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Transcribed from the text of the first edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE AND DUTY RECONCIL'D
A NOVEL
by William Congreve
TO THE
Honoured and Worthily Esteem'd
Mrs. _Katharine Leveson_.
_Madam_,
A Clear Wit, sound Judgment and a Merciful Disposition, are things so
rarely united, that it is almost inexcusable to entertain them with any
thing less excellent in its kind. My knowledge of you were a sufficient
Caution to me, to avoid your Censure of this Trifle, had I not as intire
a knowledge of your Goodness. Since I have drawn my Pen for a
Rencounter, I think it better to engage where, though there be Skill
enough to Disarm me, there is too much Generosity to Wound; for so shall
I have the saving Reputation of an unsuccessful Courage, if I cannot make
it a drawn Battle. But methinks the Comparison intimates something of a
Defiance, and savours of Arrogance; wherefore since I am Conscious to my
self of a Fear which I cannot put off, let me use the Policy of Cowards
and lay this Novel unarm'd, naked and shivering at your Feet, so that if
it should want Merit to challenge Protection, yet, as an Object of
Charity, it may move Compassion. It has been some Diversion to me to
Write it, I wish it may prove such to you when you have an hour to throw
away in Reading of it: but this Satisfaction I have at least beforehand,
that in its greatest failings it may fly for Pardon to that Indulgence
which you owe to the weakness of your Friend; a Title which I am proud
you have thought me worthy of, and which I think can alone be superior to
that
_Your most Humble and_
_Obliged Servant_
CLEOPHIL.
THE PREFACE TO THE READER.
Reader,
Some Authors are so fond of a Preface, that they will write one tho'
there be nothing more in it than an Apology for its self. But to show
thee that I am not one of those, I will make no Apology for this, but do
tell thee that I think it necessary to be prefix'd to this Trifle, to
prevent thy overlooking some little pains which I have taken in the
Composition of the following Story. Romances are generally composed of
the Constant Loves and invincible Courages of Hero's, Heroins, Kings and
Queens, Mortals of the first Rank, and so forth; where lofty Language,
miraculous Contingencies and impossible Performances, elevate and
surprize the Reader into a giddy Delight, which leaves him flat upon the
Ground whenever he gives of, and vexes him to think how he has suffer'd
himself to be pleased and transported, concern'd and afflicted at the
several Passages which he has Read, viz. these Knights Success to their
Damosels Misfortunes, and such like, when he is forced to be very well
convinced that 'tis all a lye. Novels are of a more familiar nature;
Come near us, and represent to us Intrigues in practice, delight us with
Accidents and odd Events, but not such as are wholly unusual or
unpresidented, such which not being so distant from our Belief bring also
the pleasure nearer us. Romances give more of Wonder, Novels more
Delight. And with reverence be it spoken, and the Parallel kept at due
distance, there is something of equality in the Proportion which they
bear in reference to one another, with that betwen Comedy and Tragedy;
but the Drama is the long extracted from Romance and History: 'tis the
Midwife to Industry, and brings forth alive the Conceptions of the Brain.
Minerva walks upon the Stage before us, and we are more assured of the
real presence of Wit when it is delivered viva voce--
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, & quae
Ipse sibi tradit spectator.--Horace.
Since all Traditions must indisputably give place to the Drama, and since
there is no possibility of giving that life to the Writing or Repetition
of a Story which it has in the Action, I resolved in another beauty to
imitate Dramatick Writing, namely, in the Design, Contexture and Result
of the Plot. I have not observed it before in a Novel. Some I have seen
begin with an unexpected accident, which has been the only surprizing
part of the Story, cause enough to make the Sequel look flat, tedious and
insipid; for 'tis but reasonable the Reader should expect it not to rise,
at least to keep upon a level in the entertainment; for so he may be kept
on in hopes that at some time or other it may mend; but the 'tother is
such a balk to a Man, 'tis carrying him up stairs to show him the Dining-
Room, and after forcing him to make a Meal in the Kitchin. This I have
not only endeavoured to avoid, but also have used a method for the
contrary purpose. The design of the Novel is obvious, after the first
meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito with Incognita and Leonora, and the
difficulty is in bringing it to pass, maugre all apparent obstacles,
within the compass of two days. How many probable Casualties intervene
in opposition to the main Design, viz. of marrying two Couple so oddly
engaged in an intricate Amour, I leave the Reader at his leisure to
consider: As also whether every Obstacle does not in the progress of the
Story act as subservient to that purpose, which at first it seems to
oppose. In a Comedy this would be called the Unity of Action; here it
may pretend to no more than an Unity of Contrivance. The Scene is
continued in Florence from the commencement of the Amour; and the time
from first to last is but three days. If there be any thing more in
particular resembling the Copy which I imitate (as the Curious Reader
will soon perceive) I leave it to show it self, being very well satisfy'd
how much more proper it had been for him to have found out this himself,
than for me to prepossess him with an Opinion of something extraordinary
in an Essay began and finished in the idler hours of a fortnight's time:
for I can only esteem it a laborious idleness, which is Parent to so
inconsiderable a Birth. I have gratified the Bookseller in pretending an
occasion for a Preface; the other two Persons concern'd are the Reader
and my self, and if he be but pleased with what was produced for that
end, my satisfaction follows of course, since it | 261.734957 |
2023-11-16 18:21:25.7150020 | 3,296 | 24 |
Produced by Donald Lainson
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
By William Makepeace Thackeray (AKA Titmarsh)
I. FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
II. GHENT--BRUGES:--
Ghent (1840)
Bruges
III. WATERLOO
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
I.--FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
... I quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" at Richmond, one of the
comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and
a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the "Star and Garter,"
whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled,
frightens you off the premises; and where, if you are bold enough to
brave the sneering waiter, you have to pay ten shillings for a bottle
of claret; and whence, if you look out of the window, you gaze on a view
which is so rich that it seems to knock you down with its splendor--a
view that has its hair curled like the swaggering waiter: I say, I
quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" with deep regret, believing that I
should see nothing so pleasant as its gardens, and its veal cutlets, and
its dear little bowling-green, elsewhere. But the time comes when people
must go out of town, and so I got on the top of the omnibus, and the
carpet-bag was put inside.
If I were a great prince and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I
were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of
the best Havanas in my pocket--not for my own smoking, but to give them
to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison
the air with the odor of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in his
circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above
simple precaution.
A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on the back and asked for a
light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the
three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt
undress jackets with a duke's coronet on their buttons.
After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot,
the gentleman produced another wind-instrument, which he called a
"kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination
to play. He began puffing out of the "kinopium" a most abominable
air, which he said was the "Duke's March." It was played by particular
request of one of the pepper-and-salt gentry.
The noise was so abominable that even the coachman objected (although
my friend's brother footmen were ravished with it), and said that it
was not allowed to play toons on HIS 'bus. "Very well," said the valet,
"WE'RE ONLY OF THE DUKE OF B----'S ESTABLISHMENT, THAT'S ALL." The
coachman could not resist that appeal to his fashionable feelings. The
valet was allowed to play his infernal kinopium, and the poor fellow
(the coachman), who had lived in some private families, was quite
anxious to conciliate the footmen "of the Duke of B.'s establishment,
that's all," and told several stories of his having been groom in
Captain Hoskins's family, NEPHEW OF GOVERNOR HOSKINS; which stories the
footmen received with great contempt.
The footmen were like the rest of the fashionable world in this
respect. I felt for my part that I respected them. They were in daily
communication with a duke! They were not the rose, but they had lived
beside it. There is an odor in the English aristocracy which intoxicates
plebeians. I am sure that any commoner in England, though he would die
rather than confess it, would have a respect for those great big hulking
Duke's footmen.
The day before, her Grace the Duchess had passed us alone in a
chariot-and-four with two outriders. What better mark of innate
superiority could man want? Here was a slim lady who required four--six
horses to herself, and four servants (kinopium was, no doubt, one of the
number) to guard her.
We were sixteen inside and out, and had consequently an eighth of a
horse apiece.
A duchess = 6, a commoner = 1/8; that is to say,
1 duchess = 48 commoners.
If I were a duchess of the present day, I would say to the duke my noble
husband, "My dearest grace, I think, when I travel alone in my chariot
from Hammersmith to London, I will not care for the outriders. In these
days, when there is so much poverty and so much disaffection in the
country, we should not eclabousser the canaille with the sight of our
preposterous prosperity."
But this is very likely only plebeian envy, and I dare say, if I were
a lovely duchess of the realm, I would ride in a coach-and-six, with a
coronet on the top of my bonnet and a robe of velvet and ermine even in
the dog-days.
Alas! these are the dog-days. Many dogs are abroad--snarling dogs,
biting dogs, envious dogs, mad dogs; beware of exciting the fury of
such with your flaming red velvet and dazzling ermine. It makes ragged
Lazarus doubly hungry to see Dives feasting in cloth-of-gold; and so
if I were a beauteous duchess... Silence, vain man! Can the Queen
herself make you a duchess? Be content, then, nor gibe at thy betters of
"the Duke of B----'s establishment-- that's all."
ON BOARD THE "ANTWERPEN," OFF EVERYWHERE.
We have bidden adieu to Billingsgate, we have passed the Thames Tunnel;
it is one o'clock, and of course people are thinking of being hungry.
What a merry place a steamer is on a calm sunny summer forenoon, and
what an appetite every one seems to have! We are, I assure you, no less
than 170 noblemen and gentlemen together, pacing up and down under the
awning, or lolling on the sofas in the cabin, and hardly have we passed
Greenwich when the feeding begins. The company was at the brandy and
soda-water in an instant (there is a sort of legend that the beverage is
a preservative against sea-sickness), and I admired the penetration of
gentlemen who partook of the drink. In the first place, the steward WILL
put so much brandy into the tumbler that it is fit to choke you; and,
secondly, the soda-water, being kept as near as possible to the boiler
of the engine, is of a fine wholesome heat when presented to the hot and
thirsty traveller. Thus he is prevented from catching any sudden cold
which might be dangerous to him.
The forepart of the vessel is crowded to the full as much as the
genteeler quarter. There are four carriages, each with piles of
imperials and aristocratic gimcracks of travel, under the wheels of
which those personages have to clamber who have a mind to look at the
bowsprit, and perhaps to smoke a cigar at ease. The carriages overcome,
you find yourself confronted by a huge penful of Durham oxen, lying
on hay and surrounded by a barricade of oars. Fifteen of these horned
monsters maintain an incessant mooing and bellowing. Beyond the cows
come a heap of cotton-bags, beyond the cotton-bags more carriages, more
pyramids of travelling trunks, and valets and couriers bustling and
swearing round about them. And already, and in various corners and
niches, lying on coils of rope, black tar-cloths, ragged cloaks, or hay,
you see a score of those dubious fore-cabin passengers, who are never
shaved, who always look unhappy, and appear getting ready to be sick.
At one, dinner begins in the after-cabin--boiled salmon, boiled beef,
boiled mutton, boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and parboiled wine for
any gentlemen who like it, and two roast-ducks between seventy. After
this, knobs of cheese are handed round on a plate, and there is a talk
of a tart somewhere at some end of the table. All this I saw peeping
through a sort of meat-safe which ventilates the top of the cabin, and
very happy and hot did the people seem below.
"How the deuce CAN people dine at such an hour?" say several genteel
fellows who are watching the manoeuvres. "I can't touch a morsel before
seven."
But somehow at half-past three o'clock we had dropped a long way down
the river. The air was delightfully fresh, the sky of a faultless
cobalt, the river shining and flashing like quicksilver, and at this
period steward runs against me bearing two great smoking dishes covered
by two great glistening hemispheres of tin. "Fellow," says I, "what's
that?"
He lifted up the cover: it was ducks and green pease, by jingo!
"What! haven't they done YET, the greedy creatures?" I asked. "Have the
people been feeding for three hours?"
"Law bless you, sir, it's the second dinner. Make haste, or you won't
get a place." At which words a genteel party, with whom I had been
conversing, instantly tumbled down the hatchway, and I find myself one
of the second relay of seventy who are attacking the boiled salmon,
boiled beef, boiled cabbage, &c. As for the ducks, I certainly had
some pease, very fine yellow stiff pease, that ought to have been
split before they were boiled; but, with regard to the ducks, I saw the
animals gobbled up before my eyes by an old widow lady and her party
just as I was shrieking to the steward to bring a knife and fork to
carve them. The fellow! (I mean the widow lady's whiskered companion)--I
saw him eat pease with the very knife with which he had dissected the
duck!
After dinner (as I need not tell the keen observer of human nature who
peruses this) the human mind, if the body be in a decent state, expands
into gayety and benevolence, and the intellect longs to measure itself
in friendly converse with the divers intelligences around it. We ascend
upon deck, and after eying each other for a brief space and with a
friendly modest hesitation, we begin anon to converse about the weather
and other profound and delightful themes of English discourse. We
confide to each other our respective opinions of the ladies round about
us. Look at that charming creature in a pink bonnet and a dress of the
pattern of a Kilmarnock snuff-box: a stalwart Irish gentleman in a green
coat and bushy red whiskers is whispering something very agreeable into
her ear, as is the wont of gentlemen of his nation; for her dark eyes
kindle, her red lips open and give an opportunity to a dozen beautiful
pearly teeth to display themselves, and glance brightly in the sun;
while round the teeth and the lips a number of lovely dimples make their
appearance, and her whole countenance assumes a look of perfect health
and happiness. See her companion in shot silk and a dove-colored
parasol; in what a graceful Watteau-like attitude she reclines. The tall
courier who has been bouncing about the deck in attendance upon these
ladies (it is his first day of service, and he is eager to make a
favorable impression on them and the lady's-maids too) has just brought
them from the carriage a small paper of sweet cakes (nothing is prettier
than to see a pretty woman eating sweet biscuits) and a bottle that
evidently contains Malmsey madeira. How daintily they sip it; how happy
they seem; how that lucky rogue of an Irishman prattles away! Yonder
is a noble group indeed: an English gentleman and his family. Children,
mother, grandmother, grown-up daughters, father, and domestics,
twenty-two in all. They have a table to themselves on the deck, and the
consumption of eatables among them is really endless. The nurses have
been bustling to and fro, and bringing, first, slices of cake; then
dinner; then tea with huge family jugs of milk; and the little people
have been playing hide-and-seek round the deck, coquetting with the
other children, and making friends of every soul on board. I love to
see the kind eyes of women fondly watching them as they gambol about; a
female face, be it ever so plain, when occupied in regarding children,
becomes celestial almost, and a man can hardly fail to be good and happy
while he is looking on at such sights. "Ah, sir!" says a great big man,
whom you would not accuse of sentiment, "I have a couple of those little
things at home;" and he stops and heaves a great big sigh and swallows
down a half-tumbler of cold something and water. We know what the honest
fellow means well enough. He is saying to himself, "God bless my girls
and their mother!" but, being a Briton, is too manly to speak out in a
more intelligible way. Perhaps it is as well for him to be quiet, and
not chatter and gesticulate like those Frenchmen a few yards from him,
who are chirping over a bottle of champagne.
There is, as you may fancy, a number of such groups on the deck, and
a pleasant occupation it is for a lonely man to watch them and build
theories upon them, and examine those two personages seated cheek by
jowl. One is an English youth, travelling for the first time, who has
been hard at his Guidebook during the whole journey. He has a "Manuel du
Voyageur" in his pocket: a very pretty, amusing little oblong work it is
too, and might be very useful, if the foreign people in three languages,
among whom you travel, would but give the answers set down in the book,
or understand the questions you put to them out of it. The other honest
gentleman in the fur cap, what can his occupation be? We know him at
once for what he is. "Sir," says he, in a fine German accent, "I am a
brofessor of languages, and will gif you lessons in | 261.735042 |
2023-11-16 18:21:25.7173990 | 2,616 | 18 |
Produced by Al Haines, prepared from scans obtained from
The Internet Archive.
STAND UP, YE DEAD
BY
NORMAN MACLEAN
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
MCMXVI
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DWELLERS IN THE MIST
HILLS OF HOME
CAN THE WORLD BE WON FOR CHRIST?
THE BURNT-OFFERING
AFRICA IN TRANSFORMATION
THE GREAT DISCOVERY
{v}
PREFACE
Two years ago the writer published a book called _The Great Discovery_.
It seemed to him in those days, when the nation chose the ordeal of
battle rather than dishonour, that the people, as if waking from sleep,
discovered God once more. But, now, after an agony unparalleled in the
history of the world, the vision of God has faded, and men are left
groping in the darkness of a great bewilderment. The cause may not be
far to seek. For every vision of God summons men to the girding of
themselves that they may bring their lives more into conformity with
His holy will. And when men decline the venture to which the vision
beckons, then the vision fades.
It is there that we have failed. We were called to put an end to
social evils {vi} which are sapping our strength and enfeebling our arm
in battle, but we refused. We wanted victory over the enemy, but we
deemed the price of moral surgery too great even for victory. In the
rush and crowding of world-shaking cataclysms, memory is short. We
have already almost forgotten the moral tragedy of April 1915. It was
then that the White Paper was issued by the Government, and the nation
was informed of startling facts which our statesmen knew all the time.
At last the nation was told that our armies were wellnigh paralysed for
lack of munitions, while thousands of men were daily away from their
work because of drunkenness; that the repairing of ships was delayed
and transports unable to put to sea because of drunkenness; that goods,
vital to the State, could not be delivered because of drunkenness; that
Admiral Jellicoe had warned the Government that the efficiency of the
Fleet was threatened because of drunkenness; and that shipbuilders and
munition manufacturers had made a strong {vii} appeal to our rulers to
put an end to drunkenness. It was then that the King, by his example,
called upon the people to renounce alcohol, and the nation waited for
its deliverance. But the Government refused to follow the King. There
is but one law for nations, as for individuals, if they would save
their souls: 'If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.' But our
statesmen could not brace themselves to an act of surgery; they devised
a scheme for putting the offending member into splints. And, since
then, it looks as if the wheels of the chariot of victory were stuck in
the bog of the national drunkenness. The vision of God has faded
before the eyes of a nation that refused its beckoning.
This book deals, therefore, with those evils which now hide the face of
God from us. If drunkenness be the greatest of these evils, there are
others closely allied to it. Two Commissions have recently issued
Reports, the one on 'The Declining Birthrate,' and the other on 'The
Social Evil,' {viii} which reveal the perilous condition of
degeneration into which the nation is falling. It is difficult for
people, engrossed in the labours and anxieties of these days, to grasp
the meaning of the facts as presented in these Reports. In these pages
an effort is made to look the facts in the face and to make the danger
clear, so that he who runs may read. And the writer has had but one
purpose: to show that there is but one remedy for all our grievous
ills, even a return to God.
As we think of the millions who have taken all that makes life dear and
laid it down that we might live; who have gone down to an earthly hell
that we might not lose our heaven; who have wrestled with the powers of
destruction on sea and land that these isles might continue to be the
sanctuary of freedom and the home of righteousness; who in the midst of
their torment never flinched; and of the fathers, mothers, and wives
who have laid on the altar the sacrifice of all their love and
hope--the question arises, how can {ix} we show our love and our
gratitude to those who have redeemed us? We can only prove our
gratitude by making a new world for those who have saved us--a world in
which men and women shall no longer be doomed to live lives of
sordidness and misery. When we shall set ourselves to that task,
seeking to meet the sacrifice of heroism by the sacrifice of our
service, deeming no labour too great and no effort too arduous, then
the vision of God will again arise upon us and will abide.
N. M.
_October_ 7, 1916.
{xi}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
CHAPTER II
THE ROOTS OF THE EVIL
CHAPTER III
THE EMPTY COUNTRYSIDE
CHAPTER IV
THE MAN IN THE SLUM
CHAPTER V
THE LORD OF THE SLUM
CHAPTER VI
THE GREAT REFUSAL
{xii}
CHAPTER VII
THE SLUM IN THE MAN
CHAPTER VIII
BEHIND YOU IS GOD
{1}
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
The greatest disaster of these days has befallen in the streets and
lanes of our cities at home, and, because it has happened in our own
midst, we are blind to it. And, also, it has come upon us so gradually
and so surreptitiously that, though we are overwhelmed by it, we know
not that we are overwhelmed. Our capital cities are leading the nation
in the march to the graveyard. In London the birthrate has fallen in
Hampstead from 30 to 17.55, and in the City itself to 17.4; in
Edinburgh it has fallen in some districts to 10. In many places there
are already more coffins than cradles. What would the city of
Edinburgh say or do if suddenly one half of its children were slain in
a night? What a cry of horror would rise to heaven! {2} Yet, that is
exactly the calamity which has overtaken the city. In the year 1871
there were 34 children born in Edinburgh for every thousand of the
population; in the year 1915 the number of births per thousand of the
population was 17. Edinburgh has, compared to forty-four years ago,
sacrificed half its children. And because this calamity is the slowly
ripening fruit of forty years, and did not occur with dramatic
swiftness in a night, there is no sound of lamentation in the streets.
I
What has happened in London and Edinburgh is only what has happened
over all the British Empire, with this difference--that these cities
are leading the van in the process of desiccating the fountain of the
national life. While the birthrate for the whole of Scotland is 23.9,
that of Edinburgh is 17.8. For the nation as a whole the policy of
racial suicide has become a national policy. The marriage-rate
increases, but the {3} birth-rate decreases. A birthrate of 35.6 per
thousand in 1874 decreased to 33.7 in 1880, 32.9 in 1886, 30.4 in 1890,
and to 23.8 in 1912. If the city of Edinburgh is sacrificing at the
fountain-head half of its possible population, the rest of the
English-speaking race is following hard in its wake. The facts which
to-day confront us spell doom. In the year 1911 the legitimate births
in England and Wales numbered 843,505, but if the birthrate had
remained as it was in the years 1876-80, the number would have been
1,273,698. 'That is to say, there was a potential loss to the nation
of 430,000 in that one year 1911.'[1] In the year 1914 the loss is
even greater, for it amounted to 467,837. The nation as a whole is now
sacrificing every year a third of its possible population. This is
surely a terrible fact. The ravages of war, awful though these ravages
have been, are nothing to the ravages which have been self-inflicted.
In the years that are past, the race recovered from the {4} greatest
calamities of war and pestilence because there was a power mightier
than these--that of the child. The abounding birthrate rapidly
replaced the wastage of war. Through the greatest calamities the
nation ever marched forward on the feet of little children. One
generation might be overwhelmed, but
'Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring our boats ashore.'
But alas! when the greatest of all calamities has overtaken the race;
when the young, the noble, and the brave have lain down in death that
the nation might live, the feet of the little children, on which
erstwhile the race marched forward, are not there. We have offered
them up a sacrifice to Moloch.
II
The nation must be wakened to the dire peril in which the steadily
falling birthrate has placed the race. Militarism {5} slays its
thousands; this has strangled its hundreds of thousands. But no
warning note has been sounded by our statesmen. They were doubtless
waiting to see!
The might of every nation depends on the reservoir of its vitality.
Let that desiccate and the nation desiccates. Of this France is the
proof. That France which, a hundred years ago, overran Europe, fifty
years later lay prostrate under the feet of Germany. Twenty years
before that national humiliation, France began to sacrifice her
children. Lord Acton pointed out the inevitable result; the wise of
their own number warned them--but France went on its way down the <DW72>
of moral degeneration. Its birthrate fell from 30.8 in 1821 to 26.2 in
1851, 25.4 in 1871, 22.1 in 1891, 20.6 in 1901, and to 19 in 1914. The
result was inevitable. In the race of empire France fell slowly back.
The alien had to be imported to cultivate her own fair fields. She
annexed territories, but she could {6} not colonise them. The prophets
who prophesied doom have been abundantly justified. To-day France,
risen from the dead, is wrestling for her life; she is impotent to
drive back the foe without the help of Britain and Russia--she who
dominated Europe a century ago! When we read of a Russian army, after
a journey round half the world, landing at Marseilles to take their
place in the trenches that Paris may be saved from the devastators of
Belgium and Poland, we see the fields ripe for the harvest of that
policy which sacrificed the race to the individual. The hope for
France is that she will rise from the grave of her degeneration,
new-born.
What has happened in France is what happened in Rome long before. It
was | 261.737439 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE PEOPLE FOR WHOM SHAKESPEARE WROTE
By Charles Dudley Warner
Queen Elizabeth being dead about ten o'clock in the morning, March 24,
1603, Sir Robert Cary posted away, unsent, to King James of Scotland to
inform him of the "accident," and got made a baron of the realm for his
ride. On his way down to take possession of his new kingdom the king
distributed the honor of knighthood right and left liberally; at
Theobald's he created eight-and-twenty knights, of whom Sir Richard
Baker, afterwards the author of "A Chronicle of the Kings of England,"
was one. "God knows how many hundreds he made the first year," says the
chronicler, "but it was indeed fit to give vent to the passage of Honour,
which during Queen Elizabeth's reign had been so stopped that scarce any
county of England had knights enow to make a jury."
Sir Richard Baker was born in 1568, and died in 1645; his "Chronicle"
appeared in 1641. It was brought down to the death of James in 1625,
when, he having written the introduction to the life of Charles I, the
storm of the season caused him to "break off in amazement," for he had
thought the race of "Stewards" likely to continue to the "world's end";
and he never resumed his pen. In the reign of James two things lost their
lustre--the exercise of tilting, which Elizabeth made a special
solemnity, and the band of Yeomen of the Guard, choicest persons both for
stature and other good parts, who graced the court of Elizabeth; James
"was so intentive to Realities that he little regarded shows," and in his
time these came utterly to be neglected. The virgin queen was the last
ruler who seriously regarded the pomps and splendors of feudalism.
It was characteristic of the age that the death of James, which occurred
in his fifty-ninth year, should have been by rumor attributed to
"poyson"; but "being dead, and his body opened, there was no sign at all
of poyson, his inward parts being all sound, but that his Spleen was a
little faulty, which might be cause enough to cast him into an Ague: the
ordinary high-way, especially in old bo'dies, to a natural death."
The chronicler records among the men of note of James's time Sir Francis
Vere, "who as another Hannibal, with his one eye, could see more in the
Martial Discipline than common men can do with two"; Sir Edward Coke; Sir
Francis Bacon, "who besides his profounder book, of Novum Organum, hath
written the reign of King Henry the Seventh, in so sweet a style, that
like Manna, it pleaseth the tast of all palats"; William Camden, whose
Description of Britain "seems to keep Queen Elizabeth alive after death";
"and to speak it in a word, the Trojan Horse was not fuller of Heroick
Grecians, than King James his Reign was full of men excellent in all
kindes of Learning." Among these was an old university acquaintance of
Baker's, "Mr. John Dunne, who leaving Oxford, lived at the Innes of
Court, not dissolute, but very neat; a great Visitor of Ladies, a great
frequenter of Playes, a great writer of conceited Verses; until such
times as King James taking notice of the pregnancy of his Wit, was a
means that he betook him to the study of Divinity, and thereupon
proceeding Doctor, was made Dean of Pauls; and became so rare a Preacher,
that he was not only commended, but even admired by all who heard him."
The times of Elizabeth and James were visited by some awful casualties
and portents. From December, 1602, to the December following, the plague
destroyed 30,518 persons in London; the same disease that in the sixth
year of Elizabeth killed 20,500, and in the thirty-sixth year 17,890,
besides the lord mayor and three aldermen. In January, 1606, a mighty
whale came up the Thames within eight miles of London, whose body, seen
divers times above water, was judged to be longer than the largest ship
on the river; "but when she tasted the fresh water and scented the Land,
she returned into the sea." Not so fortunate was a vast whale cast upon
the Isle of Thanet, in Kent, in 1575, which was "twenty Ells long, and
thirteen foot broad from the belly to the backbone, and eleven foot
between the eyes. One of his eyes being taken out of his head was more
than a cart with six horses could draw; the Oyl being boyled out of his
head was Parmacittee." Nor the monstrous fish cast ashore in Lincolnshire
in 1564, which measured six yards between the eyes and had a tail fifteen
feet broad; "twelve men stood upright in his mouth to get the Oyl." In
1612 a comet appeared, which in the opinion of Dr. Bainbridge, the great
mathematician of Oxford, was as far above the moon as the moon is above
the earth, and the sequel of it was that infinite slaughters and
devastations followed it both in Germany and other countries. In 1613, in
Standish, in Lancashire, a maiden child was born having four legs, four
arms, and one head with two faces--the one before, the other behind, like
the picture of Janus. (One thinks of the prodigies that presaged the
birth of Glendower.) Also, the same year, in Hampshire, a carpenter,
lying in bed with his wife and a young child, "was himself and the childe
both burned to death with a sudden lightning, no fire appearing outwardly
upon him, and yet lay burning for the space of almost three days till he
was quite consumed to ashes." This year the Globe playhouse, on the
Bankside, was burned, and the year following the new playhouse, the
Fortune, in Golding Lane, "was by negligence of a candle, clean burned
down to the ground." In this year also, 1614, the town of
Stratford-on-Avon was burned. One of the strangest events, however,
happened in the first year of Elizabeth (1558), when "dyed Sir Thomas
Cheney, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, of whom it is reported for a
certain, that his pulse did beat more than three quarters of an hour
after he was dead, as strongly as if he had been still alive." In 1580 a
strange apparition happened in Somersetshire--three score personages all
clothed in black, a furlong in distance from those that beheld them; "and
after their appearing, and a little while tarrying, they vanished away,
but immediately another strange company, in like manner, color, and
number appeared in the same place, and they encountered one another and
so vanished away. And the third time appeared that number again, all in
bright armour, and encountered one another, and so vanished away. This
was examined before Sir George Norton, and sworn by four honest men that
saw it, to be true." Equally well substantiated, probably, was what
happened in Herefordshire in 1571: "A field of three acres, in Blackmore,
with the Trees and Fences, moved from its place and passed over another
field, traveling in the highway that goeth to Herne, and there stayed."
Herefordshire was a favorite place for this sort of exercise of nature.
In 1575 the little town of Kinnaston was visited by an earthquake: "On
the seventeenth of February at six o'clock of the evening, the earth
began to open and a Hill with a Rock under it (making at first a great
bellowing noise, which was heard a great way off) lifted itself up a
great height, and began to travel, bearing along with it the Trees that
grew upon it, the Sheep-folds, and Flocks of Sheep abiding there at the
same time. In the place from whence it was first moved, it left a gaping
distance forty foot broad, and fourscore Ells long; the whole Field was
about twenty Acres. Passing along, it overthrew a Chappell standing in
the way, removed an Ewe-Tree planted in the Churchyard, from the West
into the East; with the like force it thrust before it High-wayes,
Sheep-folds, Hedges, and Trees, made Tilled ground Pasture, and again
turned Pasture into Tillage. Having walked in this sort from Saturday in
the evening, till Monday noon, it then stood still." It seems not
improbable that Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane.
It was for an age of faith, for a people whose credulity was fed on such
prodigies and whose imagination glowed at such wonderful portents, that
Shakespeare wrote, weaving into the realities of sense those awful
mysteries of the supernatural which hovered not far away from every
Englishman of his time.
Shakespeare was born in 1564, when Elizabeth had been six years on the
throne, and he died in 1616, nine years before James I., of the faulty
spleen, was carried to the royal chapel in Westminster, "with great
solemnity, but with greater lamentation." Old Baker, who says of himself
that he was the unworthiest of the knights made at Theobald's,
condescends to mention William Shakespeare at the tail end of the men of
note of Elizabeth's time. The ocean is not more boundless, he affirms,
than the number of men of note of her time; and after he has finished
with the statesmen ("an exquisite statesman for his own ends was Robert
Earl of Leicester, and for his Countries good, Sir William Cecill, Lord
Burleigh"), the seamen, the great commanders, the learned gentlemen and
writers (among them Roger Askam, who had sometime been schoolmaster to
Queen Elizabeth, but, taking too great delight in gaming and
cock-fighting, lived and died in mean estate), the learned divines and
preachers, he concludes: "After such men, it might be thought ridiculous
to speak of Stage-players; but seeing excellency in the meanest things
deserve remembring, and Roscius the Comedian is recorded in History with
such commendation, it may be allowed us to do the like with some of our
Nation. Richard Bourbidge and Edward Allen, two such actors as no age
must ever look to see the like; and to make their Comedies compleat,
Richard Tarleton, who for the Part called the Clowns Part, never had his
match, never will have. For Writers of Playes, and such as have been
players themselves, William Shakespeare and Benjamin Johnson have
especially left their Names recommended to posterity."
Richard Bourbidge (or Burbadge) was the first of the great English tragic
actors, and was the original of the greater number of Shakespeare's
heroes--Hamlet, Othello, Lear, Shylock, Macbeth, Richard III., Romeo,
Brutus, etc. Dick Tarleton, one of the privileged scapegraces of social
life, was regarded by his contemporaries as the most witty of clowns and
comedians. The clown was a permitted character in the old theatres, and
intruded not only between the acts, but even into the play itself, with
his quips and antics. It is probable that he played the part of clown,
grave-digger, etc., in Shakespeare's comedies, and no doubt took
liberties with his parts. It is thought that part of Hamlet's advice to
the players--"and let those that play your clowns speak no more than is
set down for them," etc.--was leveled at Tarleton.
The question is often asked, but I consider it an idle one, whether
Shakespeare was appreciated in his own day as he is now. That the age,
was unable to separate him from itself, and see his great stature, is
probable; that it enjoyed him with a sympathy to which we are strangers
there is no doubt. To us he is inexhaustible. The more we study him, the
more are we astonished at his multiform genius. In our complex
civilization, there is no development of passion, or character, or trait
of human nature, no social evolution, that does not find expression
somewhere in those marvelous plays; and yet it is impossible for us to
enter into a full, sympathetic enjoyment of those plays unless we can in
some measure recreate for ourselves the atmosphere in which they were
written. To superficial observation great geniuses come into the world at
rare intervals in history, in a manner independent of what we call the
progress of the race. It may be so; but the form the genius shall take is
always determined by the age in which it appears, and its expression is
shaped by the environments. Acquaintance with the Bedouin desert life of
today, which has changed little for three thousand years, illumines the
book of Job like an electric light. Modern research into Hellenic and
Asiatic life has given a new meaning to the Iliad and the Odyssey, and
greatly enhanced our enjoyment of them. A fair comprehension of the
Divina Commedia is impossible without some knowledge of the factions that
rent Florence; of the wars of Guelf and Ghibelline; of the spirit that
banished Dante, and gave him an humble tomb in Ravenna instead of a
sepulchre in the pantheon of Santa Croce. Shakespeare was a child of his
age; it had long been preparing for him; its expression culminated in
him. It was essentially a dramatic age. He used the accumulated materials
of centuries. He was playwright as well as poet. His variety and
multiform genius cannot otherwise be accounted for. He called in the
coinage of many generations, and reissued it purified and unalloyed,
stamped in his own mint. There was a Hamlet probably, there were
certainly Romeos and Juliets, on the stage before Shakespeare. In him
were received the imaginations, the inventions, the aspirations, the
superstitions, the humors, the supernatural intimations; in him met the
converging rays of the genius of his age, as in a lens, to be sent onward
thenceforth in an ever-broadening stream of light.
It was his fortune to live not only in a dramatic age, but in a
transition age, when feudalism was passing away, but while its shows and
splendors could still be seriously comprehended. The dignity that doth
hedge a king was so far abated that royalty could be put upon the stage
as a player's spectacle; but the reality of kings and queens and court
pageantry was not so far past that it did not appeal powerfully to the
imaginations of the frequenters of the Globe, the Rose, and the Fortune.
They had no such feeling as we have in regard to the pasteboard kings and
queens who strut their brief hour before us in anachronic absurdity. But,
besides that he wrote in the spirit of his age, Shakespeare wrote in the
language and the literary methods of his time. This is not more evident
in the contemporary poets than in the chroniclers of that day. They all
delighted in ingenuities of phrase, in neat turns and conceits; it was a
compliment then to be called a "conceited" writer.
Of all the guides to Shakespeare's time, there is none more profitable or
entertaining than William Harrison, who wrote for Holinshed's chronicle
"The Description of England," as it fell under his eyes from 1577 to
1587. Harrison's England is an unfailing mine of information for all the
historians of the sixteenth century; and in the edition published by the
New Shakespeare Society, and edited, with a wealth of notes and
contemporary references, by Mr. Frederick J. Furnivall, it is a new
revelation of Shakespeare's England to the general reader.
Harrison himself is an interesting character, and trustworthy above the
general race of chroniclers. He was born in 1534, or, to use his
exactness of statement, "upon the 18th of April, hora ii, minut 4,
Secunde 56, at London, in Cordwainer streete, otherwise called
bowe-lane." This year was also remarkable as that in which "King Henry 8
polleth his head; after whom his household and nobility, with the rest of
his subjects do the like." It was the year before Anne Boleyn, haled away
to the Tower, accused, condemned, and executed in the space of fourteen
days, "with sigheing teares" said to the rough Duke of Norfolk, "Hither I
came once my lord, to fetch a crown imperial; but now to receive, I hope,
a crown immortal." In 1544, the boy was at St. Paul's school; the litany
in the English tongue, by the king's command, was that year sung openly
in St. Paul's, and we have a glimpse of Harrison with the other children,
enforced to buy those books, walking in general procession, as was
appointed, before the king went to Boulogne. Harrison was a student at
both Oxford and Cambridge, taking the degree of bachelor of divinity at
the latter in 1569, when he had been an Oxford M.A. of seven years'
standing. Before this he was household chaplain to Sir William Brooke,
Lord Cobham, who gave him, in 1588-89, the rectory of Radwinter, in
Essex, which he held till his death, in 1593. In 1586 he was installed
canon of Windsor. Between 1559 and 1571 he married Marion Isebrande,--of
whom he said in his will, referring to the sometime supposed unlawfulness
of priests' marriages, "by the laws of God I take and repute in all
respects for my true and lawful wife." At Radwinter, the old parson,
working in his garden, collected Roman coins, wrote his chronicles, and
expressed his mind about the rascally lawyers of Essex, to whom flowed
all the wealth of the land. The lawyers in those days stirred up
contentions, and then reaped the profits. "Of all that ever I knew in
Essex," says Harrison, "Denis and Mainford excelled, till John of Ludlow,
alias Mason, came in place, unto whom in comparison these two were but
children." This last did so harry a client for four years that the
latter, still called upon for new fees, "went to bed, and within four
days made an end of his woeful life, even with care and pensiveness." And
after his death the lawyer so handled his son "that there was never sheep
shorn in May, so near clipped of his fleece present, as he was of many to
come." The Welsh were the most litigious people. A Welshman would walk up
to London bare-legged, carrying his hose on his neck, to save wear and
because he had no change, importune his countrymen till he got half a
dozen writs, with which he would return to molest his neighbors, though
no one of his quarrels was worth the money he paid for a single writ.
The humblest mechanic of England today has comforts and conveniences
which the richest nobles lacked in Harrison's day, but it was
nevertheless an age of great luxury and extravagance; of brave apparel,
costly and showy beyond that of any Continental people, though wanting in
refined taste; and of mighty banquets, with service of massive plate,
troops of attendants, and a surfeit of rich food and strong drink.
In this luxury the clergy of Harrison's rank did not share. Harrison was
poor on forty pounds a year. He complains that the clergy were taxed more
than ever, the church having become "an ass whereon every man is to ride
to market and cast his wallet." They paid tenths and first-fruits and
subsidies, so that out of twenty pounds of a benefice the incumbent did
not reserve more than L 13 6s. 8d. for himself and his family. They had
to pay for both prince and laity, and both grumbled at and slandered
them. Harrison gives a good account of the higher clergy; he says the
bishops were loved for their painful diligence in their calling, and that
the clergy of England were reputed on the Continent as learned divines,
skillful in Greek and Hebrew and in the Latin tongue.
There was, however, a scarcity of preachers and ministers in Elizabeth's
time, and their character was not generally high. What could be expected
when covetous patrons canceled their debts to their servants by bestowing
advowsons of benefices upon their bakers, butlers, cooks, grooms, pages,
and lackeys-- | 261.834815 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 23. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, April 6, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: JIM AND CHARLEY IN THE WOODS.]
A RABBIT DAY.
BY W. O. STODDARD.
"Jim," said Charley, "has that dog of yours gone crazy?"
"Old Nap? No. Why? What's the matter with him?"
"Just look at the way he's diving in and out among the trees. He'll run
full split right against one first thing he knows."
"No, he won't. He's after rabbits. We're'most to the swamp now, and Nap
knows what we've come for as well as we do."
There was no mistake but what he was a wonderfully busy dog just then.
It looked as if he was trying to be all around, everywhere, at the same
time; and every few moments he would give expression to his excitement
in a short sharp yelp.
"He means to tell us he'll stir one out in a minute," said Jim. "It's a
prime rabbit day."
"Are there more rabbits some days than there are others?"
"Easier to get 'em. You see, there came a thaw, and the old snow got
settled down, and a good hard crust froze on top of it; then there was a
little snow last night, and the rabbits'll leave their tracks in that
when they come out for a run on the crust. Old Nap knows. See him; he'll
have one out in a minute."
"Is this the swamp?" asked Charley.
"All that level ahead of us. In spring, and in summer too, unless it's a
dry season, there's water everywhere among the trees and bushes; but
it's frozen hard now."
"What is there beyond?"
"Nothing but mountains, 'way back into the Adirondacks. We'd better load
up, Charley."
"Why, are not the guns loaded?"
"No. Father never lets a loaded gun come into the house. Aunt Sally
won't either. Shall I load your gun for you?"
"Load my gun! Well, I guess not. As if I couldn't load my own gun!"
Charley set himself to work at once, for the movements of old Nap were
getting more and more eager and rapid, and there was no telling what
might happen.
But Charley had never loaded a gun before in all his life. Still, it was
a very simple piece of business, and he knew all about it. He had read
of it and heard it talked of ever so many times, and there was Jim
loading his own gun within ten feet, just as if he meant to show how it
should be done. He could | 261.834893 |
2023-11-16 18:21:25.8149020 | 101 | 12 |
Produced by Katherine Ward, eagkw 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. Frontispiece and
Insert provided from the collection of Culver-Stockton
College, Canton, Mo.)
THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF
THE PICKWICK CLUB
[Illustration: "_Gentlemen, what does this | 261.834942 |
2023-11-16 18:21:25.8186470 | 1,456 | 13 |
Produced by D.R. Thompson
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
BOOK III. -- THE HOHENZOLLERNS IN BRANDENBURG. - 1412-1718
Chapter I. -- KURFURST FRIEDRICH I.
Burggraf Friedrich, on his first coming to Brandenburg, found but a cool
reception as Statthalter. [_"Johannistage"_ (24 June) "1412," he first
set foot in Brandenburg, with due escort, in due state; only Statthalter
(Viceregent) as yet: Pauli, i. 594, ii. 58; Stenzel, _Geschichte des
Preussischen Staats_ (Hamburg, 1830, 1851), i. 167-169.] He came as
the representative of law and rule; and there had been many helping
themselves by a ruleless life, of late. Industry was at a low ebb,
violence was rife; plunder, disorder everywhere; too much the habit for
baronial gentlemen to "live by the saddle," as they termed it, that is
by highway robbery in modern phrase.
The Towns, harried and plundered to skin and bone, were glad to see
a Statthalter, and did homage to him with all their heart. But the
Baronage or Squirearchy of the country were of another mind. These, in
the late anarchies, had set up for a kind of kings in their own right:
they had their feuds; made war, made peace, levied tolls, transit-dues;
lived much at their own discretion in these solitary countries;--rushing
out from their stone towers ("walls fourteen feet thick"), to seize
any herd of "six hundred swine," any convoy of Lubeck or Hamburg
merchant-goods, that had not contented them in passing. What were
pedlers and mechanic fellows made for, if not to be plundered when
needful? Arbitrary rule, on the part of these Noble Robber-Lords! And
then much of the Crown-Domains had gone to the chief of them,--pawned
(and the pawn-ticket lost, so to speak), or sold for what trifle
of ready money was to be had, in Jobst and Company's time. To these
gentlemen, a Statthalter coming to inquire into matters was no welcome
phenomenon. Your EDLE HERR (Noble Lord) of Putlitz, Noble Lords of
Quitzow, Rochow, Maltitz and others, supreme in their grassy solitudes
this long while, and accustomed to nothing greater than themselves in
Brandenburg, how should they obey a Statthalter?
Such was more or less the universal humor in the Squirearchy of
Brandenburg; not of good omen to Burggraf Friedrich. But the chief seat
of contumacy seemed to be among the Quitzows, Putlitzes, above spoken
of; big Squires in the district they call the Priegnitz, in the Country
of the sluggish Havel River, northwest from Berlin a fifty or forty
miles. These refused homage, very many of them; said they were
"incorporated with Bohmen;" said this and that;--much disinclined to
homage; and would not do it. Stiff surly fellows, much deficient in
discernment of what is above them and what is not:--a thick-skinned
set; bodies clad in buff leather; minds also cased in ill habits of long
continuance.
Friedrich was very patient with them; hoped to prevail by gentle
methods. He "invited them to dinner;" "had them often at dinner for a
year or more:" but could make no progress in that way. "Who is this we
have got for a Governor?" said the noble lords privately to each other:
"A NURNBERGER TAND (Nurnberg Plaything,--wooden image, such as they
make at Nurnberg)," said they, grinning, in a thick-skinned way: "If it
rained Burggraves all the year round, none of them would come to luck
in this Country;"--and continued their feuds, toll-levyings, plunderings
and other contumacies. Seeing matters come to this pass after waiting
above a year, Burggraf Friedrich gathered his Frankish men-at-arms;
quietly made league with the neighboring Potentates, Thuringen and
others; got some munitions, some artillery together--especially one huge
gun, the biggest ever seen, "a twenty-four pounder" no less; to which
the peasants, dragging her with difficulty through the clayey roads,
gave the name of FAULE GRETE (Lazy, or Heavy Peg); a remarkable piece
of ordnance. Lazy Peg he had got from the Landgraf of Thuringen, on loan
merely; but he turned her to excellent account of his own. I have often
inquired after Lazy Peg's fate in subsequent times; but could never
learn anything distinct:--the German Dryasdust is a dull dog, and seldom
carries anything human in those big wallets of his!--
Equipped in this way, Burggraf Friedrich (he was not yet Kurfurst,
only coming to be) marches for the Havel Country (early days of 1414);
[Michaelis, i. 287; Stenzel, i. 168 (where, contrary to wont, is an
insignificant error or two). Pauli (ii. 58) is, as usual, lost in
water.] makes his appearance before Quitzow's strong-house of Friesack,
walls fourteen feet thick: "You Dietrich von Quitzow, are you prepared
to live as a peaceable subject henceforth: to do homage to the Laws and
me?"--"Never!" answered Quitzow, and pulled up his drawbridge. Whereupon
Heavy Peg opened upon him, Heavy Peg and other guns; and, in some
eight-and-forty hours, shook Quitzow's impregnable Friesack about his
ears. This was in the month of February, 1414, day not given: Friesack
was the name of the impregnable Castle (still discoverable in our
time); and it ought to be memorable and venerable to every Prussian man.
Burggraf Friedrich VI., not yet quite become Kurfurst Friedrich I.,
but in a year's space to become so, he in person was the beneficent
operator; Heavy Peg, and steady Human Insight, these were clearly the
chief implements | 261.838687 |
2023-11-16 18:21:26.1827790 | 1,875 | 7 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The naval battle between the Serapis and the Poor
Richard.]
[Illustration:
GRADED LITERATURE READERS
EDITED BY
HARRY PRATT JUDSON, LL.D.,
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
AND
IDA C. <DW12>
SUPERVISOR OF PRIMARY GRADES IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF BUFFALO, NEW
YORK
FOURTH BOOK
CHARLES E. MERRILL CO., PUBLISHERS]
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.
[24]
PREFACE
It is believed that the Graded Literature Readers will commend
themselves to thoughtful teachers by their careful grading, their sound
methods, and the variety and literary character of their subject-matter.
They have been made not only in recognition of the growing discontent
with the selections in the older readers, but also with an appreciation
of the value of the educational features which many of those readers
contained. Their chief points of divergence from other new books,
therefore, are their choice of subject-matter and their conservatism in
method.
A great consideration governing the choice of all the selections has
been that they shall interest children. The difficulty of learning to
read is minimized when the interest is aroused.
School readers, which supply almost the only reading of many children,
should stimulate a taste for good literature and awaken interest in a
wide range of subjects.
In the Graded Literature Readers good literature has been presented as
early as possible, and the classic tales and fables, to which constant
allusion is made in literature and daily life, are largely used.
Nature study has received due attention. The lessons on scientific
subjects, though necessarily simple at first, preserve always a strict
accuracy.
The careful drawings of plants and animals, and the illustrations in
color--many of them photographs from nature--will be attractive to the
pupil and helpful in connection with nature study.
No expense has been spared to maintain a high standard in the
illustrations, and excellent engravings of masterpieces are given
throughout the series with a view to quickening appreciation of the
best in art.
These books have been prepared with the hearty sympathy and very
practical assistance of many distinguished educators in different parts
of the country, including some of the most successful teachers of
reading in primary, intermediate, and advanced grades.
Thanks are due to Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons and to President
Roosevelt for their courtesy in permitting the use of the selection
from "Hunting Trips of a Ranchman."
INTRODUCTION
In the Fourth and Fifth Readers the selections are longer, the language
more advanced, and the literature of a more mature and less imaginative
character than in the earlier books.
The teacher should now place increased emphasis on the literary
side of the reading, pointing out beauties of language and thought,
and endeavoring to create an interest in the books from which the
selections are taken. Pupils will be glad to know something about the
lives of the authors whose works they are reading, and will welcome the
biographical notes given at the head of the selections, and the longer
biographical sketches throughout the book. These can be made the basis
of further biographical study at the discretion of the teacher.
Exercises and word lists at the end of the selections contain all
necessary explanations of the text, and also furnish suggestive
material for language work. For convenience, the more difficult words,
with definitions and complete diacritical markings, are grouped
together in the vocabulary at the end of the book.
A basal series of readers can do little more than broadly outline a
course in reading, relying on the teacher to carry it forward. If a
public library is within reach, the children should be encouraged to
use it; if not, the school should exert every effort to accumulate a
library of standard works to which the pupils may have ready access.
The primary purpose of a reading book is to give pupils the mastery of
the printed page, but through oral reading it also becomes a source of
valuable training of the vocal organs. Almost every one finds pleasure
in listening to good reading. Many feel that the power to give this
pleasure comes only as a natural gift, but an analysis of the art shows
that with practice any normal child may acquire it. The qualities
which are essential to good oral reading may be considered in three
groups:
First--An agreeable voice and clear articulation, which, although
possessed by many children naturally, may also be cultivated.
Second--Correct inflection and emphasis, with that due regard for
rhetorical pauses which will appear whenever a child fully understands
what he is reading and is sufficiently interested in it to lose his
self-consciousness.
Third--Proper pronunciation, which can be acquired only by association
or by direct teaching.
Clear articulation implies accurate utterance of each syllable and a
distinct termination of one syllable before another is begun.
Frequent drill on pronunciation and articulation before or after
the reading lesson will be found profitable in teaching the proper
pronunciation of new words and in overcoming faulty habits of speech.
Attention should be called to the omission of unaccented syllables in
such words as _history_ (not _histry_), _valuable_ (not _valuble_),
and to the substitution of _unt_ for _ent_, _id_ for _ed_, _iss_ for
_ess_, _unce_ for _ence_, _in_ for _ing_, in such words as _moment_,
_delighted_, _goodness_, _sentence_, _walking_. Pupils should also
learn to make such distinctions as appear between _u_ long, as in
_duty_, and _u_ after _r_, as in _rude_; between _a_ as in _hat_, _a_
as in _far_, and _a_ as in _ask_.
The above hints are suggestive only. The experienced teacher will
devise for herself exercises fitting special cases which arise in her
own work. It will be found that the best results are secured when the
interest of the class is sustained and when the pupil who is reading
aloud is made to feel that it is his personal duty and privilege to
arouse and hold this interest by conveying to his fellow pupils, in an
acceptable manner, the thought presented on the printed page.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN The Brothers Grimm 9
SEPTEMBER Helen Hunt Jackson 12
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 13
TRAVEL Robert Louis Stevenson 16
TRAVELERS' WONDERS Dr. John Aikin 19
ANTS 24
THE FOUR SUNBEAMS 28
SIFTING BOYS 30
THE FOUNTAIN James Russell Lowell 34
LEWIS CARROLL 36
WHAT ALICE SAID TO THE KITTEN Lewis Carroll 38
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES William Wordsworth 43
THE SNOW IMAGE Nathaniel Hawthorne 45
LITTLE BY LITTLE 63
THE HOUSE I LIVE IN 63
JEFFERSON'S TEN RULES 70
THE PET LAMB William Wordsworth 71
THE STORY OF FLORINDA Abby Morton Diaz 75
THE EAGLE Alfred, Lord Tennyson 90
PSALM XXIII 91
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS Louisa May Alcott 92
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE William Shakspere 101
OUR FIRST NAVAL HERO 102
HIAWATHA'S SAILING Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 108
SHUN DELAY 114
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER Lewis Carroll 119
PRINCE AHMED "The Arabian Nights" 124
THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE William Cullen Bryant 149
NESTS John Ruskin 153
SIR ISAAC NEWTON Nathaniel Hawthorne 153
LUCY William Wordsworth 165
TO A SKYLARK William Wordsworth 167
TOM GOES DOWN TO THE SEA Charles Kingsley 167
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_ILLUSTRATED BIOGRAPHIES OF
THE GREAT ARTISTS._
[Illustration: decoration]
JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER
ROYAL ACADEMICIAN.
[Illustration: decoration]
ILLUSTRATED BIOGRAPHIES
OF
THE GREAT ARTISTS.
TITIAN From the most recent authorities.
_By Richard Ford Heath, M.A., Hertford Coll. Oxford._
REMBRANDT From the Text of C. VOSMAER.
_By J. W. Mollett, B.A., Brasenose Coll. Oxford._
RAPHAEL From the Text of J. D. PASSAVANT.
_By N. D'Anvers, Author of "Elementary History of Art."_
VAN DYCK & HALS From the most recent authorities.
_By Percy R. Head, Lincoln Coll. Oxford._
HOLBEIN From the Text of Dr. WOLTMANN.
_By the Editor, Author of "Life and Genius of Rembrandt"_
TINTORETTO From recent investigations.
_By W. Roscoe Osler, Author of occasional Essays on Art._
TURNER From the most recent authorities.
_By Cosmo Monkhouse, Author of "Studies of Sir E. Landseer."_
THE LITTLE MASTERS From the most recent authorities.
_By W. B. Scott, Author of "Lectures on the Fine Arts."_
HOGARTH From recent investigations.
_By Austin Dobson, Author of "Vignettes in Rhyme," &c._
RUBENS From recent investigations.
_By C. W. Kett, M.A., Hertford Coll. Oxford._
MICHELANGELO From the most recent authorities.
_By Charles Clement, Author of "Michel-Ange, Leonard, et Raphael."_
LIONARDO From recent researches.
_By Dr. J. Paul Richter, Author of "Die Mosaiken von Ravenna."_
GIOTTO From recent investigations.
_By Harry Quilter, M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge._
THE FIGURE PAINTERS OF THE NETHERLANDS.
_By Lord Ronald Gower, Author of "Guide to the Galleries of Holland."_
VELAZQUEZ From the most recent authorities.
_By Edwin Stowe, B.A., Brasenose Coll. Oxford._
GAINSBOROUGH From the most recent authorities.
_By George M. Brock-Arnold, M.A., Hertford Coll. Oxford._
PEUGINO From recent investigations.
_By T. Adolphus Trollope, Author of many Essays on Art._
DELAROCHE & VERNET From the works of CHARLES BLANC.
_By Mrs. Ruutz Rees, Author of various Essays on Art._
[Illustration: JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER.
_From a sketch by John Gilbert._]
"_The whole world without Art would be one great wilderness._"
[Illustration: decoration]
TURNER
BY W. COSMO MONKHOUSE
_Author of_ "_Studies of Sir E. Landseer._"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
SCRIBNER AND WELFORD.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
1879.
(_All rights reserved._)
CHISWICK PRESS:--C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,
CHANCERY LANE.
[Illustration: decorative bar]
PREFACE.
The late Mr. Thornbury lost such an opportunity of writing a worthy
biography of Turner as will never occur again. How he dealt with the
valuable materials which he collected is well known to all who have had
to test the accuracy of his statements; and unfortunately many of the
channels from which he derived information have since been closed by
death. Mr. Ruskin, who might have helped so much, has contributed little
to the life of the artist but some brilliant passages of pathetic
rhetoric. Overgrown by his luxuriant eloquence, and buried beneath the
_debris_ of Thornbury, the ruins of Turner's Life lay hidden till last
year.
Mr. Hamerton's "Life of Turner" has done much to remove a very serious
blot from English literature. Very careful, but very frank, it presents
a clear and consistent view of the great painter and his art, and is,
moreover, penetrated with that intellectual insight and refined thought
which illuminate all its author's work.
He has, however, left much to be done, and this book will, I hope, help
a little in clearing away long-standing errors, and reducing the known
facts about Turner to something like order. To these facts I have been
able to add a few hitherto unpublished; and it is a pleasant duty to
return my thanks to the many kind friends and strangers for the pains
which they have taken to supply me with information. To Mr. F. E.
Trimmer, of Heston, the son of Turner's old friend and executor; to Mr.
John L. Roget; to Mr. Mayall, and to Mr. J. Beavington Atkinson, my
thanks are especially due.
In so small a book upon so large a subject, I have often had much
difficulty in deciding what to select and what to reject, and have
always preferred those events and stories which seem to me to throw most
light upon Turner's character. On purely technical matters I have
touched only when I thought it absolutely necessary. This part of the
subject has been already so well and fully treated by Mr. Ruskin in
numerous works, too well known to need mention; by Mr. Hamerton in his
"Life of Turner," and "Etching and Etchers;" by Messrs. Redgrave in
their "Century of English Painters," and by Mr. S. Redgrave in his
introduction to the collection of water-colours at South Kensington,
that I need only refer to these works such few among my readers as are
not already acquainted with them. I would also refer them for similar
reasons to Mr. Rawlinson's recent work on the "Liber Studiorum."
I should have liked to add to this volume accurate lists of Turner's
works and the engravings from them, with information of their
possessors, and the extraordinary fluctuation in the prices which they
have realized, but this would have entailed great labour and have
swelled unduly the bulk of this volume, which is already greater than
that of its fellows. Fortunately this information is likely to be soon
supplied by Mr. Algernon Graves, whose accurate catalogue of Landseer's
works is sufficient guarantee of the manner in which he will perform
this more difficult task.
The edition of Thornbury's "Life of Turner" referred to throughout these
pages, is that of 1877.
W. COSMO MONKHOUSE.
[Illustration: decorative bar]
CONTENTS.
PART I.
1775 TO 1797. DAYS OF EDUCATION AND PRACTICE.
CHAPTER I.
Page
Introductory 1
CHAPTER II.
Early Days--1775 to 1789 6
CHAPTER III.
Youth--1789 to 1796 20
PART II.
1797 TO 1820. DAYS OF MASTERY AND EMULATION.
CHAPTER IV.
Yorkshire and the young Academician--1797 to 1807 38
CHAPTER V.
The "Liber Studiorum" and the Dragons 55
CHAPTER VI.
Harley Street, Devonshire, Hammersmith, and Twickenham 75
PART III.
1820 TO 1851. DAYS OF GLORY AND DECLINE.
CHAPTER VII.
Page
Italy and France--1820 to 1840 92
CHAPTER VIII.
Light and Darkness--1840 to 1851 121
[Illustration: decoration]
[Illustration: decorative bar]
TURNER.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
The task of writing a satisfactory life of Turner is one of more than
usual difficulty. He hid himself, partly intentionally, partly because
he could not express himself except by means of his brush. His
secretiveness was so consistent, and commenced so early, that it seems
to have been an instinct, or what used to be called by that name. Akin
to the most divinely gifted poets by his supreme pictorial imagination,
he also seems on the other side to have been related to beings whose
reasoning faculty is less than human. When we look at such pictures as
_Crossing the Brook_, _The Fighting Temeraire_, and _Ulysses and
Polyphemus_, we feel that we are in the presence of a mind as sensitive
as Keats's, as tender as Goldsmith's, and as penetrative as Shelley's;
when we read of the dirty discomfort of his home and of the difficulty
with which his patrons, and even his relations, obtained access to his
presence--how even his most intimate friends were not admitted to his
confidence--we can only think of a hedgehog, whose offensive powers
being limited, is warned by nature to live in a hole and roll itself up
into a ball of spikes at the approach of strangers.
We are used to having our idols broken; but we still fashion them with a
persistency which seems to argue it a necessity of our nature, that we
should think of the life and character of gifted men as being the
outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace we perceive
in their works. It is this habit which makes any attempt to write a life
of Turner pre-eminently unsatisfactory, for his refined sense of the
most ethereal of natural phenomena is not relieved by any refinement in
his manners, his supreme feeling for the splendour of the sun is
unmatched by any light or brilliance in his social life; his extreme
sensibility, a sensibility not only artistic but human, to all the
emotional influences of nature, stands for ever as a contrast to his
self-absorbed, suspicious individuality. There is of course no reason
why a landscape painter should be refined in manner or choice in his
habits. There is no necessary connection between the subjects of such an
artist and himself, except his hand and eye. He lives a life of visions
that may come and go without affecting his life or even his thought, as
we generally use that word. The most tremendous phenomena of nature may
be seen and studied, and reproduced with such power as to strike terror
into those who see the picture, and yet leave the artist unaltered in
demeanour and taste. Even those men of genius who, instead of employing
their imagination upon nature's inanimate works, devote themselves to
the study of man himself, socially and morally, do not by any means
show that relation between themselves and their finest work that we
appear naturally to expect.
But all this, though it may explain much, still leaves unsatisfactory
the task of writing the life of a man of whom such passages as the
following could be sincerely written:--
"Glorious in conception--unfathomable in knowledge--solitary in
power--with the elements waiting upon his will, and the night and
morning obedient to his call, sent as a prophet of God to reveal to
men the mysteries of the universe, standing, like the great angel
of the Apocalypse, clothed with a cloud, and with a rainbow upon
his head, and with the sun and stars given into his hand."--_Modern
Painters_ (1843), p. 92.
"Towards the end of his career he would often, I am assured on the
best authority, paint hard all the week till Saturday night; and he
would then put by his work, slip a five-pound note into his pocket,
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THE FLAG
AND OTHER POEMS
1918
BY
AMY REDPATH RODDICK
(_All rights reserved_)
Montreal
JOHN DOUGALL & SON
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE BRITISH LANDS 5
THE FLAG 7
ENGLAND’S OLDEST COLONY 9
IN FORT-BOUND METZ 11
THE CALM THAT COMES WITH YEARS 13
GOING WEST 15
PERFECT IN THY PROMISE 18
ARMAGEDDON 19
THE FAIRIES 20
THE SOLDIERS 21
NO TEARS 22
“MON REPOS” 22
“AS WE FORGIVE” 23
THE CREW 24
IN A TRAIN 25
THE BALLAD OF A BUGABOO 26
OUR ART 31
ON READING SOME IMAGIST VERSES 33
THE MIND OF THE MYSTIC 34
A MONTREAL LULLABY 35
L’ESPERANCE 36
MY LAKE 37
A SCIENTIFIC PUZZLE 38
THE GOOD OLD DAYS 40
AT LENNOX 41
THE FLOWER OF TRUE HAPPINESS 42
THE MOUNTAIN TOP 44
CHARITY 46
THE BRITISH LANDS.
The tie that binds the British lands
Is never spun of tyrant’s might;
Of fair replies to just demands,
Of compromise whenever right
Is spun the fibre of its strands,
A mighty Empire to unite.
A symbol is our gracious King
Of British unity of heart,
A simple man to whom we cling,
Of all good men the counterpart.
We sing to God to “Save the King,”
And mean thereby ourselves in part.
The people of the British lands
Are masters of their future fate,
By effort of their mind and hands
They glorify their Empire State,
And, as the bud of thought expands,
Can make new laws by calm debate.
The British Empire, may it be
The nucleus of that larger league,
Uniting every land and sea,
Eschewing wars and false intrigue,
May common sense and kindness be
The crowning glory of that league!
THE FLAG.
Canada! where is thy flag,
Welding race and race together?
Union Jack, that wondrous rag,
Dear to those who’ve trod the heather,
Dear to those who love the rose,
Blending Irish cross and nation
With the crosses of old foes
In a just and fair relation,
Bears no emblem of the men,
First to cross the stormy ocean,
Bringing faith and plough and pen,
First to know with deep emotion,
Canada! thy name, as home.
True, provincial arms commingle
On thy flag o’er ships that roam;
In their stead an emblem single,
Maple leaf of golden hue,
Would announce to all more proudly
Whence thy ships their anchors drew;
Would announce to all more loudly,
Canada! thy nation’s life;
And on land, when bells are ringing
To acclaim the end of strife,
When with joy each heart is singing;
Canada! is this thy flag?
Welding race and race together,
Waving from each roof and crag,
East and West, one nation ever!
ENGLAND’S OLDEST COLONY.
[A]Newfoundland is proud to be
England’s oldest colony!
Loving her dear motherland,
By her side she takes her stand,
Devon, Scotch and Irish stock,
Sturdy as their seagirt rock,
Leave their homes and leave their boats,
Don the khaki- coats.
Newfoundland has fought and bled,
Far and wide her fame has spread,
Newfoundland is proud to be
England’s oldest colony!
Nine fair sisters in one home,
With the North Pole on its dome,
Facing both the East and West,
And a friendly State abreast,
Smile upon the lonely one.
They have done as she has done,
Fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
Won like her the world’s applause.
Will she join her home to theirs?
No, her head in scorn she rears,
Newfoundland is proud to be
England’s oldest colony!
But the offer’s most sincere;
And the offer’s always there;
Newfoundland may change her mind,
And in time she too may find,
Burdens shared are light to bear,
Triumphs shared are doubly dear,
She may gladly join the sheaf
Bound around by maple leaf,
Knowing well she still may boast,
Answering her sisters’ toast:
“Newfoundland is proud to be
England’s oldest colony!”
[A] The name of “Newfoundland” is never pronounced by its inhabitants
or their neighbors of the Maritime Provinces with the accent on the
middle syllable, as is the usage elsewhere. It is pronounced as though
written “Newf’n’land,” with the principal stress on the last syllable.
IN FORT-BOUND METZ.
July 26th, 1914.
Neat uniformed, with close cropped head and fierce moustache,
Near us they dined one July day in fort-bound Metz.
We could not catch their words; but we could see and feel
Their strong excitement, breaking forth, then held in check,
Then breaking forth afresh as some new health was drunk.
The joy, imprinted on their faces, spread to ours.
We laughed in turn as they; but knew not why we laughed.
It was indeed a merry meal in which we shared,
That July day, in fort-bound Metz.
Next day, in France, we were to know at what we laughed
With those large built, full blooded German men of rank,
For when we asked a grieving woman why she wept,
She sobbed: “Because the Germans will make war on France!”
THE CALM THAT COMES WITH YEARS.
I cannot write of turmoil, I cannot write of strife,
Long since has gone the passion, I used to think was life.
A calmness rests upon me, a calm I cannot break,
Though worlds are trembling round me and freedom is at stake.
Because I have no sorrows, because my heart’s at rest,
I cannot weep with others, whose hearts are not so blest;
I tremble for no hero upon the fields of France,
I cannot curse the Nero who planned this gory dance.
Though woman fast is winning her place in Council Halls,
By work where talent leads her, by work where mercy calls,
I feel no keen elation to know her triumph’s near,
A triumph most unselfish, a heavier weight to bear.
The calm that rests upon me, the calm that comes with years,
Suggests that man’s impatience is the cause of most he fears,
Suggests that war’s upheaval is but the anvil clink,
The welding by the Forger of yet another link
In that great chain of progress that binds successive time,
From chaos on to order, and then to heights sublime!
GOING WEST.
A pulsing silence shrouds me round
Like waves one feels, but hears no sound,
Then slowly, as from realms above,
There come soft whispered words of love.
And something presses on my heart,
Of my own self it seems a part,
So very close I feel--her head--
And now I know she is not dead!
I try to break the secret charm
That weighs upon my nerveless arm,
I want to hold my love so close
She will not wander whilst I doze.
I think I fell asleep,
The silence seemed more deep,
I could not catch the beat
The noiseless waves repeat.
Again there comes that soundless sound,
The heavy, ceaseless, rythmic pound.
Is it the throb of worlds alive?
Is it the hum of some near hive?
My own tired pulse may be the cause
Of what is more like faint applause,
Of what might be a funeral drum
So muffled to be almost dumb.
But no, that pressure on my heart
Reminds me, with a sudden dart
Of pain, so keen it seems to thrill,
That my dear love is by me still.
And now I understand
The meaning of that band,
Her heart is beating time
In unison with mine.
* * * * *
Again those words of love I hear,
But now they are so very near,
They’re telling me of deeds I’ve done
And of the wished for cross I’ve won!
So after all my life’s not lost,
Amidst that fiery holocaust,
I’ve done what I was meant to do,
What matter if the fight’s not through!
My little love your head is pressed
Too close upon my burning breast,
And yet it seems, that while you press,
The pain is growing less and less.
Perhaps I’m going west,
I’m tired, I want to rest,
My breathing’s slow and deep,
I’m sinking fast asleep--
* * * * *
In shell tossed No Man’s Land they saw him, lying
Unconscious, smiling in his sleep, but dying--
His broken arm hung limp, a mortal wound
Gaped wide above his heart, on which they found,
Tight pressed, the picture of his youthful bride,
Whose grave is swept by ocean’s restless tide.
PERFECT IN THY PROMISE.
Perfect in thy promise, as the bud unfolding,
Perfect in thyself, as rose fresh blown,
Ever gracious, all that’s pure and good upholding,
Perfect spirit, hast thou really flown?
Must I spend alone the many, many morrows,
Void of blissful hopes together spanned,
Hopes of service in assuaging others’ sorrows,
Hopes of varied joys together planned?
No, these heavy mourning weeds I’ll cast asunder,
Struggle through the clouds that wrap me round,
Close my ears to their unholy, fearsome thunder,
Spring anew to life from grief unbound.
Perfect spirit, now I know that thou art near me;
In thy tender love I rest content,
Trusting in that love to cheer, and help, and steer me,
Till I too have climbed life’s steep ascent!
ARMAGEDDON.
The Armageddon of the ages,
In pent up wrath and fury rages,
And little souls like children cry,
And little souls are asking why.
The Armageddon of the ages,
The Lord of all, in pity stages,
That little souls may grow in grace,
That little souls may know His face.
The Armageddon of the ages,
Foretold by holy men and sages,
The last and greatest fight of all--
When good shall win, and evil fall,
When nation shall clasp hands with nation
In universal federation!
THE FAIRIES.
Merrily the fairies march,
In and out,
Round about,
Where toadstools in magic row
Mark their course by moonlight glow.
In and out,
Round about,
Waving music with their wands,
Cheerful little vagabonds,
Knowing nought of care or duty,
Living but for play and beauty,
Dancing in the moonshine hours,
They will hide from sun and showers.
No one seeks the fairies now,
They’re forgotten with our joys,
They’re forgotten with our toys,
No one seeks the fairies now.
THE SOLDIERS.
Sternly march the soldier men,
Straight ahead,
Where they’re led,
Ready for self-sacrifice,
Braving death in any guise.
Straight ahead,
Where they’re led,
Sternly march the splendid hosts,
Never flinching from their posts,
Facing frightful odds at first,
When o’er peaceful lands war burst,
Beating back the hated foe
With a strong united blow.
Thinking of our soldier men
There’s no duty we will shirk,
Rain or shine will stop no work,
Thinking of our soldier men.
NO TEARS.
For a hero’s death, no tears!
He fought for lasting peace,
But everlasting peace he’s won;
It might be troubled if I wept.
“MON REPOS.”
“Mon Repos” he called our home,
Meaning his and mine.
He has gone, our home has gone;
But “Mon Repos” still shelters me.
“AS WE FORGIVE.”[B]
On Belgic dunes the sun is gayly shining
And little children can forget--and play;
A jolly band with smiles and arms entwining
Are running through the sands and lose their way.
They stop their frolicking and rather weary
They chance upon a road where, looking round,
They see the perfect Son of gentle Mary
Resigned upon His cross though pierced and bound.
At His dear feet, in prayer, they closely snuggle
And chant the words of Him they all adore,
But “trespasses” reminding them, they struggle
To finish, hesitate, can say no more.
A step is heard, a presence felt that captures
The stammered words, and firmly all repeat
The Pater Noster to its end. What raptures!
Their hero King! they see and humbly greet.
[B] Suggested by a pretty story of King Albert that has filtered
through from martyred Belgium.
THE CREW.
O’er the moving waters of the Horicon[C]
Comes a gentle breeze,
Throwing kisses to its ripples,
Flirting with the trees,
Blowing whiffs of scented clover,
Whiffs of sweetest peas.
On the moving waters of the Horicon
Comes a red canoe,
Bearing Cupid, with an arrow
Pointed at the crew,
Sharing youthful dreams together,
In that red canoe!
[C] “The Horicon,” meaning tail lake, is the Indian name given by
Cooper to Lake George.
IN A TRAIN.
A lonesome landscape, brown and grey,
And chilled with flakes of smutchy snow,
So grimly dull that every ray
Of setting sun forgets its glow;
But in the train I sit with one.
Who clears my thoughts of wintry gloom;
She laughs!--and now a midday sun
Is coaxing summer flowers to bloom!
THE BALLAD OF A BUGABOO.[D]
In Aachen Town, in olden days,
There dwelt a demon beast,
Whose special prey was roysterers
Returning from a feast.
By day, he lurked in caverns deep
Where sulphur waters boil,
And dreamt of evil men and deeds,
Whilst resting from his toil.
By night he issued from the spring,
And those, who saw him, said:
“His body long and shaggy seemed
With oddly flattened head.
His eyes burned like two fiery moons
That paled the Queen of Night,
And when he opened wide his mouth
His teeth gleamed sharp and white.
His tail, which brushed the ground, was decked
With phosphorescent scales,
And yet his paws were like a bear’s
With long, protruding nails.”
His head and legs were wreathed in chains,
Which rattled as he went
Along the narrow, winding streets
On pranks and mischief bent.
He gambolled like a monstrous calf
Of breed unknown and strange,
And drunken men were filled with fear
Who happened on his range.
His egress led along the drain,
Whence comes, from far below,
The boiling, seething sulphur stream
Whose waters ever flow.
Before the large Bath House was built,
A wide canal was made
To hold this healing flood, and there,
Beneath the beech trees shade,
The poorer women washed their clothes
Without a thought of fear;
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Produced by Giovanni Fini, Donald Cummings, Adrian
Mastronardi and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
A ROAD-BOOK TO OLD CHELSEA
[Illustration:
_SIFTON PRAED & Cᵒ Lᵗᵈ._
THE ROADS THAT LEAD TO CHELSEA.
_Frontispiece._]
A ROAD-BOOK TO
OLD CHELSEA
BY
G. B. STUART
“By what means the time is so well-abbreviated I know not,
except weeks be shorter in Chelsey, than in other places!”
KATHERYN THE QUEENE.
Extract from a letter of Queen Katharine Parr to the
Lord High Admiral Seymour, written from Chelsea, 1547
WITH SKETCH MAP AND FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
HUGH REES, LTD.
