shows that lines drawn from the axis of the straight roadway at
its lower end to the door jambs of the Pinakotheke cut two columns
unequally. The line to the left side of the door is tangent to one
column, the line to the right side cuts deeply into the other. If the
door had been placed with reference solely to the view from the last
stretch of the zigzag road, it ought to stand farther to the west. That
it does not so stand must be due to the fact that the architect sought
likewise to provide for the view of the observer who approached the
Pinakotheke from behind the hexastyle. It is necessary to emphasize the
fact that the passage back of the hexastyle was the normal means of
access to the Pinakotheke. The position of the east window in the middle
of its wall space would be quickly, if unconsciously felt by the
observer, with the result that the asymmetry of the wall as a whole
would not be noticed. Had the normal access to the wing been from
directly in front, between the first and second columns (counting from
the east), the fact that the windows were not equidistant from the door
would have been readily recognized, but, as it is, the observer who
entered the portico in the regular way at the east end saw directly in
front of him a wall space pierced by a centrally placed window. If the
door had been placed farther west, this advantage would have been lost.
If the zigzag approach we have indicated be correct, it follows that the
Pinakotheke was designed also for an observer who stood at the beginning
of the straight road through the portal, where it would have produced a
unified effect with the general structure.
[Illustration: FIGURE 2
THE PINAKOTHEKE AS SEEN FROM THE BASE OF THE NIKE BASTION. AT LEFT, THE | 1,887.545543 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
The Treasure of
the Humble
_By_ Maurice Maeterlinck
_Translated by_ Alfred Sutro
With _Introduction by_ A. B. Walkley
London: George Allen, _Ruskin House_
156 Charing Cross Road mcmv
_First Edition, March 1897. Reprinted October 1897; September 1901;
January 1903; May 1904; November 1905._
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
=_TO_=
_MADAME GEORGETTE LEBLANC_
The Treasure of the Humble
[Illustration: LOGO]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION _Page_ ix
SILENCE 1
THE AWAKENING OF THE SOUL 23
THE PRE-DESTINED 43
MYSTIC MORALITY 59
ON WOMEN 75
THE TRAGICAL IN DAILY LIFE 95
THE STAR 121
THE INVISIBLE GOODNESS 147
THE DEEPER LIFE 169
THE INNER BEAUTY 197
INTRODUCTION
WITH M. Maeterlinck as a dramatist the world is pretty well acquainted.
This little volume presents him in the new character of a philosopher
and an æsthetician. And it is in some sort an ‘apology’ for his
theatre, the one being to the other as theory to practice. Reversing
the course prescribed by Mr. Squeers for his pupils, M. Maeterlinck,
having cleaned w-i-n-d-e-r, winder, now goes and spells it. He began
by visualising and synthetising his ideas of life; here you shall find
him trying to analyse these ideas and consumed with anxiety to tell
us the truth that is in him. It is not a truth for all markets; he is
at no pains to conceal that. He appeals, as every mystic must, to the
elect; M. Anatole France would say, to the _âmes bien nées_. If we are
not sealed of the tribe of Plotinus, he warns us to go elsewhere. ‘If,
plunging thine eyes into thyself—it is this same Plotinus that he is
quoting—‘thou dost not feel the charm of beauty, it is in vain that,
thy disposition being such, thou shouldst seek the charm of beauty; for
thou wouldst seek it only with that which is ugly and impure. Therefore
it is that the discourse we hold here is not addressed to all men.’ If
we are to follow him in his expedition to a philosophic Ultima Thule,
we must have the mind for that adventure. ‘We are here,’ as he tells
us elsewhere of the ‘stiff’ but, it seems, ‘admirable’ Ruysbroeck,
‘all of a sudden on the borderland of human thought and far across the
Arctic circle of the spirit. There is no ordinary cold, no ordinary
dark there, and yet you shall find there naught but flames and light.
But to those who arrive without having trained their minds to these new
perceptions, the light and the flames are as dark and as cold as though
they were painted.’ This means that the intelligence, the reason, will
not suffice of themselves; we must have faith. There are passages in
the book which may provoke a sniff from Mr. Worldly Wiseman; but we
must beware of the Voltairean spirit, or this will be a closed book
to us. ‘We live by admiration, hope, and love,’ said Wordsworth. And
we understand by | 1,887.947951 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in |
| this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of |
| this document. |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: THOMAS W. LAWSON AFTER TWELVE MONTHS OF "FRENZIED
FINANCE"]
FRENZIED FINANCE
BY
THOMAS W. LAWSON
OF BOSTON
VOLUME I
THE CRIME OF AMALGAMATED
NEW YORK
THE RIDGWAY-THAYER COMPANY
1905
_Copyright, 1905, by_
THE RIDGWAY-THAYER COMPANY
_These articles are reprinted from "Everybody's Magazine"_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY THE RIDGWAY-THAYER COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY THE RIDGWAY-THAYER COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
TO
PENITENCE AND PUNISHMENT
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
TO PENITENCE: that those whose deviltry is exposed within its pages may
see in a true light the wrongs they have wrought--and repent.
TO PUNISHMENT | 1,887.961704 |
2023-11-16 18:48:32.1254980 | 1,056 | 14 |
E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel 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 42666-h.htm or 42666-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42666/42666-h/42666-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42666/42666-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/acrosspatagonia00dixiuoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
ACROSS PATAGONIA.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE CABEZA DEL MARE.]
ACROSS PATAGONIA
by
LADY FLORENCE DIXIE
With Illustrations from Sketches by Julius Beerbohm
Engraved by Whymper and Pearson
[Illustration: 'PUCHO.']
London:
Richard Bentley and Son
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1880
The rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved.
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.
TO
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS,
ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES,
THIS WORK
DESCRIPTIVE OF
SIX MONTHS' WANDERINGS OVER UNEXPLORED
AND UNTRODDEN GROUND,
IS BY KIND PERMISSION RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS'S
OBLIGED AND OBEDIENT SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
WHY PATAGONIA?--GOOD-BYE--THE START--DIRTY WEATHER--
LISBON--THE ISLAND OF PALMA--PERNAMBUCO Pages 1-11
CHAPTER II.
BAHIA--RIO DE JANEIRO--RIO HARBOUR--THE TOWN--AN
UPSET--TIJUCA--A TROPICAL NIGHT--MORE UPSETS--SAFETY
AT LAST 12-25
CHAPTER III.
BEAUTIES OF RIO--MONTE VIDEO--STRAITS OF MAGELLAN--
TIERRA DEL FUEGO--ARRIVAL AT SANDY POINT--PREPARATIONS
FOR THE START--OUR OUTFIT--OUR GUIDES 26-39
CHAPTER IV.
THE START FOR CAPE <DW64>--RIDING ALONG THE STRAITS--CAPE
<DW64>--THE FIRST NIGHT UNDER CANVAS--UNEXPECTED
ARRIVALS--OUR GUESTS--A NOVEL PICNIC--ROUGH RIDING--
THERE WAS A SOUND OF REVELRY BY NIGHT Pages 40-51
CHAPTER V.
DEPARTURE OF OUR GUESTS--THE START FOR THE PAMPAS--AN
UNTOWARD ACCIDENT--A DAY'S SPORT--UNPLEASANT EFFECTS OF
THE WIND--OFF CAPE GREGORIO. 52-61
CHAPTER VI.
VISIT TO THE INDIAN CAMP--A PATAGONIAN--INDIAN CURIOSITY
--PHYSIQUE--COSTUME--WOMEN--PROMINENT CHARACTERISTICS
--AN INDIAN INCROYABLE--SUPERSTITIOUSNESS 62-73
CHAPTER VII.
THE PRAIRIE FIRE 74-80
CHAPTER VIII.
UNPLEASANT VISITORS--"SPEED THE PARTING GUEST"--OFF
AGAIN--AN OSTRICH EGG--I'ARIA MISLEADS US--STRIKING
OIL--PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE--WIND AND HAIL--A
GUANACO AT LAST--AN EXCITING RUN--THE DEATH--HOME--
HUNGRY AS HUNTERS--"FAT-BEHIND-THE-EYE." 81-99
CHAPTER IX.
ELASTIC LEAGUES--THE LAGUNA BLANCA--AN EARTHQUAKE--
OSTRICH-HUNTING 100-115
CHAPTER X.
DEPARTURE FROM LAGUNA BLANCA--A WILD-CAT--IBIS SOUP--A
FERTILE CANYADON--INDIAN LAW AND EQUITY--OUR FIRST PUMA
--COWARDICE OF THE PUMA--DISCOMFORTS OF A WET NIGHT--A
MYSTERIOUS DISH--A GOOD RUN Pages 116-127
CHAPTER | 1,888.145538 |
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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 | 1,888.350185 |
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STANDARD ELOCUTIONARY BOOKS
=FIVE-MINUTE READINGS FOR YOUNG LADIES.= Selected and adapted by
WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.
=FIVE-MINUTE DECLAMATIONS.= Selected and adapted by WALTER K.
FOBES, teacher of elocution and public reader; author of
"Elocution Simplified." Cloth. 50 cents.
=FIVE-MINUTE RECITATIONS.= By WALTER K. FOBES. Cloth. 50 cents.
Pupils in public schools on declamation days are limited to five
minutes each for the delivery of "pieces." There is a great
complaint of the scarcity of material for such a purpose, while
the injudicious pruning of eloquent extracts has often marred the
desired effects. To obviate these difficulties, new "Five-Minute"
books have been prepared by a competent teacher.
=ELOCUTION SIMPLIFIED.= With an appendix on Lisping, Stammering,
and other Impediments of Speech. By WALTER K. FOBES, graduate of
the "Boston School | 1,888.646878 |
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THE GREAT
SIOUX TRAIL
_A STORY OF MOUNTAIN AND PLAIN_
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
AUTHOR OF
"THE RULERS OF THE LAKES,"
"THE SHADOW OF THE NORTH," ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1918
Copyright, 1918, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
THE GREAT SIOUX TRAIL
By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
The Guns of Bull Run
The Guns of Shiloh
The Scouts of Stonewall
The Sword of Antietam
The Star of Gettysburg
The Rock of Chickamaugua
The Shades of the Wilderness
The Tree of Appomattox
THE WORLD WAR SERIES
The Guns of Europe
The Forest of Swords
The Hosts of the Air
THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES
The Young Trailers
The Forest Runners
The Keepers of the Trail
The Eyes of the Woods
The Free Rangers
The Riflemen of the Ohio
The Scouts of the Valley
The Border Watch
THE TEXAN SERIES
The Texan Star
The Texan Scouts
The Texan Triumph
THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES
The Hunters of the Hills
The Shadow of the North
The Rulers of the Lakes
BOOKS NOT IN SERIES
The Great Sioux Trail
Apache Gold
The Quest of the Four
The Last of the Chiefs
In Circling Camps
A Soldier of Manhattan
The Sun of Saratoga
A Herald of the West
The Wilderness Road
My Captive
----------
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK
[Illustration: A stroke of a great paw and the rifle was dashed from the
hands of the old chief. [PAGE 288.]]
FOREWORD
"The Great Sioux Trail" is the first of a group of romances concerned
with the opening of the Great West just after the Civil War, and having
a solid historical basis. They will be connected by the presence of
leading characters in all the volumes, but every one will be in itself a
complete story.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE SIOUX WARNING 1
II THE NARROW ESCAPE 25
III THE LITTLE GIANT 53
IV THE FLIGHT 84
V THE WHITE DOME 111
VI THE OUTLAW 134
VII THE BEAVER HUNTER 157
VIII THE MOUNTAIN RAM 177
IX THE BUFFALO MARCH 199
X THE WAR CLUB'S FALL 229
XI THE YOUNG SLAVE 246
XII THE CAPTIVE'S RISE 266
XIII THE REWARD OF MERIT 290
XIV THE DREADFUL NIGHT 315
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A stroke of a great paw and the rifle was dashed
from the hands of the old chief _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
The rifle sprang to his shoulder, a jet of flame leaped
from the muzzle 48
The body of a warrior shot downward, striking on
the ledges 190
"If he ever looks upon a white face again it will be
the face of one who is a friend of the Sioux" 256
THE GREAT SIOUX TRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE SIOUX WARNING
The scene cast a singular spell, uncanny and exciting, over young
Clarke. The sweep of plains on one side, and on the other the dim
outline of mountains behind which a blood-red sun was sinking, gave it a
setting at once majestic and full of menace. The horizon, as the
twilight spread over its whole surface, suggested the wilderness, the
unknown and many dangers.
The drama passing before his eyes deepened and intensified his feeling
that he was surrounded by the unusual. The fire burned low, the creeping
dusk reached the edge of the thin forest to the right, and soon, with
the dying of the flames, it would envelop the figures of both Sioux and
soldiers. Will's gaze had roved from one to another, but now it remained
fixed upon the chief, who was speaking with all the fire, passion and
eloquence so often characteristic of the great Indian leaders. He was
too far away to hear the words, as only the officers of the troop were
allowed at the conference, but he knew they were heavy with import, and
the pulses in his temples beat hard and fast.
"Who is the Indian chief?" he said to Boyd, the scout and hunter, who
stood by his side. "He seems to be a man."
"He is," replied Boyd with emphasis. "He's a man, and a great man, too.
That's Red Cloud, the war chief of the Ogalala Sioux, Mahpeyalute, they
call him in their language, one of the bravest warriors that ever lived,
and a thinker, as well. If he'd been born white he'd be governor of a
big state by this time, and later on he might become president of 'em
all."
"I've heard of him. He's one of our most dangerous enemies."
"So he is, Will. It's because he thinks we're going to spread over the
Sioux country--in which he's right--and not because he hates us as men.
I've known him in more peaceful times, and we've done each other good
turns, but under that black hair of his beats a brain that can look far
ahead and plan. He means to close to us the main trail through the Sioux
country, and the Sioux range running halfway across the continent, and
halfway from Canada to Mexico. Mountain and plain alike are theirs."
"I can't keep from having a certain sympathy with him, Jim. It's but
natural that they should want to keep the forests and the great buffalo
ranges."
"I share their feelings, too, though white I am, and to the white people
I belong. I hate to think of the continent ploughed into fields
everywhere, and with a house always in sight. Anyhow, it won't happen in
my time, because in the west here there are so many mountains and the
Sioux and Cheyennes are so warlike that the plough will have a hard time
getting in."
"And the country is so vast, too. But watch Red Cloud. He points to the
west! Now he drops his hand, doubles his fist and stretches his arm
across the way. What does it mean, Jim?"
"It's a gesture telling Captain Kenyon that the road is barred to
soldiers, settlers, hunters, all of us. Far to the south we may still
follow the gold trails to California, but here at the edge of this
mighty wilderness we must turn back. The nations of the Dakota, whom we
call the Sioux, have said so."
Mahpeyalute lowered his arm, which he had thrust as a barrier across the
way, but his fist remained clenched, and raising it he shook it again.
The sun had sunk over the dim mountains in the north and the burning red
there was fading. All the thin forest was clothed now in dusk, and the
figure of the chief himself grew dimmer. Yet the twilight enlarged him
and lent to him new aspects of power and menace. As he made his gesture
of defiance, young Clarke, despite his courage, felt the blood grow
chill in his veins. It seemed at the moment in this dark wilderness that
the great Indian leader had the power to make good his threats and close
the way forever to the white race.
The other Indians, ten in number, stood with their arms folded, and they
neither stirred nor spoke. But they listened with supreme attention to
every word of their redoubtable champion, the great Mahpeyalute. Will
knew that the Sioux were subdivided into nations or tribes, and he
surmised that the silent ones were their leaders, although he knew well
enough that Red Cloud was an Ogalala, and that the Ogalalas were merely
one of the Tetons who, federated with the others, made up the mighty
Sioux nation. But the chief, by the force of courage and intellect, had
raised himself from a minor place to the very headship.
Red Cloud was about fifty years old, and, while at times he wore the
white man's apparel, at least in part, he was now clothed wholly in
Indian attire. A blanket of dark red was looped about his shoulders, and
he carried it with as much grace as a Roman patrician ever wore the
toga. His leggings and moccasins of fine tanned deerskin were decorated
beautifully with beads, and a magnificent war bonnet of feathers,
brilliantly, surmounted his thick, black hair.
He was truly a leader of wild and barbaric splendor in surroundings that
fitted him. But it was not his tall, powerful figure nor his dress that
held Will's gaze. It was his strong face, fierce, proud and menacing,
like the sculptured relief of some old Assyrian king, and in very truth,
with high cheek bones and broad brow, he might have been the
reincarnation of some old Asiatic conqueror.
The young officer seemed nervous and doubtful. He switched the tops of
his riding boots with a small whip, and then looked into the fierce eyes
of the chief, as if to see that he really meant what he said. Kenyon was
fresh from the battlefields of the great civil war, where he had been
mentioned specially in orders more than once for courage and
intelligence, but here he felt himself in the presence of an alarming
puzzle. His mission was to be both diplomat and warrior. He was not sure
where the duties of diplomat ceased and those of warrior began.
Meanwhile his protagonist, the Indian chief, had no doubt at all about
his own intentions and was stating them with a clearness that could not
be mistaken. Captain Kenyon continued to switch his boot uneasily and to
take a nervous step back and forth, his figure outlined against the
fire. Young Clarke felt a certain sympathy for him, placed without
experience in a situation so delicate and so full of peril.
The Ogalala stopped talking and looked straight at the officer, standing
erect and waiting, as if he expected a quick answer, and only the kind
of answer, too, that he wished. Meanwhile there was silence, save for an
occasional crackle of burning wood.
Both young Clarke and the hunter, Boyd, felt with all the intensity of
conviction that it was a moment charged with fate. The white people had
come from the Atlantic to the great plains, but the mighty Sioux nation
now barred the way to the whole Northwest, it was not a barrier to be
passed easily. Will, as he said, understood, too, the feelings of
Mahpeyalute. Had he been an Ogalala like the chief he would have felt
as the Ogalala felt. Yet, whatever happened, he and Boyd meant to go on,
because they had a mission that was calling them all the time.
The Captain at last said a few words, and Red Cloud, who had been
motionless while he waited, took from under his blanket a pipe with a
long curved stem. Will was surprised. He knew something of Indian
custom, but he had not thought that the fierce Ogalala chief would
propose to smoke a pipe of peace at a time like the present. Nor was any
such thought in the mind of Red Cloud. Instead, he suddenly struck the
stem of the pipe across the trunk of a sapling, breaking it in two, and
as the bowl fell upon the ground he put his foot upon it, shattering it.
Then, raising his hand in a salute to Captain Kenyon, he turned upon his
heel and walked away, all the other Indians following him without a
word. At the edge of the thin forest they mounted their ponies and rode
out of sight in the darkness.
Captain Kenyon stood by the fire, gazing thoughtfully into the dying
coals, while the troopers, directed by the sergeants, were spreading the
blankets for the night. Toward the north, where the foothills showed
dimly, a wolf howled. The lone, sinister note seemed to arouse the
officer, who gave some orders to the men and then turned to meet the
hunter and the lad.
"I've no doubt you surmised what the Indian meant," he said to Boyd.
"I fancy he was telling you all the trails through the Northwest were
closed to the white people," said the hunter.
"Yes, that was it, and his warning applied to hunters, scouts and
gold-seekers as well as settlers. He told me that the Sioux would not
have their hunting grounds invaded, and the buffalo herds on which they
live destroyed."
"What he told you, Captain, is in the heart of every warrior of their
nation. The Northern Cheyennes, a numerous and warlike tribe, feel the
same way, also. The army detachments are too few and too scattered to
hold back the white people, and a great and terrible war is coming."
"At least," said Captain Kenyon, "I must do my duty as far as I may. I
can't permit you and your young friend, Mr. Clarke, to go into the Sioux
country. The Indian chief, Red Cloud, showed himself to be a fierce and
resolute man and you would soon lose your lives."
Will's face fell, but the hunter merely shrugged his great shoulders.
"But you'll permit us to pass the night in your camp, Captain?" he said.
"Of course. Gladly. You're welcome to what we have. I'd not drive
anybody away from company and fire."
"We thank you, Captain Kenyon," said Will warmly. "It's a genuine
pleasure to us to be the guests of the army when we're surrounded by
such a wilderness."
Their horses were tethered nearby with those of the troop, and securing
their blankets from their packs they spread them on dead leaves near the
fire.
"You'll take breakfast with us in the morning," said Captain Kenyon
hospitably, "and then I'll decide which way to go, and what task we're
to undertake. I wish you'd join us as scout, hunter and guide, Mr. Boyd.
We need wisdom like yours, and Mr. Clarke could help us, too."
"I've been independent too long," replied the hunter lightly. "I've
wandered mountain and plain so many years at my own free will that I
couldn't let myself be bound now by military rules. But I thank you for
the compliment, just the same, Captain Kenyon."
He and Will Clarke lay down side by side with their feet to the fire,
their blankets folded about them rather closely, as the air, when the
night advanced and the coals died completely, was sure to grow cold.
Will was troubled, as he was extremely anxious to go on at once, but he
reflected that Jim Boyd was one of the greatest of all frontiersmen and
he would be almost sure to find a way. Summoning his will, he dismissed
anxiety from his mind and lay quite still, seeking sleep.
The camp was now quiet and the fire was sinking rapidly. Sentinels
walked on every side, but Will could not see them from where he lay. A
light wind blowing down from the mountains moaned through the thin
forest. Clouds came up from the west, blotting out the horizon and
making the sky a curving dome of blackness. Young William Clarke felt
that it was good to have comrades in the immense desolation, and it
strengthened his spirit to see the soldiers rolled in their blankets,
their feet to the dying coals.
Yet his trouble about the future came back. He and Boyd were in truth
and reality prisoners. Captain Kenyon was friendly and kind, but he
would not let them go on, because the Sioux and Cheyennes had barred all
the trails and the formidable Red Cloud had given a warning that could
not be ignored. Making another effort, he dismissed the thought a second
time and just as the last coals were fading into the common blackness he
fell asleep.
He was awakened late in the night by a hand pushing gently but
insistently against his shoulder. He was about to sit up abruptly, but
the voice of Boyd whispered in his ear:
"Be very careful! Make no noise! Release yourself from your blanket and
then do what I say!"
The hand fell away from his shoulder, and, moving his head a little,
Clarke looked carefully over the camp. The coals where the fire had been
were cold and dead, and no light shone there. The figures of the
sleeping soldiers were dim in the dusk, but evidently they slept
soundly, as not one of them stirred. He heard the regular breathing of
those nearest to him, and the light step of the sentinel just beyond a
clump of dwarf pines.
"Sit up now," whispered Boyd, "and when the sentinel passes a little
farther away we'll creep from the camp. Be sure you don't step on a
stick or trip over anything. Keep close behind me. The night's as black
as pitch, and it's our one chance to escape from friends who are too
hospitable."
Will saw the hunter slowly rise to a stooping position, and he did
likewise. Then when the sound of the sentinel's step was lost at the far
end of his beat, Boyd walked swiftly away from the camp and Will
followed on his trail. The lad glanced back once, and saw that the dim
figures by the dead fire did not stir. Weary and with the soothing wind
blowing over them, they slept heavily. It was evident that the two who
would go their own way had nothing to fear from them. There was now no
bar to their departure, save the unhappy chance of being seen by the
sentinel.
A rod from the camp and Boyd lay flat upon the ground, Will, without the
need of instruction, imitating him at once. The sentinel was coming
back, but like his commander he was a soldier of the civil war, used to
open battlefields, and he did not see the two shadows in the dusk. He
reached the end of his beat and turning went back again, disappearing
once more beyond the stunted pines.
"Now's our time," whispered Boyd, and rising he walked away swiftly but
silently, Will close behind him. Three hundred yards, and they stopped
by the trunk of a mountain oak.
"We're clear of the soldiers now," said the hunter, "but we must have
our horses. Without 'em and the supplies they carry we'd be lost. I
don't mean anything against you, Will. You're a likely lad and you learn
as fast as the best of 'em, but it's for me to cut out the horses and
bring 'em here. Do you think you can wait patiently at this place till I
come with 'em?"
"No, Jim, I can't wait patiently, but I can wait impatiently. I'll make
myself keep still."
"That's good enough. On occasion I can be as good a horse thief as the
best Sioux or Crow or Cheyenne that ever lived, only it's our own horses
that I'm going to steal. They've a guard, of course, but I'll slip past
him. Now use all your patience, Will."
"I will," said the lad, as he leaned against the trunk of the oak. Then
he became suddenly aware that he no longer either saw or heard Boyd. The
hunter had vanished as completely and as silently as if he had melted
into the air, but Will knew that he was going toward the thin forest,
where the horses grazed or rested at the end of their lariats.
All at once he felt terribly alone. He heard nothing now but the moaning
of the wind that came down from the far mountains. The camp was gone,
Boyd was gone, the horses were invisible, and he was the only human
being in the gigantic and unknown Northwest. The air felt distinctly
colder and he shivered a little. It was not fear, it was merely the
feeling that he was cut off from the race like a shipwrecked sailor on a
desert island. He took himself metaphorically by the shoulders and gave
his body a good shake. Boyd would be coming back soon with the horses,
and then he would have the best of comradeship.
But the hunter was a long time in returning, a half hour that seemed to
Will a full two hours, but at last, when he had almost given him up, he
heard a tread approaching. He had experience enough to know that the
sound was made by hoofs, and that Boyd was successful. He realized now,
so great was his confidence in the hunter's skill, that failure had not
entered his mind.
The sound came nearer, and it was made by more than one horse. Then the
figure of the hunter appeared in the darkness and behind him came four
horses, the two that they rode, and the extra animals for the packs.
"Splendidly done!" exclaimed the lad. "But I knew you could do it!"
"It was about as delicate a job as I ever handled," said Boyd, with a
certain amount of pride in his tone, "but by waiting until I had a good
chance I was able to cut 'em out. It was patience that did it. I tell
you, lad, patience is about the greatest quality a man can have. It's
the best of all winners."
"I suppose that's the reason, Jim, it's so hard to exercise it at times.
Although I had nothing to do and took none of the risk, it seemed to me
you were gone several hours."
Boyd laughed a little.
"It proves what I told you," he said, "but we want to get away from here
as quick as we can now. You lead two of the horses, I'll lead the other
two, and we won't mount for a while yet. I don't think they can hear us
at the camp, but we won't give 'em a chance to do so if we can help it."
He trod a course straight into the west, the ground, fortunately, being
soft and the hoofs of the horses making but little sound. Although the
darkness hung as thick and close as ever, the skillful woodsman found
the way instinctively, and neither stumbled nor trod upon the fallen
brushwood. Young Clarke, just behind him, followed in his tracks, also
stepping lightly and he knew enough not to ask any questions, confident
that Boyd would take them wherever they wished to go.
It was a full two hours before the hunter stopped and then they stood on
a low hill covered but thinly with the dwarfed trees of that region. The
night was lightening a little, a pallid moon and sparse stars creeping
out in the heavens. By the faint light young Clarke saw only a wild and
rugged country, low hills about them and in the north the blur that he
knew to be mountains.
"We can stand up straight now and talk in our natural voices," said
Boyd, in a clear, full tone, "and right glad I am, too. I hate to steal
away from friends, as if you were running from the law. That Captain
Kenyon is a fine fellow, though he and his men don't know much about
this wild country."
"Isn't this about the same direction that Red Cloud and his warriors
took?" asked Will.
"Not far from it, but we won't run into 'em. They're miles and miles
ahead. There's a big Sioux village two or three days' journey farther
on, and it's a certainty that their ponies are headed straight for it."
"And we won't keep going for the same village?"
The big hunter laughed infectiously.
"Not if we know what is good for us," he replied, "and we think we do.
Our trail leads far to the north of the Sioux town, and, when we start
again, we'll make an abrupt change in our course. There's enough
moonlight now for you to see the face of your watch, and tell me the
time, Will."
"Half-past one, Jim."
"And four or five hours until morning. We'll move on again. There's a
chance that some pursuing soldier might find us here, one chance in a
thousand, so to speak, but slim as it is it is well to guard against it.
Mount your horse. There's no reason now why we shouldn't ride."
Will sprang gladly into the saddle, leading his pack-animal by the
lariat, and once more followed Boyd, who rode down the hill into a wide
and shallow valley, containing a scattered forest of good growth. Boyd's
horse raised his head suddenly and neighed.
"What does that mean?" asked Will, startled. "Sioux?"
"No," replied the hunter. "I know this good and faithful brute so well
that he and I can almost talk together. I've learned the meaning of
every neigh he utters and the one you have just heard indicates that he
has smelled water. In this part of the world water is something that you
must have on your mind most of the time, and his announcement is
welcome."
"If there's a stream, do we camp by it?"
"We certainly do. We won't turn aside from the luck that fortune puts in
our way. We're absolutely safe from the soldiers now. They can't trail
us in the night, and we've come many miles."
They descended a long <DW72> and came into the valley, finding the grass
there abundant, and, flowing down the centre, a fine brook of clear cold
water, from which horses and horsemen drank eagerly. Then they unsaddled
and prepared for rest and food.
"Is there no danger here from the Sioux?" asked Will.
"I think not," replied the hunter. "I've failed to find a pony track,
and I'm quite sure I saw a buck among the trees over there. If the
Indians had passed this way there would have been no deer to meet our
eyes, and you and I, Will, my lad, will take without fear the rest we
need so much."
"I see that the brook widens and deepens into a pool a little farther
on, and as I'm caked with dust and dirt I think I'll take a bath."
"Go ahead. I've never heard that a man was less brave or less enduring
because he liked to keep clean. You'll feel a lot better when it's
done."
Will took off his clothes and sprang into the pool which had a fine,
sandy bottom. The chill at once struck into his marrow. He had not
dreamed that it was so cold. The hunter laughed when he saw him
shivering.
"That water comes down from the high mountains," he said, "and a few
degrees more of cold would turn it into ice. But splash, Will! Splash!
and you'll feel fine!"
Young Clarke obeyed and leaped and splashed with great energy, until his
circulation grew vigorous and warm. When he emerged upon the bank his
whole body was glowing and he felt a wonderful exhilaration, both
physical and mental. He ran up and down the bank until he was dry, and
then resumed his clothing.
"You look so happy now that I'll try it myself," said Boyd, and he was
soon in the water, puffing and blowing like a big boy. When he had
resumed his deerskins it was almost day. A faint line of silver showed
in the east, and above them the sky was gray with the coming dawn.
"I'll light a little fire and make coffee," said Boyd, "but the rest of
the breakfast must be cold. Still, a cup of coffee on a chill morning
puts life into a man."
Will, with the zeal characteristic of him, was already gathering dead
brushwood, and Boyd soon boiled the grateful brown liquid, of which they
drank not one cup but two each, helping out the breakfast with crackers
and strips of dried beef. Then the pot and the cups were returned to the
packs and the hunter carefully put out the fire.
"It's a good thing we loaded those horses well," he said, "because we'll
need everything we have. Now you roll up in your blanket, Will, and get
the rest of your sleep."
"And you feel sure there is no danger? I don't want to leave all the
responsibility to you. I'd like to do what I can."
"Don't bother yourself about it. The range of the Sioux is farther west
mostly, and it's not likely we could find a better place than this for
our own little private camp."
The coming of a bright, crisp day removed from Will the feeling of
desolation that the wilderness had created in his mind. Apprehension and
loneliness disappeared with the blackness of the night. He was with one
of the best scouts and hunters in the West, and the sun was rising upon
a valley of uncommon beauty. All about him the trees grew tall and
large, without undergrowth, the effect being that of a great park, with
grass thick and green, upon which the horses were grazing in deep
content. The waters of the brook sang a little song as they hurried over
the gravel, and the note of everything was so strongly of peace that the
lad, wearied by their flight and mental strain, fell asleep in a few
minutes.
It was full noon when he awoke, and, somewhat ashamed of himself, he
sprang up, ready to apologize, but the hunter waved a deprecatory hand.
"You didn't rest too long," said Boyd. "You needed it. As for me, I'm
seasoned and hard, adapted by years of practice to the life I lead. It's
nothing to me to pass a night without sleep, and to catch up later on.
While you were lying there in your blanket I scouted the valley
thoroughly, leaving the horses to watch over you. It's about two miles
long and a mile broad. At the lower end the brook flows into a narrow
chasm."
"What did you find in the valley itself, Jim?"
"Track of bear, deer, wolf and panther, but no sign of human being,
white or red. It's certain that we're the only people in it, but if we
need game we can find it. It's a good sign, showing that this part of
the country has not been hunted over by the Indians."
"Before long we'll have to replenish our food supply with game."
"Yes, that's certain. We want to draw as little on our flour and coffee
as we can. We can do without 'em, but when you don't have 'em you miss
'em terribly."
The stores had been heaped at the foot of a tree, while the pack horses,
selected for their size and strength, nibbled at the rich grass. Will
contemplated the little mound of supplies with much satisfaction. They
had not started upon the path of peril without due preparation.
Each carried a breech-loading, repeating rifle of the very latest make,
a weapon yet but little known on the border. In the packs were two more
rifles of the same kind, two double-barreled, breech-loading shotguns,
thousands of cartridges, several revolvers, two strong axes, medicines,
extra blankets, and, in truth, everything needed by a little army of two
on the march. Boyd, a man of vast experience in the wilderness, had
selected the outfit and he was proud of its completeness.
"Don't you think, Jim," said young Clarke, "that you might take a little
sleep this afternoon? You've just said that we've nothing to dread in
the valley, and I can watch while you build yourself up."
Boyd gave him a quick but keen glance. He saw that the lad's pride was
at stake, and that he was anxious to be trusted with an important task.
Looking at his alert face, and knowing his active intellect, the hunter
knew that he would learn swiftly the ways of the wilderness.
"A good idea," he said in tones seemingly careless. "I'll change my mind
and take a nap. Wake me up if you see strange signs or think anything is
going to happen."
Without further word he spread his blanket on the leaves and in a minute
or two was off to slumberland. Will, full of pride, | 1,888.653917 |
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A FEW MORE VERSES.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.
[Illustration]
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
———
VERSES.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.
PRICE, $1.00.
ROBERTS BROTHERS,
PUBLISHERS.
A FEW MORE VERSES.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE,
AUTHOR OF “VERSES.”
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1907
_Copyright, 1889_,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
_GIVING to all, thou gavest as well to me.
A myriad thirsty shores await the tide:
They drink and drink, and will not be denied;
But not a drop less full the brimming Sea._
_One tiny shell among the kelp and weed,
One sand-grain where the beaches stretch away,—
How shall the tide regard them? Yet each day
It comes, and fills and satisfies their need._
_What can the singing sands give to the Sea?
What the dumb shell, though inly it rejoice?
Only the echo of its own strong voice;—
And this is all that here I bring to thee._
_A BENEDICTION._
_GOD give thee, love, thy heart’s desire!
What better can I pray?
For though love falter not, nor tire,
And stand on guard all day,
How little can it know or do,
How little can it say!_
_How hard it strives, and how in vain,
By hope and fear misled,
To make the pathway soft and plain
For the dear feet to tread,
To shield from sun-beat and from rain
The one beloved head!_
_Its wisdom is made foolishness;
Its best intent goes wrong;
It curses where it fain would bless,
Is weak instead of strong,—
Marring with sad, discordant sighs
The joyance of its song._
_I do not dare to bless or ban,—
I am too blind to see,—
But this one little prayer I can
Put up to God for thee,
Because I know what fair, pure things
Thy inmost wishes be;_
_That what thy heart desires the most
Is what he loves to grant,—
The love that counteth not its cost
If any crave or want;
The presence of the Holy Ghost,
The soul’s inhabitant;_
| 1,888.795739 |
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Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
BIRDS IN THE BUSH
by
BRADFORD TORREY
Sixth Edition
Boston
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1893
Copyright, 1885,
by Bradford Torrey
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
Wherefore, let me intreat you to read it with favour and attention, and
to pardon us, wherein we may seem to come short of some words, which we
have laboured to interpret.
_The Prologue of the Wisdom of Jesus the Son of Sirach._
CONTENTS
PAGE
ON BOSTON COMMON 1
BIRD-SONGS 31
CHARACTER IN FEATHERS 53
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 75
PHILLIDA AND CORIDON 103
SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE 129
MINOR SONGSTERS 155
WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON 185
A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL 211
AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY 243
A MONTH'S MUSIC 277
ON BOSTON COMMON.
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels:
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth, the prison unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods 't was pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
WORDSWORTH.
ON BOSTON COMMON.
Our Common and Garden are not an ideal field of operations for the
student of birds. No doubt they are rather straitened and public. Other
things being equal, a modest ornithologist would prefer a place where he
could stand still and look up without becoming himself a gazing-stock.
But "it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps;" and if we are
appointed to take our daily exercise in a city park, we shall very
likely find its narrow limits not destitute of some partial
compensations. This, at least, may be depended upon,--our
disappointments will be on the right side of the account; we shall see
more than we have anticipated rather than less, and so our pleasures
will, as it were, come to us double. I recall, for example, the
heightened interest with which I beheld my first Boston cat-bird;
standing on the back of one of the seats in the Garden, steadying | 1,888.845579 |
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[Illustration: _Brahms at the age of 20._
LONDON. EDWARD ARNOLD: 1905]
THE LIFE
OF
JOHANNES BRAHMS
BY
FLORENCE MAY
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W.
1905
(_All rights reserved_)
TO
THE MANY KIND FRIENDS
WHOSE SYMPATHY
HAS HELPED ME DURING THE WRITING OF THESE VOLUMES,
THEY ARE GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
The biographical materials from which I have written the following Life
of Brahms have, excepting in the few instances indicated in footnotes,
been gathered by me, at first hand, chiefly in the course of several
Continental journeys, the first of which was undertaken in the summer of
1902. Dates of concerts throughout the volumes have been authenticated
by reference to original programmes or contemporary journals.
My aim in giving some account of Brahms' compositions has not been a
technical one. So far as I have exceeded purely biographical limits my
object has been to assist the general music-lover in his enjoyment of
the noble achievements of a beautiful life.
I feel it impossible to ignore numerous requests made to me to include
in my book some particulars of my own acquaintance with Brahms--begun
when I was a young student of the pianoforte. I have not wished,
however, to interrupt the main narrative of the Life by the introduction
of slight personal details, and therefore place together in an
introductory chapter some of my recollections and impressions, published
a few years ago in the _Musical Magazine_. These were verified by
reference to letters to my mother in which I recorded events as they
occurred. Written before the commencement of the Biography, they are in
no way essential to its completeness, which will not suffer should they
remain unread.
* * * * *
I am indebted for valuable assistance and sympathy to:
H.R.H. Alexander Frederick, Landgraf of Hesse.
Herr Carl Bade.
Fraeulein Berninger.
Mrs. Jellings Blow (b. Finke).
Fraeulein Theodore Blume.
Frau Professor Boeie.
Herr Professor Dr. Heinrich Bulthaupt.
Herr Professor Julius Buths.
The late Gerard F. Cobb, Esq.
Frederic R. Comec, Esq.
Herr Hugo Conrat.
Fraeulein Ilse Conrat.
Fraeulein Johanna Cossel.
Frau Elise Denninghoff-Giesemann.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Hermann Deiters.
Herr Hofcapellmeister Albert Dietrich.
Herr k. k. Hofclavierfabrikant Friedrich Ehrbar.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Engelmann.
Herr Professor Julius Epstein.
Fraeulein Anna Ettlinger.
Frau Dr. Maria Fellinger.
Herr Professor Dr. Josef Gaensbacher.
Otto Goldschmidt, Esq., Hon. R.A.M., Member of Swedish A.M., etc.
Dr. Josef Ritter Griez von Ronse.
Herr Carl Graf.
Fraeulein Marie Grimm.
Frau Grueber.
Herr Professor Robert Hausmann.
Fraeulein Heyden.
Herr Professor Walter Huebbe.
Herr Dr. Gustav Jansen.
Frau Dr. Marie Janssen.
Herr Professor Dr. Joseph Joachim.
Frau Dr. Louise Langhans-Japha.
Mrs. Johann Kruse.
Herr Carl Luestner.
J. A. Fuller Maitland, Esq., F.S.A.
Herr Dr. Eusebius Mandyczewski, Archivar to the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde.
Carl Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Hermann Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Herr Richard Muehlfeld, Hofkammermusiker.
Herr Professor Dr. Ernst Naumann.
Herr Professor Dr. Carl Neumann.
Herr Christian Otterer.
Fraeulein Henriette Reinthaler.
Herr Capellmeister Dr. Rottenberg.
Herr Kammermusiker Julius Schmidt.
Herr Fritz Schnack.
Herr Professor Dr. Bernhard Scholz.
Herr Heinrich Schroeder.
Fraeulein Marie Schumann.
Frau Simons (b. Kyllmann).
Herr Professor Josef Sittard.
Herr Dr. Julius Spengel.
Mrs. Edward Speyer.
Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, Mus. Doc.
Mrs. Edward Stone.
Frau Celestine Truxa.
Herr Superintendent Vogelsang.
Herr Dr. Josef Victor Widmann.
And others who prefer that their names should not be expressly mentioned.
F. M.
SOUTH KENSINGTON,
_September, 1905_.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 1
CHAPTER I
1760-1845
The Brahms family--Johann Jakob Brahms; his youth and marriage--Birth
and childhood of Johannes--The Alster Pavilion--Otto
F. W. Cossel--Johannes gives a private subscription concert 45
CHAPTER II
1845-1848
Edward Marxsen--Johannes' first instruction in theory--Herr Adolph
Giesemann--Winsen-an-der-Luhe--Lischen--Choral Society of
school-teachers--'A.B.C.' Part-song by Johannes--The Amtsvogt
Blume--First public appearance--First visit to the opera 63
CHAPTER III
1848-1853
Johannes' first public concert--Years of struggle--Hamburg
Lokals--Louise Japha--Edward Remenyi--Sonata in F sharp
minor--First concert-tour as Remenyi's accompanist--Concerts in
Winsen, Celle, Lueneburg, and Hildesheim--Musical parties in
1853--Leipzig and Weimar--Robert Schumann--Joseph Joachim 83
CHAPTER IV
1853
Brahms and Remenyi visit Joachim in Hanover--Concert at Court--Visit
to Liszt--Joachim and Brahms in Goettingen--Wasielewsky,
Reinecke, and Hiller--First meeting with Schumann--Albert
Dietrich 106
CHAPTER V
1853
Schumann's article 'New Paths'--Johannes in Hanover--Sonatas
in C major and F minor--Visit to Leipzig--First publications--Julius
Otto Grimm--Return to Hamburg via Hanover--Lost
Violin Sonata--Songs--Marxsen's influence as teacher 126
CHAPTER VI
1854-1855
Brahms at Hanover--Hans von Buelow--Robert and Clara Schumann
in Hanover--Schumann's illness--Brahms in Duesseldorf--Variations
on Schumann's theme in F sharp minor--B major Trio;
first public performance in New York--First attempt at symphony 153
CHAPTER VII
1855-1856
Lower Rhine Festival--Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt--Edward
Hanslick--Brahms as a concert-player--Retirement and study--Frau
Schumann in Vienna and London--Julius Stockhausen--Schumann's
death 179
CHAPTER VIII
1856-1858
Brahms and Joachim in Duesseldorf--Grimm in Goettingen--Brahms'
visit to Detmold--Carl von Meysenbug--Court Concertmeister
Bargheer--Joachim and Liszt--Brahms returns to Detmold--Summer
at Goettingen--Pianoforte Concerto in D minor and
Orchestral Serenade in D major tried privately in Hanover 204
CHAPTER IX
1859
First public performances of the Pianoforte Concerto in Hanover,
Leipzig, and Hamburg--Brahms, Joachim, and Stockhausen
appear together in Hamburg--First public performance of the
Serenade in D major--Ladies' Choir--Fraeulein Friedchen
Wagner--Compositions for women's chorus 225
CHAPTER X
1859-1861
Third season at Detmold--'Ave Maria' and 'Begraebnissgesang'; performed
in Hamburg and Goettingen--Second Serenade first publicly performed in
Hamburg--Lower Rhine Festival--Summer at Bonn--Music at Herr
Kyllmann's--Life in Hamburg--Variations on an original theme first
performed in Leipzig by Frau Schumann--'Marienlieder'--First public
performance of the Sextet in B flat by the Joachim Quartet in
Hanover 243
CHAPTER XI
1861-1862
Concert season in Hamburg--Frau Denninghoff-Giesemann--Brahms
in Hamm--Herr Voelckers and his daughters--Dietrich's visit to
Brahms--Music at the Halliers' and Wagners'--First public performance
of the G minor Quartet--Brahms in Oldenburg--Second
Serenade performed in New York--First and second Pianoforte
Quartets--'Magelone Romances'--First public performances of
the Handel Variations and Fugue in Hamburg and Leipzig by
Frau Schumann--Brahms' departure for Vienna 262
APPENDIX No. I
MUSICAL FORM--ABSOLUTE MUSIC--PROGRAMME MUSIC--BERLIOZ
AND WAGNER 282
APPENDIX No. II
THE MAGELONE ROMANCES--PIERRE DE PROVENCE 290
APPENDIX No. III
RULES OF THE HAMBURG LADIES' CHOIR 304
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BRAHMS AT THE AGE OF TWENTY _Frontispiece_
No. 60, SPECKSTRASSE, HAMBURG _To face page_ 52
BRAHMS AND JOACHIM, 1855 " 182
BRAHMS AND STOCKHAUSEN, 1868 " 262
THE LIFE OF JOHANNES BRAHMS
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
BADEN-BADEN.
It was to the kindness of Frau Schumann that I owed my introduction to
Brahms, which took place the very day of my arrival on my first visit to
Germany. I had had lessons from the great pianist during her visit to
London early in the year 1871, and on her departure from England she
allowed my father to arrange that I should follow her, as soon as I
could possibly get ready, to her home in Lichtenthal, a suburb of
Baden-Baden, in order to continue my studies under her guidance.
I can vividly recall the bright morning in the beginning of May on which
I arrived at Baden-Baden, rather home-sick and dreadfully tired, for
owing to a railway breakdown _en route_ my journey had occupied fourteen
hours longer than it ought to have done, and my father's arrangements
for my comfort had been completely upset. It was too early to go at once
to Frau Schumann's house, and I remember to have dreamily watched,
whilst waiting at the station, a passing procession of young girl
communicants in their white wreaths and veils, as I tried to realize
that I was, for the first time in my life, far away from home and from
England. When the morning was sufficiently advanced, I took an open
Droschke, and driving under the great trees of the Lichtenthaler Allee
to the door of Frau Schumann's house, I obtained the address of the
lodgings that had been taken for me in the village. Without alighting, I
proceeded at once to my rooms, where I was almost immediately joined by
Frau Schumann herself, who came round, as soon as she had finished
breakfast, to bid me welcome.
My delight at seeing the great artist again, combined with her
irresistible charm and kindness, at once made me feel less strange in my
new surroundings, and I joyfully accepted the invitation she gave me at
the close of a few minutes' visit, to go to her house the same afternoon
at four o'clock and take coffee with her in her family circle.
On presenting myself at the appointed hour, I was at once shown into a
pleasant balcony at the back of the house, overlooking garden and river.
In it was seated Frau Schumann with her daughters, and with a gentleman
whom she presently introduced to me as Herr Brahms. The name awakened in
my mind no special feeling of interest, nor did I look at its owner with
any particular curiosity. Brahms' name was at that time almost unknown
in England, and I had heard of him only through his arrangement of two
books of Hungarian dances for four hands on the pianoforte. As, however,
from that day onwards I was accustomed, during a period of months, to
meet him almost daily, it may be convenient to say at once a few words
about his appearance and manner as they seemed to me after I had had
time to become familiar with them.
Brahms, then, when I first knew him, was in the very prime of life,
being thirty-eight years of age. Below middle height, his figure was
somewhat square and solidly built, though without any of the tendency to
corpulency which developed itself at a later period. He was of the
blonde type of German, with fair, straight hair, which he wore rather
long and brushed back from the temples. His face was clean-shaven. His
most striking physical characteristic was the grand head with its
magnificent intellectual forehead, but the blue eyes were also
remarkable from their expression of intense mental concentration. This
was accentuated by a constant habit he had of thrusting the rather
thick under-lip over the upper, and keeping it compressed there,
reminding one of the mouth in some of the portraits of Beethoven. His
nose was finely formed. Feet and hands were small, the fingers without
'cushions.'
'I have none,' he said one day, when I was speaking to him about
pianists' hands; and he spread out his fingers, at my request, to show
me the tips. 'Frau Schumann has them, and Rubinstein also; Rubinstein's
are immense.'
His dress, though plain, was always perfectly neat in those days. He
usually wore a short, loose, black alpaca coat, chosen, no doubt, with
regard to his ideas of comfort. He was near-sighted, and made frequent
use of a double eyeglass that he wore hanging on a thin black cord round
his neck. When walking out, it was his custom to go bare-headed, and to
carry his soft felt hat in his hand, swinging the arm energetically to
and fro. The disengaged hand he often held behind him.
In Brahms' demeanour there was a mixture of sociability and reserve
which gave me the impression of his being a kindly-natured man, but one
whom it would be difficult really to know. Though always pleasant and
friendly, yet there was a something about him--perhaps it may have been
his extraordinary dislike to speaking about himself--which suggested
that his life had not been free from disappointment, and that he had
reckoned with the latter and taken his course. His manner was absolutely
simple and unaffected. To his own | 1,889.046397 |
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Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE BOY AVIATORS IN AFRICA
OR
AN AERIAL IVORY TRAIL
By Captain Wilbur Lawton
CONTENTS
I A REUNION
II THE STOLEN IVORY
III THE DARK CONTINENT
IV THE WITCH-DOCTOR
V THE POOL OF DEATH
VI A SNAP-SHOT FIEND IN TROUBLE
VII A TRAITOR IN CAMP
VIII A BATTLE IN THE AIR
IX THE VOICE OF THE MOUNTAIN
X THE ARAB'S CACHE
XI THE AGE OF SIKASO
XII IN THE HANDS OF SLAVE-TRADERS
XIII GORILLAS--AND AN AERIAL TOW-LINE
XIV AN ESCAPE--AND WHAT CAME OF IT
XV THE FLYING MEN
XVI FOOLING AN ARAB CHIEF
XVII THE "ROGUE" ELEPHANT
XVIII A LINK FROM THE PAST
XIX FRIENDS IN NEED
XX THE SMOKE READER
XXI THE CHUMS RESCUED BY AEROPLANE
XXII LUTHER BARR'S TRICK
XXIII ABOARD "THE BRIGAND"
| 1,889.05649 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors
have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences
within the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
Revolutionary Reader
REMINISCENCES AND
INDIAN LEGENDS
COMPILED BY
SOPHIE LEE FOSTER
STATE REGENT
DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION OF GEORGIA
ATLANTA, GA.:
BYRD PRINTING COMPANY
1913
_COPYRIGHTED 1913_
_BY_
_SOPHIE LEE FOSTER_
_DEDICATION_
_As my work has been a labor of love, I therefore affectionately
dedicate this book to the Daughters of the
American Revolution of Georgia._
September 4, 1913.
MRS. SHEPPARD W. FOSTER,
Atlanta, Georgia.
My Dear Mrs. Foster:--To say that I am delighted with your
Revolutionary Reader is to state the sheer truth in very mild
terms. It is a marvel to me how you could gather together so many
charmingly written articles, each of them illustrative of some
dramatic phase of the great struggle for independence. There
is much in this book of local interest to each section. There
is literally nothing which does not carry with it an appeal of
the most profound interest to the general reader, whether in
Georgia or New England. You have ignored no part of the map. I
congratulate you upon your wonderful success in the preparation of
your Revolutionary Reader. It is marvelously rich in contents and
broadly American in spirit.
Sincerely your friend,
(Signed) LUCIAN LAMAR KNIGHT.
September 8, 1913.
MRS. S. W. FOSTER,
711 Peachtree Street.
I like very much your plan of a Revolutionary reader. I hope it
will be adopted by the school boards of the various states as a
supplementary reader so that it may have a wide circulation.
Yours sincerely,
JOSEPH T. DERRY.
CONTENTS
PAGE
America 11
Washington's Name 12
Washington's Inauguration 13
Important Characters of the Revolutionary Period in American
History 14
Battle of Alamance 20
Battle of Lexington 22
Signers of Declaration 35
Life at Valley Forge 37
Old Williamsburg 46
Song of the Revolution 52
A True Story of the Revolution 53
Georgia Poem 55
Forts of Georgia 56
James Edward Oglethorpe 59
The Condition of Georgia During the Revolution 61
Fort Rutledge of the Revolution 65
The Efforts of LaFayette for the Cause of American
Independence 72
James Jackson 77
Experiences of Joab Horne 79
Historical Sketch of Margaret Katherine Barry 81
Art and Artists of the Revolution 84
"Uncle Sam" Explained Again 87
An Episode of the War of the Revolution 88
State Flowers 93
Georgia State History, Naming of the Counties 95
An Historic Tree 100
Independence Day 101
Kitty 102
Battle of Kettle Creek 108
A Daring Exploit of Grace and Rachael Martin 111
A Revolutionary Puzzle 112
South Carolina in the Revolution 112
Lyman Hall 118
A Romance of Revolutionary Times 120
Fort Motte, South Carolina 121
Peter Strozier 123
Independence Day 125
Sarah Gilliam Williamson 127
A Colonial Hiding Place 129
A Hero of the Revolution 131
John Paul Jones 132
The Real Georgia Cracker 135
The Dying Soldier 136
| 1,889.18904 |
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SOWING AND REAPING
BY
D. L. MOODY.
_'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'_
Gal. vi: 7.
Chicago: New York: Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
_Copyright 1896 by_
_Fleming H. Revell Company._
CONTENTS
Chap.
I. Sowing and Reaping
II. Be Not Deceived: God Is Not Mocked
III. When a Man Sows, He Expects to Reap
IV. A Man Reaps the Same Kind as He Sows
V. A Man Reaps More than He Sows
VI. Ignorance of the Seed Makes No Difference
VII. Forgiveness and Retribution
VIII. Warning
SOWING AND REAPING
SOWING AND REAPING.
CHAPTER I.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of
the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of
the Spirit reap life everlasting." Galatians vi: 7, 8.
I think this passage contains truths that no infidel or sceptic will
dare to deny. There are some passages in the Word of God that need
no other proof than that which we can easily find in our daily
experience. This is one of them. If the Bible were to be blotted out
of existence, the words I have quoted would be abundantly verified
by what is constantly happening around us. We have only to take up
the daily papers to see them being fulfilled before our eyes.
I remember giving out this text once when a man stood right up in
the audience and said:
"I don't believe it."
I said, "My friend, that doesn't change the fact. Truth is truth
whether you believe it or not, and a lie is a lie whether you
believe it or not."
He didn't want to believe it. When the meeting broke up, an officer
was at the door to arrest him. He was tried and sent to the
penitentiary for twelve months for stealing. I really believe that
when he got into his cell, he believed that he had to reap what he
sowed.
We might as well try to blot the sun out of the heavens as to blot
this truth out of the Word of God. It is heaven's eternal decree.
The law has been enforced for six thousand years. Did not God make
Adam reap even before he left Eden? Had not Cain to reap outside of
Eden? A king on the throne, like David, or a priest behind the
altar, like Eli; priest and prophet, preacher and hearer, every man
must reap what he sows. I believed it ten years ago, but I believe
it a hundred times more to-day.
My text applies to the individual, whether he be saint or sinner or
hypocrite who thinks he is a saint; it applies to the family; it
applies to society; it applies to nations. I say the law that the
result of actions must be reaped is _as true for nations as for
individuals;_ indeed, some one has said that as nations have no
future existence, the present world is the only place to punish them
as nations. See how God has dealt with them. See if they have not
reaped what they sowed. Take Amalek: "Remember what Amalek did unto
thee by the way, when ye were come forth out of Egypt; how he met
thee, by the way, and smote the hindmost of thee, even all that were
feeble behind thee, when thou wast faint and weary; and he feared
not God." What was to be the result of this attack? Was it to go
unpunished? God ordained that Amalek should reap as they sowed, and
the nation was all but wiped out of existence under King Saul.
What has become of the monarchies and empires of the world? What
brought ruin on Babylon? Her king and people would not obey God, and
ruin came upon them. What has become of Greece and all her power?
She once ruled the world. What has become of Rome and all her
greatness? When their cup of iniquity was full, it was dashed to the
ground. What has become of the Jews? They rejected salvation,
persecuted God's messengers, and crucified their Redeemer; and we
find that eleven hundred thousand of them perished at one time. Look
at the history of this country. With an open Bible, our forefathers
planted slavery; but judgment came at last. There was not a family
North or South that had not to mourn over some one taken from them.
Take the case of France. It is said that a century ago men were
spending millions every year in France in the publication and
distribution of infidel literature. What has been the harvest? Has
France not reaped? Mark the result: "The Bible was suppressed. God
was denied. Hell broke loose. Half the children born in Paris were
bastards. More than a million of persons were beheaded, shot,
drowned, outraged, and done to death between September, 1792, and
December, 1795. Since that time France has had thirteen revolutions
in eighty years; and in the republic there has been an overturn on
an average once in nine months. One-third of the births in Paris are
illegitimate; ten thousand new-born infants have been fished out at
the outlet of the city sewers in a single year; the native
population of France is decreasing; the percentage of suicides is
greater in Paris than in any city in Christendom; and since the
French Revolution there have been enough French men and women
slaughtered in the streets of Paris in the various insurrections, to
average more than two thousand five hundred each year!"
The principle was not new in Scripture or in history when Paul
enunciated it in his letter to the Galatians. Paul clothes it in
language derived from the farm, but in other dress the Law of Sowing
and Reaping may be seen in the Law of Cause and Effect, the Law of
Retribution or Retaliation, the Law of Compensation. It is not to my
purpose to enter now into a philosophical discussion of the law as
it appears under any of these names. We see that it exists. It is
beyond reasonable dispute. Whatever else sceptics may carp at and
criticise in the Bible, they must acknowledge the truth of this. It
does not depend upon revelation for its support; philosophers are
agreed upon it as much as they are agreed upon any thing.
The Supremacy of Law.
The objection may be made, however, that while its application may
be admitted in the physical world, it is not so certain in the
spiritual sphere. It is just here that modern research steps in. The
laws of the spiritual world have been largely identified as the same
laws that exist in the natural world. Indeed, it is claimed that the
spiritual existed first, that the natural came after, and that when
God proceeded to frame the universe, He went upon lines already laid
down. In short, that God projected the higher laws downward, so that
the natural world became "an incarnation, a visible representation,
a working model of the supernatural." "In the spiritual world the | 1,889.404093 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS.]
OLD AND NEW PARIS
Its History, its People, and its Places
BY
H. SUTHERLAND EDWARDS
AUTHOR OF "IDOLS OF THE FRENCH STAGE" "THE GERMANS IN FRANCE" "THE
RUSSIANS AT HOME" ETC. ETC.
VOL. I
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS_
CASSELL AND COMPANY LIMITED
_LONDON PARIS & MELBOURNE_
1893
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I......PAGE
PARIS: A GENERAL GLANCE......1
CHAPTER II.
THE EXPANSION OF PARIS
Lutetia--La Cité--Lutetia taken by Labienus--The Visit of Julian the
Apostate--Besieged by the Franks--The Norman Invasion--Gradual Expansion
from the Île de la Cité to the Outer Boulevards--M. Thiers's Line of
Outworks.....6
CHAPTER III.
THE LEFT BANK AND THE RIGHT.
Paris and London--The Rive Gauche--The Quartier Latin--The Pantheon--The
Luxemburg--The School of Medicine--The School of Fine Arts--The Bohemia
of Paris--The Rive Droite--Paris Proper--The "West End".....9
CHAPTER IV.
NOTRE DAME.
The Cathedral of Notre Dame, a Temple to Jupiter--Cæsar and
Napoleon--Relics in Notre Dame--Its History--Curious Legends--The "New
Church"--Remarkable Religious Ceremonies--The Place de Grève--The Days
of Sorcery--"Monsieur de Paris"--Dramatic Entertainments--Coronation of
Napoleon.....12
CHAPTER V.
SAINT-GERMAIN-L'AUXERROIS
The Massacre of St. Bartholomew--The Events that preceded it--Catherine
de Medicis--Admiral Coligny--"The King-Slayer"--The Signal for
the Massacre--Marriage of the Duc de Joyeuse and Marguerite of
Lorraine.....22
CHAPTER VI.
THE PONT-NEUF AND THE STATUE OF HENRI IV.
The Oldest Bridge in Paris--Henri IV.--His Assassination by
Ravaillac--Marguerite of Valois--The Statue of Henri IV.--The
Institute--The Place de Grève.....30
CHAPTER VII.
THE BOULEVARDS.
From the Bastille to the Madeleine--Boulevard
Beaumarchais--Beaumarchais--The _Marriage of Figaro_--The
Bastille--The Drama in Paris--Adrienne Lecouvreur--Vincennes--The Duc
d'Enghien--Duelling--Louis XVI.....43
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BOULEVARDS (_continued_).
Hôtel Carnavalet--Hôtel Lamoignon--Place Royale--Boulevard du
Temple--The Temple--Louis XVII--The Theatres--Astley's Circus--Attempted
Assassination of Louis Philippe--Trial of Fieschi--The Café Turc--The
Cafés--The Folies Dramatiques--Louis XVI. and the Opera--Murder of the
Duke of Berri.....67
CHAPTER IX.
THE BOULEVARDS (_continued_).
The Porte Saint-Martin--Porte Saint-Denis--The Burial Place of
the French Kings--Funeral of Louis XV.--Funeral of the Count de
Chambord--Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle--Boulevard Poissonnière--Boulevard
Montmartre--Frascati.....95
CHAPTER X.
BOULEVARD AND OTHER CAFÉS.