5 REGENT STREET, PALL MALL, S.W.
1914
PREFACE
OF the making of books about Chelsea, may there never be an end, so
rich and unexhausted is our history, so inspiring to those who labour
in its service! Every year, as fresh records become accessible,
Chelsea is presented to us from some different standpoint, historical,
architectural, or frankly human, and there is ever a welcome and a
place for each volume as it appears.
They are books full of research and of suggestion, illustrated by
portraits and maps from rare sources, and clinching hitherto unsolved
problems. They quickly become our library friends and companions,
because, though some of their matter may be familiar, each has, for
its own individual charm, that personal outlook of its author which
expresses, with wider and more resourceful knowledge than ours, the
love we all bear to our home by the river.
It is because in love of our subject we and the greater writers are
equal, that I dare to put forth a new Guide to Chelsea; a little
foot-page, a link-boy, a caddy if you will, just to show the way to
strangers, to disembarrass them of unnecessary impedimenta, to point
out special places of interest which may be visited in a summer
afternoon, within that charmed circle of our parish, where every inch
is enchanted ground.
G. B. S.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ROAD TO THE CHURCH 9
II. THE OLD CHURCH: NORTH SIDE AND CHANCEL 15
III. THE OLD CHURCH: SOUTH SIDE AND THE MORE CHAPEL 23
IV. THE OLD CHURCH: THE NAVE AND ITS MONUMENTS 31
V. CHURCH STREET TO QUEEN’S ELM 39
VI. CHEYNE WALK FROM EAST TO WEST 47
VII. SIDE STREETS AND BACK GARDENS 57
VIII. THE ROAD TO THE ROYAL HOSPITAL 65
L’ENVOI 73
A ROAD-BOOK TO OLD CHELSEA
CHAPTER I
Omnibuses for Chelsea—The Mystery House—Dr. Phéné’s garden—Cheyne
House and Tudor Lane—Leigh Hunt’s home—Cheyne Row and Carlyle—The
Tollsey Cottage and James II.—The Lawrences and Lombards’ Row—The
Fieldings and Justice Walk.
PRESUMING, O stranger, that you will reach Chelsea by motor-bus—either
from Kensington by No. 49, from Piccadilly by No. 19, or from the
Strand by No. 11—I will ask you to alight at Chelsea Town Hall and
turn with me down Oakley Street. As we face the river, there is always
fresh air to meet us, and in summer time, above the road smell of
asphalt and petrol, there floats a soft, keen savour of growing things
and green bushes, hidden away behind walls; if an old door opens, we
catch a glimpse of gardens and sometimes of a “mulberry-bush,” grown to
forest size, which, planted by the men who fled from the terror of St.
Bartholomew, still fruits and flourishes to repay Chelsea hospitality.
On the right-hand side, where we turn into Upper Cheyne Row, stands
the much-talked-about “Mystery House” of the late eccentric Dr. Phéné.
It has never been much of a mystery to its neighbours. Dr. Phéné
built it as a storehouse for his collections—some valuable, others
worthless—and plastered it with the discarded ornaments of the old
Horticultural Gardens. The old gentleman was vastly proud of his
design, and loved to plant himself at the street corner and encourage
the remarks of passers-by: that the work was chaotic, and dropping to
pieces before it was finished, troubled him not at all, and Chelsea
forgave him the architectural monstrosity for the sake of the garden,
which his leisurely building methods preserved. The wall which encloses
it is one of Dr. Phéné’s happiest “finds,” and is said to be a part
of old St. Paul’s—it certainly bears the carven arms of several
London boroughs, and is not incongruous to its surroundings; behind it
blackbirds, thrushes, and wood-pigeons fancy themselves in the country,
and birds and men alike rejoice that the complications of the Phéné
property still preserve their shade and shelter untouched.
Cheyne House, which also belonged to Dr. Phéné, was less highly
esteemed by him than his Renaissance effort, and has been allowed
to drop into grievous ruin: it is the house “of ancient gravity and
beauty” of which Mr. E. V. Lucas writes so affectionately in his
_Wanderer in London_. It sits back, with its eyes closed, wrapped in
its ancient vine, and no one will ever know its three-hundred-year-old
secrets. For in the old maps it shows bravely in the centre of its
park, and a little narrow walk, called Tudor Lane, led from it to the
river, where possibly it had its own landing-stage; a beautiful state
reception room at the back had seven windows giving on the terrace. It
is sad and strange that so little is known of its inhabitants in the
past.
No. 4 Upper Cheyne Row is a modern interpolation, filling up the Tudor
Lane aperture; but No. 6 is another really old house, dating by its
leases from 1665, and having a splendid mulberry tree, which in a
document of 1702 is mentioned as “unalienable from the property.”
No. 10 (at that time No. 4) was Leigh Hunt’s home for seven years from
1833 to 1840, where, as Carlyle wrote, “the noble Hunt will receive
you into his Tinkerdom, in the spirit of a King.” He was often in
absolute want during this period, yet his belief in the human and the
divine was never shaken by poverty, illness, or distress of mind, and
the beautiful quality of his work was maintained in spite of perpetual
difficulties.
[Illustration: _Photo by Miss Muriel Johnston._
THOMAS CARLYLE.
p. 10] ]
The date 1708 on the side wall above Cheyne Cottage fixes the building
of Cheyne Row and the west end of Upper Cheyne Row; a beautiful old
house which was cleared away in 1894 to make room for the Roman
Catholic Church of the Holy Redeemer was called Orange House, in
political compliment, and its next-door neighbour, York House, was
named after James II. These two were probably older than the others,
and Lord Cheyne, who formed the Row, built his newer houses into line
with those already existing. Some of the iron work of the balconies,
etc., and the porticoes, are worth noting.
Carlyle’s House (now No. 24) can be visited every week-day, between
the hours of 10 a.m. and sunset—admission 1_s._, Saturdays 6_d._—and
it speaks for itself. I will only add a reference to Mrs. N., the old
servant who spent years in Carlyle’s service, and finished her honoured
days in ours—her descriptions of “the Master” writing his _Frederick
the Great_ were about the most intimate revelations that have yet been
made of the Carlyle _ménage_!
The Master would be so immersed in his subject—maps and books
being spread all over the floor of his room “in his wrestle with
Frederick”—that his lunch would remain unheeded until, stretching up
a vague hand, he plunged it into the dish of hashed mutton or rice
pudding, as the case might be—regardless of plate, spoon, or decorum.
“It was no cook’s credit to cook for him,” was Mrs. N.’s verdict,
“a cook that respected herself simply couldn’t do it,” and though
she adored Mrs. Carlyle, she left her service to restore her own
self-respect.
Cheyne Cottage was once the Toll Gate for entering Chelsea Parish at
the south-west angle—there was another Toll Gate, I think, at the
Fulham end of Church Street, but it was probably to this one on the
river bank that James Duke of York, afterwards James II., came one
winter night a few minutes later than the recognised closing time,
eight o’clock. James was unpopular, and the old woman who kept the gate
a staunch Protestant, so that to the outriders’ challenge, “Open to the
Duke of York!” she shrilled back defiance from her bedroom window,
“Be ye Duke or devil, ye don’t enter by this gate after eight of the
clock!” and so left James and his coach to lumber on to Whitehall
through the bankside mud, as best he might.
When I first knew Chelsea, the old board with the toll prices and
distances under the Royal arms of Charles II. was preserved at the
cottage, but this has, I believe, been surrendered to the London Museum.
Lawrence Street, between Cheyne Row and the Old Church, boasts the
sponsorship of the Lawrence family, goldsmiths and bankers, whose
mansion adjoined the church, and whose business premises leave their
name to the group of very old houses immediately west of Church Street.
These houses, though actually standing in Cheyne Walk, are called
Lombards’ Row in commemoration of the Lawrences’ banking business.
Fielding, the novelist, and his brother the Justice lived in the big
eighteenth-century house facing Justice Walk, and Tobias Smollett lived
close by, in a house now pulled down. In the big garden at the back,
impecunious “Sunday men,” whose debts kept them at home on other days,
were entertained every week at a “rare good Sunday dinner, all being
welcome whatever the state of their coats.”
And the Chelsea China Factory existed also at the upper end of Lawrence
Street for nearly forty years. Dr. Johnson used to experiment there,
having an ambition to excel in a porcelain paste of his own invention,
but his composition would not stand the baking process—perhaps he had
too weighty a hand in the mixing!—and he gave up the work in disgust.
Chelsea china commands enormous prices, as its supply was so limited.
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[Illustration: (cover)]
[Illustration: (frontispiece)]
"SOME SAY"
NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," "Melody," "Queen Hildegarde,"
"Five-Minute Stories," "When I Was Your Age,"
"Narcissa," "Marie," "Nautilus," etc.
TWELFTH THOUSAND
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1896_,
BY ESTES & LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott & Sons
"SOME SAY"
TO MY
Dear Sister,
FLORENCE HOWE HALL,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
* * * * *
"SOME SAY."
Part I.
"And some say, she expects to get him married to Rose Ellen before the
year's out!"
"I want to know if she does!"
"Her sister married a minister, and her father was a deacon, so mebbe
she thinks she's got a master-key to the Kingdom. But I don't feel so
sure of her gettin' this minister for Rose Ellen. Some say he's so
wropped up in his garden truck that he don't know a gal from a
gooseberry bush. He! he!"
The shrill cackle was answered by a slow, unctuous chuckle, as of a
fat and wheezy person; then a door was closed, and silence fell.
The minister looked up apprehensively; his fair face was flushed, and
his mild, blue eyes looked troubled. He gazed at the broad back of his
landlady, as she stood dusting, with minute care, the china ornaments
on the mantelpiece; but her back gave no sign. He coughed once or
twice; he said, "Mrs. Mellen!" tentatively, first low, then in his
ordinary voice, but there was no reply. Was Mrs. Mellen deaf? he had
not noticed it before. He pondered distressfully for a few moments;
then dropped his eyes, and the book swallowed him again. Yet the sting
remained, for when presently the figure at the mantelpiece turned
round, he looked up hastily, and flushed again as he met his hostess'
gaze, calm and untroubled as a summer pool.
"There, sir!" said Mrs. Mellen, cheerfully. "I guess that's done to
suit. Is there anything more I can do for you before I go?"
The minister's mind hovered between two perplexities; a glance at the
book before him decided their relative importance.
"Have you ever noticed, Mrs. Mellen, whether woodcocks are more apt to
fly on moonshiny nights, as White assures us?"
"Woodbox?" said Mrs. Mellen. "Why, yes, sir, it's handy by; and when
there's no moon, the lantern always hangs in the porch. But I'll see
that Si Jones keeps it full up, after this."
Decidedly, the good woman was deaf, and she had not heard. Could those
harpies be right? If any such idea as they suggested were actually in
his hostess' mind, he must go away, for his work must not be
interfered with, and he must not encourage hopes,--the minister
blushed again, and glanced around to see if any one could see him.
But he was so comfortable here, and Miss Mellen was so intelligent, so
helpful; and this seemed the ideal spot on which to compile his New
England "Selborne."
He sighed, and thought of the woodcock again. Why should the bird
prefer a moonshiny night? Was it likely that the creature had any
appreciation of the beauties of nature? Shakespeare uses the woodcock
as a simile of folly, to express a person without brains. Ha!
The door opened, and Rose Ellen came in, her eyes shining with
pleasure, her hands full of gold and green.
"I've found the 'Squarrosa,' Mr. Lindsay!" she announced. "See, this
is it, surely!"
The minister rose, and inspected the flowers delightedly. "This is it,
surely!" he repeated. "Stem stout, hairy above; leaves large, oblong,
or the lower spatulate-oval, and tapering into a marginal petiole,
serrate veiny; heads numerous; seeds obtuse or acute; disk-flowers, 16
x 24. This is, indeed, a treasure, for Gray calls it 'rare in New
England.' I congratulate you, Miss Mellen."
" | 262.527044 |
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BABYLONIAN AND ASSYRIAN LITERATURE
COMPRISING THE EPIC OF IZDUBAR, HYMNS, TABLETS, AND CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS
WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M.
REVISED EDITION
1901
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION
The great nation which dwelt in the seventh century before our era on the
banks of Tigris and Euphrates flourished in literature as well as in the
plastic arts, and had an alphabet of its own. The Assyrians sometimes
wrote with a sharp reed, for a pen, upon skins, wooden tablets, or papyrus
brought from Egypt. In this case they used cursive letters of a Phoenician
character. But when they wished to preserve their written documents, they
employed clay tablets, and a stylus whose bevelled point made an
impression like a narrow elongated wedge, or arrow-head. By a combination
of these wedges, letters and words were formed by the skilled and
practised scribe, who would thus rapidly turn off a vast amount of "copy."
All works of history, poetry, and law were thus written in the cuneiform
or old Chaldean characters, and on a substance which could withstand the
ravages of time, fire, or water. Hence we have authentic monuments of
Assyrian literature in their original form, unglossed, unaltered, and
ungarbled, and in this respect Chaldean records are actually superior to
those of the Greeks, the Hebrews, or the Romans.
The literature of the Chaldeans is very varied in its forms. The hymns to
the gods form an important department, and were doubtless employed in
public worship. They are by no means lacking in sublimity of expression,
and while quite unmetrical they are proportioned and emphasized, like
Hebrew poetry, by means of parallelism. In other respects they resemble
the productions of Jewish psalmists, and yet they date as far back as the
third millennium before Christ. They seem to have been transcribed in the
shape in which we at present have them in the reign of Assurbanipal, who
was a great patron of letters, and in whose reign libraries were formed in
the principal cities. The Assyrian renaissance of the seventeenth century
B.C. witnessed great activity among scribes and book collectors: modern
scholars are deeply indebted to this golden age of letters in Babylonia
for many precious and imperishable monuments. It is, however, only within
recent years that these works of hoar antiquity have passed from the
secluded cell of the specialist and have come within reach of the general
reader, or even of the student of literature. For many centuries the
cuneiform writing was literally a dead letter to the learned world. The
clue to the understanding of this alphabet was originally discovered in
1850 by Colonel Rawlinson, and described by him in a paper read before the
Royal Society. Hence the knowledge of Assyrian literature is, so far as
Europe is concerned, scarcely more than half a century old.
Among the most valuable of historic records to be found among the
monuments of any nation are inscriptions, set up on public buildings, in
palaces, and in temples. The Greek and Latin inscriptions discovered at
various points on the shores of the Mediterranean have been of priceless
value in determining certain questions of philology, as well as in
throwing new light on the events of history. Many secrets of language have
been revealed, many perplexities of history disentangled, by the words
engraven on stone or metal, which the scholar discovers amid the dust of
ruined temples, or on the _cippus_ of a tomb. The form of one Greek
letter, perhaps even its existence, would never have been guessed but for
its discovery in an inscription. If inscriptions are of the highest
critical importance and historic interest, in languages which are
represented by a voluminous and familiar literature, how much more
precious must they be when they record what happened in the remotest dawn
of history, surviving among the ruins of a vast empire whose people have
vanished from the face of the earth?
Hence the cuneiform inscriptions are of the utmost interest and value, and
present the greatest possible attractions to the curious and intelligent
reader. They record the deeds and conquests of mighty kings, the Napoleons
and Hannibals of primeval time. They throw a vivid light on the splendid
sculptures of Nineveh; they give a new interest to the pictures and
carvings that describe the building of cities, the marching to war, the
battle, by sea and land, of great monarchs whose horse and foot were as
multitudinous as the locusts that in Eastern literature are compared to
them. Lovers of the Bible will find in the Assyrian inscriptions many
confirmations of Scripture history, as well as many parallels to the
account of the primitive world in Genesis, and none can give even a
cursory glance at these famous remains without feeling his mental horizon
widened. We are carried by this writing on the walls of Assyrian towns far
beyond the little world of the recent centuries; we pass, as almost
modern, the day when Julius Caesar struggled in the surf of Kent against
the painted savages of Britain. Nay, the birth of Romulus and Remus is a
recent event in comparison with records of incidents in Assyrian national
life, which occurred not only before Moses lay cradled on the waters of an
Egyptian canal, but before Egypt had a single temple or pyramid, three
millenniums before the very dawn of history in the valley of the Nile.
But the interest of Assyrian Literature is not confined to hymns, or even
to inscriptions. A nameless poet has left in the imperishable tablets of a
Babylonian library an epic poem of great power and beauty. This is the
Epic of Izdubar.
At Dur-Sargina, the city where stood the palace of Assyrian monarchs three
thousand years ago, were two gigantic human figures, standing between the
winged bulls, carved in high relief, at the entrance of the royal
residence. These human figures are exactly alike, and represent the same
personage--a Colossus with swelling thews, and dressed in a robe of
dignity. He strangles a lion by pressing it with brawny arm against his
side, as if it were no more than a cat. This figure is that of Izdubar, or
Gisdubar, the great central character of Assyrian poetry and sculpture,
the theme of minstrels, the typical hero of his land, the favored of the
gods. What is called the Epic of Izdubar relates the exploits of this
hero, who was born the son of a king in Ourouk of Chaldea. His father was
dethroned by the Elamites, and Izdubar was driven into the wilderness and
became a mighty hunter. In the half-peopled earth, so lately created, wild
beasts had multiplied and threatened the extermination of mankind. The
hunter found himself at war with monsters more formidable than even the
lion or the wild bull. There were half-human scorpions, bulls with the
head of man, fierce satyrs and winged griffins. Deadly war did Izdubar
wage with them, till as his period of exile drew near to a close he said
to his mother, "I have dreamed a dream; the stars rained from heaven upon
me; then a creature, fierce-faced and taloned like a lion, rose up against
me, and I smote and slew him."
The dream was long in being fulfilled, but at last Izdubar was told of a
monstrous jinn, whose name was Heabani; his head was human but horned; and
he had the legs and tail of a bull, yet was he wisest of all upon earth.
Enticing him from his cave by sending two fair women to the entrance,
Izdubar took him captive and led him to Ourouk, where the jinn married one
of the women whose charms had allured him, and became henceforth the
well-loved servant of Izdubar. Then Izdubar slew the Elamite who had
dethroned his father, and put the royal diadem on his own head. And behold
the goddess Ishtar (Ashtaroth) cast her eyes upon the hero and wished to
be his wife, but he rejected her with scorn, reminding her of the fate of
Tammuz, and of Alala the Eagle, and of the shepherd Taboulon--all her
husbands, and all dead before their time. Thus, as the wrath of Juno
pursued Paris, so the hatred of this slighted goddess attends Izdubar
through many adventures. The last plague that torments him is leprosy, of
which he is to be cured by Khasisadra, son of Oubaratonton, last of the
ten primeval kings of Chaldea. Khasisadra, while still living, had been
transported to Paradise, where he yet abides. Here he is found by Izdubar,
who listens to his account of the Deluge, and learns from him the remedy
for his disease. The afflicted hero is destined, after being cured, to
pass, without death, into the company of the gods, and there to enjoy
immortality. With this promise the work concludes.
The great poem of Izdubar has but recently been known to European
scholars, having been discovered in 1871 by the eminent Assyriologist, Mr.
George Smith. It was probably written about 2000 B.C., though the extant
edition, which came from the library of King Assurbanipal in the palace at
Dur-Sargina, must bear the date of 600 B.C. The hero is supposed to be a
solar personification, and the epic is interesting to modern writers not
only on account of its description of the Deluge, but also for the pomp
and dignity of its style, and for its noble delineation of heroic
character.
[Signature: Epiphanius Wilson]
CONTENTS
THE EPIC OF ISHTAR AND IZDUBAR:
The Invocation.
The Fall of Erech.
The Rescue of Erech.
Coronation of Izdubar.
Ishtar and Her Maids.
Izdubar Falls in Love with Ishtar.
Ishtar's Midnight Courtship.
The King's Second Dream.
Izdubar Relates His Second Dream.
Heabani, the Hermit Seer.
Expedition of Zaidu.
Heabani Resolves to Return.
Heabani's Wisdom.
In Praise of Izdubar and Heabani.
Zaidu's Return.
The Two Maidens Entice the Seer.
Festival in Honor of Heabani.
Izdubar Slays the Midannu.
Annual Sale of the Maidens of Babylon.
Council in the Palace.
The King at the Shrine of Ishtar.
The King at the Temple of Samas.
Expedition against Khumbaba.
Conflict of the Rival Giants.
Coronation of Izdubar.
The King's Answer and Ishtar's Rage.
Ishtar Complains to Anu.
Fight with the Winged Bull of Anu.
The Curse of Ishtar.
Ishtar Weaves a Spell Over Izdubar.
Ishtar's Descent to Hades.
Effect of Ishtar's Imprisonment in Hades.
Papsukul Intercedes for Ishtar.
Release of Ishtar.
Tammuz Restored to Life.
Escape of Tammuz from Hades.
The King and the Seer Converse.
Contest with the Dragons.
Heabani Reveals Visions to the King.
Grief of the King Over Heabani.
Burial of the Seer.
Izdubar Enters Hades.
The King's Adventure.
The King Meets Ur-hea.
Mua Welcomes Izdubar.
The King Becomes Immortal.
Izdubar Falls in Love with Mua.
Mua's Answer.
TABLETS AND CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS:
Babylonian Exorcisms.
Accadian Hymn to Istar.
Annals of Assur-Nasi-Pal.
Assyrian Sacred Poetry.
Assyrian Talismans and Exorcisms.
Ancient Babylonian Charms.
Inscription of Tiglath Pileser I.
The Revolt in Heaven.
The Legend of the Tower of Babel.
An Accadian Penitential Psalm.
The Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser II.
Inscription of Nebuchadnezzar.
Accadian Poem on the Seven Evil Spirits.
Chaldean Hymns to the Sun.
Two Accadian Hymns.
Accadian Proverbs and Songs.
Babylonian Public Documents.
Babylonian Private Contracts.
Great Inscription of Khorsabad.
ISHTAR AND IZDUBAR
[_Translated by Leonidas Le Cenci Hamilton, M.A._]
ALCOVE I
TABLET I: COLUMN I
INVOCATION
O love, my queen and goddess, come to me;
My soul shall never cease to worship thee;
Come pillow here thy head upon my breast,
And whisper in my lyre thy softest, best.
And sweetest melodies of bright _Sami_,[1]
Our Happy Fields[2] above dear _Subartu_;[3]
Come nestle closely with those lips of love
And balmy breath, and I with thee shall rove
Through _Sari_[4] past ere life on earth was known,
And Time unconscious sped not, nor had flown.
Thou art our all in this impassioned life:
How sweetly comes thy presence ending strife,
Thou god of peace and Heaven's undying joy,
Oh, hast thou ever left one pain or cloy
Upon this beauteous world to us so dear?
To all mankind thou art their goddess here.
To thee we sing, our holiest, fairest god,
The One who in that awful chaos trod
And woke the Elements by Law of Love
To teeming worlds in harmony to move.
From chaos thou hast led us by thy hand,
[5]Thus spoke to man upon that budding land:
"The Queen of Heaven, of the dawn am I,
The goddess of all wide immensity,
For thee I open wide the golden gate
Of happiness, and for thee love create
To glorify the heavens and fill with joy
The earth, its children with sweet love employ."
Thou gavest then the noblest melody
And highest bliss--grand nature's harmony.
With love the finest particle is rife,
And deftly woven in the woof of life,
In throbbing dust or clasping grains of sand,
In globes of glistening dew that shining stand
On each pure petal, Love's own legacies
Of flowering verdure, Earth's sweet panoplies;
By love those atoms sip their sweets and pass
To other atoms, join and keep the mass
With mighty forces moving through all space,
Tis thus on earth all life has found its place.
Through Kisar,[6] Love came formless through the air
In countless forms behold her everywhere!
Oh, could we hear those whispering roses sweet,
Three beauties bending till their petals meet,
And blushing, mingling their sweet fragrance there
In language yet unknown to mortal ear.
Their whisperings of love from morn till night
Would teach us tenderly to love the right.
O Love, here stay! Let chaos not return!
With hate each atom would its lover spurn
In air above, on land, or in the sea,
O World, undone and lost that loseth thee!
For love we briefly come, and pass away
For other men and maids; thus bring the day
Of love continuous through this glorious life.
Oh, hurl away those weapons fierce of strife!
We here a moment, point of time but live,
Too short is life for throbbing hearts to grieve.
Thrice holy is that form that love hath kissed,
And happy is that man with heart thus blessed.
Oh, let not curses fall upon that head
Whom love hath cradled on the welcome bed
Of bliss, the bosom of our fairest god,
Or hand of love e'er grasp the venging rod.
Oh, come, dear Zir-ri,[7] tune your lyres and lutes,
And sing of love with chastest, sweetest notes,
Of Accad's goddess Ishtar, Queen of Love,
And Izdubar, with softest measure move;
Great Samas'[8] son, of him dear Zir-ri sing!
Of him whom goddess Ishtar warmly wooed,
Of him whose breast with virtue was imbued.
He as a giant towered, lofty grown,
As Babil's[9] great _pa-te-si_[10] was he known,
His armed fleet commanded on the seas
And erstwhile travelled on the foreign leas;
His mother Ellat-gula[11] on the throne
From Erech all Kardunia[12] ruled alone.
[Footnote 1: "Samu," heaven.]
[Footnote 2: "Happy Fields," celestial gardens, heaven.]
[Footnote 3: "Subartu," Syria.]
[Footnote 4: "Sari," plural form of "saros," a cycle or measurement of
time used by the Babylonians, 3,600 years.]
[Footnote 5: From the "Accadian Hymn to Ishtar," terra-cotta tablet
numbered "S, 954," one of the oldest hymns of a very remote date,
deposited in the British Museum by Mr. Smith. It comes from Erech, one of
the oldest, if not the oldest, city of Babylonia. We have inserted a
portion of it in its most appropriate place in the epic. See translation
in "Records of the Past," vol. v. p. 157.]
[Footnote 6: "Kisar," the consort or queen of Sar, father of all the
gods.]
[Footnote 7: "Zir-ri" (pronounced "zeer-ree"), short form of "Zi-aria,"
spirits of the running rivers--naiads or water-nymphs.]
[Footnote 8: "Samas," the sun-god.]
[Footnote 9: Babil, Babylon; the Accadian name was "Diu-tir," or "Duran."]
[Footnote 10: "Pa-te-si," prince.]
[Footnote 11: "Ellat-gula," one of the queens or sovereigns of Erech,
supposed to have preceded Nammurabi or Nimrod on the throne. We have
identified Izdubar herein with Nimrod.]
[Footnote 12: "Kardunia," the ancient name of Babylonia.]
COLUMN II
THE FALL OF ERECH
O Moon-god,[1] hear my cry! With thy pure light
Oh, take my spirit through that awful night
That hovers o'er the long-forgotten years,
To sing Accadia's songs and weep her tears!
'Twas thus I prayed, when lo! my spirit rose
On fleecy clouds, enwrapt in soft repose;
And I beheld beneath me nations glide
In swift succession by, in all their pride:
The earth was filled with cities of mankind,
And empires fell beneath a summer wind.
The soil and clay walked forth upon the plains
In forms of life, and every atom gains
A place in man or breathes in animals;
And flesh and blood and bones become the walls
Of palaces and cities, which soon fall
To unknown dust beneath some ancient wall.
All this I saw while guided by the stroke
Of unseen pinions:
Then amid the smoke
That rose o'er burning cities, I beheld
White Khar-sak-kur-ra's[2] brow arise that held
The secrets of the gods--that felt the prore
Of Khasisadra's ark; I heard the roar
Of battling elements, and saw the waves
That tossed above mankind's commingled graves.
The mighty mountain as some sentinel
Stood on the plains alone; and o'er it fell
A halo, bright, divine; its summit crowned
With sunbeams, shining on the earth around
And o'er the wide expanse of plains;--below
Lay Khar-sak-kal-ama[3] with light aglow,
And nestling far away within my view
Stood Erech, Nipur, Marad, Eridu,
And Babylon, the tower-city old,
In her own splendor shone like burnished gold.
And lo! grand Erech in her glorious days
Lies at my feet. I see a wondrous maze
Of vistas, groups, and clustering columns round,
Within, without the palace;--from the ground
Of outer staircases, massive, grand,
Stretch to the portals where the pillars stand.
A thousand carved columns reaching high
To silver rafters in an azure sky,
And palaces and temples round it rise
With lofty turrets glowing to the skies,
And massive walls far spreading o'er the plains,
Here live and move Accadia's courtly trains,
And see! the _pit-u-dal-ti_[4] at the gates,
And _masari_[5] patrol and guard the streets!
And yonder comes a _kis-ib_, nobleman,
With a young prince; and see! a caravan
Winds through the gates! With men the streets are filled!
And chariots, a people wise and skilled
In things terrestrial, what science, art,
Here reign! With laden ships from every mart
The docks are filled, and foreign fabrics bring
From peoples, lands, where many an empire, king,
Have lived and passed away, and naught have left
In history or song. Dread Time hath cleft
Us far apart; their kings and kingdoms, priests
And bards are gone, and o'er them sweep the mists
Of darkness backward spreading through all time,
Their records swept away in every clime.
Those alabaster stairs let us ascend,
And through this lofty portal we will wend.
See! richest Sumir rugs amassed, subdue
The tiled pavement with its varied hue,
Upon the turquoise ceiling sprinkled stars
Of gold and silver crescents in bright pairs!
And gold-fringed scarlet curtains grace each door,
And from the inlaid columns reach the floor:
From golden rods extending round the halls,
Bright silken hangings drape the sculptured walls.
But part those scarlet hangings at the door
Of yon grand chamber! tread the antique floor!
Behold the sovereign on her throne of bronze,
While crouching at her feet a lion fawns;
The glittering court with gold and gems ablaze
With ancient splendor of the glorious days
Of Accad's sovereignty. Behold the ring
Of dancing beauties circling while they sing
With amorous forms in moving melody,
The measure keep to music's harmony.
Hear! how the music swells from silver lute
And golden-stringed lyres and softest flute
And harps and tinkling cymbals, measured drums,
While a soft echo from the chamber comes.
But see! the sovereign lifts her jewelled hand,
The music ceases at the Queen's command;
And lo! two chiefs in warrior's array,
With golden helmets plumed with colors gay,
And golden shields, and silver coats of mail,
Obeisance make to her with faces pale,
Prostrate themselves before their sovereign's throne
In silence brief remain with faces prone,
Till Ellat-gula[6] speaks: "My chiefs, arise!
What word have ye for me? what new surprise?"
Tur-tau-u,[7] rising, says, "O Dannat[8] Queen!
Thine enemy, Khum-baba[9] with Rim-siu[10]
With clanging shields, appears upon the hills,
And Elam's host the land of Sumir fills."
"Away, ye chiefs! sound loud the _nappa-khu_![11]
Send to their post each warrior _bar-ru_!"[12]
The gray embattlements rose in the light
That lingered yet from Samas'[13] rays, ere Night
Her sable folds had spread across the sky.
Thus Erech stood, where in her infancy
The huts of wandering Accads had been built
Of soil, and rudely roofed by woolly pelt
O'erlaid upon the shepherd's worn-out staves,
And yonder lay their fathers' unmarked graves.
Their chieftains in those early days oft meet
Upon the mountains where they Samas greet,
With their rude sacrifice upon a tree
High-raised that their sun-god may shining see
Their offering divine; invoking pray
For aid, protection, blessing through the day.
Beneath these walls and palaces abode
The spirit of their country--each man trod
As if his soul to Erech's weal belonged,
And heeded not the enemy which thronged
Before the gates, that now were closed with bars
Of bronze thrice fastened.
See the thousand cars
And chariots arrayed across the plains!
The marching hosts of Elam's armed trains,
The archers, slingers in advance amassed,
With black battalions in the centre placed,
With chariots before them drawn in line,
Bedecked with brightest trappings iridine,
While gorgeous plumes of Elam's horses nod
Beneath the awful sign of Elam's god.
On either side the mounted spearsmen far
Extend; and all the enginery of war
Are brought around the walls with fiercest shouts,
And from behind their shields each archer shoots.
Thus Erech is besieged by her dread foes,
And she at last must feel Accadia's woes,
And feed the vanity of conquerors,
Who boast o'er victories in all their wars.
Great Subartu[14] has fallen by Sutu[15]
And Kassi,[16] Goim[17] fell with Lul-lu-bu,[18]
Thus Khar-sak-kal-a-ma[19] all Eridu[20]
O'erran with Larsa's allies; Subartu
With Duran[21] thus was conquered by these sons
Of mighty Shem and strewn was Accad's bones
Throughout her plains, and mountains, valleys fair,
Unburied lay in many a wolf's lair.
Oh, where is Accad's chieftain Izdubar,
Her mightiest unrivalled prince of war?
The turrets on the battlemented walls
Swarm with skilled bowmen, archers--from them falls
A cloud of winged missiles on their foes,
Who swift reply with shouts and twanging bows;
And now amidst the raining death appears
The scaling ladder, lined with glistening spears,
But see! the ponderous catapults now crush
The ladder, spearsmen, with their mighty rush
Of rocks and beams, nor in their fury slacked
As if a toppling wall came down intact
Upon the maddened mass of men below.
But other ladders rise, and up them flow
The tides of armed spearsmen with their shields;
From others bowmen shoot, and each man wields
A weapon, never yielding to his foe,
For death alone he aims with furious blow.
At last upon the wall two soldiers spring,
A score of spears their corses backward fling.
But others take their place, and man to man,
And spear to spear, and sword to sword, till ran
The walls with slippery gore; but Erech's men
Are brave and hurl them from their walls again.
And now the battering-rams with swinging power
Commence their thunders, shaking every tower;
And miners work beneath the crumbling walls,
Alas | 262.635227 |
2023-11-16 18:21:26.6154270 | 248 | 9 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*[Frontispiece: "You locked me out!" she said, hysterically.
(missing from book)]*
_*HER LORD
AND MASTER*_
_By MARTHA MORTON_
_Illustrated by_
_HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
and ESTHER MAC NAMARA_
_R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 East Seventeenth Street, NEW YORK_
Copyright, 1902
By
ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDLE
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
All Rights Reserved
*Contents*
CHAPTER
I.--A Reunion
II.--Birds of Passage
III.--On a Model Farm
IV.--Springtime
V.--Camp Indiana
VI.--Guests
VII.--The Weaver
VIII.--The World's Rest
IX.--In an Orchard of the Memory
X.--The Might of the Falls
XI.--A Moonlight Picnic
XII.--Leading to the Altar
XIII.--England
XIV.--Transplantation
XV.-- | 262.635467 |
2023-11-16 18:21:26.6348150 | 1,165 | 42 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v5
by George Meredith
#87 in our series by George Meredith
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Title: Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v5
Author: George Meredith
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4481]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 25, 2002]
The Project Gutenberg Etext Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v5, by Meredith
*********This file should be named 4481.txt or 4481.zip**********
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LORD ORMONT AND HIS AMINTA
By George Meredith
BOOK 5.
XXIV. LOVERS MATED
XXXV. PREPARATIONS FOR A RESOLVE
XXVI. VISITS OF FAREWELL
XXVII. A MARINE DUET
XXVIII. THE PLIGHTING
XXIX. AMINTA TO HER LORD
XXX. CONCLUSION
CHAPTER XXIV
LOVERS MATED
He was benevolently martial, to the extent of paternal, in thinking his
girl, of whom he deigned to think now as his countess, pardonably
foolish. Woman for woman, she was of a pattern superior to the world's
ordinary, and might run the world's elect a race. But she was pitifully
woman-like in her increase of dissatisfaction with the more she got.
Women are happier enslaved. Men, too, if their despot is an Ormont.
Colonel of his regiment, he proved that: his men would follow him
anywhere, do anything. Grand old days, before he was condemned by one
knows not what extraordinary round of circumstances to cogitate on women
as fluids, and how to cut channels for them, that they may course along
in the direction good for them, imagining it their pretty wanton will to
go that way! Napoleon's treatment of women is excellent example.
Peterborough's can be defended.
His Aminta could not reason. She nursed a rancour on account of the blow
she drew on herself at Steignton, and she declined consolation in her
being pardoned. The reconcilement evidently was proposed as a finale of
one of the detestable feminine storms enveloping men weak enough to let
themselves be dragged through a scene for the sake of domestic
tranquillity.
A remarkable exhibition of Aminta the woman was, her entire change of
front since he had taken her spousal chill. Formerly she was passive,
merely stately, the chiselled grande dame, deferential in her bearing
and speech, even when argumentative and having an opinion to plant.
She had always the independent eye and step; she now had the tongue of
the graceful and native great lady, fitted to rule her circle and hold
her place beside the proudest of the Ormonts. She bore well the small
shuffle with her jewel-box--held herself gallantly. There had been no
female feignings either, affected misapprehensions, gapy ignorances, and
snaky subterfuges, and the like, familiar to men who have the gentle
twister in grip. Straight on the line of the thing to be seen she flew,
| 262.654855 |
2023-11-16 18:21:26.7372130 | 2,822 | 56 |
Produced by David Widger
MY FRIEND THE MURDERER
By A. Conan Doyle
"Number 481 is no better, doctor," said the head-warder, in a slightly
reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door.
"Confound 481" I responded from behind the pages of the _Australian
Sketcher_.
"And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for
him?"
"He is a walking drug-shop," said I. "He has the whole British
pharmacopaae inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are."
"Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic," continued the warder,
glancing down a blue slip of paper. "And 28 knocked off work
yesterday--said lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want you
to have a look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 81, too--him
that killed John Adamson in the Corinthian brig--he's been carrying on
awful in the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him
either."
"All right, I'll have a look at him afterward," I said, tossing my paper
carelessly aside, and pouring myself out a cup of coffee. "Nothing else
to report, I suppose, warder?"
The official protruded his head a little further into the room. "Beg
pardon, doctor," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I notice as 82
has a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him
and have a chat, maybe."
The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my lips as I stared in
amazement at the man's serious face.
"An excuse?" I said. "An excuse? What the deuce are you talking about,
McPherson? You see me trudging about all day at my practise, when I'm
not looking after the prisoners, and coming back every night as tired as
a dog, and you talk about finding an excuse for doing more work."
"You'd like it, doctor," said Warder McPherson, insinuating one of his
shoulders into the room. "That man's story's worth listening to if you
could get him to tell it, though he's not what you'd call free in his
speech. Maybe you don't know who 82 is?"
"No, I don't, and I don't care either," I answered, in the conviction
that some local ruffian was about to be foisted upon me as a celebrity.
"He's Maloney," said the warder, "him that turned Queen's evidence after
the murders at Bluemansdyke."
"You don't say so?" I ejaculated, laying down my cup in astonishment. I
had heard of this ghastly series of murders, and read an account of
them in a London magazine long before setting foot in the colony. I
remembered that the atrocities committed had thrown the Burke and Hare
crimes completely into the shade, and that one of the most villainous
of the gang had saved his own skin by betraying his companions. "Are you
sure?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, it's him right enough. Just you draw him out a bit, and
he'll astonish you. He's a man to know, is Maloney; that's to say, in
moderation;" and the head grinned, bobbed, and disappeared, leaving me
to finish my breakfast and ruminate over what I had heard.
The surgeonship of an Australian prison is not an enviable position. It
may be endurable in Melbourne or Sydney, but the little town of Perth
has few attractions to recommend it, and those few had been long
exhausted. The climate was detestable, and the society far from
congenial. Sheep and cattle were the staple support of the community;
and their prices, breeding, and diseases the principal topic of
conversation. Now as I, being an outsider, possessed neither the one nor
the other, and was utterly callous to the new "dip" and the "rot" and
other kindred topics, I found myself in a state of mental isolation,
and was ready to hail anything which might relieve the monotony of my
existence. Maloney, the murderer, had at least some distinctiveness and
individuality in his character, and might act as a tonic to a mind sick
of the commonplaces of existence. I determined that I should follow the
warder's advice, and take the excuse for making his acquaintance. When,
therefore, I went upon my usual matutinal round, I turned the lock of
the door which bore the convict's number upon it, and walked into the
cell.
The man was lying in a heap upon his rough bed as I entered, but,
uncoiling his long limbs, he started up and stared at me with an
insolent look of defiance on his face which augured badly for our
interview. He had a pale, set face, with sandy hair and a steely-blue
eye, with something feline in its expression. His frame was tall and
muscular, though there was a curious bend in his shoulders, which almost
amounted to a deformity. An ordinary observer meeting him in the street
might have put him down as a well-developed man, fairly handsome, and
of studious habits--even in the hideous uniform of the rottenest convict
establishment he imparted a certain refinement to his carriage which
marked him out among the inferior ruffians around him.
"I'm not on the sick-list," he said, gruffly. There was something in the
hard, rasping voice which dispelled all softer illusions, and made me
realize that I was face to face with the man of the Lena Valley and
Bluemansdyke, the bloodiest bushranger that ever stuck up a farm or cut
the throats of its occupants.
"I know you're not," I answered. "Warder McPherson told me you had a
cold, though, and I thought I'd look in and see you."
"Blast Warder McPherson, and blast you, too!" yelled the convict, in
a paroxysm of rage. "Oh, that's right," he added in a quieter voice;
"hurry away; report me to the governor, do! Get me another six months or
so--that's your game."
"I'm not going to report you," I said.
"Eight square feet of ground," he went on, disregarding my protest, and
evidently working himself into a fury again. "Eight square feet, and I
can't have that without being talked to and stared at, and--oh, blast
the whole crew of you!" and he raised his two clinched hands above, his
head and shook them in passionate invective.
"You've got a curious idea of hospitality," I remarked, determined not
to lose my temper, and saying almost the first thing that came to my
tongue.
To my surprise the words had an extraordinary effect upon him. He seemed
completely staggered at my assuming the proposition for which he had
been so fiercely contending--namely, that the room in which he stood was
his own.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I didn't mean to be rude. Won't you
take a seat?" and he motioned toward a rough trestle, which formed the
head-piece of his couch.
I sat down, rather astonished at the sudden change. I don't know that
I liked Maloney better under this new aspect. The murderer had, it is
true, disappeared for the nonce, but there was something in the smooth
tones and obsequious manner which powerfully suggested the witness of
the queen, who had stood up and sworn away the lives of his companions
in crime.
"How's your chest?" I asked, putting on my professional air.
"Come, drop it, doctor--drop it!" he answered, showing a row of white
teeth as he resumed his seat upon the side of the bed. "It wasn't
anxiety after my precious health that brought you along here; that story
won't wash at all. You came to have a look at Wolf Tone Maloney, forger,
murderer, Sydney-slider, ranger, and government peach. That's about my
figure, ain't it? There it is, plain and straight; there's nothing mean
about me."
He paused as if he expected me to say something; but as I remained
silent, he repeated once or twice, "There's nothing mean about me."
"And why shouldn't I?" he suddenly yelled, his eyes gleaming and his
whole satanic nature reasserting itself. "We were bound to swing, one
and all, and they were none the worse if I saved myself by turning
against them. Every man for himself, say I, and the devil take the
luckiest. You haven't a plug of tobacco, doctor, have you?"
He tore at the piece of "Barrett's" which I handed him, as ravenously as
a wild beast. It seemed to have the effect of soothing his nerves, for
he settled himself down in the bed and re-assumed his former deprecating
manner.
"You wouldn't like it yourself, you know, doctor," he said: "it's enough
to make any man a little queer in his temper. I'm in for six months this
time for assault, and very sorry I shall be to go out again, I can tell
you. My mind's at ease in here; but when I'm outside, what with the
government and what with Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury, there's no chance
of a quiet life."
"Who is he?" I asked.
"He's the brother of John Grimthorpe, the same that was condemned on my
evidence; and an infernal scamp he was, too! Spawn of the devil, both of
them! This tattooed one is a murderous ruffian, and he swore to have my
blood after that trial. It's seven year ago, and he's following me yet;
I know he is, though he lies low and keeps dark. He came up to me in
Ballarat in '75; you can see on the back of my hand here where the
bullet clipped me. He tried again in '76, at Port Philip, but I got the
drop on him and wounded him badly. He knifed me in '79, though, in a bar
at Adelaide, and that made our account about level. He's loafing round
again now, and he'll let daylight into me--unless--unless by some
extraordinary chance some one does as much for him." And Maloney gave a
very ugly smile.
"I don't complain of _him_ so much," he continued. "Looking at it in
his way, no doubt it is a sort of family matter that can hardly be
neglected. It's the government that fetches me. When I think of what
I've done for this country, and then of what this country has done for
me, it makes me fairly wild--clean drives me off my head. There's no
gratitude nor common decency left, doctor!"
He brooded over his wrongs for a few minutes, and then proceeded to lay
them before me in detail.
"Here's nine men," he said; "they've been murdering and killing for
a matter of three years, and maybe a life a week wouldn't more than
average the work that they've done. The government catches them and the
government tries them, but they can't convict; and why?--because the
witnesses have all had their throats cut, and the whole job's been very
neatly done. What happens then? Up comes a citizen called Wolf Tone
Maloney; he says, 'The country needs me, and here I am.' And with that
he gives his evidence, convicts the lot, and enables the beaks to hang
them. That's what I did. There's nothing mean about me! And now what
does the country do in return? Dogs me, sir, spies on me, watches me
night and day, turns against the very man that worked so very hard for
it. There's something mean about that, anyway. I didn't expect them to
knight me, nor to make me colonial secretary; but, damn it! I did expect
that they would let me alone!"
"Well," I remonstrated, "if you choose to break laws and assault people,
you can't expect it to be looked over on account of former services."
"I don't refer to my present imprisonment, sir," said Maloney, with
dignity. "It's the life I've been leading since that cursed trial that
takes the soul out of me. Just you sit there on that trestle, and I'll
tell you all about it, and then look me in the face and tell me that
I've been treated fair by the police."
I shall endeavor to transcribe the experience of the convict | 262.757253 |
2023-11-16 18:21:27.0150000 | 678 | 16 | BRAKELOND: A PICTURE OF MONASTIC LIFE IN THE DAYS OF ABBOT SAMSON***
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal sings is in bold face (=bold=).
Characters following a carat are superscrpted (example:
MCCC.LXXVII^o).
Small capitals are rendered in upper case.
[Illustration: frontispiece]
THE CHRONICLE OF JOCELIN
OF BRAKELOND: A PICTURE
OF MONASTIC LIFE IN THE
DAYS OF ABBOT SAMSON.
Newly Edited by
SIR ERNEST CLARKE M.A. F.S.A.
[Illustration:
_Seal of Abbot Samson.
(Slightly enlarged. The length of the
original is 3-1/2 inches._)]
THE CHRONICLE OF
JOCELIN OF BRAKELOND:
A PICTURE OF
MONASTIC LIFE IN
THE DAYS OF ABBOT
SAMSON
Newly Edited by
SIR ERNEST CLARKE
Alexander Moring
The De La More Press
298 Regent Street London W 1903
"A VERITABLE MONK OF BURY ST. EDMUND'S: WORTH LISTENING TO, IF BY
CHANCE MADE VISIBLE AND AUDIBLE. HERE HE IS; AND IN HIS HAND A
MAGICAL SPECULUM, MUCH GONE TO RUST, INDEED, YET IN FRAGMENTS STILL
CLEAR; WHEREIN THE MARVELLOUS IMAGE OF HIS EXISTENCE DOES STILL
SHADOW ITSELF, THOUGH FITFULLY, AND AS WITH AN INTERMITTENT LIGHT."
_Carlyle: Past and Present._ Chapter 1.
LIST OF CONTENTS
SEAL OF ABBOT SAMSON. _Frontispiece_
_EDITOR'S PREFACE._
Page
Samson and his arch-eulogist--The Chronicle--Previous
Editions of the Chronicle--The Chronicler--The Central
Figure of the Chronicle--Samson in Subordinate
Offices--Samson as Abbot--Relations with Church and
State--Samson as an Author--Samson's
Masterfulness--Samson as an Administrator--Epilogue xv.-xliii.
CHAPTER I.
_BURY ABBEY UNDER ABBOT HUGH._
The last years of Abbot Hugh--The monastery under a load of
debt, and in the hands of Jew money-lenders--Inquiry by
the Royal almoner--Caustic comment by Samson, master of
the novices--Ex | 263.03504 |
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SARAH BERNHARDT
[Illustration: Mme. Sarah Bernhardt.]
SARAH BERNHARDT
BY
JULES HURET
WITH A PREFACE BY
EDMOND ROSTAND
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY
G. A. RAPER
_WITH FIFTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD.
1899
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON & BUNGAY.
PREFACE
MY DEAR HURET,
You have given me an attack of vertigo. I have been reading your
biography of our illustrious friend. Its rapid, nervous style, its
accumulation of dates and facts, its hurried rush of scenery and events
flying past as though seen from an express train, all help to attain
what I imagine must have been your object--to give the reader vertigo.
I have got it.
I knew all these things, but I had forgotten them. They are so many
that no one even attempts to reckon them up. We are accustomed to
admire Sarah. “An extraordinary woman,” we say, without at all
realizing how true the remark is. And when we find ourselves suddenly
confronted with an epic narrative such as yours; with such a series of
battles and victories, expeditions and conquests, we stand amazed.
We expected that there was more to tell than we knew, but not quite
so much more! Yes, here is something we had quite forgotten, and here
again is something more! All the early struggles and difficulties and
unfair opposition! All the adventures and freaks of fancy! Twenty
triumphs and ten escapades on a page! You cannot turn the leaves
without awakening an echo of fame. Your brain reels. There is something
positively alarming about this impetuous feminine hand that wields
sceptre, thyrsus, dagger, fan, sword, bauble, banner, sculptor’s
chisel, and horsewhip. It is overwhelming. You begin to doubt. But
all this is told us by Huret, or, in other words, by History, and we
believe. No other life could ever have been so full of activity. The
poet I was used to admire in her the Queen of Attitude and the Princess
of Gesture; I wonder now whether the other poet I am ought not to still
more admire in her the Lady of Energy.
What a way she has of being both legendary and modern! Her golden hair
is a link between her and fairyland, and do not words change into
pearls and diamonds as they fall from her lips? Has she not worn the
fairy’s sky-blue robe, and is not her voice the song of the lark at
heaven’s gate? She may be an actress following an _impresario_, but she
is none the less a star fallen from the sky of the Thousand and One
Nights, and something of the mysterious blue ether still floats about
her. But just as the enchanted bark gives way to the great Atlantic
liner, just as the car drawn by flying frogs and the carriage made
out of a pumpkin vanish before the Sarah Bernhardt saloon-car, so in
this story of to-day, intelligence, independence, and intrepidity
have replaced the miraculous interventions in the tales of long ago.
This heroine has no protecting fairy but herself. Sarah is her own
godmother. Inflexible will is her only magic wand. To guide her through
so many strange and wonderful events to her final apotheosis, she has
no genius but her own.
It seems to me, Jules Huret, that the life of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt will
perhaps form the greatest marvel of the nineteenth century. It will
develop into a legend. To describe her tours round the world, with
their ever-changing scenes and actors, their beauties and absurdities,
to make the locomotives and steamers speak, to portray the swelling of
seas and the rustling of robes, to fill up the intervals of heroic
recitative with speaking, singing, shouting choruses of poets, savages,
kings, and wild animals: this would need a new Homer built up of
Théophile Gautier, Jules Verne, and Rudyard Kipling.
All this, or something like it, courses through my brain while my
attack of giddiness wears off. Now I feel better; I am myself again,
and I try to decide what to say to you, my dear friend, in conclusion.
After reflection, here it is--
I have had an attack of vertigo. There is no doubt about that. But
all these things that I have known only in the telling--all these
journeys, these changing skies, these adoring hearts, these flowers,
these jewels, these embroideries, these millions, these lions, these
one hundred and twelve _rôles_, these eighty trunks, this glory, these
caprices, these cheering crowds hauling her carriage, this crocodile
drinking champagne--all these things, I say, which I have never seen,
astonish, dazzle, delight, and move me less than something else which I
have often seen: this--
A brougham stops at a door; a woman, enveloped in furs, jumps out,
threads her way with a smile through the crowd attracted by the
jingling of the bell on the harness, and mounts a winding stair;
plunges into a room crowded with flowers and heated like a hothouse;
throws her little beribboned handbag with its apparently inexhaustible
contents into one corner, and her bewinged hat into another; takes
off her furs and instantaneously dwindles into a mere scabbard of
white silk; rushes on to a dimly-lighted stage and immediately puts
life into a whole crowd of listless, yawning, loitering folk; dashes
backwards and forwards, inspiring every one with her own feverish
energy; goes into the prompter’s box, arranges her scenes, points
out the proper gesture and intonation, rises up in wrath and insists
on everything being done over again; shouts with fury; sits down,
smiles, drinks tea and begins to rehearse her own part; draws tears
from case-hardened actors who thrust their enraptured heads out of
the wings to watch her; returns to her room, where the decorators are
waiting, demolishes their plans and reconstructs them; collapses, wipes
her brow with a lace handkerchief and thinks of fainting; suddenly
rushes up to the fifth floor, invades the premises of the astonished
costumier, rummages in the wardrobes, makes up a costume, pleats and
adjusts it; returns to her room and teaches the figurantes how to
dress their hair; has a piece read to her while she makes bouquets;
listens to hundreds of letters, weeps over some tale of misfortune,
and opens the inexhaustible little chinking handbag; confers with an
English perruquier; returns to the stage to superintend the lighting of
a scene, objurgates the lamps and reduces the electrician to a state
of temporary insanity; sees a super who has blundered the day before,
remembers it, and overwhelms him with her indignation; returns to her
room for dinner; sits down to table, splendidly pale with fatigue;
ruminates her plans; eats with peals of Bohemian laughter; has no
time to finish; dresses for the evening performance while the manager
reports from the other side of a curtain; acts with all her heart and
soul; discusses business between the acts; remains at the theatre
after the performance, and makes arrangements until three o’clock in
the morning; does not make up her mind to go until she sees her staff
respectfully endeavouring to keep awake; gets into her carriage;
huddles herself into her furs and anticipates the delights of lying
down and resting at last; bursts out laughing on remembering that some
one is waiting to read her a five-act play; returns home, listens to
the piece, becomes excited, weeps, accepts it, finds she cannot sleep,
and takes advantage of the opportunity to study a part!
This, my dear Huret, is what seems to me more extraordinary than
anything. This is the Sarah I have always known. I never made the
acquaintance of the Sarah with the coffin and the alligators. The only
Sarah I know is the one who works. She is the greater.
EDMOND ROSTAND.
_Paris, April 25, 1899._
CONTENTS
PAGE
Preface vii
Sarah Bernhardt 1
“Sarah Bernhardt’s Day” 153
Sarah Bernhardt’s ‘Hamlet’ 179
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt _Frontispiece_
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her son Maurice at the age of five 6
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her son Maurice at the age of eleven 8
Mme. Guérard 13
As Junie in _Britannicus_ 14
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt when a girl 17
As Zanetto in _Le Passant_ 20
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in _François le Champi_ 21
In _Le Drame de la Rue de la Paix_ 24
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt’s Cheque 26
As Cordelia in _King Lear_ 29
As Doña Sol in _Hernani_ 32
As Léonora in _Dalila_ 35
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her son Maurice at the age of fifteen 39
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt as Cleopatra 43
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in _La Fille de Roland_ 46
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in her coffin 49
As Doña Sol in _Hernani_ 53
As Doña Sol in _Hernani_ 56
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in her travelling costume 59
As Léonora in _Dalila_ 63
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in 1877 67
Sketch by Caran d’Ache 70
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt as sculptor 71
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt as painter 75
Caricature by André Gill 77
Sketch by Mme. Sarah Bernhardt 78
As Adrienne Lecouvreur 83
As Adrienne Lecouvreur 87
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in travelling costume, during her first
American tour 89
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and her friends at Sainte-Adresse 93
As Léa 97
M. Damala 101
As Théodora 103
Scene from _Théodora_ 107
As Lady Macbeth 111
As Jeanne d’Arc 115
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt on one of her tours 117
As Cleopatra 121
Vestibule of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt’s studio 125
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt’s drawing-room 129
In _La Dame de Chalant_ 133
As Pauline Blanchard 136
Mme. Sarah Bernhardt and the painter Clairin | 263.135148 |
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BELINDA
An April Folly in Three Acts
BY
A. A. MILNE
CHARACTERS
Produced by Mr. Dion Boucioault at the New Theatre, London, on April 8,
1918, with the following cast:--
BELINDA TREMAYNE.......... _Irene Vanbrugh_.
| 263.235607 |
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POPULAR JUVENILE BOOKS.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
_RAGGED DICK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. RAGGED DICK; OR, STREET LIFE IN NEW YORK.
II. FAME AND FORTUNE; OR, THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD
HUNTER.
III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.
IV. ROUGH AND READY; OR, LIFE AMONG THE NEW YORK
NEWSBOYS.
V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY. (In April, 1870.)
VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; OR, THE FORTUNES OF ROUGH AND
READY. (In December, 1870.)
_Price, $1.25 per volume._
_CAMPAIGN SERIES._
_Complete in Three Vols._
I. FRANK'S CAMPAIGN.
II. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.
_Price, $1.25 per volume._
_LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. LUCK AND PLUCK; OR, JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
_Price, $1.50 per volume._
[Illustration]
[Illustration: LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.
BY HORATIO ALGER JR.
LUCK and PLUCK.]
LUCK AND PLUCK;
OR,
JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FAME AND FORTUNE," "MARK, THE MATCH
BOY," "ROUGH AND READY," "CAMPAIGN SERIES," ETC.
LORING, Publisher,
819 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
A. K. LORING,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
122 Washington Street.
To
MY YOUNG FRIENDS,
ISAAC AND GEORGE,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"Luck and Pluck" appeared as a serial story in the juvenile department
of Ballou's Magazine for the year 1869, and is therefore already
familiar to a very large constituency of young readers. It is now
presented in book form, as the first of a series of six volumes,
designed to illustrate the truth that a manly spirit is better than
the gifts of fortune. Early trial and struggle, as the history of the
majority of our successful men abundantly attests, tend to strengthen
and invigorate the character.
The author trusts that John Oakley, his young hero, will find many
friends, and that his career will not only be followed with interest,
but teach a lesson of patient fortitude and resolute endeavor, and a
determination to conquer fortune, and compel its smiles. He has no
fear that any boy-reader will be induced to imitate Ben Brayton, whose
selfishness and meanness are likely to meet a fitting recompense.
NEW YORK, NOV. 8, 1869.
LUCK AND PLUCK;
OR,
JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCING TWO BOYS AND A HORSE.
"What are you going to do with that horse, Ben Brayton?"
"None of your business!"
"As the horse happens to belong to me, I should think it was
considerable of my business."
"Suppose you prove that it belongs to you," said Ben, coolly.
"There is no need of proving it. You know it as well as I do."
"At any rate, it doesn't belong to you now," said Ben Brayton.
"I should like to know why not?"
"Because it belongs to me."
"Who gave it to you?"
"My mother."
"It wasn't hers to give."
"You'll find that the whole property belongs to her. Your father left
her everything, and she has given the horse to me. Just stand aside
there; I'm going to ride."
John Oakley's face flushed with anger, and his eyes flashed. He was
a boy of fifteen, not tall, but stout and well-proportioned, and
stronger than most boys of his age and size, his strength having
been developed by rowing on the river, and playing ball, in both of
which he was proficient. Ben Brayton was a year and a half older,
and half a head taller; but he was of a slender figure, and, having
no taste for vigorous out-of-door amusements, he was not a match in
strength for the younger boy. They were not related by blood, but
both belonged to the same family, Ben Brayton's mother having three
years since married Squire Oakley, with whom she had lived for a year
previous as house-keeper. A week since the squire had died, and when,
after the funeral, the will had been read, it was a matter of general
astonishment that John, the testator's only son, was left entirely
unprovided for, while the entire property was left to Mrs. Oakley.
John, who was of course present at the reading of the will, was
considerably disturbed at his disinheritance; not because he cared for
the money so much as because it seemed as if his father had slighted
him. Not a word, however, had passed between him and his father's widow
on the subject, and things had gone on pretty much as usual, until
the day on which our story commences. John had just returned from the
village academy, where he was at the head of a class preparing for
college, when he saw Ben Brayton, the son of Mrs. Oakley by a former
marriage preparing to ride out on a horse which for a year past had
been understood to be his exclusive property. Indignant at this, he
commenced the conversation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.
"Stand aside there, John Oakley, or I'll ride over you!"
"Will you, though?" said John, seizing the horse by the bridle. "That's
easier said than done."
Ben Brayton struck the horse sharply, hoping that John would be
frightened and let go; but our hero clung to the bridle, and the horse
began to back.
"Let go, I tell you!" exclaimed Ben.
"I won't!" said John, sturdily.
The horse continued to back, until Ben, who was a coward at heart,
becoming alarmed, slid off from his back.
"That's right," said John, coolly. "Another time you'd better not
meddle with my horse."
"I'll meddle with you, and teach you better manners!" exclaimed Ben, a
red spot glowing in each of his pale cheeks.
As he spoke, he struck John smartly over the shoulders with the small
riding-whip he carried.
John was not quarrelsome. I am glad to bear this testimony to his
character, for I have a very poor opinion of quarrelsome boys; but he
had a spirit of his own, and was not disposed to submit tamely to a
blow. He turned upon Ben instantly, and, snatching the whip from his
hand, struck him two blows in return for the one he had received.
"I generally pay my debts with interest, Ben Brayton," he said, coolly.
"You ought to have thought of that before you struck me."
A look of fierce vindictiveness swept over the olive face of his
adversary as he advanced for another contest.
"Stand back there!" exclaimed John, flourishing the whip in a
threatening manner. "I've paid you up, and I don't want to strike you
again."
"I'll make you smart for your impudence!" fumed Ben, trying to get
near enough to seize the whip from his hands.
"I didn't strike first," said John, "and I shan't strike again, unless
I am obliged to in self-defence."
"Give me that whip!" screamed Ben, livid with passion.
"You can't have it."
"I'll tell my mother."
"Go and do it if you like," said John, a little contemptuously.
"Let go that horse."
"It's my own, and I mean to keep it."
"It is not yours. My mother gave it to me."
"It wasn't hers to give."
John still retained his hold of the saddle, and kept Ben at bay
with one hand. He watched his opportunity until Ben had retreated
sufficiently far to make it practicable, then, placing his foot in the
stirrup, lightly vaulted upon the horse, and, touching him with the
whip, he dashed out of the yard. Ben sprang forward to stop him; but he
was too late.
"Get off that horse!" he screamed.
"I will when I've had my ride," said John, turning back in his saddle.
"Now, Prince, do your best."
This last remark was of course addressed to the horse, who galloped up
the street, John sitting on his back, with easy grace, as firmly as if
rooted to the saddle; for John was an admirable horseman, having been
in the habit of riding ever since he was ten years old.
Ben Brayton looked after him with a face distorted with rage and envy.
He would have given a great deal to ride as well as John; but he was
but an indifferent horseman, being deficient in courage, and sitting
awkwardly in the saddle. He shook his fist after John's retreating
form, muttering between his teeth, "You shall pay for this impudence,
John Oakley, and that before you are twenty-four hours older! I'll see
whether my mother will allow me to be insulted in this way!"
Sure of obtaining sympathy from his mother, he turned his steps towards
the house, which he entered.
"Where's my mother?" he inquired of the servant.
"She's upstairs in her own room, Mr. Benjamin," was the answer.
Ben hurried upstairs, and opened the door at the head of the staircase.
It was a spacious chamber, covered with a rich carpet, and handsomely
furnished. At the time of his mother's marriage to Squire Oakley, she
had induced him to discard the old furniture, and refurnish it to suit
her taste. There were some who thought that what had been good enough
for the first Mrs. Oakley, who was an elegant and refined lady, ought
to have been good enough for one, who, until her second marriage, had
been a house-keeper. But, by some means,--certainly not her beauty, for
she was by no means handsome,--she had acquired an ascendency over the
squire, and he went to considerable expense to gratify her whim.
Mrs. Oakley sat at the window, engaged in needlework. She was tall and
thin, with a sallow complexion, and pale, colorless lips. Her eyes were
gray and cold. There was a strong personal resemblance between Ben and
herself, and there was reason to think that he was like her in his
character and disposition as well as in outward appearance. She was
dressed in black, for the husband who had just died.
"Why have you not gone out to ride, Ben?" she asked, as her son entered
the room.
"Because that young brute prevented me."
"Whom do you mean?" asked his mother.
"I mean John Oakley, of course."
"How could he prevent you?"
"He came up just as I was going to start, and told me to get off the
horse,--that it was his."
"And you were coward enough to do it?" said his mother, scornfully.
"No. I told him it was not his any longer; that you had given it to me."
"What did he say then?"
"That you had no business to give it away, as it was his."
"Did he say that?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, her gray eyes flashing angrily.
"Yes, he did."
"Why didn't you ride off without minding him?"
"Because he took the horse by the bridle, and made him contrary; I
didn't want to be thrown, so I jumped off."
"Did you have the whip in your hand?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you lay it over his back? That might have taught him
better manners."
"So I did."
"You did right," said his mother, with satisfaction; for she had never
liked her husband's son. His frank, brave, generous nature differed too
much from her own to lead to any affection between them. She felt that
he outshone her own son, and far exceeded him in personal gifts and
popularity with the young people of the neighborhood, and it made her
angry with him. Besides, she had a suspicion that Ben was deficient in
courage, and it pleased her to think that he had on this occasion acted
manfully.
"Then I don't see why you didn't jump on the horse again and ride
away," she continued.
"Because," said Ben, reluctantly, "John got the whip away from me."
"Did he strike you with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, quickly.
"Yes," said Ben, vindictively. "He struck me twice, the ruffian! But
I'll be even with him yet!"
"You shall be even with him," said Mrs. Oakley, pressing her thin lips
firmly together. "But I'm ashamed of you for standing still and bearing
the insult like a whipped dog."
"I tried to get at him," said Ben; "but he kept flourishing the whip,
so that I couldn't get a chance."
"Where is he now?"
"He's gone to ride."
"Gone to ride! You let him do it?"
"I couldn't help it; he was too quick for me. He jumped on the horse
before I knew what he was going to do, and dashed out of the yard at
full speed."
"He is an impertinent young rebel!" said Mrs. Oakley, angrily. "I am
ashamed of you for letting him get the advantage of you; but I am very
angry with him. So he said that I had no business to give you the
horse, did he?"
"Yes; he has no more respect for you than for a servant," said Ben,
artfully, knowing well that nothing would be so likely to make his
mother angry as this. Having once been in a subordinate position,
she was naturally suspicious, and apprehensive that she would not be
treated with a proper amount of respect by those around her. It was
Ben's object to incense his mother against John, feeling that in this
way he would best promote his own selfish ends.
"So he has no respect for me?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, angrily.
"None at all," said Ben, decisively. "He says you have no right here,
nor I either."
This last statement was an utter fabrication, as Ben well knew; for
John, though he had never liked his father's second wife, had always
treated her with the outward respect which propriety required. He was
not an impudent nor a disrespectful boy; but he had a proper spirit,
and did not choose to be bullied by Ben, whom he would have liked if
he had possessed any attractive qualities. It had never entered his
mind to grudge him the equal advantages which Squire Oakley, for his
mother's sake, had bestowed upon her son. He knew that his father was
a man of property, and that there was enough for both. When, however,
Ben manifested a disposition to encroach upon his rights, John felt
that the time for forbearance had ceased, and he gave him distinctly to
understand that there was a limit beyond which he must not pass. Very
soon after Ben first entered the family John gave him a thrashing,--in
self-defence, however,--of which he complained to his mother. Though
very angry, she feared to diminish her influence with his father
by moving much in the matter, and therefore contented herself by
cautioning Ben to avoid him as much as possible.
"Some time or other he shall be punished," she said; "but at present it
is most prudent for us to keep quiet and bide our time."
Now, however, Mrs. Oakley felt that the power was in her own hands.
She had no further necessity for veiling her real nature, or
refraining from gratifying her resentment. The object for which she
had schemed--her husband's property--was hers, and John Oakley was
dependent upon her for everything. If she treated him ungenerously, it
would create unfavorable comments in the neighborhood; but for this
she did not care. The property was hers by her husband's will, and
no amount of censure would deprive her of it. She would now be able
to enrich Ben at John's expense, and she meant to do it. Henceforth
Ben would be elevated to the position of heir, and John must take a
subordinate position as a younger son, or, perhaps, to speak still more
accurately, as a poor relation with a scanty claim upon her bounty.
"I'll break that boy's proud spirit," she said to herself. "He has
been able to triumph over Ben; but he will find that I am rather more
difficult to deal with."
There was an expression of resolution upon her face, and a vicious
snapping of the eyes, which boded ill to our hero. Mrs. Oakley
undoubtedly had the power to make him uncomfortable, and she meant to
do it, unless he would submit meekly to her sway. That this was not
very likely may be judged from what we have already seen of him.
Mrs. Oakley's first act was to bestow on Ben the horse, Prince, which
had been given to John a year before by his father. John had been
accustomed to take a daily ride on Prince, whom he had come to love.
The spirited horse returned his young master's attachment, and it
was hard to tell which enjoyed most the daily gallop, the horse or
his rider. To deprive John of Prince was to do him a grievous wrong,
since it was, of all his possessions, the one which he most enjoyed.
It was the more unjustifiable, since, at the time Prince had been
bought for John, Squire Oakley, in a spirit of impartial justice, had
offered to buy a horse for Ben also; but Ben, who had long desired to
own a gold watch and chain, intimated this desire to his mother, and
offered to relinquish the promised horse if the watch and chain might
be given him. Squire Oakley had no objection to the substitution, and
accordingly the same day that Prince was placed in the stable, subject
to John's control, a valuable gold watch and chain, costing precisely
the same amount, was placed in Ben's hands. Ben was delighted with his
new present, and put on many airs in consequence. Now, however, he
coveted the horse as well as the watch, and his mother had told him he
might have it. But it seemed evident that John would not give up the
horse without a struggle. Ben, however, had enlisted his mother as his
ally, and felt pretty confident of ultimate victory.
CHAPTER II.
JOHN RECEIVES SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVICE.
John Oakley had triumphed in his encounter with Ben Brayton, and rode
off like a victor. Nevertheless he could not help feeling a little
doubtful and anxious about the future. There was no doubt that Ben
would complain to his mother, and as it was by her express permission
that he had taken the horse, John felt apprehensive that there would
be trouble between himself and his stepmother. I have already said,
that, though a manly boy, he was not quarrelsome. He preferred to live
on good terms with all, not excepting Ben and his mother, although he
had no reason to like either of them. But he did not mean to be imposed
upon, or to have his just rights encroached upon, if he could help it.
What should he do if Ben persevered in his claim and his mother
supported him in it? He could not decide. He felt that he must be
guided by circumstances. He could not help remembering how four years
before Mrs. Brayton (for that was her name then) answered his father's
advertisement for a house-keeper; how, when he hesitated in his choice,
she plead her poverty, and her urgent need of immediate employment; and
how, influenced principally by this consideration, he took her in place
of another to whom he had been more favorably inclined. How she should
have obtained sufficient influence over his father's mind to induce
him to make her his wife after the lapse of a year, John could not
understand. He felt instinctively that she was artful and designing,
but his own frank, open nature could hardly be expected to fathom hers.
He remembered again, how, immediately after the marriage, Ben was sent
for, and was at once advanced to a position in the household equal to
his own. Ben was at first disposed to be polite, and even subservient
to himself, but gradually, emboldened by his mother's encouragement,
became more independent, and even at times defiant. It was not,
however, until now that he had actually begun to encroach upon John's
rights, and assume airs of superiority. He had been feeling his way,
and waited until it would be safe to show out his real nature.
John had never liked Ben,--nor had anybody else except his mother
felt any attachment for him,--but he had not failed to treat him with
perfect politeness and courtesy. Though he had plenty of intimations
from the servants and others that it was unjust to him that so much
expense should be lavished upon Ben, he was of too generous a nature to
feel disturbed by it, or to grudge him his share of his father's bounty.
"There's enough for both of us," he always said, to those who tried to
stir up his jealousy.
"But suppose your father should divide his property between you? How
would you like to see Ben Brayton sharing the estate?"
"If my father chooses to leave his property in that way, I shan't
complain," said John. "Fortunately there is enough for us both, and
half will be enough to provide for me."
But John had never anticipated such a contingency as Ben and his mother
claiming the whole property, and, frank and unsuspicious as he was, he
felt that his father would never have left him so entirely dependent
upon his stepmother unless improper means had been used to influence
his decision. There was a particular reason which he had for thinking
thus. It was this: Three days before his father died, he was told by
the servant, on entering the house, that the sick man wished to see
him. Of course he went up instantly to the chamber where, pale and
wasted, Squire Oakley lay stretched out on the bed.
He was stricken by a disease which affected his speech, and prevented
him from articulating anything except in a whisper. He beckoned John to
the bedside, and signed for him to place his ear close to his mouth.
John did so. His father made a great effort to speak, but all that John
could make out was, "My will."
"Your will, father?" he repeated.
The sick man nodded, and tried to speak further. John thought he could
distinguish the word "drawer," but was not certain. He was about to
inquire further, when his stepmother entered the room, and looked at
him suspiciously.
"Why have you come here to disturb your sick father?" she asked, coldly.
"I did not come here to disturb him," said John. "I came because he
wished to speak to me."
"Has he spoken to you?" she asked, hastily.
"He tried to, but did not succeed."
"You should not allow him to make the effort. It can only do him harm.
The doctor says he must be kept very quiet. You had better leave the
room. He is safest in my care."
John did leave the room, and though he saw his father afterwards,
it was always in his stepmother's presence, and he had no farther
opportunity of communicating with him.
He could not help thinking of this as he rode along, and wondering what
it was that his father wished to say. He knew that it must be something
of importance, from the evident anxiety which the dying man manifested
to speak to him. But whatever it was must remain unknown. His father's
lips were hushed in death, and with such a stepmother John felt himself
worse than alone in the world. But he had a religious nature, and had
been well trained in the Sunday school, and the thought came to him
that whatever trials might be in store for him he had at least one
Friend, higher than any earthly friend, to whom he might look for help
and protection. Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside
into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called.
"Hallo, John!"
Looking up, he saw Sam Selwyn, son of Lawyer Selwyn, and a classmate of
his at the academy.
"Is that you, Sam?" he said, halting his horse.
"That is my impression," said Sam, "but I began to think it wasn't just
now, when my best friend seemed to have forgotten me."
"I was thinking," said John, "and didn't notice."
"Where are you bound?"
"Nowhere in particular. I only came out for a ride."
"You're a lucky fellow, John."
"You forget, Sam, the loss I have just met with;" and John pointed to
his black clothes.
"Excuse me, John, you know I sympathize with you in that. But I'm very
fond of riding, and never get any chance. You have a horse of your own."
"Just at present."
"Just at present! You're not going to lose him, are you?"
"Sam, I am expecting a little difficulty, and I shall feel better if I
advise with some friend about it. You are my best friend in school, and
I don't know but in the world, and I've a great mind to tell you."
"I'll give you the best advice in my power, John, and won't charge
anything for it either, which is more than my father would. You know
he's a lawyer, and has to be mercenary. Not that I ought to blame him,
for that's the way he finds us all in bread and butter."
"I'll turn Prince up that lane and tie him, and then we'll lie down
under a tree, and have a good talk."
John did as proposed. Prince began to browse, apparently well contented
with the arrangement, and the two boys stretched themselves out lazily
beneath a wide-spreading chestnut-tree, which screened them from the
sun.