The Café Littéraire--Café Procope--Café Foy--Bohemian Cafés--Café
Momus--Death of Molière--New Year's Gifts.....107
CHAPTER XI.
THE BOULEVARDS (_continued_).
The Opéra Comique of Paris--_I Gelosi_--The _Don Juan_ of
Molière--Madame Favart--The Saint-Simonians.....115
CHAPTER XII.
THE BOULEVARDS (_continued_).
La Maison Dorée--Librairie Nouvelle--Catherine II. and the
Encyclopædia--The House of Madeleine Guimard.....122
CHAPTER XIII.
PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.
Its History--Louis XV.--Fireworks--The Catastrophe in 1770--Place de la
Révolution--Louis XVI.--The Directory.....143
CHAPTER XIV.
THE PLACE VENDÔME.
The Column of Austerlitz--The Various Statues of Napoleon Taken
Down--The Church of Saint-Roch--Mlle. Raucourt--Joan of Arc.....155
CHAPTER XV.
THE JACOBIN CLUB.
The Jacobins--Chateaubriand's Opinion of Them--Arthur Young's
Descriptions--The New Club.....161
CHAPTER XVI.
THE PALAIS ROYAL.
Richelieu's Palace--The Regent of Orleans--The Duke of
Orleans--Dissipation in the Palais Royal--The Palais National--The
Birthplace of Revolutions.....166
CHAPTER XVII.
THE COMÉDIE FRANÇAISE.
Its History--The _Roman Comique_--Under Louis XV.--During the
Revolution--_Hernani_.....172
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE NATIONAL LIBRARY AND THE BOURSE.
The "King's Library"--Francis I. and the Censorship--The Imperial
Library--The Bourse.....187
CHAPTER XIX.
THE LOUVRE AND THE TUILERIES.
The Louvre--Origin of the Name--The Castle--Francis I.--Catherine de
Medicis--The Queen's Apartments--Louis XIV. and the Louvre--The Museum
of the Louvre--The Picture Galleries--The Tuileries--The National
Assembly--Marie Antoinette--The Palace of Napoleon III.--"Petite
Provence".....193
CHAPTER XX.
THE CHAMPS ÉLYSÉES AND THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE.
The Champs Élysées--The Élysée Palace--Longchamps--The Bois de
Boulogne--The Château de Madrid--The Château de la Muette--The Place de
l'Étoile.....218
CHAPTER XXI.
THE CHAMP DE MARS AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS.
The Royal Military School of Louis XV.--The National Assembly--The
Patriotic Altar--The Festival of the Supreme Being--Other
Festivals--Industrial Exhibitions--The Eiffel Tower--The
Trocadéro.....229
CHAPTER XXII.
THE HÔTEL DE VILLE AND CENTRAL PARIS.
The Hôtel de Ville--Its History--In 1848--The Communards.....242
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE.
The Palais de Justice--Its Historical Associations--Disturbances in
Paris--Successive Fires--During the Revolution--The Administration of
Justice--The Sainte-Chapelle.....250
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FIRE BRIGADE AND THE POLICE.
The Sapeurs-pompiers--The Prefect of Police--The Garde Républicaine--The
Spy System.....270
CHAPTER XXV.
THE PARIS HOSPITALS.
The Place du Parvis--The Parvis of Notre Dame--The Hôtel-Dieu--Mercier's
Criticisms.....276
CHAPTER XXVI.
CENTRAL PARIS.
The Hôtel de Ville--Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie--Rue Saint-Antoine--The
Reformation.....281
CHAPTER XXVII.
CENTRAL | 1,889.621009 |
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Produced by Douglas E. Levy
CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA
By Washington Irving
from the mss. of FRAY ANTONIO AGAPIDA
Author's Revised Edition
CONTENTS.
I..........Of the Kingdom of Granada, and the Tribute which it Paid
to the Castilian Crown.
II.........Of the Embassy of Don Juan de Vera to Demand Arrears of
Tribute from the Moorish Monarch.
III........Domestic Feuds in the Alhambra--Rival Sultanas--Predictions
concerning Boabdil, the Heir to the Throne--How
Ferdinand Meditates War against Granada, and how he
is Anticipated.
IV.........Expedition of the Muley Abul Hassan against the Fortress
of Zahara.
V..........Expedition of the Marques of Cadiz against Alhama.
VI.........How the People of Granada were Affected on Hearing of the
Capture of the Alhama; and how the Moorish King
sallied forth to Regain it.
VII........How the Duke of Medina Sidonia and the Chivalry of
Andalusia Hastened to the Relief of Alhama.
VIII.......Sequel of the Events at Alhama.
IX.........Events at Granada, and Rise of the Moorish King, Boabdil
el Chico.
X..........Royal Expedition against Loxa.
XI.........How Muley Abul Hassan made a Foray into the Lands of
Medina Sidonia, and how he was Received.
XII........Foray of Spanish Cavaliers among the Mountains of Malaga.
XIII.......Effects of the Disasters among the Mountains of Malaga.
XIV........How King Boabdil el Chico Marched over the Border.
XV.........How the Count de Cabra sallied forth from his Castle in
Quest of King Boabdil.
XVI........The Battle of Lucena.
XVII.......Lamentations of the Moors for the Battle of Lucena.
XVIII......How Muley Abul Hassan Profited by the Misfortunes of his
Son Boabdil.
XIX........Captivity of Boabdil el Chico.
XX.........Of the Treatment of Boabdil by the Castilian Sovereigns.
XXI........Return of Boabdil from Captivity.
XXII.......Foray of the Moorish Alcaydes, and Battle of Lopera.
XXIII......Retreat of Hamet el Zegri, Alcayde of Ronda.
XXIV.......Of the reception at Court of the Count de Cabra and the
Alcayde de los Donceles.
XXV........How the Marques of Cadiz concerted to Surprise Zahara,
and the Result of his Enterprise.
XXVI.......Of the Fortress of Alhama, and how Wisely it was Governed
by the Count de Tendilla.
XXVII......Foray of Christian Knights into the Territory of the Moors.
XXVIII.....Attempt of El Zagal to Surprise Boabdil in Almeria.
XXIX.......How King Ferdinand Commenced another Campaign against the
Moors, and how he Laid Siege to Coin and Cartama.
XXX........Siege of Ronda.
XXXI.......How the People of Granada invited El Zagal to the Throne,
and how he Marched to the Capital.
XXXII......How the Count de Cabra attempted to Capture another King,
and how he Fared in his Attempt.
XXXIII.....Expedition against the Castles of Cambil and Albahar.
XXXIV......Enterprise of the Knights of Calatrava against Zalea.
XXXV.......Death of Muley Abul Hassan.
XXXVI......Of the Christian Army which Assembled at the City of
Cordova.
XXXVII.....How Fresh Commotions broke out in Granada, and how the
People undertook to Allay them.
XXXVIII....How King Ferdinand held a Council of War at the Rock of
the Lovers.
XXXIX......How the Royal Army appeared Before the City of Loxa, and
how it was Received; and of the Doughty Achievements
of the English Earl.
XL.........Conclusion of the Siege of Loxa.
XLI........Capture of Illora.
XLII.......Of the Arrival of Queen Isabella at the Camp before Moclin;
and of the Pleasant Sayings of the English Earl.
XLIII......How King Ferdinand Attacked Moclin, and of the Strange
Events that attended its Capture.
XLIV.......How King Ferdinand Foraged the Vega; and of the Battle of
the Bridge of Pinos, and the Fate of the two Moorish
Brothers.
XLV........Attempt of El Zagal upon the Life of Boabdil, and how the
Latter was Roused to Action.
XLVI.......How Boabdil returned Secretly to Granada, and how he was
Received.--Second Embassy of Don Juan de Vera, and his
Perils in the Alhambra.
XLVII......How King Ferdinand laid Siege to Velez Malaga.
XLVIII.....How King Ferdinand and his Army were Exposed to Imminent
Peril before Velez Malaga.
XLIX.......Result of the Stratagem of El Zagal to Surprise King
Ferdinand.
L..........How the People of Granada Rewarded the Valor of El Zagal.
LI.........Surrender of the Velez Malaga and Other Places.
LII........Of the City of Malaga and its Inhabitants.--Mission of
Hernando del Pulgar.
LIII.......Advance of King Ferdinand against Malaga.
LIV........Siege of Malaga.
LV.........Siege of Malaga continued.--Obstinacy of Hamet el Zegri.
LVI........Attack of the Marques of Cadiz upon Gibralfaro.
LVII.......Siege of Malaga continued.--Stratagems of Various Kinds.
LVIII......Sufferings of the People of Malaga.
LIX........How a Moorish Santon Undertook to Deliver the City of
Malaga from the Power of its Enemies.
LX.........How Hamet el Zegri was Hardened in his Obstinacy by the
Arts of a Moorish Astrologer.
LXI........Siege of Malaga continued.--Destruction of a Tower by
Francisco Ramirez de Madrid.
LXII.......How the People of Malaga expostulated with Hamet el Zegri.
LXIII......How Hamet el Zegri Sallied forth with the Sacred Banner to
Attack the Christian Camp.
LXIV.......How the City of Malaga Capitulated.
LXV........Fulfilment of the Prophecy of the Dervise.--Fate of Hamet
el Zegri.
LXVI.......How the Castilian Sovereigns took Possession of the City
of Malaga, and how King Ferdinand signalized himself
by his Skill in Bargaining with the Inhabitants for
their Ransom.
LXVII......How King Ferdinand prepared to Carry the War into a
Different Part of the Territories of the Moors.
LXVIII.....How King Ferdinand Invaded the Eastern Side of the
Kingdom of Granada, and how He was Received by
El Zagal.
LXIX.......How the Moors made Various Enterprises against the
Christians.
LXX........How King Ferdinand prepared to Besiege the City of Baza,
and how the City prepared for Defence.
LXXI.......The Battle of the Gardens before Baza.
LXXII......Siege of Baza.--Embarrassments of the Army.
LXXIII.....Siege of Baza continued.--How King Ferdinand completely
Invested the City.
LXXIV......Exploit of Hernan Perez del Pulgar and Other Cavaliers.
LXXV.......Continuation of the Siege of Baza.
LXXVI......How Two Friars from the Holy Land arrived at the Camp.
LXXVII.....How Queen Isabella devised Means to Supply the Army
with Provisions.
LXXVIII....Of the Disasters which Befell the Camp.
LXXIX......Encounters between the Christians and Moors before Baza,
and the Devotion of the Inhabitants to the Defence of
their City.
LXXX.......How Queen Isabella arrived at the Camp, and the
Consequences of her Arrival.
LXXXI......Surrender of Baza.
LXXXII.....Submission of El Zagal to the Castilian Sovereigns.
LXXXIII....Events at Granada subsequent to the Submission of El Zagal.
LXXXIV.....How King Ferdinand turned his Hostilities against the City
of Granada.
LXXXV......The Fate of the Castle of Roma.
LXXXVI.....How Boabdil el Chico took the Field, and his Expedition
against Alhendin.
LXXXVII....Exploit of the Count de Tendilla.
LXXXVIII...Expedition of Boabdil el Chico against Salobrena.--Exploit
of Hernan Perez del Pulgar.
LXXXIX.....How King Ferdinand Treated the People of Guadix, and how
El Zagal Finished his Regal Career.
XC.........Preparations of Granada for a Desperate Defence.
XCI........How King Ferdinand conducted the Siege cautiously, and
how Queen Isabella arrived at the Camp.
XCII.......Of the Insolent Defiance of Tarfe the Moor, and the Daring
Exploit of Hernan Perez del Pulgar.
XCIII......How Queen Isabella took a View of the City of Granada, and
how her Curiosity cost the Lives of many Christians
and Moors.
XCIV.......The Last Ravage before Granada.
XCV........Conflagration of the Christian Camp.--Building of Santa Fe.
XCVI.......Famine and Discord in the City.
XCVII......Capitulation of Granada.
XCVIII.....Commotions in Granada.
XCIX.......Surrender of Granada.
C..........How the Castilian Sovereigns took Possession of Granada.
Appendix.
INTRODUCTION.
Although the following Chronicle bears the name of the venerable Fray
Antonio Agapida, it is rather a superstructure reared upon the fragments
which remain of his work. It may be asked, Who is this same Agapida, who
is cited with such deference, yet whose name is not to be found in any
of the catalogues of Spanish authors? The question is hard to answer. He
appears to have been one of the many indefatigable authors of Spain who
have filled the libraries of convents and cathedrals with their
tomes, without ever dreaming of bringing their labors to the press. He
evidently was deeply and accurately informed of the particulars of the
wars between his countrymen and the Moors, a tract of history but too
much overgrown with the weeds of fable. His glowing zeal, also, in the
cause of the Catholic faith entitles him to be held up as a model of the
good old orthodox chroniclers, who recorded with such pious exultation
the united triumphs of the cross and the sword. It is deeply to be
regretted, therefore, that his manuscripts, deposited in the libraries
of various convents, have been dispersed during the late convulsions
in Spain, so that nothing is now to be met of them but disjointed
fragments. These, however, are too precious to be suffered to fall into
oblivion, as they contain many curious facts not to be found in any
other historian. In the following work, therefore, the manuscript of the
worthy Fray Antonio will be adopted wherever it exists entire, but will
be filled up, extended, illustrated, and corroborated by citations
from various authors, both Spanish and Arabian, who have treated of the
subject. Those who may wish to know how far the work is indebted to the
Chronicle of Fray Antonio Agapida may readily satisfy their curiosity
by referring to his manuscript fragments, carefully preserved in the
Library of the Escurial.
Before entering upon the history it may be as well to notice the
opinions of certain of the most learned and devout historiographers of
former times relative to this war.
Marinus Siculus, historian to Charles V., pronounces it a war to avenge
ancient injuries received by the Christians from the Moors, to recover
the kingdom of Granada, and to extend the name and honor of the
Christian religion.*
* Lucio Marino Siculo, Cosas Memorabiles de Espana, lib. 20.
Estevan de Garibay, one of the most distinguished Spanish historians,
regards the war as a special act of divine clemency toward the Moors, to
the end that those barbarians and infidels, who had dragged out so many
centuries under the diabolical oppression of the absurd sect of Mahomet,
should at length be reduced to the Christian faith.*
* Garibay, Compend. Hist. Espana, lib. 18, c. 22.
Padre Mariana, also a venerable Jesuit and the most renowned historian
of Spain, considers the past domination of the Moors a scourge inflicted
on the Spanish nation for its iniquities, but the conquest of Granada
the reward of Heaven for its great act of propitiation in establishing
the glorious tribunal of the Inquisition! No sooner (says the worthy
father) was this holy office opened in Spain than there shone forth a
resplendent light. Then it was that, through divine favor, the nation
increased in power, and became competent to overthrow and trample down
the Moorish domination.*
* Mariana, Hist. Espana, lib. 25, c. 1.
Having thus cited high and venerable authority for considering this war
in the light of one of those pious enterprises denominated crusades, we
trust we have said enough to engage the Christian reader to follow us
into the field and stand by us to the very issue of the encounter.
NOTE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
The foregoing introduction, prefixed to the former editions of this
work, has been somewhat of a detriment to it. Fray Antonio Agapida was
found to be an imaginary personage, and this threw a doubt over the
credibility of his Chronicle, which was increased by a vein of irony
indulged here and there, and by the occasional heightening of some of
the incidents and the romantic coloring of some of the scenes. A word or
two explanatory may therefore be of service.*
* Many of the observations in this note have already appeared in
an explanatory article which at Mr. Murray's request, the author
furnished to the London Quarterly Review.
The idea of the work was suggested while I was occupied at Madrid in
writing the Life of Columbus. In searching for traces of his early life
I was led among the scenes of the war of Granada, he having followed the
Spanish sovereigns in some of their campaigns, and been present at the
surrender of the Moorish capital. I actually wove some of these scenes
into the biography, but found they occupied an undue space, and stood
out in romantic relief not in unison with the general course of the
narrative. My mind, however, had become so excited by the stirring
events and romantic achievements of this war that I could not return
with composure to the sober biography I had in hand. The idea then
occurred, as a means of allaying the excitement, to throw off a rough
draught of the history of this war, to be revised and completed at
future leisure. It appeared to me that its true course and character
had never been fully illustrated. The world had received a strangely
perverted idea of it through Florian's romance of "Gonsalvo of Cordova,"
or through the legend, equally fabulous, entitled "The Civil Wars of
Granada," by Ginez Perez de la Hita, the pretended work of an Arabian
contemporary, but in reality a Spanish fabrication. It had been woven
over with love-tales and scenes of sentimental gallantry totally
opposite to its real character; for it was, in truth, one of the
sternest of those iron conflicts sanctified by the title of "holy wars."
In fact, the genuine nature of the war placed it far above the need
of any amatory embellishments. It possessed sufficient interest in the
striking contrast presented by the combatants of Oriental and European
creeds, costumes, and manners, and in the hardy and harebrained
enterprises, the romantic adventures, the picturesque forays through
mountain regions, the daring assaults and surprisals of cliff-built
castles and cragged fortresses, which succeeded each other with a
variety and brilliancy beyond the scope of mere invention.
The time of the contest also contributed to heighten the interest.
It was not long after the invention of gunpowder, when firearms and
artillery mingled the flash and smoke and thunder of modern warfare with
the steely splendor of ancient chivalry, and gave an awful magnificence
and terrible sublimity to battle, and when the old Moorish towers and
castles, that for ages had frowned defiance to the battering-rams and
catapults of classic tactics, were toppled down by the lombards of
the Spanish engineers. It was one of the cases in which history rises
superior to fiction.
The more I thought about the subject, the more I was tempted to
undertake it, and the facilities at hand at length determined me. In the
libraries of Madrid and in the private library of the American consul,
Mr. Rich, I had access to various chronicles and other works, both
printed and in manuscript, written at the time by eyewitnesses, and
in some instances by persons who had actually mingled in the scenes
recorded and gave descriptions of them from different points of view and
with different details. These works were often diffuse and tedious,
and occasionally discolored by the bigotry, superstition, and fierce
intolerance of the age; but their pages were illumined at times with
scenes of high emprise, of romantic generosity, and heroic valor, which
flashed upon the reader with additional splendor from the surrounding
darkness. I collated these various works, some of which have never
appeared in print, drew from each facts relative to the different
enterprises, arranged them in as clear and lucid order as I could
command, and endeavored to give them somewhat of a graphic effect by
connecting them with the manners and customs of the age in which they
occurred. The rough draught being completed, I laid the manuscript aside
and proceeded with the Life of Columbus. After this was finished and
sent to the press I made a tour in Andalusia, visited the ruins of the
Moorish towns, fortresses, and castles, and the wild mountain-passes and
defiles which had been the scenes of the most remarkable events of the
war, and passed some time in the ancient palace of the Alhambra, the
once favorite abode of the Moorish monarchs. Everywhere I took notes,
from the most advantageous points of view, of whatever could serve to
give local verity and graphic effect to the scenes described. Having
taken up my abode for a time at Seville, I then resumed my manuscript
and rewrote it, benefited by my travelling notes and the fresh and vivid
impressions of my recent tour. In constructing my chronicle I adopted
the fiction of a Spanish monk as the chronicler. Fray Antonio Agapida
was intended as a personification of the monkish zealots who hovered
about the sovereigns in their campaigns, marring the chivalry of the
camp by the bigotry of the cloister, and chronicling in rapturous
strains every act of intolerance toward the Moors. In fact, scarce a
sally of the pretended friar when he bursts forth in rapturous eulogy of
some great stroke of selfish policy on the part of Ferdinand, or exults
over some overwhelming disaster of the gallant and devoted Moslems,
but is taken almost word for word from one or other of the orthodox
chroniclers of Spain.
The ironical vein also was provoked by the mixture of kingcraft and
priestcraft discernible throughout this great enterprise, and the
mistaken zeal and self-delusion of many of its most gallant and generous
champions. The romantic coloring seemed to belong to the nature of the
subject, and was in harmony with what I had seen in my tour through the
poetical and romantic regions in which the events had taken place. With
all these deductions the work, in all its essential points, was faithful
to historical fact and built upon substantial documents. It was a great
satisfaction to me, therefore, after the doubts that had been expressed
of the authenticity of my chronicle, to find it repeatedly and largely
used by Don Miguel Lafuente Alcantara of Granada in his recent
learned and elaborate history of his native city, he having had ample
opportunity, in his varied and indefatigable researches, of judging how
far it accorded with documentary authority.
I have still more satisfaction in citing the following testimonial of
Mr. Prescott, whose researches for his admirable history of Ferdinand
and Isabella took him over the same ground I had trodden. His
testimonial is written in the liberal and courteous spirit
characteristic of him, but with a degree of eulogium which would make me
shrink from quoting it did I not feel the importance of his voucher for
the substantial accuracy of my work:
"Mr. Irving's late publication, the 'Chronicle of the Conquest
of Granada,' has superseded all further necessity for poetry and,
unfortunately for me, for history. He has fully availed himself of all
the picturesque and animating movement of this romantic era, and the
reader who will take the trouble to compare his chronicle with the
present more prosaic and literal narrative will see how little he
has been seduced from historic accuracy by the poetical aspect of his
subject. The fictitious and romantic dress of his work has enabled him
to make it the medium of reflecting more vividly the floating opinions
and chimerical fancies of the age, while he has illuminated the picture
with the dramatic brilliancy of coloring denied to sober history."*
* Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. ii. c. 15.
In the present edition I have endeavored to render the work more worthy
of the generous encomium of Mr. Prescott. Though I still retain the
fiction of the monkish author Agapida, I have brought my narrative more
strictly within historical bounds, have corrected and enriched it in
various parts with facts recently brought to light by the researches
of Alcantara and others, and have sought to render it a faithful and
characteristic picture of the romantic portion of history to which it
relates.
W. I.
Sunnyside, 1850.
A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE KINGDOM OF GRANADA, AND THE TRIBUTE WHICH IT PAID TO THE
CASTILIAN CROWN.
The history of those bloody and disastrous wars which have caused the
downfall of mighty empires (observes Fray Antonio Agapida) has ever been
considered a study highly delectable and full of precious edification.
What, then, must be the history of a pious crusade waged by the most
Catholic of sovereigns to rescue from the power of the infidels one of
the most beautiful but benighted regions of the globe? Listen, then,
while from the solitude of my cell I relate the events of the conquest
of Granada, where Christian knight and turbaned infidel disputed, inch
by inch, the fair land of Andalusia, until the Crescent, that symbol of
heathenish abomination, was cast down, and the blessed Cross, the tree
of our redemption, erected in its stead.
Nearly eight hundred years were past and gone since the Arabian invaders
had sealed the perdition of Spain by the defeat of Don Roderick, the
last of her Gothic kings. Since that disastrous event one portion after
another of the Peninsula had been gradually recovered by the Christian
princes, until the single but powerful and warlike territory of Granada
alone remained under the domination of the Moors.
This renowned kingdom, situated in the southern part of Spain and washed
on one side by the Mediterranean Sea, was traversed in every direction
by sierras or chains of lofty and rugged mountains, naked, rocky, and
precipitous, rendering it almost impregnable, but locking up within
their sterile embraces deep, rich, and verdant valleys of prodigal
fertility.
In the centre of the kingdom lay its capital, the beautiful city of
Granada, sheltered, as it were, in the lap of the Sierra Nevada, or
Snowy Mountains. Its houses, seventy thousand in number, covered two
lofty hills with their declivities and a deep valley between them,
through which flowed the Darro. The streets were narrow, as is usual in
Moorish and Arab cities, but there were occasionally small squares and
open places. The houses had gardens and interior courts, set out with
orange, citron, and pomegranate trees and refreshed by fountains, so
that as the edifices ranged above each other up the sides of the hills,
they presented a delightful appearance of mingled grove and city. One of
the hills was surmounted by the Alcazaba, a strong fortress commanding
all that part of the city; the other by the Alhambra, a royal palace and
warrior castle, capable of containing within its alcazar and towers
a garrison of forty thousand men, but possessing also its harem, the
voluptuous abode of the Moorish monarchs, laid out with courts and
gardens, fountains and baths, and stately halls decorated in the most
costly style of Oriental luxury. According to Moorish tradition, the
king who built this mighty and magnificent pile was skilled in the
occult sciences, and furnished himself with the necessary funds by means
of alchemy.* Such was its lavish splendor that even at the present day
the stranger, wandering through its silent courts and deserted halls,
gazes with astonishment at gilded ceilings and fretted domes, the
brilliancy and beauty of which have survived the vicissitudes of war and
the silent dilapidation of ages.
* Zurita, lib. 20, c. 42.
The city was surrounded by high walls, three leagues in circuit,
furnished with twelve gates and a thousand and thirty towers. Its
elevation above the sea and the neighborhood of the Sierra Nevada
crowned with perpetual snows tempered the fervid rays of summer, so that
while other cities were panting with the sultry and stifling heat of the
dog-days, the most salubrious breezes played through the marble halls of
Granada.
The glory of the city, however, was its Vega or plain, which spread
out to a circumference of thirty-seven leagues, surrounded by lofty
mountains, and was proudly compared to the famous plain of Damascus. It
was a vast garden of delight, refreshed by numerous fountains and by the
silver windings of the Xenil. The labor and ingenuity of the Moors had
diverted the waters of this river into thousands of rills and streams,
and diffused them over the whole surface of the plain. Indeed, they had
wrought up this happy region to a degree of wonderful prosperity, and
took a pride in decorating it as if it had been a favorite mistress. The
hills were clothed with orchards and vineyards, the valleys embroidered
with gardens, and the wide plains covered with waving grain. Here were
seen in profusion the orange, the citron, the fig, and the pomegranate,
with great plantations of mulberry trees, from which was produced the
finest silk. The vine clambered from tree to tree, the grapes hung in
rich clusters about the peasant's cottage, and the groves were rejoiced
by the perpetual song of the nightingale. In a word, so beautiful was
the earth, so pure the air, and so serene the sky of this delicious
region that the Moors imagined the paradise of their Prophet to be
situated in that part of the heaven which overhung the kingdom of
Granada.
Within this favored realm, so prodigally endowed and strongly fortified
by nature, the Moslem wealth, valor, and intelligence, which had once
shed such a lustre over Spain, had gradually retired, and here they made
their final stand. Granada had risen to splendor on the ruin of other
Moslem kingdoms, but in so doing had become the sole object of Christian
hostility, and had to maintain its very existence by the sword. The
Moorish capital accordingly presented a singular scene of Asiatic luxury
and refinement, mingled with the glitter and the din of arms. Letters
were still cultivated, philosophy and poetry had their schools and
disciples, and the language spoken was said to be the most elegant
Arabic. A passion for dress and ornament pervaded all ranks. That of
the princesses and ladies of high rank, says Al Kattib, one of their
own writers, was carried to a height of luxury and magnificence that
bordered on delirium. They wore girdles and bracelets and anklets of
gold and silver, wrought with exquisite art and delicacy and studded
with jacinths, chrysolites, emeralds, and other precious stones. They
were fond of braiding and decorating their beautiful long tresses or
confining them in knots sparkling with jewels. They were finely formed,
excessively fair, graceful in their manners, and fascinating in their
conversation; when they smiled, says Al Kattib, they displayed teeth of
dazzling whiteness, and their breath was as the perfume of flowers.
The Moorish cavaliers, when not in armor, delighted in dressing
themselves in Persian style, in garments of wool, of silk, or cotton of
the finest texture, beautifully wrought with stripes of various colors.
In winter they wore, as an outer garment, the African cloak or Tunisian
albornoz, but in the heat of summer they arrayed themselves in linen
of spotless whiteness. The same luxury prevailed in their military
equipments. Their armor was inlaid and chased with gold and silver. The
sheaths of their scimetars were richly labored and enamelled, the blades
were of Damascus bearing texts from the Koran or martial and amorous
mottoes; the belts were of golden filigree studded with gems; their
poniards of Fez were wrought in the arabesque fashion; their lances bore
gay bandaroles; their horses were sumptuously caparisoned with housings
of green and crimson velvet, wrought with silk and enamelled with
gold and silver. All this warlike luxury of the youthful chivalry was
encouraged by the Moorish kings, who ordained that no tax should be
imposed on the gold and silver employed in these embellishments; and the
same exception was extended to the bracelets and other ornaments worn
by the fair dames of Granada.
Of the chivalrous gallantry which prevailed between the sexes in this
romantic period of Moorish history we have traces in the thousand
ballads which have come down to our day, and which have given a tone
and coloring to Spanish amatory literature and to everything in Spain
connected with the tender passion.
War was the normal state of Granada and its inhabitants; the common
people were subject at any moment to be summoned to the field, and all
the upper class was a brilliant chivalry. The Christian princes, so
successful in regaining the rest of the Peninsula, found their triumphs
checked at the mountain-boundaries of this kingdom. Every peak had its
atalaya, or watch-tower, ready to make its fire by night or to send
up its column of smoke by day, a signal of invasion at which the whole
country was on the alert. To penetrate the defiles of this perilous
country, to surprise a frontier fortress, or to make a foray into the
Vega and a hasty ravage within sight of the very capital were among the
most favorite and daring exploits of the Castilian chivalry. But they
never pretended to hold the region thus ravaged; it was sack, burn,
plunder, and away; and these desolating inroads were retaliated in
kind by the Moorish cavaliers, whose greatest delight was a "tala,"
or predatory incursion, into the Christian territories beyond the
mountains.
A partisan warfare of this kind had long existed between Granada and its
most formidable antagonists, the kingdoms of Castile and Leon. It was
one which called out the keen yet generous rivalry of Christian and
Moslem cavaliers, and gave rise to individual acts of chivalrous
gallantry and daring prowess; but it was one which was gradually
exhausting the resources and sapping the strength of Granada. One of the
latest of its kings, therefore, Aben Ismael by name, disheartened by a
foray which had laid waste the Vega, and conscious that the balance of
warfare was against his kingdom, made a truce in 1457 with Henry IV.,
king of Castile and Leon, stipulating to pay him an annual tribute of
twelve thousand doblas or pistoles of gold, and to liberate annually six
hundred Christian captives, or in default of captives to give an
equal number of Moors as hostages,--all to be delivered at the | 1,889.749144 |
2023-11-16 18:48:33.8621570 | 1,686 | 28 |
Produced by David T. Jones, Mardi Desjardins and the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
CAKES AND ALE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE FLOWING BOWL
A TREATISE ON DRINKS OF ALL KINDS
AND OF ALL PERIODS, INTERSPERSED
WITH SUNDRY ANECDOTES AND
REMINISCENCES
BY
EDWARD SPENCER
('NATHANIEL GUBBINS')
Author of "Cakes and Ale," etc.
_Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 2/6 net._
SECOND EDITION.
With cover design by the late PHIL MAY.
"The Flowing Bowl" overflows with good
cheer. In the happy style that enlivens its
companion volume, "Cakes and Ale," the
author gives a history of drinks and their
use, interspersed with innumerable recipes
for drinks new and old, dug out of records
of ancient days, or set down anew.
LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, Essex Street, Strand, W.C.
CAKES & ALE
A DISSERTATION ON BANQUETS
INTERSPERSED WITH VARIOUS RECIPES,
MORE OR LESS ORIGINAL, AND
ANECDOTES, MAINLY VERACIOUS
BY
EDWARD SPENCER
('NATHANIEL GUBBINS')
AUTHOR OF "THE FLOWING BOWL," ETC.
_FOURTH EDITION_
STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.
_First printed April 1897
Reprinted May 1897
Cheap Edition February 1900
Reprinted 1913_
TO THE MODERN LUCULLUS
JOHN CORLETT
GRANDEST OF HOSTS, BEST OF TRENCHER-MEN
I DEDICATE
(WITHOUT ANY SORT OF PERMISSION)
THIS BOOK
PREFACE
A long time ago, an estimable lady fell at the feet of an habitual
publisher, and prayed unto him:--
"Give, oh! give me the subject of a book for which the world has a
need, and I will write it for you."
"Are you an author, madam?" asked the publisher, motioning his visitor
to a seat.
"No, sir," was the proud reply, "I am a poet."
"Ah!" said the great man. "I am afraid there is no immediate worldly
need of a poet. If you could only write a good cookery book, now!"
The story goes on to relate how the poetess, not rebuffed in the
least, started on the requisite culinary work, directly she got
home; pawned her jewels to purchase postage stamps, and wrote far
and wide for recipes, which in course of time she obtained, by the
hundredweight. Other recipes she "conveyed" from ancient works of
gastronomy, and in a year or two the _magnum opus_ was given to the
world; the lady's share in the profits giving her "adequate provision
for the remainder of her life." We are not told, but it is presumable,
that the publisher received a little adequate provision too.
History occasionally repeats itself; and the history of the present
work begins in very much the same way. Whether it will finish in an
equally satisfactory manner is problematical. I do not possess much of
the divine _afflatus_ myself; but there has ever lurked within me some
sort of ambition to write a book--something held together by "tree
calf," "half morocco," or "boards"; something that might find its way
into the hearts and homes of an enlightened public; something which
will give some of my young friends ample opportunity for criticism. In
the exercise of my profession I have written leagues of descriptive
"copy"--mostly lies and racing selections,--but up to now there has
been no urgent demand for a book of any sort from this pen. For years
my ambition has remained ungratified. Publishers--as a rule, the most
faint-hearted and least speculative of mankind--have held aloof. And
whatever suggestions I might make were rejected, with determination,
if not with contumely.
At length came the hour, and the man; the introduction to a publisher
with an eye for budding and hitherto misdirected talent.
"Do you care, sir," I inquired at the outset, "to undertake the
dissemination of a bulky work on Political Economy?"
"Frankly, sir, I do not," was the reply. Then I tried him with
various subjects--social reform, the drama, bimetallism, the ethics
of starting prices, the advantages of motor cars in African warfare,
natural history, the martyrdom of Ananias, practical horticulture,
military law, and dogs; until he took down an old duck-gun from a peg
over the mantelpiece, and assumed a threatening attitude.
Peace having been restored, the self-repetition of history recommenced.
"I can do with a good, bold, brilliant, lightly treated, exhaustive
work on Gastronomy," said the publisher, "you are well acquainted with
the subject, I believe?"
"I'm a bit of a parlour cook, if that's what you mean," was my humble
reply. "At a salad, a grill, an anchovy toast, or a cooling and
cunningly compounded cup, I can be underwritten at ordinary rates. But
I could no more cook a haunch of venison, or even boil a rabbit, or
make an economical Christmas pudding, than I could sail a boat in a
nor'-easter; and Madam Cook would certainly eject me from her kitchen,
with a clout attached to the hem of my dinner jacket, inside five
minutes."
Eventually it was decided that I should commence this book.
"What I want," said the publisher, "is a series of essays on food,
a few anecdotes of stirring adventure--you have a fine flow of
imagination, I understand--and a few useful, but uncommon recipes. But
plenty of plums in the book, my dear sir, plenty of plums."
"But, suppose my own supply of plums should not hold out, what am I to
do?"
"What do you do--what does the cook do, when the plums for her
pudding run short? Get some more; the Museum, my dear sir, the great
storehouse of national literature, is free to all whose character is
above the normal standard. When your memory and imagination fail, try
the British Museum. You know what is a mightier factor than both sword
and pen? Precisely so. And remember that in replenishing your store
from the works of those who have gone before, you are only following
in their footsteps. I only bar Sydney Smith and Charles Lamb. Let me
have the script by Christmas--d'you smoke?--mind the step--_good_
morning."
In this way, gentle reader, were the trenches dug, the saps laid
for the attack of the great work. The bulk of it is original, and
the adventures in which the writer has taken part are absolutely
true. About some of the others I would not be so positive. Some of
the recipes have previously figured in the pages of the _Sporting
Times_, the _Lady's Pictorial_, and the _Man of the World_, to the
proprietors of which journals I hereby express my kindly thanks for
permission to revive them. Many of the recipes are | 1,889.882197 |
2023-11-16 18:48:34.0318280 | 7,436 | 7 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evan Harrington by George Meredith, v1
#33 in our series by George Meredith
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EVAN HARRINGTON
By George Meredith
CONTENTS:
BOOK 1.
I. ABOVE BUTTONS
II. THE HERITAGE OR THE SOY
III. THE DAUGHTERS OR THE SHEARS
IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA
V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL
VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
VII. MOTHER AND SON
BOOK 2.
VIII. INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC
IX. THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY
X. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN
XI. DOINGS AT AN INN
XII. IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINE
XIII. THE MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY
BOOK 3.
XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION
XV. A CAPTURE
XVI. LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN
XVII. IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR
XVIII. IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN
BOOK 4.
XIX. SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS
XX. BREAK-NECK LEAP
XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS
XXII. IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO
DIGEST HIM AT DINNER
XXIII. TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF
XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT
XXV. IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR
BOOK 5.
XXVI. MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY
XXVII. EXHIBITS ROSE'S GENERALSHIP; EVAN'S PERFORMANCE ON THE SECOND
FIDDLE; AND THE WRETCHEDNESS OF THE COUNTESS
XXVIII. TOM COGGLESBY'S PROPOSITION
XXIX. PRELUDE TO AN ENGAGEMENT
XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART I.
XXXI. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.
BOOK 6.
XXXII. IN WHICH EVAN'S LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN
XXXIII. THE HERO TAKES HIS RANK IN THE ORCHESTRA
XXXIV. A PAGAN SACRIFICE
XXXV. ROSE WOUNDED
XXXVI. BEFORE BREAKFAST
XXXVII. THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY
XXXVIII. IN WHICH WE HAVE TO SEE IN THE DARK
BOOK 7.
XXXIX. IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM
XL. IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME
XLI. REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY
XLII. JULIANA
XLIII. ROSE
XLIV. CONTAINS A WARNING TO ALL CONSPIRATORS
XLV. IN WHICH THE SHOP BECOMES THE CENTRE OF ATTRACTION
XLVI. A LOVER'S PARTING
XLVII. A YEAR LATER THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER
SISTER CAROLINE
BOOK 1.
I. ABOVE BUTTONS
II. THE HERITAGE OR THE SOY
III. THE DAUGHTERS OR THE SHEARS
IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA
V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL
VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
VII. MOTHER AND SON
CHAPTER I
ABOVE BUTTONS
Long after the hours when tradesmen are in the habit of commencing
business, the shutters of a certain shop in the town of Lymport-on-the-
Sea remained significantly closed, and it became known that death had
taken Mr. Melchisedec Harrington, and struck one off the list of living
tailors. The demise of a respectable member of this class does not
ordinarily create a profound sensation. He dies, and his equals debate
who is to be his successor: while the rest of them who have come in
contact with him, very probably hear nothing of his great launch and
final adieu till the winding up of cash-accounts; on which occasions we
may augur that he is not often blessed by one or other of the two great
parties who subdivide this universe. In the case of Mr. Melchisedec it
was otherwise. This had been a grand man, despite his calling, and in
the teeth of opprobrious epithets against his craft. To be both
generally blamed, and generally liked, evinces a peculiar construction of
mortal. Mr. Melchisedec, whom people in private called the great Mel,
had been at once the sad dog of Lymport, and the pride of the town. He
was a tailor, and he kept horses; he was a tailor, and he had gallant
adventures; he was a tailor, and he shook hands with his customers.
Finally, he was a tradesman, and he never was known to have sent in a
bill. Such a personage comes but once in a generation, and, when he
goes, men miss the man as well as their money.
That he was dead, there could be no doubt. Kilne, the publican opposite,
had seen Sally, one of the domestic servants, come out of the house in
the early morning and rush up the street to the doctor's, tossing her
hands; and she, not disinclined to dilute her grief, had, on her return,
related that her master was then at his last gasp, and had refused, in so
many words, to swallow the doctor.
'"I won't swallow the doctor!" he says, "I won't swallow the doctor!"'
Sally moaned. '"I never touched him," he says, "and I never will."'
Kilne angrily declared, that in his opinion, a man who rejected medicine
in extremity, ought to have it forced down his throat: and considering
that the invalid was pretty deeply in Kilne's debt, it naturally assumed
the form of a dishonest act on his part; but Sally scornfully dared any
one to lay hand on her master, even for his own good. 'For,' said she,
'he's got his eyes awake, though he do lie so helpless. He marks ye!'
'Ah! ah!' Kilne sniffed the air. Sally then rushed back to her duties.
'Now, there's a man!' Kilne stuck his hands in his pockets and began
his meditation: which, however, was cut short by the approach of his
neighbour Barnes, the butcher, to whom he confided what he had heard,
and who ejaculated professionally, 'Obstinate as a pig!' As they stood
together they beheld Sally, a figure of telegraph, at one of the windows,
implying that all was just over.
'Amen!' said Barnes, as to a matter-of-fact affair.
Some minutes after, the two were joined by Grossby, the confectioner, who
listened to the news, and observed:
'Just like him! I'd have sworn he'd never take doctor's stuff'; and,
nodding at Kilne, 'liked his medicine best, eh?'
'Had a-hem!--good lot of it,' muttered Kilne, with a suddenly serious
brow.
'How does he stand on your books?' asked Barnes.
Kilne shouldered round, crying: 'Who the deuce is to know?'
'I don't,' Grossby sighed. 'In he comes with his "Good morning, Grossby,
fine day for the hunt, Grossby," and a ten-pound note. "Have the
kindness to put that down in my favour, Grossby." And just as I am going
to say, "Look here,--this won't do," he has me by the collar, and there's
one of the regiments going to give a supper party, which he's to order;
or the Admiral's wife wants the receipt for that pie; or in comes my
wife, and there's no talking of business then, though she may have been
bothering about his account all the night beforehand. Something or
other! and so we run on.'
'What I want to know,' said Barnes, the butcher, 'is where he got his
tenners from?'
Kilne shook a sagacious head: 'No knowing!'
'I suppose we shall get something out of the fire?' Barnes suggested.
'That depends!' answered the emphatic Kilne.
'But, you know, if the widow carries on the business,' said Grossby,
'there's no reason why we shouldn't get it all, eh?'
'There ain't two that can make clothes for nothing, and make a profit out
of it,' said Kilne.
'That young chap in Portugal,' added Barnes, 'he won't take to tailoring
when he comes home. D' ye think he will?'
Kilne muttered: 'Can't say!' and Grossby, a kindly creature in his way,
albeit a creditor, reverting to the first subject of their discourse,
ejaculated, 'But what a one he was!--eh?'
'Fine!--to look on,' Kilne assented.
'Well, he was like a Marquis,' said Barnes.
Here the three regarded each other, and laughed, though not loudly. They
instantly checked that unseemliness, and Kilne, as one who rises from the
depths of a calculation with the sum in his head, spoke quite in a
different voice:
'Well, what do you say, gentlemen? shall we adjourn? No use standing
here.'
By the invitation to adjourn, it was well understood by the committee
Kilne addressed, that they were invited to pass his threshold, and
partake of a morning draught. Barnes, the butcher, had no objection
whatever, and if Grossby, a man of milder make, entertained any, the
occasion and common interests to be discussed, advised him to waive them.
In single file these mourners entered the publican's house, where Kilne,
after summoning them from behind the bar, on the important question, what
it should be? and receiving, first, perfect acquiescence in his views as
to what it should be, and then feeble suggestions of the drink best
befitting that early hour and the speaker's particular constitution,
poured out a toothful to each, and one to himself.
'Here's to him, poor fellow!' said Kilne; and was deliberately echoed
twice.
'Now, it wasn't that,' Kilne pursued, pointing to the bottle in the midst
of a smacking of lips, 'that wasn't what got him into difficulties. It
was expensive luckshries. It was being above his condition. Horses!
What's a tradesman got to do with horses? Unless he's retired! Then
he's a gentleman, and can do as he likes. It's no use trying to be a
gentleman if you can't pay for it. It always ends bad. Why, there was
he, consorting with gentlefolks--gay as a lark! Who has to pay for it?'
Kilne's fellow-victims maintained a rather doleful tributary silence.
'I'm not saying anything against him now,' the publican further observed.
'It's too late. And there! I'm sorry he's gone, for one. He was as
kind a hearted a man as ever breathed. And there! perhaps it was just
as much my fault; I couldn't say "No" to him,--dash me, if I could!'
Lymport was a prosperous town, and in prosperity the much-despised
British tradesman is not a harsh, he is really a well-disposed, easy
soul, and requires but management, manner, occasional instalments--just
to freshen the account--and a surety that he who debits is on the spot,
to be a right royal king of credit. Only the account must never drivel.
'Stare aut crescere' appears to be his feeling on that point, and the
departed Mr. Melchisedec undoubtedly understood him there; for the
running on of the account looked deplorable and extraordinary now that
Mr. Melchisedec was no longer in a position to run on with it, and it was
precisely his doing so which had prevented it from being brought to a
summary close long before. Both Barnes, the butcher; and Grossby, the
confectioner, confessed that they, too, found it hard ever to say 'No'
to him, and, speaking broadly, never could.
'Except once,'said Barnes, 'when he wanted me to let him have a ox to
roast whole out on the common, for the Battle of Waterloo. I stood out
against him on that. "No, no," says I, "I'll joint him for ye, Mr.
Harrington. You shall have him in joints, and eat him at home";-ha! ha!'
'Just like him!' said Grossby, with true enjoyment of the princely
disposition that had dictated the patriotic order.
'Oh!--there!' Kilne emphasized, pushing out his arm across the bar, as
much as to say, that in anything of such a kind, the great Mel never had
a rival.
'That "Marquis" affair changed him a bit,' said Barnes.
'Perhaps it did, for a time,' said Kilne. 'What's in the grain, you
know. He couldn't change. He would be a gentleman, and nothing 'd stop
him.'
'And I shouldn't wonder but what that young chap out in Portugal 'll want
to be one, too; though he didn't bid fair to be so fine a man as his
father.'
'More of a scholar,' remarked Kilne. 'That I call his worst fault--
shilly-shallying about that young chap. I mean his.' Kilne stretched a
finger toward the dead man's house. 'First, the young chap's to be sent
into the Navy; then it's the Army; then he's to be a judge, and sit on
criminals; then he goes out to his sister in Portugal; and now there's
nothing but a tailor open to him, as I see, if we're to get our money.'
'Ah! and he hasn't got too much spirit to work to pay his father's
debts,' added Barnes. 'There's a business there to make any man's
fortune-properly directed, I say. But, I suppose, like father like son,
he'll becoming the Marquis, too. He went to a gentleman's school, and
he's had foreign training. I don't know what to think about it. His
sisters over there--they were fine women.'
'Oh! a fine family, every one of 'em! and married well!' exclaimed the
publican.
'I never had the exact rights of that "Marquis" affair,' said Grossby;
and, remembering that he had previously laughed knowingly when it was
alluded to, pursued: 'Of course I heard of it at the time, but how did he
behave when he was blown upon?'
Barnes undertook to explain; but Kilne, who relished the narrative quite
as well, and was readier, said: 'Look here! I 'll tell you. I had it
from his own mouth one night when he wasn't--not quite himself. He was
coming down King William Street, where he stabled his horse, you know,
and I met him. He'd been dining out-somewhere out over Fallow field, I
think it was; and he sings out to me, "Ah! Kilne, my good fellow!" and
I, wishing to be equal with him, says, "A fine night, my lord!" and he
draws himself up--he smelt of good company--says he, "Kilne! I'm not a
lord, as you know, and you have no excuse for mistaking me for one, sir!"
So I pretended I had mistaken him, and then he tucked his arm under mine,
and said, "You're no worse than your betters, Kilne. They took me for
one at Squire Uplift's to-night, but a man who wishes to pass off for
more than he is, Kilne, and impose upon people," he says, "he's
contemptible, Kilne! contemptible!" So that, you know, set me thinking
about "Bath" and the "Marquis," and I couldn't help smiling to myself,
and just let slip a question whether he had enlightened them a bit.
"Kilne," said he, "you're an honest man, and a neighbour, and I'll tell
you what happened. The Squire," he says, "likes my company, and I like
his table. Now the Squire 'd never do a dirty action, but the Squire's
nephew, Mr. George Uplift, he can't forget that I earn my money, and once
or twice I have had to correct him." And I'll wager Mel did it, too!
Well, he goes on: "There was Admiral Sir Jackson Racial and his lady, at
dinner, Squire Falco of Bursted, Lady Barrington, Admiral Combleman"--our
admiral, that was; 'Mr. This and That', I forget their names--and other
ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance I was not honoured with." You
know his way of talking. "And there was a goose on the table," he says;
and, looking stern at me, "Don't laugh yet!" says he, like thunder.
Well, he goes on: "Mr. George caught my eye across the table, and said,
so as not to be heard by his uncle, 'If that bird was rampant, you would
see your own arms, Marquis.'" And Mel replied, quietly for him to hear,
"And as that bird is couchant, Mr. George, you had better look to your
sauce." Couchant means squatting, | 1,890.051868 |
2023-11-16 18:48:34.6668070 | 2,285 | 12 |
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[Illustration: WHEN THE TRAIN STOPPED AT THE PALM BEACH STATION, THERE
WAS THE COMET WAITING FOR THEM.--Page 14.]
THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE
by
KATHERINE STOKES
Author of "The Motor Maids' School Days," etc.
M. A. Donohue & Company
Chicago--New York
Copyright, 1911,
by
Hurst & Company
Made in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. To the Sunny South 5
II. Making New Acquaintances 19
III. Timothy's Drowning 37
IV. A Race and What Came of It 50
V. The Two Edwards 64
VI. The Gray Motor Car 79
VII. The Coward 94
VIII. Mr. Duffy Gives a Party 111
IX. The Bullfrog and the Pollywog 128
X. The Song of the Motor 138
XI. The Orange Grove 150
XII. An Unwished Wish 161
XIII. In the Deep Woods 173
XIV. The Mocking Bird 186
XV. Out of the Wilderness 196
XVI. Mrs. L'Estrange 208
XVII. A Morning Call 220
XVIII. It's an Ill Wind 234
XIX. A Passage at Arms 246
XX. The Hand of Destiny 258
XXI. Picnicking Under the Pines 270
XXII. The Last of the House of Troubles 280
XXIII. Explanations 291
XXIV. So Endeth the Second Lesson 298
THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE
CHAPTER I.--TO THE SUNNY SOUTH.
The Atlantic Ocean and the breadth of Europe including half of Russia
lay between Mr. Duncan Campbell and his daughter, Wilhelmina. But that
did not prevent Mr. Campbell from thinking of numerous delightful
surprises for Billie and her three friends in West Haven.
Sometimes it was a mere scrawl of a note hastily written at some small
way station, saying: "Here's a check for my Billie-girl. Treat your
friends to ice-cream sodas and take 'em to the theater. Don't forget
your old Dad."
Sometimes the surprise took the form of queer foreign-looking packages
addressed to "the Misses Campbell, Butler, Brown and Price," containing
strange articles made by the peasants in the far-away land. He sent them
each a Cossack costume with high red boots and red sashes. But some
three weeks before the Easter holidays came the best surprise of all.
"I believe the Comet needs a change of air," wrote Mr. Campbell. "A fine
automobile must have as careful handling as a thoroughbred horse, or,
for that matter, a thoroughbred young lady. What does my Billie-girl say
to an Easter trip to Florida with Cousin Helen as guardian angel and Nan
and Nell and Moll for company and the Comet for just his own sweet
self?"
Mr. Campbell, who received long, intimate letters from his daughter once
a week, felt that he knew the girls almost as well as she did, and he
would call them by abbreviated, pet names in spite of Billie's
remonstrances.
"It so happens," the letter continued, "that my old friend, Ignatius
Donahue, who holds the small, unimportant, poorly-paid position of
vice-president of an insignificant railroad, not knowing that I was
digging trenches in Russia, has offered me the use of his private car,
including kitchen stove, chef and other necessities. I have answered
that I accept the invitation, not for self, but for daughter and friends
and Comet; which latter must have free transportation on first-class
fast-going freight, or he is no friend of mine. You will be hearing from
Ignatius now pretty soon. Your old dad will be answerable for all other
expenses, including hotel and-so-forth and if the and-so-forth is bigger
than the hotel bill, he'll never even chirp. Life is short and time is
fleeting and young girls must go South in the winter when they have a
chance."
So, that is how the Motor Maids happened to be the four busiest young
women in West Haven--what with those abominable High School examinations
which always came about this time, and the getting together of a Palm
Beach wardrobe.
And that is also how, one cold wet day at the end of March, they found
themselves lolling in big comfortable chairs in Mr. Donahue's private
car while the train whizzed southward.
It had been a bustle and a rush at the last moment and they were glad to
leave West Haven, which was a dreary, misty little place at that time of
the year.
Miss Campbell leaned back in her wicker chair and regarded her four
charges proudly. How neat they looked in their pretty traveling suits
and new spring hats!
"I am so glad they are young girls and not young ladies," she was
thinking, when her meditations were interrupted by Sam, the chef
and porter combined, whose arms were laden with packages.
"Why, what are you bringing us, Sam?" asked the little lady with some
curiosity.
"With Mr. Donahue's compliments, ma'am, and he hopes the ladies won't
git hungry and bored on the journey," replied Sam, depositing the
packages on a chair and drawing it up within Miss Campbell's reach.
"Dear me, children," she exclaimed excitedly, "look what this nice man
has sent us. I feel like a girl again myself. A beautiful bunch of
violets apiece----"
"And a big box of candy," exclaimed Nancy Brown.
"And all the latest magazines," added Billie Campbell, laughing.
"What a dear he is," finished Elinor Butler, fastening on her violets
with a long lavender pin; while Mary Price gave her own violets a
passionate little squeeze.
"I hopes," went on Sam, shifting from one foot to the other, "I hopes
the ladies ain't goin' to eat so much candy they won't have no appetite
for they dinner. We g'wine have spring chicken to-night, an' fresh green
peas an' new asparagrass, an' strawbe'ies. I'd be mighty sorry if de
ladies don' leave no space for my dinner. Marse Donahue he don' kill de
fatted ca'f fo' dis here 'casion."
"Sam, we'll close the candy box this minute," said Miss Campbell. "And
you needn't bring us any tea this afternoon. You need feel no uneasiness
about your spring chickens and your new peas. I shall write to Mr.
Donahue myself as soon as I get to Palm Beach and thank him for his
kindness."
"He's a very nice gemman, he is that," observed Sam.
"Is he a young man, Sam?" asked Nancy, with young girl curiosity.
"He ain't to say young or old, Missy. He don' took his stan' on the
dividin' line an' thar he stan'."
"How long has he been standing there, Sam?" put in Elinor.
"I knowed the gemman twenty years an' he ain't never stepped off yit."
The private car rang with their cheerful laughter.
"He must be a wonderful man," said Miss Campbell. "I wish he would teach
me his secret."
"His secret is, ma'am, he ain't never got married and had no fambly
troubles to age his countenance," answered Sam.
"But," cried Miss Campbell, "I've never been married either, and I'm
white-haired and infirm."
"You infirm, ma'am! You de youngest one in de lot," answered the <DW52>
man, turning his frankly admiring gaze on the pretty little lady as he
backed down the car, grinning, and disappeared in his own quarters.
"You see, Cousin," said Billie, patting Miss Campbell's cheek, "you must
never try to make people believe again that you are old. You are a
pretty young lady gone gray before her time."
It was plain that Mr. Ignatius Donahue was very much pleased with the
arrangements he had made with his old friend, Duncan Campbell. All along
the journey he had fresh surprises for his five guests. At one place
came a big basket of fruit; at another station a <DW52> woman climbed
on the train and presented each of them with a splendid magnolia in full
bloom, that filled the car with its fragrance.
"With Mr. Donahue's compliments, ma'am; an' he says he hopes the ladies
is enjoyin' they selves," she added as she gave Miss Campbell the
largest blossom in the bunch.
"Dear, dear," cried Miss Campbell. "One would think Mr. Donahue were
taking this journey with us. He is so attentive. Is he anywhere around
here?"
"No, ma'am," interrupted Sam, with a warning look at the <DW52> woman.
"Marse Donahue, he jes' give orders and specs 'em to be kerried out like
he says."
"I feel as if Mr. Donahue were a sort of spirit always hovering near
us," said Billie, when the two <DW52> people had disappeared, "a kind
of guardian angel. I wish papa had told us something about him."
"A very substantial spirit," observed Miss Campbell, "showering upon us
all these gifts of fruits and flowers and candy."
"What does Mr. Donahue look like, Sam," Nancy asked the <DW52> man
later. "Is he tall and thin?"
"No, ma'am; he ain't what you might call tall. An' he ain't short
neither.
"Medium, then?"
"Not | 1,890.686847 |
2023-11-16 18:48:34.8389690 | 7,107 | 18 |
Produced by deaurider, 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)
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
ON THE
MANUFACTURE OF PERFUMERY:
COMPRISING
DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING ALL KINDS OF PERFUMES, SACHET
POWDERS, FUMIGATING MATERIALS, DENTIFRICES,
COSMETICS, ETC., ETC.,
WITH A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE
VOLATILE OILS, BALSAMS, RESINS, AND OTHER NATURAL
AND ARTIFICIAL PERFUME-SUBSTANCES, INCLUDING
THE MANUFACTURE OF FRUIT ETHERS, AND
TESTS OF THEIR PURITY.
BY
DR. C. DEITE,
ASSISTED BY L. BORCHERT, F. EICHBAUM, E. KUGLER,
H. TOEFFNER, AND OTHER EXPERTS.
FROM THE GERMAN BY
WILLIAM T. BRANNT,
EDITOR OF "THE TECHNO-CHEMICAL RECEIPT-BOOK."
ILLUSTRATED BY TWENTY-EIGHT ENGRAVINGS.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY CAREY BAIRD & CO.,
INDUSTRIAL PUBLISHERS, BOOKSELLERS AND IMPORTERS,
810 WALNUT STREET.
1892.
COPYRIGHT BY
HENRY CAREY BAIRD & CO.
1892.
PRINTED AT THE COLLINS PRINTING HOUSE,
705 Jayne Street,
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
PREFACE.
A translation of the portion of the "Handbuch der Parfümerie-und
Toiletteseifenfabrikation," edited by Dr. C. DEITE, relating to
perfumery and cosmetics, is presented to the English reading public
with the full confidence that it will not only fill a useful place
in technical literature, but will also prove--for what it is chiefly
intended--a ready book of reference and a practical help and guide for
the perfumer's laboratory. The names of the editor and his co-workers
are a sufficient guaranty of its value and practical usefulness, they
all being experienced men, well schooled each in the particular branch
of the industry, the treatment of which has been assigned to him.
The most suitable and approved formulæ, tested by experience, have been
given; and special attention has been paid to the description of the
raw materials, as well as to the various methods of testing them, the
latter being of special importance, since in no other industry has the
manufacturer to contend with such gross and universal adulteration of
raw materials.
It is hoped that the additions made here and there by the translator,
as well as the portion relating to the manufacture of "Fruit Ethers,"
added by him, may contribute to the interest and usefulness of the
treatise.
Finally, it remains only to be stated that, with their usual
liberality, the publishers have spared no expense in the proper
illustration and the mechanical production of the book; and, as is
their universal practice, have caused it to be provided with a copious
table of contents and a very full index, which will add additional
value by rendering any subject in it easy and prompt of reference.
W. T. B.
PHILADELPHIA, May 2, 1892.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
HISTORICAL NOTICE OF PERFUMERY.
PAGE
Consumption of perfume-substances by the early nations of
the Orient 17
Perfume-substances as an offering to the gods and their use
for embalming the dead; Arts of the toilet in ancient times 18
Perfume-substances used by the Hebrews; Olibanum and
the mode of gaining it in ancient times, as described by
Herodotus 19
Pliny's account of olibanum 20
Practice of anointing the entire body customary among the
ancients; The holy oil prescribed by Moses; Origin of
the sweet-scented ointment "myron" 21
Luxurious use of ointments in Athens, and the special ointments
used for each part of the body; Introduction of ointments in
Rome, and edict prohibiting the sale of foreign ointments;
Plutarch on the extravagant use of ointments in Rome 22
Ancient books containing directions for preparing ointments;
Directions for rose ointment, according to Dioscorides 23
Ancient process of distilling volatile oils; Dioscorides's
directions for making animal fats suitable for the reception of
perfumes; Consumption of perfume-substances by the ancient
Romans; Condition of the ancient ointment-makers 24
Use of red and white paints, hair-dyes, and depilatories by
the Romans 25
Peculiar substance for cleansing the teeth used by the Roman
ladies; Perfumeries and cosmetics in the Middle Ages;
Receipts for cosmetics in the writings of Arabian physicians,
and of Guy de Chanlios 26
Giovanni Marinello's work on "Cosmetics for Ladies;" Introduction
of the arts of the toilet into France, by Catherine de Medici
and Margaret of Valois 27
Extravagant use of cosmetics in France from the commencement
of the seventeenth to the middle of the eighteenth century 28
Importance of the perfumer's craft in France; Chief seats
of the French perfumery industry 29
Privileges of the _parfumeurs-gantiers_ in France; Use of
perfumes in England; Act of Parliament prohibiting the use of
perfumeries, false hair, etc., for deceiving a man and inveigling
him into matrimony 30
CHAPTER II.
THE PERFUME-MATERIALS FOR THE MANUFACTURE
OF PERFUMERY.
Derivation of the perfume-substances; Animal substances
used; Occurrence of volatile oils in plants 31
Families of plants richest in oil; Central Europe the actual
flower garden of the perfumer; Principal localities for the
cultivation of plants 32
Volatile oils and their properties 33
Principal divisions of volatile oils 34
Constitution of terpenes; Concentrated volatile oils 35
Modes of gaining volatile oils; Expression 36
Clarification of the oil 37
Filter for clarifying the oil, illustrated and described 38
Distillation 39
Apparatus for determining the percentage of volatile oil a
vegetable substance will yield, illustrated and described 40
Various stills for the distillation of volatile oils, illustrated
and described 41
Distillation of volatile oils by means of hot air; Separation
of the oil and water; Florentine flasks, illustrated and
described 46
Separator-funnel, illustrated and described 47
Extraction 48
Various apparatuses for extraction, illustrated and described 49
Heyl's distilling apparatus 57
Maceration or infusion; Pomades; Purification of the fats
used in the maceration process 58
_Huiles antiques_; Old French process of maceration; Piver's
maceration apparatus, illustrated and described 59
Flowers for which maceration is employed; Absorption or
_enfleurage_ 60
Apparatuses for absorption, illustrated and described 61
Flowers for which the absorption process is employed; Storage
of volatile oils 65
CHAPTER III.