"Now fire away," said Sam, "and I'll concentrate all my intellect upon
your case gratis."
"I told you that Prince was mine for the present," commenced John. "I
don't know as I can say even that. This afternoon when I got home I
found Ben Brayton just about to mount him."
"I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."
"I ordered him off," said John, quietly, "when he informed me that the
horse was his now,--that his mother had given it to him."
"What did you say?"
"That it was not hers to give. I seized the horse by the bridle,
till he became alarmed and slid off. He then came at me with his
riding-whip, and struck me."
"I didn't think he had pluck enough for that. I hope you gave him as
good as he sent."
"I pulled the whip away from him, and gave him two blows in return.
Then watching my opportunity I sprang upon the horse, and here I am."
"And that is the whole story?"
"Yes."
"And you want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll give it. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, stick
to that horse, and defy Ben Brayton to do his worst."
"It seems to me I've heard part of that speech before," said John,
smiling. "As to the advice, I'll follow it if I can. I'm not afraid of
anything Ben Brayton can do; but suppose his mother takes his part?"
"Do you think she will?"
"I am afraid she will."
"Then defy her too," said Sam, hastily.
"I don't know about that," said John. "I am only a boy of fifteen, and
she is my father's widow. If she chooses to take the horse away, I
don't know that I can do anything."
"Ben Brayton is a mean rascal. Didn't he get a gold watch at the same
time that you got the horse?"
"Yes; he might have had a horse too, but he preferred the watch and
chain. They cost as much as Prince."
"And now he wants the horse too?"
"So it seems."
"That's what I call hoggish. I only wish Ben Brayton would come to
school, and sit next to me."
"What for?" asked John, a little surprised at this remark.
"Wouldn't I stick pins into him, that's all. I'd make him yell like--a
locomotive," said Sam, the simile being suggested by the sound of the
in-coming train.
John laughed.
"That's an old trick of yours," he said, "I remember you served me so
once. And yet you profess to be my friend."
"I didn't stick it in very far," said Sam, apologetically; "it didn't
hurt much, did it?"
"Didn't it though?"
"Well, I didn't mean to have it. Maybe I miscalculated the distance."
"It's all right, if you don't try it again. And now about the advice."
"I wouldn't be imposed upon," said Sam. "Between you and me I don't
think much of your stepmother."
"Nor she of you," said John, slyly. "I heard her say the other day that
you were a disgrace to the neighborhood with your mischievous tricks."
"That is the'most unkindest' cut of all," said Sam. "I'd shed a few
tears if I hadn't left my handkerchief at home. I have a great mind to
tell you something," he added, more gravely.
"Well?" said John, inquiringly.
"It's something that concerns you, only I happened to overhear it,
which isn't quite fair and aboveboard, I know. Still I think I had
better tell you. You know my father was your father's lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Well, he as well as everybody else was surprised at the will that
left everything to your stepmother, only he had the best reason to be
surprised. I was sitting out on our piazza when I heard him tell my
mother that only three months ago your father came to his office, and
had a will drawn up, leaving all the property to you, except the thirds
which your stepmother was entitled to."
"Only three months ago?" said John, thoughtfully.
"Yes."
"And did he take away the will with him?"
"Yes; he thought at first of leaving it in my father's charge, but
finally decided to keep it himself."
"What can have become of it? He must have destroyed it since."
"My father doesn't think so," said Sam.
"What does he think?"
"Mind you don't say a word of what I tell you," said Sam, lowering his
voice. "He thinks that Mrs. Oakley has put it out of the way, in order
to get hold of the whole property herself."
"I can hardly think she would be so wicked," said John, shocked at the
supposition.
"Isn't it easier to believe that of her, than to believe that your
father would deal so unjustly by you?"
"I won't call it unjustly, even if he has really left her the whole
property," said John. "Still, I was surprised at being left out of the
will. Besides," he added, with a sudden reflection, "there's something
that makes me think that the will you speak of is still in existence."
"What's that?" asked Sam.
In reply John gave the particulars of his father's attempt to
communicate with him, and the few words he was able to make out.
"I understand it all now," said Sam, quickly.
"Then you're ahead of me."
"It's plain as a pike-staff. Your father hid the will, fearing that
your stepmother would get hold of it and destroy it. He wanted to tell
you where it was. Do you know of any secret drawer in your house?"
John shook his head.
"There must be one somewhere. Now, if you want my advice, I'll give it.
Just hunt secretly for the drawer, wherever you think it may possibly
be, and if you find it, and the will in it, just bring it round to
my father, and he'll see that justice is done you. Come, I'm not a
lawyer's son for nothing. What do you say?"
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Sam."
"You may depend upon it I am. I'm your lawyer, remember, and you are
my client. I give advice on the 'no cure no pay' system. If it don't
amount to anything I won't charge you a cent."
"And if it does?"
"If you get your property by my professional exertions, I trust to your
generosity to reward me."
"All right, Sam."
"Of course you won't let your stepmother suspect what you're after.
Otherwise she might get the start of you, and find it herself, and then
much good it would do you."
"I'm glad to think it is still in existence, and that she hasn't
destroyed it."
"She would if she could, you may | 263.43692 |
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Produced by David Widger
INNOCENTS ABROAD
by Mark Twain
[From an 1869--1st Edition]
Part 1.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Popular Talk of the Excursion--Programme of the Trip--Duly Ticketed for
the Excursion--Defection of the Celebrities
CHAPTER II.
Grand Preparations--An Imposing Dignitary--The European Exodus
--Mr. Blucher's Opinion--Stateroom No. 10--The Assembling of the Clans
--At Sea at Last
CHAPTER III.
"Averaging" the Passengers--Far, far at Sea.--Tribulation among the
Patriarchs--Seeking Amusement under Difficulties--Five Captains in the
Ship
CHAPTER IV.
The Pilgrims Becoming Domesticated--Pilgrim Life at Sea
--"Horse-Billiards"--The "Synagogue"--The Writing School--Jack's "Journal"
--The "Q. C. Club"--The Magic Lantern--State Ball on Deck--Mock Trials
--Charades--Pilgrim Solemnity--Slow Music--The Executive Officer Delivers
an Opinion
CHAPTER V.
Summer in Mid-Atlantic--An Eccentric Moon--Mr. Blucher Loses Confidence
--The Mystery of "Ship Time"--The Denizens of the Deep--"Land Hoh"
--The First Landing on a Foreign Shore--Sensation among the Natives
--Something about the Azores Islands--Blucher's Disastrous Dinner
--The Happy Result
CHAPTER VI.
Solid Information--A Fossil Community--Curious Ways and Customs
--JesuitHumbuggery--Fantastic Pilgrimizing--Origin of the Russ Pavement
--Squaring Accounts with the Fossils--At Sea Again
CHAPTER VII.
A Tempest at Night--Spain and Africa on Exhibition--Greeting a Majestic
Stranger--The Pillars of Hercules--The Rock of Gibraltar--Tiresome
Repetition--"The Queen's Chair"--Serenity Conquered--Curiosities of
the Secret Caverns--Personnel of Gibraltar--Some Odd Characters
--A Private Frolic in Africa--Bearding a Moorish Garrison (without loss
of life)--Vanity Rebuked--Disembarking in the Empire of Morocco
CHAPTER VIII.
The Ancient City of Tangier, Morocco--Strange Sights--A Cradle of
Antiquity--We become Wealthy--How they Rob the Mail in Africa--The Danger
of being Opulent in Morocco
CHAPTER IX.
A Pilgrim--in Deadly Peril--How they Mended the Clock--Moorish
Punishments for Crime--Marriage Customs--Looking Several ways for Sunday
--Shrewd, Practice of Mohammedan Pilgrims--Reverence for Cats--Bliss of
being a Consul-General
CHAPTER X.
Fourth of July at Sea--Mediterranean Sunset--The "Oracle" is Delivered
of an Opinion--Celebration Ceremonies--The Captain's Speech--France in
Sight--The Ignorant Native--In Marseilles--Another Blunder--Lost in
the Great City--Found Again--A Frenchy Scene
CHAPTER XI.
Getting used to it--No Soap--Bill of Fare, Table d'hote--"An American
Sir"--A Curious Discovery--The "Pilgrim" Bird--Strange Companionship
--A Grave of the Living--A Long Captivity--Some of Dumas' Heroes--Dungeon
of the Famous "Iron Mask."
CHAPTXR XII.
A Holiday Flight through France--Summer Garb of the Landscape--Abroad
on the Great Plains--Peculiarities of French Cars--French Politeness
American Railway Officials--"Twenty Mnutes to Dinner!"--Why there
are no Accidents--The "Old Travellers"--Still on the Wing--Paris at
Last----French Order and Quiet--Place of the Bastile--Seeing the Sights
--A Barbarous Atrocity--Absurd Billiards
CHAPTER XIII.
More Trouble--Monsieur Billfinger--Re-Christening the Frenchman--In the
Clutches of a Paris Guide--The International Exposition--Fine Military
Review--Glimpse of the Emperor Napoleon and the Sultan of Turkey
CHAPTER XIV.
The Venerable Cathedral of Notre-Dame--Jean Sanspeur's Addition
--Treasures and Sacred Relics--The Legend of the Cross-- | 263.778946 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
EGOISTS,
A BOOK OF SUPERMEN
STENDHAL, BAUDELAIRE, FLAUBERT, ANATOLE FRANCE,
HUYSMANS, BARRÈS, NIETZSCHE, BLAKE, IBSEN,
STIRNER, AND ERNEST HELLO
BY
JAMES HUNEKER
WITH PORTRAIT OF STENDHAL; UNPUBLISHED LETTER OF
FLAUBERT; AND ORIGINAL PROOF PAGE OF MADAME BOVARY
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1909
[Illustration: Henry Beyle-Stendhal--Redrawn by Edwin B. Child
from a crayon portrait.]
TO
DR. GEORG BRANDES
"Leb' Ich, wenn andere leben?"--Goethe
The studies gathered here first appeared in _Scribner's
Magazine_, the _Atlantic Monthly_, the _North American
Review_, the _New York Times_, and the _New York Sun_.
CONTENTS
I. A Sentimental Education: Henry Beyle-Stendhal
II. The Baudelaire Legend
III. The Real Flaubert
IV. Anatole France
V. The Pessimists' Progress: J.-K. Huysmans
VI. The Evolution of an Egoist: Maurice Barrès
VII. Phases of Nietzsche
I. The Will to Suffer
II. Nietzsche's Apostasy
III. Antichrist?
VIII. Mystics
I. Ernest Hello
II. "Mad Naked Blake"
III. Francis Poictevin
IV. The Road to Damascus
V. From an Ivory Tower
IX. Ibsen
X. Max Stirner
I
A SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
HENRY BEYLE-STENDHAL
I
The fanciful notion that psychical delicacy is accompanied by a
corresponding physical exterior should have received a death-blow
in the presence of Henry Beyle, better known as Stendhal. Chopin,
Shelley, Byron and Cardinal Newman did not in personal appearance
contradict their verse, prose and music; but Stendhal, possessing an
exquisite sensibility, was, as Hector Berlioz cruelly wrote in his
Memoirs: "A little pot-bellied man with a spiteful smile, who tried to
look grave." Sainte-Beuve is more explicit. "Physically his figure,
though not short, soon grew thick-set and heavy, his neck short and
full-blooded. His fleshy face was framed in dark curly hair and
whiskers, which before his death were assisted by art. His forehead
was fine: the nose turned up, and somewhat Calmuck in shape. His lower
lip, which projected a little, betrayed his tendency to scoff. His eyes
were rather small but very bright, deeply set in their cavities, and
pleasing when he smiled. His hands, of which he was proud, were small
and daintily shaped. In the last years of his life he grew heavy and
apoplectic. But he always took great pains to conceal the symptoms of
physical decay even from his own friends."
Henri Monnier, who caricatured him, apparently in a gross manner,
denied that he had departed far from his model. Some one said that
Stendhal looked like an apothecary--Homais, presumably, or M.
Prudhomme. His maternal grandfather, Doctor Gagnon, assured him when
a youth that he was ugly, but he consolingly added that no one would
reproach him for his ugliness. The piercing and brilliant eye that
like a mountain lake could be both still and stormy, his eloquent and
ironical mouth, pugnacious bearing, Celtic profile, big shoulders, and
well-modelled leg made an ensemble, if not alluring, at least striking.
No man with a face capable of a hundred shades of expression can be
ugly. Furthermore, Stendhal was a charming _causeur_, bold, copious,
witty. With his conversation, he drolly remarked, he paid his way into
society. And this demigod or monster, as he was alternately named by
his admirers and enemies, could be the most impassioned of lovers. His
life long he was in love; Prosper Mérimée declares he never encountered
such furious devotion to love. It was his master passion. Not Napoleon,
not his personal ambitions, not even Italy, were such factors in
Stendhal's life as his attachments. His career was a sentimental
education. This ugly man with the undistinguished features was a
haughty cavalier, an intellectual Don Juan, a tender, sighing swain, a
sensualist, and ever lyric where the feminine was concerned. But once
seated, pen in hand, the wise, worldly cynic was again master. "My head
is a magic-lantern," he said. And his literary style is on the surface
as unattractive as were the features of the man; the inner ear for the
rhythms and sonorities of prose was missing. That is the first paradox
in the Beyle-Stendhal case.
Few writers in the nineteenth century were more neglected; yet, what
a chain of great critics his work begot. Commencing with Goethe in
1818, who, after reading Rome, Naples, and Florence, wrote that the
Frenchman attracted and repulsed him, interested and annoyed him, but
it was impossible to separate himself from the book until its last
page. What makes the opinion remarkable is that Goethe calmly noted
Stendhal's plagiarism of his own Italian Journey. About 1831 Goethe
was given Le Rouge et le Noir and told Eckermann of its worth in warm
terms. After Goethe another world-hero praised Stendhal's La Chartreuse
de Parme: Balzac literally exploded a bouquet of pyrotechnics, calling
the novel a masterpiece of observation, and extolling the Waterloo
picture. Sainte-Beuve was more cautious. He dubbed Stendhal a "romantic
hussar," and said that he was devoid of invention; a literary Uhlan,
for men of letters, not for the public. Shortly after his sudden
death, M. Bussière wrote in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of Stendhal's
"clandestine celebrity." Taine's trumpet-call in 1857 proclaimed him
as the great psychologue of his century. And later, in his English
Literature, Taine wrote: "His talents and ideas were premature,
his admirable divinations not understood. Under the exterior of a
conversationalist and a man of the world Stendhal explained the most
esoteric mechanisms--a scientist who noted, decomposed, deduced;
he first marked the fundamental causes of nationality, climate,
temperament; he was the naturalist who classified and weighed forces
and taught us to open our eyes." Taine was deeply influenced by
Stendhal; read carefully his Italian Pilgrimage, and afterward Thomas
Graindorge. He so persistently preached Stendhalism--_beylisme_, as its
author preferred to term his vagrant philosophy--that Sainte-Beuve
reproved him. Melchior de Vogüé said that Stendhal's heart had been
fabricated under the Directory and from the same wood as Barras and
Talleyrand. Brunetière saw in him the perfect expression of romantic
and anti-social individualism. Caro spoke of his "serious blague,"
while Victor Hugo found him "somniferous." But Mérimée, though openly
disavowing discipleship, acknowledged privately the abiding impression
made upon him by the companionship of Beyle. 'Much of Mérimée is
Stendhal better composed, better written.
About 1880 Zola, searching a literary pedigree for his newly-born
Naturalism, pitched upon Stendhal to head the movement. The first
Romantic--he employed the term Romanticism before the rest--the first
literary Impressionist, the initiator of Individualism, Stendhal forged
many formulas, was a matrix of _genres_, literary and psychologic. Paul
Bourget's Essays in Contemporary Psychology definitely placed Beyle in
the niche he now occupies. This was in 1883. Since then the swelling
chorus headed by Tolstoy, Georg Brandes, and the amiable fanatics who
exhumed at Grenoble his posthumous work, have given to the study of
Stendhal fresh life. We see how much Nietzsche owed to Stendhal; see
in Dostoïevsky's Raskolnikow-Crime and Punishment--a Russian Julien
Sorel; note that Bourget, from Le Disciple to Sensations d'Italie,
is compounded of his forerunner, the dilettante and cosmopolitan who
wrote Promenades dans Rome and Lamiel. What would Maurice Barrès and
his "culte du Moi" have been without Stendhal--who employed before him
the famous phrase "deracination"? Amiel, sick-willed thinker, did not
alone invent: "A landscape is a state of soul"; Stendhal had spoken of
a landscape not alone sufficing; it needs a moral or historic interest.
Before Schopenhauer he described Beauty as a promise of happiness; and
he invented the romance of the petty European Principality. Meredith
followed him, as Robert Louis Stevenson in his Prince Otto patterned
after Meredith. The painter-novelist Fromentin mellowed Stendhal's
procedure; and dare we conceive of Meredith or Henry James composing
their work without having had a complete cognizance of Beyle-Stendhal?
The Egoist is _beylisme_ of a superior artistry; while in America Henry
B. Fuller shows sympathy for Beyle in his Chevalier Pensieri-Vani and
its sequel. Surely the Prorege of Arcopia had read the Chartreuse.
And with Edith Wharton the Stendhal touch is not absent. In England,
after the dull essay by Hayward (prefixed to E. P. Robbin's excellent
translation of Chartreuse), Maurice Hewlett contributed an eloquent
introduction to a new edition of the Chartreuse and calls him "a man
cloaked in ice and fire." Anna Hampton Brewster was possibly the first
American essayist to introduce to us Stendhal in her St. Martin's
Summer. Saintsbury, Dowden, Benjamin Wells, Count Lützow have since
written of him; and in Germany the Stendhal cult is growing, thanks to
Arthur Schurig, L. Spach, and Friedrick von Oppeln-Bronikowski.
It has been mistaken criticism to range Beyle as only a "literary"
man. He despised the profession of literature, remarking that he wrote
as one smokes a cigar. His diaries and letters, the testimony of
his biographer, Colomb, and his friend Mérimée, betray this pose--a
greater poser and _mystificateur_ it would be difficult to find. He
laboured like a slave over his material, and if he affected to take
the Civil Code as his model of style it nettled him, nevertheless,
when anyone decried his prose. His friend Jacquemont spoke of his
detestable style of a grocer; Balzac called him to account for his
carelessness. Flattered, astounded, as was Stendhal by the panegyric | 263.835924 |
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TOM TEMPLE’S
CAREER
By HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Author of “Tom Thatcher’s Fortune,”
“Tom Turner’s Legacy,” “The Train Boy,”
“Ben Bruce,” Etc.
[Illustration: Decoration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1888. BY A. L. BURT.
-------
TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER.
-------
CHAPTER I
NATHAN MIDDLETON.
ON THE main street, in the town of Plympton, stood a two-story house,
with a narrow lawn in front. It had a stiff, staid look of decorum, as
if no children were ever allowed to create disorder within its
precincts, or interfere with its settled regularity. It appeared to be a
place of business as well as a residence, for there was a thin plate on
one side of the front door, bearing the name of
NATHAN MIDDLETON,
INSURANCE AGENT.
Some people might object to turning even a part of their dwellings into
a business office, but then it saved rent, and Mr. Middleton was one of
the saving kind. He had always been saving from the first time he
received a penny at the mature age of five, and triumphing over the
delusive pleasures of an investment in candy, put it in a tin
savings-bank to the present moment. He didn’t marry until the age of
forty, not having dared to undertake the expense of maintaining two
persons. At that time, however, he fortunately encountered a maiden lady
of about his own age, whose habits were equally economical, who
possessed the sum of four thousand dollars. After a calculation of some
length he concluded that it would be for his pecuniary benefit to marry.
He proposed, was accepted, and in due time Miss Corinthia Carver became
Mrs. Nathan Middleton.
Their married life had lasted eight years, when they very unexpectedly
became the custodian of my hero.
One day Mr. Middleton sat in his office, drawing up an application for
insurance, when a stranger entered.
“Wants to insure his life, I hope,” thought Nathan, in the hope of a
commission.
“Take a chair, sir. What can I do for you?” he asked urbanely. “Have you
been thinking of insuring your life? I represent some of the best
companies in the country.”
“That isn’t my business,” said the visitor decisively.
Nathan looked disappointed, and waited for the business to be announced.
“You had a school-mate named Stephen Temple, did you not, Mr.
Middleton?”
“Yes; we used to go to school together. What has become of him?”
“He is dead.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Any family?”
“One son, a boy of sixteen. That is why I am here.”
“Really, I don’t understand you.”
“He has left his son to you,” said the stranger.
“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in dismay.
“Having no other friends, for he has been away from home nearly all his
life, he thought you would be willing to give the boy a home.”
Instantly there rose in the economical mind of Mr. Middleton an
appalling array of expenses, including board, washing, clothes, books
and so on, which would be likely to be incurred on behalf of a
well-grown boy, and he actually shuddered.
“Stephen Temple had no right to expect such a thing of me,” he said.
“The fact that we went to school together doesn’t give him any claim
upon me. If the boy hasn’t got any relations willing to support him he
should be sent to the poor-house.”
The visitor laughed heartily, much to Nathan Middleton’s bewilderment.
“I don’t see what I have said that is so very amusing,” he said stiffly.
“You talk of a boy worth forty thousand dollars going to the
poor-house!”
“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in open-eyed wonder.
“As his father directs that his guardian shall receive a thousand
dollars a year for his care, most persons would not refuse so hastily.”
“My dear sir!” said Nathan persuasively, feeling as if he had suddenly
discovered a gold mine, “is this really true?”
“I can show you a copy of the will, if you are in doubt.”
“I believe you implicitly, my dear sir; and so poor Stephen is dead!”
and the insurance agent took out his handkerchief and placed it before
his eyes to wipe away the imaginary tears. “We were _very_ intimate when
we were boys—like brothers, in fact. Excuse my tears, I shall soon
recover the momentary shock of your sad announcement.”
“I hope so,” said the visitor dryly. “As you are not willing to take the
boy, I will look elsewhere.”
“My dear sir,” hastily exclaimed Nathan, alarmed at the prospect of
losing a thousand dollars a year, “you are quite mistaken. I have not
refused.”
“You suggested his being cared for by some relative.”
“It was a misapprehension, I assure you. I will gladly receive my poor
friend’s son into my happy home circle. I will be his second father. I
have no sons of my own. I will lavish upon him the tenderness of a
parent.”
The visitor laughed shortly.
“I am afraid you have very little idea of what Tom Temple is.”
“He is the son of my early friend.”
“That may be, but that don’t make him a model, or a very desirable
boarder.”
“Is he a bad boy?”
“He is known among us as ‘The Bully of the Village.’ He is fond of
teasing and domineering over other boys, and is full of mischief. He is
sure to give you trouble.”
“I’d rather he was a good boy,” thought Nathan, “but a thousand dollars
will make up for a good deal of trouble.”
“Does my description frighten you?” said the visitor.
“No,” said Nathan. “Out of regard for the lamented friend of my early
days, I will receive this misguided boy, and try to correct his faults
and make him steady and well-behaved.”
“You’ll find it a hard job, my friend.”
“I shall have the co-operation of Mrs. Middleton, an admirable lady,
whose precepts and example will have a most salutary effect upon my
young charge.”
“Well, I hope so, for your sake. When shall I send Tom to you?”
“As soon as you like,” said Nathan, who desired that the allowance of
twenty dollars a week should commence at once. “To whom am I to send my
bills?”
“To me. I am a lawyer, and the executor of Mr. Temple’s will.”
“I wonder this lawyer didn’t try to secure the thousand dollars a year
for himself,” thought Nathan, and he inwardly rejoiced that he had not
done so.
“Am I expected to provide the boy’s clothes?” he asked anxiously, the
thought suddenly occurring to him. “Is that to come out of the thousand
dollars?”
“No; not at all. You will furnish the clothes, however, and send the
bills to me. Here is my card.”
“I believe my business is at an end,” he said rising; “at least for the
present. The boy will be forwarded at once. He will probably present
himself to you day after to-morrow.”
The card which he placed in the hand of Nathan contained the name of
EPHRAIM SHARP,
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,
CENTERVILLE
“Very well, Mr. Sharp. We will be ready to receive him. Good-morning,
sir.”
“Good-morning, Mr. Middleton. I hope you will not repent your decision.”
“That isn’t likely,” said Nathan to himself gleefully, when he was left
alone. “A thousand dollars a year, and the boy’s board won’t probably
cost me more’n a hundred. We don’t pamper ourselves with luxurious
living. It is wrong. Besides, it is wasteful. I must go and acquaint
Mrs. Middleton with the news.”
“Corinthia, my dear, we are about to have a boarder,” he said, on
reaching the presence of his fair partner.
Corinthia’s eyes flashed, not altogether amiably.
“Do you mean to say, Mr. Middleton, you have agreed to take a boarder
without consulting me?”
“I knew you would consent, my dear.”
“How did you know?”
“You would be crazy to refuse a boarder that is to pay a thousand
dollars a year.”
“What!” ejaculated the lady incredulously.
“Listen, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He told the story, winding up with:
“Now wasn’t it right to say ‘yes?’”
“How much of this money am I going to receive?” asked his wife abruptly.
Mr. Middleton was taken aback.
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“What I say. Do you expect me to have the care of a boy—I always hated
boys—and all for your benefit?”
“We two are one, my dear.”
“Not in money matters. I repeat it. I won’t take him unless you give me
three hundred dollars of the money every year for my own use.”
Mr. Middleton didn’t like it, but he was finally compelled to give in.
After all, it would leave him seven hundred, and at least five hundred
would be clear profit.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCES TOM TEMPLE.
THE STAGE stopped in front of the Plympton Hotel two days afterward.
There were several inside passengers, but with these we have nothing to
do. Beside the driver sat a stout boy, with a keen, expressive face, who
looked full of life and activity.
“Here you are,” said the driver, with a final flourish of the whip.
“I see that, old chap,” said the boy; “but I don’t stop here.”
“Where are you goin’ to put up?”
“The man’s name is Middleton. He is to have the honor of feeding and
lodging me for the present.”
“I suppose you mean Nathan Middleton. I don’t envy you. He keeps the
meanest table in town.”
“Does he? Then I shall take the liberty to reform his table.”
“I don’t believe you can do it. There’s only one person in town meaner
than old Middleton, and that’s his wife. What makes you board with
them?”
“Can’t help it. He went to school with my father, and he left orders in
his will that I should be taken care of by Middleton. You’ll take me up
there?”
“Yes; you’ll have to wait till I land the mail and discharge cargo.”
“All right.”
A few minutes later Tom Temple was deposited at the gate of his future
guardian. Nathan Middleton hastened to welcome him with the
consideration due to so wealthy a boarder.
“My dear young friend,” he begun expansively, “I am indeed glad to
welcome the son of my old friend to my humble home.”
If Mr. Middleton expected Tom to reply in a similar manner, he soon
realized his mistake. Our hero was not one of the gushing kind.
“All right,” he answered coolly. “Will you help me in with my trunk?”
Mr. Middleton mechanically obeyed, not seeing his way clear to any more
sentiment.
Mrs. Middleton appeared in the front entry as the trunk was set down.
“Corinthia, my dear, this is the son of my deceased friend, Stephen
Temple.”
Mrs. Middleton’s thin figure was clad in a thin, slazy silk of very
scant pattern, and her pinched features wore an artificial smile.
“How do you do, Mr. Temple?” she said.
“I’m well, but hungry,” responded Tom readily.
“Is tea nearly ready, Corinthia?” asked her husband.
“It will be | 263.851864 |
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E-text prepared by Adrian Mastronardi, RSPIII, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/poncedeleonriseo00pilluoft
PONCE DE LEON
NOTE.--This book was first published in 1878, and has long been
out of print. The work has been recognized as the best and most
accurate description yet written of the British Invasion, and
the rise of the Argentine Republic.
PONCE DE LEON
The Rise of the Argentine Republic
by
AN ESTANCIERO
BUENOS AIRES LONDON
MITCHELL'S BOOK STORE T. WERNER LAURIE
530 CANGALLO 578 CLIFFORD'S INN
1910
Al Gran Pueblo Argentino iSalud!
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE BABYHOOD OF A GREAT NATION
CHAP. PAGE
Prologue 3
I. Father and Son 5
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez sought an Answer to the
Question of the Day 11
III. Concerning the danger of Friendship with an Enemy 20
IV. Showing how a Patriot may also be a Traitor 29
V. Perdriel 36
VI. In which it appears that a lesson may be well taught
and yet not learned 47
VII. The 12th August, 1806 53
BOOK II
THE PROWESS OF A YOUNG GIANT
Prologue 61
I. At the Quinta de Ponce 63
II. The Yeomanry of Buenos Aires 71
III. Arming the Slaves 78
IV. Standing alone 85
V. An Evening in the month of June 93
VI. The Landing of the English 100
VII. The Baptism of Fire 110
VIII. Los Corrales de La Miserere 117
IX. The Night of Sorrow 121
X. The Council of War 131
XI. The Pathways of Death 141
XII. The Afternoon of the 5th July 152
XIII. The Capitulation of the 6th July 158
Epilogue to Books I. and II.: The Monuments and the
Rewards of Victory 162
Appendix: The Court Martial 163
BOOK III
THE UNKNOWN FUTURE
Prologue 167
I. At the Quinta de Don Alfonso 169
II. The Episode of the fair Mauricia 175
III. Watch and Wait 187
IV. The raising of the Veil 193
V. To our Friends the English! 202
BOOK IV
THE DAWN OF FREEDOM
PART I.--THE BRIGHTENING OF THE EASTERN SKY
Prologue 213
I. Magdalen 215
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez a second time sought an Answer
to the Question of the Day 223
III. Several ways of looking at one Question 227
IV. How the Spaniards also proposed to themselves a
Question, and how Don Carlos Evana prepared an Answer 234
V. How the Viceroy took Counsel with Don Roderigo 242
VI. The Eve of a great Even t 249
VII. The 1st January, 1809 258
VIII. Evana's Dream 267
IX. The Day after 273
X. America for the Americans 279
BOOK V
THE DAWN OF FREEDOM
PART II.--THE MISTS OF THE EARLY MORN
Prologue 287
I. The two Viceroys 289
II. The Tertulia at the House of my lady Josefina 298
III. La Junta de los Comandantes 307
IV. How Don Carlos Evana attacked the Wild-duck, and
routed them with great slaughter 313
V. How the Viceroy placed a sword in the hands of the
enemies of Spain 323
VI. iCaduco la Espana! 331
BOOK VI
LIBERTY
Prologue 347
I. How the last Tie was broken 349
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez for the third time sought an
Answer to the Question of the Day 356
III. The Opening of the month of May 360
IV. Dias de la Patria 367
V. The 25th May, 1810 375
VI. Lions in the Path 383
VII. The first Fight in the War of Independence 388
VIII. How General Liniers lost an important Ally 397
IX. La Cabeza del Tigre 401
X. Once more in the Porch together 408
GENERAL EPILOGUE
I. The Viceroyalty of Buenos Aires 419
II. The Year 1810 420
III. Paraguay 422
IV. The Banda Oriental 422
V. The Army of Upper Peru 424
VI. The Sovereign People 427
VII. The Congress of Tucuman 433
VIII. Independence 434
BOOK I
THE BABYHOOD OF A GREAT NATION
PROLOGUE
The Argentine Republic drew her first faltering breath in a time of
universal tumult. Europe was in a blaze from the confines of Russia to
the Atlantic; the air reeked with blood, the demon of war strode
rough-shod over a whole continent, at each step crushing some ancient
nation to the dust. The peoples of Europe, down-trodden for ages, rose
in their misery and barbarism against their oppressors and wrote out
their certificate of Freedom in characters of blood; they asserted their
right to be men not slaves, and their voice as that of a mighty trumpet
reverberated throughout the earth. In the hearts of the Spanish Creoles
of America that voice found an echo.
* * * * *
Spain arrogated to herself unlimited power over the nations she had
founded, witting not that they were nations. Though they were of her own
bone and her own blood, she knew them not as children, but as
bond-slaves, who existed to do her bidding.
* * * * *
| 263.893076 |
2023-11-16 18:21:28.1154240 | 6,056 | 8 |
Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
THE USURPER
Episode in Japanese History
BY
JUDITH GAUTIER
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
ABBY LANGDON ALGER
BOSTON
ROBERTS BROTHERS
1884
CONTENTS.
I. THE LEMON GROVE
II. NAGATO'S WOUND
III. FEAST OF THE SEA-GOD
IV. THE SISTER OF THE SUN
V. THE KNIGHTS OF HEAVEN
VI. THE FRATERNITY of BLIND MEN
VII. PERJURY
VIII. THE CASTLE OF OWARI
IX. THE TEA-HOUSE
X. THE TRYST
XI. THE WARRIOR-QUAILS
XII. THE WESTERN ORCHARD
XIII. THE MIKADO'S THIRTY-THREE DINNERS
XIV. THE HAWKING-PARTY
XV. THE USURPER
XVI. THE FISHERMEN OF OSAKA BAY
XVII. DRAGON-FLY ISLAND
XVIII. THE PRINCIPALITY OF NAGATO
XIX. A TOMB
XX. THE MESSENGERS
XXI. THE KISAKI
XXII. THE MIKADO
XXIII. FATKOURA
XXIV. THE TREATY OF PEACE
XXV. CONFIDENCES
XXVI. THE GREAT THEATRE OF OSAKA
XXVII. OMITI
XXVIII. HENCEFORTH MY HOUSE SHALL BE AT PEACE
XXIX. THE HIGH-PRIESTESS OF THE SUN
XXX. BATTLES
XXXI. THE FUNERAL PILE
THE USURPER.
AN EPISODE IN JAPANESE HISTORY.
(1615.)
CHAPTER I.
THE LEMON GROVE.
Night was nearly gone. All slept in the beautiful bright city of Osaka.
The harsh cry of the sentinels, calling one to another on the ramparts,
broke the silence, unruffled otherwise save for the distant murmur of
the sea as it swept into the bay.
Above the great dark mass formed by the palace and gardens of the
Shogun[1] a star was fading slowly. Dawn trembled in the air, and the
tree-tops were more plainly outlined against the sky, which grew bluer
every moment. Soon a pale glimmer touched the highest branches, slipped
between the boughs and their leaves, and filtered downward to the
ground. Then, in the gardens of the Prince, alleys thick with brambles
displayed their dim perspective; the grass resumed its emerald hue;
a tuft of poppies renewed the splendor of its sumptuous flowers, and
a snowy flight of steps was faintly visible through the mist, down a
distant avenue.
At last, suddenly, the sky grew purple; arrows of light athwart the
bushes made every drop of water on the leaves sparkle. A pheasant
alighted heavily; a crane shook her white wings, and with a long cry
flew slowly upwards; while the earth smoked like a caldron, and the
birds loudly hailed the rising sun.
As soon as the divine luminary rose from the horizon, the sound of a
gong was heard. It was struck with a monotonous rhythm of overpowering
melancholy,--four heavy strokes, four light strokes; four heavy
strokes, and so on. It was the salute to the coming day, and the call
to morning prayers.
A hearty youthful peal of laughter, which broke forth suddenly, drowned
these pious sounds for an instant; and two men appeared, dark against
the clear sky, at the top of the snowy staircase. They paused a moment,
on the uppermost step, to admire the lovely mass of brambles, ferns,
and flowering shrubs which wreathed the balustrade of the staircase.
Then they descended slowly through the fantastic shadows cast across
the steps by the branches. Reaching the foot of the stairs, they moved
quickly aside, that they might not upset a tortoise creeping leisurely
along the last step. This tortoise's shell had been gilded, but the
gilding was somewhat tarnished by the dampness of the grass. The two
men moved down the avenue.
The younger of the pair was scarcely twenty years old, but would have
passed for more, from the proud expression of his face, and the easy
confidence of his glance. Still, when he laughed, he seemed a child;
but he laughed seldom, and a sort of haughty gloom darkened his noble
brow. His costume was very simple. Over a robe of gray crape he wore a
mantle of blue satin, without any embroidery. He carried an open fan in
his hand.
His comrade's dress was, on the contrary, very elegant. His robe
was made of a soft white silk, just tinged with blue, suggestive
of reflected moonlight. It fell in fine folds to his feet, and was
confined at the waist by a girdle of black velvet. The wearer was
twenty-four years old; he was a specimen of perfect beauty. The warm
pallor of his face, his mockingly sweet eyes, and, above all, the
scornful indifference apparent in his whole person, exercised a strange
charm. His hand rested on the richly wrought hilt of one of the two
swords whose points lifted up the folds of his black velvet cloak, the
loose hanging sleeves of which were thrown back over his shoulders.
The two friends were bare-headed; their hair, twisted like a rope, was
knotted around the top of their heads.
"But where are you taking me, gracious master?" suddenly cried the
older of the two young men.
"This is the third time you have asked that question since we left the
palace, Iwakura."
"But you have not answered once, light of my eyes!"
"Well! I want to surprise you. Shut your eyes and give me your hand."
Iwakura obeyed, and his companion led him a few steps across the grass.
"Now look," he said.
Iwakura opened his eyes, and uttered a low cry of astonishment.
Before him stretched a lemon grove in full bloom. Every tree and every
shrub seemed covered with hoar-frost; on the topmost twigs the dawn
cast tints of rose and gold. Every branch bent beneath its perfumed
load; the clusters of flowers hung to the ground, upon which the
overburdened boughs trailed. Amid this white wealth which gave forth a
delicious odor, a few tender green leaves were occasionally visible.
"See," said the younger man with a smile, "I wanted to share with you,
my favorite friend, the pleasure of this marvellous sight before any
other eye rested on it. I was here yesterday: the grove was like a
thicket of pearls; to-day all the flowers are open."
"These trees remind me of what the poet says of peach-blossoms," said
Iwakura; "only here the snow-flakes of butterflies' wings with which
the trees are covered have not turned rose- in their descent
from heaven."
"Ah!" cried the younger man sighing, "would I might plunge into the
midst of those flowers as into a bath, and intoxicate myself even unto
death with their strong perfume!"
Iwakura, having admired them, made a slightly disappointed grimace.
"Far more beautiful blossoms were about to open in my dream," said he,
stifling a yawn. "Master, why did you make me get up so early?"
"Come, Prince of Nagato," said the young man, laying his hand on his
comrade's shoulder, "confess. I did not make you get up, for you did
not go to bed last night."
"What?" cried Iwakura; "what makes you think so!"
"Your pallor, friend, and your haggard eyes."
"Am I not always so?"
"The dress you wear would be far too elegant for the hour of the
cock.[2] And see! the sun has scarcely risen; we have only reached the
hour of the rabbit."[3]
"To honor such a master as you, no hour is too early."
"Is it also in my honor, faithless subject, that you appear before me
armed? Those two swords, forgotten in your sash, condemn you; you had
just returned to the palace when I summoned you."
The guilty youth hung his head, not attempting to defend himself.
"But what ails your arm?" suddenly cried the other, noticing a
thin white bandage wound about Iwakura's sleeve.
The latter hid his arm behind him, and held out the other hand.
"Nothing," he said.
But his companion grasped the arm which he concealed. The Prince of
Nagato uttered an exclamation of pain.
"You are wounded, eh? One of these days I shall hear that Nagato has
been killed in some foolish brawl. What have you been doing now,
incorrigible and imprudent fellow?"
"When Hieyas, the regent, comes before you, you will know only too much
about it," said the Prince; "you will hear fine things, O illustrious
friend, in regard to your unworthy favorite. Methinks I already hear
the sound of the terrible voice of the man from whom nothing is hid:
'Fide-Yori, ruler of Japan, son of the great Taiko-Sama, whose memory I
revere! grave disorders have this night troubled Osaka.'"
The Prince of Nagato mimicked the voice of Hieyas so well that the
young Shogun could not repress a smile.
'And what are these disorders?' you will say. 'Doors broken open,
blows, tumults, scandals.' 'Are the authors of these misdeeds known?'
'The leader of the riot is the true criminal, and I know him well.'
'Who is he?' 'Who should it be but the man who takes a share in every
adventure, every nocturnal brawl; who, but the Prince of Nagato, the
terror of honest families, the dread of peaceful men?' And then you
will pardon me, O too merciful man! Hieyas will reproach you with your
weakness, dwelling upon it, that this weakness may redound to the
injury of the Shogun and the profit of the Regent."
"What if I lose patience at last, Nagato," said the Shogun; "what if I
exile you to your own province for a year?"
"I should go, master, without a murmur."
"Yes; and who would be left to love me?" said Fide-Yori, sadly. "I am
surrounded by devotion, not by affection like yours. But perhaps I am
unjust," he added; "you are the only one I love, and doubtless that is
why I think no one loves me but you."
Nagato raised his eyes gratefully to the Prince.
"You feel that you are forgiven, don't you?" said Fide-Yori, smiling.
"But try to spare me the Regent's reproaches; you know how painful they
are to me. Go and salute him; the hour of his levee is at hand; we will
meet again in the council."
"Must I smile upon that ugly creature?" grumbled Nagato.
But he had his dismissal; he saluted the Shogun, and moved away with a
sulky air.
Fide-Yori continued his walk along the avenue, but soon returned to the
lemon grove. He paused to admire it once more, and plucked a slender
twig loaded with flowers. But just then the foliage rustled as if blown
by a strong breeze; an abrupt movement stirred the branches, and a
young girl appeared among the blossoms.
The Shogun started violently, and almost uttered a cry; he fancied
himself the prey to some hallucination.
"Who are you?" he exclaimed; "perhaps the guardian spirit of this
grove?"
"Oh, no," said the girl in a trembling voice; "but I am a very bold
woman."
She issued from the grove amidst a shower of snowy petals, and knelt on
the grass, stretching out her hands to the King.
Fide-Yori bent his head toward her, and gazed curiously at her. She was
of exquisite beauty,--small, graceful, apparently weighed down by the
amplitude of her robes. It seemed as if their silken weight bore her
to her knees. Her large innocent eyes, like the eyes of a child, were
timid and full of entreaty; her cheeks, velvety as a butterfly's wings,
were tinged with a slight blush, and her small mouth, half open in
admiration, revealed teeth white as drops of milk.
"Forgive me," she exclaimed, "forgive me for appearing before you
without your express command."
"I forgive you, poor trembling bird," said Fide-Yori, "for had I known
you and known your desire, my wish would have been to see you. What can
I do for you? Is it in my power to make you happy?"
"Oh, master!" eagerly cried the girl, "with one word you can make me
more radiant than Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin, the daughter of the Sun."
"And what is that word?"
"Swear that you will not go to-morrow to the feast of the God of the
Sea."
"Why this oath?" said the Shogun, amazed at this strange request.
"Because," said the young girl, shuddering, "a bridge will give way
beneath the King's feet; and when night falls, Japan will be without a
ruler."
"I suppose you have discovered a conspiracy?" said Fide-Yori, smiling.
At this incredulous smile the girl turned pale, and her eyes filled
with tears.
"O pure disk of light!" she cried, "he does not believe me! All that I
have hitherto accomplished is in vain! This is a dreadful obstacle, of
which I never dreamed. You hearken to the voice of the cricket which
prophesies heat; you listen to the frog who croaks a promise of rain;
but a young girl who cries, 'Take care! I have seen the trap! death is
on your path!' you pay no heed to her, but plunge headlong into the
snare. But it must not be; you must believe me. Shall I kill myself
at your feet? My death might be a pledge of my sincerity. Besides,
if I have been deceived, what matters it? You can easily absent
yourself from the feast. Hear me! I come along way, from a distant
province. Alone with the dull anguish of my secret, I outwitted the
most subtle spies, I conquered my terrors and overcame my weakness.
My father thinks me gone on a pilgrimage to Kioto; and, you see, I am
in your city, in the grounds of your palace. And yet the sentinels
are watchful, the moats are broad, the walls high. See, my hands are
bleeding; I burn with fever. Just now I feared I could not speak, my
weary heart throbbed so violently at sight of you and with the joy of
saving you. But now I am dizzy, my blood has turned to ice: you do not
believe me."
"I believe you, and I swear to obey you," said the king, touched by her
accent of despair. "I will not go to the feast of the God of the Sea."
The young girl uttered a cry of delight, and gazed with gratitude at
the sun as it rose above the trees.
"But tell me how you discovered this plot," continued the Shogun, "and
who are its authors?"
"Oh! do not order me to tell you. The whole edifice of infamy that I
overthrow would fall upon my own head."
"So be it, my child; keep your secret. But at least tell me whence
comes this great devotion, and why is my life so precious to you?"
The girl slowly raised her eyes to the King, then looked down and
blushed, but did not reply. A vague emotion troubled the heart of the
Prince. He was silent, and yielded to the sweet sensation. He would
fain have remained thus, in silence, amidst these bird songs, these
perfumes, beside this kneeling maiden.
"Tell me who you are, you who have saved me from death," he asked at
last; "and tell me what reward I can give you worthy of your courage."
"My name is Omiti," said the young girl; "I can tell you nothing more.
Give me the flower that you hold in your hand; it is all I would have
from you."
Fide-Yori offered her the lemon twig; Omiti seized it, and fled through
the grove.
The Shogun stood rooted to the spot for some time, lost in thought,
gazing at the turf pressed by the light foot of Omiti.
[1] Lord of the kingdom. This is the same title as Tycoon, but the
latter was not created till 1854.
[2] Six hours after noon.
[3] Six o'clock in the morning.
CHAPTER II.
NAGATO'S WOUND.
The Prince of Nagato had returned to his palace. He slept stretched out
on a pile of fine mats; around him was almost total darkness, for the
blinds had been lowered, and large screens spread before the windows.
Here and there a black lacquer panel shone in the shadow and reflected
dimly, like a dull mirror, the pale face of the Prince as he lay on his
cushions.
Nagato had not succeeded in seeing Hieyas: he was told that the Regent
was engaged with very important business. Pleased at the chance, the
young Prince hurried home to rest for a few hours before the council.
In the chambers adjoining the one in which he slept servants came
and went silently, preparing their master's toilette. They walked
cautiously, that the floor might not creak, and talked together in low
tones.
"Our poor master knows no moderation," said an old woman, scattering
drops of perfume over a court cloak. "Continual feasting and nightly
revels,--never any rest; he will kill himself."
"Oh, no! pleasure does not kill," said an impudent-looking boy, dressed
in gay colors.
"What do you know about it, imp?" replied the woman. "Wouldn't you
think the brat spent his life in enjoyment like a lord? Don't talk so
boldly about things you know nothing of!"
"Perhaps I know more about them than you do," said the child, making a
wry face; "you haven't got married yet, for all your great age and your
great beauty."
The woman threw the contents of her flask in the boy's face; but he
hid behind the silver disk of a mirror which he was polishing, and the
perfume fell to the ground. When the danger was over, out popped his
head.
"Will you have me for a husband?" he cried; "you can spare me a few of
your years, and between us we'll make but a young couple."
The woman, in her rage, gave a sharp scream.
"Will you be quiet?" said another servant, threatening her with his
fist.
"But who could listen to that young scamp without blushing and losing
her temper?"
"Blush as much as you like," said the child; "that won't make any
noise."
"Come, Loo, be quiet!" said the servant.
Loo shrugged his shoulders and made a face, then went on listlessly
rubbing his mirror.
At this instant a man entered the room.
"I must speak to Iwakura, Prince of Nagato," he cried aloud.
All the servants made violent signs to impose silence on the new-comer.
Loo rushed towards him and stopped his mouth with the rag with which he
was polishing the mirror; but the man pushed him roughly away.
"What does all this mean?" he said. "Are you crazy? I want to speak to
the lord whom you serve, the very illustrious daimio who rules over the
province of Nagato. Go and tell him, and stop your monkey tricks."
"He is asleep," whispered a servant.
"We cannot wake him," said another.
"He is frightfully tired," said Loo, with his finger on his lip.
"Tired or not, he will rejoice at my coming," said the stranger.
"We were ordered not to wake him until a few moments before the hour
for the council," said the old woman.
"I sha'n't take the risk of rousing him," said Loo, drawing his mouth
to one side.--
"Nor I," said the old woman.
"I will go myself, if you like," said the messenger; "moreover, the
hour of the council is close at hand. I just saw the Prince of Arima on
his way to the Hall of a Thousand Mats."
"The Prince of Arima!" cried Loo; "and he is always late!"
"Alas!" said the old woman; "shall we have time to dress our master?"
Loo pushed aside a sliding partition and opened a narrow passage;
he then softly entered Nagato's bedroom. It was cool within, and a
delicate odor of camphor filled the air.
"Master! master!" said Loo in a loud voice, "the hour has come; and
besides there is a messenger here."
"A messenger!" cried Nagato, raising himself on one elbow; "what does
he look like?"
"He is dressed like a samurai:[1] he has two-swords in his sash."
"Let him come in at once," said the Prince, in a tone of agitation.
Loo beckoned to the messenger, who prostrated himself on the threshold
of the room.
"Approach!" said Nagato.
But the messenger being unable to see in the dark hall, Loo folded
back one leaf of a screen which intercepted the light. A broad band of
sunshine entered; it lighted up the delicate texture of the matting
which covered the wall and glistened on a silver stork with sinuous
neck and spread wings, hanging against it.
The messenger approached the Prince and offered him a slender roll of
paper wrapped in silk; then he left the room backwards.
Nagato hastily unrolled the paper, and read as follows:
"You have been here, illustrious one, I know it! But why
this madness, and why this mystery? I cannot understand
your actions. I have received severe reprimands from my
sovereign on your account. As you know, I was passing
through the gardens, escorting her to her palace, when
all at once I saw you leaning against a tree. I could
not repress an exclamation, and at my cry she turned
towards me and followed the direction of my eyes. 'Ah!'
she said, 'it is the sight of Nagato that draws such
cries from you. Could you not stifle them, and at least
spare me the sight of your immodest conduct?' Then she
turned and looked at you several times. The anger in her
eyes alarmed me. I dare not appear before her to-morrow,
and I send you this message to beg you not to repeat
these strange visits, which have such fatal consequences
to me. Alas! do you not know that I love you, and need
I repeat it? I will be your wife whenever you wish....
But it pleases you to adore me as if I were an idol in
the pagoda of the Thirty-three thousand three hundred
and thirty-three.[2] If you had not risked your life
repeatedly to see me, I should think you were mocking
me. I entreat you, expose me to no more such reproofs,
and do not forget that I am ready to recognize you as
my lord and master, and that to live by your side is my
dearest desire."
Nagato smiled and slowly closed the roll; he fixed his eyes upon the
streak of light cast on the floor from the window, and seemed lost in
deep revery.
Little Loo was greatly disappointed. He had tried to read over his
master's shoulder; but the roll was written in Chinese characters,
and his knowledge fell short of that. He was quite familiar with the
Kata-Kana, and even knew something of Hira-Kana; but unfortunately was
entirely ignorant of Chinese writing. To hide his vexation, he went to
the window and lifting one corner of the blind, looked out.
"Ah!" he said, "the Prince of Satsuma and the Prince of Aki arrive
together, and their followers look askance atone another. Ah! Satsuma
takes precedence. Oh! oh! there goes the Regent down the avenue. He
glances this way, and laughs when he sees the Prince of Nagato's suite
still standing at the door. He would laugh far louder if he knew how
little progress my master had made in his toilet."
"Let him laugh, Loo! and come here," said the Prince, who had taken
a pencil and roll of paper from his girdle and hastily written a few
words. "Run to the palace and give this to the King."
Loo set off as fast as his legs could carry him, pushing and jostling
those who came in his way to his utmost.
"And now," said Iwakura, "dress me quickly."
His servants clustered about him, and the Prince was soon arrayed in
the broad trailing trousers which make the wearer look as if he were
walking on his knees, and the stiff ceremonial mantle, made still more
heavy by the crest embroidered on its sleeves. The arms of Nagato
consisted of a black bolt surmounting three balls in the form of a
pyramid.
The young man, usually so careful of his dress, paid no attention to
the work of his servants; he did not even glance at the mirror so well
polished by Loo, when the high pointed cap, tied by golden ribbons, was
placed on his head.
As soon as his toilette was complete he left the palace; but so great
was his abstraction that, instead of getting into the norimono awaiting
him in the midst of his escort, he set off on foot, dragging his huge
pantaloons in the sand, and exposing himself to the rays of the sun.
His suite, terrified at this breach of etiquette, followed in utter
disorder, while the spies ordered to watch the actions of the Prince
hastened to report this extraordinary occurrence to their various
masters.
The ramparts of the royal residence at Osaka, thick, lofty walls
flanked at intervals by a semicircular bastion, form a huge square,
which encloses several palaces and vast gardens. To the south and west
the fortress is sheltered by the city; on the north the river which
flows through Osaka widens, and forms an immense moat at the foot of
the rampart; on the east, a narrower stream bounds it. On the platform
of the walls grows a row of centenarian cedars of a sombre verdure,
their level branches projecting horizontally across the battlements.
Within, a second wall, preceded by a moat, encloses the parks and
palaces reserved for the princes and their families. Between this wall
and the ramparts lie the houses of soldiers and officials. A third wall
surrounds the private palace of the Shogun, built upon a hill. This
building is of simple but noble design. Square towers with roof upon
| 264.135464 |
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Produced by David Widger
MY PATH TO ATHEISM
By Annie Besant
[Third Edition]
London:
Freethought Publishing Company,
63, Fleet Street, E.C.
1885.
TO
THOMAS SCOTT,
WHOSE NAME IS HONORED AND REVERED WHEREVER
FREETHOUGHT HAS--
WHOSE WIDE HEART AND GENEROUS KINDNESS WELCOME
ALL FORMS OF THOUGHT, PROVIDED THE THOUGHT
BE EARNEST AND HONEST;
WHO KNOWS NO ORTHODOXY SAVE THAT OF HONESTY, AND
NO RELIGION SAVE THAT OF GOODNESS;
TO WHOM I OWE MOST GRATEFUL THANKS,
AS ONE OF THE EARLIEST OF MY FREETHOUGHT FRIENDS,
AND AS THE FIRST WHO AIDED ME IN MY NEED;--
TO HIM
I DEDICATE THESE PAGES,
KNOWING THAT, ALTHOUGH WE OFTEN DIFFER IN OUR
THOUGHT,
WE ARE ONE
IN OUR DESIRE FOR TRUTH.
ANNIE BESANT.
PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.
The Essays which form the present book have been written at intervals
during the last five years, and are now issued in a single volume
without alterations of any kind. I have thought it more useful--as
marking the gradual growth of thought--to reprint them as they were
originally published, so as not to allow the later development to mould
the earlier forms. The essay on "Inspiration" is, in part, the oldest
of all; it was partially composed some seven years ago, and re-written
later as it now stands.
The first essay on the "Deity of Jesus of Nazareth" was written just
before I left the Church of England, and marks the point where I broke
finally with Christianity. I thought then, and think still, that to
cling to the name of Christian after one has ceased to be the thing
is neither bold nor straightforward, and surely the name ought, in all
fairness, to belong to those historical bodies who have made it their
own during many hundred years. A Christianity without a Divine Christ
appears to me to resemble a republican army marching under a royal
banner--it misleads both friends and foes. Believing that in giving up
the deity of Christ I renounced Christianity, I place this essay as the
starting-point of my travels outside the Christian pale. The essays
that follow it deal with some of the leading Christian dogmas, and are
printed in the order in which they were written. But in the gradual
thought-development they really precede the essay on the "Deity of
Christ". Most inquirers who begin to study by themselves, before they
have read any heretical works, or heard any heretical controversies,
will have been awakened to thought by the discrepancies and
inconsistencies of the Bible itself. A thorough knowledge of the Bible
is the groundwork of heresy. Many who think they read their Bibles never
read them at all. They go through a chapter every day as a matter of
duty, and forget what is said in Matthew before they read what is said
in John; hence they never mark the contradictions and never see the
discrepancies. But those who _study_ the Bible are in a fair way to
become heretics. It was the careful compilation of a harmony of the
last chapters of the four Gospels--a harmony intended for devotional
use--that gave the first blow to my own faith; although I put the doubt
away and refused even to look at the question again, yet the effect
remained--the tiny seed, which was slowly to germinate and to grow up,
later, into the full-blown flower of Atheism.
The trial of Mr. Charles Voysey for heresy made me remember my own
puzzle, and I gradually grew very uneasy, though trying not to think,
until the almost fatal illness of my little daughter brought a sharper
questioning as to the reason of suffering and the reality of the love of
God. From that time I began to study the doctrines of Christianity from
a critical point of view; hitherto I had confined my theological reading
to devotional and historical treatises, and the only controversies
with which I was familiar were the controversies which had divided
Christians; the writings of the Fathers of the Church and of the modern
school which is founded on them had been carefully studied, and I had
weighed the points of difference between the Greek, Roman, Anglican, and
Lutheran communions, as well as the views of orthodox dissenting schools
of thought; only from Pusey's "Daniel", and Liddon's "Bampton Lectures",
had I gathered anything of wider controversies and issues of more vital
interest. But now all was changed, and it was to the leaders of the
Broad Church school that I first turned in the new path. The shock of
pain had been so! rude when real doubts assailed and shook me, that I
had steadily made up my mind to investigate, one by one, every Christian
dogma, and never again to say "I believe" until I had tested the object
of faith; the dogmas which revolted me most were those of the Atonement
and of Eternal Punishment, while the doctrine of Inspiration of
Scripture underlay everything, and was the very foundation of
Christianity; these, then, were the first that I dropped into the
crucible of investigation. Maurice, Robertson, Stopford Brooke, McLeod,
Campbell, and others, were studied; and while I recognised the charm | 264.234931 |
2023-11-16 18:21:28.2365280 | 924 | 13 |
Produced by David Schaal and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Transcriber's note: The inconsistent orthography of the original is
retained in this etext.]
THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES of NILS
by
SELMA LAGERLOeF
TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH
BY VELMA SWANSTON HOWARD
CONTENTS
The Boy
Akka from Kebnekaise
The Wonderful Journey of Nils
Glimminge Castle
The Great Crane Dance on Kullaberg
In Rainy Weather
The Stairway with the Three Steps
By Ronneby River
Karlskrona
The Trip to Oeland
Oeland's Southern Point
The Big Butterfly
Little Karl's Island
Two Cities
The Legend of Smaland
The Crows
The Old Peasant Woman
From Taberg to Huskvarna
The Big Bird Lake
Ulvasa-Lady
The Homespun Cloth
The Story of Karr and Grayskin
The Wind Witch
The Breaking Up of the Ice
Thumbietot and the Bears
The Flood
Dunfin
Stockholm
Gorgo the Eagle
On Over Gaestrikland
A Day in Haelsingland
In Medelpad
A Morning in Angermanland
Westbottom and Lapland
Osa, the Goose Girl, and Little Mats
With the Laplanders
Homeward Bound
Legends from Haerjedalen
Vermland and Dalsland
The Treasure on the Island
The Journey to Vemminghoeg
Home at Last
The Parting with the Wild Geese
_Some of the purely geographical matter in the Swedish original of the
"Further Adventures of Nils" has been eliminated from the English
version.
The author has rendered valuable assistance in cutting certain chapters
and abridging others. Also, with the author's approval, cuts have been
made where the descriptive matter was merely of local interest.
But the story itself is intact.
V.S.H_.
THE BOY
THE ELF
_Sunday, March twentieth_.
Once there was a boy. He was--let us say--something like fourteen years
old; long and loose-jointed and towheaded. He wasn't good for much, that
boy. His chief delight was to eat and sleep; and after that--he liked
best to make mischief.
It was a Sunday morning and the boy's parents were getting ready to go
to church. The boy sat on the edge of the table, in his shirt sleeves,
and thought how lucky it was that both father and mother were going
away, and the coast would be clear for a couple of hours. "Good! Now I
can take down pop's gun and fire off a shot, without anybody's meddling
interference," he said to himself.
But it was almost as if father should have guessed the boy's thoughts,
for just as he was on the threshold--ready to start--he stopped short,
and turned toward the boy. "Since you won't come to church with mother
and me," he said, "the least you can do, is to read the service at home.
Will you promise to do so?" "Yes," said the boy, "that I can do easy
enough." And he thought, of course, that he wouldn't read any more than
he felt like reading.
The boy thought that never had he seen his mother so persistent. In a
second she was over by the shelf near the fireplace, and took down
Luther's Commentary and laid it on the table, in front of the
window--opened at the service for the day. She also opened the New
Testament, and placed it beside the Commentary. Finally, she drew up the
big arm-chair, which was bought at the parish auction the year before,
and which, as a rule, no one but father was permitted to occupy.
The boy sat thinking that his mother was giving herself altogether too
much trouble with this spread; for he had no intention of reading more
than a page or so. But now, for the second time, it was almost as if his
father were able to see right through him. He walked up to the boy, and
said in a severe tone: "Now, remember, that you are to read carefully!
For when we come back, I shall question you thoroughly; and if you | 264.256568 |
2023-11-16 18:21:28.2371090 | 251 | 49 |
Produced by MWS, Adrian Mastronardi, Martin Pettit and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: THE TAJ MAHAL FROM THE RIVER.]
LIFE AND TRAVEL IN INDIA
BEING RECOLLECTIONS OF A JOURNEY
BEFORE THE DAYS OF RAILROADS
BY
ANNA HARRIETTE LEONOWENS
_Author of "Siam and the Siamese"_
_ILLUSTRATED_
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1897
Copyright, 1884,
BY PORTER & COATES.
THIS LITTLE VOLUME OF TRAVELS
Is Inscribed to
MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM W. JUSTICE,
IN
GRATEFUL APPRECIATION OF THEIR FRIENDSHIP,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Island of Bambâ Dèvi.--Sights and Scenes round about Bombay 7
CHAPTER II.
Malabar Hill, and | 264.257149 |
2023-11-16 18:21:28.3149350 | 3,297 | 12 |
Project Gutenberg Etext of The Two Noble Kinsmen by Shakespeare
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THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN
A NOTE ON THE TEXT:
The text of this Project Gutenberg edition is taken from C. F.
Tucker Brooke's 1908 edition of THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA. Italics
have been silently removed in most places, as for proper names,
and replaced with ALL CAPS or bracketed text where appropriate.
THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN:
Presented at the Blackfriers
by the Kings Maiesties servants,
with great applause:
Written by the memorable Worthies of their time;
Mr. John Fletcher, Gent., and
Mr. William Shakspeare, Gent.
Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson:
and are to be sold at the signe of the Crowne
in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.
(The Persons represented in the Play.
Hymen,
Theseus,
Hippolita, Bride to Theseus
Emelia, Sister to Theseus
[Emelia's Woman],
Nymphs,
Three Queens,
Three valiant Knights,
Palamon, and
Arcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia
[Valerius],
Perithous,
[A Herald],
[A Gentleman],
[A Messenger],
[A Servant],
[Wooer],
[Keeper],
Jaylor,
His Daughter, in love with Palamon
[His brother],
[A Doctor],
[4] Countreymen,
[2 Friends of the Jaylor],
[3 Knights],
[Nel, and other]
Wenches,
A Taborer,
Gerrold, A Schoolmaster.)
PROLOGVE.
[Florish.]
New Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin,
Much follow'd both, for both much mony g'yn,
If they stand sound, and well: And a good Play
(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day,
And shake to loose his honour) is like hir
That after holy Tye and first nights stir
Yet still is Modestie, and still retaines
More of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines;
We pray our Play may be so; For I am sure
It has a noble Breeder, and a pure,
A learned, and | 264.334975 |
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Transcribed from the 1897 Welsh National Press Company edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: Glasynys, The Birthplace of Ellis Wynne]
THE VISIONS
OF THE
SLEEPING BARD
BEING
ELLIS WYNNE’S
“_Gweledigaetheu y Bardd Cwsc_”
TRANSLATED BY
ROBERT GWYNEDDON DAVIES
* * * * *
LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARHSALL & CO., LIMITED.
CARNARVON: THE WELSH NATIONAL PRESS COMPANY, LIMITED
* * * * *
MDCCCXCVII
* * * * *
TO
PROFESSOR JOHN RHŶS, M.A., LL.D.
PRINCIPAL OF JESUS COLLEGE, OXFORD
AND
VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE
OF NORTH WALES,
IN TOKEN OF
HIS DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARSHIP AND UNRIVALLED
SERVICES
TO
CELTIC LITERATURE
THIS TRANSLATION
IS
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
AT the National Eisteddfod of 1893, a prize was offered by Mr. Lascelles
Carr, of the _Western Mail_, for the best translation of Ellis Wynne’s
_Vision of Hell_. The Adjudicators (Dean Howell and the Rev. G. Hartwell
Jones, M.A.), awarded the prize for the translation which is comprised in
the present volume. The remaining Visions were subsequently rendered
into English, and the complete work is now published in the hope that it
may prove useful to those readers, who, being unacquainted with the Welsh
language, yet desire to obtain some knowledge of its literature.
My best thanks are due to the Rev. J. W. Wynne Jones, M.A., Vicar of
Carnarvon, for much help and valuable criticism; to the Rev. R Jones,
MA., Rector of Llanfair-juxta-Harlech, through whose courtesy I am
enabled to produce (from a photograph by Owen, Barmouth) a page of the
register of that parish, containing entries in Ellis Wynne’s handwriting;
and to Mr. Isaac Foulkes, Liverpool, for the frontispiece, which appeared
in his last edition of the _Bardd Cwsc_.
R. GWYNEDDON DAVIES.
_Caernarvon_,
_1st July_, _1897_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Frontispiece
Genealogical Tables xii
Introduction:—
I. The Author’s Life xv
II. The Text xx
III. The Summary xxiv
Facsimile of Ellis Wynne’s Handwriting
Vision of the World 3
Vision of Death 43
Vision of Hell 67
Notes 123
GENEALOGICAL TABLES. {0}
ELLIS WYNNE’S PEDIGREE.
*** (_I am indebted to E. H. Owen_, _Esqr._, _F.S.A._, _Tycoch_,
_Carnarvon_, _for most of the information compiled in the following
tables_.)
[Picture: Ellis Wynne’s Pedigree]
THE RELATION BETWEEN ELLIS WYNNE & BISHOP HUMPHREYS.
[Picture: The Relation between Ellis Wynne & Bishop Humphreys]
INTRODUCTION.
I.—THE AUTHOR’S LIFE.
ELLIS WYNNE was born in 1671 at Glasynys, near Harlech; his father,
Edward Wynne, came of the family of Glyn Cywarch (mentioned in the second
Vision), his mother, whose name is not known, was heiress of Glasynys.
It will be seen from the accompanying table that he was descended from
some of the best families in his native county, and through _Osborn
Wyddel_, from the Desmonds of Ireland. His birth-place, which still
stands, and is shown in the frontispiece hereto, is situate about a mile
and a half from the town of Harlech, in the beautiful Vale of Ardudwy.
The natural scenery amidst which he was brought up, cannot have failed to
leave a deep impression upon his mind; and in the Visions we come across
unmistakeable descriptions of scenes and places around his home.
Mountain and sea furnished him with many a graphic picture; the
precipitous heights and dark ravines of Hell, its caverns and its cliffs,
are all evidently drawn from nature. The neighbourhood is also rich in
romantic lore and historic associations; Harlech Castle, some twenty-five
years before his birth, had been the scene of many a fray between
Roundheads and Cavaliers, and of the last stand made by the Welsh for
King Charles. These events were fresh in the memory of his elders, whom
he had, no doubt, often heard speaking of those stirring times; members
of his own family had, perhaps, fought in the ranks of the rival parties;
his father’s grand-uncle, Col. John Jones, was one of those “who
erstwhile drank of royal blood.”
It is not known where he received his early education, and it has been
generally stated by his biographers that he was not known to have entered
either of the Universities; but, as the following notice proves, he at
least matriculated at Oxford:—
WYNNE, ELLIS, s. Edw. of Lasypeys, co. Merioneth, pleb. Jesus Coll.
matric. 1st March 1691–2, aged 21; rector of Llandanwg, 1705, & of
Llanfair-juxta-Harlech (both) co. Merioneth, 1711. (_Vide_ Foster’s
_Index Eccles_.)
Probably his stay at the University was brief, and that he left without
taking his degree, for I have been unable to find anything further
recorded of his academic career. {0a} The Rev. Edmund Prys, Vicar of
Clynnog-Fawr, in a prefatory _englyn_ to Ellis Wynne’s translation of the
“_Holy Living_” says that “in order to enrich his own, he had ventured
upon the study of three other tongues.” This fact, together with much
that appears in the Visions, justifies the conclusion that his scholarly
attainments were of no mean order. But how and where he spent the first
thirty years of his life, with the possible exception of a period at
Oxford, is quite unknown, the most probable surmise being that they were
spent in the enjoyment of a simple rural life, and in the pursuit of his
studies, of whatever nature they may have been.
According to Rowlands’s _Cambrian Bibliography_ his first venture into
the fields of literature was a small volume entitled, _Help i ddarllen yr
Yscrythur Gyssegr-Lân_ (“Aids to reading Holy Writ”), being a translation
of the _Whole Duty of Man_ “by E. W., a clergyman of the Church of
England,” published at Shrewsbury in 1700. But as Ellis Wynne was not
ordained until 1704, this work must be ascribed to some other author who,
both as to name and calling, answered to the description on the
title-page quoted above. But in 1701 an accredited work of his appeared,
namely, a translation into Welsh of Jeremy Taylor’s _Rules and Exercises
of Holy Living_, a 12mo. volume published in London. It was dedicated to
the Rev. Humphrey Humphreys, D.D., Bishop of Bangor, who was a native of
the same district of Merionethshire as Ellis Wynne, and, as is shown in
the genealogical table hereto, was connected by marriage with his family.
In 1702 {0b} he was married to Lowri Llwyd—_anglicè_, Laura Lloyd—of
Hafod-lwyfog, Beddgelert, and had issue by her, two daughters and three
sons; one of the daughters, Catherine, died young, and the second son,
Ellis, predeceased his father by two years. {0c} His eldest son, Gwilym,
became rector of Llanaber, near Barmouth, and inherited his ancestral
home; his youngest son, Edward, also entered the Church and became rector
of Dolbenmaen and Penmorfa, Carnarvonshire. Edward Wynne’s son was the
rector of Llanferres, Denbighshire, and his son again was the Rev. John
Wynne, of Llandrillo in Edeyrnion, who died only a few years ago.
The following year (1703), he published the present work—his _magnum
opus_—which has secured him a place among the greatest names in Welsh
Literature. It will be noticed that on the title-page to the first
edition the words “_Y Rhann Gyntaf_” (“The First Part”) appear; the
explanation given of this is that Ellis Wynne did actually write a second
part, entitled, _The Vision of Heaven_, but that on hearing that he was
charged with plagiarism in respect of his other Visions, he threw the
manuscript into the fire, and so destroyed what, judging from the title,
might have proved a | 264.4364 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
"The Browning Cyclopaedia."
_SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION._
"Conscientious and painstaking,"--_The Times._
"Obviously a most painstaking work, and in many ways it is very well
done."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"In many ways a serviceable book, and deserves to be widely bought."--_The
Speaker._
"A book of far-reaching research and careful industry... will make this
poet clearer, nearer, and dearer to every reader who systematically uses
his book."--_Scotsman._
"Dr. Berdoe is a safe and thoughtful guide; his work has evidently been a
labour of love, and bears many marks of patient research."--_Echo._
"Students of Browning will find it an invaluable aid."--_Graphic._
"A work suggestive of immense industry."--_Morning Post._
"Erudite and comprehensive."--_Glasgow Herald._
"As a companion to Browning's works the Cyclopaedia will be most valuable;
it is a laborious, if necessary, piece of work, conscientiously performed,
for which present and future readers and students of Browning ought to be
really grateful."--_Nottingham Daily Guardian._
"A monumental labour, and fitting company for the great compositions he
elucidates."--_Rock._
"It is very well that so patient and ubiquitous a reader as Dr. Berdoe
should have written this useful cyclopaedia, and cleared the meaning of
many a dark and doubtful passage of the poet."--_Black and White._
"It is not too much to say that Dr. Berdoe has earned the gratitude of
every reader of Browning, and has materially aided the study of English
literature in one of its ripest developments."--_British Weekly._
"Dr. Berdoe's Cyclopaedia should make all other handbooks
unnecessary."--_Star._
"We are happy to commend the volume to Browning students as the most
ambitious and useful in its class yet executed."--_Notes and Queries._
"A most learned and creditable piece of work. Not a difficulty is
shirked."--_Vanity Fair._
"A monument of industry and devotion. It has really faced difficulties, it
is conveniently arranged, and is well printed and bound."--_Bookman._
"A wonderful help."--_Gentlewoman._
"Can be strongly recommended as one for a favourite corner in one's
library."--_Whitehall Review._
"Exceedingly well done; its interest and usefulness, we think, may pass
without question."--_Publishers' Circular._
"In a singularly industrious and exhaustive manner he has set himself to
make clear the obscure and to accentuate the beautiful in Robert
Browning's poem... must have involved infinite labour and research. It
cannot be doubted that the book will be widely sought for and warmly
appreciated."--_Daily Telegraph._
"Dr. Berdoe tackles every allusion, every proper name, every phase of
thought, besides giving a most elaborate analysis of each poem. He has
produced what we might almost call a monumental work."--_Literary
Opinion._
"This cyclopaedia may certainly claim to be by a long way the most
efficient aid to the study of Browning that has been published, or is
likely to be published.... Lovers of Browning will prize it highly, and
all who wish to understand him will consult it with advantage."--_Baptist
Magazine._
"The work has evidently been one of love, and we doubt whether any one
could have been found better qualified to undertake it."--_Cambridge
Review._
"All readers of Browning will feel indebted to Dr. Berdoe for his
interesting accounts of the historical facts on which many of the dramas
are based, and also for his learned dissertations on 'The Ring and the
Book' and 'Sordello.'"--_British Medical Journal._
"The work is so well done that no one is likely to think of doing it over
again."--_The Critic_ (New York).
"This work reflects the greatest credit on Dr. Berdoe and on the Browning
Society, of which he is so distinguished a member,--it is simply
invaluable."--_The Hawk._
"The Cyclopaedia has at any rate brought his (Browning's) best work well
within the compass of all serious readers of intelligence--Browning made
easy."--_The Month._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA.
By the Same Author.
=BROWNING'S MESSAGE TO HIS TIME. His Religion, Philosophy, and Science.=
With Portrait and Facsimile Letters. Second edition, price 2_s._ 6_d._
_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS._
"Full of admiration and sympathy."--_Saturday Review._
"Much that is helpful and suggestive."--_Scotsman._
"Should have a wide circulation, it is interesting and
stimulative."--_Literary World._
"It is the work of one who, having gained good himself, has made it his
endeavour to bring the same good within the reach of others, and, as such,
it deserves success."--_Cambridge Review._
"We have no hesitation in strongly recommending this little volume to any
who desire to understand the moral and mental attitude of Robert
Browning.... We are much obliged to Dr. Berdoe for his volume."--_Oxford
University Herald._
"Cannot fail to be of assistance to new readers."--_Morning Post._
"The work of a faithful and enthusiastic student is here."--_Nation._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA
_A GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF THE WORKS_
OF ROBERT BROWNING
WITH
Copious Explanatory Notes and References
on all Difficult Passages
BY EDWARD BERDOE
LICENTIATE OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, EDINBURGH; MEMBER OF
THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS, ENGLAND, ETC., ETC.
_Author of "Browning's Message to his Time," "Browning as a Scientific
Poet," etc., etc._
LONDON: SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LTD.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
1897
FIRST EDITION, _December, 1891_.