TESTING VOLATILE OILS.
Extensive adulteration of volatile oils; Testing volatile oils
as to odor and taste 66
Recognition of an adulteration with fat oil 67
Detection of alcohol or spirit of wine; Dragendorff's test 68
Hager's tannin test 69
Detection of chloroform; Detection of benzine 71
Quantitative determination of adulterations with alcohol,
chloroform, and benzine 72
Detection of adulterations with terpenes or terpene-like fluids 73
Detection of adulterations with volatile oils of a lower quality;
Test with iodine 74
Hoppe's nitroprusside of copper test 75
Table showing the behavior of volatile oils free from oxygen
towards nitroprusside of copper 76
Hager's alcohol and sulphuric acid test; Hager's guaiacum
reaction 78
Division of the volatile oils with reference to the guaiacum
reaction 79
Hübl's iodine method 80
A. Kremel's test by titration or saponification with alcoholic
potash lye 81
Utilization of Maumené's test by F. R. Williams 82
Planchon's proposed procedure for the recognition of a
volatile oil 83
CHAPTER IV.
THE VOLATILE OILS USED IN PERFUMERY.
Acacia oil or oil of cassie; Almond oil (bitter) 87
Adulterations of oil of bitter almonds and their detection 90
Angelica oil 92
Anise-seed oil 93
Star anise oil 94
Balm oil; Basil oil; Bayberry oil, or oil of bay leaves 96
Bergamot oil; Testing bergamot oil as to its purity 97
Cajeput oil 98
Camomile or chamomile oil; Blue camomile oil; Green
camomile oil 99
Caraway oil; Recognition of the purity of caraway oil 100
Cedar oil; Cherry-laurel oil 101
Detection of oil of mirbane in cherry-laurel oil; Cinnamon
oils; Ceylon cinnamon oil 102
Cassia oil 103
Cinnamon-root oil and oil of cinnamon leaves; Quantitative
determination of cinnamaldehyde in cassia oil 104
Detection of adulterations in cassia oil; Citron oil 106
Detection of adulterations in citron oil; Citronella oil;
Detection of adulterations in citronella oil 107
Oil of cloves 108
Test for the value of oil of cloves 109
Eucalyptus oil 110
Fennel oil 111
Geranium oil, palmarosa oil, Turkish geranium oil; East
Indian geranium oil; French and African geranium oils 112
Adulterations of geranium oils; Jasmine oil, or oil of
jessamine 113
Juniper oil 114
Lavender oil; Spike oil 115
Detection of adulterations of lavender oil; Lemon oil;
Sponge process of obtaining lemon oil 116
Écuelle process 117
Distillation; Apparatus combining the écuelle and distilling
processes, illustrated and described 118
Adulterations of oil of lemons and their detection: Lilac
oil; Oil of limes 121
Licari oil, linaloë oil; Marjoram oils; Spanish marjoram oil 122
Mignonette oil; Myrrh oil 123
Nutmeg oils; Mace oil; Adulterations of mace oil and their
detection 124
Opopanax oil; Orange-peel oil, Portugal oil or essence of
Portugal; Mandarin oil 125
Orange-flower oil or neroli oil; Neroli Portugal oil;
Cultivation of the orange on the French Riviera and yield of
orange blossoms; Characteristics of oil of orange flowers 126
Adulterations of neroli oil and their detection 127
Petit-grain oil; Oil of orris root 129
Patchouli oil 130
Varieties and characteristics of patchouli oil 131
Peppermint oil; Oil of curled mint; Peppermint oil and its
varieties 132
American oils of peppermint of high reputation; Mode of
distinguishing American, German, and English oils of
peppermint 133
Adulterants of peppermint oil and their detection 134
Poley oil 135
Pimento oil or oil of allspice; Rose oil or attar of roses;
Principal localities of its production; Schimmel & Co.'s,
of Leipzic, Germany, experiment to obtain oil from indigenous
roses 136
The rose-oil industry in Bulgaria; Methods of gathering and
distilling the roses 137
Characteristics of pure rose oil 138
Manner of judging the genuineness of rose oil; Process for
the insulation and determination of stearoptene in rose oil 139
Adulteration of rose oil with ginger-grass oil 140
Test for the adulteration of rose oil with ginger-grass oil
employed in Bulgaria 141
Adulterants of rose oil 142
Tests for rose oil; Approximate quantitative determination
of spermaceti in rose oil 143
Rosemary oil; Detection of adulterations in rosemary oil 144
Rosewood oil or rhodium oil; Sandal-wood oil; Sassafras
oil; Characteristics of sassafras oil 145
Thyme oil 147
Oil of turpentine; Austrian oil of turpentine; German oil
of turpentine; French oil of turpentine; Venetian oil of
turpentine 148
American oil of turpentine; Pine oil; Dwarf pine oil;
Krummholz or Latschenoel; Pine-leaf oil; Templin oil
(Kienoel); Balsam-pine oil 149
Oil of verbena; Oil of violet; Vitivert or vetiver oil 150
Wintergreen oil 151
Birch oil; Artificial preparation of methyl salicylate 152
Adulteration of wintergreen oil and its detection; Ylang-ylang
oil 153
Cananga oil 154
CHAPTER V.
RESINS AND BALSAMS.
Elementary constituents of resins; Division of resins; Hard
resins; Soft resins or balsams; Gum-resins 155
Diffusion of resins in the vegetable kingdom; Benzoin 156
Varieties of benzoin and their characteristics 157
Peru balsam and mode of obtaining it 159
White Peru balsam 160
Characteristics of Peru balsam 161
Adulterants of Peru balsam and their detection 162
Tolu balsam and its characteristics 166
A new variety of Tolu balsam 167
Storax; Liquid storax and its characteristics 168
Adulteration of liquid storax and its detection 170
Storax in grains; Ordinary storax 171
American storax, white Peru balsam, white Indian balsam,
or liquid-ambar; Myrrh 172
Myrrha electa and its characteristics 173
Constitution of myrrh 174
Adulteration of myrrh and its detection 175
Opopanax; Olibanum or frankincense 176
Commercial varieties of olibanum; Sandarac and its
characteristics 177
CHAPTER VI.
PERFUME-SUBSTANCES FROM THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.
Musk and its varieties; Musk sacs, illustrated and described 178
Characteristics of Tonkin musk 180
Musk of the American musk-rat as a substitute for genuine
musk 181
Other possible substitutes for the musk-deer; Artificial musk 182
Adulterations of musk and their detection 183
Civet 184
Castor and its varieties 185
Adulterations of castor; Ambergris 186
Constituents of ambergris 187
Adulterations of ambergris 188
CHAPTER VII.
ARTIFICIAL PERFUME-MATERIALS.
Conversion of oil of turpentine into oil of lemons by Bouchardat
and Lafont 189
Cumarin, its occurrence and properties 190
Varieties of tonka beans found in commerce 191
Preparation of cumarin from tonka beans; Artificial preparation
of cumarin from salicylic acid 192
Synthetical preparation of cumarin; Heliotropin or piperonal
and its characteristics 193
Preparation of heliotropin 194
Vanillin; Characteristics of the vanilla 195
Artificial preparation of vanillin 196
Characteristics of vanillin 197
Adulteration of vanillin, and its detection; Nitrobenzol 198
Characteristics of nitrobenzol or oil of mirbane; adulteration
of nitrobenzol and its detection 199
Fruit ethers and their characteristics 200
Acetic amyl ether or amyl acetate, its preparation and use;
Acetic ether or ethyl acetate and its preparation 201
Benzoic ether or ethyl benzoate and its preparation 204
Butyric ethyl ether or ethyl butyrate; Preparation of butyric
acid 205
Preparation of butyric ether 207
St. John's bread or carob as material for the preparation of
butyric ether 209
Formic ethyl ether, or ethyl formate and its preparation 210
Nitrous ether or ethyl nitrate and its preparation according
to Kopp's method 211
Preparation and use of nitrous ether in England and America 212
Valerianic amyl ether or amyl valerate and its preparation 214
Valerianic ethyl ether; Apple ether; Apricot ether; Cherry
ether; Pear ether; Pineapple ether; Strawberry ether;
Preparation of fruit essences; Apple essence; Apricot essence 216
Cherry essence; Currant essence; Grape essence; Lemon
essence; Melon essence; Orange essence; Peach essence;
Pear essence; Pineapple essence; Plum essence 217
Raspberry essence; Strawberry essence 218
CHAPTER VIII.
ALCOHOLIC PERFUMES.
Division of alcoholic perfumes; What constitutes the art
of the perfumer; Qualities of flower-pomades and their
designation 219
Storage of flower-pomades; Extraction of flower-pomades 220
Apparatus for making alcoholic extracts from flower-pomades,
illustrated and described 221
Beyer frères improved apparatus, illustrated and described 223
Tinctures and extracts and their preparation 225
Beyer frères apparatus for the preparation of tinctures,
illustrated and described 226
Musk tincture; Civet tincture 228
Ambergris tincture; Castor tincture; Benzoin tincture;
Peru balsam tincture; Tolu balsam tincture 229
Olibanum tincture; Opopanax tincture; Storax tincture;
Myrrh tincture; Musk-seed or abelmosk tincture 230
Angelica root tincture; Orris-root tincture; Musk-root or
sumbul-root tincture; Tonka-bean tincture 231
Cumarin tincture; Heliotropin tincture; Vanilla tincture;
Vanillin tincture 232
Vitivert tincture; Juniper-berry tincture; Patchouli extract 233
Tinctures from volatile oils; Almond-oil (bitter) tincture;
Balm-oil tincture; Bergamot-oil tincture; Canango-oil
tincture 234
Cassia-oil tincture; Cedar-oil tincture; Cinnamon-oil tincture;
Citronella-oil tincture; Clove-oil tincture; Eucalyptus-oil
tincture; Geranium-oil tincture; Lavender-oil tincture;
Lemon-grass-oil tincture; Lemon-oil tincture; Licari-oil
tincture; Myrrh-oil tincture; Neroli-oil tincture; Opopanax-oil
tincture; Orris-root-oil tincture; Patchouli-oil tincture 235
Petit-grain-oil tincture; Pine-leaf-oil tincture; Portugal-oil
tincture; Sandal-wood-oil tincture; Verbena-oil tincture;
Vitivert-oil tincture; Wintergreen-oil tincture; Ylang-ylang-oil
tincture; Rose-oil tincture 236
Extraits aux fleurs; Extrait acacia; Extrait cassie; Extrait
héliotrope; Extrait jacinthe 237
Extrait jasmin; Essence of the odor of linden blossoms;
Extrait jonquille; Extrait magnolia; Extrait muguet
(lily of the valley); Extrait fleurs de Mai (May flowers) 238
Extrait ixora; Extrait orange; Extrait white rose; Extrait
rose v. d. centifolie; Extrait violette; Coloring substance
for extraits; Extrait de violette de Parme 239
Extrait tubereuse; Extrait réséda; Extrait ylang-ylang;
Compound odors (bouquets); Extrait Edelweiss; Extrait
ess-bouquet 240
Extrait spring flower; Extrait bouquet Eugenie; Extrait
excelsior; Extrait Frangipani; Extrait jockey club 241
Extrait opopanax; Extrait patchouli; Extrait millefleurs;
Extrait bouquet Victoria 242
Extrait kiss-me-quick; Extrait mogadore; Extrait bouquet
Prince Albert; Extrait muse; Extrait new-mown hay;
Extrait chypre 243
Extrait maréchal; Extrait mousseline; Extraits triple
concentrés and their preparations 244
Concentrated flower-extract for the preparation of extraits
d'Odeurs; Extraits d'Odeurs, quality II 245
Extrait violette II; Extrait rose II; Extrait réséda II;
Extrait ylang-ylang II 246
Extrait new-mown hay II; Extrait chypre II; Extrait ess-bouquet
II 247
Extrait muguet II; Extrait bouquet Victoria II; Extrait
spring flower II; Extrait ixora II 248
Extrait Frangipani II; Cologne water (eau de Cologne) and
its preparation 249
Durability of the volatile oils used in the preparation of
Cologne water 250
Cologne water, quality I 252
Cologne water, quality II; Cologne water, quality III;
Cologne water, quality IV; Cologne water, quality V 253
Maiglöckchen eau de Cologne; Various other receipts for
Cologne water 254
Eau de Lavande; Eau de vie de Lavande double ambrée;
Eau de Lavande double; Aqua mellis; Eau de Lisbonne 255
CHAPTER IX.
DRY PERFUMES.
Use of dry perfumes in ancient times; Sachet powders and
their preparation 256
Sachet à la rose; Sachet à la violette; Heliotrope sachet
powder; Ylang-ylang sachet powder; Jockey club sachet 257
Sachet aux millefleurs; Lily of the valley sachet powder;
Patchouli sachet powder; Frangipani sachet powder;
Victoria sachet powder; Réséda sachet powder 258
Musk sachet powder; Ess-bouquet sachet powder; New-mown
hay sachet powder; Orange sachet powder; Solid
perfumes with paraffine; White rose 259
Ess-bouquet; Lavender odor; Eau de Cologne; Smelling
salts; Preston salt and "menthol pungent" as prepared
by William W. Bartlett; White smelling salt 260
CHAPTER X.
FUMIGATING ESSENCES, PASTILLES, POWDERS, ETC.
Constitution of fumigating agents; Object of fumigating;
Prejudice against fumigating; Mode of fumigating 262
Atomizers; Objections to dry fumigating agents 263
Fumigating essences and vinegars; Rose-flower fumigating
essence; Flower fumigating essence--héliotrope 264
Violet-flower fumigating essence; Oriental flower fumigating
essence; Pine odor (for atomizing); Juniper odor; fumigating
balsam 265
Fumigating water; Fumigating vinegar; Fumigating powders;
Ordinary fumigating powder 266
Rose fumigating powder; Violet fumigating powder; Orange
fumigating powder; New-mown hay fumigating powder 267
Fumigating paper; Fumigating pastilles 268
Ordinary red fumigating pastilles; Ordinary black fumigating
pastilles; Musk fumigating pastilles 269
Rose fumigating pastilles; Violet fumigating pastilles;
Millefleurs fumigating pastilles; Fumigating lacquer 270
CHAPTER XI.
DENTIFRICES, MOUTH-WATERS, ETC.
Selection of materials for and compounding of dentifrices 272
Soap as a constituent of dentifrices; Value of thymol for
dentifrices; Object of glycerin in dentifrices 273
Tooth and mouth waters; Thymol tooth-water; Eau dentifrice
Botot; Eau dentifrice Orientale 274
Violet mouth-water; Antiseptic gargle; Odontine; Sozodont;
Eau de Botot (improved) 275
Quinine tooth-water; Dr. Stahl's tooth-tincture; Esprit de
menthe; Arnica tooth-tincture; Myrrh tooth-tincture 276
Tooth-pastes and tooth-powders; tooth-paste or odontine 277
Thymol tooth-paste; Cherry tooth-paste; Non-fermenting
cherry tooth-paste; Odontine paste 278
Thymol tooth-powder; Poudre dentifrice; Violet tooth-powder 279
Dr. Hufeland's tooth-powder; White tooth-powder; Black
tooth-powder; Poudre de corail; Camphor tooth-powder;
Opiat liquide pour les dents 280
Poudre d'Algérine 281
Dr. Hufeland's tooth-soap 282
Tooth-soap; Saponaceous tooth-wash 283
CHAPTER XII.
HAIR POMADES, HAIR OILS, AND HAIR TONICS; HAIR
DYES AND DEPILATORIES.
Fats used for the preparation of pomades; Reputation of
some fats as hair pomades 284
Pomades and their preparation; Purification of the fat 285
Substances used for coloring pomades; Fine French pomades
(flower-pomades); Maceration or extraction of the flowers 286
Receipts for some flower-pomades; Pommade à la rose;
Pommade à l'acacia; Pommade à la fleur d'orange;
Pommade à l'héliotrope 287
Pomades according to the German method and their preparation;
Foundations for white pomades 288
Apple pomade; Bear's grease pomade; Quinine pomades 289
Quinine pomades (imitation); Benzoin pomade; Densdorf
pomade; Ice pomades; Family pomades 290
Strawberry pomade; Fine hair pomade; Pomade for promoting
the growth of the hair; Heliotrope pomades 291
Jasmine pomade; Emperor pomade; Macassar pomade;
Portugal pomade; Herb pomade; Lanolin pomade 292
Oriental pomade; Paraffin ice pomade; Neroli pomade;
Cheap pomade (red, yellow, white); Mignonette pomade;
Castor oil pomades; Princess pomade 293
Fine pomade; Beef-marrow pomade; Rogers's pomade for
producing a beard; Rose pomade; Fine rose pomade;
Finest rose pomade; Salicylic pomade; Victoria pomade;
Tonka pomade 294
Fine vanilla pomade; Vanilla pomade; Violet pomade;
Walnut pomade; Vaseline pomades 295
Foundations for vaseline pomades; Bouquet vaseline pomade;
Family vaseline pomade; Lily of the valley vaseline
pomade; Neroli vaseline pomade 296
Mignonette vaseline pomade; Portugal vaseline pomade;
Rose vaseline pomades; Fine vaseline pomade (yellow);
Vaseline pomade (red); Vaseline pomade (white); Virginia
vaseline pomade; Victoria vaseline pomade 297
Extra fine vaseline pomade; Stick pomades; Foundations
for stick pomades; Manufacture of stick pomades 298
Rose-wax pomade; Black-wax pomade; Blonde-wax pomade;
Brown-wax pomade 299
Cheap wax pomades; Resin pomades; Hair oils; Huiles
antiques; Vaseline oil for hair oils; Treatment of oils
with benzoin 300
Preparation of huiles antiques; Huile antique à la rose;
Huile antique au jasmin; Alpine herb oil; Flower hair
oil; Peruvian bark hair oil 301
Peru hair oil; Burdock root hair oils; Macassar hair oils;
Neroli hair oil; Mignonette hair oils; Fine hair oil 302
Cheap hair oil (red or yellow); Portugal hair oil; Jasmine
hair oil; Vaseline hair oils; Vanilla hair oil; Ylang-ylang
hair oil; Philocome hair oil 303
Sultana hair oil; Rose hair oil; Tonka hair oil; Violet hair
oil; Victoria hair oil; Cheap hair oils; Bandolines and
their preparation 304
Rose bandoline; Almond bandoline; Brilliantine 305
Flower brilliantine No. 1; Brilliantine No. 2 306
Brilliantine No. 3; Various formulas for brilliantine 307
Hair tonics; Eau Athénienne; Florida water 308
Eau de Cologne hair tonic; Eau de quinine 309
Eau de quinine (imitation); Honey water; Glycerin hair
tonic; Eau lustral (hair restorative); Tea hair tonic 310
Locock's lotion for the hair; Shampoo lotion; Shampoo
liquid 311
Dandruff cures; Dandruff lotion; Bay rum 312
Directions for preparing bay rum 313
Hair dyes; Requirements of a good hair dye; Gradual darkening
of the hair; Use of dilute acids for making the hair lighter 314
Use of lead salts, nitrate of silver, and copper salts for
dyeing the hair 315
Iron salts for dying the hair; Rastikopetra, a Turkish hair
dye; Use of potassium permanganate and pyrogallic acid
for dyeing the hair 316
Kohol, an Egyptian hair dye; The use of henna as a hair
dye; Process of coloring hair, dyed red with henna, black 317
Use of the juice of green walnut shells for coloring the hair;
Bleaching the hair with peroxide of hydrogen; Formulæ
for hair dyes 318
Single hair dyes; Teinture Orientale (Karsi); Teinture
Chinoise (Kohol) 319
Potassium permanganate hair dye; | 1,890.859009 |
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Produced by KD Weeks, MWS and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs or quotations in
which they are referenced.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Only the
most egregious of these have been corrected if they occur within quoted
text, particularly juvenile matter. Please see the transcriber’s note at
the end of this text for details regarding the handling of any textual
issues encountered during its preparation.
THE LIFE OF SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE
_By the same Author_
------------------------------------
MONA MACLEAN
FELLOW TRAVELLERS
WINDYHAUGH
THE WAY OF ESCAPE
GROWTH
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
_Samuel Laurence pinx._ _Emery Walker ph. sc._
_Sophia Jex-Blake_
_at the age of 25_
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE LIFE OF
SOPHIA JEX-BLAKE
BY
MARGARET TODD, M.D.
(GRAHAM TRAVERS)
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1918
_COPYRIGHT_
GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.
TO ALL THOSE
MENTIONED IN THE FOLLOWING PAGES
OR PASSED OVER
FROM IGNORANCE OR WANT OF SPACE,
WHO LENT A HELPING HAND
TO A BRAVE AND UNSELFISH FIGHTER,
THIS BOOK IS
GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
There are several reasons why it has seemed worth while to write the
life of Sophia Jex-Blake at some length.
1. She was one of the people who really do live. In the present day a
woman is fitted into her profession almost as a man is. Sixty years ago
a highly dowered girl was faced by a great venture, a great quest. The
life before her was an uncharted sea. She had to find her self, to find
her way, to find her work. In many respects youth was incomparably the
most interesting period of a life history.
2. S. J.-B. has left behind her (as probably no woman of equal power has
done) the record of this quest. She was a born chronicler: almost in her
babyhood she struggled laboriously to get on to paper her doings and
dreams; and she was truthful to a fault. We have here the kind of thing
that is constantly “idealised” in present day fiction,—have it in actual
contemporary record,—with the added interest that here the story begins
in an old-world conservative medium, and passes through the life of the
modern educated working girl into the history of a great movement, of
which the chronicler was indeed _magna pars_. The reader will see how
more and more as the years went on S. J.-B.’s motto became “Not me, but
us,” till one is tempted to say that she _was_ the movement, that she
stood, as it were, for women.
3. That, so to speak, was her “job”; but she never grew one-sided; never
forgot the man’s point of view. No woman ever took a saner and wider
view of human affairs.
4. In spite of the heavy strain thrown by conflicting outlook and ideals
on the relation between parents and child, the reader will see in the
following pages how that relationship was preserved. This is perhaps the
most remarkable thing in the whole history, and it is full of
significance and helpful suggestion for us all in these critical days.
5. And lastly, it proved impossible to write the life in any other way.
When S. J.-B. was a young woman, Samuel Laurence was asked by her
parents to make a crayon drawing of her. After some hours’ work, he
threw down his pencil. “I must get you in oils or not at all,” he said.
Those words have often been in the mind of the author of this book.
CONTENTS
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
PAGE
CHILDHOOD 1
Birth, parentage and descent—Early influences—
“Sweet Sackermena.”
CHAPTER II
SCHOOL LIFE 11
A “terrible pickle”—Home letters—Holidays—“Poems”—
A confession.
CHAPTER III
SCHOOL LIFE—_Continued_ 24
Indifferent health—Various educational
experiments—S. J.-B.’s character as seen by her
schoolfellows.
CHAPTER IV
SCHOOL LIFE—_Concluded_ 35
Leaves school abruptly—Fresh start—Illness of her
mother and sister—Letter from her father—
Confirmation.
CHAPTER V
LIFE AT HOME 50
Friendship with her mother—Dreams of authorship—
Self-centred life—Makes acquaintance of Norfolk
cousins.
CHAPTER VI
LIFE AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE 62
Comes into touch with Feminist movement—Goes to
Queen’s College—Friction—Hunt for lodgings—Is
appointed mathematical tutor—Correspondence with
her father as to accepting payment for her work—
Certificate won “with great credit.”
CHAPTER VII
FRIENDSHIP 78
All-round development—Capacity for friendship and
service—Friendship with Miss Octavia Hill.
CHAPTER VIII
A STEP BEYOND 95
Confidence in her mother—Fresh dedication of her
life.
CHAPTER IX
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF EDINBURGH 103
The problem of realizing the vision—Goes to study
educational methods in Edinburgh—Chequered
experiences—Church-going and religious
difficulties—Consults Rev. Dr. Pulsford—Letters
from her mother—An “increasing purpose.”
CHAPTER X
GERMANY 117
Miss Garrett’s efforts to obtain medical
education—Comes to prospect in Edinburgh—She and
S. J.-B. go canvassing together—Disappointment—
S. J.-B.’s desire to study educational methods
farther afield—Germany—Göttingen—Mannheim—
Appointed English teacher at Grand-ducal
Institute.
CHAPTER XI
LIFE AS A TEACHER AT MANNHEIM 129
Letters to her mother—Success of her work—
Transient wave of unpopularity—Letter to her
mother on Biblical criticism.
CHAPTER XII
VARIOUS PROJECTS AND VENTURES 147
Return home delayed by scarlet fever—Death of a
college friend—Mr. Plumptre recommends S. J.-B.
as founder and Lady Principal of modern Girls’
School at Manchester.
CHAPTER XIII
A VISIT TO SOME AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES 159
Opposition of parents—Goes to Boston—Makes
acquaintance of Dr. Lucy Sewall—R. W. Emerson—
Dinner at the Emersons—Visits Niagara—Inspects
various colleges (Oberlin, Hillsdale, St. Louis,
Antioch) and schools—Correspondence with her
brother—Views on American education.
CHAPTER XIV
QUESTIONINGS 172
Gets to know women doctors in Boston—Assists with
dispensing in New England Hospital for Women—
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Plate XVI is missing from the scanned image files. The reference within
the Maps and Plates list has been preserved.
TO MARS _via_ THE MOON
[Illustration: _Drawn by M. Wicks_
VIEW FROM THE AIR-SHIP, OVER THE CANALS AND THE CITY OF SIRAPION
"What a splendid view we then had over the country all around us!...
Across the country, in line after line, were the canals which we had
been so anxious to see, extending as far as the eye could reach!"]
To Mars _via_ The Moon
_AN ASTRONOMICAL STORY_
BY
MARK WICKS
"_It is astronomy which will eventually be the chief educator and
emancipator of the human race._"--SIR EDWIN ARNOLD.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1911
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
TO
PROFESSOR PERCIVAL LOWELL
A.B., LL.D.
_Director of the Observatory at Flagstaff, Arizona_
TO WHOSE CAREFUL AND PAINSTAKING RESEARCHES,
EXTENDING OVER MANY YEARS, THE WORLD OWES
SO MUCH OF ITS KNOWLEDGE OF
THE PLANET MARS,
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY
ONE WHO HAS DERIVED INFINITE PLEASURE FROM
THE PERUSAL OF HIS WORKS ON
THE SUBJECT
PREFACE
In the course of my experience as an occasional lecturer during the past
twelve years, I have been much impressed by the keen interest evinced,
even by the most unlettered persons, when astronomical subjects are
dealt with in plain untechnical language which they can really grasp and
understand.
The pertinent questions which have been addressed to me privately by
members of my audiences have clearly indicated that there is ample scope
for writers in satisfying a widespread desire for fuller and clearer
information upon such subjects. I have observed that particular interest
is taken in the planet Mars and also in the moon, but ordinary persons
usually find astronomical text-books too technical and too difficult to
master; whilst, as regards Mars, the information they contain is
generally meagre and sometimes not up-to-date.
Scientific readers are already provided for: and it occurred to me that
it would be much more useful and appeal to a more numerous class if,
instead of writing a book on the usual lines, I wrote a narrative of
events which might be supposed to occur in the course of an actual
voyage to Mars; and describing what might be seen on the planet during a
short visit.
This is the genesis of the story; and, in carrying out my programme, I
have endeavoured to convey by means of natural incidents and
conversations between the characters portrayed, the most recent and
reliable scientific information respecting the moon and Mars; together
with other astronomical information: stating it in an interesting form,
and in concise, clear, and understandable language.
Every endeavour has been made to ensure that this scientific information
shall be thoroughly accurate, so that in this respect the book may be
referred to with as much confidence as any ordinary textbook.
Apart from my own studies and work, all these facts have been carefully
verified by reference, as regards the moon, to the works of such
well-known authorities as Neison, Elger, Proctor, Sir Robert Ball, &c.,
whilst, with respect to Mars, the works of Professor Lowell, Flammarion,
Professor Langley, and other writers, as well as practical papers by
other actual observers of the planet, have been studied.
The personal opinions expressed are entirely my own, and the technical
writers above mentioned are in no way responsible for them. I do not,
however, expect my readers to accept all my views, as they relate to
matters in which there is ample room for differences of opinion.
The reader will, of course, understand that whilst the astronomical
information is, in all cases, scientific fact according to our present
knowledge, the story itself--as well as the attempt to describe the
physical and social conditions on Mars--is purely imaginative. It is
not, however, merely random imagining. In a narrative such as this some
matters--as, for instance, the "air-ship," and the possibility of a
voyage through space--must be taken for granted; but the other ideas
are mainly logical deductions from known facts and scientific data, or
legitimate inferences.
Many years' careful study of the various theories which have been
evolved has convinced me that the weight of evidence is in favour of
Professor Lowell's conceptions, as being not only the most reasonable
but the most scientific; and that they fit the observed facts with a
completeness attaching to no other theory. These conceptions I have
endeavoured to present fully and clearly; together with my own views as
an entirely independent writer.
In dealing with the conditions on a distant and inaccessible world the
farthest flight of imagination might fall short of the reality, but I
have preferred to treat these matters somewhat restrainedly. Whilst no
one can say positively that the intelligent inhabitants of Mars do not
possess bodies resembling our own, it is very probable that they differ
from us entirely; and may possess forms which would appear to us strange
and weird. I have, however, thought it desirable to endow the Martians
with bodies resembling ours, but glorified in form and features. The
powers ascribed to the Martians are really only extensions of powers
which some amongst us claim to possess, and they fall short of what more
than one modern scientific writer has predicated as being within the
possibilities of science at a not very distant future.
During the past few years I have been greatly indebted to Professor
Lowell for his kindness and ready courtesy in furnishing me with
information on obscure matters connected with Mars; and my thanks are
also due to the Rev. Theodore E.R. Phillips, of Ashstead, who was good
enough to read the manuscript of this book, and whose great
observational experience enabled him to make valuable suggestions in
regard to the scientific matters dealt with therein.
Truly "a labour of love," this little book--which Professor Lowell has
most kindly permitted me to dedicate to him--is now submitted to the
public, in the sincere hope that its perusal may serve not only to while
away a leisure hour, but tend to nurture a love of the sublime science
of astronomy, and at the same time provide some food for thought.
A few maps, plates, and charts have been added to give completeness to
the work, and it is hoped that they will aid the reader in understanding
the several matters dealt with.
M.W.
1910.
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIST OF PLATES AND MAPS xvii
NOTES ON THE MAPS AND CHARTS xix
THE SUN, MOON, AND PLANETS xxiii
(_Narrative by Wilfrid Poynders, Esq._)
CHAP.
I. WE START ON A VERY LONG VOYAGE 25
II. PERSONAL REMINISCENCES-- | 1,890.962152 |
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LUCKY PEHR
[A Drama in Five Acts]
By August Strindberg
Author Of "Easter," Etc.
Translated By Velma Swanston Howard
Authorized Edition
CHARACTERS
OLD MAN IN THE TOWER.
PEHR.
LISA.
FAIRY.
ELF.
RATS [NILLA AND NISSE].
BUTLER.
ASSESSOR.
PETITIONER.
FIRST FRIEND.
SECOND FRIEND.
A WOMAN.
PILLORY.
STATUE.
WAGONMAKER.
SHOEMAKER.
CHIROPODIST.
STREET-PAVER.
RELATIVE.
BURGOMASTER.
ONE OF THE PEOPLE.
CHAMBERLAIN OF THE CALIPH.
AMEER.
COURT HISTORIAN.
COURT MULLAH.
GRAND VIZIER.
POET LAUREATE.
BRIDE.
SINGER.
DEATH.
WISE MAN.
SAINT BARTHOLOMEW.
SAINT LAURENCE.
BROOM.
PALL.
A VOICE.
Townspeople, Dancers, Viziers, Courtiers,
Court Attendants, etc.
LUCKY PEHR
[Allegorical play in Five Acts]
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES
ACT I.--Room in a Church Tower.
ACT II.--[a] Forest--[b] Rich Man's Banquet Hall.
ACT III.-Public Square and Town Hall.
ACT IV.--[a] Caliph's Palace--[b] Seashore.
ACT V.--Country Church [Interior].
TIME: Middle Ages.
ACT ONE
SCENE: A Room in the Church Tower.
Window shutters at back wide open, starlit sky is seen through windows.
Background: Snow covered house-roofs; gable windows in the distance
brilliantly illuminated. In room an old chair, a fire-pan and a picture
of the Virgin, with a lighted candle before it. Room is divided by
posts--two in centre thick enough to conceal an adult.
Chant, in unison, from the church below:
A Solis ortus cardine
Et usque terrae limitem
Christum canamus principem
Natum Maria Virgini.
[Old Man comes up tower steps and enters carrying a rat-trap, a
barley-sheaf and a dish of porridge, which he sets down on the floor.]
OLD MAN. Now the elf shall have his Christmas porridge. And this year
he has earned it honestly--twice he awakened me when I fell asleep and
forgot the tower shutters; once he rang the bell when fire broke loose.
Merry Christmas, Elf! and many of them. [Takes up rat-trap and sets it.]
Here's your Christmas mess, Satan's rats!
A VOICE. Curse not Christmas!
OLD MAN. I believe there are spirits about to-night--Ugh! it's the cold
increasing; then the beams always creak, like an old ship. Here's your
Christmas supper. Now perhaps you'll quit gnawing the bell-rope and
eating up the tallow, you accursed pest!
A VOICE. Curse not Christmas!
OLD MAN. The spooks are at it again! Christmas eve--yes, yes! [Places
rat-trap on the floor.] There! Now they have their portion. And now
comes the turn of the feathered wretches. They must have grain, of
course, so they can soil the tin roof for me. Such is life! The church
wardens pay for it, so it's not my affair. But if I were to ask for an
extra shilling two in wages--that they couldn't afford. That wouldn't
be seen! But when one sticks out a grain-sheaf on a pole once a year,
it looks generous. Ah, that one is a fine fellow!--and generosity is a
virtue. Now, if we were to share and share alike, I should get back my
porridge, which I gave to the elf. [Shakes | 1,891.290944 |
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Produced by Steve Schulze and the Online Distributed
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_Nancy Stair_
_A NOVEL_
_By ELINOR MACARTNEY LANE_
_Author of "Mills of God"_
_A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers
NEW YORK_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published May, 1904_
_To_ Frank Brett Noyes
_Who accepted, with a kind letter,
The first story I ever wrote,
This tale of_ Nancy Stair _is dedicated,
As a tribute of affection,
From one old friend to another._
"For woman is not undeveloped man,
But diverse; could we make her as the man,
Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this,
Not like to like, but like in difference."
TENNYSON.
"Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears,
Her noblest work she classes, O,
Her 'prentice hand she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O."
ROBERT BURNS.
"Ye can't educate women as you can men. They're
elemental creatures; and ye can no more change their
natures than ye can stop fire from burning."
HUGH PITCAIRN.
PREFACE BY LORD STAIR
Two excellent accounts of the beautiful Nancy Stair have already been
published; the first by Mrs. George Opie, in the Scots News, giving a
detailed account of the work on the burnside, and a more recent one by
Professor Erskine, of our own University, which is little more than a
critical dissertation upon Nancy as a poet; the heart of the matter
with him being to commend her English verses, as well as those in "gude
braid Scot."
With these accounts to be secured so easily it may seem presumptuous,
as well as superfluous, for me to undertake a third. I state at the
outset, therefore, that it is beyond my ambition and my abilities to
add a word to stories told so well. Nor do I purpose to mention either
the work on the burn or Nancy's song-making, save when necessary for
clearness.
For me, however, the life of Nancy Stair has a far deeper significance
than that set forth by either of these gifted authors. My knowledge of
her was naturally of the most intimate; I watched her grow from a
wonderful child into a wonderful woman; and saw her, with a man's
education, none but men for friends, and no counselings save from her
own heart, solve most wisely for the race the problem put to every
woman of gift; and with sweetest reasoning and no bitter renouncings
enter the kingdom of great womanhood.
To tell this intimate side of her life with what skill I have is the
chief purpose of my writing, but there are two other motives almost as
strong. The first of these is to clear away the mystery of the murder
which for so long clouded our lives at Stair. To do this there is no
man in Scotland to-day so able as myself. It was I who bid the Duke to
Stair; the quarrel which brought on the meeting fell directly beneath
my eyes; I heard the shots and found the dead upon that fearful night,
and afterward went blindfolded through the bitter business of the
trial. I was the first, as well, to scent the truth at the bottom of
the defense, and have in my possession, as I write, the confession
which removed all doubt as to the manner in which the deed was
committed.
The second reason is to set clear Nancy's relation to Robert Burns, of
which too much has been made, and whose influence upon her and her
writings has been grossly exaggerated. Her observation of natural
genius in him changed her greatly, and I have tried to set this forth
with clearness; but it affected her in a very different manner from
that which her two famous biographers have told, and I have it from her
own lips that it was because of the Burns episode that she stopped
writing altogether.
If | 1,891.584289 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE
LAIRD OF NORLAW.
A SCOTTISH STORY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“MARGARET MAITLAND,” “LILLIESLEAF,” “ORPHANS,”
“THE DAYS OF MY LIFE,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1859.
THE LAIRD OF NORLAW.
CHAPTER I.
The house of Norlaw stands upon the <DW72> of a low hill, under shelter
of the three mystic Eildons, and not very far from that little ancient
town which, in the language of the author of “Waverley,” is called
Kennaquhair.
A low, peaceable, fertile <DW72>, bearing trees to its top-most height,
and corn on its shoulders, with a little river running by its base,
which manages, after many circuits, to wind its way into Tweed. The
house, which is built low upon the hill, is two stories in front, but,
owing to the unequal level, only one behind. The garden is all at the
back, where the ground is sheltered, but in front, the green, natural
surface of the hill descends softly to the water without any thing to
break its verdure. There are clumps of trees on each side, straying as
nature planted them, but nothing adorns the sloping lawn, which is not
called a lawn, nor used for any purposes of ornament by the household of
Norlaw.
Close by, at the right hand of this homely house, stands an
extraordinary foil to its serenity and peacefulness. The old castle of
Norlaw, gaunt and bare, and windowless, not a towered and battlemented
pile, but a straight, square, savage mass of masonry, with windows
pierced high up in its walls in even rows, like a prison, and the gray
stone-work below, as high under the first range of windows as the roof
of the modern house, rising up blank, like a rock, without the slightest
break or opening. To see this strange old ruin, in the very heart of the
peaceful country, without a feature of nature to correspond with its
sullen strength, nor a circumstance to suggest the times and the danger
which made that necessary, is the strangest thing in the world; all the
more that the ground has no special capacities for defense, and that the
castle is not a picturesque baronial accumulation of turrets and
battlements, but a big, austere, fortified dwelling-house, which modern
engineering could make an end of in half a day.
It showed, however, if it did nothing better, that the Livingstones were
knights and gentlemen, in the day when the Border was an unquiet
habitation--and for this, if for nothing else, was held in no little
honor by the yeoman Livingstone, direct descendant of the Sir Rodericks
and Sir Anthonys, who farmed the remains of his paternal property, and
dwelt in the modern house of Norlaw.
This house was little more than a farm-house in appearance, and nothing
more in reality. The door opened into a square hall, on either side of
which was a large room, with three deep-set windows in each; four of
these windows looked out upon the lawn and the water, while one broke
each corner of the outer wall. On the side nearest the castle, a little
behind the front level of the house, was an “outshot,” a little wing
built to the side, which formed the kitchen, upon the ever-open door of
which the corner window of the common family sitting room kept up a
vigilant inspection. A plentiful number of bed-chambers up-stairs were
reached by a good stair-case, and a gallery which encircled the hall;
the architecture was of the most monotonous and simple regularity; so
many windows on one side soberly poising so many windows on the other.
The stair-case made a rounded projection at the back of the house, which
was surmounted by a steep little turret roof, blue-slated, and bearing a
tiny vane for its crown, after the fashion of the countryside; and this,
which glimmered pleasantly among the garden fruit trees when you looked
down from the top of the hill--and the one-storied projection, which was
the kitchen, were the only two features which broke the perfect
plainness and uniformity of the house.
But though it was July when this history begins, the flush of
summer--and though the sunshine was sweet upon the trees and the water,
and the bare old walls of the castle, there was little animation in
Norlaw. The blinds were drawn up in the east room, the best
apartment--though the sun streamed in at the end window, and “the
Mistress” was not wont to leave her favorite carpet to the tender
mercies of that bright intruder; and the blinds were down in the
dining-room, which nobody had entered this morning, and where even the
Mistress’s chair and little table in the corner window could not keep a
vicarious watch upon the kitchen door. It was not needful; the two maids
were very quiet, and not disposed to amuse themselves. Marget, the elder
one, who was the byrewoman, and had responsibilities, went about the
kitchen very solemnly, speaking with a gravity which became the
occasion; and Janet, who was the house-servant, and soft-hearted, stood
at the table, washing cups and saucers, very slowly, and with the most
elaborate care, lest one of them should tingle upon the other, and
putting up her apron very often to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Outside, on the broad stone before the kitchen door, a little ragged boy
sat, crying bitterly--and no one else was to be seen about the house.
“Jenny,” said the elder maid, at last, “give that bairn a piece, and
send him away. There’s enow of us to greet--for what we’re a’ to do for
a puir distressed family, when aince the will o’ God’s accomplished this
day, I canna tell.”
“Oh, woman, dinna speak! he’ll maybe win through,” cried Jenny, with
renewed tears.
Marget was calm in her superior knowledge.
“I ken a death-bed from a sick-bed,” she said, with solemnity; “I’ve
seen them baith--and weel I kent, a week come the morn, that it was
little good looking for the doctor, or wearying aye for his physic time,
or thinking the next draught or the next pill would do. Eh sirs! ane
canna see when it’s ane’s ain trouble; if it had been ony ither man, the
Mistress would have kent as weel as me.”
“It’s an awfu’ guid judge that’s never wrang,” said Jenny, with a little
impatience. “He’s a guid faither, and a guid maister; it’s my hope he’ll
cheat you a’ yet, baith the doctor and you.”
Marget shook her head, and went solemnly to a great wooden press, which
almost filled one side of the kitchen, to get the “piece” which Jenny
showed no intention of bestowing upon the child at the door. Pondering
for a moment over the basket of oat cakes, Marget changed her mind, and
selected a fine, thin, flour one, from a little pile.
“It’s next to funeral bread,” she said to herself, in vindication of her
choice; “Tammie, my man, the maister would be nae better if ye could
mak’ the water grit with tears--run away hame, like a good bairn; tell
your mother neither the Mistress nor me will forget her, and ye can say,
I’ll let her ken; and there’s a piece to help ye hame.”
“I dinna want ony pieces--I want to ken if he’s better,” said the boy;
“my mother said I wasna to come back till there was good news.”
“Whisht, sirrah, he’ll hear you on his death-bed,” said Marget, “but
it’ll no do _you_ ony harm, bairn; the Mistress will aye mind your
mother; take your piece and run away.”
The child’s only answer was to bury his face in his hands, and break
into a new fit of crying. Marget came in again, discomfited; after a
while she took out a little wooden cup of milk to him, and set it down
upon the stone without a word. She was not sufficiently hard-hearted to
frown upon the child’s grief.
“Eh, woman Jenny!” she cried, after an interval, “to think a man could
have so little pith, and yet get in like this to folk’s hearts!”
“As if ye didna ken the haill tale,” cried Jenny, with indignant tears,
“how the maister found the wean afield with his broken leg, and carried
him hame--and how there’s ever been plenty, baith milk and meal, for
thae puir orphants, and Tammie’s schooling, and aye a kind word to mend
a’--and yet, forsooth, the bairn maunna greet when the maister’s at his
latter end!”
“We’ll a’ have cause,” said Marget, abruptly; “three bonnie lads that
might be knights and earls, every one, and no’ a thing but debt and
dool, nor a trade to set their hand to. Haud yer peace!--do ye think
there’s no trade but bakers and tailors, and the like o’ that? and
there’s Huntley, and Patie, and Cosmo, my bonnie bairns!--there never
was | 1,891.708448 |
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_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
THE SECRET ROSE.
THE CELTIC TWILIGHT.
POEMS.
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS.
THE SHADOWY WATERS.
IDEAS OF GOOD AND EVIL.
PLAYS FOR AN IRISH THEATRE
VOLUME III.
THE KING'S THRESHOLD:
AND
ON BAILE'S STRAND:
BEING VOLUME THREE OF PLAYS
FOR AN IRISH THEATRE:
BY W. B. YEATS
LONDON: A. H. BULLEN,
47, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, W.C.
1904
CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
NOTE
Both these plays have been written for Mr. Fay's "Irish National
Theatre." "The King's Threshold" was played in October, 1903, and "On
Baile's Strand" will be played in February or March, 1904. Both are
founded on Old Irish Prose Romances, but I have borrowed some ideas for
the arrangement of my subject in "The King's Threshold" from "Sancan the
Bard," a play published by Mr. Edwin Ellis some ten years ago.
W. B. Y.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE KING'S THRESHOLD 1
ON BAILE'S STRAND 67
THE KING'S THRESHOLD
LIST OF CHARACTERS
KING GUAIRE.
THE CHAMBERLAIN OF KING GUAIRE.
A Soldier.
A Monk.
THE MAYOR OF KINVARA.
A <DW36>.
Another <DW36>.
AILEEN, } Ladies of the Court.
ESSA, }
PRINCESS BUAN.
PRINCESS FINNHUA, her Sister.
FEDELM, Seanchan's Sweetheart.
CIAN, } Servants of Seanchan.
BRIAN, }
SENIAS, } Pupils of Seanchan.
ARIAS, }
SEANCHAN (pronounced Shanahan), Chief Poet of Ireland.
Pupils, Courtiers.
A PROLOGUE.[1]
Footnote 1: Written for the first production of "The King's
Threshold" in Dublin, but not used, as, owing to the smallness
of the company, nobody could be spared to speak it.
_An OLD MAN with a red dressing-gown, red slippers and red
nightcap, holding a brass candlestick with a guttering candle in it,
comes on from side of stage and goes in front of the dull green
curtain._
_Old Man._ I've got to speak the prologue. [_He shuffles on a few
steps._] My nephew, who is one of the play actors, came to me, and I in
my bed, and my prayers said, and the candle put out, and he told me
there were so many characters in this new play, that all the company
were in it, whether they had been long or short at the business, and
that there wasn't one left to speak the prologue. Wait a bit, there's a
draught here. [_He pulls the curtain closer together._] That's better.
And that's why I'm here, and maybe I'm a fool for my pains.
And my nephew said, there are a good many plays to be played for you,
some to-night and some on other nights through the winter, and the most
of them are simple enough, and tell out their story to the end. But as
to the big play you are to see to-night, my nephew taught me to say what
the poet had taught him to say about it. [_Puts down candlestick and
puts right finger on left thumb._] First, he who told the story of
Seanchan on King Guaire's threshold long ago in the old books told it
wrongly, for he was a friend of the king, or maybe afraid of the king,
and so he put the king in the right. But he that tells the story now,
being a poet, has put the poet in the right.
And then [_touches other finger_] I am to say: Some think it would be a
finer tale if Seanchan had died at the end of it, and the king had the
guilt at his door, for that might have served the poet's cause better in
the end. But that is not true, for if he that is in the story but a
shadow and an image of poetry had not risen up from the death that
threatened him, the ending would not have been true and joyful enough to
be put into the voices of players and proclaimed in the mouths of
trumpets, and poetry would have been badly served.
[_He takes up the candlestick again._
And as to what happened Seanchan after, my nephew told me he didn't
know, and the poet didn't know, and it's likely there's nobody that
knows. But my nephew thinks he never sat down at the king's table again,
after the way he had been treated, but that he went to some quiet green
place in the hills with Fedelm, his sweetheart, where the poor people
made much of him because he was wise, and where he made songs and
poems, and it's likely enough he made some of the old songs and the old
poems the poor people on the hillsides are saying and singing to-day.
[_A trumpet-blast._
Well, it's time for me to be going. That trumpet means that the curtain
is going to rise, and after a while the stage there will be filled up
with great ladies and great gentlemen, and poets, and a king with a
crown on him, and all of them as high up in themselves with the pride of
their youth and their strength and their fine clothes as if there was no
such thing in the world as cold in the shoulders, and speckled shins,
and the pains in the bones and the stiffness in the joints that make an
old man that has the whole load of the world on him ready for his bed.
[_He begins to shuffle away, and then stops._
And it would be better for me, that nephew of mine to be thinking less
of his play-acting, and to have remembered to boil down the knap-weed
with a bit of three-penny sugar, for me to be wetting my throat with
now and again through the night, and drinking a sup to ease the pains in
my bones.
[_He goes out at side of stage._
THE KING'S THRESHOLD.
SCENE: _Steps before the Palace of KING GUAIRE at Gort. A table in
front of steps to right with food on it. SEANCHAN lying on steps to
left. PUPILS before steps. KING on top of steps at centre._
_King._ I welcome you that have the mastery
Of the two kinds of music; the one kind
Being like a woman, the other like a man;
Both you that understand stringed instruments,
And how to mingle words and notes together
So artfully, that all the art is but speech
Delighted with its own music; and you that carry
The long twisted horn and understand
The heady notes that being without words
Can hurry beyond time and fate and change;
For the high angels that drive the horse of time,
The golden one by day, by night the silver,
Are not more welcome to one that loves the world
For some fair woman's sake.
I have called you hither
To save the life of your great master, Seanchan,
For all day long it has flamed up or flickered
To the fast-cooling hearth.
_Senias._ When did he sicken?
Is it a fever that is wasting him?
_King._ He did not sicken, but three days ago
He said he would not eat, and lay down there
And has not eaten since. Till yesterday
I thought that hunger and weakness had been enough,
But finding them too trifling and too light
To hold his mouth from biting at the grave
I called you hither, and have called others yet.
The girl he is to wed at harvest-time,
That should be of all living the most dear,
Is coming from the South, and had I known
Of any other neighbours or good friends
That might persuade him, I had brought them hither,
Even though I'd to ransack the world for them.
_Senias._ What was it put him to this work, High King?
_King._ You will call it no great matter. Three days ago
I yielded to the outcry of my courtiers,
Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law,
Who long had thought it against their dignity
For a mere man of words to sit among them
At my own table; and when the meal was spread
I ordered Seanchan to good company,
But to a lower table; and when he pleaded
The poet's right, established when the world
Was first established, I said that I was King
And made and unmade rights at my own pleasure.
And that it was the men who ruled the world,
And not the men who sang to it, who should sit
Where there was the most honour. My courtiers,
Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law
Shouted approval, and amid that noise
Seanchan went out, and from that hour to this,
Although there is good food and drink beside him,
Has eaten nothing. If a man is wronged,
Or thinks that he is wronged, and will lie down
Upon another's threshold until he dies,
The common people for all time to come
Will raise a heavy cry against that threshold,
Even though it is the King's. He lies there now
Perishing; he is calling against my majesty,
That old custom that has no meaning in it,
And as he perishes, my name in the world
Is perishing also. I cannot give way
Because I am King, because if I give way
My nobles would call me a weakling, and it may be
The very throne be shaken; but should you
That are his friends speak to him and persuade him
To turn his mouth from the ill-savouring grave
And eat good food, he shall not lack my favour;
For I will give plough-land and grazing-land,
Or all but anything he has set his heart on.
It is not all because of my good name
I'd have him live, for I have found him a man
That might well hit the fancy of a king
Banished out of his country, or a woman's,
Or any other's that can judge a man
For what he is. But I that sit a throne,
And take my measure from the needs of the state,
Call his wild thought that over-runs the measure,
Making words more than deeds, and his proud will
That would unsettle all, most mischievous,
And he himself a most mischievous man.
_Senias._ King, whether you did right or wrong in this
Let the King say, for all that I need say
Is that there's nothing that cries out for death
In the withholding of that ancient right,
And that I will persuade him. Your own words
Had been enough persuasion were it not
That he is lost in dreams that hunger makes,
And therefore heedless, or lost in heedless sleep.
_King._ I leave him to your love, that it may promise
Plough-lands and grass-lands, jewels and silken wear,
Or anything but that old right of the poets.
[_He goes out. The PUPILS, who have been standing perfectly quiet,
all turn towards SEANCHAN, and move a step nearer._
_Senias._ The King did wrong to abrogate our right,
But Seanchan, who talks of dying for it,
Talks foolishly. Look at us, Seanchan,
Waken out of your dream and look at us,
Who have ridden under the moon and all the day,
Until the moon has all but come again,
That we might be beside you.
[_SEANCHAN turns half round leaning on his elbow, and speaks as if
in a dream._
_Seanchan._ I was but now
At Almhuin, in a great high-raftered house,
With Finn and Osgar. Odours of roast flesh
Rose round me and I saw the roasting spits,
And then the dream was broken, and I saw
Grania dividing salmon by a pool,
And then I was awakened by your voice.
_Senias._ It is your hunger that makes you dream of flesh
Roasting, and for your hunger I could weep;
And yet the hunger of the crane that starves
Because the moonlight glittering on the pool
And | 1,892.045564 |
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THE DAY OF THE DOG
by
GEORGE BARR MCCUTCHEON
Author of "Grauslark"
"The Sherrods etc"
With Illustrations by
Harrison Fisher
and decorations by
Margaret & Helen Maitland Armstrong
New York
1904
ILLUSTRATIONS
SWALLOW (in color) Frontispiece
CROSBY DRIVES TO THE STATION
THE HANDS HAD GONE TO THEIR DINNER
THE BIG RED BARN
THE TWO BOYS
MRS. DELANCY AND MRS. AUSTIN
MR. AUSTIN
MRS. DELANCY PLEADS WITH SWALLOW
THEY EXAMINE THE DOCUMENTS
"SHE DELIBERATELY SPREAD OUT THE PAPERS ON THE BEAM" (in color)
SWALLOW
SHE WATCHES HIM DESCEND INTO DANGER
MR. CROSBY SHOWS SWALLOW A NEW TRICK
"SWALLOW'S CHUBBY BODY SHOT SQUARELY THROUGH THE OPENING" (in color)
THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN
MR. HIGGINS
"HE WAS SPLASHING THROUGH THE SHALLOW BROOK" (in color)
HE CARRIES HER OVER THE BROOK
MRS. HIGGINS
THEY ENJOY MRS. HIGGINS'S GOOD SUPPER
LONESOMEVILLE
THE DEPUTY SHERIFF
CROSBY AND THE DEPUTY
MRS. DELANCY FALLS ASLEEP
THEY GO TO THE THEATRE
"'GOOD HEAVENS!' 'WHAT IS IT?' HE CRIED. 'YOU ARE NOT MARRIED,
ARE YOU?'"
(in color)
"CROSBY WON BOTH SUITS"
THE DAY OF THE DOG
PART I
"I'll catch the first train back this evening, Graves. Wouldn't go down
there if it were not absolutely necessary; but I have just heard that
Mrs. Delancy is to leave for New York to-night, and if I don't see her
to-day there will be a pack of troublesome complications. Tell Mrs.
Graves she can count me in on the box party to-night."
"We'll need you, Crosby. Don't miss the train."
[Illustration: Crosby Drives to the Station]
"I'll be at the station an hour before the train leaves. Confound it,
it's a mean trip down there--three hours through the rankest kind of
scenery and three hours back. She's visiting in the country, too, but I
can drive out and back in an hour."
"On your life, old man, don't fail me."
"Don't worry, Graves; all Christendom couldn't keep me in Dexter after
four o'clock this afternoon. Good-by." And Crosby climbed into the
hansom and was driven away at breakneck speed toward the station.
Crosby was the junior member of the law firm of Rolfe & Crosby, and his
trip to the country was on business connected with the settlement of a
big estate. Mrs. Delancy, widow of a son of the decedent, was one of the
legatees, and she was visiting her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robert Austin, in
central Illinois. Mr. Austin owned extensive farming interests near
Dexter, and his handsome home was less than two miles from the heart of
the town. Crosby anticipated no trouble in driving to the house and back
in time to catch the afternoon train for Chicago. It was necessary for
Mrs. Delancy to sign certain papers, and he was confident the
transaction could not occupy more than half an hour's time.
At 11:30 Crosby stepped from the coach to the station platform in
Dexter, looked inquiringly about, and then asked a perspiring man with a
star on his suspender-strap where he could hire a horse and buggy. The
officer directed him to a "feed-yard and stable," but observed that
there was a "funeral in town an' he'd be lucky if he got a rig, as all
of Smith's horses were out." Application at the stable brought the first
frown to Crosby's brow. He could not rent a "rig" until after the
funeral, and that would make it too late for him to catch the four
o'clock train for Chicago. To make the story short, twelve o'clock saw
him trudging along the dusty road covering the two miles between town
and Austin's place, and he was walking with the rapidity of one who has
no love for the beautiful.
The early spring air was invigorating, and it did not take him long to
reduce the distance. Austin's house stood on a hill, far back from the
highway, and overlooking the entire country-side.
The big red barn stood in from the road a hundred yards or more, and he
saw that the same driveway led to the house on the hill. There was no
time for speculation, so he hastily made his way up the lane. Crosby had
never seen his client, their business having been conducted by mail or
through Mr. Rolfe. There was not a person in sight, and he slowed his
progress considerably as he drew nearer the big house. At the barn-yard
gate he came to a full stop and debated within himself the wisdom of
inquiring at the stables for Mr. Austin.
He flung open the gate and strode quickly to the door. This he opened
boldly and stepped inside, finding himself in a lofty carriage room.
Several handsome vehicles stood at the far end, but the wide space near
the door was clear. The floor was as "clean as a pin," except along the
west side. No one was in sight, and the only sound was that produced by
the horses as they munched their hay and stamped their hoofs in
impatient remonstrance with the flies.
"Where the deuce are the people?" he muttered as he crossed to the
mangers. "Devilish queer," glancing about in considerable doubt. "The
hands must be at dinner or taking a nap." He passed by a row of mangers
and was calmly inspected by brown-eyed horses. At the end of the long
row of stalls he found a little gate opening into another section of the
barn. He was on the point of opening this gate to pass in among the
horses when a low growl attracted his attention. In some alarm he took a
precautionary look ahead. On the opposite side of the gate stood a huge
and vicious looking bulldog, unchained and waiting for him with an eager
ferocity that could not be mistaken. Mr. Crosby did not open the gate.
Instead he inspected it to see that it was securely fastened, and then
drew his hand across his brow.
"What an escape!" he gasped, after a long breath. "Lucky for me you
growled, old boy. My name is Crosby, my dear sir, and I'm not here to
steal anything. I'm only a lawyer. Anybody else at home but you?"
An ominous growl was the answer, and there was lurid disappointment in
the face of the squat figure beyond the gate.
"Come, now, old chap, don't be nasty. I won't hurt you. There was
nothing farther from my mind than a desire to disturb you. And say,
please do something besides growl. Bark, and oblige me. You may attract
the attention of some one."
By this time the ugly brute was trying to get at the man, growling, and
snarling savagely. Crosby complacently looked on from his place of
safety for a moment, and was on the point of turning away when his
attention was caught by a new move on the part of the dog. The animal
ceased his violent efforts to get through the gate, turned about
deliberately, and raced from view behind the horse stalls. Crosby
brought himself up with a jerk.
"Thunder," he ejaculated; "the brute knows a way to get at me, and he
won't be long about it, either. What the dickens shall I--by George,
this looks serious! He'll head me off at the door if I try to get out
and--Ah, the fire-escape! We'll fool you, you brute! What a cursed idiot
I was not to go to the house instead of coming--" He was shinning up a
ladder with little regard for grace as he mumbled this self-condemnatory
remark. There was little dignity in his manner of flight, and there was
certainly no glory in the position in which he found himself a moment
later. But there was a vast amount of satisfaction.
The ladder rested against a beam that crossed the carriage shed near the
middle. The beam was a large one, hewn from a monster tree, and was free
on all sides. The ladder had evidently been left there by men who had
used it recently and had neglected to return it to the hooks on which it
properly hung.
When the dog rushed violently through the door and into the carriage
room, he found a vast and inexplicable solitude. He was, to all
appearances, alone with the vehicles under which he was permitted to
trot when his master felt inclined to grant the privilege.
Crosby, seated on the beam, fifteen feet above the floor, grinned
securely but somewhat dubiously as he watched the mystified dog below.
At last he laughed aloud. He could not help it. The enemy glanced upward
and blinked his red eyes in surprise; then he stared in deep chagrin,
then glared with rage. For a few minutes Crosby watched his frantic
efforts to leap through fifteen feet of altitudinal space, confidently
hoping that some one would come to drive the brute away and liberate
him. Finally he began to lose the good humor his strategy in fooling the
dog had inspired, and a hurt, indignant stare was directed toward the
open door through which he had entered.
"What's the matter with the idiots?" he growled impatiently. "Are they
going to let this poor dog snarl his lungs out? He's a faithful chap,
too, and a willing worker. Gad, I never saw anything more earnest than
the way he tries to climb up that ladder." Adjusting himself in a
comfortable position, his elbows on his knees, his hands to his chin, he
allowed his feet to swing lazily, tantalizingly, below the beam. "I'm
putting a good deal of faith in this beam," he went on resignedly. The
timber was at least fifteen inches square.