SECOND EDITION, _March, 1892_.
THIRD EDITION (Revised), _September, 1897_.
I gratefully Dedicate these pages
TO DR. F. J. FURNIVALL
AND MISS E. H. HICKEY,
THE FOUNDERS OF
THE BROWNING SOCIETY.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The demand for a second edition of this work within three months of its
publication is a sufficient proof that such a book meets a want,
notwithstanding the many previous attempts of a more or less partial
character which have been made to explain Browning to "the general." With
the exception of certain superfine reviewers, to whom nothing is
obscure--except such things as they are asked to explain without previous
notice--every one admits that Browning requires more or less elucidation.
It is said by some that I have explained too much, but this might be said
of most commentaries, and certainly of every dictionary. It is difficult
to know precisely where to draw the line. If I am not to explain (say for
lady readers) what is meant by the phrase "_De te fabula narratur_," I
know not why any of the classical quotations should be translated. If
Browning is hard to understand, it must be on account of the obscurity of
his language, of his thought, or the purport of his verses; very often the
objection is made that the difficulty applies to all these. I have not
written for the "learned," but for the people at large. _The Manchester
Guardian_, in a kindly notice of my book, says "the error and marvel of
his book is the supposition that any <DW36> who can only be crutched by
it into an understanding of Browning will ever understand Browning at
all." There are many readers, however, who understand Browning a little,
and I hope that this book will enable them to understand him a great deal
more: though all <DW36>s cannot be turned into athletes, some undeveloped
persons may be helped to achieve feats of strength.
A word concerning my critics. No one can do me a greater service than by
pointing out mistakes and omissions in this work. I cannot hope to please
everybody, but I will do my best to make future editions as perfect as
possible.
E. B.
_March 1892._
PREFACE.
I make no apology for the publication of this work, because some such book
has long been a necessity to any one who seriously proposes to study
Browning. Up to its appearance there was no single book to which the
leader could turn, which gave an exposition of the leading ideas of every
poem, its key-note, the sources--historical, legendary, or fanciful--to
which the poem was due, and a glossary of every difficult word or allusion
which might obscure the sense to such readers as had short memories or
scanty reading. It would be affectation to pretend to believe that every
educated person ought to know, without the aid of such a work as this,
what Browning means by phrases | 264.596435 |
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E-text prepared by Afra Ullah, Sjaani, and Project Gutenberg Distributed
Proofreaders
AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
1910
LIST OF CHAPTERS
CHAPTER
I UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY
II A QUESTION OF "PULL"
III DIANA
IV THE THREE NIECES
V PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
VI THE FLY IN THE BROTH
VII THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS
VIII OPENING THE CAMPAIGN
IX THE VON TAER PEARLS
X MISLED
XI LIMOUSINE
XII FOGERTY
XIII DIANA REVOLTS
XIV A COOL ENCOUNTER
XV A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE
XVI MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN
XVII THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
XVIII A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS
XIX POLITIC REPENTANCE
XX A TELEPHONE CALL
XXI THE UN | 264.693139 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Battleship Boys at Sea
OR
Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy
By
FRANK GEE PATCHIN
Author of The Battleship Boys' First Step Upward,
The Pony Rider Boys Series, Etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Lure of the Battleship 7
II. In Uncle Sam's Navy 27
III. Who Threw the Pie? 35
IV. Piping up Hammocks 43
V. Trying Out Their Grit 50
VI. In the Midst of the Battle 60
VII. The Red-Headed Boy's Surprise 69
VIII. On the Rifle Range 74
IX. Betrayed by a Streak of Red 86
X. Their First Detail 94
XI. On Board a Battleship 102
XII. In the Deck Division 118
XIII. Resenting an Insult 125
XIV. Called Before the Mast 132
XV. A Badly Banged-up Bully 144
XVI. Receiving a Challenge 154
XVII. Proving His Courage 165
XVIII. The Orderly Takes a Header 180
XIX. The Work of an Enemy 193
XX. Out on the Mine Field 200
XXI. Breaking the Record 208
XXII. Buried Three Fathoms Deep 217
XXIII. Heroes to the Rescue 224
XXIV. Conclusion 236
THE BATTLESHIP BOYS AT SEA
CHAPTER I--THE LURE OF THE BATTLESHIP
"That must be the place over there, Sam."
"Where?"
"Just across the street on the next block. I see something in front of
the building that looks like the picture we saw in the post office at
home."
Dan Davis turned to a passing policeman and, respectfully touching his
hat, asked:
"Will you tell us, sir, where we may find the United States Navy
recruiting station?"
The policeman pointed to the building in front of which Dan's eyes had
caught sight of a highly colored lithograph.
"Thank you, sir. Come on, Sam; I was right. That is the place we are
looking for. See that flag up there in the third story window? That's
the flag you and I are going to serve under if we are lucky enough to be
accepted."
Sam Hickey nodded and started after his companion across the street. A
moment later the lads stood before the picture that had attracted their
attention. In the foreground of the picture stood a sailor clad in the
uniform of a seaman in Uncle Sam's Navy, while on beyond him, in the
distant background, lay a white battleship, the Stars and Stripes
floating from her after staff, a line of signal flags fluttering from
the signal halyard just aft of the battleship's navigating bridge. Palm
trees and similar foliage showed it to be a tropical scene.
For several moments the lads stood gazing on the picture with fascinated
interest. Each seemed unable to withdraw his gaze from it. At last, with
a deep sigh, Dan turned his shining eyes upon his young companion.
"Isn't it beautiful, Sam?" he breathed.
"What, the sailor?"
"I was not thinking of the sailor; I was thinking of the ship--the
battleship--and that Flag floating there, the most beautiful Flag in the
world. At least I guess it must be. I've never seen any of the other
flags, except in pictures, but that one is handsome enough for me. Shall
we go upstairs to the recruiting office now?"
"Don't be in a hurry," objected Sam. "I want to look at the picture some
more."
"We can do that afterwards. The first thing is to see whether we shall
be able to enlist. This letter that I got from the station says we have
to be examined, though I don't know just what sort of examination they
will give us."
Sam Hickey still lingered.
"Are you coming, Sam?"
"No."
"Not coming?"
"No; I've changed my mind."
"I don't understand," rejoined Dan, a puzzled expression in his eyes.
"I guess I do not want to enlist. I think I shall go back home to
Piedmont."
"Look here, Sam Hickey, you will do nothing of the sort! We came down
here to enlist in the Navy and that is exactly what we are going to do,
providing they will have us. You say you are going back home. How do you
expect to get there?"
"The way we came--on a train, of course."
Dan smiled grimly.
"I guess not. You forget that we have no money left--that is, not more
than enough with which to buy one more meal."
"I can walk," grumbled Sam.
"No, you cannot. We are three hundred miles from Piedmont. Why do you
wish to back out at this late hour? You were so anxious to enlist, and
now you are talking the other way. Why?"
"I've changed my mind; that's all."
Dan grasped his companion firmly by the arm.
"You come along with me! You have changed your mind too late this time."
Sam hesitated, then reluctantly accompanied his companion up the stairs.
A few moments later, they were knocking at the door of the recruiting
office.
Sam Hickey felt a strong inclination to bolt, and no doubt he would have
done so had it not been for the firm grip on his arm. He ran one hand
nervously through his shock of red hair, shifted his weight from one
foot to the other and muttered something that was unintelligible to his
companion.
But Dan's ears were keenly alert for the response to his summons, and he
straightened up ever so little as he heard footsteps approaching the
door.
It had been the dream of these two young American boys for many months
to join the Navy. They had talked and talked of the day when they should
have arrived at the age that permitted them to make application for
admission to the service. A few weeks before reaching the legal age,
which is seventeen, each had received a letter from a recruiting station
in New York City pointing out the advantages that the service offers to
young Americans.
Correspondence had been immediately opened with the recruiting office,
with the result that the lads made their preparations to go directly to
New York City and present themselves at the recruiting station.
Dan, who lived with his widowed mother, was a clerk in the general store
in his home town; while Sam, an orphan, had been serving an
apprenticeship in a small machine shop. It had been therefore no small
effort for the boys to get together enough money for their expenses to
the metropolis; and, as already stated, they were now practically at the
end of their resources. But this did not discourage them.
"If we are rejected we shall be able to find something to do in New York
that will let us earn enough money to take us back home," Dan had
declared resolutely, his pale face lighting up, his eyes sparkling with
purpose and determination.
"Yes; I had just as lief work in New York as in Piedmont," agreed Sam.
"I hope, Sam, we shall have to do neither."
The door was thrown open abruptly, and the boys found themselves
confronted by a middle-aged man clad in a blue suit. On the right sleeve
he wore three bright red chevrons enclosing a white pilot wheel,
surmounted by a white eagle, showing that he was a quartermaster in the
United States Navy.
"Well, what is it?" he demanded rather brusquely.
"We wish to join the Navy, sir," answered Dan firmly.
The quartermaster surveyed the lads keenly.
"Come inside," he said.
The boys entered the waiting room, where they were directed to seat
themselves at a table. A printed blank form was placed before each.
"Fill out those applications," directed the petty officer who had
admitted them. "If your answers to the questions are satisfactory you
will be asked some further questions; then we shall have you examined."
Having spent three years in high school, after finishing at the grammar
school, the boys found themselves well able to fill out the application
blanks without having to ask questions of the quartermaster. This they
did with much care, giving such facts about themselves as the
application blank demanded.
Sam nudged his companion.
"See that man sitting over there to the left of you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I think he must be a general or something of the sort."
"Humph! There's only one general in the Navy, and he is in the Marine
Corps," answered Dan reprovingly. "I know what that officer is."
"What is he, then, if you know so much?"
"He is a commander."
"How do you know?"
"I know by the three gold stripes on his sleeve. If he had two and a
half stripes there he would be a lieutenant-commander. If he had four he
would be a captain."
Sam looked incredulous.
"How do you happen to know all about that?"
"I read about it in a dictionary. They were all pictured out there. I
know a lot more of them, too, only I'm too busy to tell you about them
now. Have you finished filling out your blank?"
"Not quite."
"Then you had better get busy. If we take too much time it _may_ count
against us. I don't know about it for sure."
For several minutes thereafter the lads wrote industriously. Dan was the
first to | 264.967754 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
THE
INCONSTANT;
A COMEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS;
BY GEORGE FARQUHAR, ESQ.
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKS
BY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,
LONDON.
REMARKS.
This comedy, by a favourite writer, had a reception, on the first night
of its appearance, far inferior to that of his other productions. It
was, with difficulty, saved from condemnation; and the author, in his
preface, has boldly charged some secret enemies with having attempted
its destruction.
Dramatic authors have fewer enemies at the present period, or they
have more humility, than formerly. For now, when their works are
hissed from the stage, they acknowledge they have had a fair trial,
and deserve their fate. Wherefore should an author seek for remote
causes, to account for his failures, when to himself alone, he is
certain ever to impute all his success?
Neither the wit, humour, nor the imitation of nature, in this play,
are of that forcible kind, with which the audience had been usually
delighted by Farquhar; and, that the moral gave a degree of superiority
to this drama, was, in those days, of little consequence: the theatre
was ordained, it was thought, for mere pleasure, nor did any one wish
it should degenerate into instruction.
It may be consolatory to the disappointed authors of the present day,
to find, how the celebrated author of this comedy was incommoded with
theatrical crosses. He was highly offended, that his play was not
admired; still more angry, that there was an empty house, on his sixth
night, and more angry still, that the Opera House, for the benefit of
a French dancer, was, about this time, filled even to the annoyance of
the crowded company. The following are his own words on the occasion:
"It is the prettiest way in the world of despising the French king,
to let him see that we can afford money to bribe his dancers, when he,
poor man, has exhausted all his stock, in buying some pitiful towns and
principalities. What can be a greater compliment to our generous nation,
than to have the lady on her re-tour to Paris, boast of her splendid
entertainment in England: of the complaisance, liberty, and good nature
of a people, who thronged her house so full, that she had not room to
stick a pin; and left a poor fellow, who had the misfortune of being
one of themselves, without one farthing, for half a year's pains he
had taken for their entertainment."
This complaint is curious, on account of the talents of the man who
makes it; and, for the same cause, highly reprehensible. If Farquhar,
thought himself superior to the French dancer, why did he honour her by
a comparison? and, if he wanted bread, why did he not suffer in silence,
rather than insinuate, he should like to receive it, through the medium
of a benefit?
A hundred years of refinement (the exact time since this author wrote)
may have weakened the force of the dramatic pen; but it has, happily,
elevated authors above the servile spirit of dedications, or the meaner
practice, of taking public benefits.
As the moral of this comedy has been mentioned as one of its highest
recommendations, it must be added--that, herein, the author did not
invent, but merely adopt, as his own, an occurrence which took place
in Paris, about that period, just as he has represented it in his last
act. The Chevalier de Chastillon was the man who is personated by young
Mirabel, in this extraordinary event; and the Chevalier's friend, his
betrothed wife, and his beautiful courtesan, are all exactly described
in the characters of Duretete, Oriana, and Lamorce.
Having justly abridged Farquhar of the honour of inventing a moral,
it may be equally just, to make a slight apology for his chagrin
at the slender receipts of his sixth night.--He once possessed the
income, which arose from a captain's commission in the army; and having
prudently conceived that this little revenue would not maintain a wife,
he had resolved to live single, unless chance should bestow on him a
woman of fortune. His person and address were so extremely alluring,
that a woman of family, but of no fortune, conceiving the passion she
felt for him to be love, pretended she possessed wealth, and deceived
him into a marriage, which plunged them both into the utmost poverty.
This admirable dramatist seems to have been born for a dupe. In his
matrimonial distress, he applied to a nobleman, who had professed a
friendship for him, and besought his advice how to surmount his
difficulties: The counsel given, was--"Sell your commission, for
present support, and, before the money for its sale is expended, I will
procure you another." Farquhar complied--and his patron broke his word.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
OLD MIRABEL _Mr. Dowton._
YOUNG MIRABEL _Mr. C. Kemble._
CAPTAIN DURETETE _Mr. Bannister._
DUGARD _Mr. Holland._
PETIT _Mr. De Camp._
BRAVOES--_Messrs. Maddocks, Webb, Evans and Sparks._
ORIANA _Mrs. Young._
BISARRE _Mrs. Jordan._
LAMORCE _Miss Tidswell._
THE INCONSTANT.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_The Street._
_Enter_ DUGARD, _and his Man_, PETIT, _in Riding Habits_.
_Dug._ Sirrah, what's o'clock?
_Petit._ Turned of eleven, sir.
_Dug._ No more! We have rid a swinging pace from Nemours, since two this
morning! Petit, run to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner, at a Lewis d'or
a head, to be ready by one.
_Petit._ How many will there be of you, sir?
_Dug._ Let me see--Mirabel one, Duretete two, myself three----
_Petit._ And I four.
_Dug._ How now, sir? at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad,
you had some freedom, for want of better company, but among my friends,
at Paris, pray remember your distance--Begone, sir! [_Exit_ PETIT.] This
fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic;
I must dispose of him some way else.--Who's here? Old Mirabel, and my
sister!--my dearest sister!
_Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA.
_Oriana._ My Brother! Welcome!
_Dug._ Monsieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to see you.
_Old Mir._ Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your
most humble servant!
_Dug._ Why, sir, you've cast your skin, sure; you're brisk and
gay--lusty health about you--no sign of age, but your silver hairs.
_Old Mir._ Silver hairs! Then they are quicksilver hairs, sir. Whilst
I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver, an' they will. Adsbud,
sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and--no, I can't wench. But Mr.
Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels?
_Dug._ Your son's come home, sir.
_Old Mir._ Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr.
Dugard, what say you?
_Oriana._ Mr. Mirabel returned, sir?
_Dug._ He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two.
_Old Mir._ Swear it, Mr. Dugard, presently swear it.
_Dug._ Sir | 265.097945 |
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Produced by David Thomas
The
Curse of Kehama:
by
Robert Southey.
Καταραι, ως και τα αλεκτρυονονεοττα, οικον αει, οψε κεν επανηξαν
εγκαθισομεναι.
Αποφθ. Ανεκ. του Γυλιελ. του Μητ.
CURSES ARE LIKE YOUNG CHICKEN, THEY ALWAYS COME HOME TO ROOST.
THE THIRD EDITION.
_VOLUME THE SECOND._
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND
BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1812.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES.
This book was originally digitized by Google and is intended for
personal, non-commercial use only.
Original page numbers are given in curly brackets. Footnotes have been
relocated to the end of the book. Passages originally rendered in
small-caps have been changed to all-caps in the text version of this
work.
Alteration: [p. 147] change "gross" to "grass".
CONTENTS
TO
VOLUME SECOND.
13. The Retreat
14. Jaga-Naut
15. The City of Baly
16. The Ancient Sepulchres
17. Baly
18. Kehama's Descent
19. Mount Calasay
20. The Embarkation
21. The World's End
22. The Gate of Padalon
23. Padalon
24. The Amreeta
Notes
Footnotes
THE CURSE OF KEHAMA.
XIII.
THE RETREAT.
{1}
1.
Around her Father's neck the Maiden lock'd
Her arms, when that portentous blow was given;
Clinging to him she heard the dread uproar,
And felt the shuddering shock which ran through Heaven.
Earth underneath them rock'd,
Her strong foundations heaving in commotion,
Such as wild winds upraise in raving Ocean,
As though the solid base were rent asunder.
{2}
And lo! where, storming the astonish'd sky,
Kehama and his evil host ascend!
Before them rolls the thunder,
Ten thousand thousand lightnings round them fly,
Upward the lengthening pageantries aspire,
Leaving from Earth to Heaven a widening wake of fire.
2.
When the wild uproar was at length allay'd,
And Earth, recovering from the shock, was still,
Thus to her father spake the imploring Maid.
Oh! by the love which we so long have borne
Each other, and we ne'er shall cease to bear,..
Oh! by the sufferings we have shar'd,
And must not cease to share,..
One boon I supplicate in this dread hour,
One consolation in this hour of woe!
Thou hast it in thy power, refuse not thou
The only comfort now
That my poor heart can know.
3.
O dearest, dearest Kailyal! with a smile
Of tenderness and sorrow, he replied,
{3}
O best belov'd, and to be lov'd the best
Best worthy,.. set thy duteous heart at rest.
I know thy wish, and let what will betide,
Ne'er will I leave thee wilfully again.
My soul is strengthen'd to endure its pain;
Be thou, in all my wanderings, still my guide;
Be thou, in all my sufferings, at my side.
4.
The Maiden, at those welcome words, imprest
A passionate kiss upon her father's cheek:
They look'd around them, then, as if to seek
Where they should turn, North, South, or East or West,
Wherever to their vagrant feet seem'd best.
But, turning from the view her mournful eyes,
Oh, whither should we wander, Kailyal cries,
Or wherefore seek in vain a place of rest?
Have we not here the Earth beneath our tread,
Heaven overhead,
A brook that winds through this sequester'd glade,
And yonder woods, to yield us fruit and shade!
The little all our wants require is nigh;
Hope we have none,.. why travel on in fear?
We cannot fly from Fate, and Fate will find us here.
{4}
5.
'Twas a fair scene wherein they stood,
A green and sunny glade amid the wood,
And in the midst an aged Banian grew.
It was a goodly sight to see
That venerable tree,
For o'er the lawn, irregularly spread,
Fifty straight columns propt its lofty head;
And many a long depending shoot,
Seeking to strike its root,
Straight like a plummet, grew towards the ground.
Some on the lower boughs, which crost their way,
Fixing their bearded fibres, round and round,
With many a ring and wild contortion wound;
Some to the passing wind at times, with sway
Of gentle motion swung,
Others of younger growth, unmov'd, were hung
Like stone-drops from the cavern's fretted height.
Beneath was smooth and fair to sight,
Nor weeds nor briars deform'd the natural floor,
And through the leafy cope which bower'd it o'er
Came gleams of checquered light.
So like a temple did it seem, that there
A pious heart's first impulse would be prayer.
{5}
6.
A brook, with easy current, murmured near;
Water so cool and clear
The peasants drink not from the humble well,
Which they with sacrifice of rural pride,
Have wedded to the cocoa-grove beside;
Nor tanks of costliest masonry dispense
To those in towns who dwell,
The work of Kings, in their beneficence.
Fed by perpetual springs, a small lagoon,
Pellucid, deep, and still, in silence join'd
And swell'd the passing stream. Like burnish'd steel
Glowing, it lay beneath the eye of noon;
And when the breezes, in their play,
Ruffled the darkening surface, then, with gleam
Of sudden light, around the lotus stem
It rippled, and the sacred flowers that crown
The lakelet with their roseate beauty, ride,
In gentlest waving rock'd, from side to side;
And as the wind upheaves
Their broad and buoyant weight, the glossy leaves
Flap on the twinkling waters, up and down.
7.
They built them here a bower; of jointed cane,
{6}
Strong for the needful use, and light and long
Was the slight frame-work rear'd, with little pain;
Lithe creepers, then, the wicker-sides supply,
And the tall jungle-grass fit roofing gave
Beneath that genial sky.
And here did Kailyal, each returning day,
Pour forth libations from the brook, to pay
The Spirits of her Sires their grateful rite;
In such libations pour'd in open glades,
Beside clear streams and solitary shades,
The Spirits of the virtuous dead delight.
And duly here, to Marriataly's praise,
The Maid, as with an Angel's voice of song,
Pour'd her melodious lays
Upon the gales of even,
And gliding in religious dance along,
Mov'd, graceful as the dark-eyed Nymphs of Heaven,
Such harmony to all her steps was given,
8.
Thus ever, in her Father's doting eye,
Kailyal perform'd the customary rite;
He, patient of his burning pain the while,
Beheld her, and approv'd her pious toil;
And sometimes, at the sight,
{7}
A melancholy smile
Would gleam upon his awful countenance,
He, too, by day and night, and every hour,
Paid to a higher Power his sacrifice;
An offering, not of ghee, or fruit, or rice,
Flower-crown, or blood; but of a heart subdued,
A resolute, unconquer'd fortitude,
An agony represt, a will resign'd,
To her, who, on her secret throne reclin'd,
Amid the milky Sea, by Veeshnoo's side,
Looks with an eye of mercy on mankind.
By the Preserver, with his power endued,
There Voomdavee beholds this lower clime,
And marks the silent sufferings of the good,
To recompense them in her own good time.
9.
O force of faith! O strength of virtuous will!
Behold him, in his endless martyrdom,
Triumphant still!
The Curse still burning in his heart and brain,
And yet doth he remain
Patient the while, and tranquil, and content!
The pious soul hath fram'd unto itself
{8}
A second nature, to exist in pain
As in its own allotted element.
10.
Such strength the will reveal'd had given
This holy pair, such influxes of grace,
That to their solitary resting place
They brought the peace of Heaven.
Yea all around was hallowed! Danger, Fear,
Nor thought of evil ever entered here.
A charm was on the Leopard when he came
Within the circle of that mystic glade;
Submiss he crouch'd before the heavenly maid,
And offered to her touch his speckled side;
Or with arch'd back erect, and bending head,
And eyes half-clos'd for pleasure, would he stand,
Courting the pressure of her gentle hand.
11.
Trampling his path through wood and brake,
And canes which crackling fall before his way,
And tassel-grass, whose silvery feathers play
O'ertopping the young trees,
On comes the Elephant, to slake
{9}
His thirst at noon in yon pellucid springs.
Lo! from his trunk upturn'd, aloft he flings
The grateful shower; and now
Plucking the broad-leav'd bough
Of yonder plane, with waving motion slow,
Fanning the languid air,
He moves it to and fro.
But when that form of beauty meets his sight,
The trunk its undulating motion stops,
From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops,
Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes
To her as if in prayer;
And when she pours her angel voice in song,
Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes,
Till his strong temples, bath'd with sudden dews,
Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse.
12.
Lo! as the voice melodious floats around,
The Antelope draws near,
The Tygress leaves her toothless cubs to hear,
The Snake comes gliding from the secret brake,
Himself in fascination forced along
By that enchanting song;
{10}
The antic Monkies, whose wild gambols late,
When not a breeze wav'd the tall jungle-grass,
Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently
Hang on the cluster'd trees.
All things in wonder and delight are still;
Only at times the Nightingale is heard,
Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird
Her rival strain would try,
A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie;
She only bore her part in powerful sympathy.
13.
Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid!
For never Nymph of Mountain,
Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain,
With a diviner presence fill'd the shade.
No idle ornaments deface
Her natural grace,
Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain,
Ear-drop nor chain, nor arm nor ankle-ring,
Nor trinketry on front, or neck, or breast,
Marring the perfect form: she seem'd a thing
Of Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a child
Of early Nature undefil'd,
{11}
A daughter of the years of innocence.
And therefore all things lov'd her. When she stood
Beside the glassy pool, the fish, that flies
Quick as an arrow from all other eyes,
Hover'd to gaze on her. The mother bird,
When Kailyal's steps she heard,
Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest,
But, hastening to the dear retreat, would fly
To meet and welcome her benignant eye.
14.
Hope we have none, said Kailyal to her Sire.
Said she aright? and had the Mortal Maid
No thoughts of heavenly aid,..
No secret hopes her inmost heart to move
With longings of such deep and pure desire,
As vestal Maids, whose piety is love,
Feel in their extasies, when rapt above,
Their souls unto their heavenly Spouse aspire?
Why else so often doth that searching eye
Roam through the scope of sky?
Why, if she sees a distant speck on high,
Starts there that quick suffusion to her cheek?
'Tis but the Eagle, in his heavenly height;
{12}
Reluctant to believe, she hears his cry,
And marks his wheeling flight,
Then languidly averts her mournful sight.
Why ever else, at morn, that waking sigh,
Because the lovely form no more is nigh
Which hath been present to her soul all night;
And that injurious fear
Which ever, as it riseth, is represt,
Yet riseth still within her troubled breast,
That she no more shall see the Glendoveer!
15.
Hath he forgotten me? The wrongful thought
Would stir within her, and, though still repell'd
With shame and self-reproaches, would recur.
Days after days unvarying come and go,
And neither friend nor foe
Approaches them in their sequestered bower.
Maid of strange destiny! but think not thou
Thou art forgotten now,
And hast no cause for farther hope or fear.
High-fated Maid, thou dost not know
What eyes watch over thee for weal and woe!
Even at this hour,
{13}
Searching the dark decrees divine,
Kehama, in the fulness of his power,
Perceives his thread of fate entwin'd with thine.
The Glendoveer, from his far sphere,
With love that never sleeps, beholds thee here,
And, in the hour permitted, will be near.
Dark Lorrinite on thee hath fix'd her sight,
And laid her wiles, to aid
Foul Arvalan when he shall next appear;
For well she ween'd his Spirit would renew
Old vengeance now, with unremitting hate;
The Enchantress well that evil nature knew,
The accursed Spirit hath his prey in view,
And thus, while all their separate hopes pursue,
All work, unconsciously, the will of Fate.
16.
Fate work'd its own the while. A band
Of Yoguees, as they roam'd the land,
Seeking a spouse for Jaga-Naut their God,
Stray'd to this solitary glade,
And reach'd the bower wherein the Maid abode.
Wondering at form so fair, they deem'd the power
Divine had led them to his chosen bride,
And seiz'd and bore her from her father's side.
XIV.
JAGA-NAUT.
1.
Joy in the city of great Jaga-Naut!
Joy in the seven-headed Idol's shrine!
A virgin-bride his ministers have brought,
A mortal maid, in form and face divine,
Peerless among all daughters of mankind;
Search'd they the world again from East to West,
In endless quest,
Seeking the fairest and the best,
No maid so lovely might they hope to find;..
For she hath breath'd celestial air,
And heavenly food hath been her fare,
And heavenly thoughts and feelings give her face
That heavenly grace.
{15}
Joy in the city of great Jaga-Naut,
Joy in the seven-headed Idol's shrine!
The fairest Maid his Yoguees sought,
A fairer than the fairest have they brought,
A maid of charms surpassing human thought,
A maid divine.
2.
Now bring ye forth the Chariot of the God!
Bring him abroad,
That through the swarming City he may ride;
And by his side
Place ye the Maid of more than mortal grace,
The Maid of perfect form and heavenly face!
Set her aloft in triumph, like a bride
Upon the bridal car,
And spread the joyful tidings wide and far,..
Spread it with trump and voice
That all may hear, and all who hear rejoice,..
The Mighty One hath found his mate! the God
Will ride abroad!
To-night will he go forth from his abode!
Ye myriads who adore him,
Prepare the way before him!
{16}
3.
Uprear'd on twenty wheels elate,
Huge as a Ship, the bridal car appear'd;
Loud creak its ponderous wheels, as through the gate
A thousand Bramins drag the enormous load.
There, thron'd aloft in state,
The image of the seven-headed God
Came forth from his abode; and at his side
Sate Kailyal like a bride;
A bridal statue rather might she seem,
For she regarded all things like a dream,
Having no thought, nor fear, nor will, nor aught
Save hope and faith, that liv'd within her still.
4.
O silent Night, how have they startled thee
With the brazen trumpet's blare!
And thou, O Moon! whose quiet light serene
Filleth wide heaven, and bathing hill and wood,
Spreads o'er the peaceful valley like a flood,
How have they dimm'd thee with the torches' glare,
Which round yon moving pageant flame and flare,
As the wild rout, with deafening song and shout,
Fling their long flashes out,
That, like infernal lightnings, fire the air.
{17}
5.
A thousand pilgrims strain
Arm, shoulder, breast and thigh, with might and main,
To drag that sacred wain,
And scarce can draw along the enormous load.
Prone fall the frantic votaries in its road,
And, calling on the God,
Their self-devoted bodies there they lay
To pave his chariot-way.
On Jaga-Naut they call,
The ponderous Car rolls on, and crushes all.
Through blood and bones it ploughs its dreadful path.
Groans rise unheard; the dying cry,
And death and agony
Are trodden under foot by yon mad throng,
Who follow close, and thrust the deadly wheels along.
6.
Pale grows the Maid at this accursed sight;
The yells which round her rise
Have rous'd her with affright,
And fear hath given to her dilated eyes
A wilder light.
Where shall those eyes be turn'd? she knows not where!
{18}
Downward they dare not look, for there
Is death and horror, and despair;
Nor can her patient looks to Heaven repair,
For the huge Idol over her, in air,
Spreads his seven hideous heads, and wide
Extends their snaky necks on every side;
And all around, behind, before,
The bridal Car, is the raging rout,
With frantic shout, and deafening roar,
Tossing the torches' flames about.
And the double double peals of the drum are there,
And the startling burst of the trumpet's blare;
And the gong, that seems, with its thunders dread,
To stun the living, and waken the dead.
The ear-strings throb as if they were broke,
And the eye-lids drop at the weight of its stroke.
Fain would the Maid have kept them fast,
But open they start at the crack of the blast.
7.
Where art thou, Son of Heaven, Ereenia! where
In this dread hour of horror and despair?
Thinking on him, she strove her fear to quell,
If he be near me, then will all be well;
And, if he reck not for my misery,
{19}
Let come the worst, it matters not to me.
Repel that wrongful thought,
O Maid! thou feelest, but believ'st it not;
It is thine own imperfect nature's fault
That lets one doubt of him arise within.
And this the Virgin knew; and, like a sin,
Repell'd the thought, and still believ'd him true;
And summoned up her spirit to endure
All forms of fear, in that firm trust secure.
8.
She needs that faith, she needs that consolation,
For now the Car hath measured back its track
Of death, and hath re-entered now its station.
There, in the Temple-court, with song and dance,
A harlot-band, to meet the Maid, advance.
The drum hath ceas'd its peals; the trump and gong
Are still; the frantic crowd forbear their yells;
And sweet it was to hear the voice of song,
And the sweet music of their girdle-bells,
Armlets and anklets, that, with chearful sounds
Symphonious tinkled as they wheel'd around.
9.
They sung a bridal measure,
{20}
A song of pleasure,
A hymn of joyaunce and of gratulation.
Go, chosen One, they cried,
Go, happy bride!
For thee the God descends in expectation;
For thy dear sake
He leaves his heaven, O Maid of matchless charms.
Go, happy One, the bed divine partake,
And fill his longing arms!
Thus to the inner fane,
With circling dance and hymeneal strain,
The astonish'd Maid they led,
And there they laid her on the bridal bed.
Then forth they went, and clos'd the Temple-gate,
And left the wretched Kailyal to her fate.
10.
Where art thou, Son of Heaven, Ereenia, where?
From the loathed bed she starts, and in the air
Looks up, as if she thought to find him there!
Then, in despair,
Anguish and agony, and hopeless prayer,
Prostrate she laid herself upon the floor.
There, trembling as she lay,
{21}
The Bramin of the fane advanced
And came to seize his prey.
11.
But as the Priest drew nigh,
A power invisible opposed his way;
Starting, he uttered wildly a death-cry,
And fell. At that the Maid all eagerly
Lifted in hope her head;
She thought her own deliverer had been near;
When lo! with other life re-animate,
She saw the dead arise,
And in the fiendish joy within his eyes,
She knew the hateful Spirit who look'd through
Their specular orbs,.. cloth'd in the flesh of man
She knew the accursed soul of Arvalan.
12.
But not in vain, with the sudden shriek of fear,
She calls Ereenia now; the Glendoveer
Is here! Upon the guilty sight he burst
Like lightning from a cloud, and caught the accurst,
Bore him to the roof aloft, and on the floor
With vengeance dash'd him, quivering there in gore.
{22}
13.
Lo! from the pregnant air,.. heart-withering sight!
There issued forth the dreadful Lorrinite,
Seize him! the Enchantress cried;
A host of Demons at her word appear,
And like tornado winds, from every side
At once, they rush upon the Glendoveer.
Alone against a legion, little here
Avails his single might,
Nor that celestial faulchion, which in fight
So oft had put the rebel race to flight.
There are no Gods on earth to give him aid;
Hemm'd round, he is overpower'd, beat down, and bound,
And at the feet of Lorrinite is laid.
14.
Meantime the scattered members of the slain,
Obedient to her mighty voice, assum'd
Their vital form again,
And that foul Spirit, upon vengeance bent,
Fled to the fleshly tenement.
Lo! here, quoth Lorrinite, thou seest thy foe!
Him in the Ancient Sepulchres, below
The billows of the Ocean, will I lay;
{23}
Gods are there none to help him now, and there
For Man there is no way.
To that dread scene of durance and despair,
Asuras, bear your enemy! I go
To chain him in the Tombs. Meantime do thou,
Freed from thy foe, and now secure from fear,
Son of Kehama, take thy pleasure here.
15.
Her words the accursed race obey'd;
Forth with a sound like rushing winds they fled,
And of all aid from Earth or Heaven bereft,
Alone with Arvalan the Maid was left.
But in that hour of agony, the Maid
Deserted not herself; her very dread
Had calm'd her; and her heart
Knew the whole horror, and its only part.
Yamen, receive me undefil'd! she said,
And seiz'd a torch, and fir'd the bridal bed.
Up ran the rapid flames; on every side
They find their fuel wheresoe'er they spread,
Thin hangings, fragrant gums, and odorous wood,
That pil'd like sacrificial altars stood.
Around they run, and upward they aspire,
And, lo! the huge Pagoda lin'd with fire.
{24}
16.
The wicked Soul, who had assum'd again
A form of sensible flesh, for his foul will,
Still bent on base revenge, and baffled still,
Felt that corporeal shape alike to pain
Obnoxious as to pleasure; forth he flew,
Howling and scorch'd by the devouring flame;
Accursed Spirit! still condemn'd to rue,
The act of sin and punishment the same.
Freed from his loathsome touch, a natural dread
Came on the self-devoted, and she drew
Back from the flames, which now toward her spread,
And, like a living monster, seem'd to dart
Their hungry tongues toward their shrinking prey.
Soon she subdued her heart;
O Father! she exclaim'd, there was no way
But this! and thou, Ereenia, who for me
Sufferest, my soul shall bear thee company.
17.
So having said, she knit
Her body up to work her soul's desire,
And rush at once amid the thickest fire.
A sudden cry withheld her,.. Kailyal, stay!
{25}
Child! Daughter! I am here! the voice exclaims,
And from the gate, unharm'd, through smoke and flames
Like as a God, Ladurlad made his way;
Wrapt his preserving arms around, and bore
His Child, uninjur'd, o'er the burning floor.
XV.
THE CITY OF BALY.
{26}
KAILYAL.
Ereenia!
LADURLAD.
Nay, let no reproachful thought
Wrong his heroic heart! The Evil Powers
Have the dominion o'er this wretched World,
And no good Spirit now can venture here.
KAILYAL.
Alas, my Father! he hath ventur'd here,
And sav'd me from one horror. But the Powers
{27}
Of Evil beat him down, and bore away
To some dread scene of durance and despair,
The Ancient Tombs, methought their Mistress said,
Beneath the ocean-waves: no way for Man
Is there; and Gods, she boasted, there are none
On Earth to help him now.
LADURLAD.
Is that her boast?
And hath she laid him in the Ancient Tombs,
Relying that the Waves will guard him there?
Short-sighted are the eyes of Wickedness,
And all its craft but folly. O, my child!
The Curses of the Wicked are upon me,
And the immortal Deities, who see
And suffer all things for their own wise end,
Have made them blessings to us!
KAILYAL.
Then thou knowest
Where they have borne him?
LADURLAD.
To the Sepulchres
{28}
Of the Ancient Kings, which Baly, in his power,
Made in primeval times; and built above them
A City, like the Cities of the Gods,
Being like a God himself. For many an age
Hath Ocean warr'd against his Palaces,
Till overwhelm'd, they lie beneath the waves,
Not overthrown, so well the Mighty One
Had laid their deep foundations. Rightly said
The Accursed, that no way for Man was there,
But not like Man am I!
1.
Up from the ground the Maid exultant sprung,
And clapp'd her happy hands, in attitude
Of thanks, to Heaven, and flung
Her arms around her Father's neck, and stood
Struggling awhile for utterance, with excess
Of hope and pious thankfulness.
Come.. come! she cried, O let us not delay,..
He is in torments there,.. away!.. away!
2.
Long time they travell'd on; at dawn of day
Still setting forward with the earliest light,
{29}
Nor ceasing from their way
Till darkness clos'd the night.
Short refuge from the noontide heat,
Reluctantly compell'd, the Maiden took;
And ill her indefatigable feet
Could that brief tarriance brook.
Hope kept her up, and her intense desire
Supports that heart which ne'er at danger quails,
Those feet which never tire,
That frame which never fails.
3.
Their talk was of the City of the days
Of old, Earth's wonder once; and of the fame
Of Baly its great founder,.. he whose name
In ancient story, and in poet's praise,
Liveth and flourisheth for endless glory,
Because his might
Put down the wrong, and aye upheld the right.
Till for ambition, as old sages tell,
The mighty Monarch fell:
For he too, having made the World his own,
Then, in his pride, had driven
The Devetas from Heaven,
{30}
And seiz'd triumphantly the Swerga throne.
The Incarnate came before the Mighty One,
In dwarfish stature, and in mien obscure;
The sacred cord he bore,
And ask'd, for Brama's sake, a little boon,
Three steps of Baly's ample reign, no more.
Poor was the boon requir'd, and poor was he
Who begg'd,.. a little wretch it seem'd to be;
But Baly ne'er refus'd a suppliant's prayer.
A glance of pity, in contemptuous mood,
He on the Dwarf cast down,
And bade him take the boon,
And measure where he would.
4.
Lo, Son of giant birth,
I take my grant! the Incarnate power replies.
With his first step he measur'd o'er the Earth,
The second spann'd the skies.
Three paces thou hast granted,
Twice have I set my footstep, Veeshnoo cries,
Where shall the third be planted?
5.
Then Baly knew the God, and at his feet,
{31}
In homage due, he laid his humbled head.
Mighty art thou, O Lord of Earth and Heaven,
Mighty art thou! he said,
Be merciful, and let me be forgiven.
He ask'd for mercy of the merciful,
And mercy for his virtue's sake was shown.
For though he was cast down to Padalon,
Yet there, by Yamen's throne,
Doth Baly sit in majesty and might,
To judge the dead, and sentence them aright.
And forasmuch as he was still the friend
Of righteousness, it is permitted him,
Yearly, from those drear regions to ascend,
And walk the Earth, that he may hear his name
Still hymn'd and honour'd, by the grateful voice
Of humankind, and in his fame rejoice.
6.
Such was the talk they held upon their way,
Of him to whose old City they were bound;
And now, upon their journey, many a day
Had risen and clos'd, and many a week gone round,
And many a realm and region had they past,
When now the Ancient Towers appear'd at last.
{32}
7.
Their golden summits, in the noon-day light,
Shone o'er the dark-green deep that roll'd between;
For domes, and pinnacles, and spires were seen
Peering above the sea,.. a mournful sight!
Well might the sad beholder ween from thence
What works of wonder the devouring wave
Had swallowed there, when monuments so brave
Bore record of their old magnificence.
And on the sandy shore, beside the verge
Of Ocean, here and there, a rock-hewn fane
Resisted in its strength the surf and surge
That on their deep foundations beat in vain.
In solitude the Ancient Temples stood,
Once resonant with instrument and song,
And solemn dance of festive multitude;
Now as the weary ages pass along,
No voice they hear, save of the Ocean flood,
Which roars for ever on the restless shores;
Or, visiting their solitary caves,
The lonely sound of Winds, that moan around
Accordant to the melancholy waves.
8.
With reverence did the travellers see
{33}
The works of ancient days, and silently
Approach the shore. Now on the yellow sand,
Where round their feet the rising surges part,
They stand. Ladurlad's heart
Exulted in his wonderous destiny.
To Heaven he rais'd his hand
In attitude of stern heroic pride;
Oh what a power, he cried,
Thou dreadful Rajah, doth thy Curse impart!
I thank thee now!.. Then turning to the Maid,
Thou see'st how far and wide
Yon Towers extend, he said,
My search must needs be long. Meantime the flood
Will cast thee up thy food,..
And in the Chambers of the Rock by night,
Take thou thy safe abode,
No prowling beast to harm thee, or affright,
Can enter there; but wrap thyself with care
From the foul Bird obscene that thirsts for blood;
For in such caverns doth the Bat delight
To have its haunts. Do thou with stone and shout,
Ere thou liest down at evening, scare them out,
And in this robe of mine involve thy feet.
Duly commend us both to Heaven in prayer,
{34}
Be of good heart, and let thy sleep be sweet.
9.
So saying, he put back his arm, and gave
The cloth which girt his loins, and prest her hand
With fervent love, then down the sloping sand
Advanced into the sea: the coming Wave,
Which knew Kehama's Curse, before his way
Started, and on he went as | 265.289243 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 843. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
A GOOD SUNDAY MORNING'S WORK.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
"It's altogether too absurd!" That was what the schoolmaster said.
"It is a wicked assumption of power!" That was what the minister said.
"It's flying in the face of Providence!" That was what old Mrs. Mehonky
said.
"Them two boys is a couple o' fools, an' they'll git drowned!" That was
what old Captain Silas Witherbee, formerly commander of the steam
oyster-dredge _Lotus Lily_, said.
And really, when you come to think of it, that was the most sensible
remark of the lot. But what people said did not seem to trouble "them
two boys."
"We're going to do it," declared Peter Bright.
"That's what," added Randall Frank.
And so they did. What was it? Well, it was this way. Searsbridge was a
small sea-coast town situated at the head of a bay some four miles long.
There was very little commercial traffic in that bay, for Searsbridge
was a tiny place. A schooner occasionally dropped anchor in the bay when
head winds and ugly seas were raging outside; and it was said that two
or three big ships had run into the shelter of the harbor in days gone
by, and there was a legend that a great Russian ironclad had once
stopped there for a supply of fresh water. But, as a rule, only the
fishermen's boats ran in and out between Porgy Point and Mullet Head.
There was no light at the entrance to the harbor, but there were some of
the sharpest and most dangerous rocks on the coast scattered about the
entrance.
"It'd be a famous place for a wreck," said a visitor one day.
"Why," exclaimed Peter Bright, who was showing him about, "there have
been three wrecks there since I was born."
"And is there no life-saving station?"
"Not nearer than Hartwell, and that's three miles away."
"Well, there ought to be a volunteer crew here, then."
"We generally manage to get a crew together when there's a wreck."
"There ought to be a regular crew, well drilled, and prepared for the
worst."
And that was what led Peter Bright and Randall Frank to talk it all
over and decide to get up a crew. But the other fellows all laughed at
them, and said that there would be a crew on hand when there was any
need for it.
"Yes," said Randall, who always spoke briefly and to the point, "and
before that crew gets afloat lives will be lost."
But the arguments of the two young men did not prevail, and they
therefore came to the determination which called forth the protests of
the schoolmaster, the minister, Mrs. Mehonky, and Captain Silas
Witherbee. But these protests had no influence with the two friends.
"We're going to brace up my boat, and in suspicious weather we're going
to cruise in her off the mouth of the bay to lend aid to vessels in
distress," said Peter, with all the dignity he could command.
And Randall proudly and emphatically added, "That's what."
Peter's boat was by no means so despicable a craft as might have been
supposed from the comments of the neighbors. She had been the dinghy of
a large sailing ship, and was stoutly built for work in lumpy water. The
ship had been wrecked on the coast, and the dinghy had been given to
Peter in payment for his services in helping to save her cargo. The
first thing that the boy did was to put a centre-board in the craft, and
to rig her with a stout mast and a mainsail, cat-boat fashion. Then he
announced that in his opinion he had a boat that would stay out when
some more pretentious vessels would have to go home. Of course she was
not very speedy, but for that Peter did not care a great deal. In light
weather most of the fishermen could put him in their wake, but when they
had to reef he could carry all sail, and drop them to leeward as if they
were so many corks. Peter and Randall now went to work to "brace up" the
_Petrel_, as she was called. They put some extra ribs in her, and built
a small deck before the mast. Then they put an extra row of reef points
in the mainsail, and set up a pair of extra heavy shrouds. Peter also
put a socket in the taffrail for a rowlock, so that in case of having to
run before a heavy sea an oar could be shipped to steer with.
"You know she'll work a good deal better with an oar in running off than
with the rudder," he said.
And Randall sagely answered, "That's what."
By the time the September gales were due the _Petrel_ was ready for
business, and | 265.437883 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
THE
GOLDEN HELM
AND OTHER VERSE
BY
WILFRID WILSON GIBSON
LONDON
ELKIN MAT | 265.53979 |
2023-11-16 18:21:29.7543450 | 599 | 6 |
Produced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
[Illustration: Logo]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
IN THE WORKHOUSE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
The International Suffrage Shop, John St., Strand, W.C.2 (6d.)
Press Notices
"Dull talk none the less offensive because it may have been
life-like."--_Daily Mail._
"The piece though mere talk is strong talk."--_Morning Advertiser._
"The play is clean and cold and humorous. The main value of the piece is
that it is a superb genre picture. One or two of the flashes from this
strange, generally unknown world are positive sparks of
life."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
"I found it interesting and convincing; but then I am prepared to
believe that our laws always will be rotten till lawyers are
disqualified from sitting in Parliament."--_Reynolds'._
"The masculine portion of the audience walked with heads abashed in the
_entr'acte_; such things had been said upon the stage that they were
suffused with blushes."--_Standard._
"Delicate matters were discussed with much knowledge and some
tact."--_Morning Post._
"'In the Workhouse' reminds us forcibly of certain works of M. Brieux,
which plead for reform by painting a terrible, and perhaps overcharged,
picture of things as they are.... The presence of the idiot girl helps
to point another moral in Mrs. Nevinson's arraignment, and is therefore
artistically justifiable; and the more terrible it appears the better
have the author and the actress done their work.... Such is the power of
the dramatic pamphlet, sincerely written and sincerely acted. There is
nothing to approach it in directness and force. It sweeps all mere
prettiness into oblivion."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"It is one of the strongest indictments of our antiquated laws relating
to married women. A man seated behind the present writer called the play
immoral! and as Mrs. Nevinson says in her preface to the published
edition, the only apology she makes for its realism is that it is
true."--_Christian Commonwealth._
"The whole thing left an unpleasant taste."--_Academy._
NOTE.--Two years after this piece was given by the _Pioneer Players_ the
law was altered.
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
AND OTHER SKETCHES OF THE LIFE OF THE POOR
BY
MARGARET WYNNE NEVINSON
L.L.A.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray.
Thou knowest Who | 265.774385 |
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Produced by Pat McCoy, Curtis Weyant 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.)
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
A ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUTHWEST," "LAFITTE," "BURTON," &c.
"There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kyd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
"So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day,
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it led the way."
H. F. Gould.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1839.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
By HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CAPT | 265.858281 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon
in an extended version,also linking to free sources for
education worldwide... MOOC's, educational materials,...)
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
STUDIES OF HAND AND SOUL
IN THE FAR EAST
BY
LAFCADIO HEARN
LECTURER ON ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE
IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF JAPAN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
1897
CONTENTS
I. A LIVING GOD
II. OUT OF THE STREET
III. NOTES OF A TRIP TO KYŌTO
IV. DUST
V. ABOUT FACES EN JAPANESE ART
VI. NINGYŌ-NO-HAKA
VII. IN ŌSAKA
VIII. BUDDHIST ALLUSIONS IN JAPANESE FOLK-SONG
IX. NIRVANA
X. THE REBIRTH OF KATSUGORŌ
XI. WITHIN THE CIRCLE
GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
I
A LIVING GOD
I
Of whatever dimension, the temples or shrines of pure Shintō are all
built in the same archaic style. The typical shrine is a windowless
oblong building of unpainted timber, with a very steep overhanging
roof; the front is the gable end; and the upper part of the perpetually
closed doors is wooden lattice-work,--usually a grating of bars
closely set and crossing each other at right angles. In most cases
the structure is raised slightly above the ground on wooden pillars;
and the queer peaked façade, with its visor-like apertures and the
fantastic projections of beam-work above its gable-angle, might remind
the European traveler of certain old Gothic forms of dormer. There is
no artificial color. The plain wood[1] soon turns, under the action of
rain and sun, to a natural grey, varying according to surface exposure
from the silvery tone of birch bark to the sombre grey of basalt. So
shaped and so tinted, the isolated country _yashiro_ may seem less like
a work of joinery than a feature of the scenery,--a rural form related
to nature as closely as rocks and trees,--a something that came into
existence only as a manifestation of Ohotsuchi-no-Kami, the Earth-god,
the primeval divinity of the land.
Why certain architectural forms produce in the beholder a feeling of
weirdness is a question about which I should like to theorize some
day: at present I shall venture only to say that Shinto shrines evoke
such a feeling. It grows with familiarity instead of weakening; and a
knowledge of popular beliefs is apt to intensify it. We have no English
words by which these queer shapes can be sufficiently described,--much
less any language able to communicate the peculiar impression which
they make. Those Shinto terms which we loosely render by the words
"temple" and "shrine" are really untranslatable;--I mean that the
Japanese ideas attaching to them cannot be conveyed by translation. The
so-called "august house" of the Kami is not so much a temple, in the
classic meaning of the term, as it is a haunted room, a spirit-chamber,
a ghost-house; many of the lesser divinities being veritably
ghosts,--ghosts of great warriors and heroes and rulers and teachers,
who lived and loved and died hundreds or thousands of years ago. I
fancy that to the Western mind the word "ghost-house" will convey,
better than such terms as "shrine" and "temple," some vague notion of
the strange character of the Shinto _miya_ or _yashiro,_--containing
in its perpetual dusk nothing more substantial than symbols or tokens,
the latter probably of paper. Now the emptiness behind the visored
front is more suggestive than anything material could possibly be;
and when you remember that millions of people during thousands of
years have worshipped | 265.872284 |
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Produced by Michael McDermott, from scans obtained at the
Internet Archive
WORKS OF MARTIN LUTHER
WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES
VOLUME II
PHILADELPHIA
A. J. HOLMAN Company
1916
Copyright, 1915, by
A. J. HOLMAN Company
WORKS OF MARTIN LUTHER
CONTENTS
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BLESSED SACRAMENT
AND CONCERNING THE BROTHERHOODS (1519).
Introduction (J. J. Schindel)
Translation (J. J. Schindel)
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BAN (1520).
Introduction (J. J. Schindel)
Translation (J. J. Schindel)
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CHRISTIAN NOBILITY (1520).
Introduction (C. M. Jacobs)
Translation (C. M. Jacobs)
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY OF THE CHURCH (1520).
Introduction (A. T. W. Steinhaeuser)
Translation (A. T. W. Steinhaeuser)
A TREATISE ON CHRISTIAN LIBERTY (1520).
Introduction (W. A. Lambert)
Translation (W. A. Lambert)
A BRIEF EXPLANATION OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS,
THE CREED, AND THE LORD'S PRAYER (1520).
Introduction (C. M. Jacobs)
Translation (C. M. Jacobs)
THE EIGHT WITTENBERG SERMONS (1522).
Introduction (A. Steimle)
Translation (A. Steimle)
THAT DOCTRINES OF MEN ARE TO BE REJECTED (1522).
Introduction (W. A. Lambert)
Translation (W. A. Lambert)
A TREATISE CONCERNING THE BLESSED SACRAMENT OF THE HOLY AND TRUE BODY
OF CHRIST AND CONCERNING THE BROTHERHOODS
1519
INTRODUCTION
This treatise belongs to a series of four which appeared in the latter
half of the year 1519, the others treating of the Ban, Penance, and
Baptism. The latter two with our treatise form a trilogy which Luther
dedicates to the Duchess Margaret of Braunschweig and Luneburg.
He undertakes the work, as he says, "because there are so many
troubled and distressed ones--and I myself have had the
experience--who do not know what the holy sacraments, full of all
grace, are, nor how to use them, but, alas! presume upon quieting
their consciences with their works, instead of seeking peace in God's
grace through the holy sacrament; so completely are the holy
sacraments obscured and withdrawn from us by the teaching of men."[1]
In a letter to Spalatin[2] of December 18, 1519, he says that no one
need expect treatises from him on the other sacraments, since he
cannot acknowledge them as such.
A copy from the press of John Grunenberg of Wittenberg reached Duke
George of Saxony by December 24, 1519, who on December 27th already
entered his protest against it with the Elector Frederick and the
Bishops of Meissen and Merseburg[3]. Duke George took exception
particularly to Luther's advocacy of the two kinds in the
Communion[4]. This statement of Luther, however, was but incidental to
his broad and rich treatment of the subject of the treatise.
It was Luther's first extended statement of his view of the Lord's
Supper. As such it is very significant, not only because of what he
says, but also because of what he does not say. There is no reference
at all to that which was then distinctive of the Church's doctrine,
the sacrifice of the mass. Luther has already abandoned this position,
but is either too loyal a church-man to attack it or has not as yet
found an evangelical interpretation of the idea of sacrifice in the
mass, such as he gives us in the later treatise on the New
Testament[5]. However, already in this treatise he gives us the
antidote for the false doctrine of sacrifice in the emphasis laid upon
faith, on which all depends[6]. The object of this faith, however, is
not yet stated to be the promise of the forgiveness of sins contained
in the Words of Institution, which are a new and eternal testament[7].
The treatise shows the influence of the German mystics[8] on Luther's
thought, but much more of the Scriptures which furnish him with
argument and illustration for his mystical conceptions. Christ's
natural body is made of less importance than the spiritual body[9],
the communion of saints; just as in the later treatise on the New
Testament the stress is placed on the Words of Institution with their
promise of the forgiveness of sins. Luther does not try to explain
philosophically what is inexplicable, but is content to accept on
faith the act of the presence of Christ in the sacrament, "how and
where,--we leave to Him."[10]
Of interest is the emphasis on the spiritual body, the communion of
saints. Luther knows that although excommunication is exclusion from
external communion | 265.944184 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Charlie Howard, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
Uniform with British Orations
AMERICAN ORATIONS, to illustrate American Political
History, edited, with introductions, by ALEXANDER
JOHNSTON, Professor of Jurisprudence and Political
Economy in the College of New Jersey. 3 vols., 16 mo,
$3.75.
PROSE MASTERPIECES FROM MODERN ESSAYISTS, comprising
single specimen essays from IRVING, LEIGH HUNT,
LAMB, DE QUINCEY, LANDOR, SYDNEY SMITH, THACKERAY,
EMERSON, ARNOLD, MORLEY, HELPS, KINGSLEY,
RUSKIN, LOWELL, CARLYLE, MACAULAY, FROUDE, FREEMAN,
GLADSTONE, NEWMAN, LESLIE STEPHEN. 3 vols., 16 mo,
bevelled boards, $3.75 and $4.50.
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON
REPRESENTATIVE
BRITISH ORATIONS
WITH
INTRODUCTIONS AND EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
CHARLES KENDALL ADAMS
_Videtisne quantum munus sit oratoris historia?_
—CICERO, _DeOratore_, ii, 15
✩✩
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1884
COPYRIGHT
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1884.
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
New York
CONTENTS.
PAGE
WILLIAM PITT 1
WILLIAM PITT 19
ON HIS REFUSAL TO NEGOTIATE WITH NAPOLEON BONAPARTE; HOUSE
OF COMMONS, FEBRUARY 3, 1800.
CHARLES JAMES FOX 99
CHARLES JAMES FOX 108
ON THE REJECTION OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE’S OVERTURES OF
PEACE; HOUSE OF COMMONS, FEBRUARY 3, 1800.
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 176
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 185
IN BEHALF OF FREE SPEECH. ON THE TRIAL OF JEAN PELTIER,
ACCUSED OF LIBELLING NAPOLEON BONAPARTE; COURT OF
KING’S BENCH, FEBRUARY 21, 1803.
LORD ERSKINE 262
LORD ERSKINE 273
ON THE LIMITATIONS OF FREE SPEECH; DELIVERED IN 1797
ON THE TRIAL OF WILLIAMS FOR PUBLICATION OF PAINE’S
“AGE OF REASON.”
WILLIAM PITT.
The younger Pitt was the second son of Lord Chatham, and was seven
years of age when his father in 1766 was admitted to the peerage. The
boy’s earliest peculiarity was an absorbing ambition to become his
father’s successor as the first orator of the day. His health, however,
was so delicate as to cause the gravest apprehensions. Stanhope tells
us that before he was fourteen “half of his time was lost through ill
health,” and that his early life at Cambridge was “one long disease.”
There is still extant a remarkable letter that reveals better than any
thing else the fond hopes of the father and the physical discouragement
as well as the mental aspirations of the son. Chatham wrote: “Though
I indulge with inexpressible delight the thought of your returning
health, I cannot help being a little in pain lest you should make more
haste than good speed to be well. How happy the task, my noble, amiable
boy, to caution you only against pursuing too much all those liberal
and praiseworthy things, to which less happy natures are perpetually
to be spurred and driven. I will not tease you with too long a lecture
in favor of inaction and a competent stupidity, your two best tutors
and companions at present. You have time to spare; consider, there
is but the Encyclopædia, and when you have mastered that, what will
remain?” The intimations of precocity here given were fully justified
by the extraordinary progress made by the boy notwithstanding his
bodily ailments. He entered the University of Cambridge at fourteen,
and such was his scholarship at that time that his tutor wrote: “It is
no uncommon thing for him to read into English six or eight pages of
Thucydides which he had not previously seen, without more than two or
three mistakes, and sometimes without even one.”
At the university, where he remained nearly seven years, his course
of study was carried on strictly in accordance with his father’s
directions and was somewhat peculiar. His most ardent devotion was
given to the classics; and his method was that to which his father
always attributed the extraordinary copiousness and richness of his
own language. After looking over a passage so as to become familiar
with the author’s thought, he strove to render it rapidly into elegant
and idiomatic English, with a view to reproducing it with perfect
exactness and in the most felicitous form. This method he followed for
years till, according to the testimony of his tutor, Dr. Prettyman,
when he had reached the age of twenty, “there was scarcely a Greek or
Latin writer of any eminence _the whole of whose works_ Mr. Pitt had
not read to him in this thorough and discriminating manner.” This was
the laborious way in which he acquired that extraordinary and perhaps
unrivalled gift of pouring out for hour after hour an unbroken stream
of thought without ever hesitating for a word or recalling a phrase
or sinking into looseness or inaccuracy of expression. The finest
passages even of the obscurer poets he copied with care and stored
away in his memory; and thus he was also qualified for that aptness of
quotation for which his oratory was always remarkable.
With his classical studies Pitt united an unusual aptitude and
fondness for the mathematics and for logic. To both of these he gave
daily attention, and before he left the university, according to the
authority above quoted, he was master in mathematics of every thing
usually known by young men who obtain the highest academical honors.
In logic, Aristotle was his master, and he early acquired the habit
of applying the principles and methods of that great logician to a
critical examination of all the works he studied and the debates he
witnessed. It was probably this course of study which gave him his
unrivalled power in reply. While still at Cambridge it was a favorite
employment to compare the great speeches of antiquity in point of
logical accuracy, and to point out the manner in which the reasoning
of the orator could be met and answered. The same habit followed him
to London and into Parliament. His biographers dwell upon the fact,
that whenever he listened to a debate he was constantly employed in
detecting illogical reasoning and in pointing out to those near him
how this argument and that could easily be answered. Before he became
a member of Parliament, he was in the habit of spending much time in
London and in listening to the debates on the great subjects then
agitating the nation. But the speeches of his father and of Burke, of
Fox, and of Sheridan seemed to interest him chiefly as an exercise for
his own improvement. His great effort was directed to the difficult
process of retaining the long train of argument in his mind, of
strengthening it, and of pointing out and refuting the positions that
seemed to him weak.
It would be incorrect to leave the impression that these severe courses
of study were not intermingled with studies in English literature,
rhetoric, and history. We are told that “he had the finest passages
of Shakespeare by heart,” that “he read the best historians with
care,” that “his favorite models of prose style were Middleton’s Life
of Cicero, and the historical writings of Bolingbroke,” and that
“on the advice of his father, for the sake of a copious diction, he
made a careful study of the sermons of Dr. Barrow.” Making all due
allowance for the exaggerative enthusiasm of biographers, we are still
forced to the belief that no other person ever entered Parliament with
acquirements and qualifications for a great career equal on the whole
to those of the younger Pitt.
The expectations formed of him were not disappointed. It has frequently
happened that members of Parliament have attained to great and
influential careers after the most signal failures as speakers in
their early efforts. But no such failure awaited Pitt. He entered
the House of Commons in 1781, at the age of twenty-two, and became a
member of the opposition to Lord North, under the leadership of Burke
and Fox. His first speech was in reply to Lord Nugent on the subject
of economic reform, a matter that had been brought forward by Burke.
Pitt had been asked to speak on the question; but, although he had
hesitated in giving his answer, he had determined not to participate in
the debate. His answer, however, was misunderstood, and therefore at
the close of a speech by Lord Nugent, he was vociferously called upon
by the Whig members of the House. Though taken by surprise, he finally
yielded and with perfect self-possession began what was probably the
most successful _first_ speech ever given in the House of Commons.
Unfortunately it was not reported and has not been preserved. But
contemporaneous accounts of the impression it made are abundant. Not
only was it received with enthusiastic applause from every part of the
House; but Burke greeted him with the declaration that he was “not
merely a chip of the old block, but the old block itself.” When some
one remarked that Pitt promised to be one of the first speakers ever
heard in Parliament, Fox replied, “He is so already.” This was at the
proudest era of British eloquence, and when Pitt was but twenty-two.
During the session of 1781–82 the powers of Burke, Fox, and Pitt
were united in a strenuous opposition to the administration of Lord
North. After staggering under their blows for some weeks, the ministry
fell, and Lord North was succeeded by Rockingham in February of 1782.
Rockingham’s ministry, however, was terminated by the death of its
chief after a short period of only thirteen weeks. Lord Shelburne
was appointed his successor, and he chose Pitt as the Chancellor of
the Exchequer and leader of the House of Commons. Thus Burke and
Fox were passed by, and not only the responsible leadership of the
Commons, but also the finances of the empire, were entrusted to a
youth of twenty-three. The reason of this preference certainly was
not an acknowledged pre-eminence of Pitt; but rather in the attitude
he had assumed in the course of his attacks on the administration
of North. He had not inveighed against the king, but had attached
all the responsibility of mismanagement to the ministry, where the
Constitution itself places it. Fox, on the other hand, had allowed
himself to be carried forward by the impetuosity of his nature, and had
placed the responsibility where we now know it belonged—upon George
III. The consequence had been that the enraged king would not listen
to the promotion of Fox, though by constitutional usage he was clearly
entitled to recognition. That Fox was offended was not singular, but it
is impossible even for his most ardent admirers to justify the course
he now determined to take. He had been the most bitter opponent of
Lord North. He had denounced him as “the most infamous of mankind,”
and as “the greatest criminal of the state.” He had declared of his
ministry: “From the moment I should make any terms with one of them, I
should rest satisfied to be called the most infamous of mankind.” He
had said only eleven months before: “I could not for a moment think of
a coalition with men who, in every public and private transaction as
ministers, have shown themselves void of every principle of honor and
honesty.”[A] And yet, notwithstanding these philippics, which almost | 269.161376 |
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BUTTERED SIDE DOWN
STORIES
BY
EDNA FERBER
MARCH, 1912
FOREWORD
"And so," the story writers used to say, "they lived happily ever after."
Um-m-m--maybe. After the glamour had worn off, and the glass slippers
were worn out, did the Prince never find Cinderella's manner redolent of
the kitchen hearth; and was it never necessary that he remind her to be
more careful of her finger-nails and grammar? After Puss in Boots had
won wealth and a wife for his young master did not that gentleman often
fume with chagrin because the neighbors, perhaps, refused to call on the
lady of the former poor miller's son?
It is a great risk to take with one's book-children. These stories make
no such promises. They stop just short of the phrase of the old story
writers, and end truthfully, thus: And so they lived.
E. F.
CONTENTS
I. THE FROG AND THE PUDDLE
II. THE MAN WHO CAME BACK
III. WHAT SHE WORE
IV. A BUSH LEAGUE HERO
V. THE KITCHEN SIDE OF THE DOOR
VI. ONE OF THE OLD GIRLS
VII. MAYMEYS FROM CUBA
VIII. THE LEADING LADY
IX. THAT HOME-TOWN FEELING
X. THE HOMELY HEROINE
XI. SUN DRIED
XII. WHERE THE CAR TURNS AT 18TH
BUTTERED SIDE DOWN
I
THE FROG AND THE PUDDLE
Any one who has ever written for the magazines (nobody could devise a
more sweeping opening; it includes the iceman who does a humorous article
on the subject of his troubles, and the neglected wife next door, who
journalizes) knows that a story the scene of which is not New York is
merely junk. Take Fifth Avenue as a framework, pad it out to five
thousand words, and there you have the ideal short story.
Consequently I feel a certain timidity in confessing that I do not know
Fifth Avenue from Hester Street when I see it, because I've never seen
it. It has been said that from the latter to the former is a ten-year
journey, from which I have gathered that they lie some miles apart. As
for Forty-second Street, of which musical comedians carol, I know not if
it be a fashionable shopping thoroughfare or a factory district.
A confession of this kind is not only good for the soul, but for the
editor. It saves him the trouble of turning to page two.
This is a story of Chicago, which is a first cousin of New York, although
the two are not on chummy terms. It is a story of that part of Chicago
which lies east of Dearborn Avenue and south of Division Street, and
which may be called the Nottingham curtain district.
In the Nottingham curtain district every front parlor window is
embellished with a "Rooms With or Without Board" sign. The curtains
themselves have mellowed from their original
department-store-basement-white to a rich, deep tone of Chicago smoke,
which has the notorious London variety beaten by several shades. Block
after block the two-story-and-basement houses stretch, all grimy and
gritty and looking sadly down upon the five square feet of mangy grass
forming the pitiful front yard of each. Now and then the monotonous line
of front stoops is broken by an outjutting basement delicatessen shop.
But not often. The Nottingham curtain district does not run heavily to
delicacies. It is stronger on creamed cabbage and bread pudding.
Up in the third floor back at Mis' Buck's (elegant rooms $2.50 and up a
week. Gents preferred) Gertie was brushing her hair for the night. One
hundred strokes with a bristle brush. Anyone who reads the beauty column
in the newspapers knows that. There was something heroic in the sight of
Gertie brushing her hair one hundred strokes before going to bed at
night. Only a woman could understand her doing it.
Gertie clerked downtown on State Street, in a gents' glove department. A
gents' glove department requires careful dressing on the part of its
clerks, and the manager, in selecting them, is particular about choosing
"lookers," with especial attention to figure, hair, and finger nails.
Gertie was a looker. Providence had taken care of that. But you cannot
leave your hair and finger nails to Providence. They demand coaxing with
a bristle brush and an orangewood stick.
Now clerking, as Gertie would tell you, is fierce on the feet. And when
your feet are tired you are tired all over. Gertie's feet were tired
every night. About eight-thirty she longed to peel off her clothes, drop
them in a heap on the floor, and tumble, unbrushed, unwashed,
unmanicured, into bed. She never did it.
Things had been particularly trying to-night. After washing out three
handkerchiefs and pasting them with practised hand over the mirror,
Gertie had taken off her shoes and discovered a hole the size of a silver
quarter in the heel of her left stocking. Gertie had a country-bred
horror of holey stockings. She darned the hole, yawning, her aching feet
pressed against the smooth, cool leg of the iron bed. That done, she had
had the colossal courage to wash her face, slap cold cream on it, and
push back the cuticle around her nails.
Seated huddled on the side of her thin little iron bed, Gertie was
brushing her hair bravely, counting the strokes somewhere in her
sub-conscious mind and thinking busily all the while of something else.
Her brush rose, fell, swept downward, rose, fell, rhythmically.
"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety---- Oh, darn it! What's
the use!" cried Gertie, and hurled the brush across the room with a crack.
She sat looking after it with wide, staring eyes until the brush blurred
in with the faded red roses on the carpet. When she found it doing that
she got up, wadded her hair viciously into a hard bun in the back instead
of braiding it carefully as usual, crossed the room (it wasn't much of a
trip), picked up the brush, and stood looking down at it, her under lip
caught between her teeth. That is the humiliating part of losing your
temper and throwing things. You have to come down to picking them up,
anyway.
Her lip still held prisoner, Gertie tossed the brush on the bureau,
fastened her nightgown at the throat with a safety pin, turned out the
gas and crawled into bed.
Perhaps the hard bun at the back of her head kept her awake. She lay
there with her eyes wide open and sleepless, staring into the darkness.
At midnight the Kid Next Door came in whistling, like one unused to
boarding-house rules. Gertie liked him for that. At the head of the
stairs he stopped whistling and came softly into his own third floor back
just next to Gertie's. Gertie liked him for that, too.
The two rooms had been one in the fashionable days of the Nottingham
curtain district, long before the advent of Mis' Buck. That thrifty
lady, on coming into possession, had caused a flimsy partition to be run
up, slicing the room in twain and doubling its rental.
Lying there Gertie could hear the Kid Next Door moving about getting
ready for bed and humming "Every Little Movement Has a Meaning of Its
Own" very lightly, under his breath. He polished his shoes briskly, and
Gertie smiled there in the darkness of her own room in sympathy. Poor
kid, he had his beauty struggles, too.
Gertie had never seen the Kid Next Door, although he had come four months
ago. But she knew he wasn't a grouch, because he alternately whistled
and sang off-key tenor while dressing in the morning. She had also
discovered that his bed must run along the same wall against which her
bed was pushed. Gertie told herself that there was something almost
immodest about being able to hear him breathing as he slept. He had
tumbled into bed with a little grunt of weariness.
Gertie lay there another hour, staring into the darkness. Then she began
to cry softly, lying on her face with her head between her arms. The
cold cream and the salt tears mingled and formed a slippery paste.
Gertie wept on because she couldn't help it. The longer she wept the
more difficult her sobs became, until finally they bordered on the
hysterical. They filled her lungs until they ached and reached her
throat with a force that jerked her head back.
"Rap-rap-rap!" sounded sharply from the head of her bed.
Gertie stopped sobbing, and her heart stopped beating. She lay tense and
still, listening. Everyone knows that spooks rap three times at the head
of one's bed. It's a regular high-sign with them.
"Rap-rap-rap!"
Gertie's skin became goose-flesh, and coldwater effects chased up and
down her spine.
"What's your trouble in there?" demanded an unspooky voice so near that
Gertie jumped. "Sick?"
It was the Kid Next Door.
"N-no, I'm not sick," faltered Gertie, her mouth close to the wall. Just
then a belated sob that had stopped halfway when the raps began hustled
on to join its sisters. It took Gertie by surprise, and brought prompt
response from the other side of the wall.
"I'll bet I scared you green. I didn't mean to, but, on the square, if
you're feeling sick, a little nip of brandy will set you up. Excuse my
mentioning it, girlie, but I'd do the same for my sister. I hate like
sin to hear a woman suffer like that, and, anyway, I don't know whether
you're fourteen or forty, so it's perfectly respectable. I'll get the
bottle and leave it outside your door."
"No you don't!" answered Gertie in a hollow voice, praying meanwhile that
the woman in the room below might be sleeping. "I'm not sick, honestly
I'm not. I'm just as much obliged, and I'm dead sorry I woke you up with
my blubbering. I started out with the soft pedal on, but things got away
from me. Can you hear me?"
"Like a phonograph. Sure you couldn't use a sip of brandy where it'd do
the most good?"
"Sure."
"Well, then, cut out the weeps and get your beauty sleep, kid. He ain't
worth sobbing over, anyway, believe me."
"He!" snorted Gertie indignantly. "You're cold. There never was
anything in peg-tops that could make me carry on like the heroine of the
Elsie series."
"Lost your job?"
"No such luck."
"Well, then, what in Sam Hill could make a woman----"
"Lonesome!" snapped Gertie. "And the floorwalker got fresh to-day. And
I found two gray hairs to-night. And I'd give my next week's pay
envelope to hear the double click that our front gate gives back home."
"Back home!" echoed the Kid Next Door in a dangerously loud voice. "Say,
I want to talk to you. If you'll promise you won't get sore and think
I'm fresh, I'll ask you a favor. Slip on a kimono and we'll sneak down
to the front stoop and talk it over. I'm as wide awake as a chorus girl
and twice as hungry. I've got two apples and a box of crackers. Are you
on?"
Gertie snickered. "It isn't done in our best sets, but I'm on. I've got
a can of sardines and an orange. I'll be ready in six minutes."
She was, too. She wiped off the cold cream and salt tears with a dry
towel, did her hair in a schoolgirl braid and tied it with a big bow, and
dressed herself in a black skirt and a baby blue dressing sacque. The
Kid Next Door was waiting outside in the hall. His gray sweater covered
a multitude of sartorial deficiencies. Gertie stared at him, and he
stared at Gertie in the sickly blue light of the boarding-house hall, and
it took her one-half of one second to discover that she liked his mouth,
and his eyes, and the way his hair was mussed.
"Why, you're only a kid!" whispered the Kid Next Door, in surprise.
Gertie smothered a laugh. "You're not the first man that's been deceived
by a pig-tail braid and a baby blue waist. I could locate those two gray
hairs for you with my eyes shut and my feet in a sack. Come on, boy.
These Robert W. Chambers situations make me nervous."
Many earnest young writers with a flow of adjectives | 269.254126 |
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Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
THE END OF THE TETHER
By Joseph Conrad
I
For a long time after the course of the steamer _Sofala_ had been
altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
brightness.
Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.