"Ah, by George! That was a bully jump--the best you've made. You didn't
miss me more than ten feet that time. I don't like to be disrespectful,
you know, but you are an exceedingly rough looking dog. Don't get huffy
about it, old fellow, but you have the ugliest mouth I ever saw. Yes,
you miserable cur, politeness at last ceases to be a virtue with me. If
I had you up here I'd punch your face for you, too. Why don't you come
up, you coward? You're bow-legged, too, and you haven't any more figure
than a crab. Anybody that would take an insult like that is beneath me
(thank heaven!) and would steal sheep. Great Scott! Where are all these
people? Shut up, you brute, you! I'm getting a headache. But it doesn't
do any good to reason with you, I can see that plainly. The thing I
ought to do is to go down there and punish you severely. But I'll--
Hello! Hey, boy! Call off this--confounded dog."
Two small Lord Fauntleroy boys were standing in the door, gazing up at
him with wide open mouths and bulging eyes.
"Call him off, I say, or I'll come down there and kick a hole clear
through him." The boys stared all the harder. "Is your name Austin?" he
demanded, addressing neither in particular.
"Yes, sir," answered the larger boy, with an effort.
"Well, where's your father? Shut up, you brute! Can't you see I'm
talking? Go tell your father I want to see him, boy."
"Dad's up at the house."
"That sounds encouraging. Can't you call off this dog?"
"I--I guess I'd better not. That's what dad keeps him for."
"Oh, he does, eh? And what is it that he keeps him for?"
"To watch tramps."
"To watch--to watch tramps? Say, boy, I'm a lawyer and I'm here on
business." He was black in the face with indignation.
"You better come up to the house and see dad, then. He don't live in the
barn," said the boy keenly.
"I can't fly to the house, boy. Say, if you don't call off this dog I'll
put a bullet through him."
"You'd have to be a purty good shot, mister. Nearly everybody in the
county has tried to do it." Both boys were grinning diabolically and the
dog took on energy through inspiration. Crosby longed for a stick of
dynamite.
"I'll give you a dollar if you get him away from here."
"Let's see your dollar." Crosby drew a silver dollar from his trousers
pocket, almost falling from his perch in the effort.
"Here's the coin. Call him off," gasped the lawyer.
"I'm afraid papa wouldn't like it," said the boy. The smaller lad nudged
his brother and urged him to "take the money anyhow."
"I live in Chicago," Crosby began, hoping to impress the boys at least.
"So do we when we're at home," said the smaller boy. "We live in Chicago
in the winter time."
"Is Mrs. Delancy your aunt?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll give you this dollar if you'll tell your father I'm here and want
to see him at once."
"Throw down your dollar." The coin fell at their feet but rolled
deliberately through a crack in the floor and was lost forever. Crosby
muttered something unintelligible, but resignedly threw a second coin
after the first.
"He'll be out when he gets through dinner," said the older boy, just
before the fight. Two minutes later he was streaking across the barn lot
with the coin in his pocket, the smaller boy wailing under the woe of a
bloody nose. For half an hour Crosby heaped insult after insult upon the
glowering dog at the bottom of the ladder and was in the midst of a
rabid denunciation of Austin when the city-bred farmer entered the barn.
"Am I addressing Mr. Robert Austin?" called Crosby, suddenly amiable.
The dog subsided and ran to his master's side. Austin, a
black-moustached, sallow-faced man of forty, stopped near the door and
looked aloft, squinting.
"Where are you?" he asked somewhat sharply.
"I am very much up in the air," replied Crosby. "Look a little sou' by
sou'east. Ah, now you have me. Can you manage the dog? If so, I'll come
down."
"One moment, please. Who are you?"
"My name is Crosby, of Rolfe & Crosby, Chicago. I am here to see Mrs.
Delancy, your sister-in-law, on business before she leaves for New
York."
"What is your business with her, may I ask?"
"Private," said Crosby laconically. "Hold the dog."
"I insist in knowing the nature of your business," said Austin firmly.
"I'd rather come down there and talk, if you don't mind."
"I don't but the dog may," said the other grimly.
"Well, this is a nice way to treat a gentleman," cried Crosby
wrathfully.
"A gentleman would scarcely have expected to find a lady in the barn,
much less on a cross-beam. This is where my horses and dogs live."
"Oh, that's all right now; this isn't a joke, you know."
"I quite agree with you. What is your business with Mrs. Delancy?"
"We represent her late husband's interests in settling up the estate of
his father. Your wife's interests are being looked after by Morton &
Rogers, I believe. I am here to have Mrs. Delancy go through the form of
signing papers authorizing us to bring suit against the estate in order
to establish certain rights of which you are fully aware. Your wife's
brother left his affairs slightly tangled, you remember."
"Well, I can save you a good deal of trouble. Mrs. Delancy has decided
to let the matter rest as it is and to accept the compromise terms
offered by the other heirs. She will not care to see you, for she has
just written to your firm announcing her decision."
"You--you don't mean it," exclaimed Crosby in dismay. He saw a
prodigious fee slipping through his fingers. "Gad, I must see her about
this," he went on, starting down the ladder, only to go back again
hastily. The growling dog leaped forward and stood ready to receive him.
Austin chuckled audibly.
"She really can't see you, Mr. Crosby. Mrs. Delancy leaves at four
o'clock for Chicago, where she takes the Michigan Central for New York
to-night. You can gain nothing by seeing her."
"But I insist, sir," exploded Crosby.
"You may come down when you like," said Austin. "The dog will be here
until I return from the depot after driving her over. Come down when you
like."
Crosby did not utter the threat that surged to his lips. With the wisdom
born of self-preservation, he temporized, reserving deep down in the
surging young breast a promise to amply recompense his pride for the
blows it was receiving at the hands of the detestable Mr. Austin.
"You'll admit that I'm in a devil of a pickle, Mr. Austin," he said
jovially. "The dog is not at all friendly."
"He is at least diverting. You won't | 1,892.348511 |
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[ Transcriber's Note:
This e-book belongs to Tolstoy's Plays (Complete Edition). The
front matter, including the table of contents, can be found in
e-book #26660; it lists the other plays in the | 1,892.348656 |
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Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
CONTENTS
Guy Kenmore's Wife; or, Her Mother's Secret
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.
Chapter XXVI.
Chapter XXVII.
Chapter XXVIII.
Chapter XXIX.
Chapter XXX.
Chapter XXXI.
Chapter XXXII.
Chapter XXXIII.
Chapter XXXIV.
Chapter XXXV.
Chapter XXXVI.
Chapter XXXVII.
Chapter XXXVIII.
Chapter XXXIX.
Chapter XL.
Chapter XLI.
Chapter XLII.
Chapter XLIII.
Chapter XLIV.
Chapter XLV.
Chapter XLVI.
Chapter XLVII.
Chapter XLVIII.
Chapter XLIX.
Chapter L.
Chapter LI.
Chapter LII.
| 1,892.351254 |
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THE YOUNG EXPLORER
OR
CLAIMING HIS FORTUNE
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
I. Ben's Inheritance
II. Deacon Pitkin's Offer
III. Sam Sturgis' New Idea
IV. A Brilliant Chance
V. In Search of a Place
VI. Mr. Fitch, The Senior Partner
VII. Ben's Dinner Guest
VIII. A Strange Acquaintance
IX. At the Astor House
X. Ben Receives a Call
XI. Miss Sinclair's Stratagem
XII. In San Francisco
XIII. Preliminary Arrangements
XIV. The Canon Hotel
XV. A Polite Hostess
XVI. A New Acquaintance
XVII. A Tight Place
XVIII. An Evening Call
XIX. Ben's Midnight Excursion
XX. A Thief's Disappointment
XXI. Ben's Savings-Bank
XXII. The Arrival at Murphy's
XXIII. Among the Sierras
XXIV. Beaten at His Own Game
XXV. The Horse-Thieves
XXVI. What Next?
XXVII Ki Sing
XXVIII. The Duel of the Miners
XXIX. Chinese Cheap Labor
XXX. A Midnight Visit
XXXI. On the Mountain Path
XXXII. The Mountain Cabin
THE YOUNG EXPLORER
CHAPTER I.
BEN'S INHERITANCE.
"I've settled up your father's estate, Benjamin," said Job Stanton.
"You'll find it all figgered out on this piece of paper. There was
that two-acre piece up at Rockville brought seventy-five dollars,
the medder fetched a hundred and fifty, the two cows--"
"How much does it all come to, Uncle Job?" interrupted Ben, who was
impatient of details.
"Hadn't you better let me read off the items, nephew?" asked Job,
looking over his spectacles.
"No, Uncle Job. I know you've done your best for me, and there's no
need of your going through it all. How much is there left after all
expenses are paid?"
"That's what I was a-comin' to, Ben. I make it out that there's
three hundred and sixty-five dollars and nineteen cents. That's a
dollar for every day in the year. It's a good deal of money, Ben."
"So it is, Uncle Job," answered Ben, and he was quite sincere. There
are not many boys of sixteen to whom this would not seem a large
sum.
"You're rich; that is, for a boy," added Uncle Job.
"It's more than I expected, uncle. I want you to take fifteen
dollars and nineteen cents. That'll leave me just three hundred and
fifty."
"Why should I take any of your money, nephew?"
"You've had considerable trouble in settling up the estate, and it's
taken a good deal of your time, too."
"My time ain't of much vally, and as to the trouble, it's a pity ef
I can't take some trouble for my brother's son. No, Ben, I won't
take a cent. You'll need it all."
"But you said yourself it was a good deal of money for a boy, Uncle
Job."
"So it is, but it's all you've got. Most boys have fathers to take
care of 'em, while you're alone in the world."
"Yes I am alone in the world," said Ben sadly, his cheerful face
clouding over.
"But you've got an uncle, lad," continued Job Stanton, laying his
hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "He's a poor man, but as much as
in him lies, he'll be your friend and helper."
"I know it, Uncle Job. You've always been kind to me."
"And allus will be, Ben. Now, Ben, I've got a plan for you. I don't
know what you'll think of it, but it's the best I've been able to
think of."
"What is it, Uncle Job?"
"Ef you'll stay with me and help me in the shop, I'll give you | 1,892.445485 |
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BEAUTY;
ILLUSTRATED CHIEFLY BY AN
ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION
OF BEAUTY IN WOMAN,
BY ALEXANDER WALKER,
AUTHOR OF "INTERMARRIAGE," "WOMAN," "PHYSIOGNOMY FOUNDED
ON PHYSIOLOGY," "THE NERVOUS SYSTEM," ETC.
EDITED BY AN AMERICAN PHYSICIAN
NEW YORK:
HENRY G. LANGLEY, 8 ASTOR-HOUSE.
1845.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, BY J. & H. G.
LANGLEY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York
STEREOTYPED BY J. S. REDFIELD,
_13 Chambers Street, New York_
DEDICATION.
TO GEORGE BIRBECK, M.D., F.G.S.,
PRESIDENT OF THE LONDON MECHANICS' INSTITUTION, &c., &c., &c.
A department of science, which in many respects must be regarded as new,
cannot so properly be dedicated to any one as to the inventor of the best
mode of diffusing scientific knowledge among the most meritorious and most
oppressed classes of society.
When the enemies of freedom, in order effectually to blind the victims of
their spoliation, imposed a tax upon knowledge, you rendered the
acquirement of science easy by the establishment of mechanics'
institutions--you gave the first and greatest impulse to that diffusion of
knowledge which will render the repetition of such a conspiracy against
humanity impossible.
You more than once also wrested a reluctant concession, in behalf of
untaxed knowledge, from the men who had evidently succeeded, in some
degree, to the spirit, as well as to the office, of the original
conspirators, and who unwisely hesitated between the bad interest which is
soon felt by all participators in expensive government, and their dread of
the new and triumphant power of public opinion, before which they know and
feel that they are but as the chaff before the whirlwind.
For these services, accept this respectful dedication, as the expression
of a homage, in which I am sure that I am joined by thousands of Britons.
Nor, in writing this, on a subject of which your extensive knowledge
enables you so well to judge, am I without a peculiar and personal motive.
I gratefully acknowledge that, in one of the most earnest and strenuous
mental efforts I ever made, in my work on "The Nervous System," I owed to
your cautions as to logical reasoning and careful induction, an anxiety at
least, and a zeal in these respects, which, whatever success may have
attended them, could not well be exceeded.
I have endeavored to act conformably with the same cautions in the present
work. He must be weak-minded, indeed, who can seek for aught in philosophy
but the discovery of truth; and he must be a coward who, believing he has
discovered it, has any scruple to announce it.
ALEXANDER WALKER.
APRIL 10, 1836.
AMERICAN ADVERTISEMENT.
The present volume completes the series of Mr. Walker's anthropological
works. To say that they have met with a favorable reception from the
American public, would be but a very inadequate expression of the
unprecedented success which has attended their publication.
"INTERMARRIAGE," the first of the series, passed through six large
editions within eighteen months, and "WOMAN," has met with a sale scarcely
less extensive. The numerous calls for the present work, have compelled
the publishers to issue it sooner than they had contemplated; and, it is
believed, that it will be found not less worthy of attention than the
preceding.
All must acknowledge the interesting nature of the subject treated in the
present work, as well as its intimate connexion with those which have
already passed under discussion. The analysis of beauty on philosophical
principles, is attended with numerous difficulties | 1,892.545537 |
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ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
DEBATES OF CONGRESS,
FROM 1789 TO 1856.
FROM GALES AND SEATON'S ANNALS OF CONGRESS; FROM THEIR
REGISTER OF DEBATES; AND FROM THE OFFICIAL
REPORTED DEBATES, BY JOHN C. RIVES.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF THE THIRTY YEARS' VIEW.
VOL. IV.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLE | 1,892.545668 |
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Daemonologie
In Forme of a Dialogie
Diuided into three Bookes.
By James RX
Printed by Robert Walde-graue,
Printer to the Kings Majestie. An. 1597.
Cum Privilegio Regio.
CONTENTS
The Preface. To The Reader.
First Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Seconde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Thirde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Newes from Scotland.
To the Reader.
Discourse.
THE PREFACE. TO THE READER.
The fearefull aboundinge at this time in this countrie, of these
detestable slaues of the Deuill, the Witches or enchaunters, hath moved me
(beloued reader) to dispatch in post, this following treatise of mine, not
in any wise (as I protest) to serue for a shew of my learning & ingine,
but onely (mooued of conscience) to preasse thereby, so farre as I can, to
resolue the doubting harts of many; both that such assaultes of Sathan are
most certainly practized, & that the instrumentes thereof, merits most
severly to be punished: against the damnable opinions of two principally
in our age, wherof the one called SCOT an Englishman, is not ashamed in
publike print to deny, that ther can be such a thing as Witch-craft: and
so mainteines the old error of the Sadducees, in denying of spirits. The
other called VVIERVS, a German Phisition, sets out a publick apologie for
al these craftes-folkes, whereby, procuring for their impunitie, he
plainely bewrayes himselfe to haue bene one of that profession. And for to
make this treatise the more pleasaunt and facill, I haue put it in forme
of a Dialogue, which I haue diuided into three bookes: The first speaking
of Magie in general, and Necromancie in special. The second of Sorcerie
and Witch-craft: and the thirde, conteines a discourse of all these kindes
of spirits, & Spectres that appeares & trobles persones: together with a
conclusion of the whol work. My intention in this labour, is only to proue
two things, as I haue alreadie said: the one, that such diuelish artes
haue bene and are. The other, what exact trial and seuere punishment they
merite: & therefore reason I, what kinde of things are possible to be
performed in these arts, & by what naturall causes they may be, not that I
touch every particular thing of the Deuils power, for that were infinite:
but onelie, to speak scholasticklie, (since this can not bee spoken in our
language) I reason vpon _genus_ leauing species, _and differentia_ to be
comprehended therein. As for example, speaking of the power of Magiciens,
in the first book & sixt Chapter: I say, that they can suddenly cause be
brought vnto them, all kindes of daintie disshes, by their familiar
spirit: Since as a thiefe he delightes to steale, and as a spirite, he can
subtillie & suddenlie inough transport the same. Now vnder this _genus_
may be comprehended al particulars, depending thereupon; Such as the
bringing Wine out of a Wall, (as we haue heard oft to haue bene practised]
and such others; which particulars, are sufficientlie proved by the
reasons of the general. And such like in the second booke of Witch-craft
in speciall, and fift Chap. I say and proue by diuerse arguments, that
Witches can, by the power of their Master, cure or cast on disseases: Now
by these same reasones, that proues their power by the Deuil of disseases
in generally is aswell proued their power in speciall: as of weakening the
nature of some men, to make them vnable for women: and making it to abound
in others, more then the ordinary course of nature would permit. And such
like in all other particular sicknesses; But one thing I will pray thee to
obserue in all these places, where I reason upon the deuils power, which
is the different ends & scopes, that God as the first cause, and the
Devill as his instrument and second cause shootes at in all these actiones
of the Deuil, (as Gods hang-man:) For where the deuilles intention in them
is euer to perish, either the soule or the body, or both of them, that he
is so permitted to deale with: God by the contrarie, drawes euer out of
that euill glorie to himselfe, either by the wracke of the wicked in his
justice, or by the tryall of the patient, and amendment of the faithfull,
being wakened vp with that rod of correction. Hauing thus declared vnto
thee then, my full intention in this Treatise, thou wilt easelie excuse, I
doubt not, aswel my pretermitting, to declare the whole particular rites
and secretes of these vnlawfull artes: as also their infinite and
wounderfull practises, as being neither of them pertinent to my purpose:
the reason whereof, is giuen in the hinder ende of the first Chapter of
the thirde booke: and who likes to be curious in these thinges, he may
reade, if he will here of their practises, BODINVS Daemonomanie, collected
with greater diligence, then written with judgement, together with their
confessions, that haue bene at this time apprehened. If he would know what
hath bene the opinion of the Auncientes, concerning their power: he shall
see it wel described by HYPERIVS, & HEMMINGIVS, two late Germaine writers:
Besides innumerable other neoterick Theologues, that writes largelie vpon
that subject: And if he woulde knowe what are the particuler rites, &
curiosities of these black arts (which is both vnnecessarie and perilous,)
he will finde it in the fourth book of CORNELIVS Agrippa, and in VVIERVS,
whomof I spak. And so wishing my pains in this Treatise (beloued Reader}
to be effectual, in arming al them that reades the same, against these
aboue mentioned erroures, and recommending my good will to thy friendly
acceptation, I bid thee hartely fare-well.
IAMES Rx.
FIRST BOOKE.
ARGVMENT.
_The exord of the whole. The description of Magie in speciall._
Chap. I.
ARGVMENT.
_Proven by the Scripture, that these vnlawfull artes in_ genere, _haue
bene and may be put in practise._
PHILOMATHES and EPISTEMON reason the matter.
PHILOMATHES.
I am surely verie glad to haue mette with you this daye, for I am of
opinion, that ye can better resolue me of some thing, wherof I stand in
great doubt, nor anie other whom-with I could haue mette.
EPI. In what I can, that ye like to speir at me, I will willinglie and
freelie tell my opinion, and if I proue it not sufficiently, I am heartely
content that a better reason carie it away then.
PHI. What thinke yee of these strange newes, which now onelie furnishes
purpose to al men at their meeting: I meane of these Witches?
EPI. Surelie they are wonderfull: And I think so cleare and plaine
confessions in that purpose, haue neuer fallen out in anie age or cuntrey.
PHI. No question if they be true, but thereof the Doctours doubtes.
EPI. What part of it doubt ye of?
PHI. Even of all, for ought I can yet perceaue: and namelie, that there is
such a thing as Witch-craft or Witches, and I would pray you to resolue me
thereof if ye may: for I haue reasoned with sundrie in that matter, and
yet could never be satisfied therein.
EPI. I shall with good will doe the best I can: But I thinke it the
difficiller, since ye denie the thing it selfe in generall: for as it is
said in the logick schools, _Contra negantem principia non est
disputandum_. Alwaies for that part, that witchcraft, and Witches haue
bene, and are, the former part is clearelie proved by the Scriptures, and
the last by dailie experience and confessions.
PHI. I know yee will alleadge me _Saules Pythonisse_: but that as appeares
will not make much for you.
EPI. Not onlie that place, but divers others: But I marvel why that should
not make much for me?
PHI. The reasones are these, first yee may consider, that _Saul_ being
troubled in spirit, (M1) and having fasted long before, as the text
testifieth, and being come to a woman that was bruted to have such
knowledge, and that to inquire so important news, he having so guiltie a
conscience for his hainous offences, and specially, for that same vnlawful
curiositie, and horrible defection: and then the woman crying out vpon the
suddaine in great admiration, for the vncouth sicht that she alledged to
haue sene, discovering him to be the King, thogh disguysed, & denied by
him before: it was no wounder I say, that his senses being thus
distracted, he could not perceaue hir faining of hir voice, hee being
himselfe in an other chalmer, and seeing nothing. Next what could be, or
was raised? The spirit of _Samuel_? Prophane and against all Theologie:
the Diuell in his likenes? as vnappeirant, that either God would permit
him to come in the shape of his Saintes (for then could neuer the Prophets
in those daies haue bene sure, what Spirit spake to them in their
visiones) or then that he could fore-tell what was to come there after;
for Prophecie proceedeth onelie of GOD: and the Devill hath no knowledge
of things to come.
EPI. Yet if yee will marke the wordes of the text, ye will finde clearely,
that _Saul_ saw that apparition: for giving you that _Saul_ was in an
other Chalmer, at the making of the circles & conjurationes, needeful for
that purpose (as none of that craft will permit any vthers to behold at
that time) yet it is evident by the text, that how sone that once that
vnclean spirit was fully risen, shee called in vpon _Saul_. For it is
saide in the text, that _Saule knew him to be Samuel_, which coulde not
haue bene, by the hearing tell onely of an olde man with an mantil, since
there was many mo old men dead in _Israel_ nor _Samuel_: And the common
weid of that whole Cuntrey was mantils. As to the next, that it was not
the spirit of _Samuel_, I grant: In the proving whereof ye neede not to
insist, since all Christians of whatso-ever Religion agrees vpon that: and
none but either mere ignorants, or Necromanciers or Witches doubtes
thereof. And that the Diuel is permitted at som-times to put himself in
the liknes of the Saintes, it is plaine in the Scriptures, where it is
said, that _Sathan can trans-forme himselfe into an Angell of light_. (M2)
Neither could that bring any inconvenient with the visiones of the
Prophets, since it is most certaine, that God will not permit him so to
deceiue his own: but only such, as first wilfully deceiues them-selves, by
running vnto him, whome God then suffers to fall in their owne snares, and
justlie permittes them to be illuded with great efficacy of deceit,
because they would not beleeue the trueth (as _Paul_ sayth). And as to the
diuelles foretelling of things to come, it is true that he knowes not all
things future, but yet that he knowes parte, the Tragicall event of this
historie declares it, (which the wit of woman could never haue
fore-spoken) not that he hath any prescience, which is only proper to God:
or yet knows anie thing by loking vpon God, as in a mirrour (as the good
Angels doe) he being for euer debarred from the fauorable presence &
countenance of his creator, but only by one of these two meanes, either as
being worldlie wise, and taught by an continuall experience, ever since
the creation, judges by likelie-hood of thinges to come, according to the
like that hath passed before, and the naturall causes, in respect of the
vicissitude of all thinges worldly: Or else by Gods employing of him in a
turne, and so foreseene thereof: as appeares to haue bin in this, whereof
we finde the verie like in _Micheas_ propheticque discourse to King
_Achab_. (M3) But to prooue this my first proposition, that there can be
such a thing as witch-craft, & witches, there are manie mo places in the
Scriptures then this (as I said before). As first in the law of God, it is
plainely prohibited: (M4) But certaine it is, that the Law of God speakes
nothing in vaine, nether doth it lay curses, or injoyne punishmentes vpon
shaddowes, condemning that to be il, which is not in essence or being as
we call it. Secondlie it is plaine, where wicked _Pharaohs_ wise-men
imitated ane number of _Moses_ miracles, (M5) to harden the tyrants heart
there by. Thirdly, said not _Samuell_ to _Saull_, (M6) that _disobedience
is as the sinne of Witch-craft_? To compare to a thing that were not, it
were too too absurd. Fourthlie, was not _Simon Magus_, a man of that
craft? (M7) And fiftlie, what was she that had the spirit of _Python_?
(M8) beside innumerable other places that were irkesom to recite.
Chap. II.
ARGVMENT.
_What kynde of sin the practizers of these vnlawfull artes committes. The
division of these artes. And what are the meanes that allures any to
practize them._
PHILOMATHES.
Bvt I thinke it very strange, that God should permit anie man-kynde (since
they beare his owne Image) to fall in so grosse and filthie a defection.
EPI. Although man in his Creation was (M9) made to the Image of the
Creator, yet through his fall having once lost it | 1,892.746704 |
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THE JUVENILE LAVATER.
[Illustration]
The
JUVENILE LAVATER;
OR
_A Familiar Explanation_
of the
Passions of Le Brun.
_Calculated for the_
Instruction & Entertainment of Young Persons
_INTERSPERSED WITH_
Moral and Amusing Tales,
_Illustrated with 19 Plates._
_BY GEORGE BREWER_,
Author of Hours of Leisure, Siamese Tales, &c. &c.
LONDON:
_Printed at the Minerva Press_.
FOR A.K. NEWMAN & C^o. LEADENHALL STREET.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION i
PREFACE iii
ATTENTION 5
ADMIRATION 21
ADMIRATION with ASTONISHMENT 42
VENERATION 50
RAPTURE 58
DESIRE 61
JOY with TRANQUILLITY 94
LAUGHTER 103
ACUTE PAIN 117
SIMPLE BODILY PAIN 120
SADNESS 124
SCORN 127
WEEPING 129
COMPASSION 132
HORROR 159
TERROR 161
ANGER 165
HATRED or JEALOUSY 167
DESPAIR 170
JUVENILE LAVATER;
OR,
A FAMILIAR EXPLANATION
OF THE
PASSIONS OF LE BRUN,
CALCULATED FOR THE
_Instruction and Entertainment of Young Persons_;
INTERSPERSED WITH
MORAL AND AMUSING TALES,
ILLUSTRATING
THE BENEFIT AND HAPPINESS ATTENDANT ON THE
GOOD PASSIONS,
AND
_THE MISFORTUNES WHICH ENSUE THE BAD, IN
THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF LIFE_.
BY GEORGE BREWER,
_Author of Hours of Leisure, Siamese Tales, &c. &c._
_LONDON:_
Printed at the Minerva Press,
FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
Leadenhall Street.
INTRODUCTION.
_To PARENTS, and the GUARDIANS of YOUTH._
The Doctrine of Physiognomy, as attempted to be established by the
ingenious LAVATER, may, in frequent instances, appear chimerical; but
there is a Physiognomy, the rules of which are always true, and whose
evidences are of service to morality. The deformed Passions,
disagreeable in their appearance, and dangerous in their consequences,
are of a character that may be easily understood, and the features of
ugliness so faithfully described to the pupil, as to cause him to avoid
vice, since it has such frightful representations as would make him
hateful to himself and to others, and in consequence prefer those
Passions which bestow on the countenance the beautiful and placid
features of a good and quiet mind.
PREFACE.
When it is considered, that in the indulgence of the good or bad
Passions of the Human Mind, depends the happiness or misery of mankind,
I shall not be accused of having chosen a subject beneath the province
of my pen; I shall, on the other hand, have my fears even of being
unequal to the task. I indulge, however, a hope, that aided by the
talents of the inimitable LE BRUN, I may be able to place an inscription
at least, beneath the portraits he has so admirably delineated, and
which may have some effect on the mind of the young reader, who, when he
observes that the _best_ people look _best_ and most happy, will be
inclined to become of the _best_.
LECTURE ON THE _PASSIONS_, &c.
A few years ago, there lived a gentleman, in the West of England, whose
name was Willock: he was married to a very amiable lady, and had five
children--three boys and two girls; the boys were named John, William,
and Henry; and the girls, Caroline and Louisa. Mr. Willock was possessed
of a very handsome fortune, but preferred a country to a town life, as
he was very domestic, and his lady equally fond of retirement. The young
people were brought up in the love of God, and of their parents; and
their dispositions were so good, that it was very seldom, indeed, that
either their father or mother had occasion to find fault with them; so
that perhaps there was not any where to be found a more happy family.
Mr. Willock was very fond of his sons and daughters; and, though he was
a man of learning and taste, frequently indulged them with amusements,
which he had the goodness to provide; but these entertainments were
always such as were blended with instruction.
The _young persons_ of Mr. Willock's family were frequently visited by
the _young persons_ of another family, the sons and daughters of a Mr.
Trevor, who resided in the neighbourhood.
It happened one autumn, that Mr. Willock had promised that he would
produce some new entertainment for his young friends, as soon as the
evenings should begin to lengthen; which intimation was not forgotten by
Henry, who was a very clever boy, but rather too impatient.--Henry
eagerly watched for the evenings getting longer; and an observation
which his father accidentally made one day on the subject, was enough
for Henry: he went immediately to his mother, who was seated at the
fireside at work, and whispered her to remind Mr. Willock of his
promise, which was instantly understood by all the rest of the young
people; and "Do, mamma," was repeated by one after the other. Mr.
Willock guessed, without much difficulty, at what was going on, and,
without saying a word, rose up and walked to a table, on which was
placed his letter-case, out of which he took a very handsome, small, red
morocco port-folio. John, William, Henry, Caroline, Louisa, and the two
young visitors, were all at once engaged in a very respectful manner,
for they did not say a word, watching Mr. Willock, with their eyes
sparkling with pleasure and expectation. At length Mr. Willock drew a
chair, and sitting down, told all the young people to draw round the
table, and that he would shew them something which would please them
very much. Henry's eyes were as bright as two stars at this
intelligence. "What is it, papa?" was the next question.--"This book, my
dears," said he, "contains some very curious engravings, the Portraits
of the Passions of the Human Mind, drawn by a very great French artist,
named LE BRUN; but I will explain them to you as I go on. Now then
(continued he, opening the book), the entertainment begins." At these
words, he turned over one of the leaves, and presented the portrait of
ATTENTION.
"Oh dear!" was now the general exclamation among the young people, while
the eyes of all of them were in an instant fixed on the same object.
"Pray, sir, whose portrait is that?" cried John, the eldest boy.--"That,
my dear," said Mr. Willock, "is your face, and the face of all of you at
this moment."--"Indeed, papa," cried Henry, "you are only jesting with
us; for I am sure that it is not in the least like me."--"Well then,"
said Mr. Willock, "look at your brother William, and tell me if it is
not like him."--"Yes, indeed, papa," cried Henry; "he makes just such
another face."--"True, my dear Henry," returned Mr. Willock; "and so do
_each_ of you; because this is the face of _Attention_, which _each_ of
you show at this moment. Only observe how the eyebrows sink and approach
the sides of the nose--how the eyeballs turn towards the object of
notice--how the mouth opens, and especially the upper part--how the head
declines a little, and becomes fixed in that posture, without any
remarkable alteration--such," said he, "is the portrait of _Attention_,
drawn by Le Brun.
"But now, my dear children," continued Mr. Willock, "as I have showed
you the picture of _Attention_, it will be proper that I should describe
the passion to you. _Attention_ is implanted in us by nature, as the
means by which we may become acquainted with the objects of our
curiosity, and is a virtue, whenever a proper object is selected. The
face is then always interesting, however intent it may appear; but it is
the choice of a proper object which can alone make this passion of
value, and truly estimable. _Attention_ is therefore either praiseworthy
or not, according to the object it selects. Praiseworthy Attentions are
chiefly as follow:--
"_Attention_ to the duties of religion.
"_Attention_ of children to parents.
"_Attention_ of young people to their studies.
"_Attention_ to our friends and acquaintance.
"_Attention_ to the sick.
"_Attention_ to business.
"_Attention_ to dress.
"_Attention_ to the duties of religion, such as praying to God, and
attending the divine service, is not only the most delightful
_Attention_ that can be paid, but is of most advantage to us, as by it
we secure the blessing of Providence upon our actions, and it is only a
preparation for the numerous comforts we enjoy.
"_Attention_ of children to parents who have taken care of them from
infancy, being a proof of a grateful mind, is always lovely and
praiseworthy.
"_Attention_ of young people to their studies is the only way for them
to acquire improvement, for without it they must remain for ever in
ignorance; for instance, if, when I shewed you this portrait, you were
all the time playing, or thinking of something else, you could never
know what _Attention_ meant, nor the advantages to be gained by it.
"_Attention_ to our friends and acquaintance, particularly to the aged,
is not only a duty, but shows our politeness and good breeding.
"_Attention_ to the sick is required from us by the precepts of
religion, and by the need we may some day have for such _Attention_
ourselves.
"_Attention_ to business merely consists in minding what we have got to
do, and is always rewarded with profit.
"_Attention_ to dress is necessary, as far as relates to cleanliness and
propriety, but no further; and you will observe, that there are many
other Attentions which rank before it.
"There is another _Attention_, which may be called _Attention_ to
trifles, which ought only to be paid when there is not any thing more
worthy of our regard which ought to have the preference.
"But as you have all of you been so attentive, I will tell you a story,
which will show you the great virtue and use of _Attention_,
"Charles and George were twin brothers, the children of Mr. Wilson, a
gentleman of small income, but who had nevertheless given them an
excellent education. Both Charles and George were boys of naturally good
dispositions; but Charles was careless, and George thoughtful: George
always paid attention to what was said to him, and Charles did not.
Charles was clever, and George rather dull; but the attention which
George paid to his studies was so great, that he presently got the start
of his brother. Charles was very much astonished when he found that
George understood Latin better than himself, and was not aware that his
deficiency was entirely owing to the want of _Attention_.
"One day, when George and Charles were both of them very young, their
father, who was a wise and good man, made each of them a present of a
duplicate of this portrait, with strict injunctions to keep them safe,
and to look | 1,892.845644 |
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THE | 1,893.050052 |
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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 | 1,893.247234 |
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[Illustration: THE GREAT STATUE OF BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA]
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS FROM JAPAN
BY
JOHN LA FARGE
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1897
Copyright, 1890, 1891, 1893, 1897,
By THE CENTURY CO.
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
TO HENRY ADAMS, ESQ.
_My Dear Adams:_ Without you I should not have seen the place, without
you I should not have seen the things of which these notes are
impressions. If anything worth repeating has been said by me in these
letters, it has probably come from you, or has been suggested by being
with you--perhaps even in the way of contradiction. And you may be
amused by the lighter talk of the artist that merely describes
appearances, or covers them with a tissue of dreams. And you alone will
know how much has been withheld that might have been indiscreetly said.
If only we had found Nirvana--but he was right who warned us that we
were late in this season of the world.
J. L. F.
[Illustration: WHICH IN ENGLISH MEANS:]
AND YOU TOO, OKAKURA SAN: I wish to put your name before these notes,
written at the time when I first met you, because the memories of your
talks are connected with my liking of your country and of its story, and
because for a time you were Japan to me. I hope, too, that some thoughts
of yours will be detected in what I write, as a stream runs through
grass--hidden, perhaps, but always there. We are separated by many
things besides distance, but you know that the blossoms scattered by the
waters of the torrent shall meet at its end.
CONTENTS
PAGE
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS FROM JAPAN 1
FROM TOKIO TO NIKKO 29
THE SHRINES OF IYEYAS[)U] AND IYEMITS[)U]
IN THE HOLY MOUNTAIN OF NIKKO 52
IYEMITS[)U] 85
TAO: THE WAY 99
JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE 119
BRIC-A-BRAC 128
SKETCHING 159
NIRVANA 175
SKETCHING.--THE FLUTES OF IYEYAS[)U] 185
SKETCHING.--THE PAGODA IN RAIN 193
FROM NIKKO TO KAMAKURA 195
NIKKO TO YOKOHAMA 202
YOKOHAMA--KAMAKURA 216
KIOTO 230
A JAPANESE DAY.--FROM KIOTO TO GIFU 253
FROM KAMBARA TO MIYANOSHITA--A LETTER FROM
A KAGO 265
POSTSCRIPT 280
APPENDIX 281
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE GREAT STATUE OF BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA. FRONTISPIECE.
THE KURUMA 5
CASTLE, AND MOAT WITH LOTUS 9
AT THE WELL 11
ANCIENT 15
N[=O] DANCER WITH MASK, REPRESENTING THE SAKE IMP 19
MODERN 23
THE LAKE IN UYENO PARK 28
A TORII 32
OUR RUNNER 36
IN THE GREAT AVENUE OF CRYPTOMERIA 39
NIKKO-SAN 43
THE WATERFALL IN OUR GARDEN 47
PORTRAIT-STATUE OF IYEYAS[)U] IN CEREMONIAL DRESS 53
AVENUE TO TEMPLE OF IYEYAS[)U] 55
SKETCH OF STATUE OF IYEYAS[)U] TOKUGAWA 57
STABLE OF SACRED HORSES 61
SACRED FONT 65
YOUNG PRIEST 68
DETAILS OF BASES OF CLOISTER WALLS, INNER COURT 71
DETAIL OF CLOISTER WALLS, INNER COURT 75
LINTEL, BRACKET CAPITAL 77
INSIDE THE "CAT GATE"--GATE TO THE TOMB 79
TOMB OF IYEYAS[)U], TOKUGAWA 83
LOOKING DOWN ON THE WATER-TANK, OR
SACRED FONT, FROM THE SECOND GATE 87
A PRIEST AT IYEMITS[)U] 88
IN THE THIRD GATE OF THE TEMPLE OF IYEMITS[)U],
LOOKING TOWARD THE FOURTH 91
A PRIEST AT IYEMITS[)U] 93
KUWANON, BY OKIO 94
ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF IYEMITS[)U] 96
PAINTING BY CHIN-NAN-PIN 135
SIGNATURE OF HOKUSAI 149
INSCRIPTION ON OLD LACQUER 152
INSCRIPTION FROM HO-RIU-JI 155
BED OF THE DAYAGAWA, NIKKO 161
MOUNTAINS IN FOG BEFORE OUR HOUSE 165
PORTRAIT OF A PRIEST 169
OLD PAGODA NEAR THE PRIESTS' HOUSES 171
STATUE OF OYA JIZO 177
PEASANT GIRLS AND MOUNTAIN HORSES OF NIKKO 181
OUR LANDLORD THE BUDDHIST PRIEST 187
KIOTO IN FOG--MORNING 231
PEASANT WOMAN--THRESHER 239
A PILGRIM 247
FUSI-YAMA FROM KAMBARA BEACH 257
FISHING WITH CORMORANTS 261
PEASANT CARRYING FODDER, AND BULL CARRYING LOAD 267
A RUNNER IN THE RAIN 275
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS
FROM JAPAN
YOKOHAMA, July 3, 1886.
Arrived yesterday. On the cover of the letter which I mailed from our
steamer I had but time to write: "We are coming in; it is like the
picture books. Anything that I can add will only be a filling in of
detail."
We were in the great bay when I came up on deck in the early morning.
The sea was smooth like the brilliant blank paper of the prints; a vast
surface of water reflecting the light of the sky as if it were thicker
air. Far-off streaks of blue light, like finest washes of the brush,
determined distances. Beyond, in a white haze, the square white sails
spotted the white horizon and floated above it.
The slackened beat of the engine made a great noise in the quiet
waters. Distant high hills of foggy green marked the new land; nearer
us, junks of the shapes you know, in violet transparency of shadow, and
five or six war-ships and steamers, red and black, or white, looking
barbarous and out of place, but still as if they were part of us; and
spread all around us a fleet of small boats, manned by rowers standing
in robes flapping about them, or tucked in above their waists. There
were so many that the crowd looked blue and white--the color of their
dresses repeating the sky in prose. Still, the larger part were mostly
naked, and their legs and arms and backs made a great novelty to our
eyes, accustomed to nothing but our ship, and the enormous space, empty
of life, which had surrounded us for days. The muscles of the boatmen
stood out sharply on their small frames. They had almost all--at least
those who were young--fine wrists and delicate hands, and a handsome
setting of the neck. The foot looked broad, with toes very square. They
were excitedly waiting to help in the coaling and unloading, and soon we
saw them begin to work, carrying great loads with much good-humored
chattering. Around us played the smallest boats with rowers standing up
and sculling. Then the market-boat came rushing to us, its standing
rowers bending and rising, their thighs rounding and insteps sharpening,
what small garments they had fluttering like scarfs, so that our fair
missionaries turned their backs to the sight.
[Illustration]
Two boys struggling at the great sculls in one of the small boats were
called by us out of the crowd, and carried us off to look at the
outgoing steamer, which takes our mail, and which added its own
confusion and its attendant crowd of boats to all the animation on the
water. Delicious and curious moment, this first sense of being free from
the big prison of the ship; of the pleasure of directing one's own
course; of not understanding a word of what one hears, and yet of
getting at a meaning through every sense; of being close to the top of
the waves on which we dance, instead of looking down upon them from the
tall ship's sides; of seeing the small limbs of the boys burning yellow
in the sun, and noticing how they recall the dolls of their own country
in the expression of their eyes; how every little detail of the boat is
different, and yet so curiously the same; and return to the first
sensation of feeling while lying flat | 1,893.345545 |
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[Illustration]
HISTORY OF
THE
CATHEDRAL CHURCH
Of Wells
AS
ILLUSTRATING THE HISTORY OF
THE CATHEDRAL CHURCHES
OF THE
OLD FOUNDATION.
BY
EDWARD A. FREEMAN, M.A.
FORMERLY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD.
London:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1870.
LONDON:
R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
BREAD STREET HILL.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
LECTURE I. 1
LECTURE II. 42
LECTURE III. 105
NOTES 163
INDEX 191
PREFACE.
This small volume is a reprint, with hardly any change, of three
lectures which were given to a local society in Wells in the months of
December 1869 and January 1870, and which were printed at the time in a
local paper. I have added some notes and references, but the substance
is essentially the same. The subject seemed to deserve more than local
attention on more grounds than one. I wished to point out the way in
which local and general history may and ought to be brought together.
As a general rule, local historians make hardly any attempt to connect
the history of the particular church or city or district of which they
are writing with the general history of the country, or even with the
general history of its own class of institutions. On the other hand,
more general students of history are apt to pay too little heed to the
history of particular places. I have here tried to treat the history
of the Church of Wells as a contribution to the general history of the
Church and Kingdom of England, and specially to the history of the
Cathedral Churches of the Old Foundation. I have also a special object
in calling attention to the origin and history of those foundations,
to their original objects and their modern corruptions. It is quite
impossible that our Cathedral institutions can stay much longer in the
state in which they now are, a state which satisfies no party. If they
are not reformed by their friends, they can hardly fail to be destroyed
by their enemies. The awkward attempt at reform which was made thirty
years back was made in utter ignorance of the history and nature of
the institutions. Instead of reforming them, it has merely crippled
them. Our Cathedral Churches have indeed vastly improved during those
thirty years; but it has been almost wholly because they have shared
in a general improvement, hardly at all by virtue of the changes which
were specially meant to improve them. I wish to point out the general
principles of the original founders as the model to which the Old
Foundations should be brought back, and the New Foundations reformed
after their pattern.
What I have now written is of course a mere sketch, which does not at
all pretend to be a complete history of the Church of Wells, either
architectural or documentary. I had hoped that Professor Willis would
have allowed me the use of the materials of both kinds on which he
grounded his lectures in 1851 and 1863. But it seems that he reserves
them for the general work for which architectural students have been
waiting so long. I have therefore been left to my own resources,
that is, as far as documents are concerned, to the ordinary printed
authorities in _Anglia Sacra_, the _Monasticon_, and elsewhere. But it
is to be hoped that some day or other the documents that are locked up
in manuscript at Wells and at other places may be made available for
historical purposes. Some of our capitular records would be excellently
suited for a place in the series issued by the Master of the Rolls.
I have given an historical ground-plan, but the scale of the book
forbade any strictly architectural illustrations, while it seemed
needless to give any mere picturesque views of a building of which
engravings and photographs are so common.
SOMERLEAZE, WELLS,
_May 18th, 1870_.
LIST OF BISHOPS.
BISHOPS OF SOMERSETSHIRE OR WELLS.
Consecration. Death or
Translation.
AEthelhelm 909 914[1]
Wulfhelm 914 923[1]
AElfheah 923 937?
Wulfhelm 938 955?
Brihthelm 956 973
Cyneward 973 975
Sigar 975 997
AElfwine 997 998?
Lyfing 999 1012[1]
AEthelwine }[2] 1013 1023?
Brihtwine } 1013 1023?
Merewith 1027 1033
Duduc 1033 1060
Gisa 1061 1088
BISHOPS OF BATH.
Consecration or Death or
Translation. Translation.
John de Villula 1088 1122
Godfrey 1123 1135
Robert 1136 1166
Reginald 1174 1191[3]
[1] Translated to Canterbury.
[2] This seems to have been a case of disputed election.
[3] Translated to Canterbury.
BISHOP OF BATH AND GLASTONBURY.
Consecration or Death or
Translation. Translation.
Savaric 1192 1205
BISHOPS OF BATH AND WELLS.
Jocelin of Wells 1206 1242
Roger 1244 1247
William Button 1248 1264
Walter Giffard 1265 1266[1]
William Button 1267 1274
Robert Burnell 1275 1292
William of March 1293 1302
Walter Hasleshaw 1302 1308
John Drokensford 1309 1329
Ralph of Shrewsbury 1329 1363
John Barnet 1363[2] 1366[3]
John Harewell 1367 1386
Walter Skirlaw 1386[4] 1388[5]
Ralph Erghum 1388[6] 1400
Henry Bowett 1401 1407[7]
Nicholas Bubwith 1407[8] 1424
John Stafford 1425 1443[9]
Thomas Beckington 1443 1465
Robert Stillington 1466 1491
Richard Fox 1492[10] 1494[11]
Oliver King 1495[12] 1503
Hadrian de Castello 1504[13] 1518[14]
Thomas Wolsey 1518[15] 1523[16]
John Clark 1523 1541
William Knight 1541 1547
William Barlow 1549[17] 1554[18]
Gilbert Bourne 1554 1559[19]
Gilbert Berkeley 1560 1581
Thomas Godwin 1584 1590[20]
John Still 1593 1608
James Montague 1608 1616[21]
Arthur Lake 1616 1626
William Laud 1626[22] 1628[23]
Leonard Mawe 1628 1629
Walter Curll 1629[24] 1632[25]
William Piers 1632[26] 1670
Robert Creighton 1670 1672
Peter Mews 1673 1684[27]
Thomas Ken 1685 1690[28]
Richard Kidder 1691 1703
George Hooper 1704[29] 1727
John Wynne 1727[29] 1743
Edward Willis 1743[30] 1773
Charles Moss 1774[30] 1802
Richard Beadon 1802[31] 1824
George Henry Law 1824[32] 1845
Hon. Richard Bagot 1845[33] 1854
Robert John Lord Auckland 1854[34] 1869[35]
Lord Arthur Charles Hervey 1869
[1] Translated to York.
[2] Translated from Worcester.
[3] Translated to Ely.
[4] Translated from Coventry and Lichfield.
[5] Translated to Durham.
[6] Translated from Salisbury.
[7] Translated to York.
[8] Translated from London to Salisbury, and thence to Bath
and Wells.
[9] Translated to Canterbury.
[10] Translated from Exeter.
[11] Translated to Durham, thence to Winchester.
[12] Translated from Exeter.
[13] Translated from Hereford.
[14] Deprived for a conspiracy against Pope Leo the Tenth.
[15] Held in plurality with York.
[16] Exchanged for Durham.
[17] Translated from Saint David's.
[18] Deprived on the accession of Queen Mary and reappointed
to Chichester under Queen Elizabeth.
[19] Deprived on the accession of Elizabeth.
[20] Father of Francis Godwin the historian, Canon of Wells
and afterwards Bishop of Llandaff.
[21] Translated to Winchester.
[22] Translated from Saint David's.
[23] Translated to London and thence to Canterbury.
[24] Translated from Rochester.
[25] Translated to Winchester.
[26] Translated from Peterborough.
[27] Translated to Winchester.
[28] Deprived for refusing the oaths to William and Mary.
[29] Translated from Saint Asaph.
[30] Translated from Saint David's.
[31] Translated from Gloucester.
[32] Translated from Carlisle.
[33] Translated from Oxford.
[34] Translated from Sodor and Man.
[35] Resigned. Died 1870.
HISTORY OF THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF WELLS.
LECTURE I.
The subject which I have chosen for this course of lectures is one
which must always have an interest beyond all others for us who
live in this city and neighbourhood. In every place which boasts
of a cathedral church, that cathedral church is commonly the chief
object of interest, alike as its present ornament and as the chief
centre of its past history. But in Wells the cathedral church and its
appurtenances are yet more. Their interest is not only primary, but
absorbing. They are not only the chief ornament of the place; they are
the place itself. They are not only the centre of the past history
of the city; their history is the history of the city. Of our other
cities some can trace up a long history as cities independent of their
ecclesiastical foundations. Some were the dwelling-places of Kings
in days before England became one kingdom. Some have been for ages
seats of commerce or manufactures; their history is the history of
burghers striving for and obtaining their freedom, a history which
repeats in small that same tale of early struggles and later abuses
which forms the history of so many greater commonwealths. Others have
a long military history; their name at once suggests the memory of
battles and sieges, and they can still show walls and castles as the
living memorials of the stirring scenes of bygone times. In others
even the ecclesiastical pre-eminence of the cathedral church may be
disputed by some other ecclesiastical building. The bishoprick and
its church may be comparatively modern institutions, and they may be
altogether eclipsed by some other institution more ancient in date
of foundation, perhaps more ancient in its actual fabric. Thus at
Oxford the cathedral church is well-nigh lost among the buildings
of the University and its greatest college. At Chester its rank may
be disputed by the majestic fragments of the older minster of Saint
John. At Bristol the cathedral church, even when restored to its old
proportions, will still have at least an equal rival in the stateliest
parish church in England. In these cities the bishoprick, its church
and its chapter, are institutions of yesterday; the cities themselves
were great and famous for ages before they were founded. So at Exeter,
though the bishoprick is of far earlier date, yet Exeter was a famous
city, which had played its part in history, long before Bishops of
Exeter were heard of. Even at Winchester the overwhelming greatness of
the Old Minster has to compete with the earlier and later interests
of the royal palace, of the fallen Abbey, of the unique home of noble
poverty[1] and of the oldest of the great and still living schools
of England. Salisbury alone in our own part of England, and Durham in
the far north, have a history which in some measure resembles that of
Wells. Like Wells, Salisbury and Durham are cities which have grown up
around the cathedral church. But they have grown up--I presume it is no
offence to say so--into a greater measure of temporal importance than
our own city. To take a familiar standard, no one has ever proposed
to strike either of them out of the list of parliamentary boroughs.
Wells stands alone among the cities of England proper as a city which
exists only in and through its cathedral church, whose whole history
is that of | 1,893.745527 |
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[Illustration]
[Illustration]
GREAT EVENTS
IN
THE HISTORY
OF
NORTH AND SOUTH AMERICA;
FROM THE ALLEGED
DISCOVERY OF THE CONTINENT,
BY THE NORTHMEN, IN THE TENTH CENTURY,
TO
THE PRESENT TIME;
WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF EMINENT MEN CONNECTED WITH
AMERICAN HISTORY.
BY CHARLES A. GOODRICH,
AUTHOR OF "UNITED STATES' HISTORY," "LIVES OF THE SIGNERS OF THE | 1,893.845689 |
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THE ALLIS FAMILY;
OR,
SCENES OF WESTERN LIFE
* * * * *
_Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858 by the
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania._
* * * * *
_No books are published by the_ AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION _without the
sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of fourteen members,
from the following denominations of Christians, viz.: Baptist, Methodist,
Congregational, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and, Reformed Dutch.
Not more than three of the members can be of the same denomination, and no
book can be published to which any member of the Committee shall object._
* * * * *
THE ALLIS FAMILY.
Mr. and Mrs. Allis lived away out West, on a broad prairie, where Mr. Allis
was busily engaged in "making a farm." Perhaps some of my young readers,
who have always been accustomed to see farms already "made," will not
understand what I mean by "_making_ a farm;" and I will try to tell them.
First of all, let them try to fancy a large meadow, either perfectly flat
or a little uneven, as large, perhaps, as can be measured with the eye, and
sometimes without a single tree, or scarcely a clump of bushes. There will
be no fences in sight, and sometimes no streams of water, but the surface
of the ground is covered with high, coarse grass. This is what Western
people call a "prairie."
In order to "make a farm," this ground must be ploughed, or, as Western
people say, "broken up." Some of the children would smile, I think, if they
were to see a regular "breaking team" before a "breaking plough." This
plough is quite unlike that which is used in the older States, and it takes
five, six, and sometimes as many as eight yoke of oxen to draw it. This
ploughing is usually done in June. After ploughing, the ground must be
enclosed, and then it is ready for the seed.
Some people make curious mistakes when they undertake to make a new farm.
Mr. Allis was one of these persons. He arrived at the little town of B----,
with his family, late in the fall, and immediately set about looking for a
location. Several miles from B---- he found a place that seemed to suit
him. The soil was rich, and apparently inexhaustible; but it was poorly
watered, and destitute of any timber suitable for building or fencing, and
there was very little which was fit for fuel. The great thing he thought of
was a large farm.
After a while he found out his mistake, but it was too late for him to help
it, for his money was nearly all expended for land. But Mr. Allis was a
resolute man, and he immediately set himself to work to do the best he
could. It was a long walk to the grove where he went every day to cut down
trees for his cabin, and to split rails for his fence, and a whole day's
work to go twice with his oxen to draw the logs and rails to his farm. But
he rose early, and was ready to begin his work with the dawn. On rainy and
stormy days, when he could not be out, he was at work in a shop near his
house, making doors and window-frames, and cupboards, and other things for
his new house.
Early in the spring the cabin was reared, and soon all was in readiness for
the removal of the family, which consisted of Mrs. Allis, Mary, a distant
relative whose home was with her, and two little twin-daughters, Annie and
Susie, who were about five years old at this time. These little girls loved
each other very much, and usually played very pleasantly together. But it
was sometimes the case that, like other children, they had their little
troubles, and were selfish, and of course unhappy.
One day Mrs. Allis was very sick, and she called the little girls to her,
and told them they might go up-stairs and play, but they must try to be
very good girls, and very quiet, for she could not bear the noise of their
voices. The little girls loved their mother very dearly, and were very
sorry that she was so sick. So they promised to be good children, and then
away they skipped up-stairs on tip-toe, that they might not disturb their
mother.
At first there was the patter of light feet and a subdued murmur of voices,
but after a while scarcely a sound could be heard. Thus passed two hours,
or more, and at last Mrs. Allis sent Mary to see what they were about. Mary
reported that they were playing very pleasantly together, and seemed very
happy.
"But what can they be doing, Mary?"
"Oh, they have a whole regiment of ragbabies, besides the kittens, for
scholars. Susie says they are playing school."
At last it was tea-time, and, when the girls had eaten their supper, their
mother called them to her.
"Oh, mother! mother! we have had such a nice time."
"Softly, softly, children," said Mr. Allis; "be careful, or you will make
your mother sick again."
"Are you better now, mother?" said little Susie, going softly towards her
bed.
"Yes, my dear child, I am much better, and you two little girls have helped
to make me so."
"We, mother?" said Susie, while her black eyes sparkled at the thought. "I
wonder how _we_ could make you better, when we have been all the while at
play up-stairs."
"I can guess how," said Annie. "Mother means we didn't make any noise:
don't you, mother?"
"Not just that, or rather a good deal more than that; but first tell me
_what_ you played up-stairs."
"Oh, it was so pleasant: wasn't it? Why, mother, don't you think, we played
school; and first I let Susie be teacher, and then she let me; and we
played I was a little girl come to school, and by-and-by, when we got tired
of that, we got out the dolls, Bessie and Jessie, and the pussy, and then
we made three more little girls out of our sun-bonnets and Susie's pink
apron, and then we both played teacher, like Miss Jackson and Miss Williams
in the academy where we used to live, you know."
"Oh, yes, mother," interrupted Susie; "and, don't you think, sometimes
Annie would pull pussy's tail and make her say 'Mew,' and we made believe
that one of the little girls cried to go to her mother."
"Yes," said Annie, "and after a while we made believe she was naughty, and
sent her home."
"Very well, my dear; I see you have had a very pleasant time,--much more
pleasant than if you had been cross and unkind to each other, or had made a
noise to disturb me. I see you have loved one another, and this is what has
made you so happy this afternoon. Tell me, now, which you had rather be,
teacher or scholar, when you play school."
"Oh! a teacher, a great deal, mother," said Annie.
"Then why did you not be teacher all the time, and let Susie be the
scholar?"
"That wouldn't be right. Susie likes to be teacher as well as I," replied
Annie, timidly.
"But don't you think you would have been happier to have been teacher all
the time, Annie?"
"I did want to be at first, but then I thought Susie would like it too;
and, after all, it was just as pleasant."
"I presume it was, my dear, and much more pleasant; no person can be happy
who is selfish. Do you know what it is to be selfish, my little Susie?"
"Yes, mother; you told Annie and I one day that it was selfish to want
every thing just to please ourselves."
"Do you love to run about the room, and laugh and play?"
"Oh, yes; you know we do, mother."
"Would you not rather have stayed down-stairs to play to-day?"
"Oh, yes," said Annie; "only----"
"Only what, my dear?"
"Annie means that you were sick, and didn't want us to make a noise; and,
really, we did try to play just as still as we possibly could."
"Why did you take so much pains to be quiet?"
"You told us to be still, didn't you, mother?"
"I did; but were you afraid I would punish you if you made a noise, Susie?"
"Oh, no, indeed; but we did not want to make you sick," said Susie,
clinging to her mother, and looking into her face with her loving eyes.
"Then you love your mother, do you, girls?"
"Indeed we do," said the children, in one breath.
"Well, supposing your mother had been well, and some poor sick woman, whom
you had never seen before, lay here sick in my bed: would it have been more
pleasant _then_ for you to be very still, so as not to disturb her?"
The girls hesitated a moment, and then Annie said,--
"I think it would, mother; for it would be very cruel to make anybody
suffer, I have heard you say."
"Then you could love a poor stranger enough to deny yourself some of your
own pleasures for her sake; and you think it would make you happier to do
so, do you?"
"Oh, yes, I am sure we should be happier," said little Susie.
"Well, my dear children, I cannot talk any longer now, but I want you to
repeat this little verse after me until you can remember it:--
"Love is the golden chain that binds
The happy souls above;
And he's an heir of heaven that finds
His bosom glow with _love_."
* * * * *
THE PRAIRIE FIRE.
It was a trying summer for the Allis family. The weather was hot and dry,
and Mr. Allis, unaccustomed to labour in the fields, often almost fainted
in the sun. His work seemed to him to progress very slowly. He had no one
to assist him in sowing and planting and gathering in his crops; for, in
the first place, there were few people to be hired, and, more than that, he
had no money to pay his workmen if he had been able to obtain them. Every
morning he had to go more than a mile with his oxen for water, which he
brought in a barrel for family use; and it was often nine o'clock before he
got to his work in the fields.
At length November came and found his summer's work completed. He had no
barn in which to store his grain, and could only secure it by "stacking" it
until it could be threshed.
The potatoes, squashes, pumpkins, beets, turnips and other vegetables which
the garden had produced for winter use were as securely housed as possible
and protected from the frost; and Mr. Allis began to hope that now he might
take that rest which he so much required.
For a number of weeks the children had been excited by wonderful lights in
the sky, just above the horizon. Sometimes eight or ten of these could be
seen in different directions at once, and occasionally some one of them
would seem to shoot up suddenly, not unlike the flame of a distant volcano.
To the eager inquiries of the little ones, they were answered that these
singular lights were called prairie-fires.
"What is a prairie-fire, father?" asked both the children at once.
"It is the burning of the long coarse grass which covers the prairie in
summer. This becomes very dry, and then, if a spark of fire chances to fall
upon it, it is | 1,893.845754 |
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E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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2023-11-16 18:48:38.5269710 | 3,214 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger
ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
Part 2.
CHAPTER XI.
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear him again.
News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in Montana
(whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him. I find an
account of the affair in the thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph
from in the last chapter--"The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable
Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer's Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City, M.T."
Mr. Dimsdale's chapter is well worth reading, as a specimen of how the
people of the frontier deal with criminals when the courts of law prove
inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks about Slade, both of which
are accurately descriptive, and one of which is exceedingly picturesque:
"Those who saw him in his natural state only, would pronounce him to be a
kind husband, a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the
contrary, those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by a
gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate." And this:
"From Fort Kearney, west, he was feared a great deal more than the
almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will
"back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and
they determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority
they would establish a People's Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished, was the
tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of this court, followed
by his arrest of the Judge Alex. Davis, by authority of a presented
Derringer, and with his own hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he
openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was
never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was
a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offence above mentioned. On returning from
Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking, until at
last it was a common feat for him and his friends to "take the
town." He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen on one
horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling, firing
revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse into
stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. It had
become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shop-keepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he
had money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal
enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was
not a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public
did not expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of his
very name, and the presence of the armed band of hangers-on who
followed him alone prevented a resistance which must certainly have
ended in the instant murder or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose
organization we have described, and had treated it with respect by
paying one or two fines and promising to pay the rest when he had
money; but in the transaction that occurred at this crisis, he
forgot even this caution, and goaded by passion and the hatred of
restraint, he sprang into the embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and "cutting up" all night. He and his
companions had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M.
Fox, the sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and
commenced reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of
arraignment. He became uncontrollably furious, and seizing the
writ, he tore it up, threw it on the ground and stamped upon it.
The clicking of the locks of his companions' revolvers was instantly
heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not attempt his
retention; but being at least as prudent as he was valiant, he
succumbed, leaving Slade the master of the situation and the
conqueror and ruler of the courts, law and law-makers. This was a
declaration of war, and was so accepted. The Vigilance Committee
now felt that the question of social order and the preponderance of
the law-abiding citizens had then and there to be decided. They
knew the character of Slade, and they were well aware that they must
submit to his rule without murmur, or else that he must be dealt
with in such fashion as would prevent his being able to wreak his
vengeance on the committee, who could never have hoped to live in
the Territory secure from outrage or death, and who could never
leave it without encountering his friend, whom his victory would
have emboldened and stimulated to a pitch that would have rendered
them reckless of consequences. The day previous he had ridden into
Dorris's store, and on being requested to leave, he drew his
revolver and threatened to kill the gentleman who spoke to him.
Another saloon he had led his horse into, and buying a bottle of
wine, he tried to make the animal drink it. This was not considered
an uncommon performance, as he had often entered saloons and
commenced firing at the lamps, causing a wild stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed him in the
quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance of what he is
saying: "Slade, get your horse at once, and go home, or there will
be ---- to pay." Slade started and took a long look, with his dark
and piercing eyes, at the gentleman. "What do you mean?" said he.
"You have no right to ask me what I mean," was the quiet reply, "get
your horse at once, and remember what I tell you." After a short
pause he promised to do so, and actually got into the saddle; but,
being still intoxicated, he began calling aloud to one after another
of his friends, and at last seemed to have forgotten the warning he
had received and became again uproarious, shouting the name of a
well-known courtezan in company with those of two men whom he
considered heads of the committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps,
however, as a simple act of bravado. It seems probable that the
intimation of personal danger he had received had not been forgotten
entirely; though fatally for him, he took a foolish way of showing
his remembrance of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the Judge of
the Court, and drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at his
head, and told him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own
safety. As the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no
resistance to his captor, no further outrage followed on this score.
Previous to this, on account of the critical state of affairs, the
committee had met, and at last resolved to arrest him. His
execution had not been agreed upon, and, at that time, would have
been negatived, most assuredly. A messenger rode down to Nevada to
inform the leading men of what was on hand, as it was desirable to
show that there was a feeling of unanimity on the subject, all along
the gulch.
The miners turned out almost en masse, leaving their work and
forming in solid column about six hundred strong, armed to the
teeth, they marched up to Virginia. The leader of the body well
knew the temper of his men on the subject. He spurred on ahead of
them, and hastily calling a meeting of the executive, he told them
plainly that the miners meant "business," and that, if they came up,
they would not stand in the street to be shot down by Slade's
friends; but that they would take him and hang him. The meeting was
small, as the Virginia men were loath to act at all. This momentous
announcement of the feeling of the Lower Town was made to a cluster
of men, who were deliberation behind a wagon, at the rear of a store
on Main street.
The committee were most unwilling to proceed to extremities. All
the duty they had ever performed seemed as nothing to the task
before them; but they had to decide, and that quickly. It was
finally agreed that if the whole body of the miners were of the
opinion that he should be hanged, that the committee left it in
their hands to deal with him. Off, at hot speed, rode the leader of
the Nevada men to join his command.
Slade had found out what was intended, and the news sobered him
instantly. He went into P. S. Pfouts' store, where Davis was, and
apologized for his conduct, saying that he would take it all back.
The head of the column now wheeled into Wallace street and marched
up at quick time. Halting in front of the store, the executive
officer of the committee stepped forward and arrested Slade, who was
at once informed of his doom, and inquiry was made as to whether he
had any business to settle. Several parties spoke to him on the
subject; but to all such inquiries he turned a deaf ear, being
entirely absorbed in the terrifying reflections on his own awful
position. He never ceased his entreaties for life, and to see his
dear wife. The unfortunate lady referred to, between whom and Slade
there existed a warm affection, was at this time living at their
ranch on the Madison. She was possessed of considerable personal
attractions; tall, well-formed, of graceful carriage, pleasing
manners, and was, withal, an accomplished horsewoman.
A messenger from Slade rode at full speed to inform her of her
husband's arrest. In an instant she was in the saddle, and with all
the energy that love and despair could lend to an ardent temperament
and a strong physique, she urged her fleet charger over the twelve
miles of rough and rocky ground that intervened between her and the
object of her passionate devotion.
Meanwhile a party of volunteers had made the necessary preparations
for the execution, in the valley traversed by the branch. Beneath
the site of Pfouts and Russell's stone building there was a corral,
the gate-posts of which were strong and high. Across the top was
laid a beam, to which the rope was fastened, and a dry-goods box
served for the platform. To this place Slade was marched,
surrounded by a guard, composing the best armed and most numerous
force that has ever appeared in Montana Territory.
The doomed man had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers and
lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under the
fatal beam. He repeatedly exclaimed, "My God! my God! must I die?
Oh, my dear wife!"
On the return of the fatigue party, they encountered some friends of
Slade, staunch and reliable citizens and members of the committee,
but who were personally attached to the condemned. On hearing of
his sentence, one of them, a stout-hearted man, pulled out his
handkerchief and walked away, weeping like a child. Slade still
begged to see his wife, most piteously, and it seemed hard to deny
his request; but the bloody consequences that were sure to follow
the inevitable attempt at a rescue, that her presence and entreaties
would have certainly incited, forbade the granting of his request.
Several gentlemen were sent for to see him, in his last moments, one
of whom (Judge Davis) made a short address to the people; but in
such low tones as to be inaudible, save to a few in his immediate
vicinity. One of his friends, after exhausting his powers of
entreaty, threw off his coat and declared that the prisoner could
not be hanged until he himself was killed. A hundred guns were
instantly leveled at him; whereupon he turned and fled; but, being
brought back, he was compelled to resume his coat, and to give a
promise of future peaceable demeanor.
Scarcely a leading man in Virginia could be found, | 1,894.547011 |
2023-11-16 18:48:38.5352090 | 900 | 22 |
Produced by sp1nd, Mary Akers and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been
harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Obvious typos have been corrected. An "Illustrations" section has been
added as an aid to the reader.
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
FRANK AND JESSE JAMES
THE
NOTED WESTERN OUTLAWS.
BY
HON. J. A. DACUS, PH. D.
"Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears,
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,
At this dread tale of reckless deeds."
_ILLUSTRATED._
ST. LOUIS:
W. S. BRYAN, PUBLISHER,
602 North Fourth Street.
SAN FRANCISCO: A. L. BANCROFT & CO., 721 Market Street.
INDIANAPOLIS: FRED. L. HORTON & CO., 66 East Market Street.
CHICAGO: J. S. GOODMAN, 142 LaSalle Street.
1880.
Copyrighted, 1879, by W. S. BRYAN
[Illustration: JESSE JAMES.
FROM A LATE PHOTOGRAPH.
Copyrighted, 1880, by W. S. Bryan. The copyright laws
will be rigidly enforced against any person making
or disposing of copies of this picture.]
[Illustration:
FRANK JAMES. JESSE JAMES.
Engraved from Photographs taken about the close of the war.]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.--THE JAMES FAMILY.--The Rev. Robert
James--His marriage--Removal to Missouri--His death
in California, 11-16
CHAPTER II.--FRANK AND JESSE.--Their childhood and
youth--They desire fire-arms--Youthful Nimrods--Pistol
practice, 17-24
CHAPTER III.--IN THE GUERRILLA CAMP.--Frank joins
Quantrell--Outrage on Dr. Samuels and Jesse--Mrs.
Samuels and daughter, Susie James, arrested--Jesse as a
courier for the Guerrillas, 25-28
CHAPTER IV.--BLOODY WAR.--The hatreds of the border
people--The partisan rangers--Frank James as a scout--Fight
at Plattsburg, 29-34
CHAPTER V.--AT THE SACK OF LAWRENCE, KANSAS.--The
black flag unfurled--The Guerrillas mass their
forces--The march to Lawrence--Capture of the town--Frank
and Jesse participate, 35-39
CHAPTER VI.--A GORY RECORD.--The cruel strife of the
border--Death in the thickets--Quantrell and his
followers, 40-56
CHAPTER VII.--ADVENTURES IN SEPARATE FIELDS.--Frank
James follows Quantrell into Kentucky--Fierce
partisan contests--Death of Quantrell--Jesse follows
George Shepherd to Texas--The last fight of the war--Jesse
wounded, 57-65
CHAPTER VIII.--THE BRANDENBURG TRAGEDY.--Frank
James followed by four men--They attempt to arrest him--Terrible
fight--Frank wounded in the left hip--Concealed
by friends, 66-70
CHAPTER IX.--THE LIBERTY BANK AFFAIR.--A great
robbery--St. Valentine's day, and the prize drawn by
bold marauders--The James Boys accused of the crime, 71-73
CHAPTER X.--JESSE'S SORTIE AGAINST THE MILITIAMEN.--Attacked
at night--The family council of war--Jesse
desires to look out on the | 1,894.555249 |
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Produced by David Widger
SKETCHES NEW AND OLD
by Mark Twain
Part 3.
DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY
In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed boy, on his way to
Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the city prison for stoning
Chinamen."
What a commentary is this upon human justice! What sad prominence it
gives to our human disposition to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco
has little right to take credit to herself for her treatment of this poor
boy. What had the child's education been? How should he suppose it was
wrong to stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him, along with
outraged San Francisco, let us give him a chance--let us hear the
testimony for the defense.
He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and therefore
the chances are that his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people,
with just enough natural villainy in their composition to make them yearn
after the daily papers, and enjoy them; and so this boy had opportunities
to learn all through the week how to do right, as well as on Sunday.
It was in this way that he found out that the great commonwealth of
California imposes an unlawful mining-tax upon John the foreigner, and
allows Patrick the foreigner to dig gold for nothing--probably because
the degraded Mongol is at no expense for whisky, and the refined Celt
cannot exist without it.
It was in this way that he found out that a respectable number of the
tax-gatherers--it would be unkind to say all of them--collect the tax
twice, instead of once; and that, inasmuch as they do it solely to
discourage Chinese immigration into the mines, it is a thing that is much
applauded, and likewise regarded as being singularly facetious.
It was in this way that he found out that when a white man robs a
sluice-box (by the term white man is meant Spaniards, Mexicans,
Portuguese, Irish, Hondurans, Peruvians, Chileans, etc., etc.), they make
him leave the camp; and when a Chinaman does that thing, they hang him.
It was in this way that he found out that in many districts of the vast
Pacific coast, so strong is the wild, free love of justice in the hearts
of the people, that whenever any secret and mysterious crime is
committed, they say, "Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," and
go straightway and swing a Chinaman.
It was in this way that he found out that by studying one half of each
day's "local items," it would appear that the police of San Francisco
were either asleep or dead, and by studying the other half it would seem
that the reporters were gone mad with admiration of the energy, the
virtue, the high effectiveness, and the dare-devil intrepidity of that
very police-making exultant mention of how "the Argus-eyed officer
So-and-so" captured a wretched knave of a Chinaman who was stealing
chickens, and brought him gloriously to the city prison; and how "the
gallant officer Such-and-such-a-one" quietly kept an eye on the movements
of an "unsuspecting, almond-eyed son of Confucius" (your reporter is
nothing if not facetious), following him around with that far-off look.
of vacancy and unconsciousness always so finely affected by that
inscrutable being, the forty-dollar policeman, during a waking interval,
and captured him at last in the very act of placing his hands in a
suspicious manner upon a paper of tacks, left by the owner in an exposed
situation; and how one officer performed this prodigious thing, and
another officer that, and another the other--and pretty much every one of
these performances having for a dazzling central incident a Chinaman
guilty of a shilling's worth of crime, an unfortunate, whose misdemeanor
must be hurrahed into something enormous in order to keep the public from
noticing how many really important rascals went uncaptured in the mean
time, and how overrated those glorified policemen actually are.
It was in this way that the boy found out that the legislature, being
aware that the Constitution has made America, an asylum for the poor and
the oppressed of all nations, and that, therefore, the poor and oppressed
who fly to our shelter must not be charged a disabling admission fee,
made a law that every Chinaman, upon landing, must be vaccinated upon the
wharf, and pay to the state's appointed officer ten dollars for the
service, when there are plenty of doctors in San Francisco who would be
glad enough to do it for him for fifty cents.
It was in this way that the boy found out that a Chinaman had no rights
that any man was bound to respect; that he had no sorrows that any man
was bound to pity; that neither his life nor his liberty was worth the
purchase of a penny when a white man needed a scapegoat; that nobody
loved Chinamen, nobody befriended them, nobody spared them suffering when
it was convenient to inflict it; everybody, individuals, communities, the
majesty of the state itself, joined in hating, abusing, and persecuting
these humble strangers.
And, therefore, what could have been more natural than for this
sunny-hearted-boy, tripping along to Sunday-school, with his mind teeming
with freshly learned incentives to high and virtuous action, to say to
himself:
"Ah, there goes a Chinaman! God will not love me if I do not stone him."
And for this he was arrested and put in the city jail.
Everything conspired to teach him that it was a high and holy thing to
stone a Chinaman, and yet he no sooner attempts to do his duty than he is
punished for it--he, poor chap, who has been aware all his life that one
of the principal recreations of the police, out toward the Gold Refinery,
is to look on with tranquil enjoyment while the butchers of Brannan
Street set their dogs on unoffending Chinamen, and make them flee for
their lives.
--[I have many such memories in my mind, but am thinking just at present
of one particular one, where the Brannan Street butchers set their dogs
on a Chinaman who was quietly passing with a basket of clothes on his
head; and while the dogs mutilated his flesh, a butcher increased the
hilarity of the occasion by knocking some of the Chinaman's teeth down
his throat with half a brick. This incident sticks in my memory with a
more malevolent tenacity, perhaps, on account of the fact that I was in
the employ of a San Francisco journal at the time, and was not allowed to
publish it because it might offend some of the peculiar element that
subscribed for the paper.]
Keeping in mind the tuition in the humanities which the entire "Pacific
coast" gives its youth, there is a very sublimity of incongruity in the
virtuous flourish with which the good city fathers of San Francisco
proclaim (as they have lately done) that " | 1,894.647063 |
2023-11-16 18:48:38.6325900 | 2,669 | 8 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
Vol. II. No. 3.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
PUBLISHED BY THE
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY,
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Price, 50 Cents.
CONTENTS.
The Arctic Cruise of the U. S. S. Thetis in the Summer and Autumn of
1889: Lieut. Comdr. Chas. H. Stockton, U. S. N.
(Illustrated with view of Herald Island, and one map.)
The Law of Storms, considered with special reference to the North
Atlantic: Everett Hayden, Marine Meteorologist, Navy Dept.
(One View and seven Illustrations.)
The Irrigation Problem in Montana: H. M. Wilson
PRESS OF TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR, NEW HAVEN, CONN.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
Vol. II. 1890. No. 3.
THE ARCTIC CRUISE OF THE U. S. S. THETIS IN THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF
1889.
BY CHARLES H. STOCKTON.
A German writer of note once said, in the course of a discussion upon
certain French characteristics, that "the trouble with the French
people is,--they do not _know_ Geography."
Whether this is still true of the French, as a nation, or whether the
authority may be considered a good one, it is not pertinent for me here
to say; but I feel that of the nations of the world, this country,
above all others (England, perhaps, alone excepted), should not have
the want of knowledge of geography classed among its national failings.
We have, however, very much geography yet to learn, as individuals and
as a nation; not only of countries beyond our own but particularly of
our own continent and our own domain, while commercial geography is
almost an unknown and forbidden study.
Professional geographer as I am, as member of the naval service, I find
that every cruise adds to my geographic knowledge, and in giving an
account of the cruise during last summer of the ship which I had the
honor to command, I trust that I may be enabled to present some
geographic facts as interesting to my fellow-members of the Geographic
Society as they were novel and instructive to myself.
Before beginning my narrative, however, let me give you an idea of the
extent of the shore-line of the territory or semi-colonial province
along which so much of our cruise was made.
Alaska has an area of about 580,000 square miles, consisting of a large
mainland with a coast-line 6,650 miles in length, and also of more than
1,100 islands, with a coast-line of 2,950 miles, the entire coast-line
being 9,600 miles. The coast-line of the rest of the United States,
including islands, is only 6,580 miles, thus making the coast-line of
Alaska 3,020 miles more than the coast-line of all of the rest of the
United States.
Of this great country the part known best and visited annually by
tourists is that insignificant portion of southeastern Alaska which
consists of the Alexander archipelago and its neighboring main
coast-line, differing in its scenery, topography, climate, and native
inhabitants, from the greater part of this vast territory.
It is fortunate, however, that this corner of Alaska is so easily and
comfortably reached by the summer traveler, as, with the exception of
the coast-line and inlets between Sitka and Kodiak, which includes the
Fairweather ground and the St. Elias range of mountains, this portion
contains perhaps the finest and most striking scenery and the largest
and grandest glaciers in the territory, if not in all North and South
America.
The U. S. S. Thetis was assigned in 1889 to the duty of looking out for
the commercial and whaling interests of the United States in Bering sea
and the Arctic ocean, to which was subsequently added the duty of
assisting in the establishment and erection of a house of refuge in the
vicinity of Point Barrow, the most northerly point of our Arctic
possessions. The duty assigned to the Thetis did not include the
protection of the sealing interests of the United States, nor of those
interests enjoyed by the Alaska Commercial Company as the regular
lessees from the United States of the Pribyloff group of islands. This
was confided to the Revenue Marine Service of the Treasury Department.
[Illustration: The Arctic Cruise of the U. S. S. "Thetis" Lieut.
Comd'r. Chas. H. Stockton, U. S. N., Comd'g. in the summer and autumn
of 1889. The Norris Peters Co., Photo-litho., Washington, D. C.]
The Thetis left San Francisco on the 20th of April, 1889, and after a
detention of a month at Tacoma, upon the placid waters of Puget sound,
awaiting supplementary orders, reached Port Tongass, in extreme
southeastern Alaska, on the 31st of May, and Sitka, the territorial
capitol, upon the 2d of June. After a stay of six days at the latter
place the vessel left for the island of Ounalaska, one of the Aleutian
chain, which was safely reached, after a stormy passage, early on the
morning of the 17th of June.
The revenue-steamer Richard Rush, commanded by Captain Shepherd, was
found at anchor at this place, having arrived a few hours before the
Thetis; she had entered upon the duty of patrolling Bering sea, between
Ounalaska and the Pribyloff group, for the protection of the sealing
interests. The seals approach the hauling-out grounds and breeding
places upon the islands of St. Paul and St. George in lanes, as it
were, from the Pacific, reaching Bering sea by means of the various
passages between the Aleutian islands, and converging as they approach
the Seal islands, the position of which seems so well known to them.
The "marauders," as the men on the sealing schooners are called who
hunt them on their way north, shoot them from small boats, killing the
many in order to procure the few.
Ounalaska, or rather the village and harbor of Iliuliuk, upon the
island of Ounalaska, is the principal and most frequented harbor in the
Aleutian islands, and from its position is a most convenient port for
coaling, watering and provisioning en route to the Seal islands, St.
Michaels (at the mouth of the Yukon river), the anchorages in and near
Bering strait, and the Arctic ocean. This harbor is the headquarters of
all of the districts of the Alaska Commercial Company, and is the
principal coaling and distributing station and rendezvous of their
vessels in Alaska. The company here affords facilities in the way of
buoyage, wharfage, etc., which are not only useful to their own vessels
but of great service to government and other vessels whose duty or
interests call them to these waters.
The revenue steamer Bear was to be met by us at Ounalaska, in order
that we could take from her any portion of the stores and material to
be used in the constructing and provisioning of the house of refuge at
Point Barrow that her commanding officer desired to transfer to us.
While awaiting the arrival of the Bear, the Thetis was watered and
coaled and prepared for the northerly trip before her. An opportunity
offered me by the delay was availed of to inspect the store-houses of
the Alaska Commercial Company at this point. The most interesting of
the store-houses was that containing the skins and furs collected in
the various parts of the district of which this place was the dépôt.
The finest of the furs was that of the sea-otter, probably the most
valuable fur in the world, a very superior skin of that animal having
been sold at the great fur market in London for £170. Such otters are
found in the vicinity of Ounalaska and the outlying rocks and islands
as far east as Kodiak, and are becoming more and more difficult to
obtain, causing greater risk and hardships every year to the Aleuts,
who hunt these animals as a principal means of livelihood.
Besides the otters the store-house held the furs of the beautiful
silver-gray fox, and those of the blue, the cross, and the snowy white
Arctic fox. There were also black and brown bear skins, beaver, and
fur-seal, the latter, though the greatest and most profitable source of
revenue to the Company, being by no manner of means among the more
valuable of the raw furs.
To exchange for furs collected, either directly by natives or by
independent traders, the Alaska Commercial Company has a large
assortment of stores, provisions, and goods, worthy of a large
country-store, or a Macy's in miniature, which are sold to the natives
for money or in exchange for the furs they bring to the company. And
just here can be seen the commercial aspects of civilization: as the
natives become used to the luxuries and comforts of a civilized and
semi-civilized state of life, their wants and their purchases increase
and the securing of one otter-skin will not, as in times past, satisfy
their wants or the requirements of their wives and families. Hence they
become both greater producers and consumers, more otters are hunted
for, and the Company is the gainer.
The houses in which the Aleuts and Creoles reside at Ounalaska were
found to be well built of frame, sufficiently large and fairly clean.
The old houses of earth and sod standing near by show the great
improvement that has been made of late years in the method of living.
Upon the 22d of June the Revenue Steamer Bear came in to the anchorage,
and the Thetis and the Bear, once companion ships in the Greely Relief
Expedition, met again in the far north.
Upon conference with the commanding officer of the Bear, Captain M. A.
Healy, it was found that he did not consider it desirable to break the
bulk of his cargo and share the stores for the refuge-station with us;
hence, being free to pursue our course, we left on the 24th of June for
the island of St. Paul, one of the Seal (or Pribyloff) islands.
We arrived at these islands on the evening of the 25th of June, after
groping around in the heavy and almost constant fog and mist that
envelop them. During our short stay at St. Paul we were able to see a
drive of seals from a rookery and the killing, skinning, and packing,
which followed; but what we found to be the most interesting was the
visit to the rookeries, both from the inshore side and from boats along
the sea front. The systematic partition of the grounds, the formation
of the harems, the exclusion of the young males, and the aggressive
conduct of the older ones, all proved most interesting and novel. This,
however, has been described so often that I will not here repeat it.
Leaving these islands, so unlike any others in the world, we proceeded
to the north and west to St. Mathew Island, a large and uninhabited
island in the middle of Bering sea. The object in visiting this island
was twofold, the first being to ascertain if there were any shipwrecked
persons upon the island, the other being to verify the statement made
upon the chart we possessed that the island was infested with polar
bears. Upon our arrival and landing upon the island we found plenty of
old tracks but no recent evidences of the existence of polar bears.
This was ascertained after honest and fatiguing endeavor to find them
by parties of officers and men from the ship, who scoured the eastern
part of the island, both upon the hills and upon the low tundra, but
without success.
St. Mathew island is probably the southern limit of the solid | 1,894.65263 |
2023-11-16 18:48:38.7257850 | 652 | 9 |
Produced by Matthew Wheaton, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
FAST AS THE WIND
A NOVEL
By NAT GOULD
AUTHOR OF "The Rider in Khaki," Etc.
[Decoration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company
_Copyright, 1918, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BOOM OF A GUN 1
II. STORY OF AN ESCAPE 10
III. THE MAN ON THE ROAD 20
IV. THE WOMAN AT THE TABLE 30
V. PICTON'S WINNING MOUNTS 40
VI. IN BRACK'S COTTAGE 50
VII. A CRITICAL MOMENT 59
VIII. ON BOARD THE "SEA-MEW" 69
IX. LENISE ELROY 79
X. HAVERTON 88
XI. TEARAWAY AND OTHERS 97
XII. "I THINK HE'S DEAD" 106
XIII. A WOMAN'S FEAR 115
XIV. NOT RECOGNISED 124
XV. "THE ST. LEGER'S IN YOUR POCKET" 132
XVI. HOW HECTOR FOUGHT THE BLOODHOUND 140
XVII. AN INTRODUCTION AT HURST PARK 149
XVIII. CONSCIENCE TROUBLES 158
XIX. "WHAT WOULD YOU DO?" 165
XX. RITA SEES A RESEMBLANCE 174
XXI. BRACK TURNS TRAVELER 182
XXII. DONCASTER 191
XXIII. THE CROWD IN THE RING 200
XXIV. "BY JOVE, SHE'S WONDERFUL" 208
XXV. FAST AS THE WIND 216
XXVI. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CUP 224
XXVII. THE RESERVED COMPARTMENT 233
XXVIII. HOW HECTOR HAD HIS REVENGE 241
XXIX. AN ASTONISHING COMMUNICATION 250
XXX. TEARAWAY'S PROGENY 258
FAST AS THE WIND
CHAPTER I
THE BOOM OF A GUN
A small but splendidly built yacht steamed slowly into Torbay, passed
Brixham and Paignton, and came to anchor in the outer harbor at
Torquay. It was a glorious spring morning, early, and the sun shone on
the water with a myriad of dancing reflections; it bathed in light | 1,894.745825 |
2023-11-16 18:48:38.7295610 | 7,113 | 13 |
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 MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN
CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE
MOUNTAIN
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1895
Copyright, 1895,
BY MARY N. MURFREE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN 1
TAKING THE BLUE RIBBON AT THE COUNTY FAIR 165
THE CASTING VOTE 200
THE MYSTERY OF WITCH-FACE MOUNTAIN.
I.
The beetling crags that hang here and there above the gorge hold in
their rugged rock sculpture no facial similitudes, no suggestions. The
jagged outlines of shelving bluffs delineate no gigantic profile
against the sky beyond. One might seek far and near, and scan the vast
<DW72> with alert and expectant gaze, and view naught of the semblance
that from time immemorial has given the mountain its name. Yet the
imagination needs but scant aid when suddenly the elusive simulacrum
is revealed to the eye. In a certain slant of the diurnal light, even
on bright nights at the full of the moon, sometimes in the uncanny
electric flicker smitten from a storm-cloud, a gigantic peaked
sinister face is limned on the bare, sandy <DW72>, so definite, with
such fixity of lineament, that one is amazed that the perception of it
came no earlier, and is startled when it disappears.
Disappearing as completely as a fancy, few there are who have ever
seen it who have not climbed from the herder's trail across the
narrow wayside stream and up the rugged mountain <DW72>s to the spot
where it became visible. There disappointment awaits the explorer. One
finds a bare and sterile space, from which the hardy chickweed can
scarcely gain the sustenance for timorous sproutings; a few
outcropping rocks; a series of transverse gullies here and there,
washed down to deep indentations; above the whole a stretch of burnt,
broken timber that goes by the name of "fire-scald," and is a relic of
the fury of the fire which was "set out" in the woods with the mission
to burn only the leaves and undergrowth, and which, in its
undisciplined strength, transcended its instructions, as it were, and
destroyed great trees. And this is all. But once more, at a coigne of
vantage on the opposite side of the gorge, and the experience can be
utilized in differentiating the elements that go to make up the weird
presentment of a human countenance. It is the fire-scald that suggests
the great peaked brown hood; the oblong sandy stretch forms the pallid
face; the ledges outline the nose and chin and brow; the eyes look out
from the deep indentations where the <DW72> is washed by the currents
of the winter rains; and here and there the gullies draw heavy lines
and wrinkles. And when the wind is fresh and the clouds scud before
it, in the motion of their shadows the face will seem to mow at the
observer, until the belief comes very readily that it is the exact
counterpart of a witch's face.
Always the likeness is pointed out and insisted on by the denizens of
Witch-Face Mountain, as if they had had long and intimate acquaintance
with that sort of unhallowed gentry, and were especially qualified to
pronounce upon the resemblance.
"Ain't it jes' like 'em, now? Ain't it the very moral of a witch?"
Constant Hite demanded, one gusty day, when the shadows were a-flicker
in the sun, and the face seemed animated by the malice of mockery or
mirth, as he pointed it out to his companion with a sort of triumph in
its splenetic contortions.
He was a big, bluff fellow, to whose pride all that befell him seemed
to minister. He was proud of his length of limb, and his hundred and
eighty pounds of weight, and yet his slim appearance. "Ye wouldn't
believe it now, would ye?" he was wont to say when he stepped off the
scales at the store of the hamlet down in the Cove. "It's solid meat
an' bone an' muscle, my boy. Keep on the friendly side of one hunderd
an' eighty," with a challenging wink. He was proud of his bright brown
eyes, and his dark hair and mustache, and smiling, handsome face, and
his popularity among the class that he was pleased to denominate "gal
critters." He piqued himself upon his several endowments as a hardy
woodsman, his endurance, his sylvan craft, his pluck, and his luck and
his accurate aim. The buck--all gray and antlered, for it was
August--that hung across the horse, behind the saddle, gave token of
this keen exactitude in the tiny wound at the base of the ear, where
the rifle-ball had entered to pierce the brain; it might seem to the
inexpert that death had come rather from the gaping knife-stroke
across the throat, which was, however, a mere matter of butcher-craft.
He was proud of the good strong bay horse that he rode, which so
easily carried double, and proud of his big boots and long spurs; and
he scorned flimsy town clothes, and thought that good home-woven blue
jeans was the gear in which a man who was a man should clothe himself
withal. He glanced more than once at the different toggery of his
companion, evidently a man of cities, whom he had chanced to meet by
the wayside, and with whom he had journeyed more than a mile.
He had paused again and again to point out the "witch-face" to the
stranger, who at first could not discern it at all, and then when it
suddenly broke upon him could not be wiled away from it. He
dismounted, hitching his horse to a sapling, and up and down he
patrolled the rocky mountain path to study the face at various angles;
Constant Hite looking on the while with an important placid
satisfaction, as if he had invented the illusion.
"Some folks, though, can't abide sech ez witches," he said, with a
tolerant smile, as if he were able to defy their malevolence and make
light of it. "Ye see that cabin on the spur over yander around the
bend?" It looked very small and solitary from this height, and the
rail fences about its scanty inclosures hardly reached the dignity of
suggesting jackstraws. "Waal, the Hanways over thar hev a full view of
the old witch enny time she will show up at all. Folks in the
mountings 'low the day be onlucky when she appears on the <DW72> thar.
The old folks at Hanway's will talk 'bout it cornsider'ble ef ye set
'em goin'; they hev seen thar time, an' it rests 'em some ter tell
'bout'n the spites they hev hed that they lay ter the witch-face."
The ugly fascination of the witch-face had laid hold, too, on the
stranger. Twice he had sought to photograph it, and Constant Hite had
watched him with an air of lenient indulgence to folly as he pottered
about, now adjusting his camera, now changing his place anew.
"And I believe I have got the whole amount of nothing at all," he said
at last, looking up breathlessly at the mountaineer. Albeit the wind
was fresh and the altitude great, the sun was hot on the unshaded red
clay path, and the nimble gyrations of the would-be artist brought
plentiful drops to his brow. He took off his straw hat, and mopped his
forehead with his handkerchief, while he stared wistfully at the siren
of his fancy, grimacing maliciously at him from the <DW72> above. "If
the confounded old woman would hold still, and not disappear so
suddenly at the wrong minute, I'd have had her charming physiognomy
all correct. I believe I've spoiled my plates,--that's all." And once
more he mopped his bedewed forehead.
He was a man of thirty-five, perhaps, of the type that will never look
old or grow perceptibly gray. His hair was red and straight, and cut
close to his head. He had a long mustache of the same sanguine tint.
The sun had brought the blood near the surface of his thin skin, and
he looked hot and red, and thoroughly exasperated. His brown eyes were
disproportionately angry, considering the slight importance of his
enterprise. He was evidently a man of keen, quick temper, easily
aroused and nervous. His handsome, well-groomed horse was fractious,
and difficult for so impatient a rider to control. His equestrian
outfit once more attracted the covert glance of Con Hite, whose
experience and observation could duplicate no such attire. He was
tall, somewhat heavily built, and altogether a sufficiently stalwart
specimen of the genus "town man."
"I'll tell you what I'll do!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I'll sketch the
whole scene!"
"Now you're shoutin'," said Con Hite capably, as if he had always
advocated this method of solving the difficulty. His interlocutor
could not for a moment have dreamed that he had never before seen a
camera, had never heard of a photograph, had not the least idea of
what the process of sketching might be which he so boldly approved;
nay, the very phrase embodying his encouragement of the project was
foreign to his vocabulary,--a bit of sophisticated slang which he had
adopted from his companion's conversation, and readily assimilated.
"You stay just where you are!" cried the stranger, his enthusiasm
rising to the occasion; "just that pose,--that pose precisely."
He ran swiftly across the path to remove the inefficient camera from
the foreground, and in a moment was seated on a log by the wayside,
his quick eye scanning the scene: the close file of the ranges about
the horizon, one showing above another, and one more faintly blue
than another, for thus the distance was defined; then the amphitheatre
of the Cove, the heavy bronze-green <DW72>s of the mountains, all with
ripple marks of clear chrome-green ruffling in the wake of the wind;
in the middle distance the still depths of the valley below, with
shadows all a-slumber and silent, and on the projecting spur the
quiet, lonely little house, so slight a suggestion of the presence of
man amidst the majestic dominance of nature; here, to the right,
across the savage gorge, with its cliffs and with its currents in the
deep trough, the nearest <DW72> of the mountain, with the great gaunt
bare space showing that face of ill omen, sibylline, sinister,
definite indeed,--he wondered how his eyes were holden that he should
not have discerned it at once; and in the immediate foreground the
equestrian figure of the mountaineer, booted and spurred, the very
"moral," as Hite would have called it, of an athlete, with his fine
erect pose distinct against the hazy perspective, his expression of
confident force, the details of his handsome features revealed by the
brim of his wide black hat turned up in front.
"It's a big subject, I know; I can't get it all in. I shall only
suggest it. Just keep that pose, will you? Hold the horse still.
'Stand the storm, it won't be long!'" the artist said, smiling with
renewed satisfaction as his pencil, not all inapt, went briskly to
work on the horizontal lines of the background.
But it was longer than he had thought, so still sat the contemplative
mountaineer, so alluring were the details of the landscape. The
enthusiasm of the amateur is always a more urgent motive power than
the restrained and utilitarian industry of the professional.
Few sworn knights of the crayon would have sat sketching so long in
that temperature as he did, with the sun blazing through his straw hat
and his blood mustering under his thin skin; but he stopped at a point
short of sunstroke, and it was with a tumultuous sense of success that
he at last arose, and, with the sketch-book still open, walked across
the road and laid it on the pommel of the mountaineer's saddle.
Constant Hite took it up suspiciously and looked at it askance. It is
to be doubted if ever before he had seen a picture, unless perchance
in the primary reading-book of his callow days at the public school,
spasmodically opened at intervals at the "church house" in the Cove.
He continued to gravely gaze at the sketch, held sideways and almost
reversed, for some moments.
"Bless Gawd! hyar's Whitefoot's muzzle jes' ez nat'ral--an'
_Me_--waal, sir! don't _I_ look proud!" he cried suddenly, with a note
of such succulent vanity, so finely flavored a pride, that the
stranger could but laugh at the zest of his triumph.
"Do you see the witch-face?" he demanded.
"Hesh! hesh!" cried the mountaineer hilariously. "Don't'sturb me
'bout yer witch-face. Ef thar ain't the buck,--yes, toler'ble
fat,--an' with all his horns! An' look at my boot,--actially the spur
on it! An' my hat turned up;" he raised his flattered hand to the brim
as if to verify its position.
"You didn't know you were so good looking, hey?" suggested the amused
town man.
"My Lord, naw!" declared Hite, laughing at himself, yet laughing
delightedly. "I dunno _how_ the gals make out to do without me at
all!"
The pleased artist laughed, too. "Well, hand it over," he said, as he
reached out for the book. "We must be getting out of this sun. I'm not
used to it, you see."
He put his foot in the stirrup as he spoke, and as he swung himself
into the saddle the mountaineer reluctantly closed and relinquished
the book. "I'd like ter see it agin, some time or other," he observed.
He remembered this wish afterward, and how little he then imagined
where and in what manner he was destined to see it again.
They rode on together into the dense woods, leaving the wind and the
sunshine and the flying clouds fluctuating over the broad expanse of
the mountains, and the witch-face silently mowing and grimacing at the
world below, albeit seen by no human being except perchance some
dweller at the little house on the spur, struck aghast by this
unwelcome apparition evoked by the necromancy of the breeze and the
sheen and the shadow, marking this as an unlucky day.
"That's right smart o' a cur'osity, ain't it?" said Constant Hite
complacently, as they jogged along. "When the last gover'mint survey
fellers went through hyar, they war plumb smitten by the ole 'oman,
an' spent cornsider'ble time a-stare-gazin' at her. They 'lowed they
hed never seen the beat."
"What was the survey for?" asked the town man, with keen mundane
interest.
Constant Hite was rarely at a loss. When other men were fain to come
to a pause for the lack of information, the resources of his agile
substitutions and speculations were made manifest. "They war jes'
runnin' a few lines hyar an' thar," he said negligently. "They lef'
some tall striped poles planted in the ground, red an' sich colors,
ter mark the way; an' them mounting folks over yander in the
furderest coves,--they air powerful ahint the times,--they hed never
hearn o' sech ez a survey, noway, an' the poles jes' 'peared ter them
sprung up thar like Jonah's gourd in a single night, ez ef they kem
from seed; an' the folks, they 'lowed 't war the sign o' a new war."
He laughed lazily at the uninstructed terrors of the unsophisticated
denizens of the "furderest coves." "They'd gather around an'
stare-gaze at the poles, an' wonder if they'd hev ter fight the Rebs
agin; them folks is mos'ly Union." Then his interest in the subject
quickening, "Them survey fellers, they ondertook, too, ter medjure the
tallness o' some o' the mountings fur the gover'mint. Now what good is
that goin' ter do the Nunited States?" he resumed grudgingly. "The
mountings kin be medjured by the eye,--look a-yander." He pointed with
the end of his whip at a section of the horizon, visible between the
fringed and low-swaying boughs of hemlock and fir as the trail swept
closer to the verge of the range, on which was softly painted, as on
ivory and with an enameled lustre, two or three great azure domes,
with here and there the high white clouds of a clear day nestling
flakelike on the summits. "They air jes' all-fired high, an' that's
all. Do it make 'em seem enny taller ter say they air six thousand or
seben thousand feet? Man ain't used ter medjurin' by the thousand
feet. When he gits ter the ground he goes by the pole. I dunno how
high nor how long a thousand feet air. The gover'mint jes' want ter
spend a leetle money, I reckon. It 'pears toler'ble weak-kneed in its
mind, wunst in a while. But ef it wants ter fool money away, it's
mighty well able ter afford sech. It hev got a power o' ways a-comin'
at money,--we all know that, we all know that."
He said this with a gloomy inflection and a downward look that might
have implied a liability for taxes beyond his willingness to pay. But,
barring the assessment on a small holding of mountain land, Constant
Hite seemed in case to contribute naught to his country's exchequer.
"It needs all it can get, now," replied the stranger casually, but
doubtless from a sophisticated knowledge, as behooved a reader of the
journals of the day, of the condition of the treasury.
He could not account for the quick glance of alarm and enmity which
the mountaineer cast upon him. It roused in him a certain constraint
which he had not experienced earlier in their chance association. It
caused him to remember that this was a lonely way and a wild country.
He was an alien to the temper and sentiment of the people. He felt
suddenly that sense of distance in mind and spirit which is the true
isolation of the foreigner, and which even an identity of tongue and
kindred cannot annul. Looking keenly into the mountaineer's
half-averted, angry, excited face, he could not for his life discern
how its expression might comport with the tenor of the casual
conversation which had elicited it. He did not even dimly surmise that
his allusion to the finances of the government could be construed as a
justification of the whiskey tax, generally esteemed in the mountains
a measure of tyrannous oppression; that from his supposititious
advocacy of it he had laid himself liable to the suspicion of being
himself of the revenue force,--his mission here to spy out
moonshiners; that his companion's mind was even now dwelling anew, and
with a rueful difference, on that masterly drawing of himself in the
stranger's sketch-book.
"But what do that prove, though?" Hite thought, a certain hope
springing up with the joy of the very recollection of the simulacrum
of the brilliant rural coxcomb adorning the page. "Jes' that me is
_Me_. All he kin say 'bout me air that hyar I be goin' home from
huntin' ter kerry my game. _That_ ain't agin the law, surely."
The "revenuers," he argued, too, never rode alone, as did this man,
and spies and informers were generally of the vicinage. The stranger
was specially well mounted, and as his puzzled cogitation over the
significant silence that had supervened between them became so marked
as to strike Hite's attention, the mountaineer sought to nullify it by
an allusion to the horse. "That feller puts down his feet like a
kitten," he said admiringly. "I never seen nuthin' ez wears shoes so
supple. Shows speed, I s'pose? Built fur it."
"Makes pretty fair time," responded the stranger without enthusiasm.
The doubt, perplexity, and even suspicion which his companion's manner
had evoked were not yet dissipated, and the allusion to the horse, and
the glow of covetous admiration in Hite's face as his eyes dwelt upon
the finely fashioned creature so deftly moving along, brought suddenly
to his mind sundry exploits of a gang of horse-thieves about these
coves and mountains, detailed in recent newspapers. These rumors had
been esteemed by urban communities in general as merely sensational,
and had attracted scant attention. Now, with their recurrence to his
recollection, their verisimilitude was urged upon him. The horse he
rode was a valuable animal, and moreover, here, ten or twenty miles
from a habitation, would prove a shrewd loss indeed. Nevertheless, it
was impossible to shake off or evade his companion; the wilderness,
with its jungle of dense rhododendron undergrowth on either side of
the path, was impenetrable. There was no alternative practicable. He
could only go on and hope for the best.
A second glance at the mountaineer's honest face served in some sort
as reassurance as to the probity of his character. Gradually a vivid
interest in the environment, which had earlier amazed and amused
Constant Hite, began to be renewed. The stranger looked about to
identify the growths of the forest with a keen, fresh enthusiasm, as
if he were meeting old friends. Once, with a sudden flush and an
intent eye, he flung the reins to the man whom he had half suspected
of being a horse-thief ten minutes before, to hastily dismount and
uproot a tiny wayside weed, which he breathlessly and triumphantly
explained to the wondering mountaineer was a rare plant which he had
never seen; he carefully bestowed it between the leaves of his
sketch-book before he resumed the saddle, and Hite was moved to ask,
"How d' ye know its durned comical name, ef ye never seen it afore? By
Gosh! it's got a name longer 'n its tap-root!"
The town man only laughed a trifle at this commentary upon the
botanical Latin nomenclature, and once more he was leaning from his
saddle, peering down the aisles of the forest with a smiling,
expectant interest, as if they held for him some enchantment of which
duller mortals have no ken. A brown geode, picked up in the channel of
a summer-dried stream, showed an interior of sparkling quartz crystal,
when a blow had shattered it, which Hite had never suspected, often as
he had seen the rugged spherical stones lying along the banks. All the
rocks had a thought for the stranger, close to his heart and quick on
his tongue, and as Hite, half skeptical, half beguiled, listened, his
suspicion of the man as a "revenuer" began to fade.
"The revenuers ain't up ter no sech l'arnin' ez this," he said to
himself, with a vicarious pride. "The man, though he never war in the
mountings afore, knows ez much about 'em ez ef he hed bodaciously
built 'em. Fairly smelt that thar cave over t' other side the ridge
jes' now, I reckon; else how'd he know 't war thar?"
A certain hollow reverberation beneath the horse's hoofs had caught
his companion's quick ear. "Have you ever been in this cave
hereabout?" he had asked, to Hite's delighted amazement at this
brilliant feat of mental jugglery, as it seemed to him.
Even the ground, when the repetitious woods held no new revelation of
tree or flower, or hazy, flickering insect dandering through the
yellow sunshine and the olive-tinted shadow and the vivid green
foliage, the very ground had a word for him.
"This formation here," he said, leaning from his saddle to watch the
path slipping along beneath his horse's hoofs, like the unwinding of
coils of brown ribbon, "is like that witch-face <DW72> that we saw
awhile ago. It seems to occur at long intervals in patches. You see
down that declivity how little grows, how barren."
The break in the density of the woods served to show the mountains,
blue and purple and bronze, against the horizon; an argosy of white
clouds under full sail; the Cove, shadowy, slumberous, so deep down
below; and the oak leaves above their heads, all dark and sharply
dentated against the blue.
Hite had suddenly drawn in his horse. An eager light was in his eye, a
new idea in his mind. He felt himself on the verge of imminent
discovery.
"Now," said he, lowering his voice mysteriously, and laying his hand
on the bridle of the other's horse,--and so far had the allurements of
science outstripped merely mundane considerations that the stranger's
recent doubts and anxieties touching his animal were altogether
forgotten, and he was conscious only of a responsive expectant
interest,--"air thar ennything in that thar 'formation,' ez ye calls
it ez could gin out fire?"
"No, certainly not," said the man of science, surprised, and marking
the eager, insistent look in Hite's eyes. Both horses were at a
standstill now. A jay-bird clanged out its wild woodsy cry from the
dense shadows of a fern-brake far in the woods on the right, and they
heard the muffled trickling of water, falling on mossy stones hard by,
from a spring so slight as to be only a silver thread. The trees far
below waved in the wind, and a faint dryadic sibilant singing sounded
a measure or so, and grew fainter in the lulling of the breeze, and
sunk to silence.
"Ennyhow," persisted Hite, "won't sech yearth gin out light
somehows,--in some conditions sech ez ye talk 'bout?" he added
vaguely.
"Spontaneously? Certainly not," the stranger replied, preserving his
erect pose of inquiring and expectant attention.
"Why, then the mounting's 'witched sure enough,--that's all," said
Hite desperately. He cast off his hold on the stranger's horse, caught
up his reins anew, and made ready to fare onward forthwith.
"Does fire ever show there?" demanded his companion wonderingly.
"It's a plumb meracle, it's a plumb mystery," declared Constant Hite,
as they went abreast into the dense shadow of the closing woods. "I
asked ye this 'kase ez ye 'peared ter sense so much in rocks, an'
weeds, an' birds, an' sile, what ain't revealed ter the mortal eye in
gineral, ye mought be able ter gin some nateral reason fur that thar
sile up thar round the old witch-face ter show fire or sech. But it's
beyond yer knowin' or the knowin' o' enny mortal, I reckon."
"How does the fire show?" persisted the man of science, with keen and
attentive interest. "And who has seen it?"
"Stranger," said Hite, lowering his voice, "I hev viewed it, myself.
But fust it war viewed by the Hanways,--them ez lives in that house on
the spur what prongs out o' the range nigh opposite the <DW72> o' the
Witch-Face. One dark night,--thar war no moon, but thar warn't no
storm, jes' a dull clouded black sky, ez late August weather will show
whenst it be heavy an' sultry,--all of a suddenty, ez the Hanway
fambly war settin' on the porch toler'ble late in the night, the air
bein' close in the house, the darter, Narcissa by name, she calls out,
'Look! look! I see the witch-face!' An' they all start up an' stare
over acrost the deep black gorge. An' thar, ez true ez life, war the
witch-face glimmerin' in the midst o' the black night, and agrinnin'
at 'em an' a-mockin' at 'em, an' lighted up ez ef by fire."
"And did no one discover the origin of the fire?" asked the stranger.
"Thar war no fire!" Constant Hite paused impressively. Then he went on
impulsively, full of his subject: "Ben Hanway kem over ter the
still-house arter me, an' tergether we went ter examinate. But the
bresh is powerful thick, an' the way is long, an' though we seen a
flicker wunst or twict ez we-uns pushed through the deep woods, 't war
daybreak 'fore we got thar, an' nare sign nor smell o' fire in all the
woods could we find; nare scorch nor singe on the ground, not even a
burnt stick or chunk ter tell the tale; everythin' ez airish an' cool
an' jewy an' sweet ter the scent ez a summer mornin' is apt ter be."
"How often has this phenomenon occurred?" said the stranger coolly,
but with a downcast, thoughtful eye and a pursed-up lip, as if he were
less surprised than cogitating.
"Twict only, fur we hev kep' an eye on the old witch, Ben an' me. Ben
wants a road opened out up hyar, stiddier jes' this herder's trail
through the woods. Ben dunno how it mought strike folks ef they war
ter know ez the witch-face hed been gin over ter sech cur'ous ways
all of a suddenty. They mought take it fur a sign agin the road, sech
ez b'lieves in the witch-face givin' bad luck." After a pause, "Then
_I_ viewed it wunst,--wunst in the dead o' the night. I war goin' home
from the still, an' I happened ter look up, an' I seen the
witch-face,--the light jes' | 1,894.749601 |
2023-11-16 18:48:38.9270020 | 7,436 | 31 | OF HOLY SCRIPTURE***
Transcribed from the 1901 Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
Addresses on the Revised
Version of Holy
Scripture.
BY
C. J. ELLICOTT, D.D.,
BISHOP OF GLOUCESTER,
AND HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE TRACT COMMITTEE.
LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.; 43 QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.
BRIGHTON: 129 NORTH STREET.
NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.
1901.
PREFATORY NOTE.
The following Addresses form the Charge to the Archdeaconry of
Cirencester at the Visitation held at the close of October in the present
year. The object of the Charge, as the opening words and the tenor of
the whole will abundantly indicate, is seriously to suggest the question,
whether the time has not now arrived for the more general use of the
Revised Version at the lectern in the public service of the Church.
C. J. GLOUCESTER.
_October_, 1901.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ADDRESS I. EARLY HISTORY OF REVISION 5
,, II. LATER HISTORY OF REVISION 17
,, III. HEBREW AND GREEK TEXT 48
,, IV. NATURE OF THE RENDERINGS 81
,, V. PUBLIC USE OF THE VERSION 117
ADDRESS I.
EARLY HISTORY OF REVISION.
As there now seem to be sufficient grounds for thinking that ere long the
Revised Version of Holy Scripture will obtain a wider circulation and
more general use than has hitherto been accorded to it, it seems
desirable that the whole subject of the Revised Version, and its use in
the public services of the Church, should at last be brought formally
before the clergy and laity, not only of this province, but of the whole
English Church.
Twenty years have passed away since the appearance of the Revised Version
of the New Testament, and the presentation of it by the writer of these
pages to the Convocation of Canterbury on May 17, 1881. Just four more
years afterwards, viz. on April 30, 1885, the Revised Version of the Old
Testament was laid before the same venerable body by the then Bishop of
Winchester (Bp. Harold Browne), and, similarly to the Revised Version of
the New Testament, was published simultaneously in this country and
America. It was followed, after a somewhat long interval, by the Revised
Version of the Apocrypha, which was laid before Convocation by the writer
of these pages on February 12, 1896.
The revision of the Authorised Version has thus been in the hands of the
English-speaking reader sixteen years, in the case of the Canonical
Scriptures, and five years in the case of the Apocrypha--periods of time
that can hardly be considered insufficient for deciding generally,
whether, and to what extent, the Revised Version should be used in the
public services of the Church.
I have thus thought it well, especially after the unanimous resolution of
the Upper House of the Convocation of Canterbury, three years ago {6},
and the very recent resolution of the House of Laymen, to place before
you the question of the use of the Revised Version in the public services
of the Church, as the ultimate subject of this charge. I repeat, as the
ultimate subject, for no sound opinion on the public use of this version
can possibly be formed unless some general knowledge be acquired, not
only of the circumstances which paved the way for the revision of the
time-honoured version of 1611, but also of the manner in which the
revision was finally carried out. We cannot properly deal with a
question so momentous as that of introducing a revised version of God's
Holy Word into the services of the Church, without knowing, at least in
outline, the whole history of the version which we are proposing to
introduce. This history then I must now place before you from its very
commencement, so far as memory and a nearly life-long connexion with the
subject enable me to speak.
The true, though remote fountain-head of revision, and, more
particularly, of the revision of the New Testament, must be regarded as
the grammar written by a young academic teacher, George Benedict Winer,
as far back as 1822, bearing the title of a Grammar of the Language of
the New Testament. It was a vigorous protest against the arbitrary, and
indeed monstrous licence of interpretation which prevailed in
commentaries on Holy Scripture of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. It met with at first the fate of all assaults on prevailing
unscientific procedures, but its value and its truth were soon
recognized. The volume passed through several successively improved
editions, until in 1855 the sixth edition was reached, and issued with a
new and interesting preface by the then distinguished and veteran writer.
This edition formed the basis of the admirable and admirably supplemented
translation of my lamented and highly esteemed friend Dr. Moulton, which
was published in 1870, passed through a second edition six years
afterwards, and has, since that time, continued to be a standard grammar,
in an English dress, of the Greek Testament down to this day.
The claim that I have put forward for this remarkable book as the
fountain-head of revision can easily be justified when we call to memory
how very patently the volume, in one or another of its earlier editions,
formed the grammatical basis of the commentaries of De Wette and Meyer,
and, here in England, of the commentary of Alford, and of critical and
grammatical commentaries on some of St. Paul's Epistles with which my own
name was connected. It was to Winer that we were all indebted for that
greater accuracy of interpretation of the Greek Testament which was
recognized and welcomed by readers of the New Testament at the time I
mention, and produced effects which had a considerable share in the
gradual bringing about of important movements that almost naturally
followed.
What came home to a large and increasing number of earnest and
truth-seeking readers of the New Testament was this--that there were
inaccuracies and errors in the current version of the Holy Scriptures,
and especially of the New Testament, which plainly called for
consideration and correction, and further brought home to very many of us
that this could never be brought about except by an authoritative
revision.
This general impression spread somewhat rapidly; and soon after the
middle of the last century it began to take definite shape. The subject
of the revision of the Authorised Version of the New Testament found a
place in the religious and other periodicals of the day {10a}, and as the
time went on was the subject of numerous pamphlets, and was alluded to
even in Convocation {10b} and Parliament {10c}. As yet however there had
been no indication of the sort of revision that was desired by its
numerous advocates, and fears were not unnaturally entertained as to the
form that a revision might ultimately take. It was feared by many that
any authoritative revision might seriously impair the acceptance and
influence of the existing and deeply reverenced version of Holy
Scripture, and, to use language which expressed apprehensions that were
prevailing at the time, might seriously endanger the cause of sound
religion in our Church and in our nation.
There was thus a real danger, unless some forward step was quickly and
prudently taken, that the excitement might gradually evaporate, and the
movement for revision might die out, as has often been the case in regard
of the Prayer Book, into the old and wonted acquiescence of the past.
It was just at this critical time that an honoured and influential
churchman, who was then the popular and successful secretary of the
Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, Rev. Ernest Hawkins,
afterwards Canon of Westminster, came forward and persuaded a few of us,
who had the happiness of being his friends, to combine and publish a
version of one of the books of the New Testament which might practically
demonstrate to friends and to opponents what sort of a revision seemed
desirable under existing circumstances. After it had been completed we
described it "as a _tentamen_, a careful endeavour, claiming no finality,
inviting, rather than desiring to exclude, other attempts of the same
kind, calling the attention of the Church to the many and anxious
questions involved in rendering the Holy Scriptures into the vernacular
language, and offering some help towards the settlement of those
questions {12}."
The portion of Scripture selected was the Gospel according to St. John.
Those who undertook the revision were five in number:--Dr. Barrow, the
then Principal of St. Edmund's Hall, Oxford; Dr. Moberly, afterwards
Bishop of Salisbury; Rev. Henry Alford, afterwards Dean of Canterbury;
Rev. W. G. Humphry, Vicar of St. Martin's in the Fields; and lastly, the
writer of this charge. Mr. Ernest Hawkins, busy as he was, acted to a
great extent as our secretary, superintended arrangements, and encouraged
and assisted us in every possible manner. Our place of meeting was the
library of our hospitable colleague Mr. Humphry. We worked in the
greatest possible harmony, and happily and hopefully concluded our
Revision of the Authorised Version of the Gospel of St. John in the month
of March, 1857.
Our labours were introduced by a wise and attractive preface, written
mainly by Dr. Moberly, in the lucid, reverent, and dignified language
that marked everything that came from the pen of the late Bishop of
Salisbury.
The effect produced by this _tentamen_ was indisputably great. The work
itself was of course widely criticized, but for the most part favourably
{13}. The principles laid down in the preface were generally considered
reasonable, and the possibilities of an authoritative revision distinctly
increased. The work in fact became a kind of object lesson.
It showed plainly that there _were_ errors in the Authorised Version that
needed correction. It further showed that their removal and the
introduction of improvements in regard of accuracy did not involve,
either in quantity or quality, the changes that were generally
apprehended. And lastly, it showed in its results that _scholars_ of
different habits of thought could combine in the execution of such a work
without friction or difficulty.
In regard of the Greek text but little change was introduced. The basis
of our translation was the third edition of Stephens, from which we only
departed when the amount of external evidence in favour of a different
reading was plainly overwhelming. As we ourselves state in the preface,
"our object was to revise a version, not to frame a text." We should
have obscured this one purpose if we had entered into textual criticism.
Such was the tentative version which prepared the way for authoritative
revision.
More need not be said on this early effort. The version of the Gospel of
St. John passed through three editions. The Epistles to the Romans and
Corinthians appeared in 1858, and the first three of the remaining
Epistles (Galatians, Ephesians, and Philippians) in 1861. The third
edition of the Revision of the Authorised Version of St. John was issued
in 1863, with a preface in which the general estimate of the revision was
discussed, and the probability indicated of some authoritative procedure
in reference to the whole question. As our little band had now been
reduced to four, and its general aim and object had been realized, we did
not deem it necessary to proceed with a work which had certainly helped
to remove most of the serious objections to authoritative revision. Our
efforts were helped by many treatises on the subject which were then
appearing from time to time, and, to a considerable extent, by the
important work of Professor, afterwards Archbishop, Trench, entitled "On
the Authorised Version of the New Testament in connexion with some recent
proposals for its revision." This appeared in 1858. After the close of
our tentative revision in 1863, the active friends (as they may be
termed) of the movement did but little except, from time to time, confer
with one another on the now yearly improving prospects of authoritative
revision. In 1869 Dean Alford published a small handy revised version of
the whole of the Greek Testament, and, a short time afterwards, I
published a small volume on the "Revision of the English Version," in
which I sought to show how large an amount of the fresh and vigorous
translation of Tyndale was present in the Authorised Version, and how
little of this would ever be likely to disappear in any authoritatively
revised version of the future. Some estimate also was made of the amount
of changes likely to be introduced in a sample portion of the Gospels. A
few months later, a very valuable volume ("On a Fresh Revision of the New
Testament") was published by Professor, afterwards Bishop, Lightfoot,
which appeared most seasonably, just as the long-looked-for hope of a
revision of the Authorised Version of God's Holy Word was about to be
realized.
All now was ready for a definite and authoritative commencement. Of
this, and of the later history of Revision, a brief account will be given
in the succeeding Address.
ADDRESS II.
LATER HISTORY OF REVISION.
We are now arrived at the time when what was simple tentative and
preparatory passed into definite and authoritative realization.
The initial step was taken on February 10, 1870, in the Upper House of
the Convocation of Canterbury. The Bishop of Oxford, seconded by the
Bishop of Gloucester, proposed the subjoined resolution, which it may be
desirable to give in the exact words in which it was presented to the
House, as indicating the caution with which it was framed, and also the
indirectly expressed hope (unfortunately not realized) of the concurrence
of the Northern Convocation. The resolution was as follows:
"That a committee of both Houses be appointed, with power to confer
with any committee that may be appointed by the Convocation of the
Northern Province, to report upon the desirableness of a revision of
the Authorised Version of the New Testament, whether by marginal
notes or otherwise, in those passages where plain and clear errors,
whether in the Hebrew or Greek text originally adopted by the
translators, or in the translations made from the same, shall on due
investigation be found to exist."
In the course of the debate that followed the resolution was amended by
the insertion of the words "Old and," so as to include both Testaments,
and, so amended, was unanimously accepted by the Upper House, and at once
sent down to the Lower House. After debate it was accepted by them, and,
having been thus accepted by both Houses, formed the basis of all the
arrangements, rules, and regulations which speedily followed.
Into all of these it is not necessary for me to enter except so far as
plainly to demonstrate that the Convocation of Canterbury, on thus
undertaking one of the greatest works ever attempted by Convocation
during its long and eventful history, followed every course, adopted
every expedient, and carefully took every precaution to bring the great
work it was preparing to undertake to a worthy and a successful issue.
It may be well, then, here briefly to notice, that in accordance with the
primary resolution which I have specified, a committee was appointed of
eight members of the Upper House, and, in accordance with the regular
rule, sixteen members of the Lower House, with power, as specified, to
confer with the Convocation of York. The members of the Upper House were
as follows: the Bishops of Winchester (Wilberforce), St. Davids
(Thirlwall), Llandaff (Ollivant), Salisbury (Moberly), Ely (Harold
Browne, afterwards of Winchester), Lincoln (Wordsworth; who soon after
withdrew), Bath and Wells (Lord Arthur Hervey), and myself.
The members of the Lower House were the Prolocutor (Dr. Bickersteth, Dean
of Lichfield), the Deans of Canterbury (Alford), Westminster (Stanley),
and Lincoln (Jeremie); the Archdeacons of Bedford (Rose), Exeter
(Freeman), and Rochester (Grant); Chancellor Massingberd; Canons
Blakesley, How, Selwyn, Swainson, Woodgate; Dr. Jebb, Dr. Kay, and Mr. De
Winton.
Before, however, this committee reported, at the next meeting of
Convocation in May, and on May 3 and May 5, the following five
resolutions, which have the whole authority of Convocation behind them,
were accepted unanimously by the Upper House, and by large majorities in
the Lower House:
"1. That it is desirable that a revision of the Authorised Version
of the Holy Scriptures be undertaken.
2. That the revision be so conducted as to comprise both marginal
renderings and such emendations as it may be found necessary to
insert in the text of the Authorised Version.
3. That in the above resolutions we do not contemplate any new
translation of the Bible, nor any alteration of the language, except
where, in the judgement of the most competent scholars, such change
is necessary.