He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
been on these coasts for the last three years. From Low Cape to Malantan
the distance was fifty miles, six hours' steaming for the old ship with
the tide, or | 269.255055 |
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Produced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
[Illustration: Logo]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
IN THE WORKHOUSE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
The International Suffrage Shop, John St., Strand, W.C.2 (6d.)
Press Notices
"Dull talk none the less offensive because it may have been
life-like."--_Daily Mail._
"The piece though mere talk is strong talk."--_Morning Advertiser._
"The play is clean and cold and humorous. The main value of the piece is
that it is a superb genre picture. One or two of the flashes from this
strange, generally unknown world are positive sparks of
life."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
"I found it interesting and convincing; but then I am prepared to
believe that our laws always will be rotten till lawyers are
disqualified from sitting in Parliament."--_Reynolds'._
"The masculine portion of the audience walked with heads abashed in the
_entr'acte_; such things had been said upon the stage that they were
suffused with blushes."--_Standard._
"Delicate matters were discussed with much knowledge and some
tact."--_Morning Post._
"'In the Workhouse' reminds us forcibly of certain works of M. Brieux,
which plead for reform by painting a terrible, and perhaps overcharged,
picture of things as they are.... The presence of the idiot girl helps
to point another moral in Mrs. Nevinson's arraignment, and is therefore
artistically justifiable; and the more terrible it appears the better
have the author and the actress done their work.... Such is the power of
the dramatic pamphlet, sincerely written and sincerely acted. There is
nothing to approach it in directness and force. It sweeps all mere
prettiness into oblivion."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"It is one of the strongest indictments of our antiquated laws relating
to married women. A man seated behind the present writer called the play
immoral! and as Mrs. Nevinson says in her preface to the published
edition, the only apology she makes for its realism is that it is
true."--_Christian Commonwealth._
"The whole thing left an unpleasant taste."--_Academy._
NOTE.--Two years after this piece was given by the _Pioneer Players_ the
law was altered.
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
AND OTHER SKETCHES OF THE LIFE OF THE POOR
BY
MARGARET WYNNE NEVINSON
L.L.A.
The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray.
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth--
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.
RUDYARD KIPLING.
LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1
Almost the whole of these sketches have appeared in the
_Westminster Gazette_; the last two were published in the _Daily
News_, and "Widows Indeed" and "The Runaway" in the _Herald_. It is
by the courtesy of the Editors of the above papers that they are
reproduced in book form.
_First published in 1918_
_(All rights reserved.)_
TO MY SON
C. R. W. NEVINSON
PREFACE
These sketches have been published in various papers during the last
thirteen years. Many of the characters are life portraits, and the wit
and wisdom of the common people have been faithfully recorded in a true
Boswellian spirit; others are _Wahrheit und Dichtung_ (if one may still
quote Goethe), but all have been suggested by actual fact and
experience.
During the last ten years great reforms have been taking place in the
country. In 1908 the Old Age Pensions Act came into force, and the
weekly miracle of 5s. a week (now 7s. 6d.) changed the world for the
aged, giving them the liberty and independence, which ought to be the
right of every decent citizen in the evening of life.
The order by which a pauper husband had the right to detain his wife in
the workhouse by "his marital authority" is now repealed. A case some
years ago of this abominable breach of the law of Habeas Corpus startled
the country, especially the ratepayers, and even the House of Commons
were amazed at their own laws. The order was withdrawn in 1913 on the
precedent of the judgment given in the case of the Queen _v._ Jackson
(1891), when it was decided "that the husband has no right, where his
wife refuses to live with him, to take her person by force and restrain
her of her liberty" (60 L. J. Q. B. 346).
Many humane reforms and regulations for the classification of inmates
were made in 1913, and the obnoxious words "pauper" and "workhouse" have
been abolished; but before the authorities rightly grasped the changes
the war was upon us, the workhouses were commandeered as military
hospitals, the inmates sent into other institutions, and all reforms
lapsed in overcrowded and understaffed buildings.
Once again the Poor Law is in the melting-pot, and it seems as if now it
will pass into the limbo of the past with other old, unhappy far-off
things.
CONTENTS
PAGE
EUNICE SMITH--DRUNK 13
DETAINED BY MARITAL AUTHORITY 21
A WELSH SAILOR 27
THE VOW 33
BLIND AND DEAF 39
"AND, BEHOLD, THE BABE WEPT" 47
"MARY, MARY, PITY WOMEN!" 53
THE SUICIDE 61
PUBLICANS AND HARLOTS 68
OLD INKY 75
A DAUGHTER OF THE STATE 80
IN THE PHTHISIS WARD 85
AN IRISH CATHOLIC 91
AN OBSCURE CONVERSATIONIST 97
MOTHERS 104
"YOUR SON'S YOUR SON" 110
"TOO OLD AT FORTY" 115
IN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM 118
THE SWEEP'S LEGACY 126
AN ALIEN 130
"WIDOWS INDEED!" 134
THE RUNAWAY 138
"A GIRL! GOD HELP HER!" 145
ON THE PERMANENT LIST 148
THE PAUPER AND THE OLD-AGE PENSION 153
THE EVACUATION OF THE WORKHOUSE 157
WORKHOUSE CHARACTERS
EUNICE SMITH--DRUNK
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here and There as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
_He_ knows about it all--He knows--_He_ knows.
"Eunice Smith, drunk, brought by the police."
The quaint Scriptural name, not heard for years, woke me up from the
dull apathy to which even the most energetic Guardian is reduced at the
end of a long Board meeting, and I listened intently as the Master of
the workhouse went on to explain that the name Smith had been given by
the woman, but her clothes and a small book, which the doctor said was
Homer, in Greek, were marked Eunice Romaine.
Eunice Romaine--the name took me back down long vistas of years to a
convent school at Oxford, to the clanging bells of Tom Tower, to the
vibrant note of boys' voices in college chapels, to the scent of flowers
and incense at early celebrations, to the high devotions and ideals of
youth, to its passionate griefs and joys. Eunice Romaine had been the
genius of our school--one of those gifted students in whom knowledge
seems innate; her name headed every examination list, and every prize in
the form fell to her; other poor plodders had no chance where she was.
From school she had gone with many a scholarship and exhibition to
Cambridge, where she had taken a high place in the Classical Tripos;
later I heard she had gone as Classical Mistress to one of the London
High Schools, then our paths had separated, and I heard no more.
I went down to the Observation Ward after the meeting, where between a
maniacal case lying in a strait-waistcoat, alternately singing hymns and
blaspheming, and a tearful melancholic who begged me to dig up her
husband's body in the north-east corner of the garden, I saw my old
friend and classmate.
She was lying very quiet with closed eyes; her hair had gone grey before
her time, and her face was pinched and scored with the deep
perpendicular lines of grief and disappointment; but I recognized the
school-girl Eunice by the broad, intellectual brow and by the delicate,
high-bred hands.
"She is rather better," said the nurse in answer to my question, "but
she has had a very bad night, screaming the whole time at the rats and
mice she thought she saw, and the doctor fears collapse, as her heart is
weak; but if she can get some sleep she may recover."
Sleep in the crowded Mental Ward, with maniacs shrieking and shouting
around! But exhausted Nature can do a great deal, and when I called some
days later I found my old friend discharged to the General Sick Ward, a
placard above her head setting forth her complaint as "chronic
alcoholism, cirrhosis of the liver, and cardiac disease."
She recognized me at once, but with the apathy of weakness she expressed
neither surprise nor interest at our meeting, and only after some weeks
had passed I found her one evening brighter and better, and anxious to
go out. Over an impromptu banquet of grapes and cakes we fell into one
of those intimate conversations that come so spontaneously but are so
impossible to force, and I heard the short history of a soul's tragedy.
"Just after I left Cambridge mother died. She told me on her death-bed
that I had the taint of drink in the blood, and urged me never to touch
alcohol. My father--a brilliant scholar and successful journalist--had
killed himself with drink whilst we were all quite young; mother had
kept us all away at school, so that we should not know, and had borne
her burden alone. I promised light-heartedly; I was young and strong,
and had not known temptation. After mother died I was very lonely: both
my brothers had gone to Canada. My father's classical and literary
abilities had come only to me: their talents were purely mechanical and
they had never been able to acquire book knowledge. I was not very happy
teaching. Classics had come to me so easily--hereditary question
again--that I never could understand the difficulties of the average
girl, and I had very little patience with dullness and stupidity.
However, very soon I became engaged to be married, and lived for some
time in a fool's paradise of love and joy. My _fiance_ was a literary
man--I will not tell you his name, as he is | 269.458197 |
2023-11-16 18:21:33.4383540 | 143 | 6 |
THE NORTHFIELD TRAGEDY
OR THE ROBBER'S RAID
A THRILLING NARRATIVE.
A HISTORY OF THE REMARKABLE ATTEMPT TO ROB THE BANK AT NORTHFIELD,
MINNESOTA.
THE COLD-BLOODED MURDER OF THE BRAVE CASHIER AND AN INOFFENSIVE CITIZEN.
THE SLAYING OF TWO OF THE BRIGANDS.
THE WONDERFUL ROBBER HUNT AND CAPTURE GRAPHICALLY DESCRIBED.
BIOGRAPHIES OF THE VICTIMS, THE CAPTORS & THE NOTORIOUS
YOUNGER AND JAMES GANG | 269.458394 |
2023-11-16 18:21:33.5342500 | 349 | 13 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Carol David, Joshua
Hutchinson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: WITHOUT FURTHER ARGUMENT, HE SEIZED HOLD OF HER. PAGE
234.]
BOUGHT AND
PAID FOR
_A Story of To-day_
From the Play of
GEORGE BROADHURST
by
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
ILLUSTRATIONS FROM
SCENES IN THE PLAY
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1912, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
_Bought and Paid For_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. 7
II. 21
III. 39
IV. 52
V. 67
VI. 83
VII. 97
VIII. 115
IX. 131
X. 146
XI. 160
XII. 175
XIII. 191
XIV. 202
XV. 216
XVI. 236
XVII. 254
XVIII. 271
XIX. 280
XX. 292
XXI. 312
XXII. 325
CHAPTER I
"How is he now, doctor? Don't--don't tell me there is no hope!"
The wife, a tall, aristocratic looking woman who, despite her advanced
years, her snow-white hair, her | 269.55429 |
2023-11-16 18:21:33.5356710 | 5,901 | 7 |
Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 30. SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF MONEA, COUNTY OF FERMANAGH.]
The Castle of Monea or Castletown-Monea--properly _Magh an fhiaidh_, i.e.
the plain of the deer--is situated in the parish of Devinish, county
of Fermanagh, and about five miles north-west of Enniskillen. Like the
Castle of Tully, in the same county, of which we gave a view in a recent
number, this castle affords a good example of the class of castellated
residences erected on the great plantation of Ulster by the British and
Scottish undertakers, in obedience to the fourth article concerning the
English and Scottish undertakers, who “are to plant their portions with
English and inland-Scottish tenants,” which was imposed upon them by
“the orders and conditions to be observed by the undertakers upon the
distribution and plantation of the escheated lands in Ulster,” in 1608.
By this article it was provided that “every undertaker of the _greatest
proportion_ of two thousand acres shall, within two years after the date
of his letters patent, build thereupon a castle, with a strong court or
bawn about it; and every undertaker of the second or _middle proportion_
of fifteen hundred acres shall within the same time build a stone or
brick house thereupon, with a strong court or bawn about it. And every
undertaker of the _least proportion_ of one thousand acres shall within
the same time make thereupon a strong court or bawn at least; and all the
said undertakers shall cause their tenants to build houses for themselves
and their families, near the principal castle, house, or bawn, for their
mutual defence or strength,” &c.
Such was the origin of most of the castles and villages now existing in
the six escheated counties of Ulster--historical memorials of a vast
political movement--and among the rest this of Monea, which was the
castle of the _middle proportion_ of Dirrinefogher, of which Sir Robert
Hamilton was the first patentee.
From Pynnar’s Survey of Ulster, made in 1618-19, it appears that this
proportion had at that time passed into the possession of Malcolm
Hamilton (who was afterwards archbishop of Cashel), by whom the castle
was erected, though the bawn, as prescribed by the conditions, was not
added till some years later. He says,
“Upon this proportion there is a strong castle of lime and
stone, being fifty-four feet long and twenty feet broad, but
hath no bawn unto it, nor any other defence for the succouring
or relieving of his tenants.”
From an inquisition taken at Monea in 1630, we find, however, that this
want was soon after supplied, and that the castle, which was fifty feet
in height, was surrounded by a wall nine feet in height and three hundred
in circuit.
The Malcolm Hamilton noticed by Pynnar as possessor of “the middle
proportion of Dirrinefogher,” subsequently held the rectory of Devenish,
which he retained _in commendam_ with his archbishopric till his death
in 1629. The proportion of Dirrinefogher, however, with its castle,
was escheated to the crown in 1630; and shortly after, the old chapel
of Monea was converted into a parish church, the original church being
inconveniently situated on an island of Lough Erne.
Monea Castle served as a chief place of refuge to the English and
Scottish settlers of the vicinity during the rebellion of 1641, and,
like the Castle of Tully, it has its tales of horror recorded in story;
but we shall not uselessly drag them to light. The village of Monea is
an inconsiderable one, but there are several gentlemen’s seats in its
neighbourhood, and the scenery around it is of great richness and beauty.
P.
ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS OF CHARMS, INCANTATIONS, OR DRUGS.
FIRST ARTICLE.
ON SERPENT-CHARMING, AS PRACTISED BY THE JUGGLERS OF ASIA.
Many of my readers will doubtless recollect that in a paper on “Animal
Taming,” which appeared some weeks back in the pages of this Journal, I
alluded slightly to the _charming_ of animals, or _taming_ them by spells
or drugs. It is now my purpose to enter more fully upon this subject,
and present my readers with a brief notice of what I have been able to
glean respecting it, as well from the published accounts of remarkable
travellers, as from oral descriptions received from personal friends
of my own, who had opportunities of being eye witnesses to many of the
practices to which I refer.
The most remarkable, and also the most ancient description of
animal-charming with which we are acquainted, is that which consists in
calling the venomous serpents from their holes, quelling their fury, and
allaying their irritation, by means of certain charms, amongst which
music stands forth in the most prominent position, though, whether it
really is worthy of the first place as an actual agent, or is only thus
put forward to cover that on which the true secret depends, is by no
means perfectly clear.
Even in scripture we find the practice of serpent-charming noticed,
and by no means as a novelty; in the 58th Psalm we are told that the
wicked are like the “deaf adder that stoppeth her ear, which hearkeneth
not unto the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!” And in
the book of Jeremiah, chap. viii, the disobedient people are thus
threatened--“Behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which
will not be _charmed_.” These are two very remarkable passages, and I
think we may, without going too far, set down as snake-charmers the
Egyptian magi who contended against Moses and Aaron before the court of
the proud and vacillating Pharaoh, striving to imitate by their juggling
tricks the wondrous miracles which Moses wrought by the immediate aid
of God himself. The feat of changing their sticks into serpents, for
instance, is one of every-day performance in India, which a friend of
mine has assured me he many times saw himself, and which has not been
satisfactorily explained by any one.
The serpent has long been an object of extreme veneration to the natives
of Hindostan, and has indeed, from the very earliest ages, been selected
by many nations as an object of worship; why, I cannot explain, unless
it originated in a superstitious perversion of the elevation of the
brazen serpent in the wilderness by Moses. In India the serpent is not,
however, altogether regarded as a deity--merely as a _demon_ or genius:
and the office usually supposed to be peculiar to these creatures is that
of _guardians_. This is perhaps one of the most widely spread notions
respecting the serpent that we are acquainted with. Herodotus mentions
the sacred serpents which guarded the citadel of Athens, and which he
states to have been fed monthly with cakes of honey; and adds, that
these serpents being sacred, were harmless, and would not hurt men. A
dragon was said to have guarded the golden fleece (or, as some think, a
_scaly serpent_), and protected the gardens of the Hesperides--a singular
coincidence, as it is of _gardens_ principally that the Indians conceive
the serpent to be the guardian.
Medea _charmed_ the dragon by the melody of her voice. Herodotus
mentions snakes being soothed by harmony; and Virgil, in the Æneid, says
(translated by Dryden),
“His wand and holy words the viper’s rage
And venom’d wound of serpents could assuage.”
Even our own island, although serpents do not exist in it--a blessing
for which, if we are to put faith in legendary lore, we have to thank St
Patrick--has numberless legends and tales of crocks of treasure at the
bottom of deep, deep lakes, or in dark and gloomy caves, in inaccessible
and rocky mountains, guarded by a fierce and wakeful snake, a sleepless
serpent, whose eyes are never closed, and who never for a second abated
of his watchful care of the treasure-crock, of which he had originally
been appointed guardian;[1] and, further, we are told how the daring and
inventive genius of the son of Erin has often found out a mode of putting
a “_comether_” on the “big sarpint, the villain,” and haply closing his
eyes in slumber, while he succeeded in possessing himself of the hoard
which by his cunning and bravery he had so fairly won; in other words,
_charming_ the snake and possessing himself of the spoil.
Having thus glanced at the antiquity and wide spread of serpent-charming,
I shall proceed to lay before you a short description of the mode in
which the spell is cast over the animals by the modern jugglers of Arabia
and India.
Of all the Indian serpents, next to the Cobra Minelle, the Cobra Capella,
or hooded snake (_Coluber Naja_), called in India the “Naig,” and also
“spectacle snake,” is the most venomous. It derives its names of _hooded_
and _spectacle_ snake from a fold of skin resembling a hood near the
head, which it possesses a power of enlarging or contracting at pleasure;
and in the centre of this hood are seen, when it is distended, black and
white markings, bearing no distant or fanciful likeness to a pair of
spectacles. The mode of charming, or, at all events, all that is to be
seen or understood by the spectators, consists in the juggler playing
upon a flute or fife near the hole which a snake has been seen to enter,
or which his employers have otherwise reason to suppose the reptile
inhabits. The serpent will presently put forth his head, a portion of his
body will shortly follow, and in a few minutes he will creep forth from
his retreat, and, approaching the musician, rear himself on his tail,
and by moving his head and neck up and down or from side to side, keep
tolerably accurate time to the tune with which his ears are ravished.
After having played for a short period, and apparently soothed the
reptile into a state of dreamy unconsciousness of all that is passing,
save only the harmony which delights him, the juggler will gradually
bring himself within grasp of the snake, and by a sudden snatch seize
him by the tail, and hold him out at arms’ length. On the cessation of
the music, and on finding himself thus roughly assailed, the reptile
becomes fearfully enraged, and exerts all his energies to turn upwards,
and bite the arm of his aggressor. His efforts are however fruitless;
while held in that position, he is utterly incapable of doing any injury;
and is, after having been held thus for a few minutes before the gaze
of the admiring crowd, dropped into a basket ready to receive him, and
laid aside until the juggler has leisure and privacy to complete the
subjugation which his wonder-working melody had begun.
When charmed serpents are exhibited dancing to the sound of music, the
spectators should not crowd too closely around the seat of the juggler,
for, no matter how well trained they may be, there is great danger
attending the cessation of the sweet sounds; and if from any cause the
flute or fife suddenly stops or is checked, it not unfrequently happens
that the snake will spring upon some one of the company, and bite him.
I think that it will not be amiss if I quote the description of Indian
snake-charming, furnished by a gentleman in the Honourable Company’s
civil service at Madras, to the writer, who vouches for its veracity:--
“One morning,” says he, “as I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and
shouting among my palankeen bearers. On inquiry I learned that they had
seen a large hooded snake (or Cobra Capella), and were trying to kill
it. I immediately went out, and saw the snake climbing up a very high
green mound, whence it escaped into a hole in an old wall of an ancient
fortification. The men were armed with their sticks, which they always
carry in their hands, and had attempted in vain to kill the reptile,
which had eluded their pursuit, and in his hole he had coiled himself
up secure, while we could see his bright eyes shining. I had often
desired to ascertain the truth of the report as to the effect of music
upon snakes: I therefore inquired for a snake catcher. I was told there
was no person of the kind in the village, but, after a little inquiry I
heard there was one in a village distant three miles. I accordingly sent
for him, keeping a strict watch over the snake, which never attempted
to escape whilst we his enemies were in sight. About an hour elapsed,
when my messenger returned, bringing the snake catcher. This man wore no
covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a small piece of
cloth round his loins: he had in his hands two baskets, one containing
tame snakes, one empty: these and his musical pipe were the only things
he had with him. I made the snake catcher leave his two baskets on the
ground at some distance, while he ascended the mound with his pipe alone.
He began to play: at the sound of the music the snake came gradually and
slowly out of his hole. When he was entirely within reach, the snake
catcher seized him dexterously by the tail, and held him thus at arms’
length, whilst the enraged snake darted his head in all directions, but
in vain: thus suspended, he has not the power to round himself so as to
seize hold of his tormentor. He exhausted himself in vain exertions, when
the snake catcher descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket,
and closed the lid: he then began to play, and after a short time raised
the lid of the basket, when the snake darted about wildly, and attempted
to escape; the lid was shut down again quickly, the music always playing.
This was repeated two or three times; and in a very short interval, the
lid being raised, the snake sat on his tail, opened his hood, and danced
quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the other basket, nor did he again
attempt to escape. This, having witnessed it with my own eyes, I can
assert as a fact.”
I particularly request the attention of my readers to the foregoing
account, as, from the circumstance of its having been furnished by an
eye-witness, and a man whose public station and known character were
sufficient to command belief in his veracity, it will prove serviceable
to me by and bye, when I shall endeavour to disprove the ridiculous
assertions of Abbé Dubois[2] and others, who hold that serpent-charming
is a mere imposition, and assert, certainly without a shade of warranty
for so doing, that the serpents are in these cases always previously
tamed, and deprived of their poison bags and fangs, when they are let
loose in certain situations for the purpose of being artfully caught
again, and represented as _wild_ snakes, subdued by the charms of their
pipe. I shall, however, say no more at present of Dubois, Denon, or
others who are sceptical on this subject, but shall leave the refutation
of their fanciful opinions to another opportunity--my present purpose
being the establishment of _facts_, ere I venture to advance a theory.
I shall therefore conclude my present paper, and in my next, besides
adducing many other important facts relative to serpent-charming, shall
endeavour to throw some light upon the real mode by which it is effected.
H. D. R.
[1] See numerous legends of the “Peiste.”
[2] Description of the People of India, p. 469.
GRUMBLING.
If it be no part of the English constitution, it is certainly part of
the constitution of Englishmen to grumble. They cannot help it, even if
they tried; not that they ever do try, quite the reverse, but they could
not help grumbling if they tried ever so much. A true-born Englishman is
born grumbling. He grumbles at the light, because it dazzles his eyes,
and he grumbles at the darkness, because it takes away the light. He
grumbles when he is hungry, because he wants to eat; he grumbles when he
is full, because he can eat no more. He grumbles at the winter, because
it is cold; he grumbles at the summer, because it is hot; and he grumbles
at spring and autumn, because they are neither hot nor cold. He grumbles
at the past, because it is gone; he grumbles at the future, because it
is not come; and he grumbles at the present, because it is neither the
past nor the future. He grumbles at law, because it restrains him; and
he grumbles at liberty, because it does not restrain others. He grumbles
at all the elements--fire, water, earth, and air. He grumbles at fire,
because it is so dear; at water, because it is so foul; at the earth, in
all its combinations of mud, dust, bricks, and sand; and at the air, in
all its conditions of hot or cold, wet or dry. All the world seems as if
it were made for nothing else than to plague Englishmen, and set them
a-grumbling. The Englishman must grumble at nature for its rudeness, and
at art for its innovation; at what is old, because he is tired of it; and
at what is new, because he is not used to it. He grumbles at everything
that is to be grumbled at; and when there is nothing to grumble at, he
grumbles at that. Grumbling cleaves to him in all the departments of
life; when he is well, he grumbles at the cook; and when he is ill, he
grumbles at the doctor and nurse. He grumbles in his amusements, and he
grumbles in his devotion; at the theatres he grumbles at the players,
and at church he grumbles at the parson. He cannot for the life of him
enjoy a day’s pleasure without grumbling. He grumbles at his enemies, and
he grumbles at his friends. He grumbles at all the animal creation, at
horses when he rides on them, at dogs when he shoots with them, at birds
when he misses them, at pigs when they squeak, at asses when they bray,
at geese when they cackle, and at peacocks when they scream. He is always
on the look-out for something to grumble at; he reads the newspapers,
that he may grumble at public affairs; his eyes are always open to look
for abominations; he is always pricking up his ears to detect discords,
and snuffing up the air to find stinks. Can you insult an Englishman
more than by telling him he has nothing to grumble at? Can you by any
possibility inflict a greater injury upon him than by convincing him he
has no occasion to grumble? Break his head, and he will forget it; pick
his pocket, and he will forgive it, but deprive him of his privilege of
grumbling, you more than kill him--you expatriate him. But the beauty of
it is, you cannot inflict this injury on him; you cannot by all the logic
ever invented, or by all the arguments that ever were uttered, convince
an Englishman that he has nothing to grumble at; for if you were to do
so, he would grumble at you so long as he lived for disturbing his old
associations. Grumbling is a pleasure which we all enjoy more or less,
but none, or but few, enjoy it in all the perfection and completeness of
which it is capable. If we were to take a little more pains, we should
find, that having no occasion to grumble, we should have cause to grumble
at everything. But we grow insensible to a great many annoyances, and
accustomed to a great many evils, and think nothing of them. What a
tremendous noise there is in the city, of carts, coaches, drays, waggons,
barrel-organs, fish-women, and all manner of abominations, of which
they in the city take scarcely any notice at all! How badly are all
matters in government and administration conducted! What very bad bread
do the bakers make! What very bad meat do the butchers kill! In a word,
what is there in the whole compass of existence that is good? What is
there in human character that is as it should be? Are we not justified
in grumbling at everything that is in heaven above, or in the earth
beneath, or in the waters under the earth? In fact, gentle reader, is the
world formed or governed half so well as you or I could form or govern
it?--_From a newspaper._
VULGARITY.
The very essence of vulgarity, after all, consists merely in one
error--in taking manners, actions, words, opinions, on trust from
others, without examining one’s own feelings, or weighing the merits of
the case. It is coarseness or shallowness of taste, arising from want
of individual refinement, together with the confidence and presumption
inspired by example and numbers. It may be defined to be a prostitution
of the mind or body to ape the more or less obvious defects of others,
because by so doing we shall secure the suffrages of those we associate
with. To affect a gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it is the rage
with a large number of persons, or to hold it in abhorrence because
another set of persons very little, if at all, better informed, cry
it down to distinguish themselves from the former, is in either case
equal vulgarity and absurdity. A thing is not vulgar merely because it
is common. It is common to breathe, to see, to feel, to live. Nothing
is vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, unavoidable. Grossness is not
vulgarity, ignorance is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity;
but all these become vulgar when they are affected and shown off on the
authority of others, or to fall in with the fashion or the company we
keep. Caliban is coarse enough, but surely he is not vulgar. We might as
well spurn the clod under our feet, and call it vulgar. Cobbett is coarse
enough, but he is not vulgar. He does not belong to the herd. Nothing
real, nothing original, can be vulgar; but I should think an imitator of
Cobbett a vulgar man. Simplicity is not vulgarity; but the looking to
imitation or affectation of any sort for distinction is. A Cockney is a
vulgar character, whose imagination cannot wander beyond the suburbs of
the metropolis. An aristocrat, also, who is always thinking of the High
Street, Edinburgh, is vulgar. We want a name for this last character. An
opinion is often vulgar that is stewed in the rank breath of the rabble;
but it is not a bit purer or more refined for having passed through the
well-cleansed teeth of a whole court. The inherent vulgarity lies in the
having no other feeling on any subject than the crude, blind, headlong,
gregarious notion acquired by sympathy with the mixed multitude, or with
a fastidious minority, who are just as insensible to the real truth,
and as indifferent to every thing but their own frivolous pretensions.
The upper are not wiser than the lower orders, because they resolve to
differ from them. The fashionable have the advantage of the unfashionable
in nothing but the fashion. The true vulgar are the persons who have
a horrible dread of daring to differ from their clique--the herd of
pretenders to what they do not feel, and to do what is not natural to
them, whether in high or low life. To belong to any class, to move in
any rank or sphere of life, is not a very exclusive distinction or test
of refinement. Refinement will in all classes be the exception, not the
rule; and the exception may occur in one class as well as another. A
king is but a man with a hereditary title. A nobleman is only one of the
House of Peers. To be a knight or alderman--above all, to desire being
either, is confessedly a vulgar thing. The king made Walter Scott a
baronet, but not all the power of the Three Estates could make another
“Author of Waverley.” Princes, heroes, are often commonplace people, and
sometimes the reverse; Hamlet was not a vulgar character, neither was Don
Quixote. To be an author, to be a painter, one of the many, is nothing.
It is a trick, it is a trade. Nay, to be a member of the Royal Academy,
or a Fellow of the Royal Society, is but a vulgar distinction. But to
be a Virgil, a Milton, a Raphael, a Claude, is what falls to the lot of
humanity but once. I do not think those were vulgar people, though, for
any thing I know to the contrary, the First Lord of the Bedchamber may
be a very vulgar man. Such are pretty much my notions with regard to
vulgarity.--_Hazlitt’s Table-Talk._
WINTER COMES.
Winter comes with screech and wail,
Piercing blast and thundering gale;
Far from frozen climes he brings
Sleet and snow, and blanching things.
He has trod the North Pole round,
Long in icy fetters bound;
Swept by Greenland’s frigid shore,
Where the western billows roar--
Roamed o’er Lapland’s ice-bound plains,
Where chaotic darkness reigns;
Rested on that land of woe
Where the Russian captives go;
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OLD BROADBRIM WEEKLY
(MORE READING MATTER THAN ANY
FIVE CENT DETECTIVE LIBRARY PUBLISHED)
FIVE CENTS
OLD BROADBRIM
No =32=
INTO THE HEART
OF AUSTRALIA
[Illustration: The ringleader of the brigands issued the order to
riddle the prisoner, but at the same time the detective's rifle spoke,
and the form of the captain of the robbers reeled and tumbled in a heap
a few feet away from his intended victim.]
| 269.878327 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's notes:
Italics in the original work are here represented _between underscores_,
bold face text is represented =between equal signs=. Small capitals from
the original work are here represented by ALL CAPITALS.
More Transcriber's Notes may be found at the end of this text.
Detection of the Common
Food Adulterants
BY
EDWIN M. BRUCE
INSTRUCTOR IN CHEMISTRY, INDIANA STATE NORMAL SCHOOL
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO., LTD.
10 ORANGE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C.
1907
_Copyright, 1907_
BY D. VAN NOSTRAND CO.
PREFACE
Because of the recent agitation of the pure food question throughout the
country, health officers, food-inspectors, and chemistry teachers and
students are constantly called upon to test the purity of various foods.
And this usually involves nothing more than making simple qualitative
tests for adulterants. In view of the fact that there is now no text or
manual devoted exclusively to the qualitative examination of foods, this
little book is offered to those who are interested in this work.
Its aim is to bring together in one small book the best and simplest
qualitative tests for all the common food adulterants. It contains a
brief statement of the adulterants likely to be found and the reason for
their use. It is hoped that it will be specially valuable to chemistry
teachers in furnishing excellent supplementary work in qualitative
analysis. But it is hoped that it will find its greatest usefulness in
contributing something toward the great pure food reform.
It is impossible to make due mention of all the sources from which these
various tests have been collected, but where possible, the author's name
has been associated with the test.
TERRE HAUTE, IND.
_March 25, 1907._
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
DAIRY PRODUCTS 1
=Milk=--Adulterations of--Coloring matters--Annatto--Caramel--
Coal-tar colors--Preservatives--Formaldehyde--Boric acid--Salicylic
acid--Gelatin--Starch.
=Butter=--Adulterations of--Coloring matter--Preparation of sample
--Annatto--Coal-tar colors--Saffron--Turmeric--Marigold--Process or
renovated butter--Oleomargarine--Cottonseed oil.
CHAPTER II
MEATS AND EGGS 8
Adulterations of--Fresh and smoked--Preservatives--Potassium
nitrate--Boric acid--Sulfurous acid--Salicylic acid--Benzoic acid--
Canned--Preservatives (same as those of fresh and smoked meat)--
Heavy metals--Coloring matter (see under sausages, etc.)--Fish,
salt, dried and oysters--Preservatives--Boric acid (same under
smoked and fresh meat)--Coloring matter--Aniline red and cochineal-
carmine--In sausages, chopped meat, preparations and corned meat--
Starch--In sausages, deviled meat and similar products--Diseased
meats--Horse-flesh in sausages and in mince-meat.
=Eggs=--Test for age.
CHAPTER III
CEREAL PRODUCTS 16
=Flour=--Adulteration of--Alum--Copper sulfate--Substituted flours
--General test--Corn meal in wheat flour--Wheat flour in rye flour
--Ergot in rye flour.
=Bread=--Adulterations of--Alum--Copper sulfate.
=Ginger Cake=--Adulterations of--Stannous chlorid.
CHAPTER IV
LEAVENING MATERIALS 20
=Baking Powders=--Adulterations of--Tartaric acid (free or
combined)--Tartaric acid (free)--Sulfates (calcium, etc.)--Gypsum--
Ammonium salts--Alum.
=Cream of Tartar=--Adulterations of--Tartaric acid (free or
combined)--Aluminium salts--Ammonia--Earthy materials.
CHAPTER V
CANNED AND BOTTLED VEGETABLES 24
Adulterations of--Preservatives--Preparation of sample--
Formaldehyde--Sulfurous acid and the sulfites--Salicylic acid--
Saccharin--Benzoic acid--Coloring matter--Cochineal--Coal-tar dyes
--Copper salts--In green pickles, beans, peas, etc.--Turmeric--In
mixed pickles--Heavy metals (other than copper, same as under
meats)--Soaked vegetables--Peas, beans and corn--Alum--In pickles--
Examination of the can or box.
CHAPTER VI
FRUITS AND FRUIT PRODUCTS 33
Adulterations of--Preservatives--Preparation of sample--Salicylic
acid--Benzoic acid--Saccharin--Coloring matter--Coal-tar dyes--
Cochineal--Acid magenta--Apple juice in jellies made from small
fruits--Detection (see test for starch)--Starch--In jellies, jams
and such products--Gelatin--In jellies--Agar agar--Heavy metals--
Arsenic.
CHAPTER VII
FLAVORING EXTRACTS 42
=Lemon Extract=--Lemon oil--Citral--Oil of citronella--Tartaric or
citric acid--Methyl alcohol--Coloring matter--Turmeric--Coal-tar
colors.
=Vanilla Extract=--Adulterations of--Preliminary test--Alkali--
Foreign resins--Caramel--Tannin--Coumarin.
CHAPTER VIII
SACCHARINE PRODUCTS 49
=Honey=--Adulterations of--General observations--Cane sugar--
Commercial glucose syrup--Gelatin.
=Maple Syrup=--Adulterations of--General examination--Glucose.
CHAPTER IX
SPICES 51
=Mustard=--Adulterations of--Flour--Coloring matter--Turmeric--
Martius yellow or analogous coal-tar coloring matter--Cayenne
pepper.
=Pepper=--Adulterations of--General test--Ground olive stones--
Cayenne pepper.
CHAPTER X
VINEGAR 55
Adulterations of--Preparation of sample--General observations--
Free mineral acids--General tests--Sulfuric acid--Hydrochloric acid
(free)--Malic acid--Coloring matter--Caramel--Coal-tar colors--In
wine vinegar--Free tartaric acid--In wine vinegar.
CHAPTER XI
FATS AND OILS 60
=Lard=--Adulterations of--Cottonseed oil--Cottonseed stearin--Beef
stearin.
=Olive Oil=--Adulterations of--General test--Cottonseed oil--Peanut
oil--Sesame oil--Rape oil.
CHAPTER XII
BEVERAGES 65
=Coffee=--Adulterations of--General test--Coloring matter--
Imitation coffee beans--Chicory.
=Tea=--Adulterations of--Foreign leaves--Exhausted tea leaves--Lie
tea--Facing--Catechu.
PURE FOOD TESTS
CHAPTER I
DAIRY PRODUCTS
MILK
Milk is adulterated by watering, removing the cream or by adding some
foreign substance. Formaldehyde, boric acid or salicylic acid may be
added to preserve the milk. Annatto, caramel or some coal-tar dye is
added, sometimes to improve the color of the milk, and at other times to
cover up traces of watering. Gelatin and starch are added for the same
purpose, though they are not frequently used.
ARTIFICIAL COLORING MATTER
ANNATTO
Add acid sodium carbonate to a sample of the milk until it shows a
slight alkaline reaction. Immerse a piece of filter-paper and leave it
in for 12 or 15 hours. If annatto is present, there will be a
reddish-yellow stain on the paper.
CARAMEL
_Leach's Method._--Warm 150 cc. of the sample and add 5 cc. of acetic
acid, then continue heating it nearly to the boiling point, stirring
while it is being heated. Separate the curd by gathering it with the
stirring rod or by pouring through a sieve. Press out all the whey from
the curd and macerate the latter for several hours (10 to 12 hours) in
50 cc. of ether. It is best to do this in a tightly corked flask,
shaking it frequently. If the milk was uncolored or with annatto
the curd when thus treated will be white. If the curd is a dull brown
color caramel was probably used to color the milk. Confirm its presence
by shaking a portion of the curd with concentrated hydrochloric acid
(sp. gr. 1.20) and gently heating. If the acid solution turns blue while
the curd does not change its color, caramel was used to color the milk.
(Remember that the ether-extracted curd must be brown.)
COAL TAR COLORS
_Lythgoe's Method._--Mix in a porcelain vessel about 15 cc. each of the
sample of milk and hydrochloric acid (sp. gr. 1.20) and break up the
curd into coarse lumps by shaking gently. If an azo-color was used to
color the milk this curd will be pink, but the curd of normal milk will
be white or yellowish.
STARCH
The presence of starch in milk may be detected by heating a small
quantity of the milk to boiling. When it has cooled add a drop of iodin
in potassium iodid, and if starch is present there will be a blue
coloration.
GELATIN
_A. W. Stokes' Method._--Dissolve 1 part by weight of mercury in 2 parts
of nitric acid (sp. gr. 1.42). Add 24 times this volume of water. Mix
equal volumes (about 10 cc.) of this reagent and the milk or cream,
shake well and add 20 cc. of water. Shake again and, after standing 5
minutes, filter. When a great quantity of gelatin is present the
filtrate will be opalescent instead of perfectly clear. To a little of
this filtrate in a test tube add the same volume of a saturated aqueous
solution of picric acid. If much gelatin is present a yellow precipitate
is produced, smaller amounts produce a cloudiness. If the filtrate is
perfectly clear gelatin is absent and picric acid may be added without
producing any noticeable effect.
PRESERVATIVES
FORMALDEHYDE
_Hehner's Sulfuric Acid Test._--Put 10 cc. of the suspected milk in a
wide test tube and pour carefully down the side of the inclined tube
about 5 cc. commercial sulfuric acid so that it forms a separate layer
at the bottom. A violet coloration at the union of the two liquids
indicates the presence of formaldehyde. If the commercial acid is not
available, the pure acid may be used, but a few drops of ferric chloride
must be added. Sometimes the charring effect of the acid makes it
advisable to use the following test:
_Hydrochloric Acid Test._--2 cc. of 10 per cent ferric chloride is added
to one liter of commercial hydrochloric acid sp. gr. 1.2 (or any
quantity in this proportion). To 10 cc. of this mixture add 10 cc. of
the milk to be tested. Heat the mixture slowly nearly to the boiling
point, in an evaporating dish, but agitating it all the while to prevent
the curd collecting in one mass. If formaldehyde is present, there will
be a violet coloration. It is said that by this test as small a
quantity of formaldehyde as 1 part in 250,000 parts of milk can be
detected. It is not so sensitive in sour milk.
BORIC ACID
_Turmeric Paper Test._--Incinerate some of the milk, and acidulate the
ash with a very few drops of dilute hydrochloric acid and afterwards
dissolve it in a few drops of water. Place a strip of turmeric paper in
this solution for a few minutes, then remove and dry it. If boric acid
either free or combined is present, the turmeric paper will be turned to
a cherry-red color.
_Another way of making this test._--U. S. Dep. of Agr., <DW37>. of Chem.,
Bul. 65, p. 110: Make strongly alkaline with lime water, 25 grams of the
milk, and evaporate to dryness on the water bath. Destroy the organic
matter by igniting the residue. Dilute with 15 cc. of water and acidify
with hydrochloric acid. Then add 1 cc. of the concentrated acid. Dip a
piece of delicate turmeric paper in the solution; and if borax or boric
acid is present, it will have a characteristic red color when dry.
Ammonia changes it to a dark blue green, but the acid will restore the
color.
(Turmeric paper may be prepared by dipping pieces of smooth, thin filter
paper in a solution of powdered turmeric in alcohol.)
SALICYLIC ACID
(This is not often used as a preservative of milk.)
_Leach suggests the following method for its detection._--Dissolve one
gram of mercury in 2 grams of nitric acid (sp. gr. 1.42) and then add to
the solution the same volume of water. Add 1 cc. of this reagent to 50
cc. of the milk to be tested, and shake and filter. The perfectly clear
filtrate is shaken with ether and the ether extract evaporated to
dryness. Then add a drop of ferric chlorid solution, and a violet color
will be produced if salicylic acid is present.
BUTTER
Butter is often with annatto, saffron, turmeric, marigold or
coal-tar colors. By a certain process, stale or old butter is sometimes
worked over and made to appear fresh for a time. This is sold under the
name of "process" or "renovated" butter. Foreign fats like cottonseed
oil, sesame oil, or oleomargarine may be substituted for or added to
pure butter.
COLORING MATTER
_Martin's Test._--Add 2 parts of carbon bisulfid, a little at a time and
with frequent shaking, to 15 parts of alcohol. Shake 25 cc. of this
solution with 5 grams of the butter, and let stand for some time. The
carbon bisulfid dissolves out the fatty matter and settles to the
bottom. The alcohol remains on top and will dissolve out any artificial
colors that may be present. If only a little coloring matter is present
use more of the butter.
ANNATTO
Evaporate a portion of the extract to dryness and add sulfuric acid to
the residue. If annatto is present a greenish-blue color forms. Should a
pink tint result the presence of a coal-tar color is to be suspected.
COAL-TAR COLORS
These colors will dye wool or silk if pieces of the fiber are boiled in
the diluted alcoholic extract, which has first been acidified with
hydrochloric acid. The normal butter coloring matter will not dissolve
when thus treated.
_Geisler's Method._--To a few drops of the clarified fat on a porcelain
surface, add a very little fullers' earth. If a pink to violet-red
coloration is produced in a short time the presence of an azo-color is
indicated.
SAFFRON
When saffron is present, nitric acid colors the alcoholic extract green,
and hydrochloric acid colors it red.
TURMERIC
Add ammonia to the alcoholic extract, and if it turns brown it indicates
the presence of turmeric.
MARIGOLD
Add silver nitrate to the extract, and if it turns black the presence of
marigold is indicated.
PROCESS OR RENOVATED BUTTER
Heat a little of the suspected butter in a spoon or dish, and if it is
process butter it will sputter, but not foam much. Make the test also
with some butter known to be pure and fresh.
_Hess and Doolittle Test._--Melt some of the butter (say 40 grams) at
about 50 deg. C. If the butter is pure and fresh the melted fat will clear
up almost as soon as it is melted, while the fat of process butter
remains turbid for quite a while. After most of the curd has settled,
decant as much as possible of the fat. Pour the remainder on a wet
filter. Add a few drops of acetic acid to the water that runs through
from the filter, and boil. If it was ordinary butter this filtrate will
become milky, but if process butter a flocculent precipitate will form.
OLEOMARGARINE
Immerse a test tube, containing some of the filtered fat, in boiling
water for 2 minutes. Make a mixture of 1 part glacial acetic acid, 6
parts ether, and 4 parts alcohol. Add to 20 cc. of this mixture in a 50
cc. test tube, 1 cc. of the heated fat which may be transferred by means
of a hot pipette. Stopper the tube and shake it well. Immerse in water
at 15 deg. or 16 deg. C. Pure butter when thus treated remains clear for quite a
while. There will be only a very little deposit after standing an hour,
but oleomargarine gives a deposit almost immediately, and in a few
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Object: Matrimony
[Illustration: "DID YOU EVER SUFFER FROM STUMMICK TROUBLE?"]
OBJECT:
MATRIMONY
by
MONTAGUE
GLASS
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1909, by_
THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Copyright, 1912, by_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
_All rights reserved including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Object: Matrimony
BY MONTAGUE GLASS
"Real estate!" Philip Margolius cried bitterly; "that's a business for a
business man! If a feller's in the clothing business and it comes bad
times, Mr. Feldman, he can sell it his goods at cost and live anyhow;
but if a feller's in the real-estate business, Mr. Feldman, and it comes
bad times, he can't not only sell his houses, but he couldn't give 'em
away yet, and when the second mortgage forecloses he gets deficiency
judgments against him."
"Why don't you do this?" Mr. Feldman suggested. "Why don't you go to the
second mortgagee and tell him you'll convey the houses to him in
satisfaction of the mortgage? Those houses will never bring even the
amount of the first mortgage in these times, and surely he would rather
have the houses than a deficiency judgment against you."
"That's what I told him a hundred times. Believe me, Mr. Feldman, I used
hours and hours of the best salesmanship on that feller," Margolius
answered, "and all he says is that he wouldn't have to pay no interest,
insurance and taxes on a deficiency judgment, while a house what stands
vacant you got to all the time be paying out money."
"But as soon as they put the subway through," Mr. Feldman continued,
"that property around Two Hundred and Sixty-fourth Street and Heidenfeld
Avenue will go up tremendously."
"Sure I know," Margolius agreed; "but when a feller's got four double
flat-houses and every flat yet vacant, futures don't cut no ice. Them
tenants couldn't ride on futures, Mr. Feldman; and so, with the nearest
trolley car ten blocks away, I am up against a dead proposition."
"Wouldn't he give you a year's extension?" Mr. Feldman asked.
"He wouldn't give me positively nothing," Margolius replied hopelessly.
"That feller's a regular Skylark. He wants his pound of meat every time,
Mr. Feldman. So I guess you got to think up some scheme for me that I
should beat him out. Them mortgages falls due in ten days, Mr. Feldman,
and we got to act quick."
Mr. Feldman frowned judicially. In New York, if an attorney for a realty
owner knows his business and neglects his professional ethics he can so
obstruct an action to foreclose a mortgage as to make Jarndyce vs.
Jarndyce look like a summary proceeding. But Henry D. Feldman was a
conscientious practitioner, and never did anything that might bring him
before the grievance committee of the Bar Association. Moreover, he was
a power in the Democratic organization and right in line for a Supreme
Court judgeship, and so it behooved him to be careful if not ethical.
"Why don't you go and see Goldblatt again, and then if you can't move
him I'll see what I can do for you?" Feldman suggested.
"But, Mr. Feldman," Margolius protested, "I told it you it ain't no use.
Goldblatt hates me worser as poison."
Feldman leaned back in his low chair with one arm thrown over the back,
after the fashion of Judge Blatchford's portrait in the United States
District Courtroom.
"See here, Margolius: what's the real trouble between you and
Goldblatt?" he said. "If you're going to get my advice in this matter
you will have to tell me the whole truth. _Falsus in uno, falsus in
omnibus_, you know."
"You make a big mistake, Mr. Feldman," Margolius replied. "It ain't
nothing like that, and whoever told it you is got another think coming.
The trouble was about his daughter Fannie. You could bring a horse a
pail of water, Mr. Feldman, but no one could make the horse drink it if
he don't want to, and that's the way it was with me. Friedman, the
Schatchen, took me up to see Goldblatt's daughter Fannie, and I assure
you I ain't exaggeration a bit when I tell you she's got a moustache
what wouldn't go bad with a <DW55> barber yet."
"Why, I thought Goldblatt's daughter was a pretty good looker," Feldman
exclaimed.
"That's Birdie Goldblatt," Margolius replied, blushing. "But
Fannie--that's a different proposition, Mr. Feldman. Well, Goldblatt
gives me all kinds of inducements; but I ain't that kind, Mr. Feldman.
If I would marry I would marry for love, and it wouldn't make no
difference to me if the girl would have it, say, for example, only two
thousand dollars. I would marry her anyway."
"Very commendable," Mr. Feldman murmured.
"But Fannie Goldblatt--that is somebody a young feller wouldn't
consider, not if her hair hung with diamonds, Mr. Feldman," Margolius
continued. "Although I got to admit I did go up to Goldblatt's house a
great many times, because, supposing she does got a moustache, she could
cook _gefuellte Fische_ and _Fleischkugeln_ better as Delmonico's
already. And then Miss Birdie Goldblatt----"
He faltered and blushed again, while Feldman nodded sympathetically.
"Anyhow, what's the use talking?" Margolius concluded. "The old man gets
sore on me, and when Marks Henochstein offers him the second mortgages
on them Heidenfeld Avenue houses it was yet boom-time in the Bronix, and
it looked good to Goldblatt; so he made Henochstein give him a big
allowance, and he bought 'em. And now when he's got me where he wants
me I can kiss myself good-bye with them houses."
He rose to his feet and put on his gloves, for Philip was what is
popularly known as a swell dresser. Indeed, there was no
smarter-appearing salesman in the entire cloak and suit trade, nor was
there a salesman more ingratiating in manner and hence more successful
with lady buyers.
"If the worser comes to the worst," he said, "I will go through
bankruptcy. I ain't got nothing but them houses, anyway." He fingered
the two-and-a-half-carat solitaire in his scarf to find out if it were
still there. "And they couldn't get my salary in advance, so that's what
I'll do."
He shook hands with Mr. Feldman.
"You could send me a bill for your advice, Mr. Feldman," he said.
"That's all right," Feldman replied as he ushered his client out of the
office. "I'll add it to my fee in the bankruptcy matter."
II
About Miss Birdie Goldblatt's appearance there was something of Maxine
Elliott with just a dash of Anna Held, and she wore her clothes so well
that she could make a blended-Kamchatka near-mink scarf look like
Imperial Russian sable. Thus, when Philip Margolius encountered her on
the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street his heart fairly
jumped in admiration. Nevertheless, he raised his hat with all his
accustomed grace, and Miss Goldblatt bowed and smiled in return.
"How d'ye do, Miss Goldblatt," he said. "Ain't it a fine weather?"
"Sure it's fine weather," Miss Goldblatt agreed. "Is that all you
stopped me for to tell me it was fine weather?"
"No," Philip said lamely.
"Well, then, I guess I'll be moving on," Miss Goldblatt announced;
"because I got a date with Fannie up on Twenty-third Street."
"One minute," Philip cried. "It was about your sister what I wanted to
speak to you about."
"What have you got to do with my sister Fannie?" Miss Goldblatt
demanded, glaring indignantly at Margolius.
"Why," Philip replied on the spur of the moment, "I got a friend what
wants to be introduced to her, a--now--feller in the--now--cloak
business."
Miss Goldblatt regarded Philip for one suspicious moment.
"What's his name?" she asked abruptly.
A gentle perspiration broke out on Philip's forehead. He searched his
mind for the name of some matrimonially eligible man of his
acquaintance, but none suggested itself. Hence, he sparred for time.
"Never mind his name," he said jocularly. "When the time comes I'll
tell you his name. He's got it a good business, too, I bet yer."
Miss Goldblatt grew somewhat mollified.
"Why don't you bring him down to the house some night?" she suggested,
whereat Philip could not forbear an ironical laugh.
"I suppose your father would be delighted to see me, I suppose. Ain't
it?" he said.
"What's he got to do with it?" Miss Goldblatt asked. "Do you think
because he's called in them second mortgages that me and Fannie would
stand for his being fresh to you if you was to come round to the house?"
"No, I don't," Philip replied; "but just the same, anyhow, he feels sore
at me."
"He's got a right to feel sore at you," Miss Goldblatt interrupted. "You
come a dozen times to see my sister, and then----"
"That's where you are mistaken," Philip cried; "I come once, the first
time, to see your sister, and the other times I come to see _you_."
"Ain't you got a nerve?" Miss Goldblatt exclaimed.
"Why do I got a nerve?" Philip asked. "Miss Goldblatt--Birdie, what's
the matter with me, anyway? I'm young yet--I ain't only thirty-two--and
I got a good name in the cloak and suit business as a salesman. Ask
anybody. I can make it my five thousand a year easy. And supposing I am
a foreigner? There's lots of up-to-date American young fellers what
couldn't keep you in hairpins, Birdie."
He paused and looked pleadingly at Birdie, who tossed her head in reply.
"Them houses up in the Bronix," he said, "that's a misfortune what could
happen anybody. If I got to let 'em go I'll do it. But pshaw! I could
make it up what I lost in them houses with my commissions for one good
season already."
"Well, my sister Fannie----" Birdie commenced.
"Never mind your sister Fannie," Philip said. "I will look out for her.
If you and me can fix it up, Birdie, I give you my word and honour as a
gentleman I will fix it up for Fannie a respectable feller with a good
business."
He paused for an expression of opinion from Birdie, but none was
forthcoming.
"What are you doing to-night?" he asked.
"Fannie and me was----" she began.
"Not Fannie--_you_," he broke in. "Because I was going to suggest if you
ain't doing nothing might we would go to theaytre?"
"Well, sure," Birdie continued. "Fannie and me could go and we wouldn't
say nothing to the old man about it."
"Looky here," Philip pleaded, "must Fannie go?"
"Sure she must go," Birdie answered. "Otherwise, if she don't go I won't
go."
Philip pondered for a moment.
"Well----" he commenced.
"And why wouldn't it be a good scheme," Birdie went on, "if you was to
ring in this other young feller?"
"What young feller?" Philip innocently asked her.
"What young feller!" Birdie exclaimed. "Why, ain't you just told me----"
"Oh, that's right!" Philip cried. "That's a good idee. I'll see if I can
fix it."
He stopped short and looked at his watch. "I'll meet you both in front
of the Casino at eight o'clock," he declared.
It was five o'clock and he only had a trifle over three hours to
discover a man--young if possible, but, in any event, prosperous, who
would be willing to conduct to the theatre a lady of uncertain age with
a dark moustache--object: matrimony.
"You must excuse me," he said fervently as he shook Birdie's hand in
farewell. "I got a lot of work to do this afternoon."
III
On his way to the office of Schindler & Baum, his employers, he was a
prey to misgivings of the gloomiest kind.
"I got such a chance of getting a feller for that Fannie like I would
never try at all," he murmured to himself; but, as he turned the corner
of Nineteenth Street, Fortune, which occasionally favours the brave,
brought him into violent contact with a short, stout person proceeding
in the opposite direction.
"Why don't you hire it a whole sidewalk for yourself?" Philip began, and
then he recognized the stout gentleman.
"Why, hallo, Mr. Feigenbaum!" he cried.
"Hallo yourself, Margolius!" Feigenbaum grunted. "It's a wonder you
wouldn't murder me yet, the way you go like a steam engine already."
"Excuse me," Philip said. "Excuse _me_, Mr. Feigenbaum. I didn't see you
coming. I got to wear glasses, too."
Mr. Feigenbaum glared at Philip with his left eye, the glare in his
right eye being entirely beyond control, since it was fixed and constant
as the day it was made.
"What are you trying to do, Margolius?" he asked. "Kid me?"
"Kid you!" Philip repeated. "Why should I want to kid you?"
And then for the first time it occurred to him that not only was One-eye
Feigenbaum proprietor of the H. F. Cloak Company and its six stores in
the northern-tier counties of Pennsylvania, but that he was also a
bachelor. Moreover, a bachelor with one eye and the singularly
unprepossessing appearance of Henry Feigenbaum would be just the kind of
person to present to Fannie Goldblatt, for Feigenbaum, by reason of his
own infirmity, could not cavil at Fannie's black moustache, and as for
Fannie--well, Fannie would be glad to take what she could get.
"Come over to Hammersmith's and take a little something, Mr.
Feigenbaum," he said. "You and me hasn't had a talk together in a long
time."
Feigenbaum followed him across the street and a minute later sat down at
a table in Hammersmith's rear cafe.
"What will you take, Mr. Feigenbaum?" Philip asked as the waiter bent
over them solicitously.
"Give me a package of all-tobacco cigarettes," Feigenbaum ordered, "and
a rye-bread tongue sandwich."
Philip asked for a cup of coffee.
"Looky here, Feigenbaum," Philip commenced after they had been served,
"you and me is known each other now since way before the Spanish War
already, when I made my first trip by Sol Unterberg. Why is it I ain't
never sold you a dollar's worth of goods?"
"No, and you never will, Margolius," Feigenbaum said as he licked the
crumbs from his fingers; "and I ain't got a thing against you, because I
think you're a decent, respectable young feller."
Having thus endorsed the character of his host, Feigenbaum lit a
cigarette and grinned amiably.
"But Schindler & Baum got it a good line, Feigenbaum," Philip
protested.
"Sure I know they got it a good line," Feigenbaum agreed; "but I ain't
much on going to theaytres or eating a bunch of expensive feed. No,
Margolius, I like to deal with people what gives their line the benefit
of the theaytres and the dinners."
"What you mean?" Philip cried.
"I mean Ellis Block, from Saracuse, New York, shows me a line of capes
he bought it from you, Margolius," Feigenbaum continued, "which the
precisely same thing I got it down on Division Street at a dollar less
apiece from a feller what never was inside of so much as a moving
pictures, with or without a customer, Margolius, and so he don't got to
add the tickets to the price of the garments."
Philip washed down a tart rejoinder with a huge gulp.
"Not that I don't go to theaytre once in a while," Feigenbaum went on;
"but when I go I pay for it myself."
Philip nodded.
"Supposing I should tell you, Mr. Feigenbaum," he said, "that I didn't
want to sell you no goods."
"Well, if you didn't want to sell me no goods," Feigenbaum replied with
a twinkle in his eye, "the best thing to do would be to take me to a
show, because then I sure wouldn't buy no goods from you."
"All right," Philip replied; "come and take dinner with me and we'll go
and see the Lily of Constantinople."
"I wouldn't take dinner with you because I got to see a feller on East
Broadway at six o'clock," Feigenbaum said; "but if you are willing I
will meet you in front of the Casino at eight o'clock."
"Sure I'm willing," Philip said; "otherwise, I wouldn't of asked you."
"All right," Feigenbaum said, rising from his chair. "Eight o'clock,
look for me in front of the Casino."
At seven o'clock Philip alighted from a Forty-second Street car. He
strode into a fashionable hotel and handed ten dollars to the clerk in
the theatre-ticket office.
"Give me four orchestra seats for the Casino for to-night," he said.
Thence he proceeded to the grill-room and consumed a tenderloin steak,
hashed-brown potatoes, a mixed salad, pastry and coffee, and washed
down the whole with a pint of ebullient refreshment.
Finally, he lit a fine cigar and paid the check, after which he took a
small morocco-bound book from his waistcoat pocket. He turned to the
last page of a series headed, "Schindler & Baum, Expense Account," and
made the following entry:
"To entertainment of Henry Feigenbaum, $15.00."
IV
The acquaintance of Henry Feigenbaum with Miss Fannie Goldblatt could
hardly be called love at first sight.
"Mr. Feigenbaum," Philip said when they all met in front of the Casino,
"this is a friend of mine by the name Miss Fannie Goldblatt; also, her
sister Birdie."
The two ladies bowed, but Feigenbaum only blinked at them with
unaffected astonishment.
"All right," he stammered at last. "All right, Margolius. Let's go
inside."
During the short period before the rising of the curtain Birdie and
Philip conversed in undertones, while Fannie did her best to interest
her companion.
"Ain't it a pretty theaytre?" she said by way of prelude.
Feigenbaum glanced around him and grunted: "Huh, huh."
"You're in the same line as Mr. Margolius, ain't you?" Fannie
continued.
"Cloaks and suits, retail," Feigenbaum replied. "I got six stores in the
northern-tier counties of Pennsylvania."
"Then you don't live in New York?" Fannie hazarded.
"No, I live in Pennsylvania," said Feigenbaum. "But I used to live in
New York when I was a young feller."
"Why, you're a young feller yet," Fannie suggested coyly.
"Me, I ain't so young no longer," Feigenbaum answered. "At my age I
could have it already grandchildren old enough to bring in a couple
dollars a week selling papers."
"I believe you should bring up children sensible, too," Miss Goldblatt
agreed heartily. "If I had children I would teach 'em they should earn
and save money young."
"So?" Feigenbaum said.
"Sure," Miss Goldblatt continued. "I always say that if you make
children to be economical when they're young they're economical when
they grow up. My poor mother, _selig_, always impressed it on me I
should be economical, and so I am economical."
"Is that so?" Feigenbaum gasped. He felt that he was a drowning man and
looked around him for floating straws.
"I ain't so helpless like some other ladies that I know," Miss Goldblatt
went on. "My poor mother, _selig_, was a good housekeeper, and she
taught me everything what she knew. She used to say: 'The feller what
gets my Fannie won't never die of the indigestion.'"
Feigenbaum nodded gloomily.
"Did you ever suffer from stummick trouble, Mr. Feigenbaum?" she asked.
The composer of the Lily of Constantinople came to Feigenbaum's
assistance by scoring the opening measure of the overture for brass and
woodwind with heavy passages for the _cassa grande_ and cymbals, and
when the uproar gave way to a simple rendition of the song hit of the
show, My Bosphorus Queen, Fannie surrendered herself to the spell of its
marked rhythm and forgot to press Feigenbaum for an answer.
During the entire first act Feigenbaum fixed his eyes on the stage, and
as soon as the curtain fell for the first _entr'acte_ he uttered no word
of apology, but made a hurried exit to the smoking-room. There Philip
found him a moment later.
"Well, Feigenbaum," Philip cried, "how do you like the show?"
"The show is all right, Margolius," Feigenbaum replied, "but the next
time you are going to steer me up against something like that Miss
Fannie Goldblatt, Margolius, let me know. That's all."
"Why, what's the matter with her?" Philip asked.
"There's nothing the matter with her," Feigenbaum said, "only she
reminds me of a feller what used to work by me up in Sylvania by the
name Pincus Lurie. I had to get rid of him because trade fell off on
account the children complained he made snoots at 'em to scare 'em. He
didn't make no snoots, Margolius; that was his natural face what he got
it, the same like Miss Goldblatt."
"You don't know that girl, Feigenbaum," Philip replied. "That girl's got
a heart. Oi! what a heart that girl got--like a watermelon."
"I know, Margolius," Feigenbaum replied; "but she also got it a
moustache like a <DW55>. Why don't she shave herself, Margolius?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Philip said coldly.
"I don't know her good enough yet," Feigenbaum retorted, "and how it
looks now I ain't never going to."
But the way to Feigenbaum's heart lay through his stomach just as
accurately as it avoided his pocketbook, so that when Miss Fannie
Goldblatt suggested, after the final curtain, that they all go up to One
Hundred and Eighteenth Street and have a supper at home instead of at a
restaurant, she made a dent in Feigenbaum's affections.
"Looky here, Birdie," Philip whispered, "how about the old man?"
"Don't you worry about him," she said. "He went to Brownsville to play
auction pinocle, and I bet yer he don't get home till five o'clock."
Half an hour afterward they sat around the dining-room table, and
Fannie helped Feigenbaum to a piece of _gefuellte Fische_, a delicacy
which never appears on the menus of rural hotels in Pennsylvania. At the
first mouthful Feigenbaum looked at Fannie Goldblatt, and while, to be
sure, she did have some hair on her upper lip, it was only a slight down
which at the second mouthful became still slighter. Indeed, after the
third slice of fish Feigenbaum was ready to declare it to be a most
becoming down, very bewitching and Spanish in appearance.
Following the _gefuellte Fische_ came a species of _tripe farcie_, the
whole being washed down with coffee and topped off with delicious
cake--cake which could be adequately described only by kissing the tips
of one's fingers.
"After all, Margolius," Feigenbaum commented as he lit an all-tobacco
cigarette on their way down the front stoop of the Goldblatt
residence--"after all, she ain't such a bad-looking woman. I seen it
lots worser, Margolius."
"That's nothing what we got it this evening," Philip said as they
started off for the subway; "you should taste the _Kreploch_ what that
girl makes it."
"I'm going to," Feigenbaum said; "they asked me I should come to dinner
to-morrow night."
But Philip knew from his own experience that the glamour engendered of
Fannie's _gefuellte Fische_ would soon be dispelled, and then Henry
Feigenbaum would hie him to the northern-tier counties of Pennsylvania,
leaving Philip's love affair in worse condition than before.
"I got to cinch it," he murmured to himself as he went downtown next
morning, "before that one-eyed feller skips out on me."
As soon as he reached Schindler & Baum's office he rang up the Goldblatt
house, assuming for that purpose a high tenor voice lest Goldblatt
himself answer the 'phone; but again fortune favoured him, and it was
Birdie who responded.
"Birdie," he said, "do me the favour and come to lunch with me at the
Park Row Building."
"Why so far downtown?" Birdie asked.
"Reasons I got it," Philip replied. "Come at twelve o'clock at the Park
Row Building, sure."
Thus it happened at quarter past twelve Philip and Birdie sat at a table
in the Park Row Building in such earnest conversation that a tureenful
of soup remained unserved before them at a temperature of seventy
degrees.
"An engagement party ain't nothing to me," Philip cried. "What do I care
for such things?"
"But it's something to me, Philip," Birdie declared. "Think of the
presents, Philip."
"Presents!" Philip repeated. "What for presents would we get it?
Bargains in cut glass what would make our flat look like a
five-and-ten-cent store."
"But Popper would be crazy if I did a thing like that," Birdie
protested. "And, besides, I ain't got no clothes."
"Why, you look like a--like a--now--queen," Philip exclaimed. "And,
anyhow, what would you want new clothes for when you got this?"
He dug his hand into his trousers pocket and produced a ring containing
a solitaire diamond as big as a hazelnut.
"I took a chance on the size already," he said, "but I bet yer it will
fit like it was tailor-made."
He seized her left hand in both of his and passed the ring on to the
third finger, while Birdie's cheeks were aglow and her eyes rivalled the
brilliancy of the ring itself.
"But----" she began.
"But nothing," Philip interrupted. He rose from his seat and helped
Birdie on with her coat. "Waiter," he called, "we come right back here.
We are just going over to Jersey for a couple of hours."
He pressed a bill into the waiter's hand.
"Send that soup to the kitchen," he said, "and tell 'em to serve it hot
when we come back."
Two hours later they reappeared at the same table, and the grinning
waiter immediately went off to the kitchen. When he returned he bore a
glass bowl containing a napkin elaborately folded in the shape of a
flower, and inside the napkin was a little heap of rice.
V
There was something about Mr. Elkan Goldblatt's face that would make the
most hardy real-estater pause before entering into a business deal with
him. He had an eye like a poll-parrot with its concomitant beak, and his
closely cropped beard and moustache accentuated rather than mollified
his harsh appearance.
"Such fellers I wouldn't have no more mercy on than a dawg," he said to
his attorney, Eleazer Levy. "Oncet already I practically kicked him out
from my house, and then he's got the nerve to come back, and two weeks
ago he brings yet a feller with him and makes bluffs that the feller
wants to marry my daughter Fannie."
"He was just trying to get you to extend those second mortgages, I
suppose," Levy said.
"Sure he was, because this here feller--a homely looking feller with one
eye, mind you--says he got to go back to Pennsylvania where his stores
is, and we ain't seen nor heard a word from him since," Goldblatt
concluded. "And him eating two meals a day by us for ten days yet!"
Eleazer Levy clucked with his tongue in sympathy.
"But, anyhow, now I want we should go right straight ahead and foreclose
on Margolius," Goldblatt continued. "Don't lose no time, Levy, and get
out the papers to-day. How long would it be before we can sell the
property?"
"Six weeks," said Levy, "if I serve the summons to-morrow. I put in a
search some days ago, and the feller ain't got a judgment against him."
"So much the better," Goldblatt commented. "The property won't bring the
amount of the first mortgage and I suppose I got to buy it in. Then I
will get deficiency judgments against that feller, and I'll make him
sorry he ever tried any monkey business with me and my daughters. Why,
that feller actually turned my own children against me, Levy."
"Is that so?" Levy murmured.
"My Birdie abused me, I assure you, like I was a pickpocket when I says
I would foreclose on him," Goldblatt replied. "And even my Fannie,
although she is all broke up about that one-eyed feller, she says I
should give the young feller a show. What d'ye think of that, hey?"
"Terrible!" Levy replied. "A feller like that deserves all he gets, and
you can bet yer sweet life he won't have any let-up from me, Mr.
Goldblatt."
Levy was as good as his word, for that very afternoon he filed a notice
of pendency of action against the Heidenfeld Avenue property, and the
next morning, as Philip left his house, a clerk from Levy's office
served him with four copies of the summons and complaint in the
foreclosure suit of Goldblatt vs. Margolius, actions numbers 1, 2, 3
and 4. But Philip stuffed them into his pocket unread; he had other and
more poignant woes than foreclosure suits. Only ten days wed, and he was
denied even the sight of his wife longer than five minutes; for she was
not endangering future prospects in favour of present happiness.
"We could, anyway, get the furniture out of him," she argued when she
saw Philip that day, "and, maybe, a couple of thousand dollars."
"I don't care a pinch of snuff for his furniture," Philip cried. "I will
buy the furniture myself."
"But I can't leave Fannie just now," she declared; "she's all broke up
about that feller."
"What about me?" Philip protested. "Ain't I broke up, too?"
"So long you waited, you could wait a little longer yet," she replied;
"but poor Fannie, you got no idea how that girl takes on."
"She shouldn't worry," Philip cried. "I promised I would fix her up, and
I will fix her up."
Daily the same scene was enacted at the Goldblatt residence on One
Hundred and Eighteenth Street, and daily Birdie refused to forsake her
sister, until six weeks had elapsed.
"But, Birdie," Philip announced for the hundredth time, "so sure as you
stand there I couldn't keep this up no longer. I will either go crazy or
either I will jump in the river."
Birdie patted him on the back.
"Don't think about it," she said. "Take your mind off it. To-day your
property gets sold and Popper says he will be down at the salesroom at
twelve o'clock."
"Let 'em sell it," Philip cried; "I don't | 269.955743 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA
By William J. Locke
London
William Heinemann
1895
TO ONE WHOSE WORK IT IS AS MUCH AS MINE
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK.
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA.
CHAPTER I.
It was a severe room, scrupulously neat. Along one side ran a bookcase,
with beaded glass doors, containing, as one might see by peering through
the spaces, the collected, unread literature of two stern generations.
A few old prints, placed in bad lights, hung on the walls. In the centre
of the room was a leather-covered library table, with writing materials
arranged in painful precision. A couch was lined along one wall, in the
draught of the door. On either side of the fireplace were ranged two
stiff leather armchairs.
In one of these chairs sat an old man, in the other a faded woman just
verging upon middle age. The old man was looking at a picture which | 269.985735 |
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Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
KWAIDAN: Stories and Studies of Strange Things
By Lafcadio Hearn
A Note from the Digitizer
On Japanese Pronunciation
Although simplified, the following general rules will help the reader
unfamiliar with Japanese to come close enough to Japanese pronunciation.
There are five vowels: a (as in fAther), i (as in machIne), u (as in
fOOl), e (as in fEllow), and o (as in mOle). Although certain vowels
become nearly "silent" in some environments, this phenomenon can be
safely ignored for the purpose at hand.
Consonants roughly approximate their corresponding sounds in English,
except for r, which is actually somewhere between r and l (this is why
the | 270.058812 |
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Produced by Dagny and Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Hathi Trust.)
SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO
BY
NELLIE BLY
AUTHOR OF "TEN DAYS IN A MAD HOUSE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
AMERICAN PUBLISHERS CORPORATION
1888
TO
GEORGE A. MADDEN,
MANAGING EDITOR
OF THE
PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NEVER-FAILING KINDNESS
JAN. 1st, 1888.
CONTENTS
I. ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES
II. EL PASO DEL NORTE
III. ALONG THE ROUTE
IV. THE CITY OF MEXICO.
V. IN THE STREETS OF MEXICO
VI. HOW SUNDAY IS CELEBRATED
VII. A HORSEBACK RIDE OVER HISTORIC GROUNDS
VIII. A MEXICAN BULL-FIGHT
IX. THE MUSEUM AND ITS CURIOSITIES
X. HISTORIC TOMBS AND LONELY GRAVES
XI. CUPID'S WORK IN SUNNYLAND.
XII. JOAQUIN MILLER AND COFFIN STREET
XIII. IN MEXICAN THEATERS
XIV. THE FLOATING GARDENS
XV. THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC
XVI. THE FEASTS OF THE GAMBLERS
XVII. FEAST OF FLOWERS AND LENTEN CELEBRATIONS
XVIII. GUADALUPE AND ITS ROMANTIC LEGEND
XIX. A DAY'S TRIP ON A STREET CAR
XX. WHERE MAXIMILIAN'S AMERICAN COLONY LIVED
XXI. A MEXICAN ARCADIA
XXII. THE WONDERS OF PUEBLA
XXIII. THE PYRAMID OF CHOLULA
XXIV. A FEW NOTES ABOUT MEXICAN PRESIDENTS
XXV. MEXICAN SOLDIERS AND THE RURALES
XXVI. THE PRESS OF MEXICO
XXVII. THE GHASTLY TALE OF DON JUAN MANUEL
XXVIII. A MEXICAN PARLOR
XXIX. LOVE AND COURTSHIP IN MEXICO
XXX. SCENES WITHIN MEXICAN HOMES
XXXI. THE ROMANCE OF THE MEXICAN PULQUE
XXXII. MEXICAN MANNERS
XXXIII. NOCHE TRISTE TREE
XXXIV. LITTLE NOTES OF INTEREST
XXXV. A FEW RECIPES FOR MEXICAN DISHES
XXXVI. SOME MEXICAN LEGENDS
XXXVII. PRINCESS JOSEFA DE YTURBIDE
SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO.
By NELLIE BLY.
CHAPTER I.
ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES.
One wintry night I bade my few journalistic friends adieu, and,
accompanied by my mother, started on my way to Mexico. Only a few
months previous I had become a newspaper woman. I was too impatient
to work along at the usual duties assigned women on newspapers, so I
conceived the idea of going away as a correspondent.
Three days after leaving Pittsburgh we awoke one morning to find
ourselves in the lap of summer. For a moment it seemed a dream. When
the porter had made up our bunks the evening previous, the surrounding
country had been covered with a snowy blanket. When we awoke the trees
were in leaf and the balmy breeze mocked our wraps.
Three days, from dawn until dark, we sat at the end of the car inhaling
the perfume of the flowers and enjoying the glorious Western sights so
rich in originality. For the first time I saw women plowing while their
lords and masters sat on a fence smoking. I never longed for anything
so much as I did to shove those lazy fellows off.
After we got further south they had no fences. I was glad of it,
because they do not look well ornamented with lazy men.
The land was so beautiful. We gazed in wonder on the cotton-fields,
which looked, when moved by the breezes, like huge, foaming breakers in
their mad rush for the shore. And the cowboys! I shall never forget
the first real, live cowboy I saw on the plains. The train was moving
at a "putting-in-time" pace, as we came up to two horsemen. They wore
immense sombreros, huge spurs, and had lassos hanging to the side of
their saddles. I knew they were cowboys, so, jerking off a red scarf I
waved it to them.