4. That in such necessary changes, the style of the language
employed in the existing version be closely followed.
5. That it is desirable that Convocation should nominate a body of
its own members to undertake the work of revision, who shall be at
liberty to invite the co-operation of any eminent for scholarship, to
whatever nation or religious body they may belong."
These are the fundamental rules of Convocation, as formally expressed by
the Upper and Lower Houses of this venerable body. The second and third
rules deserve our especial attention in reference to the amount of the
emendations and alterations which have been introduced during the work of
revision. This amount, it is now constantly said, is not only excessive,
but in distinct contravention of the rules which were laid down by
Convocation. A responsible and deeply respected writer, the late Bishop
of Wakefield, only a few years ago plainly stated in a well-known
periodical {21} that the revisers "largely exceeded their instructions,
and did not adhere to the principles they were commissioned to follow."
This is a very grave charge, but can it be substantiated? The second and
third rules, taken together, refer change to consciously felt necessity
on the part of "the most competent scholars," and these last-mentioned
must surely be understood to be those who were deliberately chosen for
the work. In the subsequently adopted rule of the committee of
Convocation the criterion of this consciously felt necessity was to be
faithfulness to the original. All then that can justly be said in
reference to the Revisers is this,--not that they exceeded their
instructions (a very serious charge), but that their estimate of what
constituted faithfulness, and involved the necessity of change, was, from
time to time, in the judgement of their critic, mistaken or exaggerated.
Such language however as that used in reference to the changes made by
the Revisers as "unnecessary and uninstructive alterations," and
"irritating trivialities," was a somewhat harsh form of expressing the
judgement arrived at.
But to proceed. On the presentation of the Report it was stated that the
committee had not been able to confer with the Northern Convocation, as
no committee had been appointed by them. It was commonly supposed that
the Northern President (Abp. of York) was favourable to revision, but the
two Houses, who at that time sat together, had taken a very different
view {22}, as our President informed us that he had received a
communication from the Convocation of York to the effect that--"The
Authorised Version of the English Bible is accepted, not only by the
Established Church, but also by the Dissenters and by the whole of the
English-speaking people of the world, as their standard of faith; and
that although blemishes existed in its text such as had, from time to
time, been pointed out, yet they would deplore any recasting of its text.
That Convocation accordingly did not think it necessary to appoint a
committee to co-operate with the committee appointed by the Convocation
of Canterbury, though favourable to the errors being rectified."
This obviously closed the question of co-operation with the Northern
Convocation. We sincerely regretted the decision, as there were many
able and learned men in the York Convocation whose co-operation we should
have heartily welcomed. Delay, however, was now out of the question.
The working out of the scheme therefore had now become the duty of the
Convocation that had adopted, and in part formulated, the proposed
revision.
The course of our proceedings was then as follows:
After the Report of the committee had been accepted by the Upper House,
and communicated to the Lower House, the following resolution was
unanimously adopted by the Upper House (May 3, 1870), and in due course
sent down to the Lower House:
"That a committee be now appointed to consider and report to
Convocation a scheme of revision on the principles laid down in the
Report now adopted. That the Bishops of Winchester, St. Davids,
Llandaff, Gloucester and Bristol, Ely, Salisbury, Lincoln, Bath and
Wells, be members of the committee. That the committee be empowered
to invite the co-operation of those whom they may judge fit from
their biblical scholarship to aid them in their work."
This resolution was followed by a request from the Archbishop that as
this was a committee of an exceptional character, being in fact an
executive committee, the Lower House would not appoint, as in ordinary
committees, twice the number of the members appointed by the Upper House,
but simply an equal number. This request, though obviously a very
reasonable request under the particular circumstances, was not acceded to
without some debate and even remonstrance. This, however, was overcome
and quieted by the conciliatory good sense and firmness of the
Prolocutor; and, on the following day, the resolution was accepted by the
Lower House, and the Prolocutor (Bickersteth) with the Deans of
Canterbury (Alford) and Westminster (Stanley), the Archdeacon of Bedford
(Rose), Canons Blakesley and Selwyn, Dr. Jebb and Dr. Kay, were appointed
as members of what now may be called the Permanent Committee.
This Committee had to undertake the responsible duty of choosing experts,
and, out of them and their own members, forming two Companies, the one
for the revision of the Authorised Version of the Old Testament, the
other for the revision of the Authorised Version of the New Testament.
Rules had to be drawn up, and a general scheme formed for the carrying
out in detail of the whole of the proposed work. In this work it may be
supposed that considerable difficulty would have been found in the choice
of biblical scholars in addition to those already appointed by
Convocation. This, however, did not prove to be the case. I was at that
time acting as a kind of informal secretary, and by the friendly help of
Dr. Moulton and Dr. Gotch of Bristol had secured the names of
distinguished biblical scholars from the leading Christian bodies in
England and in Scotland from whom choice would naturally have to be made.
When we met together finally to choose, there was thus no lack of
suitable names.
In regard of the many rules that had to be made for the orderly carrying
out of the work I prepared, after careful conference with the Bishop of
Winchester, a draft scheme which, so far as I remember, was in the sequel
substantially adopted by what I have termed the Permanent Committee of
Convocation. When, then, this Committee formally met on May 25, 1870,
the names of those to whom we were empowered to apply were agreed upon,
and invitations at once sent out. The members of the Committee had
already been assigned to their special companies; viz. to the Old
Testament Company, the Bishops of St. Davids, Llandaff, Ely, Lincoln (who
soon after resigned), and Bath and Wells; and from the Lower House,
Archdeacon Rose, Canon Selwyn, Dr. Jebb, and Dr. Kay: to the New
Testament Company, the Bishops of Winchester, Gloucester and Bristol, and
Salisbury; and from the Lower House, the Prolocutor, the Deans of
Canterbury and Westminster, and Canon Blakesley.
Those invited to join the Old Testament were as follows:--Dr. W. L.
Alexander, Professor Chenery, Canon Cook, Professor A. B. Davidson, Dr.
B. Davies, Professor Fairbairn, Rev. F. Field, Dr. Gensburg, Dr. Gotch,
Archdeacon Harrison, Professor Leathes, Professor McGill, Canon Payne
Smith, Professor J. J. S. Perowne, Professor Plumptre, Canon Pusey, Dr.
Wright (British Museum), Mr. W. A. Wright of Cambridge, the active and
valuable secretary of the Company.
Of these Dr. Pusey and Canon Cook declined the invitation.
Those invited to join the New Testament Company were as follows:--Dr.
Angus, Dr. David Brown, the Archbishop of Dublin (Trench), Dr. Eadie,
Rev. F. J. A. Hort, Rev. W. G. Humphry, Canon Kennedy, Archdeacon Lee,
Dr. Lightfoot, Professor Milligan, Professor Moulton, Dr. J. H. Newman,
Professor Newth, Dr. A. Roberts, Rev. G. Vance Smith, Dr. Scott (Balliol
College), Rev. F. H. Scrivener, the Bishop of St. Andrews (Wordsworth),
Dr. Tregelles, Dr. Vaughan, Canon Westcott.
Of these Dr. J. H. Newman declined, and Dr. Tregelles, from feeble health
and preoccupation on his great work, the critical edition of the New
Testament, was unable to attend. It should be here mentioned that soon
after the formation of the company, Rev. John Troutbeck, Minor Canon of
Westminster, afterwards Doctor of Divinity, was appointed by the Company
as their secretary. A more accurate, punctual, and indefatigable
secretary it would have been impossible for us to have selected for the
great and responsible work.
On the same day (May 25, 1870,) the rules for the carrying out of the
revision, which, as I have mentioned, had been drawn up in draft were all
duly considered by the committee and carried, and the way left clear and
open for the commencement of the work. These rules (copies of which will
be found in nearly all the prefaces to the Revised Version hitherto
issued by the Universities) were only the necessary amplifications of the
fundamental rules passed by the two Houses of Convocation which have been
already specified.
The first of these subsidiary rules was as follows:--"To introduce as few
alterations as possible in the text of the Authorised Version
consistently with faithfulness." This rule must be read in connexion
with the first and third fundamental rules and the comments I have
already made on those rules.
The second of the rules of the committee was as follows:--"To limit, as
far as possible, the expression of such alterations to the language of
the Authorised and earlier English versions." This rule was carefully
attended to in its reference to the Authorised Version. I do not however
remember, in the revision of the version of the New Testament, that we
often fell back on the renderings of the earlier English versions. They
were always before us: but, in reference to other versions where there
were differences of rendering, we frequently considered the renderings of
the ancient versions, especially of the Vulgate, Syriac, and Coptic, and
occasionally of the Gothic and Armenian. To these, however, the rule
makes no allusion.
The third rule speaks for itself:--"Each Company to go twice over the
portion to be revised, once provisionally, the second time finally, and
on principles of voting as hereinafter is provided."
The fourth rule refers to the very important subject of the text, and is
an amplification of the last part of the third fundamental rule. The
rule of the committee is as follows:--"That the text to be adopted be
that for which the evidence is decidedly preponderating; and that when
the text so adopted differs from that from which the Authorised Version
was made, the alteration be indicated in the margin." The subject of the
text is continued in the fifth rule, which is as follows:--"To make or
retain no change in the text on the second final revision by the Company
except _two-thirds_ of those present approve of the same, but on the
first revision to decide by simple majorities."
The sixth rule is of importance, but in the New Testament Company (I do
not know how it may have been in the Old Testament Company) was very
rarely acted upon:--"In every case of proposed alteration that may have
given rise to discussion, to defer the voting thereupon till the next
meeting, whensoever the same shall be required by one-third of those
present at the meeting, such intended vote to be announced in the notice
for the next meeting." The only occasion on which I can remember this
rule being called into action was a comparatively unimportant one. At
the close of a long day's work we found ourselves differing on the
renderings of "tomb" or "sepulchre" in one of the narratives of the
Resurrection. This was easily and speedily settled the following
morning.
The seventh rule was as follows:--"To revise the headings of chapters and
pages, paragraphs, italics, and punctuation." This rule was very
carefully attended to except as regards headings of chapters and pages.
These were soon found to involve so much of indirect, if not even of
direct interpretation, that both Companies agreed to leave this portion
of the work to some committee of the two University Presses that they
might afterwards think fit to appoint. Small as the work might seem to
be if only confined to the simple revision of the existing headings, the
time it would have taken up, if undertaken by the Companies, would
certainly have been considerable. I revised, on my own account, the
headings of the chapters in St. Matthew, and was surprised to find how
much time was required to do accurately and consistently what might have
seemed a very easy and inconsiderable work.
The eighth rule was of some importance, though, I think, very rarely
acted upon: "To refer, on the part of each Company, when considered
desirable, to divines, scholars, and literary men, whether at home or
abroad, for their opinions." How far this was acted on by the Old
Testament Company I do not know. In regard of the New Testament Company
the only instance I can remember, when we availed ourselves of the rule,
was in reference to our renderings of portions of the twenty-seventh
chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. In this particular case we sent our
sheets to the Admiralty, and asked the First Sea Lord (whom some of us
knew) kindly to tell us if the expressions we had adopted were nautically
correct. I believe this friendly and competent authority did not find
anything amiss. It has sometimes been said that it would have been
better, especially in reference to the New Testament, if this rule had
been more frequently acted on, and if matters connected with English and
alterations of rhythm had been brought before a few of our more
distinguished literary men. It may be so; though I much doubt whether in
matters of English the Greek would not always have proved the dominant
arbiter. In matters of rhythm it is equally doubtful whether much could
have been effected by appealing to the ears of others. At any rate we
preferred trusting to our own, and adopted, as I shall afterwards
mention, a mode of testing rhythmical cadence that could hardly have been
improved upon.
The concluding rule was one of convenience and common sense: "That the
work of each Company be communicated to the other, as it is completed, in
order that there may be as little deviation from uniformity in language
as possible."
All preliminaries were now settled. The invitations were issued, and,
with the exceptions of Canon Cook, Dr. Pusey, and Dr. Newman, were
readily accepted. Three or four names (Principal Douglas, Professor
Geden, Dr. Weir, and, I think, Mr. Bensley), were shortly added to those
already mentioned as invited to join the Old Testament Company, and, in
less than a month after the meeting of the committee on May 25, both
Companies had entered upon their responsible work. On June 22, 1870,
both Companies, after a celebration of the Holy Communion, previously
announced by Dean Stanley as intended to be administered by him in
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——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Transcribers note:
To improve the reading of the Vol. I, The Index at the end of the Vol. II.
which covers both volumes has been copied to Vol. I. and The Errata has
been corrected.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
OGIER GHISELIN
DE BUSBECQ
VOL. I.
[Illustration: AVGERIVS GISLENVS BVSBEQVIVS.
_Te voce, Augeri, mulcentem Cæsaris aures
Laudauit plausis Aust | 1,895.347061 |
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THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.
_Editor of "The Expositor"_
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III._
PSALM XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown_ 8_vo, cloth, price_ $1.50 _each vol._
FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.
Colossians.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D.
St. Mark.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
Genesis.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
1 Samuel.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
2 Samuel.
By the same Author.
Hebrews.
By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.
SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.
Galatians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Pastoral Epistles.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Isaiah I.-XXXIX.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.
The Book of Revelation.
By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.
1 Corinthians.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
The Epistles of St. John.
By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.
THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.
Judges and Ruth.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Jeremiah.
By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.
Isaiah XL.-LXVI.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.
St. Matthew.
By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.
Exodus.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
St. Luke.
By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.
FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.
Ecclesiastes.
By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.
St. James and St. Jude.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Proverbs.
By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
Leviticus.
By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.
FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.
1 and 2 Thessalonians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
The Book of Job.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Ephesians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.
SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.
1 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Philippians.
By Principal RAINY, D.D.
Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Joshua.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.
The Epistles of St. Peter.
By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.
SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.
2 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Romans.
By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.
The Books of Chronicles.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
2 Corinthians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
Numbers.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.
EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.
Daniel.
By the Ven. Archdeacon F. W. FARRAR.
The Book of Jeremiah.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
Deuteronomy.
By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.
The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Ezekiel.
By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.
The Minor Prophets.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III_
PSALMS XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
CONTENTS
PAGE
PSALM XC. 3
" XCI. 14
" XCII. 26
" XCIII. 33
" XCIV. 38
" XCV. 48
" XCVI. 55
" XCVII. 60
" XCVIII. 68
" XCIX. 71
" C. 78
" CI. 81
" CII. 87
" CIII. 101
" CIV. 111
" CV. 124
" CVI. 137
" CVII. 155
" CVIII. 169
" CIX. 172
" CX. 183
" CXI. 193
" CXII. 198
" CXIII. 205
" CXIV. 210
" CXV. 214
" CXVI. 221
" CXVII. 229
" CXVIII. 231
" CXIX. 244
" CXX. 292
" CXXI. 297
" CXXII. 303
" CXXIII. 307
" CXXIV. 310
" CXXV. 313
" CXXVI. 318
" CXXVII. 323
" CXXVIII. 327
" CXXIX. 331
" CXXX. 335
" CXXXI. 341
" CXXXII. 344
" CXXXIII. 355
" CXXXIV. 359
" CXXXV. 361
" CXXXVI. 366
" CXXXVII. 370
" CXXXVIII. 376
" CXXXIX. 382
" CXL. 393
" CXLI. 398
" CXLII. 405
" CXLIII. 410
" CXLIV. 418
" CXLV. 424
" CXLVI. 434
" CXLVII. 440
" CXLVIII. 448
" CXLIX. 454
" CL. 458
BOOK IV.
_PSALMS XC.-CVI._
PSALM XC.
1 Lord, a dwelling-place hast Thou been for us
In generation after generation.
2 Before the mountains were born,
Or Thou gavest birth to the earth and the world,
Even from everlasting, Thou art God.
3 Thou turnest frail man back to dust,
And sayest, "Return, ye sons of man."
4 For a thousand years in Thine eyes are as yesterday when it was
passing,
And a watch in the night.
5 Thou dost flood them away, a sleep do they become,
In the morning they are like grass [which] springs afresh.
6 In the morning it blooms and springs afresh,
By evening it is cut down and withers.
7 For we are wasted away in Thine anger,
And by Thy wrath have we been panic-struck.
8 Thou hast set our iniquities before Thee,
Our secret [sins] in the radiance of Thy face.
9 For all our days have vanished in Thy wrath,
We have spent our years as a murmur.
10 The days of our years--in them are seventy years,
Or if [we are] in strength, eighty years,
And their pride is [but] trouble and vanity,
For it is passed swiftly, and we fly away.
11 Who knows the power of Thine anger,
And of Thy wrath according to the [due] fear of Thee?
12 To number our days--thus teach us,
That we may win ourselves a heart of wisdom.
13 Return, Jehovah; how long?
And have compassion upon Thy servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning [with] Thy loving-kindness,
And we shall ring out joyful cries and be glad all our days.
15 Gladden us according to the days [when] Thou hast afflicted us,
The years [when] we have seen adversity.
16 To Thy servants let Thy working be manifested,
And Thy majesty upon their children.
17 And let the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us,
And the work of our hands establish upon us,
Yea, the work of our hands establish it.
The sad and stately music of this great psalm befits the dirge of a
world. How artificial and poor, beside its restrained emotion and
majestic simplicity, do even the most deeply felt strains of other
poets on the same themes sound! It preaches man's mortality in immortal
words. In its awestruck yet trustful gaze on God's eternal being, in
its lofty sadness, in its archaic directness, in its grand images so
clearly cut and so briefly expressed, in its emphatic recognition of
sin as the occasion of death, and in its clinging to the eternal God
who can fill fleeting days with ringing gladness, the psalm utters once
for all the deepest thoughts of devout men. Like the God whom it hymns,
it has been "for generation after generation" an asylum.
The question of its authorship has a literary interest, but little
more. The arguments against the Mosaic authorship, apart from
those derived from the as yet unsettled questions in regard to the
Pentateuch, are weak. The favourite one, adduced by Cheyne after
Hupfeld and | 1,895.645531 |
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TIVERTON TALES
BY
ALICE BROWN
1899
CONTENTS
DOORYARDS
A MARCH WIND
THE MORTUARY CHEST
HORN-O'-THE-MOON
A STOLEN FESTIVAL
A LAST ASSEMBLING
THE WAY OF PEACE
THE EXPERIENCE OF HANNAH PRIME
HONEY AND MYRRH
A SECOND MARRIAGE
THE FLAT-IRON LOT
THE END OF ALL LIVING
DOORYARDS
Tiverton has breezy, upland roads, and damp, sweet valleys; but should
you tarry there a summer long, you might find it wasteful to take many
excursions abroad. For, having once received the freedom of family
living, you will own yourself disinclined to get beyond dooryards,
those outer courts of domesticity. Homely joys spill over into them,
and, when children are afoot, surge and riot there. In them do the
common occupations of life find niche and channel. While bright weather
holds, we wash out of doors on a Monday morning, the wash-bench in the
solid block of shadow thrown by the house. We churn there, also, at the
hour when Sweet-Breath, the cow, goes afield, modestly unconscious of
her own sovereignty over the time. There are all the varying fortunes
of butter-making recorded. Sometimes it comes merrily to the tune of
"Come, butter, come!
Peter stands a-waiting at the gate,
Waiting for his butter-cake.
Come, butter, come!"
chanted in time with the dasher; again it doth willfully refuse, and
then, lest it be too cool, we contribute a dash of hot water, or too
hot, and we lend it a dash of cold. Or we toss in a magical handful of
salt, to encourage it. Possibly, if we be not the thriftiest of
householders, we feed the hens here in the yard, and then "shoo" them
away, when they would fain take profligate dust-baths under the
syringa, leaving unsightly hollows. But however, and with what
complexion, our dooryards may face the later year, they begin it with
purification. Here are they an unfailing index of the severer virtues;
for, in Tiverton, there is no housewife who, in her spring cleaning,
omits to set in order this outer pale of the temple. Long before the
merry months are well under way, or the cows go kicking up their heels
to pasture, or plants are taken from the south window and clapped into
chilly ground, orderly passions begin to riot within us, and we "clear
up" our yards. We gather stray chips, and pieces of bone brought in by
the scavenger dog, who sits now with his tail tucked under him,
oblivious of such vagrom ways. We rake the grass, and then, gilding
refined gold, we sweep it. There is a tradition that Miss Lois May once
went to the length of trimming her grass about the doorstone and
clothes-pole with embroidery scissors; but that was a too-hasty
encomium bestowed by a widower whom she rejected next week, and who
qualified his statement by saying they were pruning-shears.
After this preliminary skirmishing arises much anxious inspection of
ancient shrubs and the faithful among old-fashioned plants, to see
whether they have "stood the winter." The fresh, brown "piny" heads are
brooded over with a motherly care; wormwood roots are loosened, and the
horse-radish plant is given a thrifty touch. There is more than the
delight of occupation in thus stirring the wheels of the year. We are
Nature's poor handmaidens, and our labor gives us joy.
But sweet as these homespun spots can make themselves, in their mixture
of thrift and prodigality, they are dearer than ever at the points
where they register family traits, and so touch the humanity of us all.
Here is imprinted the story of the man who owns the farm, that of the
father who inherited it, and; the grandfather who reclaimed it from
waste; here have they and their womenkind set the foot of daily living
and traced indelible paths | 1,895.701113 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 93, OCTOBER 15, 1887.
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand._
'ARRY ON OCHRE.
[Illustration]
DEAR CHARLIE,
Hoctober, my 'arty, and 'ARRY, wus luck!'s back in town,
Where it's all gitting messy and misty; the boollyvard trees is all
brown,
Them as ain't gone as yaller as mustard. I _do_ 'ate the Autumn,
dear boy,
When a feller 'as spent his last quid, and there's nothink to do or
enjoy.
Cut it spicy, old man, by the briny, I did, and no error. That Loo
Was a rattler to keep up the pace whilst a bloke 'ad a brown left to
blue.
Cleared me out a rare bat, I can tell yer; no Savings Bank lay about
_her_.
Yah!--Women is precious like cats, ony jest while you strokes 'em they
purr.
Lor', to think wot a butterfly beauty I was when I started, old pal!
Natty cane, and a weed like a hoop-stick, and now!--oh, well, jigger
that gal!
Cut me slap in the Strand ony yesterday, CHARLIE, so 'elp me,
she did.
Well, of sech a false baggage as Loo is, yours truly is jolly well rid.
Wot a thing this yer Ochre is, CHARLIE! The yaller god rules
us all round.
Parsons patter of poverty's pleasures! I tell yer they ain't to be
found.
If you 'aven't the ha'pence you're nothink; bang out of it, slap up
a tree.
That's a moral, as every man as is not a mere mug must agree.
They talks of "the Masses and Classes,"--old Collars is red on that
rot!--
There is ony two classes, old pal, them as 'as it and them as 'as not.
The Ochre, I mean, mate, the spondulicks, call the dashed stuff wot
you please.
It's the Lucre as makes Life worth livin', without it things ain't
wuth a sneeze.
O CHARLIE, I wish I'd got millions! I _ought_ to be rich, and no kid.
I feel I wos made for it, CHARLIE. To watch every bloomin' arf quid,
Like a pup at a rat 'ole is beastly. Some stingy 'uns _carn't_ go the
pace,
But I know I should turn out a flyer, and so ought to be in the race.
Oh, it ain't every juggins, I tell yer, who's built for the bullion,
dear boy!
You must know the snide game that's called "Grab," you must know what
it means to "enjoy."
Neither one without tother's much use, but the true Ochre Kings are
the chaps
As can squeeze millions out of "the Masses." They win in life's game,
mate, by laps.
That's jest wot "the Masses" is made for; _them asses_ I calls 'em,
old man,
Same letters, same thing, dontcher know. Yus, Socierty's built on this
plan.
Many littles makes lots, that's the maxim; and he is the snide 'un,
no doubt,
Who can squeeze his lot out of the littles of half the poor mugs
who're about.
Twig, CHARLIE, old twister? Yer sweaters, yer Giant
Purviders, and such
Is all on that lay. Many buds, and one big bloated Bee, that's the
touch!
Wy, if bees was as many as blossoms, or blossoms as few as the bees,
Him as nicked a whole hive to hisself would find dashed little honey
to squeeze.
The honey--or money--wants _massing_, that's jest wot the Masses
can do--
And the "Classes," my boy, are the picked 'uns, as know 'ow to put on
the screw.
That's the doctrine of "DANNEL the Dosser," a broken-down
toff, as I know;
And if DANNEL ain't right, I'm a Dutchman. _That's_ ow
yer big money-piles grow.
Rum party the Dosser is, CHARLIE--I can't make him out, mate,
not quite.
Laps beer, when he can, like a bricky, though brandy's his mark. His
delight
Is to patter to me about Swelldom, Socierty, wot he calls gammon--
That's Ochre, dear boy, dontcher know. I suppose arf his gab is sheer
mammon.
He eyes me in sech a rum style, CHARLIE, sort of arf smile and
arf sneer,
Though he owns I'm a Dasher right down to the ground--when he's well
on the beer.
A pot and a pipe always dror him, and I'm always game to stand Sam,
For his patter's A1, and I pump 'im,--a lay as he stands like a lamb.
"You _ought_ to be rich, my young Cloten!" sez he. It's a part of
his game
To call me nicknames out of _Shakspeare_, and so on; but "Wot's in
a name?"
"My brain and your 'eart now together, would make a rare Dives," says
"Dosser."
I don't always know wot he means, and I doubt if _he_ does, poor
old josser!
'Owsomever, the Ochre's my toppic. Some jugginses talk about "Thrift,"
Penny Savings' Bank bosh, and that stuff. Wouldn't 'ave their dashed
brains at a gift.
_Save_, hay,--out of two quid a week! No, it doesn't fetch me in
that shape.
You must _swag_ in this world to get rich; if yer carn't, it's no
bottles to _scrape_.
The Turf or the Stock Exchange, CHARLIE, would suit me, I'd trust
to my luck,
And my leariness, _not_ to get plucked like that silly young
Ailesbury duck,
Wot's life without sport? Wy, like billiards without e'er a bet or a
fluke,
And that's wy I'd be a Swell Bookie--that is if I carn't be a Dook.
In fact if I 'ad my own chice, I should jest like to _double the
part_,
As I fancy a few on 'em do. Oh, Jemimer! jest give me a start.
With a 'undered or two, and the Ochre I'd pile 'twould take waggons to
carry.
The world loses larks, mate, you bet, when among the stone-brokers is
'ARRY.
* * * * *
TURNING TO THE LEFT.--At a recent meeting of the Court of Common Council
(in the teeth of a strong opposition of some of the members of the
Board) it was decided to exclude strangers and the Press during a part
of the proceedings. The matter under secret consideration, it is said,
was the appointment by the Recorder of the Assistant-Judge of the
Mayor's Court. It is rumoured that, acting on the opinion of Mr. R. S.
WRIGHT, (with him the Attorney-General) the Court decided not to confirm
that appointment. But why all this mystery? What had the Councillors to
fear? Obviously, they could be doing nothing wrong if they were
sustained by WRIGHT!
* * * * *
[Illustration: JUMPING AT CONCLUSIONS.
"WHO'S THAT _TINY_ LITTLE GENTLEMAN TALKING TO MAMMA, TOM?"
"MR. SCRIBBINS, THE WRITING MASTER AT OUR SCHOOL."
"AH! I SUPPOSE HE TEACHES _SHORT-HAND!_"]
* * * * *
A LORD MAYOR'S DAY IN DUBLIN.
(_A Lay of the Criminal Law Amendment Act._)
"Shure it's BALFOUR would be troublin', meeself Lord Mayor o' Dublin,
But every charge he makes I'll meet in fashion you'll call nate;
For I'll face the accusation that he brings against the _Nation_,
Attired from head to foot, my boys, in all my robes of State.
"So on with hat and gown, boys, for we're goin' through the town, boys,
And you must help your City's Chief to make a real display,"
Thus TIM SULLIVAN he cried out, as straightway he did ride out,
In civic pomp to near the Court on that eventful day.
And Town Councillors in numbers, woke from their normal slumbers,
And, donning gowns and tippets, rose and put on all they knew,
And with approbation glancing at the City Marshal, prancing
On a hired hack, they followed him, a rather motley crew.
At length the Court they entered, when attention soon was centred,
On a squabble that had risen about the Sword and Mace:
For some swore they were not able to lie upon the table,
Though the Lord Mayor hotly argued it was their proper place.
So when 'twas shown quite plainly, after pushing for it vainly,
Beyond the "bar" the civic baubles had to be conveyed,
With vow that none should floor them, their guardians upstairs bore
them,
And in the front seats flaunted them conspicuously displayed.
Then up stood Mr. CARSON, quite as quiet as a parson,
And read out his indictment with a settled, stone-like face,
Till TIM HEALY, quick replying, rose then and there, denying
That the Counsel for the Crown had a shadow of a case.
And then as legal brother argued each against the other,
The while TIM SULLIVAN reclined in all his civic blaze,
O'DONEL he looked vexed there, and he seemed somewhat perplexed there,
As if the matter struck him as involved in doubtful haze.
But after some reflection, with a _soupcon_ of dejection,
He announced that he had settled (though, doubtless, mid some fears
He might stir up BALFOUR'S fury), there was no case for a jury.
His judgment was received in Court with hearty ringing cheers.
Then, wild with exultation, up rose Mayor and Corporation,
And, greeted by the crowd without, were cheered along the way,
Til the Mansion House on nearing, the mob cried,'midst their cheering,
A speech they wanted, and would hear what he had got to say.
Then TIM SULLIVAN he spouted;--the mob they surged and shouted,
And the upshot of the speech was this, that if, through legal flaws,
By any chance your way you see, to battle with the powers that be,
You're hero both and martyr if you break the Saxon's laws.
So it's no use, BALFOUR, troublin' the Civic powers of Dublin;
For if you do, you know that they will meet you just half way;
And if fresh accusation you but bring against the _Nation_,
The City shure will answer with another Lord Mayor's Day!
* * * * *
THE REAL GRIEVANCE OFFICE.
(_Before_ Mr. Commissioner PUNCH.)
_An Official of Epping Forest introduced._
_The Commissioner._ Now, Sir, what can I do for you?
_Witness._ You can confer a favour upon me, Sir, by correcting some
sensational letters and paragraphs on "Deer-Maiming in Epping Forest,"
that have lately appeared in the newspapers.
_The Commissioner._ Always pleased to oblige the Corporation. Well, what
is it?
_Witness._ I wish to say, Sir, that deer-shooting in Epping Forest, so
far as its guardians are concerned, is not a sport, but a difficult and
disagreeable duty?
_The Commissioner._ A duty?
_Witness._ Yes, Sir, a duty; because, in fulfilment of an agreement with
the late Lords of the Forest Manors (to whom we have to supply annually
a certain amount of venison), and in justice to the neighbouring
farmers, whose crops are much damaged by the deer, we are obliged to
keep down the herd to a fixed limit.
_The Commissioner._ But how about the stories of the wounded animals
that linger and die?
_Witness._ We have nothing to do with them--we are not in fault. I mean
by "we" those who have a right to shoot by the invitation of the proper
Authorities.
_The Commissioner._ But are not the poor animals sometimes wounded?
_Witness._ Alas, yes! Unhappily the forest is infested by a gang of
poachers of the worst type, and it is at their door that any charge of
cruelty must be laid. So far as we are concerned, we kill the deer in
the most humane manner. We use rifles and bullets, and our guns are
excellent shots. As no doubt you will have seen from the report of the
City Solicitor, such deer as it has been necessary to kill, have been
shot by, or in the presence of, two of the Conservators renowned for
their humanity and shooting skill.
_The Commissioner._ It seems to me that you should put down the
poachers.
_Witness._ We do our best, Sir. You must remember the Corporation has
not been in possession very long. We have to protect nearly ten square
miles of forest land, close to a city whose population is counted by
Millions.
_The Commissioner._ Very true. Can I do anything more for you?
_Witness._ Nothing, Sir. Pray accept my thanks for affording me this
opportunity of offering an explanation. I trust the explanation is
satisfactory?
_The Commissioner._ Perfectly. (_The Witness then withdrew._)
* * * * *
THE OCTOPUS OF ROMANCE AND REALITY.
(AS MUCH FACT AS FANCY.)
[Illustration: "I had one curried, and found it most
excellent--something like tender tripe."--_Extract from Mr. Tuer's
Letter_.]
"Devil-fish" of VICTOR HUGO,
Dread _Pieuvre_ of caves where few go
But are made your palsied prey,
Where are now your gruesome glories,
Dwelt upon in shocking stories?
Realism a big bore is
"Octopus is cheap to-day!"
You who, worst of ocean's gluttons,
Swallowed man, his boots, and buttons,
Cooked in this familiar way?
You who, in the tales of dreamers,
Sucked down ships and swallowed steamers,
Made the prey of kitchen schemers?
"Octopus _is_ cheap to-day!"
Swallowed, _you_ colossal cuttle?
Nemesis is really subtle!
Carted on the Coster's tray,
Dressed in fashions culinary,
Which the cunning _chef_ will vary
After every vain vagary?
"Octopus is cheap to-day!"
Your huge arms, so strong, so many,
Like tarantula's _antennae_,
Just like tenderest tripe, they say!
Only wait a little longer,
Turtle soup--as from the Conger--
They will make from _you_, but stronger.
"Octopus is cheap to-day!"
Octopus--or is't Oct[=o]pus?--
Fame, that should outshine CANOPUS,
All too swiftly fleets away.
Yet our feelings it must harrow,
That _your_ demon-fame should narrow
To cook-bench and coster barrow.
"Devil-fish is cheap to-day!"
* * * * *
SALUBRITIES ABROAD.
("Is this the Hend?"--_Miss Squeers_.)
[Illustration]
SKURRIE puts us in the train, gives us our COOK'S tickets all ready
stamped and dated. No trouble. Then he insists on comparing his notes of
our route with mine, to see that all is correct.
"Wednesday," he says, "that's to-day. Geneva _dep_. 12, Bale _arr_.
7.45." He speaks a _Bradshaw_ abbreviated language. "Change twice,
perhaps three times, Lausanne, Brienne, Olten. Not quite sure; but you
must look out." Oh, the trouble and anxiety of looking out for where you
change! "Then," he goes on, "Thursday, Bale _dep_. 9.2 A.M., Heidelberg
_arr_. 1.55."
"Any change?" I ask, as if I wanted twopence out of a shilling.
"No; at least I don't think so. But you had better ask," he replies. Ah!
this asking! if you are not quite well, and don't understand the
language (which I do not in German Switzerland), and get hold of an
austere military station-master, or an imbecile porter, and then have to
carry that most inconvenient article of all baggage, a hand-bag, which
you have brought as "so convenient to hold everything you want for a
night," and which is so light to carry until it is packed! "Then," goes
on the imperturbable SKURRIE, "you'll 'do' Heidelberg, dine there, sleep
there, and on Friday Heidelberg _dep_. 6 A.M.----"
Here I interrupt with a groan--"Can't we go later?"
"No," says SKURRIE, sternly. "Impossible. You'll upset all the
calculations if you do."
JANE says, meekly, that when one is travelling, and going to bed early,
it is not so difficult to get up very early, and, for her part, she
knows she shall be awake all night. Ah! so shall I, I feel, and already
the journey begins to weigh heavily on me, and I do not bless SKURRIE
and his plan. "But," I say aloud, knowing he has done it all for the
best, and that I cannot now recede, "go on."
He does so, at railroad pace:--"Heidelberg _dep_. 6. Mannheim _arr_.
7.5, _dep_. 7.15. Mayence _arr_. 8.22, in time for boat down the Rhine
8.55. Cologne _arr_. 4.30. And there you are."
"Yes," I rejoin, rather liking the idea of Cologne, "there we are--and
then?"
"Well, you'll have a longish morning at Cologne; rest, see Cathedral,
breakfast," and here he refers to his notes, "Cologne _dep_. 1.13 P.M.,
and Antwerp _arr_. 6.34."
"Change anywhere?" I inquire, helplessly. "Yes," he answers,
meditatively. "At this moment I forget where, but you've got examination
of baggage on the Belgian frontier, and you have two changes, I think.
However, it's all easy enough."
"I'm glad of that," I say, trying to cheer up a bit, only somehow I am
depressed: and Cousin JANE isn't much better, though she tries to put
everything in the pleasantest possible light, and remarks that at all
events "the travelling will soon be over."
SKURRIE continues reading off his paper and comparing the details with
my notes, "Sunday--Antwerp _dep_. 6.34 P.M. Rosendael _arr_.
7.45--yes--then Rosendael _dep_. 8.44, and catch the 10.10 P.M. boat at
Flushing. Queenborough _arr_. 5.50, fresh as a lark, and up to town by
7.55."
"But we don't want to go up to town, we want to go to Ramsgate."
"Ha!" he says slowly, giving this idea as just sprung upon him his full
consideration. "Ha!--let me see----" Then, as if by inspiration, he
continues quickly--"sacrifice your London tickets, book luggage for
Flushing, only then at Flushing re-book it for Queenborough, and once
you're there you catch an early train to Ramsgate, and you'll be there
nearly as soon as you would have arrived in London. Train just off. Wish
you _bon voyage_."
I thank him for all his trouble, and ask, with some astonishment, if he
is not going to accompany us?
"Can't--wish I could," returns SKURRIE, "but I've got to go off to
Petersburgh by night mail. Business. Should have been delighted to have
looked after you and seen you through, but you've got it all down and
can't make any mistake. _Au plaisir!_"
And he is off. So are we.
Oh, this journey!! Everything changes. My health, the scenery, the
weather, all becoming worse and worse. Poor Cousin JANE, too.
Oh, the changes of carriage! The rushing about from platform to
platform, carrying that confounded bag, and sticks, and umbrellas, and
small things, of which JANE--poor JANE!--has her share, and, but for her
sticking to every basket and package, I should, in despair, have
surrendered to chance, left them behind me somewhere, and should have
never seen them again. All aches and pains, and weariness! At last at
Bale, rattled over stones and bridge in a jolting omnibus, through
pouring rain to the hotel of "The Three Kings."
Our treatment in the _salle-a-manger_ of that Monarchical Hostelrie is
enough to make the most loyal turn republican. A willing head-waiter
with insubordinate assistants--and we are miserable.
Off early to Heidelberg. Delighted, at all events, to bid farewell to
the worthy Monarchs. This trip seemed to invigorate us, and if civility,
polite attention, good rooms, and an excellent _cuisine_ could make any
invalid temporarily better, then our short stay at the Prinz Karl
Hotel--a really perfectly managed establishment--ought to have revived
us both considerably. And so it did. A lovely drive to the heights among
the pine woods and in the purest air went for something, but alas the
knowledge that we had to rise at 5 A.M., to be off by six--it turned out
to be a 6.30 train--drove slumber from our eyes, and only by means of a
cold bath, the first thing on tumbling out of bed, could I brace myself
for the effort. Then on we went, taking SKURRIE'S pre-arranged tour.
Let the remainder be a blank.
When abroad I had bought a French one-volume novel which I had seen
praised in the _Figaro_. I will not give its name, nor that of its
author. If it indeed portrays persons really living in Paris, and if
these persons are not wholly exceptional (but, if so, why this novel,
which implies the contrary and denounces them?) then is the latest state
of Republican Paris worse than its former state in the days of the
_degringolade_ of the Empire, and Paris must undergo a fearful purgation
before she will once again possess _mens sana in corpore sano_. I read
this disgusting novel half-way through until its meaning became quite
clear to me, and then I proceeded by leaps and bounds, landing on dry
places and skipping over the filth in order to see how the author worked
out a moral and punished his infamous scoundrel of a chief personage.
No. Moral there was none, except an eloquent appeal to Paris to rise and
crush these reptiles and their brood. On the wretched night when
feverish, ill, and sleepless, I lay miserably in the saloon of the
Flemish steamer crossing to Queenborough, I opened the porthole above me
and threw this infernal book into the sea. After this I bore the
sufferings of that night with a lighter heart.
* * * * *
Suffice it that I arrived at home--and how glad I was to get
there--broken down, prostrate and only fit for bed----where with
railways running round and round my head, steamboats dashing and
thumping about my brain, the shrieks of German and Flemish porters
ringing in my ears, SKURRIE always forcing me to travel on, on, on,
against my will, I remained for about three weeks.
_Advice gratis to all Drinkers of Waters_.--"The story shows," as the
Moral to the fables of AESOP used to put it, that when you have finished
your cure, make straight by the easiest stages for the seaside at
home. Avoid all exertion: and ask your medical man before leaving to
tell you exactly what to eat, drink, and avoid, for the next three weeks
at least after the completion of your cure.
* * * * *
While ill, but when beginning to crave for some amusement or
distraction, I asked that my dear old BOZ'S _Sketches_ should be read to
me, to which in years gone by I had been indebted for many a hearty
laugh. Alas! what a disappointment! Except for a little descriptive bit
here and there, the fun of these _Sketches_ sounded as wearisome and
old-fashioned as the humours of the now forgotten "Adelphi screamers" in
which Messrs. WRIGHT and PAUL BEDFORD used to perform, and at which, as
a boy, I used to scream with delight, when the strong-minded mistress of
the house, speaking while the comic servant was laying the cloth for
dinner, would say of her husband, "When I see him I'll give him----"
"Pepper," says the comic servant, accidentally placing that condiment on
the table. "He shan't," resumes the irate lady, "come over me with
any----" "Butter," interrupts the comic servant, quite unconsciously, of
course, as he deposits a pat of Dorset on the table. And so on. Later
on, I tried THACKERAY'S _Esmond_. How tedious, how involved, and full of
repetitions! It is enlivened here and there by the introduction of such
real characters as _Dick Steele_, _Lord Mohun_, _Dean Atterbury_, and
others, and by the mysterious melodramatic appearances and
disappearances of _Father Holt_, a typical Jesuit of the "penny
dreadful" style of literature. But the work had lost whatever charm it
ever possessed for me, and, indeed, I had always considered it an
over-rated book, not by any means to be compared with _Vanity Fair_,
_Pendennis_, or even with _Barry Lyndon_, which last is repulsively
clever.
* * * * *
Then I asked for a book that I never yet could get through, and to which
I thought that now, with leisure and a craving for distraction, I might
take a liking. This was _Little Dorrit_. I tried hard, but it made my
head ache even more than _Esmond_ had done, and I laid it down, utterly
unable to comprehend the mystery which takes such an amount of dreary,
broken-up, tedious dialogue in the closing chapters to unravel.
* * * * *
I took down WASHINGTON IRVING'S _Sketch-book_, and read it with
delight. Fresh as ever! It did me good. So did CHARLES LAMB'S Essays.
And then guess what moved me to laughter, to tears, and to real
heartfelt gratitude that we should have had a writer who could leave us
such an immortal work? What? It is a gem. It is very small, but to my
mind, and not excepting any one of all he ever wrote, the most precious
in every way for its true humour, for its natural pathos, and for its
large-hearted Christian teaching, is _The Christmas Carol_, by CHARLES
DICKENS. Had this been his only book, it would have sufficed for his
imperishable fame.
* * * * *
And then what made me chuckle and laugh? Why, THACKERAY'S _Sultan Stork_,
which, somehow or other, I never remembered having read before this time
of convalescent leisure. It is THACKERAY in his most frolicsome humour,
and, therefore, THACKERAY at his best.
* * * * *
I am almost recovered, and am finding my "Salubrity at Home."
* * * * *
THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.
FROM AN ANXIOUS HOUSEHOLDER.
[Illustration]
DEAR TOBY,--It was in my mind to write to you some days ago, but I have
had my time much occupied with a subject of domestic interest. In fact,
I have just been laying the carpet presented to me by our
fellow-citizens of the ancient and important community of Kidderminster.
The carpet, regarded individually, is a desirable and an acceptable
thing. It is, as you have observed in the newspaper reports, woven of
the wool known to the trade as the Queen's Clip. In colour it is a rich
damson, and in quality Wilton. Apart from its suitability and
acceptability, we here see in it the beginning of what I confess we
should be inclined to regard as a pleasing habit on the part of our
fellow-countrymen. As you are aware, my wife and myself have for some
years been the recipients of gifts consisting of what a well-known
person of the name of _Wemmick_ was accustomed to call, articles of
portable property. Our journeys to Scotland were always marked by the
presentation of gifts that even became embarrassing by reason of their
quantity and variety. We have quite a stock of Paisley shawls. Dundee
marmalade is a drug in our domestic market. Plaids, snuff-boxes,
walking-sticks, and, above all, axes I have in abundance. Through the
medium of an interesting periodical, of which you may have heard--(it is
known as _Exchange and Mart_)--we have managed to average our
possessions, a process not entirely free from adventure. In one instance
an unscrupulous individual, probably a member of the Primrose League,
succeeded in obtaining a two-dozen case of marmalade and a Scotch plaid
presented by the working-men of Glasgow, in promise, yet unfulfilled, of
delivery of a bicycle warranted new. I have rather a hankering after
trying a bicycle. LOWE gave his up with the ultimate remainder of his
Liberal principles. But in old times I have heard him speak with
enthusiasm of the exercise. When I noticed this person advertising in
_Exchange and Mart_ his desire of bartering his bicycle, we entered upon
the negotiation which has ended so unfortunately. He has our Paisley
plaid and Dundee marmalade, and we have not his bicycle.
This, however, by the way. What I had at heart to write to you about,
suggested by the Kidderminster carpet, is the new opening here offered
for manifestations of political sympathy at a serious political crisis.
We are, to tell the truth, towards the close of a long career, a little
overburdened with articles of portable property of the kind already
indicated. But our residence is large, and, if I may say so, receptive.
Carpets, though a not unimportant feature in the furnishing of a house,
do not contain within themselves the full catalogue of a furnishing
establishment.
If Kidderminster has its carpets, there are other localities throughout
the Kingdom which have their tables and chairs, their bed-room
furniture, their curtains, their brass stair-rods, and their
gas-fittings. History will, I believe, look with indulgent eye upon an
ex-Premier, the Counsellor of Kings, the leader of a great Party,
assisting at the hauling in and laying down of an eleemosynary carpet,
the wool of which is made from Queen's Clip, has a rich damson colour,
and is of Wilton quality. Why should I not give a back to an arm-chair
presented by an admiring Liberal Association? or walk upstairs with a
bolster under either arm, token of the esteem and admiration of the West
of England Home Rulers?
I throw out these thoughts to you, dear TOBY, as I sit in my study and
survey the carpet of | 1,895.708394 |
2023-11-16 18:48:40.0310610 | 1,136 | 6 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Books project.)
THE POPOL VUH
The Mythic and Heroic Sagas of
the Kichés of Central America
By
LEWIS SPENCE
Published by David Nutt, at the
Sign of the Phoenix, Long Acre, London
1908
PREFACE
The "Popol Vuh" is the New World's richest mythological mine. No
translation of it has as yet appeared in English, and no adequate
translation in any European language. It has been neglected to a
certain extent because of the unthinking strictures passed upon
its authenticity. That other manuscripts exist in Guatemala than
the one discovered by Ximenes and transcribed by Scherzer and
Brasseur de Bourbourg is probable. So thought Brinton, and the
present writer shares his belief. And ere it is too late it would
be well that these--the only records of the faith of the builders of
the mystic ruined and deserted cities of Central America--should be
recovered. This is not a matter that should be left to the enterprise
of individuals, but one which should engage the consideration of
interested governments; for what is myth to-day is often history
to-morrow.
LEWIS SPENCE.
July 1908.
THE POPOL VUH
[The numbers in the text refer to notes at the end of the study]
There is no document of greater importance to the study of the
pre-Columbian mythology of America than the "Popol Vuh." It is the
chief source of our knowledge of the mythology of the Kiché people of
Central America, and it is further of considerable comparative value
when studied in conjunction with the mythology of the Nahuatlacâ, or
Mexican peoples. This interesting text, the recovery of which forms one
of the most romantic episodes in the history of American bibliography,
was written by a Christianised native of Guatemala some time in the
seventeenth century, and was copied in the Kiché language, in which
it was originally written, by a monk of the Order of Predicadores, one
Francisco Ximenes, who also added a Spanish translation and scholia.
The Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg, a profound student of American
archæology and languages (whose euhemeristic interpretations of
the Mexican myths are as worthless as the priceless materials he
unearthed are valuable) deplored, in a letter to the Duc de Valmy,
[1] the supposed loss of the "Popol Vuh," which he was aware had been
made use of early in the nineteenth century by a certain Don Felix
Cabrera. Dr. C. Scherzer, an Austrian scholar, thus made aware of
its value, paid a visit to the Republic of Guatemala in 1854 or 1855,
and was successful in tracing the missing manuscript in the library
of the University of San Carlos in the city of Guatemala. It was
afterwards ascertained that its scholiast, Ximenes, had deposited it
in the library of his convent at Chichicastenango, whence it passed
to the San Carlos library in 1830.
Scherzer at once made a copy of the Spanish translation of the
manuscript, which he published at Vienna in 1856 under the title
of "Las Historias del origen de los Indios de Guatemala, par el
R. P. F. Francisco Ximenes." The Abbé Brasseur also took a copy of
the original, which he published at Paris in 1861, with the title
"Vuh Popol: Le Livre Sacré de Quichés, et les Mythes de l'Antiquité
Américaine." In this work the Kiché original and the Abbe's French
translation are set forth side by side. Unfortunately both the Spanish
and the French translations leave much to be desired so far as their
accuracy is concerned, and they are rendered of little use by reason
of the misleading notes which accompany them.
The name "Popol Vuh" signifies "Record of the Community," and
its literal translation is "Book of the Mat," from the Kiché word
"pop" or "popol," a mat or rug of woven rushes or bark on which the
entire family sat, and "vuh" or "uuh," paper or book, from "uoch"
to write. The "Popol Vuh" is an example of a world-wide genre--a
type of annals of which the first portion is pure mythology, which
gradually shades off into pure history, evolving from the hero-myths
of saga to the recital of the deeds of authentic personages. It may,
in fact, be classed with the Heimskringla of Snorre, the Danish
History of Saxo-Grammaticus, the Chinese History in the Five Books,
the Japanese "Nihongi," and, so far as its fourth book is concerned,
it somewhat resembles the Pictish Chronicle.
The language in which the "Popol V | 1,896.051101 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
TOLSTOI FOR THE YOUNG
[Illustration: IVAN THE FOOL.
_Frontispiece._]
TOLSTOI FOR THE
YOUNG
SELECT TALES FROM TOLSTOI
Translated from the Russian
By
MRS. R. S. TOWNSEND
WITH SIX PLATES BY MICHEL SEVIER
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1916
CONTENTS
PAGE
IVAN THE FOOL 1
WHERE THERE IS LOVE, THERE IS GOD ALSO 56
A PRISONER 82
EMELIAN AND THE EMPTY DRUM 138
THE GREAT BEAR 156
THREE QUESTIONS 158
THE GODSON 167
LIST OF PLATES
Ivan the Fool _Frontispiece_
Where there is Love, there is God also _To face p._ 57
A Prisoner 82
Emelian and the Empty Drum 138
Three Questions 158
The Godson 167
IVAN THE FOOL
THE STORY OF IVAN THE FOOL AND HIS TWO BROTHERS SIMON THE WARRIOR
AND TARAS THE POT-BELLIED, AND OF HIS DEAF AND DUMB SISTER, AND THE
OLD DEVIL AND THREE LITTLE DEVILKINS.
Once upon a time there lived a rich peasant, who had three sons--Simon
the Warrior, Taras the Pot-bellied, and Ivan the Fool, and a deaf and
dumb daughter, Malania, an old maid.
Simon the Warrior went off to the wars to serve the King; Taras the
Pot-bellied went to a merchant’s to trade in the town, and Ivan the Fool
and the old maid stayed at home to do the work of the house and the
farm. Simon the Warrior earned a high rank for himself and an estate and
married a nobleman’s daughter. He had a large income and a large estate,
but he could never make both ends meet, for, what he managed to gather
in, his wife managed to squander; thus it was that he never had any
money.
And Simon the Warrior went to his estate one day to collect his income,
and his steward said to him, “There is nothing to squeeze money out of;
we have neither cattle, nor implements, nor horses, nor cows, nor
ploughs, nor harrows; we must get all these things first, then there
will be an income.”
Then Simon the Warrior went to his father and said, “You are rich,
father; and have given me nothing, let me have a third of your
possessions and I will set up my estate.”
And the old man replied, “Why should I? You have brought nothing to the
home. It would be unfair to Ivan and the girl.”
And Simon said, “Ivan is a fool and Malania is deaf and dumb; they do
not need much, surely.”
“Ivan shall decide,” the old man said.
And Ivan said, “I don’t mind; let him take what he wants.”
Simon took a portion of his father’s goods and moved them to his
estate, and once more he set out to serve the King.
Taras the Pot-bellied made a great deal of money and married a
merchant’s widow, but still, it seemed to him that he had not enough, so
he too went to his father and said, “Give me my portion, father.” And
the old man was loath to give Taras his portion, and he said, “You have
brought us nothing; everything in the home has been earned by Ivan; it
would be unfair to him and the girl.”
And Taras said, “Ivan is a fool, what does he need? He cannot marry, for
no one would have him, and the girl is deaf and dumb and does not need
much either.” And turning to Ivan, he said, “Let me have half the corn,
Ivan. I will not take any implements, and as for the cattle, I only want
the grey cob; he is of no use to you for the plough.”
Ivan laughed.
“Very well,” he said, “you shall have what you want.”
And Taras was given his portion, and he carted the corn off to the town
and took away the grey cob, and Ivan was left with only the old mare to
work the farm and support his father and mother.
II
The old Devil was annoyed that the three brothers had not quarrelled
over the matter and had parted in peace. He summoned three little
Devilkins.
“There are three brothers,” he said, “Simon the Warrior, Taras the
Pot-bellied, and Ivan the Fool. I want them all to quarrel and they live
in peace and goodwill. It is the Fool’s fault. Go to these three
brothers, the three of you, and confound them so that they will scratch
out each others’ eyes. Do you think you can do it?”
“We can,” they said.
“How will you do it?”
“We will ruin them first,” they said, “so that they have nothing to eat,
then we will put them all together and they will begin to fight.”
“I see you know your work,” the old Devil said. “Go then, and do not
return to me until you have confounded the whole three, or else I will
skin you alive.”
And the Devilkins set out to a bog to confer on the matter, and they
argued and argued, for each wanted the easiest work, and they decided to
cast lots and each to take the brother that fell to him, and whichever
finished his work first was to help the others. And the Devilkins cast
lots and fixed a day when they should meet again in the bog, in order to
find out who had finished his work and who was in need of help.
The day arrived and the Devilkins gathered together in the bog. They
began to discuss their work. The first to give his account was the one
who had undertaken Simon the Warrior. “My work is progressing well,” he
said. “To-morrow Simon will return to his father.”
“How did you manage it?” the others asked him.
“First of all,” he said, “I gave Simon so much courage that he promised
the King to conquer the whole world. And the King made him the head of
his army and sent him to make war on the King of India. That same night
I damped the powder of Simon’s troops and I went to the King of India
and made him numberless soldiers out of straw. And when Simon saw
himself surrounded by the straw soldiers, a fear came upon him and he
ordered the guns to fire, but the guns and cannon would not go off. And
Simon’s troops were terrified and ran away like sheep, and the King of
India defeated them. Simon was disgraced. He was deprived of his rank
and estate and to-morrow he is to be executed. I have only one day left
in which to get him out of the dungeon and help him to escape home.
To-morrow I shall have finished with him, so I want you to tell me which
of you two is in need of help.”
Then the second Devilkin began to tell of his work with Taras. “I do not
want help,” he said; “my work is also going well. Taras will not live in
the town another week. The first thing I did was to make his belly grow
bigger and fill him with greed. He is now so greedy for other people’s
goods that whatever he sees he must buy. He has bought up everything he
could lay his eyes on, and spent all his money, and is still buying with
borrowed money. He has taken so much upon himself, and become so
entangled that he will never pull himself out. In a week he will have to
repay the borrowed money, and I will turn his wares into manure so that
he cannot repay, then he will go to his father.”
“And how is your work getting on?” they asked the third Devilkin about
Ivan.
“My work is going badly,” he said. “The first thing I did was to spit
into Ivan’s jug of kvas to give him a stomach-ache and then I went into
his fields and made the soil as hard as stones so that he could not move
it. I thought he would not plough it, but the fool came with his plough
and began to pull. His stomach-ache made him groan, yet still he went on
ploughing. I broke one plough for him and he went home and repaired
another, and again persisted in his work. I crawled beneath the ground
and clutched hold of his ploughshares, but I could not hold them--he
pressed upon the plough so hard, and the shares were sharp and cut my
hands. He has finished it all but one strip. You must come and help me,
mates, for singly we shall never get the better of him, and all our
labour will be wasted. If the fool keeps on tilling his land, the other
two brothers will never know what need means, for he will feed them.”
The first Devilkin offered to come and help to-morrow when he had
disposed of Simon the Warrior, and with that the three Devilkins parted.
III
Ivan had ploughed all the fallow but one strip, and he went to finish
that. His stomach ached, yet he had to plough. He undid the harness
ropes, turned over the plough and set out to the fields. He drove one
furrow, but coming back, the ploughshares caught on something that
seemed like a root.
“What a strange thing!” Ivan thought. “There were no roots here, yet
here’s a root!”
He put his hand into the furrow and clutched hold of something soft. He
pulled it out. It was a thing as black as a root and it moved. He looked
closely and saw that it was a live Devilkin.
“You horrid little wretch, you!”
Ivan raised his hand to dash its head against the plough, but the
Devilkin squealed, “Don’t kill me, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
“What can you do?”
“Tell me what you want.”
Ivan scratched his head.
“My stomach aches,” he said; “can you make it well?”
“I can.”
“Do it, then.”
The Devilkin bent down, rummaged about with his nails in the furrow and
pulled out three little roots, grown together.
“There,” he said; “if any one swallows a single one of these roots all
pain will pass away from him.”
Ivan took the three roots, separated them and swallowed one. His
stomach-ache instantly left him.
“Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged once more. “I will dive through the
earth and never bother you again.”
“Very well,” Ivan said; “go, in God’s name.”
At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone
thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left. Ivan thrust
the two remaining little roots into his cap and went on with his
ploughing. He finished the strip, turned over his plough and set off
home. He unharnessed and went into the house, and there was his brother,
Simon the Warrior | 1,896.371756 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
BEES IN AMBER
A LITTLE BOOK OF THOUGHTFUL VERSE
BY JOHN OXENHAM
1913
TO THOSE I HOLD DEAREST
THIS OF MY BEST.
CONTENTS
CREDO
NEW YEAR'S DAY AND EVERYDAY
PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN
FLOWERS OF THE DUST
THE PILGRIM WAY
EVERYMAID
BETTER AND BEST
THE SHADOW
THE POTTER
NIGHTFALL
THE PRUNER
THE WAYS
SEEDS
WHIRRING WHEELS
THE BELLS OF YS
THE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE
CUP OF MIXTURE
WEAVERS ALL
THE CLEARER VISION
SHADOWS
THE INN OF LIFE
LIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD
CROSS-ROADS
QUO VADIS?
TAMATE
BURDEN-BEARERS
THE IRON FLAIL
SARK
E.A.
THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN
THE GOLDEN CORD
THANK GOD FOR PEACE!
GOD'S HANDWRITING
STEPHEN--SAUL
PAUL
WAKENING
MACEDONIA, 1903
HEARTS IN EXILE
WANDERED
BIDE A WEE!
THE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID
DON'T WORRY!
THE GOLDEN ROSE
GADARA, A.D. 31
THE BELLS OF STEPAN ILINE
BOLT THAT DOOR!
GIANT CIRCUMSTANCE
THE HUNGRY SEA
WE THANK THEE, LORD
THE VAIL
NO EAST OR WEST
THE DAY--THE WAY
LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY
FREEMEN
THE LONG ROAD
THE CHRIST
THE BALLAD OF LOST SOULS
PROFIT AND LOSS
FREE MEN OF GOD
TREASURE-TROVE
THE GATE
BRING US THE LIGHT
ALL'S WELL!
HIS MERCY ENDURETH FOR EVER
GOD IS GOOD
SOME--AND SOME
THE PRINCE OF LIFE
JUDGMENT DAY
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
INDIA
LIVINGSTONE
LIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER
LIVINGSTONE'S SOLILOQUY
KAPIOLANI
THEY COME!
PROCESSIONALS
FAITH
"I WILL!"
A LITTLE TE DEUM OF THE COMMONPLACE
POLICEMAN X
YOUR PLACE
IN NARROW WAYS
SHUT WINDOWS
PROPS
BED-ROCK
AFTER WORK
KAPIOLANI IN RAROTONGAN
AUTHOR'S APOLOGY
In these rushful days an apology is advisable, if not absolutely
essential, from any man, save the one or two elect, who has the temerity
to publish a volume of verse.
These stray lines, such as they are, have come to me from time to time,
I hardly know how or whence; certainly not of deliberate intention or of
malice aforethought. More often than not they have come to the
interruption of other, as it seemed to me, more important--and
undoubtedly more profitable--work.
They are for the most part, simply attempts at concrete and
rememberable expression of ideas--ages old most of them--which "asked
for more."
Most writers, I imagine, find themselves at times in that same
predicament--worried by some thought which dances within them and
stubbornly refuses to be satisfied with the sober dress of prose. For
their own satisfaction and relief, in such a case, if they be not fools
they endeavour to garb it more to its liking, and so find peace. Or, to
vary the metaphor, they pluck the Bee out of their Bonnet and pop it
into such amber as they happen to have about them or are able to
evolve, and so put an end to its buzzing.
In their previous states these little Bonnet-Bees of mine have
apparently given pleasure to quite a number of intelligent and
thoughtful folk; and now--chiefly, I am bound to say, for my own
satisfaction in seeing them all together--I have gathered
them into one bunch.