I was not quite sure how they would respond. From the thrilling and
wicked stories I had read, I fancied they might begin shooting at me
as quickly as anything else. However, I was surprised and delighted to
see them lift their sombreros, in a manner not excelled by a New York
exquisite, and urge their horses into a mad run after us.
Such a ride! The feet of the horses never seemed to touch the ground.
By this time nearly all the passengers were watching the race between
horse and steam. At last we gradually left them behind. I waved my
scarf sadly in farewell, and they responded with their sombreros. I
never felt as much reluctance for leaving a man behind as I did to
leave those cowboys.
The people at the different stopping-places looked at us with as much
enjoyment as we gazed on them. They were not in the least backward
about asking questions or making remarks. One woman came up to me with
a smile, and said:
"Good-mornin', missis; and why are you sittin' out thar, when thar is
such a nice cabin to be in?"
She could not understand how I could prefer seeing the country to
sitting in a Pullman.
I had imagined that the West was a land of beef and cream; I soon
learned my mistake, much to my dismay. It was almost an impossibility
to get aught else than salt meat, and cream was like the stars--out of
reach.
It was with regret we learned just before retiring on the evening of
our third day out from St. Louis, that morning would find us in El | 270.254881 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _The waterside at Martin's Ferry. Near this spot stood
the little brick house in which Mr. Howells was born._]
YEARS OF MY YOUTH
BY
W. D. HOWELLS
WITH INTRODUCTION AND ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN EXPRESSLY
FOR THIS BOOK BY CLIFTON JOHNSON
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
YEARS OF MY YOUTH
Copyright, 1916, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published October, 1917
K-R
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE WATERSIDE AT MARTIN'S FERRY _Frontispiece_
THE OHIO RIVER AT WHEELING, WEST VIRGINIA _Facing p._ 10
HAMILTON, OHIO, THE "BOY'S TOWN" OF MR. HOWELLS'S YOUTH " 16
THE MIAMI CANAL AT HAMILTON " 22
THE NOW ABANDONED CANAL AT DAYTON AS IT APPEARS
ON THE BORDERS OF THE CITY " 40
THE LITTLE MIAMI RIVER AT EUREKA MILLS, TWELVE
MILES EAST OF DAYTON " 44
OVERLOOKING THE ISLAND WHICH THE HOWELLS FAMILY CULTIVATED " 54
THE VICINITY WHERE MR. HOWELLS LIVED HIS "YEAR
IN A LOG CABIN" " 60
ONE OF THE LAST LOG HOUSES TO SURVIVE IN THE VICINITY
OF JEFFERSON " 82
THE FOUR-STORY OFFICE ERECTED BY MR. HOWELLS'S
FATHER " 116
THE OHIO STATE HOUSE AT COLUMBUS VIEWED FROM
HIGH STREET " 138
THE STATE HOUSE YARD ON THE STATE STREET SIDE " 158
OLD-TIME DWELLINGS ON ONE OF THE COLUMBUS
STREETS THAT MR. HOWELLS USED TO FREQUENT " 170
THE MEDICAL COLLEGE AT COLUMBUS " 184
THE QUAINT DOORWAY OF THE MEDICAL COLLEGE
THROUGH WHICH MR. HOWELLS PASSED DAILY
WHILE HE ROOMED IN THE BUILDING " 224
LOOKING INTO THE STATE HOUSE GROUNDS TOWARD THE
BROAD FLIGHT OF STEPS BEFORE THE WEST FRONT
OF THE BUILDING " 236
PREFACE BY THE ILLUSTRATOR
Whenever I visit the region of a famous man's youth I have the feeling
that I ought to discover there some clue to the secret of his greatness;
for I cannot help fancying that the environment must have molded him and
been an essential element in the development of his individuality and
power. It was with such expectations that I recently went to Ohio, just
as spring was verging into summer, to see the land where Mr. Howells
spent the years of which he has made so frank and appealing a record in
this volume. In the middle of the last century the State retained much
of the crude primitiveness of the frontier, and I wondered what stimulus
this could have offered in creating a genius so broad in his views and
so sensitive to impressions, and in whose expression there is such fine
imagination, humor, sympathy, and wisdom.
I began my journey in Mr. Howells's native State where he began his
life's journey eighty years ago, at Martin's Ferry. The place is two
miles up the Ohio River from Wheeling, West Virginia, on the western
bank of the stream. By the water-side are big, ugly factories belching
smoke and steam, and in their vicinity are railroad tracks, cinders, and
other litter, and dingy, ramshackle buildings, among which are numerous
forlorn little dwellings and occasional saloons. A sort of careless
prosperity is in evidence, but not much of the charm of neatness, or
concern for appearances. The rest of the town overspreads the steep
<DW72>s that border the river, and pushes back into the nooks among the
adjacent upheaval of big hills. It is rather chaotic, but improves in
quality the farther it recedes from the smoke and din of the
manufacturing strip along the river.
The small brick Howells house stood close to the stream, where grime and
squalor most abound at present. However, the railroad was not there
then, and Martin's Ferry was a village that had in some respects real
rural attraction.
During the period of about twenty-five years which this book covers the
Howells family lived in seven different places, many of them widely
separated, but all within the confines of Ohio; and they seldom stayed
long in any town without occupying more than one residence. Naturally,
there have been marked changes in the aspect of most of the places where
they dwelt. Perhaps Jefferson has changed least. In the old days it had
six hundred inhabitants. Now it has three or four times that number, but
it is still serenely rustic, and every one knows every one else, and the
wide, tree-shadowed streets and the rich, gently rolling farm country
that environ the town are delightful.
Hamilton, with which Mr. Howells has dealt so graphically in his _A
Boy's Town_, has increased in population from two thousand to
thirty-five thousand; Dayton from eleven thousand to one hundred and
twenty-five thousand, and Columbus from eighteen thousand to nearly a
quarter of a million. Of course, such a strenuous expansion means the
obliteration of landmarks of the past. Besides, some of the places have
been largely rebuilt after being nearly wiped off the map by floods.
On the other hand, the vicinity where Mr. Howells spent his _Year in a
Log Cabin_ is even more lonely than it was then. It had a name in the
long ago--Eureka Mills. But fire, which in our country is an even more
potent destroyer than floods of what men build, has razed the mills, the
dam has crumbled, the mill-race is a dry ditch choked with weeds and
brush, and the name is well-nigh forgotten. When I was there the only
man-dwelling was a vacant house that stood close to the site of the old
log cabin. I might have thought the locality entirely deserted if it had
not been for fences and cultivated fields and two cows grazing in a
pasture. The only person whom I saw on the highway while I loitered
about was a rural mail-carrier jogging along in his cart.
Round about were low, rounded hills, fertile and well-tilled for the
most part, with here and there patches of woodland and occasional snug
groups of farm buildings. It is a land flowing with milk and honey,
wonderfully productive and prosperous, and charming in its luscious
agricultural beauty. In Mr. Howells's youth it was wilder and more
forested, but I fancy that the stream, with its wooded banks, must be
essentially the same, and that the birds flitting and singing and the
other wild creatures of fields and woods are like those of old.
Log houses, once so common in the Ohio country within the memory of its
elderly people, are now rare, and I could learn of none within less than
a dozen miles of Eureka Mills. But I found one on the outskirts of
Jefferson which was intact and serviceable, though it no longer
sheltered a family; and both Jefferson and Dayton have a log cabin
preserved as a relic of the past.
Any place that has been Mr. Howells's home has reason to be proud of the
fact, for he has long been recognized as the foremost of living American
authors, and it seems safe to conclude that much of his work will have a
permanent place in our literature. Yet I got the impression that, as a
rule, the people in those Ohio communities with which he has been
associated are unaware of his existence. Others, however, not only are
familiar with his reputation, but regard him with enthusiasm and
affection. At Columbus Rev. Washington Gladden, the most notable of all
Ohio preachers, has made _Years of My Youth_ the subject of a Sunday
evening discourse; and it is particularly gratifying to find that _A
Boy's Town_ is a favorite book in Hamilton, and that the Boy Scouts
there call themselves the Boy's Town Brigade.
Hamilton, Dayton, and Columbus, in which places Mr. Howells spent so
much of his youth, are all important centers of trade and manufacture
where crowds and noisy traffic are ever present in the business
sections, and where a maze of residence streets spread out into the
country round about. At Hamilton, the only building I could discover
associated with Mr. Howells was the Baptist church where he attended
Sunday-school. But it is now a paint-shop, and the paint-man has adorned
the entire front with a scenic sample of his art, which makes the
structure more suggestive of a theater than a church. The Great Miami
River flows through the town as of old, and the tall buildings, towers,
and spires in the heart of the place are strikingly picturesque seen
from some points of vantage along the banks of the stream. But the most
charming feature of the past is the canal in which the boys used to swim
and fish, and which, doubtless, still serves for the same purposes. It
is no longer a thoroughfare for traffic, though the tow-path is used in
part by trams and pedestrians.
Dayton had its canal, too, but this, like the one at Hamilton, has been
abandoned, except as the mills make use of it.
At Columbus is what was the new State House in Mr. Howells's youth, the
Medical College in which he roomed, and a sprinkling of quiet old
residences that were there in his time. The college, which originally
was a castle-like structure with an upthrust of towers and turrets, has
had its sky-line somewhat straightened by the addition of an extra
story; but this has only marred, without destroying, its characteristic
quaintness.
Jefferson was the home of Mr. Howells's father for the most of his later
life, and of his older brother, Joseph, whom the people there like to
recall for his many fine qualities of head and heart, and as the printer
and editor of the "best weekly paper" ever published in Ashtabula
County.
This brother is referred to again and again in the chapters that follow.
His grave in the Jefferson cemetery has been marked with the
"imposing-stone | 270.52792 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*David Graham Phillips*
_*The*_*
HUNGRY HEART*
_*A NOVEL*_
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1909
Copyright, 1909, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published September, 1909_
*THE HUNGRY HEART*
*I*
Courtship and honeymoon of Richard Vaughan and Courtney Benedict are
told accurately enough by a thousand chroniclers of love's fairy tales
and dreams. Where such romances end in a rosily vague "And they lived
happily ever after," there this history begins. Richard and Courtney
have returned from Arcady to reality, to central Indiana and the Vaughan
homestead, across the narrow width of Wenona the lake from Wenona the
town.
The homecoming was late in a June evening, with a perfumed coolness
descending upon the young lovers from the grand old trees, round the
Vaughan house like his bodyguard round a king. Next morning toward
eight Courtney, still half asleep, reached out hazily. Her hand met
only the rumpled linen on Richard's side of the huge fourposter. She
started up, brushed back the heavy wave of auburn hair fallen over her
brow, gazed down at his pillow. The dent of his head, but not he. Her
eyes searched the dimness. The big room contained only a few large
pieces of old mahogany; at a glance she saw into every corner. Alone in
the room. Her eyes, large and anxious now, regarded the half-open door
of the dressing room to the rear.
"Dick!" she called hopefully.
No answer.
"Dick!" she repeated, a note of doubt in her voice.
Silence.
"Dick!" she repeated reproachfully. It was the first morning she had
awakened without the sense of his nearness that had become so dear, so
necessary. It was the first morning in this house strange to her--in
this now life they were to make beautiful and happy together. She gave
a forlorn sigh like a disappointed child, drew up her knees, rested her
elbows upon them, and her small head upon her hands. Sitting there in
the midst of that bed big enough for half a dozen as small as she, she
suggested a butterfly poised motionless with folded wings. A moment and
she lifted her drooped head. How considerate of him not to wake her
when the three days and nights on train had been so wearing!
Swift and light as a butterfly she sprang from the bed, flung open the
shutters of the lake-front windows. In poured summer like gay cavalcade
through breach in gloomy walls--summer in full panoply of perfume and
soft air and sparkling sunshine. She almost laughed aloud for joy at
this timely rescue. She gazed away across the lake to the town where
she was born and bred! "Home!" she cried. "And so happy--so utterly
happy!" Her expression, her whole manner, her quick movements gave the
impression of the impulsive self-unconsciousness of a child.
It was a radiant figure, small and perfect like a sun sprite, that
issued from the room three quarters of an hour later to flit along the
polished oak hall, to descend a stairway glistening like hall above and
wider and loftier hall below. With hair piled high on her small head,
with tail of matinee over her arm and tall heels clicking merrily on the
steps, she whistled as she went. Some people--women--criticised that
laughter-loving mouth of hers as too wide for so small a face. It
certainly | 271.255093 |
2023-11-16 18:21:35.3347990 | 5,957 | 13 |
E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel, Charlie Howard, 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 45699-h.htm or 45699-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45699/45699-h/45699-h.htm)
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/fronlastamerican00paxsrich
THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
Stories from American History
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
by
FREDERIC LOGAN PAXSON
Junior Professor of American History in the University of Michigan
Illustrated
New York
The Macmillan Company
1910
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1910,
By the Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
I have told here the story of the last frontier within the United
States, trying at once to preserve the picturesque atmosphere which
has given to the "Far West" a definite and well-understood meaning,
and to indicate those forces which have shaped the history of the
country beyond the Mississippi. In doing it I have had to rely largely
upon my own investigations among sources little used and relatively
inaccessible. The exact citations of authority, with which I might have
crowded my pages, would have been out of place in a book not primarily
intended for the use of scholars. But I hope, before many years, to
exploit in a larger and more elaborate form the mass of detailed
information upon which this sketch is based.
My greatest debts are to the owners of the originals from which the
illustrations for this book have been made; to Claude H. Van Tyne, who
has repeatedly aided me with his friendly criticism; and to my wife,
whose careful readings have saved me from many blunders in my text.
FREDERIC L. PAXSON.
ANN ARBOR, August 7, 1909.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT 1
CHAPTER II
THE INDIAN FRONTIER 14
CHAPTER III
IOWA AND THE NEW NORTHWEST 33
CHAPTER IV
THE SANTA FE TRAIL 53
CHAPTER V
THE OREGON TRAIL 70
CHAPTER VI
OVERLAND WITH THE MORMONS 86
CHAPTER VII
CALIFORNIA AND THE FORTY-NINERS 104
CHAPTER VIII
KANSAS AND THE INDIAN FRONTIER 119
CHAPTER IX
"PIKE'S PEAK OR BUST!" 138
CHAPTER X
FROM ARIZONA TO MONTANA 156
CHAPTER XI
THE OVERLAND MAIL 174
CHAPTER XII
THE ENGINEERS' FRONTIER 192
CHAPTER XIII
THE UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD 211
CHAPTER XIV
THE PLAINS IN THE CIVIL WAR 225
CHAPTER XV
THE CHEYENNE WAR 243
CHAPTER XVI
THE SIOUX WAR 264
CHAPTER XVII
THE PEACE COMMISSION AND THE OPEN WAY 284
CHAPTER XVIII
BLACK KETTLE'S LAST RAID 304
CHAPTER XIX
THE FIRST OF THE RAILWAYS 324
CHAPTER XX
THE NEW INDIAN POLICY 340
CHAPTER XXI
THE LAST STAND: CHIEF JOSEPH AND SITTING BULL 358
CHAPTER XXII
LETTING IN THE POPULATION 372
CHAPTER XXIII
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 387
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE PRAIRIE SCHOONER _Frontispiece_
PAGE
MAP: INDIAN COUNTRY AND AGRICULTURAL FRONTIER, 1840-1841 22
CHIEF KEOKUK _facing_ 30
IOWA SOD PLOW. (From a Cut belonging to the Historical
Department of Iowa.) 46
MAP: OVERLAND TRAILS 57
FORT LARAMIE, 1842 _facing_ 78
MAP: THE WEST IN 1849 120
MAP: THE WEST IN 1854 140
"HO FOR THE YELLOW STONE" _facing_ 144
THE MINING CAMP " 158
FORT SNELLING " 204
RED CLOUD AND PROFESSOR MARSH " 274
MAP: THE WEST IN 1863 300
POSITION OF RENO ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN _facing_ 360
MAP: THE PACIFIC RAILROADS, 1884 380
THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
CHAPTER I
THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT
The story of the United States is that of a series of frontiers which
the hand of man has reclaimed from nature and the savage, and which
courage and foresight have gradually transformed from desert waste to
virile commonwealth. It is the story of one long struggle, fought over
different lands and by different generations, yet ever repeating the
conditions and episodes of the last period in the next. The winning of
the first frontier established in America its first white settlements.
Later struggles added the frontiers of the Alleghanies and the Ohio,
of the Mississippi and the Missouri. The winning of the last frontier
completed the conquest of the continent.
The greatest of American problems has been the problem of the West.
For four centuries after the discovery there existed here vast areas
of fertile lands which beckoned to the colonist and invited him to
migration. On the boundary between the settlements and the wilderness
stretched an indefinite line that advanced westward from year to year.
Hardy pioneers were ever to be found ahead of it, blazing the trails
and clearing in the valleys. The advance line of the farmsteads was
never far behind it. And out of this shifting frontier between man and
nature have come the problems that have occupied and directed American
governments since their beginning, as well as the men who have solved
them. The portion of the population residing in the frontier has
always been insignificant in number, yet it has well-nigh controlled
the nation. The dominant problems in politics and morals, in economic
development and social organization, have in most instances originated
near the frontier or been precipitated by some shifting of the frontier
interest.
The controlling influence of the frontier in shaping American problems
has been possible because of the construction of civilized governments
in a new area, unhampered by institutions of the past or conservative
prejudices of the present. Each commonwealth has built from the
foundation. An institution, to exist, has had to justify itself again
and again. No force of tradition has kept the outlawed fact alive. The
settled lands behind have in each generation been forced to remodel
their older selves upon the newer growths beyond.
Individuals as well as problems have emerged from the line of the
frontier as it has advanced across a continent. In the conflict with
the wilderness, birth, education, wealth, and social standing have
counted for little in comparison with strength, vigor, and aggressive
courage. The life there has always been hard, killing off the weaklings
or driving them back to the settlements, and leaving as a result a
picked population not noteworthy for its culture or its refinements,
but eminent in qualities of positive force for good or bad. The bad
man has been quite as typical of the frontier as the hero, but both
have possessed its dominant virtues of self-confidence, vigor, and
initiative. Thus it has been that the men of the frontiers have exerted
an influence upon national affairs far out of proportion to their
strength in numbers.
The influence of the frontier has been the strongest single factor
in American history, exerting its power from the first days of the
earliest settlements down to the last years of the nineteenth century,
when the frontier left the map. No other force has been continuous
in its influence throughout four centuries. Men still live whose
characters have developed under its pressure. The colonists of New
England were not too early for its shaping.
The earliest American frontier was in fact a European frontier,
separated by an ocean from the life at home and meeting a wilderness
in every extension. English commercial interests, stimulated by the
successes of Spain and Portugal, began the organization of corporations
and the planting of trading depots before the sixteenth century ended.
The accident that the Atlantic seaboard had no exploitable products at
once made the American commercial trading company of little profit and
translated its depots into resident colonies. The first instalments
of colonists had little intention to turn pioneer, but when religious
and political quarrels in the mother country made merry England a
melancholy place for Puritans, a motive was born which produced a
generation of voluntary frontiersmen. Their scattered outposts made
a line of contact between England and the American wilderness which
by 1700 extended along the Atlantic from Maine to Carolina. Until the
middle of the eighteenth century the frontier kept within striking
distance of the sea. Its course of advance was then, as always,
determined by nature and geographic fact. Pioneers followed the line
of least resistance. The river valley was the natural communicating
link, since along its waters the vessel could be advanced, while along
its banks rough trails could most easily develop into highways. The
extent and distribution of this colonial frontier was determined by the
contour of the seaboard along which it lay.
Running into the sea, with courses nearly parallel, the Atlantic
rivers kept the colonies separated. Each colony met its own problems
in its own way. England was quite as accessible as some of the
neighboring colonies. No natural routes invited communication among the
settlements, and an English policy deliberately discouraged attempts on
the part of man to bring the colonies together. Hence it was that the
various settlements developed as island frontiers, touching the river
mouths, not advancing much along the shore line, but penetrating into
the country as far as the rivers themselves offered easy access.
For varying distances, all the important rivers of the seaboard are
navigable; but all are broken by falls at the points where they emerge
upon the level plains of the coast from the hilly courses of the
foothills of the Appalachians. Connecting these various waterfalls a
line can be drawn roughly parallel to the coast and marking at once
the western limit of the earliest colonies and the line of the second
frontier. The first frontier was the seacoast itself. The second was
reached at the falls line shortly after 1700.
Within these island colonies of the first frontier American life began.
English institutions were transplanted in the new soil and shaped in
growth by the quality of their nourishment. They came to meet the
needs of their dependent populations, but they ceased to be English
in the process. The facts of similarity among the institutions of
Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, or Virginia, or Georgia, point clearly
to the similar stocks of ideas imported with the colonists, and the
similar problems attending upon the winning of the first frontier.
Already, before the next frontier at the falls line had been reached,
the older settlements had begun to develop a spirit of conservatism
plainly different from the attitude of the old frontier.
The falls line was passed long before the colonial period came to an
end, and pioneers were working their way from clearing to clearing,
up into the mountains, by the early eighteenth century. As they
approached the summit of the eastern divide, leaving the falls behind,
the essential isolation of the provinces began to weaken under the
combined forces of geographic influence and common need. The valley
routes of communication which determined the lines of advance run
parallel, across the first frontier, but have a tendency to converge
among the mountains and to stand on common ground at the summit. Every
reader of Francis Parkman knows how in the years from 1745 to 1756 the
pioneers of the more aggressive colonies crossed the Alleghanies and
meeting on the summit found that there they must make common cause
against the French, or recede. The gateways of the West converge where
the headwaters of the Tennessee and Cumberland and Ohio approach the
Potomac and its neighbors. There the colonists first came to have
common associations and common problems. Thus it was that the years in
which the frontier line reached the forks of the Ohio were filled with
talk of colonial union along the seaboard. The frontier problem was
already influencing the life of the East and impelling a closer union
than had been known before.
The line of the frontier was generally parallel to the coast in 1700.
By 1800 it had assumed the form of a wedge, with its apex advancing
down the rivers of the Mississippi Valley and its sides sloping
backward to north and south. The French war of 1756-1763 saw the
apex at the forks of the Ohio. In the seventies it started down the
Cumberland as pioneers filled up the valleys of eastern Kentucky and
Tennessee. North and south the advance was slower. No other river
valleys could aid as did the Ohio, Cumberland, and Tennessee, and
population must always follow the line of least resistance. On both
sides of the main advance, powerful Indian confederacies contested
the ground, opposing the entry of the whites. The centres of Indian
strength were along the Lakes and north of the Gulf. Intermediate was
the strip of "dark and bloody ground," fought over and hunted over by
all, but occupied by none; and inviting white approach through the
three valleys that opened it to the Atlantic.
The war for independence occurred just as the extreme frontier started
down the western rivers. Campaigns inspired by the West and directed
by its leaders saw to it that when the independence was achieved the
boundary of the United States should not be where England had placed
it in 1763, on the summit of the Alleghanies, but at the Mississippi
itself, at which the lines of settlement were shortly to arrive. The
new nation felt the influence of this frontier in the very negotiations
which made it free. The development of its policies and its parties
felt the frontier pressure from the start.
Steadily after 1789 the wedge-shaped frontier advanced. New states
appeared in Kentucky and Tennessee as concrete evidences of its
advance, while before the century ended, the campaign of Mad Anthony
Wayne at the Fallen Timbers had allowed the northern flank of the wedge
to cross Ohio and include Detroit. At the turn of the century Ohio
entered the Union in 1803, filled with a population tempted to meet
the trying experiences of the frontier by the call of lands easier to
till than those in New England, from which it came. The old eastern
communities still retained the traditions of colonial isolation;
but across the mountains there was none of this. Here state lines
were artificial and convenient, not representing facts of barrier or
interest. The emigrants from varying sources passed over single routes,
through single gateways, into a valley which knew little of itself as
state but was deeply impressed with its national bearings. A second war
with England gave voice to this newer nationality of the newer states.
The war with England in its immediate consequences was a bad
investment. It ended with the government nearly bankrupt, its military
reputation redeemed only by a victory fought after the peace was
signed, its naval strength crushed after heroic resistance. The eastern
population, whose war had been forced upon it by the West, was bankrupt
too. And by 1814 began the Hegira. For five years the immediate result
of the struggle was a suffering East. A new state for every year was
the western accompaniment.
The westward movement has been continuous in America since the
beginning. Bad roads, dense forests, and Indian obstructers have
never succeeded in stifling the call of the West. A steady procession
of pioneers has marched up the <DW72>s of the Appalachians, across
the trails of the summits, and down the various approaches to the
Mississippi Valley. When times have been hard in the East, the stream
has swollen to flood proportions. In the five years which followed
the English war the accelerated current moved more rapidly than ever
before; while never since has its speed been equalled save in the years
following similar catastrophes, as the panics of 1837 and 1857, or in
the years under the direct inspiration of the gold fields.
Five new states between 1815 and 1821 carried the area of settlement
down the Ohio to the Mississippi, and even up the Missouri to its
junction with the Kansas. The whole eastern side was filled with
states, well populated along the rivers, but sparsely settled to north
and south. The frontier wedge, noticeable by 1776, was even more
apparent, now that the apex had crossed the Mississippi and ascended
the Missouri to its bend, while the wings dragged back, just including
New Orleans at the south, and hardly touching Detroit at the north.
The river valleys controlled the distribution of population, and as
yet it was easier and simpler to follow the valleys farther west than
to strike out across country for lands nearer home but lacking the
convenience of the natural route.
For the pioneer advancing westward the route lay direct from the summit
of the Alleghanies to the bend of the Missouri. The course of the Ohio
facilitated his advance, while the Missouri River, for two hundred
and fifty miles above its mouth, runs so nearly east and west as to
afford a natural continuation of the route. But at the mouth of the
Kansas the Missouri bends. Its course changes to north and south and
it ceases to be a highway for the western traveller. Beyond the bend
an overland journey must commence. The Platte and Kansas and Arkansas
all continue the general direction, but none is easily navigable. The
emigrant must leave the boat near the bend of the Missouri and proceed
by foot or wagon if he desire to continue westward. With the admission
of Missouri in 1821 the apex of the frontier had touched the great bend
of the river, beyond which it could not advance with continued ease.
Population followed still the line of easiest access, but now it was
simpler to condense the settlements farther east, or to broaden out
to north or south, than to go farther west. The flanks of the wedge
began to move. The southwest cotton states received their influx of
population. The country around the northern lakes began to fill up.
The opening of the Erie Canal in 1825 made easier the advancing of the
northern frontier line, with Michigan, Wisconsin, and even Iowa and
Minnesota to be colonized. And while these flanks were filling out, the
apex remained at the bend of the Missouri, whither it had arrived in
1821.
There was more to hold the frontier line at the bend of the Missouri
than the ending of the water route. In those very months when pioneers
were clearing plots near the mouth of the Kaw, or Kansas, a major
of the United States army was collecting data upon which to build a
tradition of a great American desert; while the Indian difficulty,
steadily increasing as the line of contact between the races grew
longer, acted as a vigorous deterrent.
Schoolboys of the thirties, forties, and fifties were told that from
the bend of the Missouri to the Stony Mountains stretched an American
desert. The makers of their geography books drew the desert upon their
maps, coloring its brown with the speckled aspect that connotes Sahara
or Arabia, with camels, oases, and sand dunes. The legend was founded
upon the fact that rainfall becomes more scanty as the <DW72>s approach
the Rockies, and upon the observation of Major Stephen H. Long, who
traversed the country in 1819-1820. Long reported that it could never
support an agricultural population. The standard weekly journal of
the day thought of it as "covered with sand, gravel, pebbles, etc."
A writer in the forties told of its "utter destitution of timber,
the sterility of its sandy soil," and believed that at "this point
the Creator seems to have said to the tribes of emigration that are
annually rolling toward the west, 'Thus far shalt thou go, and no
farther.'" Thus it came about that the frontier remained fixed for many
years near the bend of the Missouri. Difficulty of route, danger from
Indians, and a great and erroneous belief in the existence of a sandy
desert, all served to barricade the way. The flanks advanced across the
states of the old Northwest, and into Louisiana and Arkansas, but the
western outpost remained for half a century at the point which it had
reached in the days of Stephen Long and the admission of Missouri.
By 1821 many frontiers had been created and crossed in the westward
march; the seaboard, the falls line, the crest of the Alleghanies, the
Ohio Valley, the Mississippi and the Missouri, had been passed in turn.
Until this last frontier at the bend of the Missouri had been reached
nothing had ever checked the steady progress. But at this point the
nature of the advance changed. The obstacles of the American desert
and the Rockies refused to yield to the "heel-and-toe" methods which
had been successful in the past. The slavery quarrel, the Mexican War,
even the Civil War, came and passed with the area beyond this frontier
scarcely changed. It had been crossed and recrossed; new centres of
life had grown up beyond it on the Pacific coast; Texas had acquired
an identity and a population; but the so-called desert with its
doubtful soils, its lack of easy highways and its Indian inhabitants,
threatened to become a constant quantity.
From 1821 to 1885 extends, in one form or another, the struggle for
the last frontier. The imperative demands from the frontier are heard
continually throughout the period, its leaders in long succession are
filling the high places in national affairs, but the problem remains
in its same territorial location. Connected with its phases appear
the questions of the middle of the century. The destiny of the Indian
tribes is suggested by the long line of contact and the impossibility
of maintaining a savage and a civilized life together and at once.
A call from the farther West leads to more thorough exploration of
the lands beyond the great frontier, bringing into existence the
continental trails, producing problems of long-distance government, and
intensifying the troubles of the Indians. The final struggle for the
control of the desert and the elimination of the frontier draws out
the tracks of the Pacific railways, changes and reshapes the Indian
policies again, and brings into existence, at the end of the period,
the great West. But the struggle is one of half a century, repeating
the events of all the earlier struggles, and ever more bitter as it is
larger and more difficult. It summons the aid of the nation, as such,
before it is concluded, but when it is ended the first era in American
history has been closed.
CHAPTER II
THE INDIAN FRONTIER
A lengthening frontier made more difficult the maintenance of friendly
relations between the two races involved in the struggle for the
continent. It increased the area of danger by its extension, while its
advance inland pushed the Indian tribes away from their old home lands,
concentrating their numbers along its margin and thereby aggravating
their situation. Colonial negotiations for lands as they were needed
had been relatively easy, since the Indians and whites were nearly
enough equal in strength to have a mutual respect for their agreements
and a fear of violation. But the white population doubled itself every
twenty-five years, while the Indians close enough to resist were never
more than 300,000, and have remained near that figure or under it
until to-day. The stronger race could afford to indulge the contempt
that its superior civilization engendered, while its individual
members along the line of contact became less orderly and governable
as the years advanced. An increasing willingness to override on the
part of the white governments and an increasing personal hatred and
contempt on the part of individual pioneers, account easily for the
danger to life along the frontier. The savage, at his best, was not
responsive to the motives of civilization; at his worst, his injuries,
real or imaginary,--and too often they were real,--made him the most
dangerous of all the wild beasts that harassed the advancing frontier.
The problem of his treatment vexed all the colonial governments and
endured after the Revolution and the Constitution. It first approached
a systematic policy in the years of Monroe and Adams and Jackson, but
never attained form and shape until the ideal which it represented had
been outlawed by the march of civilization into the West.
The conflict between the Indian tribes and the whites could not have
ended in any other way than that which has come to pass. A handful
of savages, knowing little of agriculture or manufacture or trade
among themselves, having no conception of private ownership of land,
possessing social ideals and standards of life based upon the chase,
could not and should not have remained unaltered at the expense of a
higher form of life. The farmer must always have right of way against
the hunter, and the trader against the pilferer, and law against
self-help and private war. In the end, by whatever route, the Indian
must have given up his hunting grounds and contented himself with
progress into civilized life. The route was not one which he could ever
have determined for himself. The stronger race had to determine it for
him. Under ideal conditions it might have been determined without loss
of life and health, without promoting a bitter race hostility that
invited extinction for the inferior race, without prostituting national
honor or corrupting individual moral standards. The Indians needed
maintenance, education, discipline, and guardianship until the older
ones should have died and the younger accepted the new order, and all
these might conceivably have been provided. But democratic government
has never developed a powerful and centralized authority competent to
administer a task such as this, with its incidents of checking trade,
punishing citizens, and maintaining rigorously a standard of conduct
not acceptable to those upon whom it is to be enforced.
The acts by which the United States formulated and carried out its
responsibilities towards the Indian tribes were far from the ideal. In
theory the disposition of the government was generally bene | 271.354839 |
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at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by the Internet Archive.)
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME IV
By
VOLTAIRE
EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION
THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H.G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
FORTY-THREE VOLUMES
One hundred and sixty-eight designs, comprising reproductions
of rare old engravings, steel plates, photogravures,
and curious fac-similes
VOLUME VIII
E.R. DuMONT
PARIS--LONDON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO
1901
_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_"Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared eighteen hundred
years apart, there is a mysterious relation. * * * * Let us say it
with a sentiment of profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization."_
_VICTOR HUGO._
LIST OF PLATES--VOL. IV
VOLTAIRE'S ARREST AT FRANKFORT _Frontispiece_
OLIVER CROMWELL
TIME MAKES TRUTH TRIUMPHANT
FRANCIS I. AND HIS SISTER
[Illustration: Voltaire's arrest at Frankfort.]
* * * * *
VOLTAIRE
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. IV.
COUNTRY--FALSITY
* * * * *
COUNTRY.
SECTION I
According to our custom, we confine ourselves on this subject to the
statement of a few queries which we cannot resolve. Has a Jew a country?
If he is born at Coimbra, it is in the midst of a crowd of ignorant and
absurd persons, who will dispute with him, and to whom he makes foolish
answers, if he dare reply at all. He is surrounded by inquisitors, who
would burn him if they knew that he declined to eat bacon, and all his
wealth would belong to them. Is Coimbra _his_ country? Can he exclaim,
like the Horatii in Corneille:
_Mourir pour la patrie est un si digne sort_
_Qu'on briguerait en foule, une si belle mort._
So high his meed who for his country dies,
Men should contend to gain the glorious prize.
He might as well exclaim, "fiddlestick!" Again! is Jerusalem his
country? He has probably heard of his ancestors of old; that they had
formerly inhabited a sterile and stony country, which is bordered by a
horrible desert, of which little country the Turks are at present
masters, but derive little or nothing from it. Jerusalem is, therefore,
not his country. In short, he has no country: there is not a square
foot of land on the globe which belongs to him.
The Gueber, more ancient, and a hundred times more respectable than the
Jew, a slave of the Turks, the Persians, or the Great Mogul, can he
regard as his country the fire-altars which he raises in secret among
the mountains? The Banian, the Armenian, who pass their lives in
wandering through all the east, in the capacity of money-brokers, can
they exclaim, "My dear country, my dear country"--who have no other
country than their purses and their account-books?
Among the nations of Europe, all those cut-throats who let out their
services to hire, and sell their blood to the first king who will
purchase it--have they a country? Not so much so as a bird of prey, who
returns every evening to the hollow of the rock where its mother built
its nest! The monks--will they venture to say that they have a country?
It is in heaven, they say. All in good time; but in this world I know
nothing about one.
This expression, "my country," how sounds it from the mouth of a Greek,
who, altogether ignorant of the previous existence of a Miltiades, an
Agesilaus, only knows that he is the slave of a janissary, who is the
slave of an aga, who is the slave of a pasha, who is the slave of a
vizier, who is the slave of an individual whom we call, in Paris, the
Grand Turk?
What, then, is country?--Is it not, probably, a good piece of ground,
in the midst of which the owner, residing in a well-built and commodious
house, may say: "This field which I cultivate, this house which I have
built, is my own; I live under the protection of laws which no tyrant
can infringe. When those who, like me, possess fields and houses
assemble for their common interests, I have a voice in such assembly. I
am a part of the whole, one of the community, a portion of the
sovereignty: behold my country!" What cannot be included in this
description too often amounts to little beyond studs of horses under the
command of a groom, who employs the whip at his pleasure. People may
have a country under a good king, but never under a bad one.
SECTION II.
A young pastry-cook who had been to college, and who had mustered some
phrases from Cicero, gave himself airs one day about loving his country.
"What dost thou mean by country?" said a neighbor to him. "Is it thy
oven? Is it the village where thou wast born, which thou hast never
seen, and to which thou wilt never return? Is it the street in which thy
father and mother reside? Is it the town hall, where thou wilt never
become so much as a clerk or an alderman? Is it the church of Notre
Dame, in which thou hast not been able to obtain a place among the boys
of the choir, although a very silly person, who is archbishop and duke,
obtains from it an annual income of twenty-four thousand louis d'or?"
The young pastry-cook knew not how to reply; and a person of reflection,
who overheard the conversation, was led to infer that a country of
moderate extent may contain many millions of men who have no country at
all. And thou, voluptuous Parisian, who hast never made a longer voyage
than to Dieppe, to feed upon fresh sea-fish--who art acquainted only
with thy splendid town-house, thy pretty villa in the country, thy box
at that opera which all the world makes it a point to feel tiresome but
thyself--who speakest thy own language agreeably enough, because thou
art ignorant of every other; thou lovest all this, no doubt, as well as
thy brilliant champagne from Rheims, and thy rents, payable every six
months; and loving these, thou dwellest upon thy love for thy country.
Speaking conscientiously, can a financier cordially love his country?
Where was the country of the duke of Guise, surnamed Balafre--at Nancy,
at Paris, at Madrid, or at Rome? What country had your cardinals Balue,
Duprat, Lorraine, and Mazarin? Where was the country of Attila situated,
or that of a hundred other heroes of the same kind, who, although
eternally travelling, make themselves always at home? I should be much
obliged to any one who would acquaint me with the country of Abraham.
The first who observed that every land is our country in which we "do
well," was, I believe, Euripides, in his "_Phaedo_":
[Greek: "Os pantakoos ge patris boskousa gei."]
The first man, however, who left the place of his birth to seek a
greater share of welfare in another, said it before him.
SECTION III.
A country is a composition of many families; and as a family is commonly
supported on the principle of self-love, when, by an opposing interest,
the same self-love extends to our town, our province, or our nation, it
is called love of country. The greater a country becomes, the less we
love it; for love is weakened by diffusion. It is impossible to love a
family so numerous that all the members can scarcely be known.
He who is burning with ambition to be edile, tribune, praetor, consul, or
dictator, exclaims that he loves his country, while he loves only
himself. Every man wishes to possess the power of sleeping quietly at
home, and of preventing any other man from possessing the power of
sending him to sleep elsewhere. Every one would be certain of his
property and his life. Thus, all forming the same wishes, the particular
becomes the general interest. The welfare of the republic is spoken of,
while all that is signified is love of self.
It is impossible that a state was ever formed on earth, which was not
governed in the first instance as a republic: it is the natural march
of human nature. On the discovery of America, all the people were found
divided into republics; there were but two kingdoms in all that part of
the world. Of a thousand nations, but two were found subjugated.
It was the same in the ancient world; all was republican in Europe
before the little kinglings of Etruria and of Rome. There are yet
republics in Africa: the Hottentots, towards the south, still live as
people are said to have lived in the first ages of the world--free,
equal, without masters, without subjects, without money, and almost
without wants. The flesh of their sheep feeds them; they are clothed
with their skins; huts of wood and clay form their habitations. They are
the most dirty of all men, but they feel it not, but live and die more
easily than we do. There remain eight republics in Europe without
monarchs--Venice, Holland, Switzerland, Genoa, Lucca, Ragusa, Geneva,
and San Marino. Poland, Sweden, and England may be regarded as republics
under a king, but Poland is the only one of them which takes the name.
But which of the two is to be preferred for a country--a monarchy or a
republic? The question has been agitated for four thousand years. Ask
the rich, and they will tell you an aristocracy; ask the people, and
they will reply a democracy; kings alone prefer royalty. Why, then, is
almost all the earth governed by monarchs? Put that question to the rats
who proposed to hang a bell around the cat's neck. In truth, the
genuine reason is, because men are rarely worthy of governing
themselves.
It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot we must become the enemy of
the rest of mankind. That good citizen, the ancient Cato, always gave it
as his opinion, that Carthage must be destroyed: "_Delenda est
Carthago_." To be a good patriot is to wish our own country enriched by
commerce, and powerful by arms; but such is the condition of mankind,
that to wish the greatness of our own country is often to wish evil to
our neighbors. He who could bring himself to wish that his country
should always remain as it is, would be a citizen of the universe.
CRIMES OR OFFENCES.
_Of Time and Place._
A Roman in Egypt very unfortunately killed a consecrated cat, and the
infuriated people punished this sacrilege by tearing him to pieces. If
this Roman had been carried before the tribunal, and the judges had
possessed common sense, he would have been condemned to ask pardon of
the Egyptians and the cats, and to pay a heavy fine, either in money or
mice. They would have told him that he ought to respect the follies of
the people, since he was not strong enough to correct them.
The venerable chief justice should have spoken to him in this manner:
"Every country has its legal impertinences, and its offences of time
and place. If in your Rome, which has become the sovereign of Europe,
Africa, and Asia Minor, you were to kill a sacred fowl, at the precise
time that you give it grain in order to ascertain the just will of the
gods, you would be severely punished. We believe that you have only
killed our cat accidentally. The court admonishes you. Go in peace, and
be more circumspect in future."
It seems a very indifferent thing to have a statue in our hall; but if,
when Octavius, surnamed Augustus, was absolute master, a Roman had
placed in his house the statue of Brutus, he would have been punished as
seditious. If a citizen, under a reigning emperor, had the statue of the
competitor to the empire, it is said that it was accounted a crime of
high treason.
An Englishman, having nothing to do, went to Rome, where he met Prince
Charles Edward at the house of a cardinal. Pleased at the incident, on
his return he drank in a tavern to the health of Prince Charles Edward,
and was immediately accused of high treason. But whom did he highly
betray in wishing the prince well? If he had conspired to place him on
the throne, then he would have been guilty towards the nation; but I do
not see that the most rigid justice of parliament could require more
from him than to drink four cups to the health of the house of Hanover,
supposing he had drunk two to the house of Stuart.
_Of Crimes of Time and Place, which Ought to Be Concealed._
It is well known how much our Lady of Loretto ought to be respected in
the March of Ancona. Three young people happened to be joking on the
house of our lady, which has travelled through the air to Dalmatia;
which has two or three times changed its situation, and has only found
itself comfortable at Loretto. Our three scatterbrains sang a song at
supper, formerly made by a Huguenot, in ridicule of the translation of
the _santa casa_ of Jerusalem to the end of the Adriatic Gulf. A
fanatic, having heard by chance what passed at their supper, made strict
inquiries, sought witnesses, and engaged a magistrate to issue a
summons. This proceeding alarmed all consciences. Every one trembled in
speaking of it. Chambermaids, vergers, inn-keepers, lackeys, servants,
all heard what was never said, and saw what was never done: there was an
uproar, a horrible scandal throughout the whole March of Ancona. It was
said, half a league from Loretto, that these youths had killed our lady;
and a league farther, that they had thrown the _santa casa_ into the
sea. In short, they were condemned. The sentence was, that their hands
should be cut off, and their tongues be torn out; after which they were
to be put to the torture, to learn--at least by signs--how many
couplets there were in the song. Finally, they were to be burnt to death
by a slow fire.
An advocate of Milan, who happened to be at Loretto at this time, asked
the principal judge to what he would have condemned these boys if they
had violated their mother, and afterwards killed and eaten her? "Oh!"
replied the judge, "there is a great deal of difference; to assassinate
and devour their father and mother is only a crime against men." "Have
you an express law," said the Milanese, "which obliges you to put young
people scarcely out of their nurseries to such a horrible death, for
having indiscreetly | 271.454269 |
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The Province of Midwives in the Practice of their Art,
by William Clark, M. D. 1698–ca. 1780.
THE PROVINCE OF MIDWIVES
IN THE
Practice of their ART:
Instructing them in the timely Knowledge of such
_Difficulties_ as require the Assistance of MEN,
For the Preservation of
MOTHER and CHILD.
Very necessary for the Perusal of ALL the SEX
interested in the Subject,
And interspersed with some
_New_ and _Useful_ OBSERVATIONS.
_By_ WILLIAM CLARK, _M. D._
_And of the_ College _of_ PHYSICIANS.
_Molliter Aufer Onus._ OVID. FASTI.
Printed for _William Frederick_, in BATH; and sold by
_M. Cooper_, in _Pater-Noster-Row_, LONDON.
MDCCLI.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.
_The following small Tract will appear contemptible to those who
judge of the Worth of Books by their Bulk; but the Author believes
such as are practis’d in Midwifry will acknowledge both the Want
and Usefulness of an Essay of this Kind._
_The Division of the Chapters, naturally arising from the various
Circumstances which are treated of, will rather assist than
burden the Memory, and admit of a ready Recourse to the short
Instructions, in the Knowledge and Practice_ absolutely necessary,
_given under each Head._
_The Reader will the more readily excuse any Defect in the Stile,
when he considers_ _the Necessity of a strict Expression on the
Subject and the Difficulty a Man lies under, who writes not to
the learned and experienced, but chiefly for the Sake of Persons
ignorant in Anatomy and Philosophy, on a Subject which for the most
Part excludes Information by Sight._
_On such a Subject it will not be imagined Vanity or Applause can
incline a Man to write a Pamphlet, rather than a Volume; when the
Author is not conscious of having omitted the Instruction to be
found in any Book extant, within the Limits of his Design; and
hopes Experience will teach its Value both to Midwives and Matrons;
and that the Perusal will not at all injure, if it does not
improve, the most knowing and experienced._
* * * * *
The READER is desir’d to correct the following ERRORS with the Pen.
Page 9, Line 16, _read_ Pains about the Back, Navel, _&c._—P. 33,
l. 12. omit the Period after the Word Pain; and make a Semicolon,
instead of the Comma, after touch’d it.
CHAPTER I.
_The_ DESIGN.
The Case of _Child-bearing_ Women is very lamentable, in the
Country especially, by Reason of the Ignorance and Unskilfulness
of _Midwives_; for by their Negligence and perverse Management,
many Mothers and Children are destroyed, to the great Misfortune of
particular Families, as well as of the _Publick_, at a Time when it
suffers by the Loss of useful Hands, from too many other Causes. It
were therefore to be wished, that all Midwives were so far appris’d
of their Duty, as to be able to distinguish between Cases within
their Abilities, and such Difficulties as may occasion the Loss of
the Mother, or Child, or both, for Want of necessary Assistance.
They who intend to practice Midwifry in PARIS, are oblig’d to
attend _anatomical_ Lectures and _Dissections_, that their
Judgments may be inform’d, by the Knowledge of the Structure of the
Body, for an Undertaking so hazardous in ignorant Hands.
London, at present, affords equal Advantages of Information; for
the _anatomical_ Wax-work, with suitable Lectures, might furnish as
good a Qualification, with less Offence than real Dissections; and
there are not wanting those who professedly instruct both Sexes by
_mechanical Demonstrations_.
And for the future, it is to be hoped, there will be no Necessity
for Men to have Recourse to PARIS for _Observation_, since we have
_Infirmaries_ at Home for the Accommodation of Women in Child-bed;
and tho’ they are expos’d naked to the Eye in the _Hotel de Dieu_,
it must be confess’d, that the fundamental Rules of the _Art_ are
not built on what the Eye of the Observer can possibly discover in
the most expert _Operators_; but depend on Circumstances conceal’d
from Sight, within the Body of the Patient.
But whatever Advantages LONDON and WESTMINSTER afford for the
Instruction of Midwives, the Country is entirely destitute of them;
and the best Books on the Subject, adorn’d with elegant Figures,
can give but a very imperfect Notion of the Parts they represent,
to any who have not attended _Dissections_, or seen more natural
_Resemblances_ than Cuts.
The Figures in Books, exhibit the _Bones_ of the _Pelvis_, a
Variety of _Situations_ of the Infant, and _Uterus_, the Placenta
and umbilical Vessels and Membranes, _&c._ whereas it would be
no less serviceable to those, who assist Women in Travel, to be
acquainted with the Viscera, liable to suffer by a difficult
Labour; for the _Liver_, _Spleen_, _Sweetbread_ and _Kidneys_,
if not the principal Contents of the Chest, may be so injured by
the ill _Position_ of the Child, Compression of the Parts, and
rash Assistance, as to prove fatal, more or lets immediately;
occasioning _Inflammations_, _Suppurations_, _Mortifications_,
_Schirrhu’s_, _Cancers_, or _Consumptions_.
The best Writers of Midwifry, such as _Mauriceau_, _Deventer_, _De
la Motte_, _Heister_ and others, explain the Causes of difficult
Births, and the proper Methods of Assistance; but instead of
improving most _Country_ Midwives, fill them with Conceits of what,
it is impossible, they should understand, and thereby occasion the
Loss of great Numbers of Women and Children.
In order therefore that Midwives may acquit themselves with
Reputation, and that _Child-bearing_ Women may be the better
Judges for themselves, or the charitable Part of the Sex, who are
past these Dangers, the better able to assist their Friends and
Neighbours, I shall endeavour to shew how far they may act with
Safety under the Disadvantage of Country Practice, and describe
those Symptoms, which for the most Part accompany hard Labours,
very probably beyond their Abilities; when they will justly incur
the Censure of Inhumanity and Rashness to depend upon their own
Skill.
CHAPTER II.
In this Chapter I have avoided the Use of Terms of Art, or
explain’d them, in Regard to those for whom I chiefly write, as
far as my Regard to Decency admits; but if any Word should occur
not easily understood by any of my Readers, almost any _English_
Dictionary will explain its Meaning; and it cannot be expected that
any Book can instruct those who cannot read, tho’ I am sorry to say
too many such assume the Office of _Midwives_.
As Curiosity may reasonably induce many of the Sex concern’d in
the Subject of these Sheets, to be inform’d of somewhat of the
Provision supreme Wisdom has made for the Existence of Children in
the Womb, I shall briefly mention the most obvious _Instruments_
relating to their Breeding and Birth, without puzzling my Readers
with minute _anatomical_ Descriptions.
The Vagina, or Passage, lies between the Neck of the _Bladder_ and
the large or strait Gut; it is connected at the inward extreme to
the _Womb_, and called the _outward Orifice_ at its beginning.
The _Womb_ lies between the _Bladder_ and _Strait Gut_, and is
connected to both; during the Time of _Breeding_ it increases in
its _Dimensions_, and rising higher in the Body, by Reason of
the Weight and Substance of it, with its Contents, at the Fund,
or remote End of it, may be liable to swag too much _forward_ or
_backward_, or incline more or less to either Side, especially in
such, as by their Occasions of Industry in Life are obliged to
a Variety of _indirect_ Situations; by which Means the _inward_
Orifice is perverted from a _direct Site_ with Respect to the
Passage, and obstructs an easy Exclusion of the Infant in Travel.
The _Placenta_ or _After-birth_, adhering to the _Fund_ of the
_Womb_, receives the _Mother_’s Blood, by the _Umbilical-Vessels_,
or _Navel-String_, conveys it to the Child for its Nourishment, and
retransmits what is superfluous; maintaining by the Intercourse of
_Arteries_ and _Veins_, the Circulation of the Blood between Mother
and Child.
The _Membranes_ closely connected to the _Placenta_, and the _Fund_
of the _Womb_, between both which they seem to take their Rise,
contain the _Humours_ in which the Infant swims, the better to
preserve it from Injuries, by its Pressure against _unyielding_
Parts, and the _Humours_ before, and after the _Breaking_ of the
_Membranes_, commonly call’d the _Breaking of the Waters_, in the
Birth, very much facilitate it, by opening the _inward Orifice_
of the _Womb_, and lubricating the _Passage_ for the Child: These
_Membranes_ come away with the _Placenta_, under the Name of the
_After-birth_, or _Secundines_, indifferently.
The _Pelvis_ or _Bason_, wherein the _Uterus_ or _Womb_ is seated,
is form’d by the _forward_ Bones, commonly call’d the _Share-Bone_,
the _Hip-Bones_ and their Continuation on each Side, and the lower
Part of the _Back-Bone_, all which are so contiguous to each other,
as to form this Cavity, generally much larger in Women than Men,
cloathed with Muscles, between which the _Vagina_ is inserted.
The right Formation of the _Pelvis_, is of the greatest Consequence
in Favour of an _easy_ Birth; when the _Bones_ forming it,
_forward_ and _backward_, and on _each_ Side, both above and below,
don’t too much approach each other, and prevent the Exclusion of
the Child between, by a free Admission.
CHAPTER III.
_The Symptoms preceeding_ Natural Labours.
I shall pass over the Symptoms of Pregnancy, and the Distinctions
of true and false Conceptions, as Things of which Midwives can
seldom be expected to be _proper_ Judges, and proceed to their
Business, _Natural Labours_; comprehending, under this Name, all
such Cases, which require no further Assistance than _Midwives_, in
a general Way, may easily give; or in their Absence a Nurse, or any
sensible Woman, who has attended Deliveries.
After the Woman has gone her due Time of Nine Months, the most
usual Term; the Signs preceeding Labour are Pains about the Back,
Navel and Loins; a considerable Falling of the Tumour of the Belly,
by the Burden’s sinking lower; and incommoding the Woman in
walking; a more frequent Inclination to make Water: These Symptoms
increase in Proportion as the Birth approaches; but as the most
certain Knowledge of _natural_ Births, can only be obtained by
_Touching_ the Woman in Labour, after having premised some Things
concerning her _proper_ Situation; I shall direct how it ought to
be done.
CHAPTER IV.
_Of_ SITUATION.
Many in the Country choose to be on their _Legs_ or _Knees_,
supported by a Woman on each Side, or _lean_ on a Chair or Bed, and
pass well enough through the present Scene of their Miseries: But
I would preferably advise a Posture between _lying_ and _sitting_,
on a _Pallet_ or _common_ Bed, the _Head_ and _Shoulders_ being
_rais’d_ by Bolsters or Pillows, the Feathers _beat back_ from the
Bed’s Feet, to support the hollow of the Loins, and prevent the
Pressure of any Thing against the _Bottom_ of the Back Bone, to
obstruct the Passage of the Child.
This _Situation_ is most commodious, during Labour, for a Woman to
_assist_ her Pains with the greater Freedom of Respiration, and the
least Fatigue and Expence of Spirits; especially if the _labouring_
Woman lay hold of a _folded_ Napkin, held stiffly for that Purpose,
drawing her Feet _upwards_ towards her Seat, _separating_ her
Knees, and _fixing_ her Feet against something that will not easily
give Way.
If the Person in Labour will not be in Bed, the End may be
answered by her _sitting_ in _another_’s Lap, with the _Bottom_ of
her Back-Bone situate between the other’s K | 271.455356 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: A flower shot down amid the crowd. Page 19.]
*Latter-Day Sweethearts*
By
*MRS. BURTON HARRISON*
Author of
"A Bachelor Maid,"
"The Carlyles," "The Circle of a Century,"
"The Anglomaniacs," Etc.
"La Duchesse.--'L'amour est le fleau du monde. Tous
nos maux nous viennent de lui.'
"Le Docteur.--'C'est le seul qui les guerisse,"
--"_Le Duel_," _Henri Lavedan_.
Illustrated in Water-Colors by FRANK T. MERRILL
A. S. & | 271.854371 |
2023-11-16 18:21:35.9553320 | 4,078 | 13 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Text between _underscores_ represent texts printed in italics; text
between ~tildes~ represents text printed in a sans-serif font (to
indicate shape rather than letter).
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
THE
MUNICIPAL AND SANITARY
ENGINEER’S HANDBOOK.
THE
MUNICIPAL AND SANITARY
ENGINEER’S HANDBOOK.
BY
H. PERCY BOULNOIS, M. INST. C.E.,
M. SAN. INST. GT. BRITAIN;
BOROUGH ENGINEER, PORTSMOUTH; LATE CITY SURVEYOR, EXETER;
AUTHOR OF “DIRTY DUST-BINS AND SLOPPY STREETS,” “ANNIHILATION OF SEWER
GASES,” ETC.
“_SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX._”
[Illustration]
LONDON:
E. & F. N. SPON, 16, CHARING CROSS.
NEW YORK:
35, MURRAY STREET.
1883.
PREFACE.
In carrying out the many duties devolving upon a Borough Surveyor, it
has so often been my wish to turn to a practical book of reference upon
the many subjects connected with these duties, that I have written the
following pages; and I trust that they will form a useful Handbook.
H. PERCY BOULNOIS.
PORTSMOUTH,
_May, 1883_.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE TOWN SURVEYOR.
Office of surveyor first legalised -- Clause of Public Health Act
1875, making appointment -- Division of England into districts --
Surveyor to Rural Authority -- Clauses of Act referring to surveyor --
Title of “Surveyor” is an erroneous one -- List of subjects on which
he has often to advise -- Want of Government protection for surveyor
-- Mr. Lewis Angell on protection -- Reasons for Government refusal --
Time will effect a change page 1
CHAPTER II.
THE APPOINTMENT OF SURVEYOR.
Sub-committee to fix salary and duties -- Specimen report and list of
duties -- Test of merit necessary -- Examination by Sanitary Institute
of Great Britain -- Particulars of these examinations -- Syllabus of
subjects -- Specimens of examination papers -- Authoritative
examination, however, still necessary -- Methods to be adopted to
obtain appointment of surveyor -- Canvassing 10
CHAPTER III.
THE SURVEYOR’S DUTIES.
Public Health Act and surveyors of highways -- List of duties
devolving upon surveyor in consequence -- Meetings of boards and
committees -- List of suitable names for committees -- Punctuality --
Reports -- Methodical habits 20
CHAPTER IV.
TRAFFIC.
Interests involved in construction and maintenance of streets --
Requirements of a good roadway -- Wearing effect of traffic -- Mr.
Deacon’s standard -- Effect of horses’ hoofs on roadways -- Remarks on
shoeing -- Traction on roads -- Tables of resistance -- Forces tending
to destroy momentum -- Table of tractive force, etc. -- Another table
giving inclinations -- Proper gradients of roadways -- Table of
resistance by Crompton -- Wheel resistance -- Mr. Haywood and safety
of traffic -- Stopping and starting vehicles -- Safe width of roadways
-- Vehicles and pedestrians passing each other -- Sanctuaries --
Danger of crossings 25
CHAPTER V.
MACADAMISED ROADWAYS.
Laying out new roads -- Macadamised roads a luxury -- Telford and
Macadam -- Specification of roadway, fifty years ago -- Modern
specification of roadway -- Advantages of Telford’s system -- Hard
core -- Concrete -- Table of depths of materials -- Ellice Clarke’s
tables of comparative cost -- Further particulars of comparative cost
-- Streets of Paris -- Cross section of roadway -- Objections to
macadamised roadways -- Notes on maintenance -- Bituminous roadways 34
CHAPTER VI.
ROAD METAL AND BREAKING.
Test of fitness of stone -- Primary investigations -- Qualities
necessary -- List of stones used as road metal -- Variety of materials
used -- Table of comparative efficiency of road metal in France --
Hand-broken stone -- Gauging the size -- Quantity broken per diem --
Machines for breaking stones -- Price of machines -- Work effected by
machinery -- Precautions necessary -- Objections to machinery --
Weight of broken stone -- Specification for supply of road metal 48
CHAPTER VII.
ROAD ROLLING.
First introduction of rollers -- Mr. Parry on steam rolling -- Cost
for repairs -- Number of men necessary -- Fuel used -- Other uses for
engine power -- Spikes for chequering -- Binding material -- Gradients
-- Work effected -- Description of manner in which roller should be
applied -- Method adopted in the United States -- Use of roller for
repairs of roads -- Method adopted at Gloucester -- Effect of weight
of roller on roads -- Advantages of steam rolling -- Mr. Paget on
rolling -- Disadvantages of steam rolling -- Horse rollers 60
CHAPTER VIII.
PITCHED PAVEMENTS.
Economy under heavy traffic -- Noise and slipperiness -- Improvements
effected -- Size of setts -- Description of best class of stones --
Mr. Walker and wear of stones -- The Euston pavement -- The Guidet
paving -- Manchester pavement -- Concrete foundations -- Grouting --
Bituminous mixture -- Stone tram-tracks 73
CHAPTER IX.
WOOD PAVING.
First introduced into metropolis -- Improvements since -- List and
description of many various modern methods -- Sanitary objections to
wood pavement -- Power of absorption of wood -- Preserving processes
-- Wear of wood paving -- Different estimates of life -- Woods
employed -- Advantages of this description of paving -- Objections to
it -- Cost of wood pavement -- Tables of cost and life --
Specification of wood pavement 81
CHAPTER X.
COMPRESSED ASPHALTE ROADWAYS.
Description of asphalte -- Mr. Deland’s test -- Percentage of bitumen
necessary -- Method of construction of compressed asphalte roadway --
Advantages of this description of pavement -- Objections to it on
account of slipperiness -- Gradient -- Cost of asphalte pavement --
Tables on the subject -- Specifications for a compressed asphalte
roadway -- Other descriptions of asphalte roadways -- Hints on the
success or the reverse of asphalte roadways 96
CHAPTER XI.
FOOTPATHS.
Foundation -- List of materials for footpaths -- Mastic asphalte --
Description of manner of laying -- Proportions of asphalte, bitumen,
and grit -- Yorkshire flagging -- Specification for York flagging --
Caithness flagging -- Its advantages -- Blue lias flagging -- Concrete
footpaths -- Description of American concrete path -- Artificial stone
pavements -- Brick footpaths -- Granite slabs -- Artificial asphalte
paths -- Specification of tar pavement -- American tar pavement --
Gravel footpaths -- Sections of paths -- Tarred paths 106
CHAPTER XII.
KERBING AND CHANNELLING, ETC.
Necessity for kerb -- Section of granite kerb and channel -- Setting
kerb -- Cost of kerb and channelling -- Necessity for gutter or
channel crossings -- Gully gratings -- Objects to be attained --
Drawing of a gully-pit -- Drawing of a buddle-hole -- Mr. Baldwin
Latham on the subject 123
CHAPTER XIII.
LIGHTING STREETS.
Gas v. Electricity -- Public Health Act on lighting -- Different hours
at which public gas lamps are lighted -- Hints for a contract with a
gas company -- Supply by meter -- Objections to meters -- Regulators
-- Lamp-posts -- Lanterns -- Burners -- Numbering lamps -- Formula for
determining distance of lamps -- M. Servier on spreading light
uniformly -- Tables of different lights -- Points to be considered in
public lighting by electricity -- Motive power required -- Machinery
necessary -- Regulations as regards fire risks -- Lamps -- Value of
electric light -- Difficulty of photometrical measurement -- Cost of
electric light -- Mr. Shoolbred’s tables -- Comparative cost on Thames
embankment -- Value of these investigations -- Acme of all lighting
129
CHAPTER XIV.
STREET NAMING AND NUMBERING.
Necessity of naming and numbering streets -- Public Health Act on the
subject -- Different methods of naming -- Minton’s china letters --
Cast iron plates -- Painted names -- Enamelled iron -- Wooden figures
-- Enamelled glass tablets -- Size of letters -- Association of names
-- Methods of numbering -- Forms of notice to number 149
CHAPTER XV.
BREAKING-UP STREETS.
The law on the subject -- Water Works Clauses Act, 1847 --
Consideration of the clauses -- What is meant by “plan” -- Specimen of
specification or plan -- Damage caused to roads by opening them --
Private individuals breaking-up streets -- Clauses of the Public
Health Act -- Telegraphs Act, 1863 -- Clauses of this Act --
Advantages and disadvantages of subways -- Power of individuals to
open streets for drains -- Clauses of the Public Health Act on the
subject -- Uncertainty on the subject -- Forms of notices necessary --
Customs prevailing in different towns 157
CHAPTER XVI.
OBSTRUCTIONS IN STREETS.
List of subjects discussed -- Improving line of frontages -- Assessing
value of compensation -- Removing projections of buildings -- What are
legal projections? -- Doors or gates opening outwards -- Forms of
notice necessary -- Vaults or cellar coverings -- Forms of notice
necessary -- Advantages of an “Easement book” -- Rain water from
shutes or down pipes -- Form of notice necessary -- Blinds or awnings
over paths -- Trees overhanging roadways -- Form of notice necessary
-- Surface water from premises -- Hoardings and scaffolds -- Dangerous
Buildings -- Tall chimney shafts -- Dangerous rock -- Forms of notice
necessary -- Temporary obstructions 174
CHAPTER XVII.
IMPROVEMENT OF PRIVATE STREETS.
The 150th section of the Public Health Act -- Criticisms of this
section -- Duties of the surveyor in connection with it -- Specimen
forms of notices -- Carrying out the work -- Taking over private
streets -- Agreement to take over a road -- What is a “road”? -- Legal
definition of the term street 193
CHAPTER XVIII.
NEW STREETS AND BUILDINGS.
Important duty of surveyor -- Clauses of the Public Health Act --
Model bye-laws -- What is a new building? -- The term “ground floor”
-- Alteration of existing buildings -- Deposit of plans -- Clauses of
the Public Health Act -- Clauses necessary in the bye-laws with regard
to deposit -- Form of notice in respect of deposit of plans --
Suggestions for town surveyor in connection with this duty and
examination of plans -- Supervision of buildings in course of erection
-- Stringency of bye-laws -- Protection of life from fire necessary --
Party walls through roofs -- Space at back -- Fee for inspection 206
CHAPTER XIX.
SCAVENGING.
The Public Health Act on the subject -- List of duties involved by the
clauses of the Act -- What is house refuse? -- Removal of trade or
garden refuse -- Position of dust bin -- Objections to fixed bin --
Different methods of collection of refuse -- Public dust bins -- House
to house call -- Receptacles brought out into streets -- Carts
employed for scavenging -- Life and cost of wooden carts -- Improved
sanitary carts -- Disposal of refuse -- Methods adopted in various
towns -- Destruction by fire -- Cleansing of streets -- Machinery v.
hand labour -- Durability of brooms -- Scavenging at Liverpool --
Quantity of material removed from roads -- Cleansing private courts
and alleys -- Removal of snow -- Mr. Hayward on the subject --
Clarke’s apparatus -- Hints on removal of snow -- Street watering --
Several methods described -- Brown’s system -- Mr. Parry on hand-
watering -- Headley’s machine -- Street watering in Paris -- Bayley’s
Hydrostatic Van -- Mr. Scott on watering and stand-pipes -- Advantage
of using disinfectant with water -- Cost of scavenging, &c. -- Heads
for a contract -- Administration of work without intervention of
contractor the best 221
CHAPTER XX.
SEWERAGE.
Public Health Act on the subject -- Definition of sewer -- Definitions
of sewerage and sewage -- Requirements of good system of sewerage --
Position of sewers should be at back of houses -- Form of notice to
carry sewer through private lands -- Hints for carrying out sewerage
-- Stamford’s joint -- Pipe sewers -- Drawing of various pipes --
Causes of breakage -- Causes of chokage -- Separate system --
Advantages of partial separation -- List of different methods of
sewerage -- Dry systems 251
CHAPTER XXI.
SEWAGE DISPOSAL.
Magnitude of question -- Interception -- List of methods of disposal
-- Tidal outfalls -- Broad irrigation -- Crops for sewage --
Intermittent filtration -- Action of earth on sewage -- Mechanical
subsidence -- Artificial filters -- Screening -- Precipitation -- List
of chemical processes -- List of chemical ingredients -- Disposal of
sludge -- Effect of plants on sewage 263
CHAPTER XXII.
VENTILATION OF SEWERS.
Duty of dealing with noxious sewer vapours -- Germ theory and open
ventilation -- Open shafts and objections to them -- Shafts against
dwellings -- Use of rainwater pipes -- Use of lamp posts -- Charcoal
trays -- Use of chimney shafts -- Lofty shafts -- Failure of furnaces
-- List of methods tried -- Annihilation of sewer gas -- Composition
of sewer gas -- Direction of flow -- Importance of disconnecting house
drains 271
CHAPTER XXIII.
PUBLIC CONVENIENCES.
Clause of Public Health Act empowering their erection -- Selection of
site -- Construction of Urinals -- Why iron is preferable --
Description of urinals -- Public w. c. accommodation -- Description of
a simple w. c. -- Jennings and Macfarlane for urinals 280
CHAPTER XXIV.
ARTIZANS AND LABOURERS’ DWELLINGS.
The Act of 1868 -- Mode of procedure under it -- Amendment of Act in
1879 -- Further amendment in 1882 -- Importance of this amendment --
Act of 1875 for improvement of dwellings of working classes -- Mode
of procedure under it -- Amended by Act of 1879 -- Further amended,
1882 -- Duties of surveyor under these acts -- Health of model
dwellings -- Description of industrial dwellings -- Labouring classes’
Lodging Houses Acts -- Copy of bye-laws under them -- Table of sizes
of rooms 284
CHAPTER XXV.
DEFECTS IN DWELLING-HOUSES, ETC.
Cellar dwellings -- Clauses of the Public Health Act on the subject --
Insufficient w. c. accommodation -- Clauses on the subject -- Forms of
notice to be served -- W. C. accommodation for factories -- Houses
without a proper supply of water -- Clauses on the subject -- Mode of
procedure -- Disadvantages of cistern storage 295
CHAPTER XXVI.
HOUSE DRAINAGE.
Definition of drain -- Difficulty of always deciding what is a drain
-- Duties of surveyor in connection with house drainage -- Inspection
of new drains -- Form of “regulations” necessary by a local authority
-- Difficulty of efficient inspection -- Drains of new buildings --
Inspection of defective drains -- Several clauses of the Public Health
Act on the subject -- Procedure necessary to carry them out -- List of
a few requirements of good house drainage -- Necessity of register of
all house drains 303
CHAPTER XXVII.
PUBLIC PLEASURE GROUNDS AND STREET TREES.
Law empowering acquisition and maintenance of parks, &c. -- Duties of
surveyor in connection therewith -- Public playgrounds -- A few hints
-- List of a few useful shrubs -- Trees in gales -- Planting trees at
sides of streets -- Qualities necessary in trees for this purpose --
List of suitable trees -- Precautions necessary -- Grating and grill
-- Description of Paris planting -- Cost of trees in Paris -- Damage
to street trees 318
CHAPTER XXVIII.
PUBLIC ABATTOIRS.
Necessity and law for their establishment -- Defects of private
slaughter-houses -- Legal powers to close private slaughter-houses --
Particulars of London private slaughter-houses -- Site of public
abattoir -- The Manchester abattoir -- Accommodation necessary --
Lairs and pens -- The killing-house -- Floor, drainage, rings, pole-
axe, lighting, &c. -- Machinery for hoisting -- Plans of public
abattoir -- Condemned meat department -- Pig-killing department --
Blood-house -- Tripery -- Tallow market -- Other accommodation -- Dr.
Chancellor on slaughter-houses -- Difference between public and
private slaughter-houses 328
CHAPTER XXIX.
MARKETS.
Law authorizing their establishment -- Site for a cattle market --
Accommodation necessary -- Paving -- Cattle enclosures -- Sheep pens
-- Dimensions of pens and lairs -- Weighing machine -- Markets for
general merchandise -- List of requirements -- A few hints on their
accommodation 344
CHAPTER XXX.
CEMETERIES.
The surveyor’s duties in connection with these -- Some legal points to
be remembered -- Selection of site on sanitary grounds -- Mr. Eassie
on soils -- Dr | 271.975372 |
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Produced by Robert J. Hall
SHEPP'S PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE WORLD.
CONSISTING OF
Panoramic Views of Cities--Street Scenes--Public Buildings--Cathedrals--
Mosques--Churches--Temples--Observatories--Castles--Palaces--Homes of
Noted People--Private Apartments of Presidents, Queens, Kings, Emperors,
Monarchs and Rulers--Harems--Universities--Colleges--Active Volcanoes--
Mountain Scenery--Lake Scenery--Lochs--Fjords--Falls--River Scenery--
Canyons--Geysers--Bridges--Parks--Fountains--Theatres--Obelisks--Towers--
Memorials--Tombs--Caves--Cemeteries--Pyramids--Ruins of Castles--Ruins
of Temples--Ruins of Ancient Cities--Tropical Scenery--Towns--Villages--
Huts,
Together with a large array of instantaneous photographs, showing
the every-day life of the people in the various countries of the
world.
COLLECTED FROM
EUROPE, ASIA, AFRICA, AUSTRALIA, NORTH AMERICA, SOUTH AMERICA AND
THE PACIFIC ISLANDS,
REPRESENTING
THE WORLD AS IT EXISTS TO-DAY.
Also, direct copies of all the original famous paintings and statuary,
by the world's old masters and modern artists, taken from the leading
galleries, including the
FRENCH SALON, LOUVRE AND LUXEMBOURG GALLERIES, PARIS; AND VERSAILLES
GALLERY, VERSAILLES, FRANCE; THE DRESDEN GALLERY, DRESDEN, GERMANY;
THE UFFIZI AND PITTI GALLERIES, FLORENCE, ITALY; AND THE VATICAN
GALLERY, ROME.
Forming the largest and most valuable collection of works of art
in the world.
----
CAREFULLY ARRANGED AND APPROPRIATELY EXPLAINED BY
JAMES W. SHEPP AND DANIEL B. SHEPP.
----
SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY.
----
GLOBE BIBLE PUBLISHING CO.,
NO. 705 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PENNA.
PREFACE
[Illustration: I]n all ages, men have been eager to tell and to
hear new things; and before books were printed, travellers wandered
abroad, bringing home wonderful stories of unknown lands.
In the construction of this publication, the object is not to tell
stories or relate experiences, but to exhibit, by carefully taken
photographs, the great sights of the world as they exist to-day.
The art of teaching with pictures is very old. The ancient Egyptians
used emblems and designs to record the various incidents of their
history, traces of which are still found on obelisks and ruined
temples.
Wood illustrations were also introduced many years ago; and as
time rolled on, marked improvements were made in the art of
wood-engraving. Notwithstanding the fact that they have not the
power of truly representing the original objects they intend to
portray, they are still largely used for illustrating printed books
and papers.
Over a century ago, the art of photography was made known to the
world by Scheele, a Swedish chemist; since then, many improvements
have been made in this art, until now, by the photo-electro process,
an exact photograph can be transferred on a copper plate, without
losing a single line or shade, and from this plate, photographs
can be printed, such as appear in this book.
Owing to the increasing popularity of the graphic and pictorial
methods of imparting information, the photographic camera was employed
to secure photographs of the greatest things of the world as seen
to-day, both for instruction and entertainment.
We forget knowledge acquired by common conversation, and descriptions
of places and things; but when we observe them, and their forms
are conveyed to our minds through the medium of our eyes, they
are indelibly impressed upon the memory.
The object, then, of this Publication is to present photographs
of all the great sights of the world, from every corner of the
globe, carefully reproducing them by the photo-electro process,
and adding a few lines of explanation to every picture, so that
any one can comprehend each subject.
To make this collection, every country was carefully ransacked,
starting in Ireland, with the famous Blarney Castle and Lakes of
Killarney in the south, and extending to the Giant's Causeway in
the north, said by an old legend to have been built by giants to
form a road across the channel to Scotland.
Passing through Scotland, we photographed its hills, castles, lochs,
bridges and cities. Throughout Wales and England, we represent their
busy seaport and manufacturing towns; the home of Shakespeare,
the Bard of Avon; Windsor Castle, far-famed for its beauty and
battlements; Greenwich Observatory, from which the longitude of the
world is computed; Hampton Court, a relic of royalty; and London,
the metropolis of the world, with over six million people, its
crowded streets, imperial buildings, historic abbeys, famous towers
and monuments.