If they please you--good! If not, there is no harm done, and one man is
content.
JOHN OXENHAM
CREDO
Not what, but WHOM, I do believe,
That, in my darkest hour of need,
Hath comfort that no mortal creed
To mortal man may give;--
Not what, but WHOM!
For Christ is more than all the creeds,
And His full life of gentle deeds
Shall all the creeds outlive.
Not what I do believe, but WHOM!
WHO walks beside me in the gloom?
WHO shares the burden wearisome?
WHO all the dim way doth illume,
And bids me look beyond the tomb
The larger life to live?--
Not what I do believe,
BUT WHOM!
Not what,
But WHOM!
NEW YEAR'S DAY--AND EVERY DAY
_Each man is Captain of his Soul,
And each man his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
And He will bring us through_.
We break new seas to-day,--
Our eager keels quest unaccustomed waters,
And, from the vast uncharted waste in front,
The mystic circles leap
To greet our prows with mightiest possibilities;
Bringing us--what?
--Dread shoals and shifting banks?
--And calms and storms?
--And clouds and biting gales?
--And wreck and loss?
--And valiant fighting-times?
And, maybe, Death!--and so, the Larger Life!
_For should the Pilot deem it best
To cut the voyage short,
He sees beyond the sky-line, and
He'll bring us into Port_.
And, maybe, Life,--Life on a bounding tide,
And chance of glorious deeds;--
Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;
Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;
Of succours given unasked and joyfully;
Of mighty service to all needy souls.
_So--Ho for the Pilot's orders,
Whatever course He makes!
For He sees beyond the sky-line,
And He never makes mistakes_.
And, maybe, Golden Days,
Full freighted with delight!
--And wide free seas of unimagined bliss,
--And Treasure Isles, and Kingdoms to be won,
--And Undiscovered Countries, and New Kin.
_For each man captains his own Soul,
And chooses his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
And He will bring us through_.
PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN
"_See this my garden,
Large and fair_!"
--Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
"'_Tis not too long_,"
His friend replied,
With truth exact,--
"_Nor yet too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side_."
Quick the reply--
"_But see how high!--
It reaches up
To God's blue sky_!"
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher--
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
FLOWERS OF THE DUST
The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small--
So soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely move at all;
But the souls of men fall into them and are powdered into dust,
And in that dust grow the Passion-Flowers--Love, Hope, Trust.
Most wondrous their upspringing, in the dust of the Grinding-Mills,
And rare beyond the telling the fragrance each distils.
Some grow up tall and stately, and some grow sweet and small,
But Life out of Death is in each one--with purpose grow they all.
For that dust is God's own garden, and the Lord Christ tends it fair,
With oh, such loving tenderness! and oh, such patient care!
In sorrow the seeds are planted, they are watered with bitter tears,
But their roots strike down to the Water-Springs and the Sources of the
Years.
These flowers of Christ's own providence, they wither not nor die,
But flourish fair, and fairer still, through all eternity.
In the Dust of the Mills and in travail the amaranth seeds are sown,
But the Flowers in their full beauty climb the Pillars of the Throne.
NOTE.--The first line only is adapted from the Sinngedichte of
Friedrich von Logau.
THE PILGRIM WAY
But once I pass this way,
And then--no more.
But once--and then, the Silent Door
Swings on its hinges,--
Opens... closes,--
And no more
I pass this way.
So while I may,
With all my might,
I will essay
Sweet comfort and delight,
To all I meet upon the Pilgrim Way.
For no man travels twice
The Great Highway,
That climbs through Darkness up to Light,--
Through Night
To Day.
EVERYMAID
King's Daughter!
Wouldst thou be all fair,
Without--within--
Peerless and beautiful,
A very Queen?
Know then:--
Not as men build unto the Silent One,--
With clang and clamour,
Traffic of rude voices,
Clink of steel on stone,
And din of hammer;--
Not so the temple of thy grace is reared.
But,--in the inmost shrine
Must thou begin,
And build with care
A Holy Place,
A place unseen,
Each stone a prayer.
Then, having built,
Thy shrine sweep bare
Of self and sin,
And all that might demean;
And, with endeavour,
Watching ever, praying ever,
Keep it fragrant-sweet, and clean:
So, by God's grace, it be fit place,--
His Christ shall enter and shall dwell therein.
Not as in earthly fane--where chase
Of steel on stone may strive to win
Some outward grace,--
_Thy temple face is chiselled from within_.
BETTER AND BEST
Better in bitterest agony to lie,
Before Thy throne,
Than through much increase to be lifted up on high,
And stand alone.
Better by one sweet soul, constant and true,
To be beloved,
Than all the kingdoms of delight to trample through,
Unloved, unloved.
Yet best--the need that broke me at Thy feet,
In voiceless prayer,
And cast my chastened heart, a sacrifice complete,
Upon Thy care.
For all the world is nought, and less than nought,
Compared with this,--
That my dear Lord, with His own life, my ransom bought,
And I am His.
THE SHADOW
Shapeless and grim,
A Shadow dim
O'erhung the ways,
And darkened all my days.
And all who saw,
With bated breath,
Said, "It is Death!"
And I, in weakness
Slipping towards the Night,
In sore affright
Looked up. And lo!--
No Spectre grim,
But just a dim
Sweet face,
A sweet high mother-face,
A face like Christ's Own Mother's face,
Alight with tenderness
And grace.
"Thou art not Death!" I cried;--
For Life's supremest fantasy
Had never thus envisaged Death to me;--
"Thou art not Death, the End!"
In accents winning,
Came the answer,--"_Friend,
There is no Death!
I am the Beginning,
--Not the End_!"
THE POTTER
A Potter, playing with his lump of clay,
Fashioned an image of supremest worth.
"_Never was nobler image made on earth,
Than this that I have fashioned of my clay.
And I, of mine own skill, did fashion it,--
I--from this lump of clay_."
The Master, looking out on Pots and Men,
Heard his vain boasting, smiled at that he said.
"_The clay is Mine, and I the Potter made,
As I made all things,--stars, and clay, and men.
In what doth this man overpass the rest?
--Be thou as other men_!"
He touched the Image,--and it fell to dust,
He touched the Potter,--he to dust did fall.
Gently the Master,--"_I did make them all,--
All things and men, heaven's glories, and the dust.
Who with Me works shall quicken death itself,
Without Me--dust is dust_."
NIGHTFALL
Fold up the tent!
The sun is in the West.
To-morrow my untented soul will range
Among the blest.
And I am well content,
For what is sent, is sent,
And God knows best.
Fold up the tent,
And speed the parting guest!
The night draws on, though night and day are one
On this long quest.
This house was only lent
For my apprenticement--
What is, is best.
Fold up the tent!
Its slack ropes all undone,
Its pole all broken, and its cover rent,--
Its work is done.
But mine--tho' spoiled and spent
Mine earthly tenement--
Is but begun.
Fold up the tent!
Its tenant would be gone,
To fairer skies than mortal eyes
May look upon.
All that I loved has passed,
And left me at the last
Alone!--alone!
Fold up the tent!
Above the mountain's crest,
I hear a clear voice calling, calling clear,--
"To rest! To rest!"
And I am glad to go,
For the sweet oil is low,
And rest is best!
THE PRUNER
God is a zealous pruner,
For He knows--
Who, falsely tender, spares the knife
But spoils the rose.
THE WAYS
To every man there openeth
A Way, and Ways, and a Way.
And the High Soul climbs the High way,
And the Low Soul gropes the Low,
And in between, on the misty flats,
The rest drift to and fro.
But to every man there openeth
A High Way, and a Low.
And every man decideth
The Way his soul shall go.
SEEDS
What shall we be like when
We cast this earthly body and attain
To immortality?
What shall we be like then?
Ah, who shall say
What vast expansions shall be ours that day?
What transformations of this house of clay,
To fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day?
Ah, who shall say?
But this we know,--
We drop a seed into the ground,
A tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry,
And, in the fulness of its time, is seen
A form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned
Beyond the pride of any earthly queen,
Instinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare,
The perfect emblem of its Maker's care.
This from a shrivelled seed?--
--Then may man hope indeed!
For man is but the seed of what he shall be.
When, in the fulness of his perfecting,
He drops the husk and cleaves his upward way,
Through earth's retardings and the clinging clay,
Into the sunshine of God's perfect day.
No fetters then! No bonds of time or space!
But powers as ample as the boundless grace
That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness,
Set wide the door, and passed Himself before--
As He had promised--to prepare a place.
Yea, we may hope!
For we are seeds,
Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming.
Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting,
His loving care
May find some use for even a humble tare.
We know not what we shall be--only this--
That we shall be made like Him--as He is.
WHIRRING WHEELS
Lord, when on my bed I lie,
Sleepless, unto Thee I'll cry;
When my brain works overmuch,
Stay the wheels with Thy soft touch.
Just a quiet thought of Thee,
And of Thy sweet charity,--
Just a little prayer, and then
I will turn to sleep again.
THE BELLS OF YS
When the Bells of Ys rang softly,--softly,
_Soft--and sweet--and low_,
Not a sound was heard in the old gray town,
As the silvery tones came floating down,
But life stood still with uncovered head,
And doers of ill did good instead,
And abroad the Peace of God was shed,
_When the bells aloft sang softly--softly,
Soft--and sweet--and low,--
The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--
Aloft, and aloft, and alow_.
And still those Bells ring softly--softly,
_Soft--and sweet--and low_.
Though full twelve hundred years have gone,
Since the waves rolled over the old gray town,
Bold men of the sea, in the grip of the flow,
Still hear the Bells, as they pass and go,
Or win to life with their hearts aglow,
_When the Bells below sing softly--softly,
Soft--and sweet--and low,--
The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--
Alow, and alow, and alow_.
O the Mystical Bells, they still ring softly,
_Soft--and sweet--and low_,--
For the sound of their singing shall never die
In the hearts that are tuned to their melody;
And down in the world's wild rush and roar,
That sweeps us along to the Opening Door.
Hearts still beat high as they beat of yore,
_When the Bells sing softly--softly--softly,
Soft--and sweet--and low,
The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--
Alow, and aloft, and alow_.
THE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE
I;--
Thou;--
We;--
They;--
Small words, but mighty.
In their span
Are bound the life and hopes of man.
For, first, his thoughts of his own self are full;
Until another comes his heart to rule.
For them, life's best is centred round their love;
Till younger lives come all their love to prove.
CUP OF MIXTURE
For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up.
WEAVERS ALL
Warp and Woof and Tangle,--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
Living and dying--and mightier dead,
For the shuttle, once sped, is sped--is sped;--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
White, and Black, and Hodden-gray,--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
To every weaver one golden strand
Is given in trust by the Master-Hand;--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
And that we weave, we know not,--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
The threads we see, but the pattern is known
To the Master-Weaver alone, alone;--
_Weavers of Webs are we_.
THE CLEARER VISION
When, with bowed head,
And silent-streaming tears,
With mingled hopes and fears,
To earth we yield our dead;
The Saints, with clearer sight,
Do cry in glad accord,--
"_A soul released from prison
Is risen, is risen,--
Is risen to the glory of the Lord_."
SHADOWS
Shadows are but for the moment--
Quickly past;
And then the sun the brighter shines
That it was overcast.
For Light is Life!
Gracious and sweet,
The fair life-giving sun doth scatter blessings
With his light and heat,--
And shadows.
But the shadows that come of the life-giving sun
Crouch at his feet.
No mortal life but has its shadowed times--
Not one!
Life without shadow could not taste the full
Sweet glory of the sun.
No shadow falls, but there, behind it, stands
The Light
Behind the wrongs and sorrows of life's troublous ways
Stands RIGHT.
THE INN OF LIFE
_As It was in the Beginning,--
Is Now,--
And...?
Anno Domini I_.
* * * * *
"No room!
No room!
The Inn is full,
Yea--overfull.
No room have we
for such as ye--
Poor folk of Galilee,
Pass on! Pass on!"
"Nay then!--
Your charity
Will ne'er deny
Some corner mean,
Where she may lie unseen.
For see!--
Her time is nigh."
"Alack! And she
So young and fair!
Place have we none;
And yet--how bid ye gone?
Stay then!--out there
Among the beasts
Ye may find room,
And eke a truss
To lie upon."
_Anno Domini 1913, etc., etc_.
* * * * *
"No room!
No room!
No room for Thee,
Thou Man of Galilee!
The house is full,
Yea, overfull.
There is no room for Thee,--
Pass on! Pass on!
Nay--see!
The place is packed.
"We scarce have room
For our own selves,
So how shall we
Find room for Thee,
Thou Man of Galilee,--
Pass on! Pass on!
But--if Thou shouldst
This way again,
And we can find
So much as one small corner
Free from guest,
Not then in vain
Thy quest.
But now--
The house is full.
Pass on!"
Christ passes
On His ceaseless quest,
Nor will He rest
With any,
Save as Chiefest Guest.
LIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD
"'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nights and Days,
Where Detiny with men for pieces plays,
Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays."
_Omar Khayyam_.
A Chequer-Board of mingled Light and Shade?
And We the Pieces on it deftly laid?
Moved and removed, without a word to say,
By the Same Hand that Board and Pieces made?
No Pieces we in any Fateful Game,
Nor free to shift on Destiny the blame;
Each Soul doth tend its own immortal flame,
Fans it to Heaven, or smothers it in shame.
CROSS-ROADS
Oft, as he jogs along the Winding-Way,
Occasion comes for Every Man to say,--
"This Road?--or That?" and as he chooses them,
So shall his journey end in Night or Day.
QUO VADIS?
Peter, outworn,
And menaced by the sword,
Shook off the dust of Rome;
And, as he fled,
Met one, with eager face,
Hastening cityward,
And, to his vast amaze,
It was The Lord.
"_Lord, whither goest Thou_?"
He cried, importunate,
And Christ replied,--
"_Peter, I suffer loss.
I go to take thy place,
To bear thy cross_."
Then Peter bowed his head,
Discomforted;
There, at the Master's feet,
Found grace complete,
And courage, and new faith,
And turned--with Him,
To Death.
So we,--
Whene'er we fail
Of our full duty,
Cast on Him our load,--
Who suffered sore for us,
Who frail flesh wore for us,
Who all things bore for us,--
On Christ, The Lord.
TAMATE
_Great-Heart is dead, they say_,--
Great-Heart the Teacher,
Great-Heart the Joyous,
Great-Heart the Fearless,
Great-Heart the Martyr,
Great-Heart of Sweet White Fire.
_Great-Heart is dead, they say_,--
Fighting the fight,
Holding the Light,
Into the night.
_Great-Heart is dead, they say_.--
But the Light shall burn the brighter.
And the night shall be the lighter,
For his going;
And a rich, rich harvest for his sowing.
_Great-Heart is dead, they say_!--
What is death to such an one as Great-Heart?
One sigh, perchance, for work unfinished here;--
Then a swift passing to a mightier sphere,
New joys, perfected powers, the vision clear,
And all the amplitude of heaven to work
The work he held so dear.
_Great-Heart is dead, say they_?
Nor dead nor sleeping! He lives on! His name
Shall kindle many a heart to equal flame.
The fire he lighted shall burn on and on,
Till all the darkness of the lands be gone,
And all the kingdoms of the earth be won,
And one.
_A soul so fiery sweet can never die,
But lives and loves and works through all eternity_.
BURDEN-BEARERS
Burden-bearers are we all,
Great and small.
Burden-sharers be ye all,
Great and small!
Where another shares the load,
Two draw nearer God.
Yet there are burdens we can share with none,
Save God;
And paths remote where we must walk alone,
With God;
For lonely burden and for path apart--
Thank God!
If these but serve to bring the burdened heart
To God.
THE IRON FLAIL
Time beats out all things with his iron flail,
Things great, things small.
With steady strokes that never fail,
With slow, sure strokes of his iron flail,
Time beats out all.
SARK
Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the sea!
Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of the sea!
White in the sun-flecked Silver Sea,
White in the moon-decked Silver Sea,
White in the wrath of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Lapped in the smile of the Silver Sea,
Ringed in the foam of the Silver Sea,
Glamoured in mists of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Glancing and glimmering under the sun.
Jewel and casket all in one,
Joy supreme of the sun's day dream,
Soft in the gleam of the golden beam,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Splendour of Hope in the rising sun,
Glory of Love in the noonday sun,
Wonder of Faith in the setting sun,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Gaunt and grim to the outer world,
Jewel and casket all impearled
With the kiss of the Silver Sea!--
With the flying kiss of the Silver Sea,
With the long sweet kiss of the Silver Sea,
With the rainbow kiss of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
And oh the sight,--the wonderful sight,
When calm and white, in the mystic light
Of her quivering pathway, broad and bright,
The Queen of the Night, in silver dight,
Sails over the Silver Sea!
Wherever I go, and wherever I be,
The joy and the longing are there with me,--
The gleam and the glamour come back to me,--
In a mystical rapture there comes to me,
The call of the Silver Sea!
As needle to pole is my heart to thee,
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
E.A., Nov. 6, 1900
Bright stars of Faith and Hope, her eyes
Shall shine for us through all the years.
For all her life was Love, and fears
Touch not the love that never dies.
And Death itself, to her, was but
The wider opening of the door
That had been opening, more and more,
Through all her life, and ne'er was shut.
--And never shall be shut. She left
The door ajar for you and me,
And, looking after her, we see
The glory shining through the cleft.
And when our own time comes,--again
We'll meet her face to face;--again
Well see the star-shine; and again
She'll greet us with her soft, "Come ben!"
THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN
_Hark! The drums! Muffled drums!
The long low ruffle of the drums_!--
And every head is bowed,
In the vast expectant crowd,
As the Great Queen comes,--
By the way she knew so well,
Where our cheers were wont to swell,
As we tried in vain to tell
Of our love unspeakable.
Now she comes
To the rolling of the drums,
And the slow sad tolling of the bell.
Let every head be bowed,
In the silent waiting crowd,
As the Great Queen comes,
To the slow sad ruffle of the drums!
_Who is this that comes,
To the rolling of the drums,
In the sorrowful great silence of the peoples_?
Take heart of grace,
She is not here!
The Great Queen is not here!
What most in her we did revere,--
The lofty spirit, white and clear,
The tender love that knew no fear,
The soul sincere,--
These come not here,
To the rolling of the drums,
In the silence and the sorrow of the peoples.
_Death has but little part
In her. Love cannot die.
Who reigns in every heart
Hath immortality_.
So, though our heads are bent,
Our hearts are jubilant,
As she comes,--
As a conqueror she comes--
With the rolling of the drums,
To the stateliest of her homes,
In the hearts of her true and faithful peoples.
_For the Great Queen lives for ever
In the hearts of those who love her.
January, 1901_.
THE GOLDEN CORD
Through every minute of this day,
Be with me, Lord!
Through every day of all this week,
Be with me, Lord!
Through every week of all this year,
Be with me, Lord!
Through all the years of all this life,
Be with me, Lord!
So shall the days and weeks and years
Be threaded on a golden cord,
And all draw on with sweet accord
Unto Thy fulness, Lord,
That so, when time is past,
By Grace, I may at last,
Be with Thee, Lord.
THANK GOD FOR PEACE!
JUNE, 1902
_Thank God for Peace_!
Up to the sombre sky
Rolled one great thankful sigh,
Rolled one great gladsome cry--
The soul's deliverance of a mighty people.
_Thank God for Peace_!
The long-low-hanging war-cloud rolled away,
And night glowed brighter than the brightest day.
For Peace is Light,
And War is grimmer than the Night.
_Thank God for Peace_!
Great ocean, was your mighty calm unstirred
As through your depths, unseen, unheard,
Sped on its way the glorious word
That called a weary nation to ungird,
And sheathed once more the keen, reluctant sword?
_Thank God for Peace_!
The word came to us as we knelt in prayer
That wars might cease.
Peace found us on our knees, and prayer for Peace
Was changed to prayer of deepest thankfulness.
We knelt in War, we rose in Peace to bless
Thy grace, Thy care, Thy tenderness.
_Thank God for Peace_!
No matter now the rights and wrongs of it;
You fought us bravely, and we fought you fair.
The fight is done. Grip hands! No malice bear!
We greet you, brothers, to the nobler strife
Of building up the newer, larger life!
Join hands! Join hands! Ye nations of the stock!
And make henceforth a mighty Trust for Peace.
A great enduring peace that shall withstand
The shocks of time and circumstance; and every land
Shall rise and bless you--and shall never cease
To bless you--for that glorious gift of Peace.
GOD'S HANDWRITING
He writes in characters too grand
For our short sight to understand;
We catch but broken strokes, and try
To fathom all the mystery
Of withered hopes, of death, of life,
The endless war, the useless strife,--
But there, with larger, clearer sight,
We shall see this--His way was right.
STEPHEN--SAUL
Stephen, who died while I stood by consenting,
Wrought in his death the making of a life,
Bruised one hard heart to thought of swift repenting,
Fitted one fighter for a nobler strife.
Stephen, the Saint, triumphant and forgiving,
Prayed while the hot blows beat him to the earth.
Was that a dying? Rather was it living!--
Through his soul's travail my soul came to birth.
Stephen, the Martyr, full of faith and fearless,
Smiled when his bruised lips could no longer pray,--
Smiled with a courage undismayed and peerless,--
Smiled!--and that smile is with me, night and day.
O, was it _I_ that stood there, all consenting?
_I_--at whose feet the young men's clothes were laid?
Was it _my_ will that wrought that hot tormenting?
My heart that boasted over Stephen, dead?
Yes, it was I. And sore to me the telling.
Yes, it was I. And thought of it has been
God's potent spur my whole soul's might compelling
These outer darknesses for Him to win.
PAUL
Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,
Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought;
His man henceforward, eager to be voicing
That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.
Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;
Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;
Bound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow
Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known.
WAKENING
This mortal dies,--
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BANKING
BY
William A. Scott, Ph.D., LL.D.
Director of the Course in Commerce and Professor of
Political Economy in the University of Wisconsin
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1914
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1914
Published April, 1914
Copyrighted in Great Britain
W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
EDITOR'S PREFACE
In Europe the average man looks upon the bank as a benefactor. Through
its agency he secures capital at low rates for his business. In
America the bank is too often regarded as a necessary evil, certainly
not with affection. Yet it plays a most important role in the nation's
economy. Our banking laws are obsolete, unsatisfactory, and actually
in some instances detrimental to the best and widest use of the
nation's resources. Europe has many lessons for us in the problem of
how best to use our accumulations. With agriculture demanding and the
railroads calling for more capital, the question of scientific banking
assumes new proportions. This book, with its chapters on commercial
and investment banking, will help to a better knowledge.
F. L. M.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The purpose of this book is to supply the general reader with a simple
statement of the principles and problems of banking. Since it is
designed primarily for American readers, special attention has been
given to conditions in this country. An effort has been made clearly
to draw the line between commercial and investment banking and to
indicate the problems peculiar to each. That it may assist the average
person in understanding present-day banking problems and thus
contribute towards the formation of a sound public opinion regarding
them, is the author's hope and desire.
WM. A. SCOTT.
_University of Wisconsin._
CONTENTS
PAGE
Chapter I. The Nature, Functions, and Classification of
Banking Institutions, 1
1. Services Performed by Banking Institutions, 1
2. The Economic Functions of Banks, 4
3. Classification of Banking Institutions, 6
Chapter II. The Nature and Operations of Commercial Banking, 11
1. Commercial Paper, 11
2. The Operation of Discount, 13
3. The Conduct of Checking Accounts, 15
4. The Issue of Notes, 19
5. Collections, 22
6. Domestic Exchange, 25
7. Foreign Exchange, 31
Chapter III. The Problems of Commercial Banking, 35
1. The Supply of Cash, 35
2. The Selection of Loans and Discounts, 40
3. Rates, 44
4. Protection against Unsound Practices, 46
(a) Capital and Surplus Requirements and Double
Liability of Stockholders, 46
(b) Inflation and Means of Protecting the Public
against It, 49
(c) Other Means of Safeguarding the Interests of
the Public, 59
5. Adequacy and Economy of Service, 62
Chapter IV. Commercial Banking in the United States, 68
1. State Banks, 68
2. National Banks, 70
3. The Independent Treasury System, 75
4. The Interrelations of These Institutions, 78
5. Operation of the System, 82
(a) Conflict of Functions and Laws, 82
(b) Loan Operations, 85
(c) Treasury Operations, 88
(d) Operation of the Reserve System, 91
(e) Lack of Elasticity in the Currency, 95
6. Plans for Reform, 97
Chapter V. Commercial Banking in Other Countries, 101
1. Common Features, 101
2. The English System, 104
3. The French System, 111
4. The German System, 119
5. The Canadian System, 126
Chapter VI. Investment Banking, 136
1. Saving and Savings Institutions, 136
2. Trust Companies, 141
3. Bond Houses and Investment Companies, 144
4. Land Banks, 147
5. Stock Exchanges, 163
6. Some Defects in Our Investment Banking Machinery, 166
References, 171
Index, 173
BANKING
CHAPTER I
THE NATURE, FUNCTIONS, AND CLASSIFICATION OF BANKING INSTITUTIONS
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THE BLIND BROTHER.
SUNSHINE LIBRARY.
=Aunt Hannah and Seth.= By James Otis.
=Blind Brother (The).= By Homer Greene.
=Captain's Dog (The).= By Louis Enault.
=Cat and the Candle (The).= By Mary F. Leonard.
=Christmas at Deacon Hackett's.= By James Otis.
=Christmas-Tree Scholar.= By Frances Bent Dillingham.
=Dear Little Marchioness.= The Story of a Child's Faith and Love.
=Dick in the Desert.= By James Otis.
=Divided Skates.= By Evelyn Raymond.
=Gold Thread (The).= By Norman MacLeod, D.D.
=Half a Dozen Thinking Caps.= By Mary Leonard.
=How Tommy Saved the Barn.= By James Otis.
=Ingleside.= By Barbara Yechton.
=J. Cole.= By Emma Gellibrand.
=Jessica's First Prayer.= By Hesba Stretton.
=Laddie.= By the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission."
=Little Crusaders.= By Eva Madden.
=Little Sunshine's Holiday.= By Miss Mulock.
=Little Peter.= By Lucas Malet.
=Master Sunshine.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Miss Toosey's Mission.= By the author of "Laddie."
=Musical Journey of Dorothy and Delia.= By Bradley Gilman.
=Our Uncle, the Major.= A Story of 1765. By James Otis.
=Pair of Them (A).= By Evelyn Raymond.
=Playground Toni.= By Anna Chapin Ray.
=Play Lady (The).= By Ella Farman Pratt.
=Prince Prigio.= By Andrew Lang.
=Short Cruise (A).= By James Otis.
=Smoky Days.= By Edward W. Thomson.
=Strawberry Hill.= By Mrs. C. F. Fraser.
=Sunbeams and Moonbeams.= By Louise R. Baker.
=Two and One.= By Charlotte M. Vaile.
=Wreck of the Circus (The).= By James Otis.
=Young Boss (The).= By Edward W. Thomson.
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
[Illustration]
THE
BLIND BROTHER:
A Story of
THE PENNSYLVANIA COAL MINES
BY
HOMER GREENE
_The author received for this story the First Prize, Fifteen Hundred
Dollars, offered by the_ YOUTH'S COMPANION _in 1886,
for the Best Serial Story_
FOURTEENTH THOUSAND
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1887,
By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
TO
MY MOTHER,
WHOSE TENDER CARE AND UNSELFISH DEVOTION
MADE HAPPY THE DAYS OF MY
OWN BOYHOOD,
This Book for Boys
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY THE AUTHOR.
Honesdale, Penn., April 6, 1887.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LOST IN THE MINE 11
II. THE BURNED BREAKER 30
III. THE UNQUIET CONSCIENCE 50
IV. THE TRIAL 69
V. THE VERDICT 89
VI. THE FALL 109
VII. THE SHADOW OF DEATH 128
VIII. OUT OF DARKNESS 148
THE BLIND BROTHER.
CHAPTER I.
LOST IN THE MINE.
The Dryden Mine, in the Susquehanna coal-fields of Pennsylvania, was
worked out and abandoned long ago. To-day its headings and airways and
chambers echo only to the occasional fall of loosened slate, or to the
drip of water from the roof. Its pillars, robbed by retreating workmen,
are crumbling and rusty, and those of its props which are still
standing have become mouldy and rotten. The rats that once scampered
through its galleries deserted it along with human kind, and its very
name, from long disuse, has acquired an unaccustomed sound.
But twenty years ago there was no busier mine than the Dryden from
Carbondale to Nanticoke. Two hundred and thirty men and boys went by
the <DW72> into it every morning, and came out from it every night. They
were simple and unlearned, these men and boys, rugged and rude, rough
and reckless at times, but manly, heroic, and kindhearted.
Up in the Lackawanna region a strike had been in progress for nearly
two weeks. Efforts had been made by the strikers to persuade the miners
down the valley to join them, but at first without success.
Then a committee of one hundred came down to appeal and to intimidate.
In squads of ten or more they visited the mines in the region, and, in
the course of their journeyings, had come to the Dryden <DW72>. They
had induced the miners to go out at all the workings they had thus far
entered, and were no less successful here. It required persuasion,
sometimes threats, sometimes, indeed, even blows, for the miners in
Dryden <DW72> had no cause of complaint against their employers; they
earned good wages, and were content.
But, twenty years ago, miners who kept at work against the wishes of
their fellows while a strike was in progress, were called "black-legs,"
were treated with contempt, waylaid and beaten, and sometimes killed.
So the men in the Dryden Mine yielded; and soon, down the chambers and
along the headings, toward the foot of the <DW72>, came little groups,
with dinner-pails and tools, discussing earnestly, often bitterly, the
situation and the prospect.
The members of a party of fifteen or twenty, that came down the airway
from the tier of chambers on the new north heading, were holding an
especially animated conversation. Fully one-half of the men were
visiting strikers. They were all walking, in single file, along the
route by which the mine-cars went.
For some distance from the new chambers the car-track was laid in the
airway; then it turned down through an entrance into the heading, and
from that point followed the heading to the foot of the <DW72>. Where
the route crossed from the airway to the heading, the space between
the pillars had been carefully boarded across, so that the air current
should not be turned aside; and a door had been placed in the boarding,
to be opened whenever the cars approached, and shut as soon as they had
passed by.
That door was attended by a boy.
To this point the party had now come, and one by one filed through the
opening, while Bennie, the door-boy, stood holding back the door to let
them pass.
"Ho, Jack, tak' the door-boy wi' ye!" shouted some one in the rear.
The great, broad-shouldered, rough-bearded man who led the procession
turned back to where Bennie, apparently lost in astonishment at this
unusual occurrence, still stood, with his hand on the door.
"Come along, lad!" he said; "come along! Ye'll have a gret play-spell
noo."
"I can't leave the door, sir," answered Bennie. "The cars'll be comin'
soon."
"Ye need na min' the cars. Come along wi' ye, I say!"
"But I can't go till Tom comes, anyway, you know."
The man came a step closer. He had the frame of a giant. The others who
passed by were like children beside him. Then one of the men who worked
in the mine, and who knew Bennie, came through the doorway, the last in
the group, and said,--
"Don't hurt the boy; let him alone. His brother'll take him out; he
always does."
All this time Bennie stood quite still, with his hand on the door,
never turning his head.
It was a strange thing for a boy to stand motionless like that, and
look neither to the right nor the left, while an excited group of men
passed by, one of whom had stopped and approached him, as if he meant
him harm. It roused the curiosity of "Jack the Giant," as the miners
called him, and, plucking his lamp from his cap, he flashed the light
of it up into Bennie's face.
The boy did not stir; no muscle of his face moved; even his eyes
remained open and fixed.
"Why, lad! lad! What's the matter wi' ye?" There was tenderness in the
giant's voice as he spoke, and tenderness in his bearded face as Bennie
answered,--
"Don't you know? I'm blind."
"Blind! An' a-workin' i' the mines?"
"Oh, a body don't have to see to 'tend door, you know. All I've to do
is to open it when I hear the cars a-comin', an' to shut it when they
get by."
"Aye, that's true; but ye did na get here alone. Who helpit ye?"
Bennie's face lighted up with pleasure, as he answered,--
"Oh, that's Tom! He helps me. I couldn't get along without him; I
couldn't do _any thing_ without Tom."
The man's interest and compassion had grown, as the conversation
lengthened, and he was charmed by the voice of the child. It had in it
that touch of pathos that often lingers in the voices of the blind. He
would hear more of it.
"Sit ye, lad," he said; "sit ye, an' tell me aboot Tom, an' aboot
yoursel', an' a' ye can remember."
Then they sat down on the rude bench together, with the roughly hewn
pillar of coal at their backs, blind Bennie and Jack Rennie, the giant,
and while one told the story of his blindness, and his blessings, and
his hopes, the other listened with tender earnestness, almost with
tears.
Bennie told first about Tom, his brother, who was fourteen years old,
two years older than himself. Tom was so good to him; and Tom could
see, could see as well as anybody. "Why," he exclaimed, "Tom can see
_every thing_!"
Then he told about his blindness; how he had been blind ever since
he could remember. But there was a doctor, he said, who came up once
from Philadelphia to visit Major Dryden, before the major died; and he
had chanced to see Tom and Bennie up by the mines, and had looked at
Bennie's eyes, and said he thought, if the boy could go to Philadelphia
and have treatment, that sight might be restored.
Tom asked how much it would cost, and the doctor said, "Oh, maybe a
hundred dollars;" and then some one came and called the doctor away,
and they had never seen him since.
But Tom resolved that Bennie should go to Philadelphia, if ever he
could save money enough to send him.
Tom was a driver-boy in Dryden <DW72>, and his meagre earnings went
mostly to buy food and clothing for the little family. But the dollar
or two that he had been accustomed to spend each month for himself he
began now to lay aside for Bennie.
Bennie knew about it, of course, and rejoiced greatly at the prospect
in store for him, but expressed much discontent because he, himself,
could not help to obtain the fund which was to cure him. Then Tom, with
the aid of the kindhearted mine superintendent, found employment for
his brother as a door-boy in Dryden <DW72>, and Bennie was happy. It
wasn't absolutely necessary that a door-boy should see; if he had good
hearing he could get along very well.
So every morning Bennie went down the <DW72> with Tom, and climbed
into an empty mine-car, and Tom's mule drew them, rattling along the
heading, till they reached, almost a mile from the foot of the <DW72>,
the doorway where Bennie staid.
Then Tom went on, with the empty cars, up to the new tier of chambers,
and brought the loaded cars back. Every day he passed through Bennie's
doorway on three round trips in the forenoon, and three round trips in
the afternoon; and every day, when the noon-hour came, he stopped on
the down-trip, and sat with Bennie on the bench by the door, and both
ate from one pail the dinner prepared for them by their mother.
When quitting time came, and Tom went down to the foot of the <DW72>
with his last trip for the day, Bennie climbed to the top of a load,
and rode out, or else, with his hands on the last car of the trip,
walked safely along behind.
"And Tom and me together have a'most twenty dollars saved now!" said
the boy exultingly. "An' we've only got to get eighty dollars more, an'
then I can go an' buy back the sight into my eyes; an' then Tom an' me
we're goin' to work together all our lives. Tom, he's goin' to get a
chamber an' be a miner, an' I'm goin' to be Tom's laborer till I learn
how to mine, an' then we're goin' to take a contract together, an' hire
laborers, an' get rich, an' then--why, then Mommie won't have to work
any more!"
It was like a glimpse of a better world to hear this boy talk. The most
favored child of wealth that ever revelled seeing in the sunlight has
had no hope, no courage, no sublimity of faith, that could compare with
those of this blind son of poverty and toil. He had his high ambition,
and that was to work. He had his sweet hope to be fulfilled, and that
was to see. He had his earthly shrine, and that was where his mother
sat. And he had his hero of heroes, and that was Tom.
There was no quality of human goodness, or bravery, or excellence
of any kind, that he did not ascribe to Tom. He would sooner have
disbelieved all of his four remaining senses than have believed that
Tom would say an unkind word to Mommie or to him, or be guilty of a
mean act towards any one.
Bennie's faith in Tom was fully justified. No nineteenth century boy
could have been more manly, no knight of old could have been more true
and tender, than was Tom to the two beings whom he loved best upon all
the earth.
"But the father, laddie," said Jack, still charmed and curious;
"whaur's the father?"
"Dead," answered Bennie. "He came from the old country first, an' then
he sent for Mommie an' us, an' w'en we got here he was dead."
"Ah, but that was awfu' sad for the mither! Took wi' the fever, was he?"
"No; killed in the mine. Top coal fell an' struck him. That's the way
they found him. We didn't see him, you know. That was two weeks before
me an' Tom an' Mommie got here. I wasn't but four years old then, but
I can remember how Mommie cried. She didn't have much time to cry,
though, 'cause she had to work so hard. Mommie's al'ays had to work so
hard," added Bennie, reflectively.
The man began to move, nervously, on the bench. It was apparent that
some strong emotion was taking hold of him. He lifted the lamp from his
cap again and held it up close to Bennie's face.
"Killed, said ye--i' the mine--top coal fell?"
"Yes, an' struck him on the head; they said he didn't ever know what
killed him."
The brawny hand trembled so that the flame from the spout of the little
lamp went up in tiny waves.
"Whaur--whaur happenit it--i' what place--i' what mine?"
"Up in Carbondale. No. 6 shaft, I think it was; yes, No. 6."
Bennie spoke somewhat hesitatingly. His quick ear had caught the change
in the man's voice, and he did not know what it could mean.
"His name, lad! gi' me the father's name!"
The giant's huge hand dropped upon Bennie's little one, and held it in
a painful grasp. The boy started to his feet in fear.
"You won't hurt me, sir! Please don't hurt me; I can't see!"
"Not for the warld, lad; not for the whole warld. But I must ha' the
father's name; tell me the father's name, quick!"
"Thomas Taylor, sir," said Bennie, as he sank back, trembling, on the
bench.
The lamp dropped from Jack Rennie's hand, and lay smoking at his feet.
His huge frame seemed to have shrunk by at least a quarter of its size;
and for many minutes he sat, silent and motionless, seeing as little of
the objects around him as did the blind boy at his side.
At last he roused himself, picked up his lamp, and rose to his feet.
"Well, lad, Bennie, I mus' be a-goin'; good-by till ye. Will the
brither come for ye?"
"Oh, yes!" answered Bennie, "Tom al'ays stops for me; he aint come up
from the foot yet, but he'll come."
Rennie turned away, then turned back again.
"Whaur's the lamp?" he asked; "have ye no licht?"
"No; I don't ever have any. It wouldn't be any good to me, you know."
Once more the man started down the heading, but, after he had gone a
short distance, a thought seemed to strike him, and he came back to
where Bennie was still sitting.
"Lad, I thocht to tell ye; ye s'all go to the city wi' your eyes. I ha'
money to sen' ye, an' ye s'all go. I--I--knew--the father, lad."
Before Bennie could express his surprise and gratitude, he felt a
strong hand laid gently on his shoulder, and a rough, bearded face
pressed for a moment against his own, and then his strange visitor was
gone.
Down the heading the retreating footsteps echoed, their sound swallowed
up at last in the distance; and up at Bennie's doorway silence reigned.
For a long time the boy sat, pondering the meaning of the strange man's
words and conduct. But the more he thought about it the less able was
he to understand it. Perhaps Tom could explain it, though; yes, he
would tell Tom about it. Then it occurred to him that it was long past
time for Tom to come up from the foot with his last trip for the day.
It was strange, too, that the men should all go out together that way;
he didn't understand it. But if Tom would only come--
He rose and walked down the heading a little way; then he turned and
went up through the door and along the airway; then he came back to his
bench again, and sat down.
He was sure Tom would come; Tom had never disappointed him yet, and he
knew he would not disappoint him for the world if he could help it. He
knew, too, that it was long after quitting-time, and there hadn't been
a sound, that he could hear, in the mine for an hour, though he had
listened carefully.
After a while he began to grow nervous; the stillness became oppressive;
he could not endure it. He determined to try to find the way out by
himself. He had walked to the foot of the <DW72> alone once, the day Tom
was sick, and he thought he could do it again.
So he made sure that his door was tightly closed, then he took his
dinner-pail, and started bravely down the heading, striking the rails
of the mine car-track on each side with his cane as he went along, to
guide him.
Sometimes he would stop and listen, for a moment, if, perchance, he
might hear Tom coming to meet him, or, possibly, some belated laborer
going out from another part of the mine; then, hearing nothing, he
would trudge on again.
After a long time spent thus, he thought he must be near the foot of
the <DW72>; he knew he had walked far enough to be there. He was tired,
too, and sat down on the rail to rest. But he did not sit there long;
he could not bear the silence, it was too depressing, and after a very
little while he arose and walked on. The caps in the track grew higher;
once he stumbled over one of them and fell, striking his side on the
rail. He was in much pain for a few minutes; then he recovered and went
on more carefully, lifting his feet high with every step, and reaching
ahead with his cane. But his progress was very slow.
Then there came upon him the sensation of being in a strange place. It
did not seem like the heading along which he went to and from his daily
work. He reached out with his cane upon each side, and touched nothing.
Surely, there was no place in the heading so wide as that.
But he kept on.
By-and-by he became aware that he was going down a steep incline.
The echoes of his footsteps had a hollow sound, as though he were in
some wide, open space, and his cane struck one, two, three, props in
succession. Then he knew he was somewhere in a chamber; and knew, too,
that he was lost.
He sat down, feeling weak and faint, and tried to think. He remembered
that, at a point in the heading about two-thirds of the way to the
foot, a passage branched off to the right, crossed under the <DW72>, and
ran out into the southern part of the mine, where he had never been. He
thought he must have turned into this cross-heading, and followed it,
and if he had, it would be hard indeed to tell where he now was. He
did not know whether to go on or to turn back.
Perhaps it would be better, after all, to sit still until help should
come, though it might be hours, or even days, before any one would find
him.
Then came a new thought. What would Tom do? Tom would not know where
he had gone; he would never think of looking for him away off here; he
would go up the heading to the door, and not finding him there, would
think that his brother had already gone home. But when he knew that
Bennie was not at home, he would surely come back to the mine to search
for him; he would come down the <DW72>; maybe he was, at that very
moment, at the foot; maybe Tom would hear him if he should call, "Tom!
O Tom!"
The loudest thunder-burst could not have been more deafening to the
frightened child than the sound of his own voice, as it rang out
through the solemn stillness of the mine, and was hurled back to his
ears by the solid masses of rock and coal that closed in around him.
A thousand echoes went rattling down the wide chambers and along the
narrow galleries, and sent back their ghosts to play upon the nervous
fancy of the frightened child. He would not have shouted like that
again if his life had depended on it.
Then silence fell upon him; silence like a pall--oppressive, mysterious
and awful silence, in which he could almost hear the beating of his own
heart. He could not endure that. He grasped his cane again and started
on, searching for a path, stumbling over caps, falling sometimes,
but on and on, though never so slowly; on and on until, faint and
exhausted, he sank down upon the damp floor of the mine, with his face
in his hands, and wept, in silent agony, like the lost child that he
was.
Lost, indeed, with those miles and miles of black galleries opening
and winding and crossing all around him, and he, lying prostrate and
powerless, alone in the midst of that desolation.
CHAPTER II.
THE BURNED BREAKER.
For a long time Bennie lay there, pitifully weeping. Then, away off
somewhere in the mine, he heard a noise. He lifted his head. By degrees
the noise grew louder; then it sounded almost like footsteps. Suppose
it were some one coming; suppose it were Tom! The light of hope flashed
up in Bennie's breast with the thought.
But the sound ceased, the stillness settled down more profoundly than
before, and about the boy's heart the fear and loneliness came creeping
back. Was it possible that the noise was purely imaginary?
Suddenly, tripping down the passages, bounding from the walls, echoing
through the chambers, striking faintly, but, oh, how sweetly, upon
Bennie's ears, came the well-known call,--
"Ben-nie-e-e-e!"
The sound died away in a faint succession of echoing _e_'s.
Bennie sprang to his feet with a cry.
"Tom! Tom! Tom, here I am."
Before the echoes of his voice came back to him they were broken by the
sound of running feet, and down the winding galleries came Tom, as fast
as his lamp and his legs would take him, never stopping till he and
Bennie were in one another's arms.
"Bennie, it was my fault!" exclaimed Tom. "Patsy Donnelly told me you
went out with Sandy McCulloch while I was up at the stables; an' I went
way home, an' Mommie said you hadn't been there, an' I came back to
find you, an' I went up to your door an' you wasn't there, an' I called
an' called, an' couldn't hear no answer; an' then I thought maybe you'd
tried to come out alone, an' got off in the cross headin' an' got lost,
an'"--
Tom stopped from sheer lack of breath, and Bennie sobbed out,--
"I did, I did get lost an' scared, an'--an'--O Tom, it was awful!"
The thought of what he had experienced unnerved Bennie again, and,
still holding Tom's hand, he sat down on the floor of the mine and wept
aloud.
"There, Bennie, don't cry!" said Tom, soothingly; "don't cry! You're
found now. Come, jump up an' le's go home; Mommie'll be half-crazy."
It was touching to see the motherly way in which this boy of fourteen
consoled and comforted his weaker brother, and helped him again to his
feet. With his arm around the blind boy's waist, Tom led him down,
through the chambers, out into the south heading, and so to the foot of
the <DW72>.
It was not a great distance; Bennie's progress had been so slow that,
although he had, as he feared, wandered off by the cross heading into
the southern part of the mine, he had not been able to get very far
away.
At the foot of the <DW72> they stopped to rest, and Bennie told about
the strange man who had talked with him at the doorway. Tom could give
no explanation of the matter, except that the man must have been one
of the strikers. The meaning of his strange conduct he could no more
understand than could Bennie.
It was a long way up the <DW72>, and for more than half the distance it
was very steep; like climbing up a ladder. Many times on the upward way
the boys stopped to rest. Always when he heard Bennie's breathing grow
hard and laborious, Tom would complain of being himself tired, and they
would turn about and sit for a few moments on a tie, facing down the
<DW72>.
Out at last into the quiet autumn night! Bennie breathed a long sigh of
relief when he felt the yielding soil under his feet and the fresh air
in his face.
Ah! could he but have seen the village lights below him, the glory of
the sky and the jewelry of stars above him, and the half moon slipping
up into the heavens from its hiding-place beyond the heights of
Campbell's Ledge, he would, indeed, have known how sweet and beautiful
the upper earth is, even with the veil of night across it, compared
with the black recesses of the mine.
It was fully a mile to the boys' home; but, with light hearts and
willing feet, they soon left the distance behind them, and reached the
low-roofed cottage, where the anxious mother waited in hope and fear
for the coming of her children.
"Here we are, Mommie!" shouted Tom, as he came around the corner
and saw her standing on the doorstep in the moonlight watching. Out
into the road she ran then, and gathered her two boys into her arms,
kissed their grimy, coal-blackened faces, and listened to their
oft-interrupted story, with smiles and with tears, as she led them to
her house.
But Tom stopped at the door and turned back.
"I promised Sandy McCulloch," he said, "to go over an' tell him if I
found Bennie. He said he'd wait up for me, an' go an' help me hunt him
up if I came back without him. It's only just over beyond the breaker;
it won't take twenty minutes, an' Sandy'll be expectin' me."
And without waiting for more words, the boy started off on a run.
It was already past ten o'clock, and he had not had a mouthful of
supper, but that was nothing in consideration of the fact that Sandy
had been good to him, and would have helped him, and was, even now,
waiting for him. So, with a light and grateful heart, he hurried on.
He passed beyond the little row of cottages, of which his mother's was
one, over the hill by a foot-path, and then along the mine car-track to
the breaker. Before him the great building loomed up, like some huge
castle of old, cutting its outlines sharply against the moon-illumined
sky, and throwing a broad black shadow for hundreds of feet to the west.
Through the shadow went Tom, around by the engine-room, where the
watchman's light was glimmering faintly through the grimy window; out
again into the moonlight, up, by a foot-path, to the summit of another
hill, along by another row of darkened dwellings, to a cottage where a
light was still burning, and there he stopped.
The door opened before he reached it, and a man in shirt-sleeves
stepped out and hailed him:
"Is that you, Tom? An' did ye find Bennie?"
"Yes, Sandy. I came to tell you we just got home. Found him down in the
south chambers; he tried to come out alone, an' got lost. So I'll not
need you, Sandy, with the same thanks as if I did, an' good-night to
you!"
"Good-nicht till ye, Tom! I'm glad the lad's safe wi' the mither. Tom,"
as the boy turned away, "ye'll not be afeard to be goin' home alone?"
Tom laughed.
"Do I looked scared, Sandy? Give yourself no fear for me; I'm afraid o'
naught."
Before Sandy turned in at his door, Tom had disappeared below the brow
of the hill. The loose gravel rolled under his feet as he hurried down,
and once, near the bottom, he slipped and fell.
As he rose, he was astonished to see the figure of a man steal
carefully along in the shadow of the breaker, and disappear around the
corner by the engine-room.
Tom went down cautiously into the shadow, and stopped for a moment in
the track by the loading-place to listen. He thought he heard a noise
in there; something that sounded like the snapping of dry twigs.
The next moment a man came out from under that portion of the breaker,
with his head turned back over his shoulder, muttering, as he advanced
toward Tom,--
"There, Mike, that's the last job o' that kind I'll do for all the
secret orders i' the warl'. They put it on to me because I've got no
wife nor childer, nor ither body to cry their eyes oot, an' I get i'
the prison for it. But I've had the hert o' me touched the day, Mike,
an' I canna do the like o' this again; it's the las' time, min' ye, the
las' time I--Mike!--why, that's no' Mike! Don't ye speak, lad! don't ye
whusper! don't ye stir!"
The man stepped forward, a very giant in size, with a great beard
floating on his breast, and laid his brawny hands on Tom's shoulders
with a grip that made the lad wince.
Tom did not stir; he was too much frightened for one thing, too much
astonished for another. For, before the man had finished speaking,
there appeared under the loading-place in the breaker a little
flickering light, and the light grew into | 1,897.397729 |
2023-11-16 18:48:41.4507210 | 1,988 | 19 |
Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 2 of the 1893 three volume set]
SONGS OF MANY SEASONS
1862-1874
OPENING THE WINDOW
PROGRAMME
IN THE QUIET DAYS
AN OLD-YEAR SONG
DOROTHY Q: A FAMILY PORTRAIT
THE ORGAN-BLOWER
AT THE PANTOMIME
AFTER THE FIRE
A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY
NEARING THE SNOW-LINE
IN WAR TIME
TO CANAAN: A PURITAN WAR-SONG
"THUS SAITH THE LORD, I OFFER THEE THREE THINGS"
NEVER OR NOW
ONE COUNTRY
GOD SAVE THE FLAG!
HYMN AFTER THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION
HYMN FOR THE FAIR AT CHICAGO
UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAMBRIDGE
FREEDOM, OUR QUEEN
ARMY HYMN
PARTING HYMN
THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY
THE SWEET LITTLE MAN
UNION AND LIBERTY
SONGS OF WELCOME AND FAREWELL
AMERICA TO RUSSIA
WELCOME TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS
AT THE BANQUET TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS
AT THE BANQUET TO THE CHINESE EMBASSY
AT THE BANQUET TO THE JAPANESE EMBASSY
BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
A FAREWELL TO AGASSIZ
AT A DINNER TO ADMIRAL FARRAGUT
AT A DINNER TO GENERAL GRANT
To H W LONGFELLOW
To CHRISTIAN GOTTFRIED EHRENBERG
A TOAST TO WILKIE COLLINS
MEMORIAL VERSES
FOR THE SERVICES IN MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, BOSTON, 1865
FOR THE COMMEMORATION SERVICES, CAMBRIDGE JULY 21, 1865
EDWARD EVERETT: JANUARY 30, 1865
SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, APRIL 23, 1864
IN MEMORY OF JOHN AND ROBERT WARE, MAY 25, 1864
HUMBOLDT'S BIRTHDAY: CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, SEPTEMBER 14, 1869
POEM AT THE DEDICATION OF THE HALLECK MONUMENT, JULY 8, 1869
HYMN FOR THE CELEBRATION AT THE LAYING OF THE CORNER-STONE OF
HARVARD MEMORIAL HALL, CAMBRIDGE, OCTOBER 6, 1870
HYMN FOR THE DEDICATION OF MEMORIAL HALL AT CAMBRIDGE, 1874
HYMN AT THE FUNERAL SERVICES OF CHARLES SUMNER, APRIL 29, 1874
RHYMES OF AN HOUR
ADDRESS FOR THE OPENING OF THE FIFTH AVENUE THEATRE, N. Y. 1873
A SEA DIALOGUE
CHANSON WITHOUT MUSIC
FOR THE CENTENNIAL DINNER, PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, 1873
A POEM SERVED TO ORDER
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
No TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME
A HYMN OF PEACE, TO THE MUSIC OF KELLER'S "AMERICAN HYMN"
OPENING THE WINDOW
THUS I lift the sash, so long
Shut against the flight of song;
All too late for vain excuse,--
Lo, my captive rhymes are loose.
Rhymes that, flitting through my brain,
Beat against my window-pane,
Some with gayly colored wings,
Some, alas! with venomed stings.
Shall they bask in sunny rays?
Shall they feed on sugared praise?
Shall they stick with tangled feet
On the critic's poisoned sheet?
Are the outside winds too rough?
Is the world not wide enough?
Go, my winged verse, and try,--
Go, like Uncle Toby's fly!
PROGRAMME
READER--gentle--if so be
Such still live, and live for me,
Will it please you to be told
What my tenscore pages hold?
Here are verses that in spite
Of myself I needs must write,
Like the wine that oozes first
When the unsqueezed grapes have burst.
Here are angry lines, "too hard!"
Says the soldier, battle-scarred.
Could I smile his scars away
I would blot the bitter lay,
Written with a knitted brow,
Read with placid wonder now.
Throbbed such passion in my heart?
Did his wounds once really smart?
Here are varied strains that sing
All the changes life can bring,
Songs when joyous friends have met,
Songs the mourner's tears have wet.
See the banquet's dead bouquet,
Fair and fragrant in its day;
Do they read the selfsame lines,--
He that fasts and he that dines?
Year by year, like milestones placed,
Mark the record Friendship traced.
Prisoned in the walls of time
Life has notched itself in rhyme.
As its seasons slid along,
Every year a notch of song,
From the June of long ago,
When the rose was full in blow,
Till the scarlet sage has come
And the cold chrysanthemum.
Read, but not to praise or blame;
Are not all our hearts the same?
For the rest, they take their chance,--
Some may pay a passing glance;
Others,-well, they served a turn,--
Wherefore written, would you learn?
Not for glory, not for pelf,
Not, be sure, to please myself,
Not for any meaner ends,--
Always "by request of friends."
Here's the cousin of a king,--
Would I do the civil thing?
Here's the first-born of a queen;
Here's a slant-eyed Mandarin.
Would I polish off Japan?
Would I greet this famous man,
Prince or Prelate, Sheik or Shah?--
Figaro gi and Figaro la!
Would I just this once comply?--
So they teased and teased till I
(Be the truth at once confessed)
Wavered--yielded--did my best.
Turn my pages,--never mind
If you like not all you find;
Think not all the grains are gold
Sacramento's sand-banks hold.
Every kernel has its shell,
Every chime its harshest bell,
Every face its weariest look,
Every shelf its emptiest book,
Every field its leanest sheaf,
Every book its dullest leaf,
Every leaf its weakest line,--
Shall it not be so with mine?
Best for worst shall make amends,
Find us, keep us, leave us friends
Till, perchance, we meet again.
Benedicite.--Amen!
October 7, 1874.
IN THE QUIET DAYS
AN OLD-YEAR SONG
As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
A lonely minstrel of the wood
Was singing to the solitude
I loved thy music, thus I said,
When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread
Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now
Thy carol on the leafless bough.
Sing, little bird! thy note shall cheer
The sadness of the dying year.
When violets pranked the turf with blue
And morning filled their cups with dew,
Thy slender voice with rippling trill
The budding April bowers would fill,
Nor passed its joyous tones away
When April rounded into May:
Thy life shall hail no second dawn,--
Sing, little bird! the spring is gone.
And I remember--well-a-day!--
Thy full-blown summer roundelay,
As when behind a broidered screen
Some holy maiden sings unseen
With answering notes the woodland rung,
And every tree-top found a tongue.
How deep the shade! the groves how fair!
Sing, little bird! the woods are bare.
The summer's throbbing chant is done
And mute the choral antiphon;
The birds have left the shivering pines
To flit among the trellised vines,
Or fan the air with scented plumes
Amid the love-sick orange-blooms,
And thou art here alone,--alone,--
Sing, little bird! the rest have flown.
The snow has capped yon distant hill,
At morn the running brook was still,
From driven herds the clouds that rise
Are like the smoke of sacrifice;
Erelong the frozen sod shall mock
The ploughshare, changed to stubborn rock,
The brawling streams shall soon be dumb,--
Sing, little bird! the frosts have come.
Fast, fast the lengthening shadows creep,
The songless fowls are half asleep,
The air grows chill | 1,897.470761 |
2023-11-16 18:48:41.6499380 | 7,425 | 66 |
Produced by Holly Astle, Mormon Texts Project Intern
(http://mormontextsproject.org/)
HELPFUL VISIONS.
THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF THE FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES.
Intended for the Instruction and Encouragement of Young Latter-day
Saints.
JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE,
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
1887.
COMBINED FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES,
Nos. 1-5, $1.35,
Nos. 6-10, $1.25.
CONTENTS.
A TERRIBLE ORDEAL.
CHAPTER I.
Remarkable Spiritual Manifestations--Thrilling Experience of Elder
David P. Kimball, as Narrated by himself.
CHAPTER II.
Account of Patten Kimball and Others, Regarding the Search for and
Finding of his Father.
BRIANT S. STEVENS.
CHAPTER I.
Briant Stringham Stevens Becomes a Missionary to His Associates and
Brings Four Boys to Belief and Baptism--A Good Child who Passed Amidst
the Daily Temptations of Life Unscathed.
CHAPTER II.
Accidents to Briant--He is Ordained to the Priesthood--Patient
Endurance of His Sufferings--He is Blessed to be an Elder and then
Slumbers in Death.
CHAPTER III.
A "Helpful Vision" to Briant's Stricken Father--the Comforter Brings
the Peace which Passes All Understanding--The Funeral of the Little
Missionary--His Work Lives after Him.
FINDING COMFORT.
CHAPTER I.
Called to Australasia--The Modern Imitators of Job's Friends--Our
"Special Instruction" is to "Build up the Kingdom of God in those
Lands"--A Disappointment ends in a Blessing--Promises by an Apostle
which were Literally Fulfilled--We Reach Sydney, I am Separated From my
Companion.
CHAPTER II.
Labor which Brought Little Compensation--A Mysterious Call to
New Zealand--Attacked by an Evil Spirit--The Visitation Thrice
Repeated--Meeting the Brother of a Friend--On Board the _Wakatipu_
Bound for New Zealand.
CHAPTER III.
An Irreverent Company of Passengers--Sickness and a Horror of Life
Fall Upon Me--A "Helpful Vision"--"Only be True"--Invoking the
Name of Christ--A Jolly Singer and a Jolly Song--Landing at Port
Littleton--Strange Recognition of Brother Nordstrand--His Dream
Concerning Me.
CHAPTER IV.
Reason for my Sudden Call to Leave Sydney--The Little Old Lady of the
_Wakatipu_--She had Waited a Generation to Renew her Covenants--Another
"Helpful Vision"--A Mysterious Half-Sovereign--Saved from Death in a
Swift River.
CHAPTER V.
Some Old Members of the Church--The Spirit Prompts Promises to Them
which are Literally Fulfilled--Help from a Catholic Who is Suddenly
Converted and Who as Suddenly Apostatizes--A Spontaneous Prophecy--The
Journey Home--A Careful Observer--Safe in Zion.
TRAITORS.
Solemn Warnings--A Traitor can Never be Anything but
Despicable--Examples of the Past.
PREFACE.
The very encouraging reports we are constantly receiving from various
parts of the country concerning the vast amount of good accomplished by
these small publications, induces us to issue the fourteenth book, with
the sincere hope that it may not be less interesting or instructive
than those which have preceded it.
The Visions here recorded will again prove that truth is stranger than
fiction, and we trust that a perusal of these manifestations will lead
our young people to seek for the guidance of the Lord in all things,
and make Him their constant friend. The article on traitors is very
appropriate reading matter for the present season, and will, it is
hoped, cause everyone to look upon the men of this class with the
contempt they so justly merit, and sustain everyone in shunning as they
would poison, any traitorous act.
Our great desire is that this little book may assist in the education
and elevation of the young people and others who may peruse it.
THE PUBLISHERS.
A TERRIBLE ORDEAL.
BY O. F. WHITNEY.
CHAPTER I.
REMARKABLE SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATIONS--THRILLING EXPERIENCE OF ELDER
DAVID P. KIMBALL, AS NARRATED BY HIMSELF.
The following narrative of the experience of the late David Patten
Kimball, who was lost on the Salt River desert, Arizona, in the latter
part of November, 1881, is taken by permission from a letter written
by him to his sister, Helen Mar Whitney, of this city, on the 8th of
January, 1882. Brother Kimball was then a resident of Jonesville,
or Lehi, three miles from Mesa, where the letter was written. The
events described took place while he was returning home from a trip to
Prescott, the capital of that Territory.
The experience related was of so remarkable a character as to meet with
dubiety on the part of some, especially those inclined to be skeptical
regarding spiritual manifestations. Some went so far as to ascribe the
sights and scenes through which the narrator claimed to have passed,
to the fevered fancy of a mind disordered by strong drink. That such
should have been supposed, particularly by those who are ignorant of
spiritual things, is not surprising, when it is remembered that even
the Apostles of Christ, on the day of Pentecost, were accused of being
"drunken with new wine," when the power of the Spirit fell upon them
and they "spake with tongues and prophesied."