The Netherlands and Denmark are represented by the <DW18>s and windmills,
Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, the battlefield
of Waterloo; Russia, the land of the Czar, by Moscow, The Kremlin;
St. Petersburg, the Winter Palace. Thence our photographers travelled
across the steppes to Lapland, Finland, Poland, and over the tundras
to sterile Siberia, inflicting its cruel tortures on unhappy exiled
prisoners.
Germany, that romantic country of northern Europe, affords Berlin;
Potsdam, its Royal Palaces; Dresden and its Picture Galleries;
Frankfort-on-the-Main, the former home of Luther, the reformer,
and Rothschild, the financial king of the world; the picturesque
Rhine, lined with its historic castles.
France furnishes for our collection Paris, the proudest city of the
whole world, ever gay, its pretty boulevards, monuments, towers,
bridges, historic buildings, the Louvre and Luxembourg Galleries,
and their treasures of painting and sculptures; Versailles, its
royal palaces, the largest in the world; the palace at Fontainbleau,
buried in the midst of that imperial forest, the home where Napoleon
ruled and abdicated; the cities of the interior and those of the
ever-delightful Riveria, from Marseilles to Monte Carlo, the latter
both lovely, hideous, serene, sensational, beautiful and damnable.
Through Spain and Portugal, every object of interest was photographed,
from the wild and thrilling scenery of the Pyrenees in the north
to that bold headland rock of Gibraltar in the south, and from
the calm Mediterranean in the east to the turbulent waters of the
Atlantic on the west.
Of Switzerland, we exhibit its snow-capped peaks of perpetual ice
and snow; Mont Blanc, Matterhorn and Jungfrau; its placid lakes;
mountain passes, like shelves cut in rock; its bridges of ice and
variety of wild scenery that is seen nowhere but in Switzerland.
Through sunny Italy we gathered photographs from lakes Lugano,
Maggiore and Como with perpetual spring, in the north, to the fiery
crater of Mount Vesuvius in the south; Venice, the "Queen of the
Adriatic;" Genoa, the home of Columbus; Pisa, its leaning tower;
Florence, the "flower of cities," with its galleries of statues
and paintings that the wealth of nations could not purchase; and
Rome, that mighty city by the Tiber, that once ruled the world,
and is still the abode of the Pope; St. Peters and its ruins; yet
now calm, peaceful and powerless.
Austria, where the Catholic bows his head to every shrine, favored
us with its sublime mountain scenery; the picturesque Tyrol; the
blue Danube, famous in history and song; and Vienna, the home of the
Emperor and the former abode of Maria Theresa, strangely fascinating
and unlike any other city in the whole world. Turkey, the land of
the Sultan and the followers of Mahomet, with its strange people
and curious habits, is represented by Constantinople, with its
mosques and minarets, from the top of which the Mussulman sings
out his daily calls for prayer, Ali! Ali!--there is but one God,
and Mahomet is his prophet; its streets, gates and squares; the
Bosphorus and Golden Horn.
Classic Greece, once the centre of art and learning, adorns our
collection with Athens, the Acropolis and Parthenon, the latter
almost completely and shamefully bereft of those famous marbles,
chiseled by Phidias nearly five hundred years before Christ.
In ancient Egypt we photographed the Suez Canal; Alexandria, the
former city of Cleopatra; Cairo, the home of the Khedive and his
harems; the Sphynx and Pyramids, the latter the tombs of the selected
Ptolemies; the river Nile, fed by the melting snows from the mountains
of the Moon, and pouring its waters over this ancient valley with
a regularity as though the ruined temples on its banks give it
command.
Palestine, the Holy Land, made famous in the history of the Christian
Church, added Jeruselem, the City of David; Bethlehem, the cradle
of Christ; Jordan, where He was baptized; the Sea of Galilee, on
whose shores He preached to the multitude; Nazareth, from which
He was called a Nazarene; Gethsemane, where He suffered; Calvary,
where He was crucified.
Asia furnished Mecca, that eternal city to which Mahomet's disciples
make their weary pilgrimages; Hindoostan, from Bombay to Calcutta;
the grottos of Illora; the caverns of Salcette; the Hindoo priests,
chanting the verses of the Vedas; the ruins of the city of the
great Bali, the domes of the pagodas; glacier views, snow bridges,
rattan bridges in the Himalayas; the sacred caves of Amurnath,
to which pilgrimages are made by the Hindoos; Srinugurr and its
floating gardens; curious bridges; bazaars for the sale of the
world-renowned Cashmere shawls, the winding river Jheulm, with
its many curves, suggesting the pattern or design for these famous
wraps; Darjeeling and Mussorie, celebrated hill sanitariums, in
the heart of the Himalayas, much frequented by tourists during
summer; Melapore, where St. Thomas was martyred and where Christ,
perhaps, lived during His absence from Judea, drawing from the
books of the Brahmins, the most perfect precepts of His divine
teachings; the subterranean caverns of Candy; the splendor of the
Valley of Rubies; Adam's Peak; the footmark of Buddha; the fairy-like
view of the Straits of Sunda.
Our photographers also traversed the Celestial Empire, South America,
Central America, Mexico, Greenland, Iceland, Alaska, Canada and
the United States, from the Golden Gate in the west to the Rocky
Coast of New England in the east, and from the Lake Cities in the
north to the Cotton States in the south. Through every country and
every clime, north, south, east and west, wherever was located a
point of interest, an historic castle, a famous monument, a grand
cathedral, a world's wonder, a great city, a crowded avenue, an imperial
building, a pretty picture, an exquisite statue, a picturesque river,
an inspiring grandeur of nature, a curious cavern, a lofty peak, a
deep valley, a strange people, the same was reflected through the
camera and added to this book.
The result of this collection entailed therefore the expenditure
of a vast amount of money and labor, as may be supposed; and the
only wish of the publishers is, that it may afford pleasure and
instruction to those that view the result of their labors.
CONTENTS.
IRELAND.
Blarney Castle
Lakes of Killarney
Dublin (Instantaneous)
Giant's Causeway
SCOTLAND.
Municipal Buildings, Glasgow
Loch Lomond
Forth Bridge
Balmoral Castle
Clamshell Cave, Island of Staffa
Edinburgh (Instantaneous)
ENGLAND.
Liverpool (Instantaneous)
Lime Street, Liverpool (Instantaneous)
Manchester (Instantaneous)
Warwick Castle, Warwick
Shakespeare's House, Stratford-on-Avon
Brighton
Osborne House, Isle of Wight
Hampton Court Palace, Hampton Court
Greenwich Observatory, Greenwich
WINDSOR CASTLE.
Windsor Castle
Green Drawing Room
LONDON.
Midland Grand Hotel and St. Pancras Station
The Strand (Instantaneous)
Cheapside (Instantaneous)
St. Paul's Cathedral
The Bank of England (Instantaneous)
Tower of London
London Bridge (Instantaneous)
Westminster Abbey
Houses of Parliament
Trafalgar Square
Buckingham Palace
Rotten Row (Instantaneous)
Albert Memorial
BELGIUM.
Antwerp
BRUSSELS.
Panoramic View of Brussels
Palace of the King
Bourse (Instantaneous)
City Hall
Cathedral of Ste. Gudule
The Forbidden Book. Painting, Ooms
HOLLAND.
Scheveningen
Amsterdam (Instantaneous)
Windmill
NORWAY.
Christiansand
Bergen
Naerdfjord, Gudvnagen
North Cape
RUSSIA.
Moscow
Winter Palace, St. Petersburg
GERMANY.
The Cathedral, Cologne
Bingen
Ehrenbreitstein
Frankfort-on-the-Main
Martin Luther's House, Frankfort-on-the-Main
Ariadne on the Panther, Statuary, Dannecker
University Building, Leipsic
BERLIN.
Royal Palace
Berlin, Unter den Linden
Statue of Frederick the Great
The Brandenburg Gate
Monument of Victory
POTSDAM.
The Historic Windmill
DRESDEN GALLERY.
Madonna di San Sisto, Painting, Raphael
Magdalene, Painting, Battoni,
FRANCE.
PARIS.
Bird's-eye View of Paris
Place de la Concorde (Instantaneous)
Madeleine (Instantaneous)
Opera House (Instantaneous)
Great Boulevards
July Column
Statue of the Republic
Vendome Column
Royal Palace
Hotel de Ville
Cathedral of Notre Dame
Palace of Justice
Arc of Triumph
Dome des Invalides
Tomb of Napoleon
Eiffel Tower
Pantheon
Louvre Buildings
LOUVRE GALLERY.
Venus de Milo, Statuary, Unknown
Tomb of Phillippe Pot, Statuary, Renaissance
Peacemaker of the Village, Painting, Greuze
LUXEMBOURG GALLERY.
The Last Veil, Statuary, Bouret
Arrest in the Village, Painting, Salmson
A Mother, Statuary, Lenoir
Joan of Arc, Statuary, Chapu
Paying the Reapers, Painting, Lhermitte
Ignorance, Painting, Paton
VERSAILLES.
Royal Palace
Royal Carriage
VERSAILLES GALLERY.
Last Victims of the Reign of Terror, Painting, Muller
Napoleon at Austerlitz, Painting, Vernet
Napoleon, Painting, Gosse
FONTAINEBLEAU.
Royal Palace
Throne Room
Apartment of Tapestries
Apartment of Mme. de Maintenon
SOUTHERN FRANCE.
Nice
Monaco
Monte Carlo
Gaming Hall, Monte Carlo
SPAIN.
Madrid
Seville
Bull Fight, Seville (Instantaneous)
Toledo
Gibraltar
PORTUGAL.
Lisbon
SWITZERLAND.
Kirchenfeld Bridge, Berne
Clock Tower, Berne
Peasant Woman
Interlaken and the Jungfrau
Grindelwald
A Thousand Foot Chasm
Brunig Pass
Lucerne
Rigi
Rigi-Kulm
Pilatus
Simplon's Pass
Zermatt and the Matterhorn
Chamounix and Mont Blanc
Engleberg
St. Gotthard Railway
Axenstrasse
AUSTRIA.
VIENNA.
Panorama of Vienna
Hotel Metropole
Church of St. Stephen
Theseus, Statuary, Canova,
Schoenbrunn
TURKEY.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
Galata Bridge (Instantaneous)
Mosque of St. Sophia
Interior of the Mosque of St. Sophia
Street Scene (Instantaneous)
Mosque of Ahmed
Turkish Lady
Street Merchants
Sultan's Harem
GREECE.
Acropolis, Athens
Parthenon, Athens
ITALY.
MILAN.
Grand Cathedral and Square
Corso Venezia
TURIN.
Exposition Buildings
Duke Ferdinand of Genoa
GENOA.
General View of Genoa
Statue of Columbus
PISA.
Leaning Tower
VENICE.
Palace of the Doges
Grand Canal
Cathedral of St. Mark
Street Scene in Venice
The Rialto (Instantaneous)
FLORENCE.
The Cathedral
Vecchio Bridge
Monk
Loggia dei Lanzi
Uffizi Buildings
LOGGIA DEI LANZI.
Rape of Polyxena, Statuary, Fedi
UFFIZI GALLERY.
Wild Boar, Bronze
The Grinder, Statuary, 16th Century
ROME.
Appian Way and Tomb of Cecilia Metella
Pyramid of Cestius and St. Paul Gate
Roman Forum
Forum of Trajan
Baths of Caracalla
Colosseum
Interior of Colosseum
Pantheon
Bridge of St. Angelo and Tomb of Hadrian
St. Peter's and Vatican
Interior of St. Peter's
Romulus and Remus
VATICAN GALLERY.
Transfiguration, Painting, Raphael
La Ballerina, Statuary, Canova
Laocoonte, Statuary
NAPLES.
Toledo Street (Instantaneous)
MOUNT VESUVIUS.
Crater
POMPEII.
Street of Tombs
Civil Forum
ISLAND OF CAPRI.
General View and Landing
ISLAND OF ISCHIA.
Castello
EGYPT.
ALEXANDRIA.
Harbor
Place of Mehemet Ali
CAIRO.
Citadel
Mosque of Mohammed 'Ali
Street Scene
Palace of Gezireh
On Camel-Back
Pyramids of Gizeh
Corner View of the Great Pyramid
The Sphynx
In Central Africa
SUEZ CANAL.
Landing on Suez Canal (Instantaneous)
Post Office, Suez
PALESTINE.
Yaffa or Jaffa
JERUSALEM.
General View of Jerusalem
Wailing Place of the Jews
Street Scene
Garden of Gethsemane
Bethlehem
Dead Sea
Nazareth
Jacob's Well
SYRIA.
Beyrouth
Great Mosque, Damascus
Ba'albek
Mecca
INDIA.
Kalbadevie Road, Bombay
Benares
Tropical Scenery
Heathen Temple
Royal Observatory
CHINA.
Wong Tai Ken
SANDWICH ISLANDS.
Typical Scene
ALASKA.
Sitka
Totem Poles
CANADA.
Parliament Buildings
UNITED STATES.
SAN FRANCISCO.
Golden Gate
Market Street, San Francisco
YOSEMITE VALLEY.
General View
Glacier Point
Mirror Lake
Big Tree
SALT LAKE CITY.
Great Mormon Temple
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.
Pulpit Terrace
Obsidian Cliff
Mammoth Paint Pots
Old Faithful Geyser
Yellowstone Lake and Hot Springs
Yellowstone Falls
Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone
COLORADO.
Animas Canyon
Grand Canyon of the Arkansas River
Mountain of the Holy Cross
Manitou and Pike's Peak
Summit of Pike's Peak
Gateway to the Garden of the Gods
Cathedral Spires
Life in Oklahoma
Indian Wigwam, Indian Territory
State Street, Chicago, Ill.
Niagara Falls, N. Y.
Bunker Hill Monument, Boston, Mass.
NEW YORK.
Park Row
Brooklyn Bridge
Elevated Railroad
Statue of Liberty
PHILADELPHIA.
Chestnut Street
Market Street
ST. AUGUSTINE, FLA.
Fort San Marco
Ponce de Leon
WASHINGTON, D. C.
The Capitol
White House
[Illustration: BLARNEY CASTLE, IRELAND.--Here are observed the
ruins of a famous old fortress, visited by thousands of tourists
every year, on account of a tradition which has been attached for
centuries to one of the stones used in building the castle. Its
walls are 120 feet high and 18 feet thick; but it is principally
noted for the "Blarney Stone," which is said to be endowed with the
property of communicating to those who kiss its polished surface,
the gift of gentle, insinuating speech. The triangular stone is 20
feet from the top, and contains this inscription: Cormack MacCarthy,
"Fortis me fieri fecit A. D. 1446."]
[Illustration: LAKES OF KILLARNEY, IRELAND.--These are three connected
lakes, near the centre of County Kerry. The largest contains thirty
islands, and covers an area of fifteen square miles. The beautiful
scenery along the lakes consists in the gracefulness of the mountain
outlines and the rich and varied colorings of the wooded shores.
Here the beholder falters, and his spirit is overawed as in a dream,
while he contemplates the power and grandeur of the Creator. The
lakes are visited by thousands of tourists annually. The above
photograph gives a general view of them.]
[Illustration: DUBLIN, IRELAND.--Dublin, the capital and chief
city of Ireland, is the centre of the political, ecclesiastical,
educational, commercial, military and railroad enterprises of the
kingdom. It is the residence of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,
and it claims a high antiquity, having been in existence since the
time of Ptolemy. In the ninth century it was taken by the Danes,
who held sway for over two hundred years. In 1169 it was taken back
by the English, and seven years later, its history began to be
identified with that of Ireland. The city is divided into two parts
by the Liffey, which is spanned by nine bridges. This photograph
represents Sackville street, one of its principal thoroughfares.]
[Illustration: GIANT'S CAUSEWAY, IRELAND.--The Giant's Causeway
derives its name from a mythical legend, representing it to be
the commencement of a road to be constructed by giants across the
channel from Ireland to Scotland. It is a sort of pier or promontory
of columnar basalt, projecting from the north coast of Antrim,
Ireland, into the North Sea. It is divided by whin-<DW18>s into the
Little Causeway, the Middle or "Honeycomb Causeway" here represented,
and the Grand Causeway. The pillars vary in diameter from 15 to 20
inches, and in height, from 10 to 20 feet. It is a most curious
formation.]
[Illustration: MUNICIPAL BUILDINGS, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND.--Glasgow
is one of the best governed cities in Great Britain, and has a
broad, bold and enlightened policy that conduces to the health,
comfort and advancement of its citizens. This photograph represents
its municipal buildings and a statue of Sir Walter Scott. The building
is large and imposing, and of a mixed style of architecture. It
was erected in 1860, at a cost of nearly half a million dollars,
and has a tower 210 feet high. The Post Office, Bank of Scotland,
Town Hall, Exchange and Revenue Buildings are close by.]
[Illustration: LOCH LOMOND, SCOTLAND.--Here is presented the largest
and, in many respects, the most beautiful of the Scottish Lakes; it
is nearly twenty-five miles long, and from one to five miles wide.
Its beauty is enhanced by the numerous wooded islands, among which
the steamer threads its way. Some of the islands are of considerable
size, and, by their craggy and wooded features, add greatly to the
scenic beauty of the lake. Loch Lomond is unquestionably the pride
of Scottish Lakes. It exceeds all others in extent and variety of
scenery.]
[Illustration: FORTH BRIDGE, SCOTLAND.--This bridge, crossing the
Firth of Forth, is pronounced the largest structure in the world,
and is the most striking feat yet achieved in bridge-building. It
is 8296 feet long, 354 feet high, and cost $12,500,000. It was
begun in 1883, and completed in 1890. It is built on the cantilever
and central girder system, the principle of which is that of "stable
equilibrium," its own weight helping to balance it more firmly
in position. Each of the main spans is 1700 feet long, and the
deepest foundations are 88 feet. The weight of the metal in the
bridge is 50,000 tons.]
[Illustration: BALMORAL CASTLE, SCOTLAND.--The above-named castle,
the summer residence of Queen Victoria, is most beautifully and
romantically situated in the Highlands of Scotland. The Queen has
two other residences, one on the Isle of Wight, and the other at
Windsor; but the Highland home is the most pleasant and attractive.
The surrounding country is rich in deer, grouse and every other kind
of game. The place is always guarded by soldiers, and no one is
allowed to come near the castle, unless by special permission. The
| 272.10934 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
CONTEMPORARY
RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
Translated from the French of Serge Persky
By FREDERICK EISEMANN
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1913
_Copyright, 1912_
BY C. DELAGRAVE
_Copyright, 1913_
BY L. E. BASSETT
To
THE MEMORY OF
F. N. S.
BY
THE TRANSLATOR
PREFACE
The principal aim of this book is to give the reader a good general
knowledge of Russian literature as it is to-day. The author, Serge
Persky, has subordinated purely critical material, because he wants
his readers to form their own judgments and criticize for
themselves. The element of literary criticism is not, however, by
any means entirely lacking.
In the original text, there is a thorough and exhaustive treatment
of the "great prophet" of Russian literature--Tolstoy--but the
translator has deemed it wise to omit this essay, because so much
has recently been written about this great man.
As the title of the book is "Contemporary Russian Novelists," the
essay on Anton Tchekoff, who is no longer living, does not rightly
belong here, but Tchekoff is such an important figure in modern
Russian literature and has attracted so little attention from
English writers that it seems advisable to retain the essay that
treats of his work.
Finally, let me express my sincerest thanks to Dr. G. H. Maynadier
of Harvard for his kind advice; to Miss Edna Wetzler for her
unfailing and valuable help, and to Miss Carrie Harper, who has gone
over this work with painstaking care.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Brief Survey of Russian Literature 1
II. Anton Tchekoff 40
III. Vladimir Korolenko 76
IV. Vikenty Veressayev 108
V. Maxim Gorky 142
VI. Leonid Andreyev 199
VII. Dmitry Merezhkovsky 246
VIII. Alexander Kuprin 274
IX. Writers in Vogue 289
CONTEMPORARY RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
I
A BRIEF SURVEY OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE
In order to get a clear idea of modern Russian literature, a
knowledge of its past is indispensable. This knowledge will help us
in understanding that which distinguishes it from other European
literatures, not only from the viewpoint of the art which it
expresses, but also as the historical and sociological mirror of the
nation's life in the course of centuries.
The dominant trait of this literature is found in its very origins.
Unlike the literatures of other European countries, which followed,
in a more or less regular way, the development of life and
civilization during historic times, Russian literature passed
through none of these stages. Instead of being a product of the
past, it is a protestation against it; instead of retracing the old
successive stages, it appears, intermittently, like a light
suddenly struck in the darkness. Its whole history is a long
continual struggle against this darkness, which has gradually melted
away beneath these rays of light, but has never entirely ceased to
veil the general trend of Russian thought.
As a result of the unfortunate circumstances which characterize her
history, Russia was for a long time deprived of any relations with
civilized Europe. The necessity of concentrating all her strength on
fighting the Mongolians laid the corner-stone of a sort of
semi-Asiatic political autocracy. Besides, the influence of the
Byzantine clergy made the nation hostile to the ideas and science of
the Occident, which were represented as heresies incompatible with
the orthodox faith. However, when she finally threw off the
Mongolian yoke, and when she found herself face to face with Europe,
Russia was led to enter into diplomatic relations with the various
Western powers. She then realized that European art and science were
indispensable to her, if only to strengthen her in warfare against
these States. For this reason a number of European ideas began to
come into Russia during the reigns of the last Muscovite sovereigns.
But they assumed a somewhat sacerdotal character in passing through
the filter of Polish society, and took on, so to speak, a dogmatic
air. In general, European influence was not accepted in Russia
except with extreme repugnance and restless circumspection, until
the accession of Peter I. This great monarch, blessed with unusual
intelligence and a will of iron, decided to use all his autocratic
power in impressing, to use the words of Pushkin, "a new direction
upon the Russian vessel;"--Europe instead of Asia.
Peter the Great had to contend against the partisans of ancient
tradition, the "obscurists" and the adversaries of profane science;
and this inevitable struggle determined the first character of
Russian literature, where the satiric element, which in essence is
an attack on the enemies of reform, predominates. In organizing
grotesque processions, clownish masquerades, in which the
long-skirted clothes and the streaming beards of the honorable
champions of times gone by were ridiculed, Peter himself appeared as
a pitiless destroyer of the ancient costumes and superannuated
ideas.
The example set by the practical irony of this man was followed,
soon after the death of the Tsar, by Kantemir, the first Russian
author who wrote satirical verses. These verses were very much
appreciated in his time. In them, he mocks with considerable fervor
the ignorant contemners of science, who taste happiness only in the
gratification of their material appetites.
At the same time that the Russian authors pursued the enemies of
learning with sarcasm, they heaped up eulogies, which bordered on
idolatry, on Peter I, and, after him, on his successors. In these
praises, which were excessively hyperbolical, there was always some
sincerity. Peter had, in fact, in his reign, paved the way for
European civilization, and it seemed merely to be waiting for the
sovereigns, Peter's successors, to go on with the work started by
their illustrious ancestor. The most powerful leaders, and the first
representatives of the new literature, strode ahead, then, hand in
hand, but their paths before long diverged. Peter the Great wanted
to use European science for practical purposes only: it was only to
help the State, to make capable generals, to win wars, to help
savants find means to develop the national wealth by industry and
commerce; he--Peter--had no time to think of other things. But
science throws her light into the most hidden corners, and when it
brings social and political iniquities to light, then the government
hastens to persecute that which, up to this time, it has encouraged.
The protective, and later hostile, tendencies of the government in
regard to authors manifested themselves with a special violence
during the reign of Catherine II. This erudite woman, an admirer of
Voltaire and of the French "encyclopedistes," was personally
interested in writing. She wrote several plays in which she
ridiculed the coarse manners and the ignorance of the society of her
time. Under the influence of this new impulse, which had come from
one in such a high station in life, a legion of satirical journals
flooded the country. The talented and spiritual von Vizin wrote
comedies, the most famous of which exposes the ignorance and cruelty
of country gentlemen; in another, he shows the ridiculousness of
people who take only the brilliant outside shell from European
civilization. Shortly, Radishchev's "Voyage from Moscow to
St. Petersburg" appeared. Here the author, with the fury of
passionate resentment, and with sad bitterness, exposes the
miserable condition of the people under the yoke of the high and
mighty. It was then that the empress, Catherine the Great, so gentle
to the world at large and so authoritative at home, perceiving that
satire no longer spared the guardian principles necessary for the
security of the State, any more than they did popular superstitions,
manifested a strong displeasure against it. Consequently, the
satirical journals disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Von
Vizin, who, in his pleasing "Questions to Catherine" had touched on
various subjects connected with court etiquette, and on the miseries
of political life, had to content himself with silence. Radishchev
was arrested, thrown into a fortress, and then sent to Siberia.
They went so far as to accuse Derzhavin, the greatest poet of this
time, the celebrated "chanter of Catherine," in his old age, of
Jacobinism for having translated into verse one of the psalms of
David; besides this, the energetic apostle of learning, Novikov, a
journalist, a writer, and the founder of a remarkable society which
devoted itself to the publication and circulation of useful books,
was accused of having had relations with foreign secret societies.
He was confined in the fortress at Schluesselburg after all his
belongings had been confiscated. The critic and the satirist had had
their wings clipped. But it was no longer possible to check this
tendency, for, by force of circumstances, it had been planted in the
very soul of every Russian who compared the conditions of life in
his country with what European civilization had done for the
neighboring countries.
Excluded from journalism, this satiric tendency took refuge in
literature, where the novel and the story trace the incidents of
daily life. Since the writers could not touch the evil at its
source, they showed its consequences for social life. They
represented with eloquence the empty and deplorable banality of the
existence forced upon most of them. By expressing in various ways
general aspirations towards something better, they let literature
continue its teaching, even in times particularly hostile to
freedom of thought, like the reign of Nicholas I, the most typical
and decided adversary of the freedom of the pen that Europe has ever
seen. Literature was, then, considered as an inevitable evil, but
one from which the world wanted to free itself; and every man of
letters seemed to be under suspicion. During this reign, not only
criticisms of the government, but also praises of it, were
considered offensive and out of place. Thus, the chief of the secret
police, when he found that a writer of that time, Bulgarine, whose
name was synonymous with accuser and like evils, had taken the
liberty to praise the government for some insignificant improvements
made on a certain street, told him with severity: "You are not asked
to praise the government, you must only praise men of letters."
Nothing went to print without the authorization of the general
censor, an authorization that had to be confirmed by the various
parts of the complex machine, and, finally, by a superior committee
which censored the censors. The latter were themselves so terrorized
that they scented subversive ideas even in cook-books, in technical
musical terms, and in punctuation marks. It would seem that under
such conditions no kind of literature, and certainly no satire,
could exist. Nevertheless, it was at this period that Gogol produced
his best works. The two most important are, his comedy "The
Revizor," where he stigmatizes the abuses of administration, and
"Dead Souls," that classic work which de Voguee judges worthy of
being given a place in universal literature, between "Don Quixote"
and "Gil Bl | 272.154157 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team.
ELSIE DINSMORE
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
CHAPTER FIRST
"I never saw an eye so bright,
And yet so soft as hers;
It sometimes swam in liquid light,
And sometimes swam in tears;
It seemed a beauty set apart
For softness and for sighs."
--MRS. WELBY.
The school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment; the
ceiling, it is true, was somewhat lower than in the more modern portion
of the building, for the wing in which it was situated dated back to
the old-fashioned days prior to the Revolution, while the larger part
of the mansion had not stood more than twenty or thirty years; but the
effect was relieved by windows reaching from floor to ceiling, and
opening on a veranda which overlooked a lovely flower-garden, beyond
which were fields and woods and hills. The view from the veranda was
very beautiful, and the room itself looked most inviting, with its neat
matting, its windows draped with snow-white muslin, its comfortable
chairs, and pretty rosewood desks.
Within this pleasant apartment sat Miss Day with her pupils, six in
number. She was giving a lesson to Enna, the youngest, the spoiled
darling of the family, the pet and plaything of both father and mother.
It was always a trying task to both teacher and scholar, for Enna was
very wilful, and her teacher's patience by no means inexhaustible.
"There!" exclaimed Miss Day, shutting the book and giving it an
impatient toss on to the desk; "go, for I might as well try to teach
old Bruno. I presume he would learn about as fast."
And Enna walked away with a pout on her pretty face, muttering that she
would "tell mamma."
"Young ladies and gentlemen," said Miss Day, looking at her watch, "I
shall leave you to your studies for an hour; at the end of which time I
shall return to hear your recitations, when those who have attended
properly to their duties will be permitted to ride out with me to visit
the fair."
"Oh! that will be jolly!" exclaimed Arthur, a bright-eyed,
mischief-loving boy of ten.
"Hush!" said Miss Day sternly; "let me hear no more such exclamations;
and remember that you will not go unless your lessons are thoroughly
learned. Louise and Lora," addressing two young girls of the respective
ages of twelve and fourteen, "that French exercise must be perfect, and
your English lessons as well. Elsie," to a little girl of eight,
sitting alone at a desk near one of the windows, and bending over a
slate with an appearance of great industry, "every figure of that
example must be correct, your geography lesson recited perfectly, and a
page in your copybook written without a blot."
"Yes, ma'am," said the child meekly, raising a pair of large soft eyes
of the darkest hazel for an instant to her teacher's face, and then
dropping them again upon her slate.
"And see that none of you leave the room until I return," continued the
governess. "Walter, if you miss one word of that spelling, you will
have to stay at home and learn it over."
"Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty sure to do," muttered
Arthur, as the door closed on Miss Day, and her retreating footsteps
were heard passing down the hall.
For about ten minutes after her departure, all was quiet in the
school-room, each seemingly completely absorbed in study. But at the
end of that time Arthur sprang up, and flinging his book across the
room, exclaimed, "There! I know my lesson; and if I didn't, I shouldn't
study another bit for old Day, or Night either."
"Do be quiet, Arthur," said his sister Louise; "I can't study in such a
racket."
Arthur stole on tiptoe across the room, and coming up behind Elsie,
tickled the back of her neck with a feather.
She started, saying in a pleading tone, "Please, Arthur, don't."
"It pleases me to do," he said, repeating the experiment.
Elsie changed her position, saying in the same gentle, persuasive tone,
"O Arthur! _please_ let me alone, or I never shall be able to do this
example."
"What! all this time on one example! you ought to be ashamed. Why, I
could have done it half a dozen times over."
"I have been over and over it," replied the little girl in a tone of
despondency, "and still there are two figures that will not come right."
"How do you know they are not right, little puss?" shaking her curls as
he spoke.
"Oh! please, Arthur, don't pull my hair. I have the answer--that's the
way I know."
"Well, then, why don't you just set the figures down. I would."
"Oh! no, indeed; that would not be honest."
"Pooh! nonsense! nobody would be the wiser, nor the poorer."
"No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I can never get it
right while you are bothering me so," said Elsie, laying her slate
aside in despair. Then taking out her geography, she began studying
most diligently. But Arthur continued his persecutions--tickling her,
pulling her hair, twitching the book out of her hand, and talking
almost incessantly, making remarks, and asking questions; till at last
Elsie said, as if just ready to cry, "Indeed, Arthur, if you don't let
me alone, I shall never be able to get my lessons."
"Go away then; take your book out on the veranda, and learn your
lessons there," said Louise. "I'll call you when Miss Day comes."
"Oh! no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it would be disobedience,"
replied Elsie, taking out her writing materials.
Arthur stood over her criticising every letter she made, and finally
jogged her elbow in such a way as to cause her to drop all the ink in
her pen upon the paper, making quite a large blot.
"Oh!" cried the little girl, bursting into tears, "now I shall lose my
ride, for Miss Day will not let me go; and I was so anxious to see all
those beautiful flowers."
Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some compunction when he
saw the mischief he had done. "Never mind, Elsie," said he. "I can fix
it yet. Just let me tear out this page, and you can begin again on the
next, and I'll not bother you. I'll make these two figures come right
too," he added, taking up her slate.
"Thank you, Arthur," said the little girl, smiling through her tears;
"you are very kind, but it would not be honest to do either, and I had
rather stay at home than be deceitful."
"Very well, miss," said he, tossing his head, and walking away, "since
you won't let me help you, it is all your own fault if you have to stay
at home."
"Elsie," exclaimed Louise, "I have no patience with you! such
ridiculous scruples as you are always raising. I shall not pity you one
bit, if you are obliged to stay at home."
Elsie made no reply, but, brushing away a tear, bent over her writing,
taking great pains with every letter, though saying sadly to herself
all the time, "It's of no use, for that great ugly blot will spoil it
all."
She finished her page, and, excepting the unfortunate blot, it all
looked very neat indeed, showing plainly that it had been written with
great care. She then took up her slate and patiently went over and over
every figure of the troublesome example, trying to discover where her
mistake had been. But much time had been lost through Arthur's teasing,
and her mind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing that she
tried in vain to fix it upon the business in hand; and before the two
troublesome figures had been made right, the hour was past and Miss Day
returned.
"Oh!" thought Elsie, "if she will only hear the others first, I may be
able to get this and the geography ready yet; and perhaps, if Arthur
will be generous enough to tell her about the blot, she may excuse me
for it."
But it was a vain hope. Miss Day had no sooner seated herself at her
desk, than she called, "Elsie, come here and say that lesson; and bring
your copybook and slate, that I may examine your work."
Elsie tremblingly obeyed.
The lesson, though a difficult one, was very tolerably recited; for
Elsie, knowing Arthur's propensity for teasing, had studied it in her
own room before school hours. But Miss Day handed back the book with a
frown, saying, "I told you the recitation must be perfect, and it was
not."
She was always more severe with Elsie than with any other of her
pupils. The reason the reader will probably be able to divine ere long.
"There are two incorrect figures in this example," said she, laying
down the slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking up the
copy-book, she exclaimed, "Careless, disobedient child! did I not
caution you to be careful not to blot your book! There will be no ride
for you this morning. You have failed in everything. Go to your seat.
Make that example right, and do the next; learn your geography lesson
over, and write another page in your copy-book; and, mind, if there is
a blot on it, you will get no dinner."
Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and obeyed.
During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretending to study, but
glancing every now and then at Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill
at ease. She cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to her
seat; but he turned away his head, muttering, "It's all her own fault,
for she wouldn't let me help her."
As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora's eyes fixed on him
with an expression of scorn and contempt. He violently, and
dropped his eyes upon his book.
"Miss Day," said Lora, indignantly, "I see Arthur does not mean to
speak, and as I cannot bear to see such injustice, I must tell you that
it is all his fault that Elsie has failed in her lessons; for she tried
her very best, but he teased her incessantly, and also jogged her elbow
and made her spill the ink on her book; and to her credit she was too
honorable to tear out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make
her example right; both which he very generously proposed doing after
causing all the mischief."
"Is this so, Arthur?" asked Miss Day, angrily.
The boy hung his head, but made no reply.
"Very well, then," said Miss Day, "you too must stay at home."
"Surely," said Lora, in surprise, "you will not keep Elsie, since I
have shown you that she was not to blame."
"Miss Lora," replied her teacher, haughtily, "I wish you to understand
that I am not to be dictated to by my pupils."
Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day went on hearing the
lessons without further remark.
In the meantime the little Elsie sat at her desk, striving to conquer
the feelings of anger and indignation that were swelling in her breast;
for Elsie, though she possessed much of "the ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit," was not yet perfect, and often had a fierce contest with
her naturally quick temper. Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or
tone or look betrayed the existence of such feelings; and it was a
common remark in the family that Elsie had no spirit.
The recitations were scarcely finished when the door opened and a lady
entered dressed for a ride.
"Not through yet, Miss Day?" she asked.
"Yes, madam, we are just done," replied the teacher, closing the French
grammar and handing it to Louise.
"Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty this morning, and
are ready to accompany us to the fair," said Mrs. Dinsmore. "But what
is the matter with Elsie?"
"She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore has been told that
she must remain at home," replied Miss Day with heightened color and in
a tone of anger; "and as Miss Lora tells me that Master Arthur was
partly the cause, I have forbidden him also to accompany us."
"Excuse me, Miss Day, for correcting you," said Lora, a little
indignantly; "but I did not say _partly,_ for I am sure it was
_entirely_ his fault."
"Hush, hush, Lora," said her mother, a little impatiently; "how can you
be sure of any such thing; Miss Day, I must beg of you to excuse Arthur
this once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him along. He is
fond of mischief, I know, but he is only a child, and you must not be
too hard upon him."
"Very well, madam," replied the governess stiffly, "you have of course
the best right to control your own children."
Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave the room.
"Mamma," asked Lora, "is not Elsie to be allowed to go too?"
"Elsie is not my child, and I have nothing to say about it. Miss Day,
who knows all the circumstances, is much better able than I to judge
whether or no she is deserving of punishment," replied Mrs. Dinsmore,
sailing out of the room.
"You will let her go, Miss Day?" said Lora, inquiringly.
"Miss Lora," replied Miss Day, angrily, "I have already told you I was
not to be dictated to. I have said Elsie must remain at home, and I
shall not break my word."
"Such injustice!" muttered Lora, turning away.
"Lora," said Louise, impatiently, "why need you concern yourself with
Elsie's affairs? for my part, I have no pity for her, so full as she is
of nonsensical scruples."
Miss Day crossed the room to where Elsie was sitting leaning her head
upon the desk, struggling hard to keep down the feelings of anger and
indignation aroused by the unjust treatment she had received.
"Did I not order you to learn that lesson over?" said the governess,
"and why are you sitting here idling?"
Elsie dared not speak lest her anger should show itself in words; so
merely raised her head, and hastily brushing away her tears, opened the
book. But Miss Day, who was irritated by Mrs. Dinsmore's interference,
and also by the consciousness that she was acting unjustly, seemed
determined to vent her displeasure upon her innocent victim.
"Why do you not speak?" she exclaimed, seizing Elsie by the arm and
shaking her violently. "Answer me this instant. Why have you been
idling all the morning?"
"I have _not_," replied the child hastily, stung to the quick by her
unjust violence. "I have tried hard to do my duty, and you are
punishing me when I don't deserve it at all."
"How dare you? there! take that for your impertinence," said Miss Day,
giving her a box on the ear.
Elsie was about to make a still more angry reply; but she restrained
herself, and turning to her book, tried to study, though the hot,
blinding tears came so thick and fast that she could not see a letter.
"De carriage am waiting, ladies, an' missus in a hurry," said a
servant, opening the door; and Miss Day hastily quitted the room,
followed by Louise and Lora; and Elsie was left alone.
She laid down the geography, and opening her desk, took out a small
pocket Bible, which bore the marks of frequent use. She turned over the
leaves as though seeking for some particular passage; at length she
found it, and wiping away the blinding tears, she read these words in a
low, murmuring tone:
"For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure
grief, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it if, when ye be
buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently? but if when ye do
well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with
God. For even hereunto were ye called; because Christ also suffered for
us, leaving us an example that ye should follow His steps."
"Oh! I have not done it. I did not take it patiently. I am afraid I am
not following in His steps," she cried, bursting into an agony of tears
and sobs.
"My dear little girl, what is the matter?" asked a kind voice, and a
soft hand was gently laid on her shoulder.
The child looked up hastily. "O Miss Allison!" she said, "is it you? I
thought I was quite alone."
"And so you were, my dear, until this moment" replied the lady, drawing
up a chair, and sitting down close beside her. "I was on the veranda,
and hearing sobs, came in to see if I could be of any assistance. You
look very much distressed; will you not tell me the cause of your
sorrow?"
Elsie answered only by a fresh burst of tears.
"They have all gone to the fair and left you at home alone; perhaps to
learn a lesson you have failed in reciting?" said the lady, inquiringly.
"Yes, ma'am," said the child; "but that is not the worst;" and her
tears fell faster, as she laid the little Bible on the desk, and
pointed with her finger to the words she had been reading. "Oh!" she
sobbed, "I--I did not do it; I did not bear it patiently. I was treated
unjustly, and punished when I was not to blame, and I grew angry. Oh!
I'm afraid I shall never be like Jesus! never, never."
The child's distress seemed very great, and Miss Allison was extremely
surprised. She was a visitor who had been in the house only a few days,
and, herself a devoted Christian, had been greatly pained by the utter
disregard of the family in which she was sojourning for the teachings
of God's word. Rose Allison was from the North, and Mr. Dinsmore, the
proprietor of Roselands, was an old friend of her father, to whom he
had been paying a visit, and finding Rose in delicate health, he had
prevailed upon her parents to allow her to spend the winter months with
his family in the more congenial clime of their Southern home.
"My poor child," she said, passing her arm around the little one's
waist, "my poor little Elsie! that is your name, is it not?"
"Yes, ma'am; Elsie Dinsmore," replied the little girl.
"Well, Elsie, let me read you another verse from this blessed book.
Here it is: 'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son, cleanseth us from _all_
sin.' And here again: 'If any man sin, we have an advocate with the
Father Jesus Christ the righteous.' Dear Elsie, 'if we confess our
sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.'"
"Yes, ma'am," said the child; "I have asked Him to forgive me, and I
know He has; but I am so sorry, oh! _so_ sorry that I have grieved and
displeased Him; for, O Miss Allison! I _do_ love Jesus, and want to be
like Him always."
"Yes, dear child, we must grieve for our sins when we remember that
they helped to slay the Lord. But I am very, very glad to learn that
you love Jesus, and are striving to do His will. I love Him too, and we
will love one another; for you know He says, 'By this shall men know
that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another,'" said Miss
Allison, stroking the little girl's hair, and kissing her tenderly.
"Will you love me? Oh! how glad I am," exclaimed the child joyfully; "I
have nobody to love me but poor old mammy."
"And who is mammy?" asked the lady.
"My dear old nurse, who has always taken care of me. Have you not seen
her, ma'am?"
"Perhaps I may. I have seen a number of nice old <DW52> women about
here since I came. But, Elsie, will you tell me who taught you about
Jesus, and how long you have loved Him?"
"Ever since I can remember," replied the little girl earnestly; "and it
was dear old mammy who first told me how He suffered and died on the
cross for us." Her eyes filled with tears and her voice quivered with
emotion. "She used to talk to me about it just as soon as I could
understand anything," she continued; "and then she would tell me that
my own dear mamma loved Jesus, and had gone to be with Him in heaven;
and how, when she was dying, she put me--a little, wee baby, I was then
not quite a week old--into her arms, and said, 'Mammy, take my dear
little baby and love her, and take care of her just as you did of me;
and O mammy! be sure that you teach her to love God.' Would you like to
see my mamma, Miss Allison?"
And as she spoke she drew from her bosom a miniature set in gold and
diamonds, which she wore suspended by a gold chain around her neck, and
put it in Rose's hand.
It was the likeness of a young and blooming girl, not more than fifteen
or sixteen years of age. She was very beautiful, with a sweet, gentle,
winning countenance, the same soft hazel eyes and golden brown curls
that the little Elsie possessed; the same regular features, pure
complexion, and sweet smile.
Miss Allison gazed at it a moment in silent admiration; then turning
from it to the child with a puzzled expression, she said, "But, Elsie,
I do not understand; are you not sister to Enna and the rest, and is
not Mrs. Dinsmore own mother to them all?"
"Yes, ma'am, to all of them, but not to me nor my papa. Their brother
Horace is my papa, and so they are all my aunts and uncles."
"Indeed," said the lady, musingly; "I thought you looked very unlike
the rest. And your papa is away, is he not, Elsie?"
"Yes, ma'am; he is in Europe. He has been away almost ever since I was
born, and I have never seen him. Oh! how I do wish he would come home!
how I long to see him! Do you think he would love me, Miss Allison? Do
you think he would take me on his knee and pet me, as grandpa does
Enna?"
"I should think he would, dear; I don't know how he could help loving
his own dear little girl," said the lady, again kissing the little rosy
cheek. "But now," she added, rising, "I must go away and let you learn
your lesson."
Then taking up the little Bible, and turning over the leaves, she
asked, "Would you like to come to my room sometimes in the mornings and
evenings, and read this book with me, Elsie?"
"Oh! yes, ma'am, dearly!" exclaimed the child, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure.
"Come then this evening, if you like; and now goodbye for the present."
And pressing another kiss on the child's cheek, she left her and went
back to her own room, where she found her friend Adelaide Dinsmore, a
young lady near her own age, and the eldest daughter of the family.
Adelaide was seated on a sofa, busily employed with some fancy work.
"You see I am making myself quite at home," she said, looking up as
Rose entered. "I cannot imagine where you have been all this time."
"Can you not? In the school-room, talking with little Elsie. Do you
know, Adelaide, I thought she was your sister; but she tells me not."
"No, she is Horace's child. I supposed you knew; but if you do not, I
may just as well tell you the whole story. Horace was a very wild boy,
petted and spoiled, and always used to having his own way; and when he
was about seventeen--quite a forward youth he was too--he must needs go
to New Orleans to spend some months with a schoolmate; and there he
met, and fell desperately in love with, a very beautiful girl a year or
two younger than himself, an orphan and very wealthy. Fearing that
objections would be made on the score of their youth, etc., etc., he
persuaded her to consent to a private marriage, and they had been man
and wife for some months before either her friends or his suspected it.
"Well, when it came at last to papa's ears, he was very angry, both on
account of their extreme youth, and because, as Elsie Grayson's father
had made all his money by trade, he did not consider her quite my
brother's equal; so he called Horace home and sent him North to
college. Then he studied law, and since that he has been traveling in
foreign lands. But to return to his wife; it seems that her guardian
was quite as much opposed to the match as papa; and the poor girl was
made to believe that she should never see her husband again. All their
letters were intercepted, and finally she was told that he was dead;
so, as Aunt Chloe says,'she grew thin and pale, and weak and
melancholy,' and while the little Elsie was yet not quite a week old,
she died. We never saw her; she died in her guardian's house, and there
the little Elsie stayed in charge of Aunt Chloe, who was an old servant
in the family, and had nursed her mother before her, and of the
housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, a pious old Scotch woman, until about four
years ago, when her guardian's death broke up the family, and then they
came to us. Horace never comes home, and does not seem to care for his
child, for he never mentions her in his letters, except when it is
necessary in the way of business."
"She is a dear little thing," said Rose. "I am sure he could not help
loving her, if he could only see her."
"Oh! yes, she is well enough, and I often feel sorry for the lonely
little thing, but the truth is, I believe we are a little jealous of
her; she is so extremely beautiful, and heiress to such an immense
fortune. Mamma often frets, and says that one of these days she will
quite eclipse her younger daughters."
"But then," said Rose, "she is almost as near; her own grand-daughter."
"No, she is not so very near," replied Adelaide, "for Horace is not
mamma's son. He was seven or eight years old when she married papa, and
I think she was never particularly fond of him."
"Ah! yes," thought Rose, "that explains it. Poor little Elsie! No
wonder you pine for your father's love, and grieve over the loss of the
mother you never knew!"
"She is an odd child," said Adelaide; "I don't understand her; she is
so meek and patient she will fairly let you trample upon her. It
provokes papa. He says she is no Dinsmore, or she would know how to
stand up for her own rights; and yet she has a temper, I know, for once
in a great while it shows itself for an instant--only an instant,
though, and at very long intervals--and then she grieves over it for
days, as though she had committed some great crime; while the rest of
us think nothing of getting angry half a dozen times in a day. And then
she is forever poring over that little Bible of hers; what she sees so
attractive in it I'm sure I cannot tell, for I must say I find it the
dullest of dull books."
"Do you," said Rose; "how strange! I had rather give up all other books
than that one. 'Thy testimonies have I taken as a heritage forever, for
they are the rejoicing of my heart,' 'How sweet are thy words unto my
taste! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth.'"
"Do you _really_ love it so, Rose?" asked Adelaide, lifting her eyes to
her friend's face with an expression of astonishment; "do tell me why?"
"For its exceeding great and precious promises Adelaide; for its holy
teachings; for its offers of peace and pardon and eternal life. I am a
sinner, Adelaide, lost, ruined, helpless, hopeless, and the Bible
brings me the glad news of salvation offered as a free, unmerited gift;
it tells me that Jesus died to save sinners--just such sinners as I. I
find that I have a heart deceitful above all things and desperately
wicked, and the blessed Bible tells me how that heart can be renewed,
and where I can obtain that holiness without which no man shall see the
Lord. I find myself utterly unable to keep God's holy law, and it tells
me of One who has kept it for me. I find that I deserve the wrath and
curse of a justly offended God, and it tells me of Him who was made a
curse for me. I find that all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags,
and it offers me the beautiful, spotless robe of Christ's perfect
righteousness. Yes, it tells me that God can be just, and the justifier
of him who believes in Jesus."
Rose spoke these words with deep emotion, then suddenly clasping her
hands and raising her eyes, she exclaimed, "'Thanks be unto God for His
unspeakable gift!'"
For a moment there was silence. Then Adelaide spoke:
"Rose," said she, "you talk as if you were a great sinner; but I don't
believe it; it is only your humility that makes you think so. Why, what
have you ever done? Had you been a thief, a murderer, or guilty of any
other great crime, I could see the propriety of your using such
language with regard to yourself; but for a refined, intelligent,
amiable young lady, excuse me for saying it, dear Rose, but such
language seems to me simply absurd."
"Man looketh upon the outward appearance, but the Lord pondereth the
heart," said Rose, gently. "No, dear Adelaide, you are mistaken; for I
can truly say'mine iniquities have gone over my head as a cloud, and
my transgressions as a thick cloud.' Every duty has been stained with
sin, every motive impure, every thought unholy. From my earliest
existence, God has required the undivided love of my whole heart, soul,
strength, and mind; and so far from yielding it, I live at enmity with
Him, and rebellion against His government, until within the last two
years. For seventeen years He has showered blessings upon me, giving me
life, health, strength, friends, and all that was necessary for
happiness; and for fifteen of those years I returned Him nothing but
ingratitude and rebellion. For fifteen years I rejected His offers of
pardon and reconciliation, turned my back upon the Saviour of sinners,
and resisted all the strivings of God's Holy Spirit, and will you say
that I am not a great sinner?" Her voice quivered, and her eyes were
full of tears.
"Dear Rose," said Adelaide, putting her arm around her friend and
kissing her cheek affectionately, "don't think of these things;
religion is too gloomy for one so young as you."
"Gloomy, dear Adelaide!" replied Rose, returning the embrace; "I never
knew what true happiness was until I found Jesus. My sins often make me
sad, but religion, never.
"'Oft I walk beneath the cloud,
Dark as midnight's gloomy shroud;
But when fear is at the height,
Jesus comes, and all is light.'"
CHAPTER SECOND
"Thy injuries would teach patience to blaspheme,
Yet still thou art a dove."
--BEAUMONT'S _Double Marriage._
"When forced to part from those we love,
Though sure to meet to-morrow;
We yet a kind of anguish prove
And feel a touch of sorrow.
But oh! what words can paint the fears
When from these friends we sever,
Perhaps to part for months--for years--
Perhaps to part forever."
--ANON.
When Miss Allison had gone, and Elsie found herself once more quite
alone, she rose from her chair, and kneeling down with the open Bible
before her, she poured out her story of sins and sorrows, in simple,
child-like words, into the ears of the dear Saviour whom she loved so
well; confessing that when she had done well and suffered for it, she
had not taken it patiently, and earnestly pleading that she might be
made like unto the meek and | 272.155015 |
2023-11-16 18:21:36.1588480 | 3,513 | 14 |
Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: ]
A LITTLE BOY LOST
By W. H. Hudson
Illustrated by A. D. M'Cormick
CONTENTS
_CHAPTER_
I THE HOME ON THE GREAT PLAIN,
II THE SPOONBILL AND THE CLOUD,
III CHASING A FLYING FIGURE,
IV MARTIN IS FOUND BY A DEAF OLD MAN,
V THE PEOPLE OF THE MIRAGE,
VI MARTIN MEETS WITH SAVAGES,
VII ALONE IN THE GREAT FOREST,
VIII THE FLOWER AND THE SERPENT,
IX THE BLACK PEOPLE OF THE SKY,
X A TROOP OF WILD HORSES,
XI THE LADY OF THE HILLS,
XII THE LITTLE PEOPLE UNDERGROUND,
XIII THE GREAT BLUE WATER,
XIV THE WONDERS OF THE HILLS,
XV MARTIN'S EYES ARE OPENED,
XVI THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST,
XVII THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA,
XVIII MARTIN PLAYS WITH THE WAVES,
CHAPTER I
THE HOME ON THE GREAT PLAIN
Some like to be one thing, some another. There is so much to be done,
so many different things to do, so many trades! Shepherds, soldiers,
sailors, ploughmen, carters--one could go on all day naming without
getting to the end of them. For myself, boy and man, I have been
many things, working for a living, and sometimes doing things just
for pleasure; but somehow, whatever I did, it never seemed quite the
right and proper thing to do--it never quite satisfied me. I always
wanted to do something else--I wanted to be a carpenter. It seemed
to me that to stand among wood-shavings and sawdust, making things
at a bench with bright beautiful tools out of nice-smelling wood,
was the cleanest, healthiest, prettiest work that any man can do.
Now all this has nothing, or very little, to do with my story: I
only spoke of it because I had to begin somehow, and it struck me
that I would make a start that way. And for another reason, too.
_His father was a carpenter_. I mean Martin's father--Martin, the
Little Boy Lost. His father's name was John, and he was a very good
man and a good carpenter, and he loved to do his carpentering better
than anything else; in fact as much as I should have loved it if I
had been taught that trade. He lived in a seaside town, named
Southampton, where there is a great harbour, where he saw great
ships coming and going to and from all parts of the world. Now, no
strong, brave man can live in a place like that, seeing the ships
and often talking to the people who voyaged in them about the
distant lands where they had been, without wishing to go and see
those distant countries for himself. When it is winter in England,
and it rains and rains, and the east wind blows, and it is grey and
cold and the trees are bare, who does not think how nice it would be
to fly away like the summer birds to some distant country where the
sky is always blue and the sun shines bright and warm every day? And
so it came to pass that John, at last, when he was an old man, sold
his shop, and went abroad. They went to a country many thousands of
miles away--for you must know that Mrs. John went too; and when the
sea voyage ended, they travelled many days and weeks in a wagon
until they came to the place where they wanted to live; and there,
in that lonely country, they built a house, and made a garden, and
planted an orchard. It was a desert, and they had no neighbours, but
they were happy enough because they had as much land as they wanted,
and the weather was always bright and beautiful; John, too, had his
carpenter's tools to work with when he felt inclined; and, best of
all, they had little Martin to love and think about.
But how about Martin himself? You might think that with no other
child to prattle to and play with or even to see, it was too lonely
a home for him. Not a bit of it! No child could have been happier.
He did not want for company; his playfellows were the dogs and cats
and chickens, and any creature in and about the house. But most of
all he loved the little shy creatures that lived in the sunshine
among the flowers--the small birds and butterflies, and little
beasties and creeping things he was accustomed to see outside the
gate among the tall, wild sunflowers. There were acres of these
plants, and they were taller than Martin, and covered with flowers
no bigger than marigolds, and here among the sunflowers he used to
spend most of the day, as happy as possible.
He had other amusements too. Whenever John went to his carpenter's
shop--for the old man still dearly loved his carpentering--Martin
would run in to keep him company. One thing he liked to do was to
pick up the longest wood-shavings, to wind them round his neck and
arms and legs, and then he would laugh and dance with delight, happy
as a young Indian in his ornaments.
A wood-shaving may seem a poor plaything to a child with all the
toyshops in London to pick and choose from, but it is really very
curious and pretty. Bright and smooth to the touch, pencilled with
delicate wavy lines, while in its spiral shape it reminds one of
winding plants, and tendrils by means of which vines and creepers
support themselves, and flowers with curling petals, and curled
leaves and sea-shells and many other pretty natural objects.
One day Martin ran into the house looking very flushed and joyous,
holding up his pinafore with something heavy in it.
"What have you got now?" cried his father and mother in a breath,
getting up to peep at his treasure, for Martin was always fetching
in the most curious out-of-the-way things to show them.
"My pretty shaving," said Martin proudly.
[Illustration: ]
When they looked they were amazed and horrified to see a spotted
green snake coiled comfortably up in the pinafore. It didn't appear
to like being looked at by them, for it raised its curious
heart-shaped head and flicked its little red, forked tongue at them.
His mother gave a great scream, and dropped the jug she had in her
hand upon the floor, while John rushed off to get a big stick.
"Drop it, Martin--drop the wicked snake before it stings you, and
I'll soon kill it."
Martin stared, surprised at the fuss they were making; then, still
tightly holding the ends of his pinafore, he turned and ran out of
the room and away as fast as he could go. Away went his father after
him, stick in hand, and out of the gate into the thicket of tall wild
sunflowers where Martin had vanished from sight. After hunting about
for some time, he found the little run-away sitting on the ground
among the weeds.
"Where's the snake?" he cried.
"Gone!" said Martin, waving his little hand around. "I let it go and
you mustn't look for it."
John picked the child up in his arms and marched back to the room
and popped him down on the floor, then gave him a good scolding.
"It's a mercy the poisonous thing didn't sting you," he said.
"You're a naughty little boy to play with snakes, because they're
dangerous bad things, and you die if they bite you. And now you must
go straight to bed; that's the only punishment that has any effect
on such a harebrained little butterfly."
Martin, puckering up his face for a cry, crept away to his little
room. It was very hard to have to go to bed in the daytime when he
was not sleepy, and when the birds and butterflies were out in the
sunshine having such a good time.
"It's not a bit of use scolding him--I found that out long ago,"
said Mrs. John, shaking her head. "Do you know, John, I can't help
thinking sometimes that he's not our child at all."
"Whose child do you think he is, then?" said John, who had a cup of
water in his hand, for the chase after Martin had made him hot, and
he wanted cooling.
"I don't know--but I once had a very curious dream."
"People often do have curious dreams," said wise old John.
"But this was a very curious one, and I remember saying to myself,
if this doesn't mean something that is going to happen, then dreams
don't count for much."
"No more they do," said John.
"It was in England, just when we were getting ready for the voyage,
and it was autumn, when the birds were leaving us. I dreamed that I
went out alone and walked by the sea, and stood watching a great
number of swallows flying by and out over the sea--flying away to
some distant land. By-and-by I noticed one bird coming down lower
and lower as if he wanted to alight, and I watched it, and it came
down straight to me, and at last flew right into my bosom. I put my
hand on it, and looking close saw that it was a martin, all pure
white on its throat and breast, and with a white patch on its back.
Then I woke up, and it was because of that dream that I named our
child Martin instead of John as you wished to do. Now, when I watch
swallows flying about, coming and going round the house, I sometimes
think that Martin came to us like that one in the dream, and that
some day he will fly away from us. When he gets bigger, I mean."
"When he gets littler," you mean, said John with a laugh. "No, no,
he's too big for a swallow--a Michaelmas goose would be nothing to
him for size. But here I am listening to your silly dreams instead of
watering the melons and cucumbers!" And out he went to his garden,
but in a minute he put his head in at the door and said, "You may go
and tell him to get up if you like. Poor little fellow! Only make him
promise not to go chumming with spotted snakes any more, and not to
bring them into the house, because somehow they disagree with me."
[Illustration: ]
CHAPTER II
THE SPOONBILL AND THE CLOUD
As Martin grew in years and strength, his age being now about seven,
his rambles began to extend beyond the waste grounds outside of the
fenced orchard and gate. These waste grounds were a wilderness of
weeds: here were the sunflowers that Martin liked best; the wild
cock's-comb, flaunting great crimson tufts; the yellow flowering
mustard, taller than the tallest man; giant thistle, and wild
pumpkin with spotted leaves; the huge hairy fox-gloves with yellow
bells; feathery fennel, and the big grey-green thorn-apples, with
prickly burs full of bright red seed, and long white wax-like flowers,
that bloomed only in the evening. He could never get high enough on
anything to see over the tops of these plants; but at last he found
his way through them, and discovered on their further side a wide
grassy plain with scarcely a tree on it, stretching away into the
blue distance. On this vast plain he gazed with wonderment and
delight. Behind the orchard and weedy waste the ground sloped down
to a stream of running water, full of tall rushes with dark green
polished stems, and yellow water-lilies. All along the moist banks
grew other flowers that were never seen in the dry ground above--the
blue star, and scarlet and white verbenas; and sweet-peas of all
colours; and the delicate red vinegar flower, and angel's hair, and
the small fragrant lilies called Mary's-tears, and tall scattered
flags, flaunting their yellow blossoms high above the meadow grass.
Every day Martin ran down to the stream to gather flowers and shells;
for many curious water-snails were found there with brown
purple-striped shells; and he also liked to watch the small birds
that build their nests in the rushes.
There were three of these small birds that did not appear to know
that Martin loved them; for no sooner would he present himself at
the stream than forth they would flutter in a great state of mind.
One, the prettiest, was a tiny, green-backed little creature, with a
crimson crest and a velvet-black band across a bright yellow breast:
this one had a soft, low, complaining voice, clear as a silver bell.
The second was a brisk little grey and black fellow, with a loud,
indignant chuck, and a broad tail which he incessantly opened and
shut, like a Spanish lady playing with her fan.
The third was a shy, mysterious little brown bird, peering out of
the clustering leaves, and making a sound like the soft ticking of a
clock. They were like three little men, an Italian, a Dutchman, and
a Hindoo, talking together, each in his own language, and yet well
able to understand each other. Martin could not make out what they
said, but suspected that they were talking about him; and he feared
that their remarks were not always of a friendly nature.
At length he made the discovery that the water of the stream was
perpetually running away. If he dropped a leaf on the surface it
would hasten down stream, and toss about and fret impatiently
against anything that stood in its way, until, making its escape, it
would quickly hurry out of sight. Whither did this rippling, running
water go? He was anxious to find out. At length, losing all fear and
fired with the sight of many new and pretty things he found while
following it, he ran along the banks until, miles from home, he came
to a great lake he could hardly see across, it was so broad. It was
a wonderful place, full of birds; not small, fretful creatures
flitting in and out of the rushes, but great majestic birds that
took very little notice of him. Far out on the blue surface of the
water floated numbers of wild fowl, and chief among them for grace
and beauty was the swan, pure white with black head and neck and
crimson bill. There also were stately flamingoes, stalking along
knee-deep in the water, which was shallow; and nearer to the shore
were flocks of rose- spoonbills and solitary big grey herons
standing motionless; also groups of white egrets, and a great
multitude of glossy ibises, with dark green and purple plumage and
long sickle-like beaks.
The sight of this water with its beds of rushes and tall flowering
reeds, and its great company of birds, filled Martin with delight;
and other joys were soon to follow. Throwing off his shoes, he
dashed with a shout into the water, frightening a number of ibises;
up they flew, each bird uttering a cry repeated many times, that
sounded just like his old father's laugh when he laughed loud and
heartily. Then what was Martin's amazement to hear his own shout and
this chorus of bird ha, ha, ha's, repeated by hundreds of voices all
over the lake. At first he thought that the other birds were mocking
the ibises; but presently he shouted again, and again his shouts
were repeated by dozens of voices. This delighted him so much that
he spent the whole day shouting himself hoarse at the waterside.
When he related his wonderful experience at home, and heard from his
father that the sounds he had heard were only echoes from the beds
of rushes, he was not a bit wiser than before, so that the echoes
| 272.178888 |
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HISTORY OF THE BEEF CATTLE INDUSTRY IN ILLINOIS
BY
FRANK WEBSTER FARLEY
THESIS
FOR THE
DEGREE OF BACHELOR OF SCIENCE
IN AGRICULTURE
IN
THE COLLEGE OF AGRICULTURE
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
1915
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
May 22, 1915
THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THE THESIS PREPARED UNDER MY SUPERVISION BY
_ | 272.731542 |
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CHILD'S OWN BOOK
_of Great Musicians_
SCHUMANN
[Illustration]
_By_
THOMAS TAPPER
THEODORE PRESSER CO.
1712 CHESTNUT STREET
PHILADELPHIA
[Illustration]
Directions for Binding
Enclosed in this envelope is the cord and the needle with which to bind
this book. Start in from the outside as shown on the diagram here. Pass
the needle and thread through the center of the book, leaving an end
extend outside, then through to the outside, about 2 inches from the
center; then from the outside to inside 2 inches from the center at the
other end of the book, bringing the thread finally again through the
center, and tie the two ends in a knot, one each side of the cord on the
outside.
=THEO. PRESSER CO., Pub's., Phila., Pa.=
HOW TO USE THIS BOOK
* * * * *
This book is one of a series known as the CHILD'S OWN BOOK OF GREAT
MUSICIANS, written by Thomas Tapper, author of "Pictures from the Lives
of the Great Composers for Children," "Music Talks with Children,"
"First Studies in Music Biography," and others.
The sheet of illustrations included herewith is to be cut apart by the
child, and each illustration is to be inserted in its proper place
throughout the book, pasted in the space containing the same number as
will be found under each picture on the sheet. It is not necessary to
cover the entire back of a picture with paste. Put it only on the
corners and place neatly within the lines you will find printed around
each space. Use photographic paste, if possible.
After this play-work is completed there will be found at the back of the
book blank pages upon which the child is to write his own story of the
great musician, based upon the facts and questions found on the previous
pages.
The book is then to be sewed by the child through the center with the
cord found in the enclosed envelope. The book thus becomes the child's
own book.
This series will be found not only to furnish a pleasing and interesting
task for the children, but will teach them the main facts with regard to
the life of each of the great musicians--an educational feature worth
while.
* * * * *
This series of the Child's Own Book of Great Musicians includes at
present a book on each of the following:
Bach Grieg Mozart
Beethoven Handel Nevin
Brahms Haydn Schubert
Chopin Liszt Schumann
Dvorak MacDowell Tschaikowsky
Foster Mendelssohn Verdi
Wagner
[Illustration: Transcriber's note:
First page of illustrations: 1, 14, 15, 12, 11, 10, 13, 6]
[Illustration: Transcriber's note:
Second page of illustrations: 7, 8, 16, 9, 5, 3, 4, 2]
Robt. Schumann
The Story of the Boy Who
Made Pictures in Music
* * * * *
Made up into a Book by
........................................................
* * * * *
Philadelphia
Theodore Presser Co.
1712 Chestnut Str.
Copyright. 1916, by THEO. PRESSER CO.
Printed in the U.S.A.
[Illustration: No. 1
Cut the picture of Schumann
from the sheet of pictures.
Paste in here.
Write the composer's name
below and the dates also.]
........................................................
BORN
........................................................
DIED
........................................................
The Story of the Boy Who Made
Pictures in Music.
When Robert Schumann was a boy he used to amuse his friends by playing
their pictures on the piano. He could make the music imitate the person.
One day he said to them: This is the way the farmer walks when he comes
home singing from his work.
[Illustration: No. 2
THE HAPPY FARMER.]
Some day you will be able to play a lot of pieces by Schumann that
picture the pleasantest things so clearly that you can see them very
plainly indeed. In one of his books there is a music picture of a boy
riding a rocking horse.
Another of a little girl falling asleep.
_A March for Little Soldiers._ (That is, make-believes.)
And then there are _Sitting by the Fireside_, _What they Sing in
Church_, and a piece the first four notes of which spell the name of a
composer who was a good friend of Schumann's.
This composer came from Denmark.
[Illustration: No. 3
NIELS GADE.]
This is a picture of the house in Zwickau, Germany, where Robert
Schumann was born.
[Illustration: No. 4
SCHUMANN'S BIRTHPLACE.]
Schumann was a strong healthy youth who had many friends and loved life.
[Illustration: No. 5
SCHUMANN AS A YOUTH.]
What do you think the Father and Mother of Robert Schumann wanted him to
be when he was grown up?
A lawyer!
Robert was the youngest of five children, full of fun and up to all
kinds of games. He went to school and became especially fond of reading
plays.
He also loved to write little plays and to act them out on the stage
that his Father had built for him in his room. So he and his companions
could give their plays in their own theatre.
All the while Robert was taking piano lessons.
Just before he entered the High School he heard a pianist who played so
beautifully that he made up his mind that he would become a musician.
The pianist whose playing gave him this thought is one whose name you
will know better and better as you get older.
[Illustration: No. 6
IGNACE MOSCHELES.]
There was lots of music making in the Schumann home, for Robert and all
his companions played and sang. And besides that, he composed music for
them.
It must have been a pleasant picture to see all these German boys coming
together to make music. If we could gather together some American boys
who were alive at that same time, here are some we could have found:
Nathaniel Hawthorne, who wrote for children, _Tanglewood Tales_ and the
_Wonder Book_.
[Illustration: No. 7
HAWTHORNE.]
Then there was Longfellow, who was born in Portland, Maine. How many of
his poems do you know besides _Hiawatha_?
[Illustration: No. 8
LONGFELLOW.]
And then we must not forget Whittier, who wrote many lovely poems. One
was about a little girl who spelled the word that her companion missed
in school and so she went above him in the class.
[Illustration: No. 9
WHITTIER.]
And still there was another little boy only a year older than Robert
Schumann. He was born in a cabin.
[Illustration: No. 10
LINCOLN'S BIRTHPLACE.]
This boy's name, as you can guess, was Abraham Lincoln.
[Illustration: No. 11
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.]
So when you think of Robert Schumann, let us also think of Hawthorne,
Longfellow, Whittier, and Lincoln.
They were all doing their best, even as boys, to be useful.
Well, after all, Robert Schumann did not become a lawyer. He studied
music very hard. His teacher was Frederick Wieck. His teacher's
daughter, Clara Wieck, played the piano very beautifully.
[Illustration: No. 12
CLARA WIECK.]
Papa Wieck, as he was called, was not very kind to Robert Schumann when
the young man confessed that he and Clara loved one another and wished
to marry.
[Illustration: No. 13
FRIEDRICH WIECK.]
But after a while it all turned out happily and they were married. So
Clara Wieck became Clara Schumann.
Here is a picture of them seated together.
[Illustration: No. 14
ROBERT AND CLARA SCHUMANN.]
In the sixteen years that Robert Schumann lived after he and Clara Wieck
were married he composed lots of music for the piano, besides songs,
symphonies, and other kinds of compositions.
He was a teacher in the Leipzig Conservatory. Among his friends were
Mendelssohn, Chopin, Brahms, and many others.
Schumann is best known as a composer of music, although he was also a
teacher, a conductor, and a writer upon musical subjects. For many years
he was the head of a musical newspaper, which is remembered to this day
because of the great work he did in helping people to understand new
music and find out new composers. When he was a very young man Schumann
wanted to become a pianist, but he unfortunately used a machine that he
thought was going to help him play better. It hurt his hand so that he
was never able to play well again. Poor Schumann went out of his mind in
his last years, and died insane, July 29, 1856.
[Illustration: No. 15
CLARA SCHUMANN.]
Clara Schumann lived forty years after Robert Schumann died. She was the
teacher of many students, some of whom traveled from America to study
with her. She, too, was a composer and a concert pianist who played in
public from the time she was ten years of age.
FACTS ABOUT ROBERT SCHUMANN.
1. Robert Schumann was born at Zwickau, in Saxony, Germany, on June 8,
1810.
2. When Schumann was nine years old he heard the great pianist Ignaz
Moscheles play and resolved to become a great pianist.
3. When Schumann was a youth he showed a gift for writing poetry.
4. Schumann's father was a successful book-seller.
5. All through his life Schumann was a great lover of the writings of
the German author, Jean Paul (whose full name was Jean Paul Richter).
Much of his music shows his high regard for that writer of fairy
stories.
6. Schumann was twenty-one years old when he injured his hand and
learned that therefore he could not hope to be a pianist. It was then
that he made up his mind to be a composer.
7. Schumann had enough means to live in comfort. He was not poor, as
were Mozart, Schubert, and some others.
8. Robert and Clara Schumann had eight children, and some of Schumann's
best music was written to interest his children.
9. Schumann died July 29, 1856.
SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT ROBERT SCHUMANN.
When you can answer them, try to write the Story of Schumann, to be
copied on pages 14, 15, 16.
1. In what country was Schumann born?
2. | 272.74577 |
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"I BELIEVE"
AND OTHER ESSAYS
BY
GUY THORNE
Author of "When it Was Dark," "First it was Ordained,"
"Made in His Image," etc., etc.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO., Limited
14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1907
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
CONTENTS
I. "I BELIEVE"
II. THE FIRES OF MOLOCH
III. THE HISTORICIDES OF OXFORD
IV. THE BROWN AND YELLOW PERIL
V. THE MENACES OF MODERN SPORT
VI. VAGROM MEN
VII. AN AUTHOR'S POST-BAG
DEDICATION
To F. V. WHITE, ESQUIRE.
MY DEAR WHITE,
The publication of this book is a business arrangement between you and
me. Its dedication however has nothing to do with the relations of
author and publisher in those capacities, but is merely an expression
of friendship and esteem. This then is to remind you of pleasant hours
we have spent together on the other side of the channel, in your house
at London, and my house in Kent.
Yours ever sincerely,
GUY THORNE.
"I BELIEVE"
I
"I BELIEVE"
"_Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision_."
When I was a boy I made an occasional invasion of my father's study,
and in the absence of more congenial matter tried to extract some
amusement from the shelves devoted to Christian apologetics. At any
rate the pictures of the portly divines, which sometimes prefaced
their polemics, interested me, and I was sometimes allured to read a
few pages of their scripture. I remember that I enjoyed the sub-acid
flavour of Bishop Butler's advertisement, prefixed to the First
Edition of his _Analogy_, at an early age, and I have thought lately
that in certain circles one hundred and seventy years have not greatly
modified the mental attitude.
Hear what the Rector of Stanhope who, as Horace Walpole said, was
shortly to be "Wafted to the see of Durham in a cloud of metaphysics,"
says about his literary contemporaries--
"It is come, I know not how, to be taken for granted, by many persons
that Christianity is not so much as a subject for inquiry, but that it
is now at length discovered to be fictitious, and accordingly they
treat it as if, in the present age, this were an agreed point among
all people of discernment, and nothing remained but to set it up as a
principal subject of mirth and ridicule, as it were, by way of
reprisals for its having so long interrupted the pleasures of the
world."
Perhaps the difference between the times of George the Second and
Edward the Seventh may be best discerned in the status and calibre of
the popular penmen who in either age have found, or furnished
amusement in a tilt against the Catholic Faith.
The man in the street, as we know him, did not exist in the eighteenth
century. He is the predominant person to-day, and he requires the
services of able authors to assure him of immunity, when he is
inclined to frolic away from chastity or integrity, much as did the
county members who pocketed the bribes of Sir Robert Walpole and
prated of patriotism.
Fortunately for society the man in the street is a very decent fellow,
and generally finds out before long that Wisdom's ways are ways of
pleasantness. A man may enjoy posing as an agnostic when he wants an
excuse for--as the <DW64> said--"doing what he dam please," but when he
takes to himself a wife, and children are born to him, a certain
anxiety as to the continuity and perpetuation of these relationships
begins to show itself. A man who has lost a little child, or waited in
agonizing suspense to hear the physician's verdict, when sickness
overshadows his home, discovers that he needs something beyond
negations, something that will bring life and immortality to light
again within his soul.
Moreover, the man in the street finds it necessary to come to some
decision on other problems of existence. He is a citizen and must
needs exercise his enfranchisement and give his vote at an election
now and again. He must help to decide whether the State shall ignore
religion and establish a system of ethical education, of which the
ultimate sanction is social convenience, or maintain the thesis that
Creed and Character are mutually inter-dependent.