What is here presented is the plain and simple testimony of an honest
man, who adhered to it till the day of his death, which occurred within
two years from the date of his letter, and was in literal fulfillment
of certain things which he said were shown him in vision, and of which
he frequently testified while living.
For the benefit of such as may not have known Brother David P. Kimball,
we will state that he was the fourth son of the late President Heber C.
Kimball, whose wonderful encounter with evil spirits, on the opening
of the British Mission in 1837, has become a matter of Church history.
Here is the excerpt from David's letter:
"On the 4th of November, I took a very severe cold in a snow storm at
Prescott, being clad in light clothing, which brought on pneumonia
or lung fever. I resorted to Jamaica ginger and pepper tea to obtain
relief and keep up my strength till I could reach home and receive
proper care. On the 13th I camped in a canyon ten miles west of
Prescott, my son Patten being with me. We had a team of eight horses
and two wagons. That night I suffered more than death. The next night
we camped at Mr. McIntyre's, about twenty miles farther on. I stopped
there two nights and one day, during which time I took nothing to drink
but pepper tea. On the 16th we drove to Black's ranch, twenty-eight
miles nearer home, and were very comfortably located in Mr. Black's
house.
"About 11 p. m., I awoke and to my surprise saw some six or eight men
standing around my bed. I had no dread of them but felt that they were
my friends. At the same time I heard a voice which seemed to come from
an eight square (octagon) clock on the opposite side of the house.
It commenced talking and blackguarding, which drew my attention,
when I was told to pay no attention to it. At this point I heard the
most beautiful singing I ever listened to in all my life. These were
the words, repeated three times by a choir: 'God bless Brother David
Kimball.' I at once distinguished among them the voice of my second
wife, Julia Merrill, who in life was a good singer. This, of course,
astonished me. Just then my father commenced talking to me, the voice
seeming to come from a long distance. He commenced by telling me of
his associations with President Young, the Prophet Joseph, and others
in the spirit world, then enquired about his children, and seemed to
regret that his family were so scattered, and said there would be a
great reformation in his family inside of two years. He also told me
where I should live, also yourself and others, and a great many other
things. I conversed freely with father, and my words were repeated
three times by as many different persons, exactly as I spoke them,
until they reached him, and then his words to me were handed down in a
like manner.
"After all this I gave way to doubt, thinking it might be only a dream,
and to convince myself that I was awake, I got up and walked out-doors
into the open air.
"I returned and still the spirit of doubt was upon me. To test it
further I asked my wife Julia to sing me a verse of one of her old
songs. At that, the choir, which had continued singing, stopped and she
sang the song through, every word being distinct and beautiful. The
name of the song was, 'Does He Ever Think of Me.'
"My eyes were now turned toward the south, and there, as in a large
parquette, I beheld hundreds, even thousands, of friends and relatives.
I was then given the privilege of asking questions and did so. This
lasted for some time, after which the singing commenced again,
directly above me. I now wrapped myself in a pair of blankets and went
out-doors, determined to see the singers, but could see nothing, though
I could hear the voices just the same. I returned to my couch and the
singing, which was all communicative and instructive, continued until
the day dawned. All this time the clock I have mentioned continued its
cursing and blackguarding.
"Mr. and Mrs. Black were up in due time and got breakfast. I arose and
made my toilet, plain as it was, and took breakfast with my host and
hostess. When my boy got ready to start, I went to pay my bill, and to
my surprise heard a voice say or communicate: 'David Kimball has paid
his bill.' When I got into the wagon, my guards, or those who were
around my bed during the night, were still with me. My father had told
me that he and President Young and others would visit me the next night.
"We drove on until about 11 a. m., when a host of evil spirits made
their appearance. They were determined to destroy me, but I had power
of mind to pay no attention to them, and let them curse all day without
heeding them any more than possible. Five times they made a rush _en
masse_ to come into the wagon, the last one, where I was, but were kept
off by my friends (spiritual). About 2 p. m. I told my boy to stop and
we would water our horses. We used for this purpose barrels that we had
along with us. After this I walked to the west side of my wagons, and
looking to the east, I saw and heard the evil spirits floating in the
air and chanting curses upon Brigham Young. I saw two other groups of
the same kind, but did not hear them. Then I looked to the south and
the whole atmosphere was crowded with fallen spirits, or those who had
not obtained bodies. Others who tried to torment me were spirits who
had lived upon the earth. Having seen so many and being complimented
by my guard for seeing so well, I became a little timid and asked my
spiritual friends if they had any help. The answer was, 'Yes, plenty.'
I now told my boy to drive on--he was entirely oblivious of all that
was taking place with me--and soon after I was so exhausted that I fell
into a troubled sleep and must have slept quite a little while.
"After I awoke I seemed to be left alone, and was lying on my back,
when, all at once, I saw an old man and two young girls. This vision
coming on me so suddenly, I was startled, and finding my guard gone, I
jumped out of the wagon and got up on the spring seat beside my boy.
But I could not get away from them. I was told in a coarse, gruff voice
that the devil was going to kill me, and that he would follow me night
and day until he destroyed me. I remembered the promise father had made
me the night before--that he intended to visit me the next evening--and
I nerved up and tried to pay no attention to my persecutors, but I must
confess I was frightened.
"We arrived at Wickenburg just at sundown. The old man and the girls
were tormenting and tantalizing me all the way, but never coming very
near to me. We got supper and I took a room at Peeple's hotel and
retired about 10 p. m. When everything was quiet my spirit friends,
eight in number, returned and my tormentors were required to leave.
Soon after, a glorious vision burst upon me. There were thousands of
the Saints presented to me, many who had died at Nauvoo, in Winter
Quarters, on the plains and in Utah.
"I saw Brother Pugmire and many others whom I did not know were dead.
When my mother came to me it was so real and I was so overjoyed that
I exclaimed aloud. So powerful was this vision that I asked President
Young, who seemed to be directing matters, three times to relieve me,
or I would faint. A great many others passed in regular order; and I
recognized nearly all of them, and was told the names of all I did not
know. My father sat in a chair with his legs crossed and his hands
clasped together, as we have often seen him. Those who passed along had
hidden him from my view till then.
"This scene vanished, and I was then taken in the vision into a vast
building, which was built on the plan of the Order of Zion. I entered
through a south door and found myself in a part of the building which
was unfinished, though a great many workmen were busy upon it. My guide
showed me all through this half of the house, and then took me through
the other half, which was finished. The richness, grandeur and beauty
of it defied description. There were many apartments in the house,
which was very spacious, and they differed in size and the fineness of
the workmanship, according to the merits on earth of those who were
to occupy them. I felt most at home in the unfinished part, among the
workmen. The upper part of the house was filled with Saints, but I
could not see them, though some of them conversed with me, my father
and mother, Uncle Joseph Young and others.
"My father told me many things, and I received many reproofs for my
wrong-doings. Yet he was loth to have me leave, and seemed to feel very
badly when the time came for me to go. He told me I could remain there
if I chose to do so, but I plead with him that I might stay with my
family long enough to make them comfortable, to repent of my sins, and
more fully prepare myself for the change. Had it not been for this, I
never should have returned home, except as a corpse. Father finally
told me I could remain two years, and to do all the good I could during
that time, after which he would come for me; he mentioned four others
that he would come for also, though he did not say it would be at the
same time.
"On the 18th of November, about noon, we left Wickenburg (which is
twenty-two miles from Black's Ranch where we stopped the previous
night) on our journey home. I was exhausted from what I had
experienced, and could feel my mind fast giving away, but I had
confidence that I would reach home alive. There were no Elders to
administer to me and no kind friends to look after my wants except my
son, who had all he could do in looking after eight horses and two
wagons. As my mind wandered and grew weaker, I was troubled and led by
influences over which I had no power, and my friends, the good spirits,
had all left me.
"We drove about twenty miles that afternoon, camping about eight miles
from water, on the Salt River desert, which is about fifty miles
across. During the fore part of the night I heard the horses running as
though they were frightened. My son was asleep, but I got up and put my
overcoat across my shoulders and went out where they were and got them
quieted down. I was about to return to the wagon, when that same old
man with gray whiskers, who had tormented me before, stepped between
me and the wagons. He had a long knife in his hand. I was frightened
and fled, he pursuing me and telling me he was going to kill me. What
I passed through I cannot describe, and no mortal tongue could tell. I
wandered two days and three nights in the Salt River desert, undergoing
the torments of the damned, most of the time, which was beyond anything
that mortal could imagine.
"When my mind was restored, and the fever which had raged within me had
abated, I found myself lying on a bleak hill-top, lost in the desert,
chilled, hungered, thirsty and feeble. I had scarcely any clothing on,
was barefooted, and my body full of cactus from head to foot. My hands
were a perfect mat of thorns and briars. This, with the knowledge that
no one was near me, made me realize the awful condition I was in. I
could not walk. I thought I would take my life, but had no knife or any
thing to do it with. I tried to cut an artery in my arm with a sharp
rock I had picked up, hoping I might bleed to death, but even this was
denied me. The wolves and ravens were hovering around me, anxiously
awaiting my death. I had a long stick and I thought I would dig a deep
hole and cover myself up the best I could, so the wolves would not
devour my body until I could be found by my friends.
"On the night of the 21st, I could see a fire about twenty-five miles
to the south, and felt satisfied that it was my friends coming after
me. I knew the country where I was; I was about eight miles from houses
where I could have got plenty of water and something to eat, but my
strength was gone and my feet were so sore I could not stand up.
Another long and dreary day passed, but I could see nothing but wolves
and ravens and a barren desert covered with cactus, and had about made
up my mind that the promise of two years life, made by my father, was
not to be realized. While in this terrible plight, and when I had just
about given up all hope, my father and mother appeared to me and gave
me a drink of water and comforted me, telling me I would be found by
my friends who were out searching for me, and that I should live two
years longer as I had been promised. When night came I saw another fire
a few hundred yards from me and could see my friends around it, but
I was so hoarse I could not make them hear. By this time my body was
almost lifeless and I could hardly move, but my mind was in a perfect
condition and I could realize everything that happened around me.
"On the morning of the 23rd, at daylight, here they came, about twenty
in all, two of my own sons, my nephew William, Bishop E. Pomeroy,
John Lewis, John Blackburn, Wiley Jones and others, all friends and
relatives from the Mesa, who had tracked me between seventy-five and
one hundred miles. I shook hands with them, and they were all overjoyed
to see me alive, although in such a pitiable plight. My own feelings
I shall not undertake to describe. I told them to be very careful how
they let me have water, at first. They rolled me up in some blankets
and put me on a buck-board and appointed John Lewis to look after me
as doctor and nurse. After I had taken a few swallows of water, I was
almost frantic for more, but they wisely refused to let me have it
except in small doses every half hour.
"I had about seventy-five miles to ride home. We arrived at my place in
Jonesville on the afternoon of the 24th of November, when my wife and
family took charge of me and I was tenderly and carefully nourished.
In a few days I was around again. I told my experience to President
McDonald, Bishop Pomeroy, C. I. Robson and others, and most of them
believed me, but my word was doubted by some. The report had gone out
that I had been drinking and was under the influence of liquor. This
was an utterly false report. I told them I had just two years to live,
so they could tell whether it was a true manifestation or not.
"Now, Sister Helen, during the last twelve years I have had doubts
about the truth of 'Mormonism,' because I did not take a course to keep
my testimony alive within me. And the letter I wrote you last August,
I suppose caused you to feel sorrowful, and you prayed for me and God
heard your prayers. And our father and mother plead with the Lord in
my behalf, to whom I will give the credit of this terrible but useful
ordeal through which I have passed and only in part described, an
ordeal which but few men have ever been able to endure and relate what
I have seen and heard.
"Now, my dear sister, you have a little of your brother David's
experience, and let who will think that I had been drinking. I know
these things were shown to me for my own good, and it was no dream
but a glorious and awful reality. My story is believed by my brethren
who have respect for me. I will console myself with the knowledge I
have obtained. Let the world wag on, and let hell and the devil keep
up their warfare against the Saints of God. I know for myself that
"Mormonism" is true. With God's help, while I live, I shall strive to
do good, and I will see you before long and tell you all, as it never
will be blotted out of my memory.
"With kind regards, in which my wife and children join, I remain, as
ever,
Your Affectionate Brother,
David P. Kimball."
CHAPTER II.
ACCOUNT OF PATTEN KIMBALL AND OTHERS, REGARDING THE SEARCH FOR AND
FINDING OF HIS FATHER.
The following account is furnished by Elder Solomon F. Kimball, brother
of David P. Kimball, who was in Mesa at the time of the occurrence
described and thoroughly conversant with the facts:
On the morning of November 19th when Patten arose and missed his father
he thought probably he had gone out to hunt for the horses, and felt
no uneasiness concerning him. He made a fire, prepared breakfast and
waited some time, but could not see or hear him anywhere. The horses
came strolling into camp and were tied up, fed and watered. Patten then
ate his meal and saddled a horse and rode back towards Wickenburg,
until he came to a small place called Seymour on the Hassayampa but
could find out nothing of his father's whereabouts. He went back to the
wagon and hunted the country close around camp but found nothing but
his father's overcoat, which was a few hundred yards from the wagon.
It being an old camp-ground, it was impossible to find his tracks. He
finally came to the conclusion that he had gone towards home, so he
hitched up his team and drove homeward until he came to Mr. Calderwoods
at Agua Fria. (Cold Water). At this place there was a well dug on the
desert about twenty miles from Salt River. Patten had traveled about
twenty-two miles before reaching this point, but was disappointed in
not hearing anything of his father. He had traveled all night and Mr.
Calderwood was up and around when he arrived. He related his story to
him and was advised by him to leave his team there and take the best
pair of horses, and hitch them to his buck-board and go on to the
Mesa. Here he could get help to come and hunt for the missing man. The
distance was forty miles, which would take all the rest of the day (the
20th). He acted on the advice, however, and arrived at his destination
at 9 p. m. The news was circulated, and in less than two hours, twenty
of the best and most experienced men at Mesa and Jonesville were on the
road, taking Patten back with them. They also took a wagon to carry
water and provisions, but most of them were on the best of horses.
They had sixty miles to ride, before beginning the search, which was
accomplished by daylight next morning. After feeding their horses and
eating a lunch they held a consultation and agreed to abide by the
following rule. If any one of the party found his tracks he was to make
a smoke and this would call the others in that direction. They then
started out in different directions. They scoured the country until
about noon, when Sern Sornson and Charles Rogers found his tracks.
They supposed they were about twelve miles from where he was lost, and
about ten miles from Agua Fria, close to the main road on the south
side. They soon gathered some brush and started a fire, putting on
plenty of green weeds, etc., to cause a smoke, and soon attracted the
attention of their comrades. His tracks were followed. They wound round
and round, going in no particular direction. Some places he would cross
his tracks eight or ten times in going one hundred yards, which made it
quite difficult to follow.
After spending a part of the afternoon trailing him up, the tracks
finally took a direct course leading to the north. By this time all the
searching party were together.
Another meeting was held and the plan adopted was for eight horsemen,
four on each side of his tracks, to ride at a considerable distance
apart, so as to cut off the track if it turned to the right or left,
and two or three of the best trailers to keep on the tracks, while the
buck-board and wagon followed up. These were out of sight most of the
time, as very good time was made by the trailers after this plan was
adopted. The ground was quite soft, and those on the trail would gallop
their horses for miles, but darkness soon put an end to their work for
this day, a good thing for both men and animals.
They had traveled upwards of one hundred miles in about twenty hours.
They were working men and had plenty of strength to carry them through
under all circumstances. They camped on the highest ground that could
be found close by, and made a large fire which was kept up all night by
those on guard.
As soon as it was light enough to see the tracks, every man was at his
place moving as fast as he could under the circumstances.
This was the morning of the 22nd. One great drawback they met with that
day was that when they would come to a deep ravine where water had run
during rainy weather, the tracks would follow up sometimes for miles
and then continue in the former direction. Places would frequently be
found in the sand where the lost one had dug down for water with his
hands. Now and then they would find a piece of his clothing and see
places where he had run into the fox-tail cactus, cat's-claw and other
thorny bushes. One place was found where he had broken off the limb
of a tree for a walking stick. The party followed his tracks all day
without stopping, only as they were obliged to, on account of losing
the trail or from some other cause.
Darkness overtook them again, but nothing could be heard or seen of
the missing man. They slept on his tracks, keeping up a fire all night
as before. His sons and others could not rest, and followed his tracks
after dark by striking matches and putting them close to the ground
to see if they might possibly find him. Some thought they could hear
a sound but it was so indistinct they could not discern the direction
from which it came. It was indeed he who called, for they were then
only a few hundred yards from him, but he was too hoarse to make them
hear. On the morning of the 23rd at daylight his anxious friends were
on his tracks, and had gone but a short distance when Charles Peterson
saw him. He had a long staff in his hand, and had raised up as high
as he could get, being on one knee and the other foot on the ground,
and was stretching himself as far as he could and looking eagerly for
their arrival. The crowd made a rush, and in a few seconds were with
him, Bishop E. Pomeroy being the first. He was in his right mind and
knew all present, and was glad to shake them by the hand, calling each
by name. He was in good spirits and joked the boys frequently and gave
them instructions to be careful in giving him water, etc. There was no
water except in a canteen that had been reserved for his especial use.
The company suffered themselves for want of water. They had traveled
upwards of one hundred and fifty miles in less than forty-eight hours.
David had dug a deep hole with his stick and had used his hands to
move the dirt. He said he was digging his own grave. He was rolled in
blankets and put on the buck-board. All drove to the nearest houses,
seven or eight miles distant, on the Hassayampa, where all refreshed
themselves with water and something to eat. Soon they were on the road
homeward. They drove to Mr. Calderwood's, which was about thirty miles,
and stayed all night. He was very kind to all and told them to help
themselves to any thing he had, such as hay, grain and food. He acted
the gentleman in every respect. A large number of men had also left
Phoenix in search of David, among them being the U. S. Marshal, and
others. Men and Indians were riding over the desert in every direction.
Next morning the company drove to Jonesville, forty miles distant,
where they arrived about 3 p. m.
David was carried into his house where he was surrounded by his loving
wife and children.
When he recounted his experience, he said that one thing that kept him
from choking to death for want of water, was the damp pebbles which he
dug from low ravines and held them in his mouth. The Indians said that
no human being could walk as far as he did, go without water and live
four days and five nights. The party that found him said he must have
walked at least seventy-five miles, some said one hundred.
He testified that on the afternoon of the 22nd, his father and mother
came and gave him water and told him that his friends would find him.
His clothing was all gone except his under garments, which were badly
torn.
Before leaving home on his trip to Prescott, David had worked several
days fixing up his books and accounts, and burning up all useless
papers, after which he told his wife that he felt different in starting
on this trip from anything he had ever felt before. He said it seemed
to him that he should never return. He told her that if this proved
to be the case, he had fixed his business up in such a shape that she
would have no trouble, and would know as much about it as himself.
She frequently spoke of these curious remarks, and felt considerably
worried. When the news came that he was lost, all was plain to her, and
she never expected to see him come home alive. Nothing could comfort
her and she watched night and day until he was brought home.
* * * * *
In the Fall of 1883, Elder David P. Kimball paid a visit to Salt Lake
City, to see his sister Helen and others, to whom he confirmed by his
own lips all that his letter contained, and told some other things
in relation to his marvelous experience. He declared solemnly to her
that he was perfectly sober when he passed through the trying ordeal
related, and bore a powerful testimony to the truth of "Mormonism."
He seemed a little reticent to most of his relatives, and talked but
little of his strange experience, feeling pained that so many seemed to
doubt his word, and being unwilling to make himself obtrusive. When he
bade his friends farewell, there was something about him which seemed
to say that he was taking leave of them for all time. This visit was
no doubt made with that prospect, for it was almost two years from the
time he was lost on the desert. He returned home to St. David, Cochise
County, Arizona, and almost the next news that came from there was the
tidings of his death.
A letter from his nephew, Charles S. Whitney, who was then living with
him, written home on the 22nd of November, 1883, contained this:
"Uncle David died this morning at half-past six, easily, and apparently
without a bit of pain. Shortly before he died, he looked up and called,
'Father, father!' All night long he had called for Uncle Heber. You
remember hearing him tell how grand-pa came to him when he was lost
on the desert, and how he plead for two more years and was given that
much longer to stay. Last Saturday, the day he was so bad, was just two
years from the day he was | 1,897.669978 |
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FRANK FAIRLEGH
SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A PRIVATE PUPIL
BY
FRANK E. SMEDLEY
"How now! good lack! what present have we here?
A Book that goes in peril of the press;
But now it's past those pikes, and doth appear
To keep the lookers-on from heaviness.
What stuff contains it?"
_Davies of Hereford_
WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
A NEW EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LONDON
1904
THIS Issue is founded on the First Edition, published by A. Hall,
Virtue, & Co., in the year 1850.
I. All Right! Off We Go! 1
II. Loss and Gain 12
III. Cold-water Cure for the Heartache 21
IV. Wherein is Commenced the Adventure of
the Macintosh and Other Matters 28
V. Mad Bess 39
VI. Lawless Gets Thoroughly Pot Oot 46
VII. The Board of Green Cloth 59
VIII. Good Resolutions 71
IX. A Denouement 81
X. The Boating Party 93
XI. Breakers Ahead! 100
XII. Death and Change 106
XIII. Catching a Shrimp 114
XIV. The Ball 122
XV. Ringing the Curfew 129
XVI. The Roman Father 136
XVII. The Invisible Girl 145
XVIII. The Game in Barstone Park 150
XIX. Turning the Tables 155
XX. Alma Mater 160
XXI. The Wine Party 163
XXII. Taming a Shrew 173
XXIII. What Harry and I Found When We Lost
Our Way 182
XXIV. How Oaklands Broke His Horsewhip 190
XXV. The Challenge 198
XXVI. Coming Events Cast Their Shadows
Before 205
XXVII. The Duel 212
XXVIII. The Substance of the Shadow 220
XXIX. The Struggle in Chesterton Meadow 229
XXX. Mr. Frampton's Introduction to a Tiger 234
XXXI. How I Rise a Degree, and Mr. Frampton
Gets Elevated in More Ways Than One 242
XXXII. Catching Sight of an Old Flame 250
XXXIII. Woman's a Riddle 257
XXXIV. The Riddle Baffles Me! 264
XXXV. A Mysterious Letter 272
XXXVI. The Riddle Solved 280
XXXVII. The Forlorn Hope 288
XXXVIII. Facing the Enemy 296
XXXIX. The Council of War 304
XL. Lawless's Matinee Musicale 313
XLI. How Lawless Became a Lady's Man 322
XLII. The Meet at Eversley Gorse 331
XLIII. A Charade--Not All Acting 340
XLIV. Confessions 350
XLV. Helping a Lame Dog Over a Stile 360
XLVI. Tears and Smiles 369
XLVII. A Cure for the Heartache 378
XLVHI. Paying Off Old Scores 389
XLIX. Mr. Frampton Makes a Discovery 399
L. A Ray of Sunshine 408
LI. Freddy Coleman Falls into Difficulties 417
LII. Lawless Astonishes Mr. Coleman 425
LIII. A Comedy of Errors 432
LIV. Mr. Vernor Meets His Match 440
LV. The Pursuit 447
LVI. Retribution 454
LVII. Woo'd and Married 463
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Frank Fairlegh Caught in the Trap 27
Lawless Ornamenting Frank's Writing-desk 29
Mad Bess 44
Lawless Finds his Level 56
The Doctor Makes a Discovery 79
The Doctor Expels a Pupil 90
Frank Rescues Coleman 104
The Fall op the Candelabrum 124
Freddy Coleman mystifies the Beadle 133
Lawless Eloping with the Fire-engine 135
The Wine Party 167
The Roused Lion 190
The Results ok giving Satisfaction 216
Fairlegh to the Rescue 231
Hurra! Hurra! Room for the Governor 246
The Shy Young Gentleman Favours the Company
| 1,897.745533 |
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TEN THOUSAND
WONDERFUL THINGS
COMPRISING
WHATEVER IS MARVELLOUS AND RARE, CURIOUS
ECCENTRIC AND EXTRAORDINARY
IN ALL AGES AND NATIONS
ENRICHED WITH
_HUNDREDS OF AUTHENTIC ILLUSTRATIONS_
EDITED BY
EDMUND FILLINGHAM KING, M.A.
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
MANCHESTER AND NEW YORK
1894
STANDARD WORKS OF REFERENCE.
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._
LEMPRIERE'S CLASSICAL DICTIONARY.
WALKER'S RHYMING DICTIONARY.
MACKAY'S THOUSAND AND ONE GEMS OF ENGLISH POETRY.
D'ISRAELI'S CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE.
BARTLETT'S FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS.
CRUDEN'S CONCORDANCE TO THE BIBLE.
THE FAMILY DOCTOR.
PREFACE.
A BOOK OF WONDERS requires but a brief introduction. Our title-page
tells its own tale and forms the best exposition of the contents of the
volume.
Everything that is marvellous carries with it much that is instructive,
and, in this sense, "Ten Thousand Wonderful Things," may be made useful
for the highest educational purposes. Events which happen in the
regular course have no claim to a place in any work that professes to
be a register of what is uncommon; and were we to select such Wonders
only as are capable of familiar demonstration, we should destroy their
right to be deemed wondrous, and, at the same time, defeat the very
object which we profess to have in view. A marvel once explained away
ceases to be a marvel. For this reason, while rejecting everything that
is obviously fictitious and untrue, we have not hesitated to insert
many incidents which appear at first sight to be wholly incredible.
In the present work, interesting Scenes from Nature, Curiosities
of Art, Costume and Customs of a bygone period rather predominate;
but we have devoted many of its pages to descriptions of remarkable
Occurrences, beautiful Landscapes, stupendous Water-falls, and sublime
Sea-pieces. It is true that some of our illustrations may not be
beautiful according to the sense in which the word is generally used;
but they are all the more curious and characteristic, as well as
truthful, on that account; for whatever is lost of beauty, is gained by
accuracy. What is odd or quaint, strange or startling, rarely possesses
much claim to the picturesque and refined. Scrape the rust off an
antique coin, and, while you make it look more shining, you invariably
render it worthless in the eyes of a collector. To polish up a fact
which derives its value either from the strangeness of its nature, or
from the quaintness of its narration, is like the obliterating process
of scrubbing up a painting by one of the old masters. It looks all the
cleaner for the operation, but, the chances are, it is spoilt as a work
of art.
We trust it is needless to say that we have closed our pages against
everything that can be considered objectionable in its tendency; and,
while every statement in this volume has been culled with conscientious
care from authentic, although not generally accessible, sources, we
have scrupulously rejected every line that could give offence, and
endeavoured, in accordance with what we profess in our title-page, to
amuse by the eccentric, to startle by the unexpected, and to astonish
by the marvellous.
INDEX TO ENGRAVINGS
PAGE
ABYSSINIAN ARMS, 509
---- LADIES, 492
---- ORNAMENTS OF, 493
---- LADY TATTOOED, 496
ALTAR-PIECE OF SAN MINIATO, 601
AMULET WORN BY EGYPTIAN FEMALES, 452
AMULET BROTCHE, 332
ANCIENT METHOD OF KEEPING A WASHING ACCOUNT, 3
---- NUT-CRACKERS, 236
---- SNUFF-BOXES, 210
ANGLO-SAXONS, SEPULCHRAL BARROW OF THE, 27
APTERYX, THE, OR WINGLESS BIRD, 308
ARCH, A BEAUTIFUL, IN CANNISTOWN CHURCH, 433
---- OF TRAJAN AT BENEVENTUM, 445
ARCHITECTURE FOR EARTHQUAKES, 324
ARMLET, AN ANCIENT, 425
ARMOUR, ANCIENT, CURIOUS PIECE OF, 341
ASH, THE SHREW, 397
AZTEC CHILDREN, THE, 37
BAGPIPES, 505
BANDOLIERS, 560
BANNERS AND STANDARDS, ANCIENT, 584, 585
BASTILLE, STORMING OF THE, 195
BEAU BRUMMELL (A), OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, 61
BECTIVE ABBEY, 392
BEDESMEN IN THE TIME OF HENRY VII, 593
BELLOWS, A PRIMITIVE PAIR OF, 637
BELL SHRINE, AN ANCIENT, 348
---- OF SAINT MURA, 412
BIBLE USED BY CHARLES I. ON THE SCAFFOLD, 271
BILLY IN THE SALT BOX, 181
BLACKFRIARS, PARIS GARDEN AT, 465
BLIND GRANNY, 70
---- JACK, 23
BOAT, A BURMESE, 668
BOOK-SHAPED WATCH, 328
BRACELET, A MAGICIAN'S, 345
BRAMA, THE HINDOO DEITY, 556
BRANK, THE, 2
BRASS MEDAL OF OUR SAVIOUR, 241
BRITANNIA TUBULAR BRIDGE, 173
BROOCH, ANCIENT SCANDINAVIAN, 401
BRICKS OF BABYLON, 613
BRIDGE OVER THE THAMES, THE FIRST, 428
---- A CHINESE, 440
---- CROMWELL'S, AT GLENGARIFF, 648
BUCKINGER, MATTHEW, 53
BUCKLER OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, WITH PISTOL INSERTED, 30
BUNYAN'S (JOHN) TOMB, 157
BURMESE PRIEST PREACHING, 266
BUST, AN ANCIENT ETRURIAN, 677
CAMDEN C | 1,897.866155 |
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domain material from the Google Print project.)
THE SALAMANDER
[Illustration: Dore]
THE
SALAMANDER
_By_
OWEN JOHNSON
_Author of_
THE VARMINT, STOVER AT YALE
THE SIXTY-FIRST SECOND, ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
EVERETT SHINN
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1914
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
TO MY WIFE
FOREWORD
Precarious the lot of the author who elects to show his public what it
does not know, but doubly exposed he who in the indiscreet exploration
of customs and manners publishes what the public knows but is unwilling
to confess! In the first place incredulity tempers censure, in the
second resentment is fanned by the necessity of self-recognition. For
the public is like the defendant in matrimony, amused and tolerant when
unconvinced of the justice of a complaint, but fiercely aroused when
defending its errors.
In the present novel I am quite aware that where criticism is most
risked is at the hands of those entrenched moralists who, while
admitting certain truths as fit subjects for conversation, aggressively
resent the same when such truths are published. Many such will believe
that in the following depiction of a curious and new type of modern
young women, product of changing social forces, profoundly significant
of present unrest and prophetic of stranger developments to come, the
author, in depicting simply what does exist, is holding a brief for what
should exist.
If the type of young girls here described were an ephemeral
manifestation or even a detached fragment of our society, there might be
a theoretical justification for this policy of censure by silence. But
the Salamanders are neither irrelevant nor the product of unrelated
forces. The rebellious ideas that sway them are the same ideas that are
profoundly at work in the new generation of women, and while for this
present work I have limited my field, be sure that the young girl of
to-day, from the age of eighteen to twenty-five, whether facing the
world alone or peering out at it from the safety of the family, whether
in the palaces of New York, the homesteads of New England, the manors of
the South or the throbbing cities and villages of the West, whatever her
station or her opportunity, has in her undisciplined and roving
imagination a little touch of the Salamander.
That there exists a type of young girl that heedlessly will affront
every appearance of evil and can yet remain innocent; that this
innocence, never relinquished, can yet be tumultuously curious and
determined on the exploration of the hitherto forbidden sides of life,
especially when such reconnoitering is rendered enticing by the presence
of danger--here are two apparent contradictions difficult of belief. Yet
in the case of the Salamander's brother, society finds no such
difficulty--it terms that masculine process, "seeing the world," a study
rather to be recommended for the sake of satisfied future tranquillity.
That the same can be true of the opposite sex, that a young girl without
physical temptation may be urged by a mental curiosity to see life
through whatever windows, that she may feel the same impetuous frenzy of
youth as her brother, the same impulse to sample each new excitement,
and that in this curiosity may be included the safe and the dangerous,
the obvious and the complex, the casual and the strange, that she may
arrogate to herself the right to examine everything, question
everything, peep into everything--tentatively to project herself into
every possibility and after a few years of this frenzy of excited
curiosity can suddenly be translated into a formal and discreet mode of
life--here is an exposition which may well appear incredible on the
printed page. I say on the printed page because few men are there who
will not recognize the justice of the type of Salamander here portrayed.
Only as their experience has been necessarily individual they do not
proceed to the recognition of a general type. They know them well as
accidents in the phantasmagoria of New York but they do not comprehend
them in the least.
The Salamander in the last analysis is a little atom possessed of a
brain, thrown against the great tragic luxury of New York, which has
impelled her to it as the flame the moth.
She comes roving from somewhere out of the immense reaches of the
nation, revolting against the commonplace of an inherited narrowness,
passionately adventurous, eager and unafraid, neither sure of what she
seeks nor conscious of what forces impel or check her. She remains a
Salamander only so long as she has not taken a decision to enter life by
one of the thousand avenues down which in her running course she has
caught an instant vista. Her name disappears under a new self-baptism.
She needs but a little money and so occasionally does a little work. She
brings no letters of introduction, but she comes resolved to know whom
she chooses. She meets them all, the men of New York, the mediocre, the
interesting, the powerful, the flesh hunters, the brutes and those who
seek only an amused mental relaxation. She attracts them by hook or
crook, in defiance of etiquette, compelling their attention in ways that
at the start hopelessly mystify them and lead to mistakes. Then she
calmly sets them to rights and forgives them. If she runs recklessly in
the paths of danger, it is because to her obsessed curiosity it is
imperative for her to try to comprehend what this danger can mean.
She has no salon to receive her guests--she turns her bedroom at noon
into a drawing-room, not inviting every one, but to those to whom she
extends the privilege fiercely regulating the proprieties. She may have
a regular occupation or an occasional one, neither must interfere with
her liberty of pleasure. She needs money--she acquires it indirectly, by
ways that bear no offense to her delightfully illogical but keen
sensibilities. With one man she will ride in his automobile, far into
the night--to another she will hardly accord the tips of her gloves. She
makes no mistakes. Her head is never dizzy. Her mind is in control and
she knows at every moment what she is doing. She will dare only so far
as she knows she is safe.
She runs the gamut of the city, its high lights and its still shadows.
She enters by right behind its varied scenes. She breakfasts on one egg
and a cup of coffee, takes her luncheon from a high-legged stool in a
cellar restaurant, reluctantly counting out the change, and the same
night, with supreme indolence, descends from a luxurious automobile,
before the flaring portals of the restaurant most in fashion, giving her
fingers to those who rank among the masters of the city.
This curiosity that leads her to flit from window to window has in it no
vice. It is fed only by the zest of life. Her passion is to know, to
leave no cranny unexplored, to see, not to experience, to flit
miraculously through the flames--never to be consumed!
That her standard of conduct is marvelous, that her ideas of what is
permitted and what is forbidden are mystifying, is true. So too is it
difficult to comprehend, in the society of men of the world, what is
fair and what is unfair, what is "done" and what is not "done." To
understand the Salamander, to appreciate her significance as a criticism
of our present social forms, one must first halt and consider what
changes are operating in our social system.
* * * * *
If one were privileged to have the great metropolis of New York reduced
to microcosm at his feet, to be studied as man may study the marvelous
organism of the anthill or the hive, two curious truths would become
evident. First that those whom the metropolis engenders seldom succeed
their fathers, that they move in circles as it were, endlessly revolving
about a fixed idea, apparently stupefied by the colossal shadows under
which they have been born; secondly that daily, hourly even, a stream of
energetic young men constantly arrives from the unknown provinces, to
reinvigorate the city, rescue it from stagnation, ascending abruptly to
its posts of command, assuming direction of its manifold
activities--ruling it.
Further, one would perceive that the history of the city is the result
of these two constantly opposed forces, one striving to conserve, the
other to acquire. The inheritors constantly seek to define the city's
forms, encase its society, limit its opportunities, transform its young
activities into inheritable institutions; while the young and ardent
adventurers who come with no other baggage than their portmanteaux of
audacity and sublime disdain, are constantly firing it with their
inflaming enthusiasm, purifying it with their new health, forcing the
doors of reluctant sets, storming its giant privileges, modernizing its
laws, vitalizing its arts, capturing its financial hierarchies, opposing
to the solidifying force of attempted systems their liberating
corrective of opportunity and individualism. Of the two forces, only the
conqueror from without is important.
This phenomenon of immigration is neither new nor peculiar to our
civilization. It is indeed the living principle of a metropolis which,
as it requires food, water, fire for its material existence, must also
hourly levy, Minotaur-like, its toll on foreign youth. Woman has had no
counterpart to this life-giving fermentation of young men. The toll of
the metropolis has been the toll of corruption, spreading corruption,
and this continuous flow of the two sexes through the gates of the city
has been like the warring passage through the arteries of red
life-defending corpuscles and disease-bearing germs.
Now suddenly to one who thus profoundly meditates this giant scheme, a
new phenomenon has appeared. All at once amid the long stretching lines
of young men that seek the city from the far horizon appear the figures
of young women, not by hundreds but by the thousands, following in the
steps of their brothers, wage-earners animated by the same desire for
independence, eager and determined for a larger view of life, urged
outward by the same imperative revolt against stagnation, driven by the
same unrest for the larger horizon. This culminative movement, begun in
the decline of the nineteenth century, may well be destined to mark the
twentieth century as the great era of social readjustment.
In the past the great block to woman's complete and equal communion with
man has been her economic dependence on him; while she has not been
necessary to man, man has been necessary to her. Hence her forced
acceptation of his standard of her position and her duties. In one
generation, by this portentous achievement of economic independence,
woman in a night, like Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham | 1,898.086849 |
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SCIENTIFIC ROMANCES.
BY
C. H. HINTON, B.A.
What is the Fourth Dimension?
The Persian King.
A Plane World.
A Picture of Our Universe.
Casting Out the Self.
[Illustration: _FIRST SERIES._]
_London._
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., LIM.,
Paternoster Square.
1886.
What is the Fourth Dimension?
CHAPTER I.
At the present time our actions are largely influenced by our theories.
We have abandoned the simple and instinctive mode of life of the earlier
civilisations for one regulated by the assumptions of our knowledge and
supplemented by all the devices of intelligence. In such a state it is
possible to conceive that a danger may arise, not only from a want of
knowledge and practical skill, but even from the very presence and
possession of them in any one department, if there is a lack of
information in other departments. If, for instance, with our present
knowledge of physical laws and mechanical skill, we were to build houses
without regard to the conditions laid down by physiology, we should
probably—to suit an apparent convenience—make them perfectly
draught-tight, and the best-constructed mansions would be full of
suffocating chambers. The knowledge of the construction of the body and
the conditions of its health prevent it from suffering injury by the
development of our powers over nature.
In no dissimilar way the mental balance is saved from the dangers
attending an attention concentrated on the laws of mechanical science by
a just consideration of the constitution of the knowing faculty, and the
conditions of knowledge. Whatever pursuit we are engaged in, we are
acting consciously or unconsciously upon some theory, some view of
things. And when the limits of daily routine are continually narrowed by
the ever-increasing complication of our civilisation, it becomes doubly
important that not one only but every kind of thought should be shared
in.
There are two ways of passing beyond the domain of practical certainty,
and of looking into the vast range of possibility. One is by asking,
“What is knowledge? What constitutes experience?” If we adopt this
course we are plunged into a sea of speculation. Were it not that the
highest faculties of the mind find therein so ample a range, we should
return to the solid ground of facts, with simply a feeling of relief at
escaping from so great a confusion and contradictoriness.
The other path which leads us beyond the horizon of actual experience is
that of questioning whatever seems arbitrary and irrationally limited in
the domain of knowledge. Such a questioning has often been successfully
applied in the search for new facts. For a long time four gases were
considered incapable of being reduced to the liquid state. It is but
lately that a physicist has succeeded in showing that there is no such
arbitrary distinction among gases. Recently again the question has been
raised, “Is there not a fourth state of matter?” Solid, liquid, and
gaseous states are known. Mr. Crookes attempts to demonstrate the
existence of a state differing from all of these. It is the object of
these pages to show that, by supposing away certain limitations of the
fundamental conditions of existence as we know it, a state of being can
be conceived with powers far transcending our own. When this is made
clear it will not be out of place to investigate what relations would
subsist between our mode of existence and that which will be seen to be
a possible one.
In the first place, what is the limitation that we must suppose away?
An observer standing in the corner of a room has three directions
naturally marked out for him; one is upwards along the line of meeting
of the two walls; another is forwards where the floor meets one of the
walls; a third is sideways where the floor meets the other wall. He can
proceed to any part of the floor of the room by moving first the right
distance along one wall, and then by turning at right angles and walking
parallel to the other wall. He walks in this case first of all in the
direction of one of the straight lines that meet in the corner of the
floor, afterwards in the direction of the other. By going more or less
in one direction or the other, he can reach any point on the floor, and
any movement, however circuitous, can be resolved into simple movements
in these two directions.
But by moving in these two directions he is unable to raise himself in
the room. If he wished to touch a point in the ceiling, he would have to
move in the direction of the line in which the two walls meet. There are
three directions then, each at right angles to both the other, and
entirely independent of one another. By moving in these three directions
or combinations of them, it is possible to arrive at any point in a
room. And if we suppose the straight lines which meet in the corner of
the room to be prolonged indefinitely, it would be possible by moving in
the direction of those three lines, to arrive at any point in space.
Thus in space there are three independent directions, and only three;
every other direction is compounded of these three. The question that
comes before us then is this. “Why should there be three and only three
directions?” Space, as we know it, is subject to a limitation.
In order to obtain an adequate conception of what this limitation is, it
is necessary to first imagine beings existing in a space more limited
than that in which we move. Thus we may conceive a being who has been
throughout all the range of his experience confined to a single straight
line. Such a being would know what it was to move to and fro, but no
more. The whole of space would be to him but the extension in both
directions of the straight line to an infinite distance. It is evident
that two such creatures could never pass one another. We can conceive
their coming out of the straight line and entering it again, but they
having moved always in one straight line, would have no conception of
any other direction of motion by which such a result could be effected.
The only shape which could exist in a one-dimensional existence of this
kind would be a finite straight line. There would be no difference in
the shapes of figures; all that could exist would simply be longer or
shorter straight lines.
Again, to go a step higher in the domain of a conceivable existence.
Suppose a being confined to a plane superficies, and throughout all the
range of its experience never to have moved up or down, but simply to
have kept to this one plane. Suppose, that is, some figure, such as a
circle or rectangle, to be endowed with the power of perception; such a
being if it moves in the plane superficies in which it is drawn, will
move in a multitude of directions; but, however varied they may seem to
be, these directions will all be compounded of two, at right angles to
each other. By no movement so long as the plane superficies remains
perfectly horizontal, will this being move in the direction we call up
and down. And it is important to notice that the plane would be
different, to a creature confined to it, from what it is to us. We think
of a plane habitually as having an upper and a lower side, because it is
only by the contact of solids that we realize a plane. But a creature
which had been confined to a plane during its whole existence would have
no idea of there being two sides to the plane he lived in. In a plane
there is simply length and breadth. If a creature in it be supposed to
know of an up or down he must already have gone out of the plane.
Is it possible, then, that a creature so circumstanced would arrive at
the notion of there being an up and down, a direction different from
those to which he had been accustomed, and having nothing in common with
them? Obviously nothing in the creature’s circumstances would tell him
of it. It could only be by a process of reasoning on his part that he
could arrive at such a conception. If he were to imagine a being
confined to a single straight line, he might realise that he himself
could move in two directions, while the creature in a straight line
could only move in one. Having made this reflection he might ask, “But
why is the number of directions limited to two? Why should there not be
three?”
A creature (if such existed), which moves in a plane would be much more
fortunately circumstanced than one which can only move in a straight
line. For, in a plane, there is a possibility of an infinite variety of
shapes, and the being we have supposed could come into contact with an
indefinite number of other beings. He would not be limited, as in the
case of the creature in a straight line, to one only on each side of
him.
It is obvious that it would be possible to play curious tricks with a
being confined to a plane. If, for instance, we suppose such a being to
be inside a square, the only way out that he could conceive would be
through one of the sides of the square. If the sides were impenetrable,
he would be a fast prisoner, and would have no way out.
What his case would be we may understand, if we reflect what a similar
case would be in our own existence. The creature is shut in in all the
directions he knows of. If a man is shut in in all the directions he
knows of, he must be surrounded by four walls, a roof and a floor. A
two-dimensional being inside a square would be exactly in the same
predicament that a man would be, if he were in a room with no opening on
any side. Now it would be possible to us to take up such a being from
the inside of the square, and to set him down outside it. A being to
whom this had happened would find himself outside the place he had been
confined in, and he would not have passed through any of the boundaries
by which he was shut in. The astonishment of such a being can only be
imagined by comparing it to that which a man would feel, if he were
suddenly to find himself outside a room in which he had been, without
having passed through the window, doors, chimney or any opening in the
walls, ceiling or floor.
Another curious thing that could be effected with a two-dimensional
being, is the following. Conceive two beings at a great distance from
one another on a plane surface. If the plane surface is bent so that
they are brought close to one another, they would have no conception of
their proximity, because to each the only possible movements would seem
to be movements in the surface. The two beings might be conceived as so
placed, by a proper bending of the plane, that they should be absolutely
in juxtaposition, and yet to all the reasoning faculties of either of
them a great distance could be proved to intervene. The bending might be
carried so far as to make one being suddenly appear in the plane by the
side of the other. If these beings were ignorant of the existence of a
third dimension, this result would be as marvellous to them, as it would
be for a human being who was at a great distance—it might be at the
other side of the world—to suddenly appear and really be by our side,
and during the whole time he not to have left the place in which he was.
CHAPTER II.
The foregoing examples make it clear that beings can be conceived as
living in a more limited space than ours. Is there a similar limitation
in the space we know?
At the very threshold of arithmetic an indication of such a limitation
meets us.
If there is a straight line before us two inches long, its length is
expressed by the number 2. Suppose a square to be described on the line,
the number of square inches in this figure is expressed by the number 4,
_i.e._, 2 × 2. This 2 × 2 is generally written 2², and named “2 square.”
Now, of course, the arithmetical process of multiplication is in no
sense identical with that process | 1,898.145664 |
2023-11-16 18:48:42.2543840 | 1,140 | 10 |
Produced by PM for Bureau of American Ethnology, Wayne
Hammond The Internet Archive: American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana). and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr)
[Transcriber's Note:
This project is best displayed in html or ebook readers due to the
spacing issues in tables caused by unicode characters.
W J McGee apparently preferrred his initials without periods. The
initials W J are retained as scanned.
The letter "q" does not have a superscript character in unicode.
Superscripts with a "q" are formatted with a caret and any additional
superscript characters in braces in the text version.
Pages 129-end are asterisked in the original text because they overlap
the pagination of the following article.]
THE SERI INDIANS
BY
W J McGEE
Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology to the
Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1895-96, Government Printing
Office, Washington, 1898, pages 1—344*
CONTENTS
Page
Introduction 9
Salient features 9
Recent explorations and surveys 12
Acknowledgments 20
Habitat 22
Location and area 22
Physical characteristics 22
Flora 31
Fauna 36
Local features 39
Summary history 51
Tribal features 123
Definition and nomenclature 123
External relations 130
Population 134
Somatic characters 136
Demotic characters 164
Symbolism and decoration 164
Face-painting 164
Decoration in general 169
The significance of decoration 176
Industries and industrial products 180
Food and food-getting 180
Navigation 215
Habitations 221
Appareling 224
Tools and their uses 232
Warfare 254
Nascent industrial development 265
Social organization 269
Clans and totems 269
Chiefship 275
Adoption 277
Marriage 279
Mortuary customs 287
Serial place of Seri socialry 293
Language 296
Comparative lexicology
Index
Footnotes
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Plate I. Seriland 9
II. Pascual Encinas, conqueror of the Seri 13
III_a_. Seri frontier 40
III_b_. Sierra Seri, from Encinas desert 40
IV_a_. Sierra Seri, from Tiburon island 42
IV_b_. Punta Ygnacio, Tiburon bay 42
V_a_. Western shore of Tiburon bay 44
V_b_. Eastern shore of Tiburon bay 44
VI_a_. Recently occupied rancheria, Tiburon island 80
VI_b_. Typical house interior, Tiburon island 80
VII_a_. House framework, Tiburon island 110
VII_b_. House covering, Tiburon island 110
VIII. Sponge used for house covering, Tiburon island 112
IX_a_. House skeleton, Tiburon island 114
IX_b_. Interior house structure, Tiburon island 114
X. Typical Seri house on the frontier 117
XI. Occupied rancheria on the frontier 119
XII. Group of Seri Indians on trading excursion 121
XIII. Group of Seri Indians on the frontier 137
XIV. Seri family group 139
XV. Seri mother and child 142
XVI. Group of Seri boys 144
XVII. Mashém, Seri interpreter 146
XVIII. “Juana Maria”, Seri elderwoman 150
XIX. Typical Seri warrior 154
XX. Typical Seri matron 156
XXI. Seri runner 158
XXII. Seri matron 160
XXIII. Youthful Seri warrior 162
XXIV. Seri belle 164
XXV. Seri maiden 166
XXVI. Characteristic face-painting 168
XXVII. Face-painting paraphernalia 170
XXVIII. Seri archer at rest 200
XXIX. Seri archer at attention 202
XXX. Seri bow, arrow, and quiver 204
XXXI. Seri balsa in the National Museum 217
XXXII. Painted olla, with olla ring (Museum number 155373) 222
XXXIII. Plain olla (Museum number 155 | 1,898.274424 |
2023-11-16 18:48:42.3959760 | 3,598 | 337 |
Produced by Eric Eldred, David Garcia, Charles Franks, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
A SHEPHERD'S LIFE
IMPRESSIONS OF THE SOUTH WILTSHIRE DOWNS
BY W. H. HUDSON
NOTE
I an obliged to Messrs. Longmans, Green, & Co. for permission to make
use of an article entitled "A Shepherd of the Downs," which appeared in
the October and November numbers of _Longmans' Magazine_ in 1902.
With the exception of that article, portions of which I have
incorporated in different chapters, the whole of the matter contained in
this work now appears for the first time.
CONTENTS
Chapter.
I. SALISBURY PLAIN
II. SALISBURY AS I SEE IT
III. WINTERBOURNE BISHOP
IV. A SHEPHERD OF THE DOWNS
V. EARLY MEMORIES
VI. SHEPHERD ISAAC BAWCOMBE
VII. THE DEER-STEALERS
VIII. SHEPHERDS AND POACHING
IX. THE SHEPHERD ON FOXES
X. BIRD LIFE ON THE DOWNS
XI. STARLINGS AND SHEEP-BELLS
XII. THE SHEPHERD AND THE BIBLE
XIII. VALE OF THE WYLYE
XIV. A SHEEP-DOG'S LIFE
XV. THE ELLERBYS OF DOVETON
XVI. OLD WILTSHIRE DAYS
XVII. OLD WILTSHIRE DAYS (_continued_)
XVIII. THE SHEPHERD'S RETURN
XIX. THE DARK PEOPLE OF THE VILLAGE
XX. SOME SHEEP-DOGS
XXI. THE SHEPHERD AS NATURALIST
XXII. THE MASTER OF THE VILLAGE
XXIII. ISAAC'S CHILDREN
XXIV. LIVING IN THE PAST
A SHEPHERD'S LIFE
SALISBURY PLAIN
CHAPTER I
Introductory remarks--Wiltshire little favoured by tourists--Aspect of
the downs--Bad weather--Desolate aspect--The bird-scarer--Fascination
of the downs--The larger Salisbury Plain--Effect of the military
occupation--A century's changes--Birds--Old Wiltshire sheep--Sheep-horns
in a well--Changes wrought by cultivation--Rabbit-warrens on the
downs--Barrows obliterated by the plough and by rabbits
Wiltshire looks large on the map of England, a great green county, yet
it never appears to be a favourite one to those who go on rambles in the
land. At all events I am unable to bring to mind an instance of a lover
of Wiltshire who was not a native or a resident, or had not been to
Marlborough and loved the country on account of early associations. Nor
can I regard myself as an exception, since, owing to a certain kind of
adaptiveness in me, a sense of being at home wherever grass grows, I am
in a way a native too. Again, listen to any half-dozen of your friends
discussing the places they have visited, or intend visiting, comparing
notes about the counties, towns, churches, castles, scenery--all that
draws them and satisfies their nature, and the chances are that they
will not even mention Wiltshire. They all know it "in a way"; they have
seen Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge, which everybody must go to look
at once in his life; and they have also viewed the country from the
windows of a railroad carriage as they passed through on their flight to
Bath and to Wales with its mountains, and to the west country, which
many of us love best of all--Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. For there is
nothing striking in Wiltshire, at all events to those who love nature
first; nor mountains, nor sea, nor anything to compare with the places
they are hastening to, west or north. The downs! Yes, the downs are
there, full in sight of your window, in their flowing forms resembling
vast, pale green waves, wave beyond wave, "in fluctuation fixed"; a fine
country to walk on in fine weather for all those who regard the mere
exercise of walking as sufficient pleasure. But to those who wish for
something more, these downs may be neglected, since, if downs are
wanted, there is the higher, nobler Sussex range within an hour of
London. There are others on whom the naked aspect of the downs has a
repelling effect. Like Gilpin they love not an undecorated earth; and
false and ridiculous as Gilpin's taste may seem to me and to all those
who love the chalk, which "spoils everything" as Gilpin said, he
certainly expresses a feeling common to those who are unaccustomed to
the emptiness and silence of these great spaces.
As to walking on the downs, one remembers that the fine days are not so
many, even in the season when they are looked for--they have certainly
been few during this wet and discomfortable one of 1909. It is indeed
only on the chalk hills that I ever feel disposed to quarrel with this
English climate, for all weathers are good to those who love the open
air, and have their special attractions. What a pleasure it is to be out
in rough weather in October when the equinoctial gales are on, "the wind
Euroclydon," to listen to its roaring in the bending trees, to watch the
dead leaves flying, the pestilence-stricken multitudes, yellow and black
and red, whirled away in flight on flight before the volleying blast,
and to hear and see and feel the tempests of rain, the big silver-grey
drops that smite you like hail! And what pleasure too, in the still grey
November weather, the time of suspense and melancholy before winter, a
strange quietude, like a sense of apprehension in nature! And so on
through the revolving year, in all places in all weathers, there is
pleasure in the open air, except on these chalk hills because of their
bleak nakedness. There the wind and driving rain are not for but against
you, and may overcome you with misery. One feels their loneliness,
monotony, and desolation on many days, sometimes even when it is not
wet, and I here recall an amusing encounter with a bird-scarer during
one of these dreary spells.
It was in March, bitterly cold, with an east wind which had been blowing
many days, and overhead the sky was of a hard, steely grey. I was
cycling along the valley of the Ebble, and finally leaving it pushed up
a long steep <DW72> and set off over the high plain by a dusty road with
the wind hard against me. A more desolate scene than the one before me
it would be hard to imagine, for the land was all ploughed and stretched
away before me, an endless succession of vast grey fields, divided by
wire fences. On all that space there was but one living thing in sight,
a human form, a boy, far away on the left side, standing in the middle
of a big field with something which looked like a gun in his hand.
Immediately after I saw him he, too, appeared to have caught sight of
me, for turning he set off running as fast as he could over the ploughed
ground towards the road, as if intending to speak to me. The distance he
would have to run was about a quarter of a mile and I doubted that he
would be there in time to catch me, but he ran fast and the wind was
against me, and he arrived at the road just as I got to that point.
There by the side of the fence he stood, panting from his race, his
handsome face glowing with colour, a boy about twelve or thirteen, with
a fine strong figure, remarkably well dressed for a bird-scarer. For
that was what he was, and he carried a queer, heavy-looking old gun. I
got off my wheel and waited for him to speak, but he was silent, and
continued regarding me with the smiling countenance of one well pleased
with himself. "Well?" I said, but there was no answer; he only kept on
smiling.
"What did you want?" I demanded impatiently.
"I didn't want anything."
"But you started running here as fast as you could the moment you caught
sight of me."
"Yes, I did."
"Well, what did you do it for--what was your object in running here?"
"Just to see you pass," he answered.
It was a little ridiculous and vexed me at first, but by and by when I
left him, after some more conversation, I felt rather pleased; for it
was a new and somewhat flattering experience to have any person run a
long distance over a ploughed field, burdened with a heavy gun, "just to
see me pass."
But it was not strange in the circumstances; his hours in that grey,
windy desolation must have seemed like days, and it was a break in the
monotony, a little joyful excitement in getting to the road in time to
see a passer-by more closely, and for a few moments gave him a sense of
human companionship. I began even to feel a little sorry for him, alone
there in his high, dreary world, but presently thought he was better off
and better employed than most of his fellows poring over miserable books
in school, and I wished we had a more rational system of education for
the agricultural districts, one which would not keep the children shut
up in a room during all the best hours of the day, when to be out of
doors, seeing, hearing, and doing, would fit them so much better for the
life-work before them. Squeers' method was a wiser one. We think less of
it than of the delightful caricature, which makes Squeers "a joy for
ever," as Mr. Lang has said of Pecksniff. But Dickens was a Londoner,
and incapable of looking at this or any other question from any other
than the Londoner's standpoint. Can you have a better system for the
children of all England than this one which will turn out the most
perfect draper's assistant in Oxford Street, or, to go higher, the most
efficient Mr. Guppy in a solicitor's office? It is true that we have
Nature's unconscious intelligence against us; that by and by, when at
the age of fourteen the boy is finally released, she will set to work to
undo the wrong by discharging from his mind its accumulations of useless
knowledge as soon as he begins the work of life. But what a waste of
time and energy and money! One can only hope that the slow intellect of
the country will wake to this question some day, that the countryman
will say to the townsman, Go on making your laws and systems of
education for your own children, who will live as you do indoors; while
I shall devise a different one for mine, one which will give them hard
muscles and teach them to raise the mutton and pork and cultivate the
potatoes and cabbages on which we all feed.
To return to the downs. Their very emptiness and desolation, which
frightens the stranger from them, only serves to make them more
fascinating to those who are intimate with and have learned to love
them. That dreary aspect brings to mind the other one, when, on waking
with the early sunlight in the room, you look out on a blue sky,
cloudless or with white clouds. It may be fancy, or the effect of
contrast, but it has always seemed to me that just as the air is purer
and fresher on these chalk heights than on the earth below, and as the
water is of a more crystal purity, and the sky perhaps bluer, so do all
colours and all sounds have a purity and vividness and intensity beyond
that of other places. I see it in the yellows of hawkweed, rock-rose,
and birds'-foot-trefoil, in the innumerable specks of brilliant
colour--blue and white and rose--of milk-wort and squinancy-wort, and in
the large flowers of the dwarf thistle, glowing purple in its green
setting; and I hear it in every bird-sound, in the trivial songs of
yellow-hammer and corn-bunting, and of dunnock and wren and whitethroat.
The pleasure of walking on the downs is not, however, a subject which
concerns me now; it is one I have written about in a former work,
"Nature in Downland," descriptive of the South Downs. The theme of the
present work is the life, human and other, of the South Wiltshire Downs,
or of Salisbury Plain. It is the part of Wiltshire which has most
attracted me. Most persons would say that the Marlborough Downs are
greater, more like the great Sussex range as it appears from the Weald:
but chance brought me farther south, and the character and life of the
village people when I came to know them made this appear the best place
to be in.
The Plain itself is not a precisely denned area, and may be made to
include as much or little as will suit the writer's purpose. If you want
a continuous plain, with no dividing valley cutting through it, you must
place it between the Avon and Wylye Rivers, a distance about fifteen
miles broad and as many long, with the village of Tilshead in its
centure; or, if you don't mind the valleys, you can say it extends from
Downton and Tollard Royal south of Salisbury to the Pewsey vale in the
north, and from the Hampshire border on the east side to Dorset and
Somerset on the west, about twenty-five to thirty miles each way. My own
range is over this larger Salisbury Plain, which includes the River
Ebble, or Ebele, with its numerous interesting villages, from Odstock
and Combe Bisset, near Salisbury and "the Chalks," to pretty Alvediston
near the Dorset line, and all those in the Nadder valley, and westward
to White Sheet Hill above Mere. You can picture this high chalk country
as an open hand, the left hand, with Salisbury in the hollow of the
palm, placed nearest the wrist, and the five valleys which cut through
it as the five spread fingers, from the Bourne (the little finger)
succeeded by Avon, Wylye, and Nadder, to the Ebble, which comes in lower
down as the thumb and has its junction with the main stream below
Salisbury.
A very large portion of this high country is now in a transitional
state, that was once a sheep-walk and is now a training ground for the
army. Where the sheep are taken away the turf loses the smooth, elastic
character which makes it better to walk on than the most perfect lawn.
The sheep fed closely, and everything that grew on the down--grasses,
clovers, and numerous small creeping herbs--had acquired the habit of
growing and flowering close to the ground, every species and each
individual plant striving, with the unconscious intelligence that is in
all growing things, to hide its leaves and pushing sprays under the
others, to escape the nibbling teeth by keeping closer to the surface.
There are grasses and some herbs, the plantain among them, which keep
down very close but must throw up a tall stem to flower and seed. Look
at the plantain when its flowering time comes; each particular plant
growing with its leaves so close down on the surface as to be safe from
the busy, searching mouths, then all at once throwing up tall, straight
stems to flower and ripen its seeds quickly. Watch a flock at this time,
and you will see a sheep walking about, rapidly plucking the flowering
spikes, cutting them from the stalk with a sharp snap, taking them off
at the rate of a dozen or so in twenty seconds. But the sheep cannot be
all over the downs at the same time, and the time is short, myriads of
plants throwing up their stems at once, so that many escape, and it has
besides a deep perennial root so that the plant keeps its own life
| 1,898.416016 |
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