As he pays his poor rate wrathfully, or with resignation, its annual
increase reminds him of the necessity of curing or eliminating the
unfit. When he reads of Belgian and Prussian colonial enterprise, or
ponders on the perplexing problem of the Black Belt which the Southern
States must solve, he is compelled to consider whether it is true
that "God has made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all
the face of the earth," or whether this shall be accounted as another
of the delusions of Saul of Tarsus whom Governor Festus found to be
mad.
Indeed, our friend, the man in the street, when he becomes a family
man, without any pretensions to be a man of family, very often finds
himself face to face with other problems. Shall he simply sing with
the Psalmist "Like as the arrows in the hand of the giant, even so are
the young children. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of
them," or shall he be guided by the gloss of a modern interpreter who
maintains that the oriental quiver was designed to hold but two or
three arrows at most?
Even when the plain man confines his interests to his business and
seeks relaxations in "sport" alone, endeavouring to evade the puzzles
of politics and avoid all theologized inquiry, he cannot escape from
ethical consideration. Professionalism in athletics and questions of
betting and bribery contend with his conviction that there is
something which ennobles man in running and striving for mastery, and
it is futile to curse the bookmaker when his clients are so many, his
occupation so lucrative | 273.155549 |
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[Illustration]
MAORI and
SETTLER
A STORY OF THE NEW ZEALAND WAR
BY G. A. HENTY
Maori and Settler
G.A. HENTY'S BOOKS
Illustrated by Eminent Artists
_Uniform with this Edition_
Beric the Briton: A Story of the Roman Invasion of Britain.
Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden.
Both Sides the Border: A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower.
By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson.
By England's Aid: The Freeing of the Netherlands.
By Pike and <DW18>: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic.
Facing Death: A Tale of the Coal-mines.
In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado.
Maori and Settler: A Story of the New Zealand War.
St. Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot Wars.
St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers.
The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt.
The Dragon and the Raven: The Days of King Alfred.
The Treasure of the Incas: A Tale of Adventure in Peru.
Under Wellington's Command: A Tale of the Peninsular War.
With Lee in Virginia: A Story of | 273.257174 |
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The Badminton Library
of
SPORTS AND PASTIMES
EDITED BY
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G.
ASSISTED BY ALFRED E. T. WATSON
_YACHTING_
II.
[Illustration: Old Flags.]
YACHTING
BY
R. T. PRITCHETT
THE MARQUIS OF DUFFERIN AND AVA, K.P.
JAMES McFERRAN
REV. G. L. BLAKE, T. B. MIDDLETON
EDWARD WALTER CASTLE AND ROBERT CASTLE
G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, LEWIS HERRESHOFF
THE EARL OF ONSLOW, G.C.M.G., H. HORN
SIR GEORGE LEACH, K.C.B., VICE-PRESIDENT Y.R.A.
[Illustration: Yachts.]
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. II.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. T. PRITCHETT
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1894
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ROYAL YACHTS AND ENGLISH YACHT CLUBS 1
_By R. T. Pritchett, Marquis of Dufferin and Ava,
K.P., James McFerran, and Rev. G. L. Blake._
II. SCOTTISH CLUBS 72
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
III. IRISH CLUBS 99
_By R. T. Pritchett, Rev. G. L. Blake, and T. B.
Middleton._
IV. THE THAMES CLUBS AND WINDERMERE 152
_By Edward Walter Castle, Robert Castle, and R. T.
Pritchett._
V. YACHTING ON THE NORFOLK BROADS 190
_By G. Christopher Davies._
VI. YACHTING IN AMERICA 227
_By Lewis Herreshoff._
VII. YACHTING IN NEW ZEALAND 287
_By the Earl of Onslow, G.C.M.G._
VIII. FOREIGN AND COLONIAL YACHTING 304
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
IX. SOME FAMOUS RACES 324
_By R. T. Pritchett._
X. RACING IN A 40-RATER IN 1892 332
_By R. T. Pritchett._
XI. YACHT RACING IN 1893 349
_By H. Horn._
XII. THE AMERICAN YACHTING SEASON OF 1893 400
_By Lewis Herreshoff._
XIII. THE AMERICA CUP RACES, 1893 416
_By Sir George Leach, K.C.B., Vice-President Y.R.A._
APPENDIX: THE 'GIRALDA' 425
INDEX 427
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE SECOND VOLUME
(_Reproduced by J. D. Cooper and Messrs. Walker & Boutall_)
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
ARTIST TO FACE PAGE
OLD FLAGS _R. T. Pritchett_ _Frontispiece_
HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN GOING TO SCOTLAND
" 6
THE ROYAL YACHT 'VICTORIA AND ALBERT,' 1843
" 8
'PEARL,' 'FALCON,' AND 'WATERWITCH'
" 12
'MYSTERY' WINNING THE CUP PRESENTED BY R.Y.S. TO R.T.Y.C.
" 14
'CORSAIR,' R.Y.S., WINNING THE QUEEN'S CUP AT COWES, 1892
" 16
YACHT CLUB BURGEES _Club Card_ 48
'IREX' _From a photograph by Adamson_ 58
'YARANA' " 64
'ARROW,' ROYAL CINQUE PORTS YACHT CLUB, 1876
_R. T. Pritchett_ 68
'REVERIE' _From a photograph_ 70
NORTHERN YACHT CLUB CRUISING OFF GARROCH HEAD, 1825
_From a painting by Hutcheson_ 76
ROYAL NORTHERN YACHT CLUB, ROTHESAY
_From a photograph by Secretary_ 78
THE START FOR ARDRISHAIG CUP
_From a photograph by Adamson_ 84
'MARJORIE' " " 86
'MAY' " " 88
'THISTLE' " " 90
'LENORE' " " 92
'VERVE' " " 94
YACHT CLUB FLAGS 104
'ERYCINA' _From a photograph by Adamson_ 106
ROYAL IRISH YACHT CLUB CUP, KINGSTOWN, 1873
_From a picture by Admiral Beechy_ 108
MERMAIDS OF DUBLIN BAY SAILING CLUB 146
START OF 25-TONNERS, R.T.Y.C., FROM GREENWICH, 1848
_R. T. Pritchett_ 170
'DECIMA' _From a photograph by Symonds_ 176
'GIMCRACK' _R. T. Pritchett_ 240
MODEL ROOM OF NEW YORK YACHT CLUB
_From a photograph sent by
Secretary N.Y.Y.C._ 242
'BLACK MARIA,' SLOOP, BEATING 'AMERICA,' SCHOONER, IN TEST RACE,
NEW YORK, 1850 _Sent by Mr. Stevens of Hoboken,
New York_ 244
INTERNATIONAL RACE, 1886; 'GALATEA' PASSING SANDY HOOK LIGHTSHIP
_Photograph sent by Lieutenant W. Henn,
R.N._ 258
'VOLUNTEER' _From a photograph sent by General
Paine, N.Y.Y.C._ 262
'VALKYRIE' _From a photograph by Adamson_ 308
'YSEULT' " " 328
'IVERNA' AND 'METEOR,' DEAD HEAT IN THE CLYDE, JULY 4, 1892
" " 330
'QUEEN MAB' " " 346
'SAMOENA' " " 352
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
ARTIST PAGE
VARUNA, VENDETTA, AND LAIS (_Vignette_) _Title-page_
DUTCH YACHT. (_From drawing by Vandervelde, dated 1640_)
_R. T. Pritchett_ 2
'EEN BEZAN JAGT,' 1670 " 3
LINES OF CUTTER, 1781 _From Stalkart's 'Naval
Architecture'_ 4
YACHT STERN, 1781 " 5
COWES CASTLE. (_From drawing by Loutherburg_)
_R. T. Pritchett_ 10
SEAL OF ROYAL YACHT CLUB, COWES _R.Y.S._ 11
'PEARL,' R.Y.S. _R. T. Pritchett_ 13
'DOLPHIN,' R.Y.S. " 14
'ESMERALDA,' R.Y.S. " 14
'DE EMMETJE,' LUGGER " 15
'NEW MOON,' R.Y.S. " 16
CHART OF THE ROYAL YACHT SQUADRON--(QUEEN'S COURSE) 19
'THE LADY HERMIONE' _From working drawings lent by
Marquis of Dufferin_ 26
'THE LADY HERMIONE,' DECK PLAN " 28
'THE LADY HERMIONE,' FITTINGS " 30
'FOAM,' R.V.S. 'IN HIGH LATITUDES' 38
VIEW FROM THE ROYAL WESTERN YACHT CLUB, PLYMOUTH
_R. T. Pritchett_ 40
CHART OF THE ROYAL WESTERN YACHT CLUB. PLYMOUTH COURSE
_Club Card_ 41
CHART OF THE ROYAL VICTORIA YACHT CLUB COURSE
_Club Card_ 44
INTERNATIONAL GOLD CUP. ROYAL VICTORIA YACHT CLUB.
WON BY 'BRITANNIA' _R.V.Y. Club_ 45
FIRST RACE OF THE MERSEY YACHT CLUB, JUNE 16, 1845
_R. T. Pritchett_ 47
'QUEEN OF THE OCEAN,' R.M.Y.C., SAVING EMIGRANTS FROM
'OCEAN MONARCH' " 47
CHART OF THE ROYAL MERSEY YACHT CLUB COURSES
_From Club Card_ 48
CHART OF THE ROYAL PORTSMOUTH CORINTHIAN YACHT CLUB COURSES
" 51
'MADGE,' 1880--LINES AND MIDSHIP SECTION
_G. L. Watson_ 53
'NEPTUNE,' CUTTER, 1875--LINES AND MIDSHIP SECTION
_W. Fife_ 61
'REVERIE,' 1891--LINES AND MIDSHIP SECTION
_J. M. Soper_ 70
NORTHERN YACHT CLUB SEAL _From Secretary R.N.Y. Club_ 72
CHART OF THE ROYAL NORTHERN YACHT CLUB COURSES
_Club Card_ 73
ROYAL NORTHERN FLAGS _From Secretary R.N.Y.C._ 75
'GLEAM,' 1834--LINES AND MIDSHIP SECTION
_Fife of Fairlie_ 78
CHART OF THE ROYAL CLYDE YACHT CLUB COURSES | 273.457309 |
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The
Celebrated Sporting Works
OF
ROBERT B. ROOSEVELT.
I.
The Game Fish of the North
II.
Superior Fishing.
III.
The Game Birds of the North.
⁂ _All published uniform with this volume,
handsomely bound in cloth, price $2.00.
Sent free by mail on receipt
of price_,
BY
Carleton, Publisher,
New York.
THE
GAME-BIRDS
OF THE
COASTS AND LAKES OF THE NORTHERN STATES
OF AMERICA.
A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE SPORTING ALONG OUR SEASHORES
AND INLAND WATERS, WITH A COMPARISON
OF THE MERITS OF BREECH-LOADERS
AND MUZZLE-LOADERS.
BY ROBERT B. ROOSEVELT,
AUTHOR OF “THE GAME-FISH OF NORTH AMERICA,” “SUPERIOR FISHING,”
“COUNTRY LIFE,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
_Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway._
M DCCC LXVI.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
GEO. W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
THE NEW YORK PRINTING COMPANY,
_81, 83, and 85 Centre Street_,
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Game of Ancient and Modern Days.--Its Protection and Importance.--The
proper Shooting Seasons.--The Impolicy of using Batteries and
Pivot-Guns. 7
CHAPTER II.
Guns and Gunnery.--Breech-loaders compared with Muzzle-loaders.--A
Sharp Review of the “Dead Shot.”--The Field Trial. 27
CHAPTER III.
Bay-snipe Shooting.--The Birds, their Habits, Peculiarities, and
places of Resort.--Stools and Whistles.--Dress and Implements
appropriate to their pursuit.--Their Names and Mode of Capture. 66
CHAPTER IV.
The New Jersey Coast.--Jersey Girls and their pleasant ways.--The
peculiarities of Bay-snipe further elucidated.--Mosquitoes
rampant.--Good Shooting and “Fancy” Sport.--Shipwrecks and
Ghosts. 98
CHAPTER V.
Bay-Birds.--Particular Descriptions and Scientific Characteristics.--A
Complete Account of each Variety. 140
CHAPTER VI.
Montauk Point.--American Golden Plover or Frost-Bird.--A True Story
of Three Thousand in a Flock.--Lester’s Tavern.--Good Eating, Fine
Fishing, and Splendid Shooting.--The Nepeague Beach. 178
CHAPTER VII.
Rail and Rail-Shooting.--Seasons, Localities, and Incidents of
Sport.--Use of Breech-loader or Muzzle-loader.--Equipment. 190
CHAPTER VIII.
Wild-Fowl Shooting.--General Directions, from Boats, Blinds, or
Batteries.--Retrievers from Baltimore and Newfoundland.--Western
Sport.--Equipment. 205
CHAPTER IX.
Duck-Shooting on the Inland Lakes.--The Club House.--Practical Views
of Practical Men.--Moral Tales.--A Day’s Fishing.--The Closing
Scenes. 219
CHAPTER X.
Suggestions to Sportsmen.--A Definition of the Term.--Crack
Shots.--The Art of Shooting.--The Art of not Shooting. 271
CHAPTER XI.
Trap-Shooting.--Its Justification.--The Assistants.--Rules and
Regulations.--Care of Birds.--Tricks of the Trade. 288
APPENDIX.
Ornithological Descriptions of the Geese and Ducks, with Remarks and
Suggestions on their Habits.--Rules of Trap-shooting. 303
THE GAME BIRDS OF THE NORTH.
CHAPTER I.
GAME AND ITS PROTECTION.
By the ancient law of 1 and 2 William IV., chap. 32, under the
designation of game, were included “hares, pheasants, partridges,
grouse, heath or moor game, black game, and bustards.”
Hunting and hawking date back to the earliest days of knight-errantry,
when parties of cavaliers and ladies fair, mounted on their mettlesome
steeds caparisoned with all the skill of the cunning artificers of those
days, pursued certain birds of the air with the falcon, and followed the
royal stag through the well preserved and extensive forests with packs
of hounds. The term game, therefore, had an early significance and
positive application, but was confined to the creatures pursued in one
or the other of these two modes.
The gun was first used for the shooting of feathered game in the early
part of the eighteenth century; it soon became | 273.718094 |
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Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College
By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1914
[Illustration: The Door Was Cautiously Opened to Mrs. Elwood.]
CONTENTS
I. Overton Claims Her Own
II. The Unforseen
III. Mrs. Elwood to the Rescue
IV. The Belated Freshman
V. The Anarchist Chooses Her Roommate
VI. Elfreda Makes a Rash Promise
VII. Girls and Their Ideals
VIII. The Invitation
IX. Anticipation
X. An Offended Freshman
XI. The Finger of Suspicion
XII. The Summons
XIII. Grace Holds Court
XIV. Grace Makes a Resolution
XV. The Quality of Mercy
XVI. A Disgruntled Reformer
XVII. Making Other Girls Happy
XVIII. Mrs. Gray's Christmas Children
XIX. Arline's Plan
XX. A Welcome Guest
XXI. A Gift to Semper Fidelis
XXII. Campus Confidences
XXIII. A Fault Confessed
XXIV. Conclusion
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Door Was Cautiously Opened to Mrs. Elwood.
"It Is My Theme."
Each Girl Carried an Unwieldy Bundle.
The Two Boxes Contained Elfreda's New Suit and Hat.
Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College
CHAPTER I
OVERTON CLAIMS HER OWN
"Oh, there goes Grace Harlowe! Grace! Grace! Wait a minute!" A
curly-haired little girl hastily deposited her suit case, golf bag, two
magazines and a box of candy on the nearest bench and ran toward a
quartette of girls who had just left the train that stood puffing
noisily in front of the station at Overton.
The tall, gray-eyed young woman in blue turned at the call, and, running
back, met the other half way. "Why, Arline!" she exclaimed. "I didn't
see you when I got off the train." The two girls exchanged affectionate
greetings; then Arline was passed on to Miriam Nesbit, Anne Pierson and
J. Elfreda Briggs, who, with Grace Harlowe, had come back to Overton
College to begin their second year's course of study.
Those who have followed the fortunes of Grace Harlowe and her friends
through their four years of high school life are familiar with what
happened during "Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School,"
the story of her freshman year. "Grace Harlowe's Sophomore Year at
High School" gave a faithful account of the doings of Grace and her
three friends, Nora O'Malley, Anne Pierson and Jessica Bright, during
their sophomore days. "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at High
School" and "Grace Harlowe's Senior Year at High School"
told of her third and fourth years in Oakdale High School and of how
completely Grace lived up to the high standard of honor she had set for
herself.
After their graduation from high school the four devoted chums spent a
summer in Europe; then came the inevitable separation. Nora and Jessica
had elected to go to an eastern conservatory of music, while Anne and
Grace had chosen Overton College. Miriam Nesbit, a member of the Phi
Sigma Tau, had also decided for Overton, and what befell the three
friends as Overton College freshmen has been narrated in "Grace
Harlowe's First Year at Overton College."
Now September had rolled around again and the station platform of the
town of Overton was dotted with groups of students laden with suit
cases, golf bags and the paraphernalia belonging peculiarly to the
college girl. Overton College was about to claim its own. The joyous
greetings called out by happy voices testified to the fact that the next
best thing to leaving college to go home was leaving home to come back
to college.
"Where is Ruth?" was Grace's first question as she surveyed Arline with
smiling, affectionate eyes.
"She'll be here directly," answered Arline. "She is looking after the
trunks. She is the most indefatigable little laborer I ever saw. From
the time we began to get ready to come back to Overton she refused
positively to allow me to lift my finger. She is always hunting
something to do. She says she has acquired the work habit so strongly
that she can't break herself of it, and I believe her," finished Arline
with a sigh of resignation. "Here she comes now."
An instant later the demure young woman seen approaching was surrounded
by laughing girls.
"Stop working and speak to your little friends," laughed Miriam Nesbit.
"We've just heard bad reports of you."
"I know what you've heard!" exclaimed Ruth, her plain little face alight
with happiness. "Arline has been grumbling. You haven't any idea what a
fault-finding person she is. She lectures me all the time."
"For working," added Arline. "Ruth will have work enough and to spare
this year. Can you blame me for trying to make her take life easy for a
few days?"
"Blame you?" repeated Elfreda. "I would have lectured her night and day,
and tied her up to keep her from work, if necessary."
"Now you see just how much sympathy these worthy sophomores have for
you," declared Arline.
"Do you know whether 19-- is all here yet?" asked Anne.
"I don't know a single thing more about it than do you girls," returned
Arline. "Suppose we go directly to our houses, and then meet at Vinton's
for dinner to-night. I don't yearn for a Morton House dinner. The meals
there won't be strictly up to the mark for another week yet. When the
house is full again, the standard of Morton House cooking will rise in a
day, but until then--let us thank our stars for Vinton's. Are you going
to take the automobile bus? We shall save time."
"We might as well ride," replied Grace, looking inquiringly at her
friends. "My luggage is heavy and the sooner I arrive at Wayne Hall the
better pleased I shall be."
"Are you to have the same rooms as last year?" asked Ruth Denton.
"I suppose so, unless something unforeseen has happened."
"Will there be any vacancies at your house this year?" inquired Arline.
"Four, I believe," replied Anne Pierson. "Were you thinking of changing?
We'd be glad to have you with us."
"I'd love to come, but Morton House is like home to me. Mrs. Kane calls
me the Morton House Mascot, and declares her house would go to rack and
ruin without me. She only says that in fun, of course."
"I think you'd make an ideal mascot for the sophomore basketball team
this year," laughed Grace. "Will you accept the honor?"
"With both hands," declared Arline. "Now, we had better start, or we'll
never get back to Vinton's. Ruth, you have my permission to walk with
Anne as far as your corner. It's five o'clock now. Shall we agree to
meet at Vinton's at half-past six? That will give us an hour and a half
to get the soot off our faces, and if the expressman should experience a
change of heart and deliver our trunks we might possibly appear in fresh
gowns. The possibility is very remote, however. I know, because I had to
wait four days for mine last year. It was sent to the wrong house, and
traveled gaily about the campus, stopping for a brief season at three
different houses before it landed on Morton House steps. I hung out of
the window for a whole morning watching for it. Then, when it did come,
I fairly had to fly downstairs and out on the front porch to claim it,
or they would have hustled it off again."
"That's why I appointed myself chief trunk tender," said Ruth slyly.
"That trunk story is not new to me. This time your trunk will be waiting
on the front porch for you, Arline."
"If it is, then I'll forgive you your other sins," retorted Arline.
"That is, if you promise to come and room with me. Isn't she provoking,
girls? I have a whole room to myself and she won't come. Father wishes
her to be with me, too."
"I'd love to be with Arline," returned Ruth bravely, "but I can't afford
it, and I can't accept help from any one. I must work out my own problem
in my own way. You understand, don't you?" She looked appealingly from
one to the other of her friends, who nodded sympathetically.
"She's a courageous Ruth, isn't she?" smiled Arline, patting Ruth on the
shoulder.
At Ruth's corner they said good-bye to her. Then hailing a bus the five
girls climbed into it.
"So far we haven't seen any of our old friends," remarked Grace as they
drove along Maple Avenue. "I suppose they haven't arrived yet. We are
here early this year."
"I'd rather be early than late," rejoined Miriam. "Last year we were
late. Don't you remember? There were dozens of girls at the station when
we arrived. Arline and Ruth are the first real friends we have seen so
far. Where are Mabel Ashe and Frances Marlton, Emma Dean and Gertrude
Wells, not to mention Virginia Gaines?"
"If I'm not mistaken," said Elfreda slowly, her brows drawing together
in an ominous frown, "there are two people just ahead of us whom we have
reason to remember."
Almost at the moment of her declaration the girls had espied two young
women loitering along the walk ahead of them whose very backs were too
familiar to be mistaken.
"It's Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton, isn't it?" asked Anne.
Grace nodded. They were now too close to the young women for further
speech. A moment more and the bus containing the five girls had passed
the loitering pair. Neither side had made the slightest sign of
recognition. A sudden silence fell upon the little company in the bus.
"It is too bad to begin one's sophomore year by cutting two Overton
girls, isn't it?" said Grace, in a rueful tone.
"Overton girls!" sniffed Elfreda. "I consider neither Miss Wicks nor
Miss Hampton real Overton girls."
"They should be by this time," reminded Miriam Nesbit mischievously.
"They have been here a year longer than we have."
"Years don't count," retorted Elfreda. "It's having the true Overton
spirit that counts. You girls understand what I mean, even if Miriam
tries to pretend she doesn't."
"Of course we understand, Elfreda," soothed Anne. "Miriam was merely
trying to tease you."
"Don't you suppose I know that?" returned Elfreda. "I know, too, that
you don't wish me to say anything against those two girls. All right, I
won't, but I warn you, I'll keep on thinking uncomplimentary things
about them. Last June, after that ghost party, I promised Grace I would
never try to get even with Alberta Wicks and Mary Hampton, but I didn't
promise to like them, and if they attempt to interfere with me this
year, they'll be sorry."
"Oh, there's the campus!" exclaimed Arline as, turning into College
Street, the long green <DW72>, broken at intervals by magnificent old
trees, burst upon their view. "Hello, Overton Hall!" she cried, waving
her hand to that stately building. "Doesn't the campus look like green
plush, though! I love every inch of it, don't you?" She looked at her
companions and, seeing the light from her face reflected on theirs,
needed no verbal answer to her question. A moment later she signaled to
the driver to stop the bus. "I shall have to leave you here," she said.
"I'll see you at Vinton's at six-thirty."
Grace handed out her luggage to her, saying: "You have so much to carry,
Arline. Shall I help you?"
"Mercy, no," laughed Arline. "'Every woman her own porter,' is my
motto." Opening her suit case she stuffed the candy and magazines into
it, snapping it shut with a triumphant click. Then with it in one hand,
her golf bag in the other, she set off across the campus at a swinging
pace.
"She's little, but she has plenty of independence and energy," laughed
Miriam. "Hurrah, girls, there's Wayne Hall just ahead of us."
It was only a short ride from the spot where Arline had left them to
Wayne Hall. Grace sprang from the bus almost before it stopped, and ran
up the stone walk, her three friends following. Before she had time to
ring the door bell, however, the door opened and Emma Dean rushed out to
greet them. "Welcome to old Wayne," she cried, shaking hands all around.
"I heard Mrs. Elwood say this morning you would be here late this
afternoon. I've been over to Morton House, consoling a homesick cousin
who is sure she is going to hate college. I've been out since before
luncheon. Had it at Martell's with my dolorous, misanthropic relative. I
tried to get her in here, but everything was taken. We are to have four
freshmen, you know."
"I knew there were four places last June, but am rather surprised that
no sophomores applied for rooms. Have you seen the new girls?"
Emma shook her head. "They hadn't arrived when I left this morning. I
don't know whether they are here now or not. I'm to have one of them.
Virginia Gaines has gone to Livingstone Hall. She has a friend there.
Two of the new girls will have her room. Florence Ransom will have to
take the fourth."
"Where's Mrs. Elwood?" asked Miriam.
"She went over to see her sister this afternoon. She's likely to return
at any minute," answered Emma.
"Do you think we ought to wait for her?" Grace asked anxiously.
"Hardly," said Anne, picking up her bag, which she had deposited on the
floor.
"Come on, I'll lead the way," volunteered Elfreda, starting up the
stairs.
"Won't Mrs. Elwood be surprised when she comes home? She'll find us not
only here, but settled," laughed Grace.
But it was Grace rather than Mrs. Elwood who was destined to receive the
surprise.
CHAPTER II
THE UNFORESEEN
Following Elfreda, the girls ran upstairs as fast as their weight of
bags and suit cases would permit. Miriam pushed open her door, which
stood slightly ajar, with the end of her suit case. "Any one at home?"
she inquired saucily as she stepped inside.
"Looks like the same old room," remarked Elfreda. "No, it isn't, either.
We have a new chair. We needed it, too. You may sit in it occasionally,
if you're good, Miriam."
"Thank you," replied Miriam. "For that gracious permission you shall
have one piece of candy out of a five-pound box I have in my trunk."
"Not even that," declared Elfreda positively. "I said good-bye to candy
last July. I've lost ten pounds since I went home from school, and I'm
going to haunt the gymnasium every spare moment that I have. I hope I
shall lose ten more; then I'll be down to one hundred and forty pounds
and--" Elfreda stopped.
"And what?" queried Miriam.
"I can make the basketball team," finished Elfreda. "What is going on in
the hall, I wonder?" Stepping to the door she called, "What's the
matter, Grace? Can't you get into your room?"
"Evidently not," laughed Grace. "It is locked. I suppose Mrs. Elwood
locked it to prevent the new girls from straying in and taking
possession."
"H-m-m!" ejaculated Elfreda, walking over to the door and examining the
keyhole. "Your supposition is all wrong, Grace. The door is locked from
the inside. The key is in it."
"Then what--" began Grace.
"Yes, what?" quizzed Elfreda dryly.
"'There was a door to which I had no key,'" quoted Miriam, as she joined
the group.
"Don't tease, Miriam," returned Grace, "even through the medium of Omar
Khayyam. The key is a reality, but there is some one on the other side
of that door who doesn't belong there. Whether she is not aware that she
is a trespasser I do not know | 273.920387 |
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Transcriber's Notes
All obvious spelling errors have been corrected.
The Greek word Ὠθεὰ has been corrected to Ὠ θεὰ.
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COMPILED BY
W. GARMON JONES, M.A.
ASSISTANT LECTURER IN HISTORY, UNIVERSITY OF LIVERPOOL
[Illustration]
LONDON
G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
1914
INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use with
any ordinary textbook of English History. Experience has conclusively
shown that such apparatus is a valuable--nay, an indispensable--adjunct
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of England for Schools_, Part I., by Keatinge and Frazer, pp. 377-381.
However, we have no wish to prescribe for the teacher the manner in
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pupils with materials hitherto not readily accessible for school
purposes. The very moderate price of the books in this series should
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enable the pupil to take a more active part than hitherto in the
history lesson. Here is the apparatus, the raw material: its use we
leave to teacher and taught.
Our belief is that the books may profitably be used by all grades
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in secondary schools and undergraduates at Universities. What
differentiates students at one extreme from those at the other is not
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In regard to choice of subject-matter, while trying to satisfy the
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S. E. WINBOLT.
KENNETH BELL.
NOTE TO THIS VOLUME
I have to thank Sir E. Maunde Thompson and the Council of the Royal
Society of Literature for so readily permitting me to quote from Sir
E. Maunde | 273.9542 |
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[Illustration: _Germany's Youngest Reserve._]
GERMANY IN WAR TIME
What an American Girl Saw and Heard
by
MARY ETHEL McAULEY
Chicago
The Open Court Publishing Company
1917
Copyright by
The Open Court Publishing Company
1917
DEDICATION
TO MY MOTHER
WHO SHARED THE TRIALS OF
TWO YEARS IN GERMANY
WITH ME
PREFATORY NOTE.
This book is the product of two years spent in Germany during the great
war. It portrays what has been seen and heard by an American girl whose
primary interest was in art. She has tried to write without fear or
favor the simple truth as it appeared to her.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Getting into Germany in War Time 1
Soldiers of Berlin 7
The Women Workers of Berlin 20
German "Sparsamkeit" 35
The Food in Germany 49
What We Ate in Germany 62
How Berlin is Amusing Itself in War Time 69
The Clothes Ticket 81
My Typewriter 88
Moving in Berlin 93
What the Germans Read in War Time 98
Precautions Against Spies, etc. 108
Prisoners in Germany 115
Verboten 128
The Mail in Germany 132
The "Auslaenderei" 140
War Charities 146
What Germany is Doing for Her Human War Wrecks 159
Will the Women of Germany Serve a Year in the Army? 173
The Kaiserin and the Hohenzollern Princesses 184
A Stroll Through Berlin 196
A Trip Down the Harbor of Hamburg 207
The Krupp Works at Essen 218
Munich in War Time 228
From Berlin to Vienna in War Time 242
Vienna in War Time 256
Soldiers of Vienna 267
Women Warriors 279
How Americans Were Treated in Germany 286
I Leave Germany July 1, 1917 292
GETTING INTO GERMANY IN WAR TIME.
Now that America and Germany are at war, it is not possible for an
American to enter the German Empire. Americans can leave the country if
they wish, but once they are out they cannot go back in again.
Since the first year of the war there has been only one way of getting
into Germany through Denmark, and that is by way of Warnemuende. After
leaving Copenhagen you ride a long way on the train, and then the train
boards a ferry which takes you to a little island. At the end of this
island is the Danish frontier, where you are thoroughly searched to see
how much food you are trying to take into Germany. After this frontier
is passed you ride for a few hours on a boat which carries you right
up to Warnemuende, the German landing-place and the military customs of
Germany.
When I went to Germany in October, 1915, the regulations were not
very strict, travelers had only to show that they had a good reason
for going into the country, and they were searched--that was all. But
during the two years I was in Germany all this was changed. Now it
is very hard for even a neutral to enter Germany. Neutrals must first
have a vise from the German consul in Denmark. It takes four days to
get this vise, and you must have your picture taken in six different
poses. Also, you must have a legitimate reason for wanting to go into
the country, and if there is anything the least suspicious about you,
you are not granted a permit to enter.
Travelers entering Germany bring as much food with them as they can.
You are allowed to bring a moderate amount of tea, coffee, soap, canned
milk, etc.; nine pounds of butter and as much smoked meat as you can
carry. No fresh meat is allowed, and you must carry the meat yourself
as no porters are allowed around the docks. This is a spy precaution.
The butter and meat are bought in Copenhagen from a licensed firm where
it is sealed and the firm sends the package to the boat for you. You
must be careful not to break the seal before the German customs are
passed. The Danes are very strict about letting rubber goods out of
their country, and one little German girl I knew was so afraid that the
Danes would take her rubbers away from her, that she wore them on a hot
summer day.
The boat which takes passengers to and from Warnemuende is one day a
German boat and the next day a Danish boat. If you are lucky and make
the trip on the day the Danish boat is running, you get a wonderful
meal, and if you are unlucky and strike the German day, you get a poor
one. After getting off the boat, you get your first glimpse of the
German _Militaer_, the soldiers at the customs.
The travelers are divided into two classes--those going to Hamburg
and those going to Berlin. Then a soldier gets up on a box and asks
if there is any one in the crowd who has no passport. The day I came
through only one man stepped forward. I felt sorry for him, but he did
not look the least bit disheartened. An officer led him away. Strange
to say, four days later we were seated in a hotel in Berlin eating our
breakfast when this same little man came up and asked if we were not
from Pittsburg, and if we had not come over on the "Kristianiafjord."
When I said that we had, he remarked: "Well, I am from Pittsburg, too,
and I came over on the 'Kristianiafjord.'"
"But I did not see you among the passengers," I said.
"No," he answered, "I should say not. I was a bag of potatoes in the
hold. I am a reserve officer in the German army, and I was determined
to get back to fight. I came without a passport claiming to be a
Russian. It took me three days to get fixed up at Warnemuende because
I had no papers of any kind. The day I had everything straightened
out and was leaving for Berlin, a funny thing happened. I was walking
along the street with an officer when a crowd of Russian prisoners came
along. To my surprise one of the fellows yelled at me, 'Hello, Mister,
you'se here too?' And I knew that fellow. He had worked for my father
in America. As he was returning to Russia, he was taken prisoner by
the Germans. I had an awful time explaining my acquaintance to the
authorities at Warnemuende, but here I am waiting to join my regiment."
At Warnemuende, after the people are divided into groups, they are taken
into a large room where the baggage is examined. At the time I came
through we were allowed to bring manuscript with us, but it had to
be read. Now not one scrap of either written or printed matter can be
carried, not even so much as an address. All the writing now going into
Germany must be sent by post and censored as a letter.
When I came through I had a stack of notes with me and I never dreamed
that it would be examined. I was having a difficult time with the
soldier who was searching me when an officer who spoke perfect English
came up and asked if he could help me. He had to read all my letters
and papers, but he was such a slow reader that the train was held up
half an hour waiting for him to finish reading them. Nothing was taken
away from me, but they took a copy of the _London Illustrated News_
away from a German who protested loudly, waving his hands. It was a
funny thing to do, for in Berlin this paper was for sale on all the
news stands and in the cafes. But sometimes the Germans make it a point
of treating foreigners better than they do their own people. I noticed
this many times afterward.
After the baggage was examined, the people had to be searched. The men
didn't have to undress and the women were taken into a small room where
women searchers made us take off all our clothes. They even make you
take off your shoes, they feel in your hair and they look into your
locket. As I had held up the train so long, I did not have much time
to dress and hurried into the train with my hat in my hand and my shoes
untied. As the train pulls out the searcher soldiers line up and salute
it. Searching isn't a very nice job, and when my mother went back to
America the next spring, no less than four of the searchers told her
that they hated it and that when the war was over the whole Warnemuende
force was coming to America.
The train was due in Berlin at 9 o'clock at night, but we were late
when we pulled in at the Stettin Station. We had a hard time getting
a cab and finally we had to share an automobile with a strange man
who was going to the same hotel. At 10 o'clock we were in our hotel
on Unter den Linden. From the window I could look out on the linden
trees. The lights were twinkling merrily in the cafes across the way.
Policemen were holding up the traffic on the narrow Friedrichstrasse.
People were everywhere. It did not seem like a country that was taking
part in the great war.
[Illustration: _Marine Reserves on Their Way to the Station.
Wilhelmshaven._]
SOLDIERS OF BERLIN.
Berlin is a city of soldiers. Every day is soldiers' day. And on
Sundays there are even more soldiers than on week days. Then Unter den
Linden, Friedrichstrasse and the Tiergarten are one seething mass of
gray coats--gray the color of everything and yet the color of nothing.
This field gray blends with the streets, the houses, and the walls, and
the dark clothes of the civilians stand out conspicuously against this
gray mass.
[Illustration: _Soldiers Marching Through Brandenburg Gate._]
When I first came to Berlin, I thought it was just by chance
that so many soldiers were there, but the army seems ever to
increase--officers, privates, sailors and men right from the trenches.
During the two years that I was in Berlin this army remained the same.
It didn't decrease in numbers and it didn't change in looks. The day
I left Berlin it looked exactly the same as the day I entered the
country. They were anything but a happy-looking bunch of men, and all
they talked about was, "when the war is over"; and like every German I
met in those two years, they longed and prayed for peace. One day on
the street car I heard a common German soldier say, "What difference
does it make to us common people whether Germany wins the war or not,
in these three years we folks have lost everything." But every German
soldier is willing to do his duty.
The most wonderful thing about this transit army is that everything
the soldiers have, from their caps to their shoes, is new, except the
soldiers just coming from the front. And yet as a rule they are not
new recruits starting out, but men who have been home on a furlough or
men who have been wounded and are now ready to start back to the front.
To believe that Germany has exhausted her supply of men is a mistake.
Personally, I know lots of young Germans that have never been drafted.
The most of these men are such who, for some reason or other, have
had no army service, and the German military believe that one trained
man is worth six untrained men, and it is the trained soldier that is
always kept in the field. If he has been wounded he is quickly hurried
back to the front. By their scientific methods a bullet wound can be
entirely cured in six weeks.
[Illustration: _The Most Popular Post-Card in Germany._]
German men have never been noted dressers, and even at their best the
middle and lower classes look very gawky and countrified in civilian
clothes. You cannot imagine how the uniform improves their appearance.
I have seen new recruits marching to the place where they get their
uniforms. Most of | 274.059592 |
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ON THE INCUBUS, OR NIGHT-MARE.
J. M'Creery, Printer,
Black Horse Court, London.
A TREATISE ON THE INCUBUS,
OR
Night-Mare,
DISTURBED SLEEP, TERRIFIC DREAMS,
AND NOCTURNAL VISIONS.
WITH THE MEANS OF REMOVING THESE
DISTRESSING COMPLAINTS.
BY JOHN WALLER,
SURGEON OF THE ROYAL NAVY.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR E. COX AND SON, ST. THOMAS'S STREET,
BOROUGH.
1816.
INTRODUCTION.
The enjoyment of comfortable and undisturbed sleep, is certainly to be
ranked amongst the greatest blessings which heaven has bestowed on
mankind; and it may be considered as one of the best criterions of a
person enjoying perfect health. On the contrary, any disturbance which
occurs in the enjoyment of this invaluable blessing, may be considered a
decisive proof of some derangement existing in the animal economy, and a
consequent deviation from the standard of health. Indeed it is astonishing
how slight a deviation from that standard may be perceived, by paying
attention to the circumstance of our sleep and dreams. This may be more
clearly demonstrated by attending carefully to the state of persons on the
approach of any epidemic fever or other epidemic disease, and indeed of
every kind of fever, as I have repeatedly witnessed; when no other signs
of a deviation from health could be perceived, the patient has complained
of disturbed rest and frightful dreams, with Night-Mare, &c. Hence the
dread which the vulgar, in all ages and countries, have had of what they
call _bad_ dreams; experience having proved to them, that persons,
previously to being attacked with some serious or fatal malady, had been
visited with these kind of dreams. For this reason they always dread some
impending calamity either to themselves or others, whenever they occur;
and, so far as relates to themselves, often not without reason. Frightful
dreams, however, though frequently the forerunners of dangerous and fatal
diseases, will yet often occur when the disturbance of the system is
comparatively trifling, as they will generally be found to accompany every
derangement of the digestive organs, particularly of the stomach, of the
superior portion of the intestinal canal, and of the biliary system.
Children, whose digestive organs are peculiarly liable to derangement, are
also very frequently the subjects of frightful dreams, and partial
Night-Mares; which are frequently distressing enough to them. They are
still more so to grown up people, as they generally arise from a more
serious derangement of the system. Those who are subject to them will
agree with me in opinion, that they are by no means to be ranked amongst
the lesser calamities to which our nature is liable.
There are many persons in the world to whom it is no uncommon occurrence,
to rise from their bed in the morning more wearied and exhausted, both in
mind and body, than when they retired to it the evening before: to whom
sleep is frequently an object of terror rather than comfort, and who seek
in vain for relief from the means usually recommended by Physicians. To
such persons I dedicate this little work; for their information I have
laid down, in as clear terms as the subject will admit, the history of
those diseases, which, by depriving us of the benefit of sleep, and
driving rest from our couch, often render life itself miserable, and lay
the foundation of formidable, and sometimes of fatal diseases. Amongst
those affections which thus break in upon our repose, the most formidable
and the most frequent is the disease called Night-Mare; the history of
which, with its various modifications, I have endeavoured to give with as
much accuracy as possible, and have attempted also to investigate its
nature and immediate causes, as well as to point out the best mode of
obtaining relief. Very little assistance could be obtained in this
undertaking, from the writings of modern Physicians, who have paid little
or no attention to it: those of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
seem to have well understood both its causes and cure, but differed much
amongst themselves respecting its nature, as will ever be the case when
we attempt to reason on any subject which is above our comprehension. I
have availed myself of all the light which these illustrious men could
throw upon the subject, which is not a little; but my principal
information respecting it has arisen from a personal acquaintance with the
disease itself, for a long series of years, having been a victim to it
from my earliest infancy. I have never met with any person who has
suffered to so great an extent from this affection, or to whom it was
become so habitual. To eradicate thoroughly a disease so deeply rooted and
of so long duration, cannot be expected: but I have so far succeeded as to
bring it under great control, and to keep myself free from its attacks for
several months together; or indeed scarcely ever to be disturbed by it
at all, but when I have deviated from those rules which experience has
proved to be sufficient to secure me from all danger of it.
The various kinds of disturbed sleep taken notice of in this little work,
are all so many modifications of Night-Mare, and may be all remedied by
observing the rules here laid down, as they will be found to originate
from one or other of the causes here specified. The regimen and treatment
I have recommended are directed to the root of the disease, that is, to
the hypochondriac or hysteric temperament; for Night-Mare, disturbed
sleep, terrific dreams, &c. may be considered only as symptoms of great
nervous derangement, or hypochondriasis, and are a sure sign that this
disease exists to a great extent. Thus, while the patient is seeking, by
the means recommended, to get rid of his Night-Mare, he will find his
general health improving, and the digestive organs recovering their proper
tone.
THE INCUBUS, &c.
This disease, vulgarly called Night-Mare, was observed and described by
physicians and other writers at a very early period. It was called by the
Greeks, [Greek: ephialtes], and by the Romans, _Incubus_, both of which
names are expressive of the sensation of weight and oppression felt by the
persons labouring under it, and which conveys to them the idea of some
living _being_ having taken its position on the breast, inspiring terror,
and impeding respiration and all voluntary motion. It is not very
surprising that persons labouring under this extraordinary affection,
should ascribe it to the agency of some daemon, or evil spirit; and we
accordingly find that this idea of its immediate cause has generally
prevailed in all ages and countries. Its real nature has never been
satisfactorily explained, nor has it by any means met with that attention
from modern physicians which it merits: indeed it scarcely seems to be
considered by them as a disease, or to deserve at all the attention of a
physician. Those, however, who labour under this affection to any great
degree, can bear testimony to the distress and alarm which it occasions;
in many cases rendering the approach of night a cause of terror, and life
itself miserable, from the dread of untimely suffocation. The little
attention paid to this disease by medical men, has left the subjects of it
without a remedy, and almost without hope. Its nature and its cause have
been altogether misunderstood by those who have lately given any opinion
upon it. It appears a general opinion that it only happens to persons
lying upon the back, and who have eaten large suppers; the causes of it
have consequently been traced to mechanical pressure upon the lungs,
arising from a full stomach; and a change of position, together with the
avoiding eating any supper, has been thought all that was necessary to
prevent its attack. To those, however, who are unfortunately afflicted
with it to any degree, it is well known by experience, that no change of
position, or abstinence, will secure them from the attacks of this
formidable disturber of the night. As I have so long been an unfortunate
victim to this enemy of repose, and have suffered more from its repeated
attacks than any other person I have ever met with, I hope to be able to
throw some light on the nature of this affection, and to point out some
mode of relief to the unfortunate victims of it.
The late Dr. Darwin, who had an admirable talent for explaining the
phenomena of animal life in general, is of opinion, that this affection is
nothing more than sleeping too sound; in which situation of things the
power of volition, or command over the muscles of voluntary motion, is too
completely suspended; and that the efforts of the patient to recover this
power, constitute the disease we call Night-Mare. In order to reconcile
this hypothesis with the real state of things, he is obliged to have
recourse to a method not unusual amongst theoretic philosophers, both in
medicine and other sciences--that is, when the hypothesis does not exactly
apply to the phenomenon to be explained by it, to twist the phenomenon
itself into such a shape as will make it fit, rather than give up a
favourite hypothesis. Now, in order to mould the Night-Mare into the
proper form, to make this hypothesis apply to it, he asserts, first, that
it only attacks persons when very sound asleep; and secondly, that there
cannot exist any difficulty of breathing, since the mere suspension of
volition will not produce any, the respiration going on as well asleep as
awake; so that he thinks there must needs be some error in this part of
the account. Any person, however, that has experienced a paroxysm of
Night-Mare, will be disposed rather to give up Dr. Darwin's hypothesis
than to mistrust his own feelings as to the difficulty of breathing, which
is far the most terrific and painful of any of the symptoms. The dread of
suffocation, arising from the inability of inflating the lungs, is so
great, that the person, who for the first time in his life is attacked by
this "worst phantom of the night," generally imagines that he has very
narrowly escaped death, and that a few seconds more of the complaint would
have inevitably proved fatal. This disease, although neglected by modern
physicians, was well described and understood by those of the seventeenth
century, as well as by the Greeks and Romans.[1] There are few affections
more universally felt by all classes of society, yet it is seldom at
present considered of sufficient consequence to require medical advice. To
those nevertheless who, from sedentary habits, and depraved digestion, are
the most frequent subjects of it, it is a source of great anxiety and
misery, breaking in upon their repose, and filling the mind with constant
alarms for more serious consequences, "making night hideous," and
rendering the couch, which is to others the sweet refuge from all the
cares of life, to them an object of dread and terror. To such persons, any
alleviation of their sufferings will be considered an act of philanthropy;
as they are now in general only deterred from applying to the
practitioners of medicine for relief, from the idea that their case is out
of the reach of medicine.
It is a very well known fact, however, that this affection is by no means
free from danger. I have known one instance in which a paroxysm of it
certainly proved fatal, and I have heard of several others. I do not doubt
indeed but that this happens oftener than is suspected, where persons have
been found dead in their beds, who had retired to rest in apparent health.
I do not know that any late writer has observed a fatal case of
Night-Mare, but we find a circumstance recorded by Coelius Aurelianus, who
is supposed to have lived a short time before Galen, which, if true, is
very remarkable; and I know no reason why it should be doubted. Yet I am
aware that in the age in which we live, it is a common practice, not
merely to doubt, but to contradict every fact recorded by ancient writers,
which, if admitted, would militate against any received theory. Coelius
Aurelianus, however, informs us, upon the authority of _Silimachus_, a
follower of Hippocrates, that this affection was once epidemic at Rome,
and that a great number of persons in that city died of it.[2]
A young man, of sober habits, about thirty years of age, by trade a
carpenter, had been all his life subject to severe attacks of Night-Mare.
During the paroxysm he frequently struggled violently, and vociferated
loudly. Being at Norwich for some business, which detained him there
several weeks, he one night retired to bed in apparent good health;
whether he had eaten supper, or what he had taken previously to going to
bed, or during the day, I cannot now remember. In the night, or towards
morning, he was heard by some of the family in the house where he lodged
to vociferate and groan as he had been accustomed to do during the
paroxysms of Night-Mare; but as he was, after no great length of time,
perfectly quiet, no person went to his assistance. In the morning,
however, it was soon observed that he did not, as usual, make his
appearance, and on some person going into his room, he was found dead,
having thrown himself by his exertions and struggles out of bed, with his
feet, however, still entangled among the bed-clothes. This patient, and
the circumstances attending his death, were very well known to me, and I
have not the least doubt that it was Night-Mare which proved fatal to him.
A similar case has been related to me by a person deserving of credit,
and I do not doubt but they are of more frequent occurrence than is
generally supposed. It may appear surprising to some, that a person should
struggle with so much violence as to throw himself out of bed, and yet not
shake off the Night-Mare, since, in general, it is sufficient to call a
person by his name, and he will recover. This is indeed true in common
cases, and in every case it is of much more service than any exertions
which the patient himself can make. I once at sea, in a paroxysm of
Night-Mare, threw myself out of my cot, and it nearly cost me my life. Had
any person been near to have taken hold of my hand, and have called to me,
I should have been easily recovered, whilst, notwithstanding my struggles,
and the violence with which I fell out of my cot, I lay nevertheless for
some time partly upon a chest, and partly upon the cot, without being able
to recover myself. I cannot help thinking that, but for the violent
motion of the ship (as it was blowing a gale of wind), and the noise from
every thing about me, that paroxysm of Night-Mare would have proved fatal.
The disease had then gained very much upon me, and was at its greatest
height.
Although instances of a fatal termination of this disease may be rare; it
is not so, to find it degenerate into Epilepsy, of which it is frequently
the forerunner, and to which, when it has become habitual, it appears to
bear a great affinity. There is however a great difference in the degree
of danger, between an accidental and an habitual Night-Mare, which we
shall have occasion to notice hereafter.
I shall begin by describing this affection as it most commonly occurs,
pointing out the various degrees and varieties of it, and the persons most
subject to it. Its remote and proximate causes will be the next subject of
consideration, and lastly the means necessary to be pursued for avoiding
it, as well as those likely to afford immediate relief.
This affection has been very elegantly and correctly described both by
physicians and poets. There are two descriptions of the latter kind which
I cannot help placing before the reader; the first is given by the Prince
of Latin Poets; the other by one, (not the least,) of our own country.
_Ac veluti in somnis, oculos ubi languida pressit
Nocte quies, nequidquam avidos extendere cursus
Velle videmur, et in mediis conatibus aegri
Succidimus; non lingua valet, non corpore notae
Sufficiunt vires, nec vox aut verba sequuntur._
VIRGIL. _AEneid. Lib. xii. v. 909. et sequent._
In broken dreams the image rose
Of varied perils, pains, and woes;
His steed now flounders in the brake,
Now sinks his barge upon the lake;
Now leader of a broken host,
His standard falls, his honour's lost.
Then--from my couch may heavenly might
Chase that worst phantom of the night!
LADY OF THE LAKE, Canto 1. xxiii.
In tracing out the symptoms and mode of attack, I shall particularize
those symptoms which I have experienced in my own person, and take notice
likewise of those described by other writers on the subject.
First then, this disease attacks always during sleep. This is a truth of
which I am now well assured, although frequently the evidence of my senses
has apparently produced a contrary conviction. Whatever may be the
situation of the patient at the moment previous to the invasion of the
disease, he is at that moment asleep, although the transition from the
waking to the sleeping state may be so rapid as to be imperceptible. I
will explain this part of the subject more fully by and by, at present we
will assume the fact, and proceed to enumerate the symptoms. If the
patient be in a profound sleep, he is generally alarmed with some
disagreeable dream; he imagines that he is exposed to some danger, or
pursued by some enemy which he cannot avoid; frequently he feels as
though his legs were tied, or deprived of the power of motion; sometimes
he fancies himself confined in some very close place, where he is in
danger of suffocation, or at the bottom of a cavern or vault from which
his return is intercepted. It will not unfrequently happen, that this is
the whole of the sensation which the disease, for the time, produces, when
it goes off without creating any further annoyance: the patient either
falls into an oblivious slumber, or the alarming dream is succeeded by one
more pleasant. In this case the disease is not fully formed, but only
threatens an invasion; it proves however that the pre-disposition to it
exists, and that the person is in danger of it. But when the paroxysm does
actually take place, the uneasiness of the patient in his dream rapidly
increases, till it ends in a kind of consciousness that he is in bed, and
asleep; but he feels to be oppressed with some weight which confines him
upon his back and prevents his breathing, which is now become extremely
laborious, so that the lungs cannot be fully inflated by any effort he can
make. The sensation is now the most painful that can be conceived; the
person becomes every instant more awake and conscious of his situation: he
makes violent efforts to move his limbs, especially his arms, with a view
of throwing off the incumbent weight, but not a muscle will obey the
impulse of the will: he groans aloud, if he has strength to do it, while
every effort he makes seems to exhaust the little remaining vigour. The
difficulty of breathing goes on increasing, so that every breath he draws,
seems to be almost the last that he is likely to draw; the heart generally
moves with increased velocity, sometimes is affected with palpitation; the
countenance appears ghastly, and the eyes are half open. The patient, if
left to himself, lies in this state generally about a minute or two, when
he recovers all at once the power of volition: upon which he either jumps
up in bed, or instantly changes his position, so as to wake himself
thoroughly. If this be not done, the paroxysm is very apt to recur again
immediately, as the propensity to sleep is almost irresistible, and, if
yielded to, another paroxysm of Night-Mare is for the most part
inevitable.
Where the Disease has not established itself by very frequent recurrence,
the patient generally feels little inconvenience from it when thoroughly
awoke; but where it is habitual, there will generally be felt some
confusion in the head, with singing in the ears, a sense of weight about
the forehead, and, if in the dark, luminous _spectra_ are frequently seen,
such as appear to persons who immediately after gazing on a strong light,
close their eyes. The pulse, I believe, will in all instances be found to
be considerably accelerated; in my own case the motion of the heart
amounts almost to a palpitation.
I do not find this symptom taken notice of by any writer on the subject,
excepting Etmuller, whose accuracy in tracing the history of every disease
allowed no symptom to escape him. When reasoning on the phenomena which
this affection exhibits, "_et cum etiam simul sub respirationis defectu
imminuta plus minus evadat sanguinis circulatio, ob id ab eodem infarcti
pulmones anxietatem insignem praecordiorum inducunt: sicut dum evigilant
tales aegri, cor insignitur palpitat, quod testatur motum
convulsivum_."--This palpitation of the heart grows stronger in proportion
to the length of the paroxysm, or the difficulty the patient finds in
waking himself.
There is, however, another symptom, which, as far as I am able to learn,
is very frequent, though not noticed by medical writers. (_Scilicet._)
_Priapismus interdum vix tolerabilis et aliquamdiu post paroxysmi
solutionem persistens._ I have noticed this symptom here, as I intend
presently to draw some inference from it. A sense of weight at the
stomach, and an unpleasant taste in the mouth will generally be found to
remain after the paroxysm, though seldom noticed, as it is not suspected
to have any connexion with the Night-Mare.
These are the most ordinary symptoms, and such as generally happen in
almost all paroxysms of Night-Mare; there are, however, other symptoms
which occasionally occur, and which sometimes cause no small alarm to the
patient. It frequently happens too, that the paroxysm goes off without the
patient waking, and in that case is productive of strange hallucination to
the person who is not accustomed to these paroxysms. It is by no means an
uncommon thing for the person labouring under Night-Mare to see, or at
least to imagine that he sees, some figure, either human, or otherwise,
standing by him, threatening him, or deriding, or oppressing him. This
circumstance has been productive of considerable misapprehensions and
mistakes, not only with persons of weak minds, but likewise with those
whose intellectual faculties have been greatly improved.--These visions
are various, as are likewise the senses which become thus hallucinated;
not only the sight, but the hearing, and the touch, are frequently imposed
on. These hallucinations have so often occurred to myself, that they have
long been rendered quite familiar, although they are still sometimes
productive of very laughable mistakes. As they are more frequently,
however, of the terrific cast, they act very powerfully on the minds of
those who are not acquainted with them, and produce terrors which I verily
believe sometimes prove fatal. I shall give some instances of these kinds
of visions which I have had from the most indubitable authority, and I do
not doubt but that many readers will find in their own recollections a
number of circumstances apparently incredible, which will easily admit
of the same solution. I must first premise, that the degree of
consciousness during a paroxysm of Night-Mare is so much greater than ever
happens in a dream, that the person who has had a vision of this kind
cannot easily bring himself to acknowledge the deceit, unless, as often
happens, he wakes out of the paroxysm, and finds himself in a very
different place to what he must have been in for such a transaction to
have occurred. When however, all the circumstances of time and place
concur with the vision, which sometimes happens, and the patient does not
wake in the paroxysm, but continues asleep for some time after, the
transactions which occurred during the paroxysm of Night-Mare, and those
of the dreams which took place during profound sleep are so very different
as to the impression they have left on the sensorium, that there is no
possibility of confounding them with one another. Indeed I know no way
which a man has of convincing himself that the vision which has occurred
during a paroxysm of Night-Mare, (if it be consistent in point of time and
place,) is not real, unless he could have the evidence of other persons to
the contrary who were present, and awake at the time, or that these
hallucinations were rendered familiar to him by frequent repetition. I
shall mention some circumstances here, which have occurred to myself and
to others, which will place this subject in a clearer point of view.
The first case of this kind which I shall relate, I had from the mouth of
a person of undoubted veracity, who never understood the nature of the
hallucination; but who, to the day of his death, was convinced that he had
received a supernatural visitation.
Mr. T----, a dissenting minister, was on a journey in Suffolk, and slept
at the house of a friend. He was desired by the master of the family not
to disturb himself in the morning till he was called | 274.064254 |
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MARCH 1, 1890.
* * * * *
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
"Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux
changeans: je veux vous contenter."
_Le Diable Boiteux._
[Illustration:]
XXI.
"Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor,
Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor,
In this colossal city,
Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said.
| 274.15778 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
placed at the end of the book. There are only 3 in this book.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}, for example S^T.
A subscript is denoted by _{x}, for example H_{2}O_{2}.
Basic fractions are displayed as ½ ⅓ ¼ etc; other fractions are shown
in the form a-b/c, for example 9/10 or 1-5/16.
Quantities are separated from the unit by a space, for example ‘3 ft.’
or ‘12½ lb.’ Some quantities had a linking - such as ‘12½-lb.’ For
consistency this - has been removed in the etext.
Numerous minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
SPONS’
HOUSEHOLD MANUAL:
A TREASURY OF
DOMESTIC RECEIPTS
And Guide for
HOME MANAGEMENT.
[Illustration: (Publisher colophon)]
London:
E. & F. N. SPON, 125 STRAND.
New York:
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 12 CORTLANDT STREET.
1894
PREFACE.
Time was when the foremost aim and ambition of the English housewife
was to gain a full knowledge of her own duties and of the duties of
her servants. In those days, bread was home-baked, butter home-made,
beer home-brewed, gowns home-sewn, to a far greater extent than now.
With the advance of education, there is much reason to fear that the
essentially domestic part of the training of our daughters is being
more and more neglected. Yet what can be more important for the
comfort and welfare of the household than an appreciation of their
needs and an ability to furnish them. Accomplishments, all very good
in their way, must, to the true housewife, be secondary to all that
concerns the health, the feeding, the clothing, the housing of those
under her care.
And what a range of knowledge this implies,--from sanitary
engineering to patching a garment, from bandaging a wound to
keeping the frost out of water pipes. It may safely be said that
the mistress of a family is called upon to exercise an amount of
skill and learning in her daily routine such as is demanded of few
men, and this too without the benefit of any special education or
preparation; for where is the school or college which includes among
its “subjects” the study of such every-day matters as bad drains, or
the gapes in chickens, or the removal of stains from clothes, or the
bandaging of wounds, or the management of a kitchen range? Indeed,
it is worthy of consideration whether our schools of cookery might
not with very great advantage be supplemented by schools of general
household instruction.
Till this suggestion is carried out, the housewife can only refer
to books and papers for information and advice. The editors of the
present volume have been guided by a determination to make it a _book
of reference_ such as no housewife can afford to be without. Much
of the matter is, of course, not altogether new, but it has been
arranged with great care in a systematic manner, and while the use
of obscure scientific terms has been avoided, the teachings of modern
science have been made the basis of those sections in which science
plays a part.
Much of the information herein contained has appeared before in
lectures, pamphlets, and newspapers, foremost among these last
being the _Queen_, _Field_, _Lancet_, _Scientific American_,
_Pharmaceutical Journal_, _Gardener’s Chronicle_, and the _Bazaar_;
but it has lost nothing by repetition, and has this advantage in
being embodied in a substantial volume that it can always be readily
found when wanted, while every one knows the fate of leaflets and
journals. The sources whence information has been drawn have, it is
believed, in every case been acknowledged, and the editors take this
opportunity of again proclaiming their indebtedness to the very large
number of lecturers and writers whose communications have found a
place within these covers.
THE EDITORS.
CONTENTS.
=Hints for selecting a good House=, pointing out the essential
requirements for a good house as to the Site, Soil, Trees, Aspect,
Construction, and General Arrangement; with instructions for Reducing
Echoes, Water-proofing Damp Walls, Curing Damp Cellars Page 1
=Water Supply.=--Care of Cisterns; Sources of Supply; Pipes;
Pumps; Purification and Filtration of Water 12
=Sanitation.=--What should constitute a good Sanitary Arrangement;
Examples (with illustrations) of Well- and Ill-drained Houses; How
to Test Drains; Ventilating Pipes, &c. 35
=Ventilation and Warming.=--Methods of Ventilating without causing
cold draughts, by various means; Principles of Warming; Health
Questions; Combustion; Open Grates; Open Stoves; Fuel Economisers;
Varieties of Grates; Close-Fire Stoves; Hot-air Furnaces; Gas
Heating; Oil Stoves; Steam Heating; Chemical Heaters; Management
of Flues; and Cure of Smoky Chimneys 55
=Lighting.=--The best methods of Lighting; Candles, Oil Lamps, Gas,
Incandescent Gas, Electric Light; How to Test Gas Pipes; Management
of Gas 82
=Furniture and Decoration.=--Hints on the Selection of Furniture;
on the most approved methods of Modern Decoration; on the best
methods of arranging Bells and Calls; How to Construct an
Electric Bell 95
=Thieves and Fire.=--Precautions against Thieves and Fire; Methods
of Detection; Domestic Fire Escapes; Fireproofing Clothes, &c. 108
=The Larder.=--Keeping Food fresh for a limited time; Storing Food
without change, such as Fruits, Vegetables, Eggs, Honey, &c. 112
=Curing Foods for lengthened Preservation=, as Smoking, Salting,
Canning, Potting, Pickling, Bottling Fruits, &c.; Jams, Jellies,
Marmalade, &c. 123
=The Dairy.=--The Building and Fitting of Dairies in the most
approved modern style; Butter-making; Cheese-making and Curing 154
=The Cellar.=--Building and Fitting; Cleaning Casks and Bottles;
Corks and Corking; Aërated Drinks; Syrups for Drinks; Beers;
Bitters; Cordials and Liqueurs; Wines; Miscellaneous Drinks 168
=The Pantry.=--Bread-making; Ovens and Pyrometers; Yeast; German
Yeast; Biscuits; Cakes; Fancy Breads; Buns 207
=The Kitchen.=--On Fitting Kitchens; a description of the best
Cooking Ranges, close and open; the Management and Care of Hot
Plates, Baking Ovens, Dampers, Flues, and Chimneys; Cooking by
Gas; Cooking by Oil; the Arts of Roasting, Grilling, Boiling,
Stewing, Braising, Frying 221
=Receipts for Dishes.=--Soups, Fish, Meat, Game, Poultry,
Vegetables, Salads, Puddings, Pastry, Confectionery, Ices,
&c., &c.; Foreign Dishes 244
=The Housewife’s Room.=--Testing Air, Water, and Foods; Cleaning
and Renovating; Destroying Vermin 518
=Housekeeping, Marketing= 563
=The Dining-Room.=--Dietetics; Laying and Waiting at Table;
Carving; Dinners, Breakfasts, Luncheons, Teas, Suppers, &c. 583
=The Drawing-Room.=--Etiquette; Dancing; Amateur Theatricals;
Tricks and Illusions; Games (indoor) 648
=The Bedroom and Dressing-Room.=--Sleep; the Toilet; Dress;
Buying Clothes; Outfits; Fancy Dress 699
=The Nursery.=--The Room; Clothing; Washing; Exercise; Sleep;
Feeding; Teething; Illness; Home Training 746
=The Sickroom.=--The Room; the Nurse; the Bed; Sickroom
Accessories; Feeding Patients; Invalid Dishes and Drinks;
Administering Physic; Domestic Remedies; Accidents and
Emergencies; Bandaging; Burns; Carrying Injured Persons;
Wounds; Drowning; Fits; Frostbites; Poisons and Antidotes;
Sunstroke; Common Complaints; Disinfection, &c. 755
=The Bathroom.=--Bathing in General; Management of Hot-Water
System. 828
=The Laundry.=--Small Domestic Washing Machines, and methods of
getting up linen; Fitting up and Working a Steam Laundry 848
=The Schoolroom.=--The Room and its Fittings; Teaching, &c. 862
=The Playground.=--Air and Exercise; Training; Outdoor Games
and Sports 870
=The Workroom.=--Darning, Patching, and Mending Garments 890
=The Library.=--Care of Books 903
=The Farmyard.=--Management of the Horse, Cow, Pig, Poultry,
Bees, &c. 907
=The Garden.=--Calendar of Operations for Lawn, Flower Garden,
and Kitchen Garden 930
=Domestic Motors=--A description of the various small Engines
useful for domestic purposes, from 1 man to 1 horse power,
worked by various methods, such as Electric Engines, Gas Engines,
Petroleum Engines, Steam Engines, Condensing Engines, Water
Power, Wind Power, and the various methods of working and
managing them 936
=Household Law.=--The Law relating to Landlords and Tenants,
Lodgers, Servants, Parochial Authorities, Juries, Insurance,
Nuisance, &c. 955
SPONS’
HOUSEHOLD MANUAL.
_THE DWELLING._
It is both convenient and rational to commence this volume with a
chapter on the conditions which should guide a man in the choice
of his dwelling. Unfortunately there is scarcely any subject upon
which ordinary people display more ignorance, or to which they
pay so little regard. In the majority of instances a dwelling is
chosen mainly with regard to its cost, accommodation, locality, and
appearance. As to its being healthy or otherwise, no _evidence_ is
volunteered by the owner, and none is demanded by the intending
resident. The consequences of this indifference are a vast amount of
preventible sickness and a corresponding loss of money. The following
remarks are intended to educate the house-seeker in the necessary
subjects, being subdivided under distinct headings for facility of
reference.
=Site.=--Of modern scientists who have studied the great health
question, none has more ably treated the essentials of the dwelling
than Dr. Simpson in his lecture for the Manchester and Salford
Sanitary Association. This Association has done wonders in improving
sanitation in the Midlands, and we cannot do better than follow Dr.
Simpson’s teaching.
_Soil._--He insists, first of all, on the great importance of the
soil being _dry_--either dry before artificial means are used to make
it so, or dry from drainage. To this end some elevation above the
surrounding land conduces. A hollow below the general level should,
as a matter of course, be avoided; for to this hollow the water
from all the adjacent higher land will drain, and if the soil be
impervious the water will lodge there. It will thus be damp, and, as
is well known, it will be a colder situation than neighbouring ones
which are a little raised above the general level. Those who live
where they can have gardens will find the advantage of the higher
situation in its being much less subject to spring and early autumn
frosts than the hollow just below. This is due not only to the former
being damper, but to the fact that the heat of the ground on still
nights passes off into space (is “radiated”) more rapidly than from
the higher situation, where there is more movement in the air. The
soil should not be retentive of moisture, as clay is when undrained;
nor should it be damp and moist from the ground water (concerning
which a few words will be said farther on), as is much alluvial
soil, i.e. soil which has been at some former time carried down and
deposited by rivers or floods. On the whole, sand or gravel, if the
site be sufficiently elevated, is probably the best, as it allows
all water to get away rapidly. Then come various rocks, as granite,
limestone, sandstone, and chalk.
Towns often present one specially dangerous, and therefore
specially objectionable soil--that where hollows have been filled
up with refuse of all kinds. This refuse is made up of all kinds
of vegetable, and, more or less, animal matter, often of the most
noxious character, together with cinders, old mortar, and no one
knows what besides. This becomes a foul fermenting mass, which is
often built upon and the houses inhabited before the process of
decomposition is completed, and the noxious gases cease to be given
off. Many outbreaks of disease have been traced most unmistakably
to this criminal act of putting up jerry buildings on pestilential
sites. It is easy for any one to understand how this may be when he
thinks of the way the house acts on the soil it is built upon, or
rather on the moisture and gases contained in the soil. The house is
warmed by the fires and by the people living in it, and the heated
air has a tendency to rise. The pressure on the gases in the soil
is lessened, and they are drawn up into the house, which acts as a
suction pump. This could not happen if the foundation were air-tight;
but this is rarely the case, and too often indeed “cottage property”
is built without any foundation at all. Drs. Parkes and Sanderson
recommended that such soil should not be built upon “for at least
two years,” but it would be well to give it another year. Attention
must also be paid to the “ground water”--the great underground sea
of which we find evidences almost anywhere that we seek for them.
Sometimes it is found even a foot or two only from the surface, in
other places at 15, 20, or 40 ft. This water rises and falls in
some places rapidly, rising after heavy rains, and falling in dry
weather. If it is always near the surface, the place must be damp and
unhealthy; and we should try to find out something about the ground
water before fixing on the site of our house. If possible, do not
live where it is less than 5 or 6 ft. from the surface.
_Trees._--Vegetation assists in rendering the soil healthy. Trees
absorb large quantities of moisture from the soil, and sometimes, as
in the case of the blue gum-tree of Australia, they seem even to do
something more than this. It is said that the common sunflower of
our gardens has a considerable influence in this way. Trees should
not be crowded close to a house, as they keep off much sun, and so
neutralise some of their good effects, but at a reasonable distance
they are beneficial.
_Aspect._--The aspect of a dwelling will necessarily be made to vary
with the climatic conditions of the locality in which it is situated.
In northern latitudes, such as Great Britain occupies, we are rarely
oppressed by sunshine, and need not seek special protection from
it. We should rather be anxious not to be deprived too much of its
genial and life-giving rays. On the other hand, we are often visited
by bleak and bitter winds, and though a free circulation of air is
desirable round a dwelling, there should be some shelter to break
the violence of a cold prevailing wind. In the country, where in
all probability there is no system of drainage for the district,
we should be careful not to place the house so as to receive our
neighbour’s drainage, nor that from our own outbuildings. In a town
the situation should be as open as can be obtained. The wider the
street and the greater the open space at the back the better, and the
back-to-back houses should be avoided altogether. (Simpson.)
As Eassie remarks, in one of the Health Exhibition Handbooks, aspect
and prospect have very much to do with comfort in housebuilding,
since a dwelling may be designed so as to fully command the scenery
while its plan might be very ill-adapted to the prevalent weather,
and the sun’s daily course. A house having a pleasant prospect may
be a decidedly unpleasant dwelling if the rooms have been arranged
without regard to the points of the compass. This will become quite
evident from a careful study of the annexed representation of Prof.
Kerr’s “aspect compass” (Fig. 1), which illustrates most clearly the
direction and character of the prevailing winds of this country, and
the sunny and shady quarters, the imaginary window of the dwelling
occupying the centre of the circle.
Obviously, as Eassie points out, the effects of aspect will not
be the same on the inside and outside of the room. Looking from
a window in the north, the prospect or landscape will be lighted
from behind; to the spectator looking from the south, it will
never be go lighted; looking from the east, the landscape will be
so lighted at sunset; and looking from the west, it will be well | 274.254131 |
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ELIZABETH
KECKLEY
Behind the Scenes,
Or,
Thirty Years a Slave,
and Four Years in the White House
* * * * *
Contents
BEHIND THE SCENES
Preface 3
Chapter I. Where I was born 7
Chapter II. Girlhood and its Sorrows 13
Chapter III. How I gained my Freedom 19
Chapter IV. In the Family of Senator Jefferson Davis 28
Chapter V. My Introduction to Mrs. Lincoln 34
Chapter VI. Willie Lincoln's Death-bed 41
Chapter VII. Washington in 1862-3 50
Chapter VIII. Candid Opinions 57
Chapter IX. Behind the Scenes 62
Chapter X. The Second Inauguration 68
Chapter XI. The Assassination of President Lincoln 77
Chapter XII. Mrs. Lincoln leaves the White House 89
Chapter XIII. The Origin of the Rivalry between
Mr. Douglas and Mr. Lincol 101
Chapter XIV. Old Friends 106
Chapter XV. The Secret History of Mrs. Lincoln's
Wardrobe in New York 119
Appendix--Letters from Mrs. Lincoln to Mrs. Keckley 147
* * * * *
BEHIND THE SCENES.
BY
ELIZABETH KECKLEY,
FORMERLY A SLAVE, BUT MORE RECENTLY MODISTE,
AND FRIEND TO MRS. ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
OR,
THIRTY YEARS A SLAVE, AND FOUR YEARS IN
THE WHITE HOUSE.
NEW YORK:
G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers.
M DCCC LXVIII.
* * * * *
PREFACE
I have often been asked to write my life, as those who know me know that
it has been an eventful one. At last I have acceded to the importunities
of my friends, and have hastily sketched some of the striking incidents
that go to make up my history. My life, so full of romance, may sound
like a dream to the matter-of-fact reader, nevertheless everything I
have written is strictly true; much has been omitted, but nothing has
been exaggerated. In writing as I have done, I am well aware that I have
invited criticism; but before the critic judges harshly, let my
explanation be carefully read and weighed. If I have portrayed the dark
side of slavery, I also have painted the bright side. The good that I
have said of human servitude should be thrown into the scales with the
evil that I have said of it. I have kind, true-hearted friends in the
South as well as in the North, and I would not wound those Southern
friends by sweeping condemnation, simply because I was once a slave.
They were not so much responsible for the curse under which I was born,
as the God of nature and the fathers who framed the Constitution for the
United States. The law descended to them, and it was but natural that
they should recognize it, since it manifestly was their interest to do
so. And yet a wrong was inflicted upon me; a cruel custom deprived me of
my liberty, and since I was robbed of my dearest right, I would not have
been human had I not rebelled against the robbery. God rules the
Universe. I was a feeble instrument in His hands, and through me and the
enslaved millions of my race, one of the problems was solved that
belongs to the great problem of human destiny; and the solution was
developed so gradually that there was no great convulsion of the
harmonies of natural laws. A solemn truth was thrown to the surface, and
what is better still, it was recognized as a truth by those who give
force to moral laws. An act may be wrong, but unless the ruling power
recognizes the wrong, it is useless to hope for a correction of it.
Principles may be right, but they are not established within an hour.
The masses are slow to reason, and each principle, to acquire moral
force, must come to us from the fire of the crucible; the fire may
inflict unjust punishment, but then it purifies and renders stronger the
principle, not in itself, but in the eyes of those who arrogate judgment
to themselves. When the war of the Revolution established the
independence of the American colonies, an evil was perpetuated, slavery
was more firmly established; and since the evil had been planted, it
must pass through certain stages before it could be eradicated. In fact,
we give but little thought to the plant of evil until it grows to such
monstrous proportions that it overshadows important interests; then the
efforts to destroy it become earnest. As one of the victims of slavery I
drank of the bitter water; but then, since destiny willed it so, and
since I aided in bringing a solemn truth to the surface _as a truth_,
perhaps I have no right to complain. Here, as in all things pertaining
to life, I can afford to be charitable.
It may be charged that I have written too freely on some questions,
especially in regard to Mrs. Lincoln. I do not think so; at least I have
been prompted by the purest motive. Mrs. Lincoln, by her own acts,
forced herself into notoriety. She stepped beyond the formal lines which
hedge about a private life, and invited public criticism. The people
have judged her harshly, and no woman was ever more traduced in the
public prints of the country. The people knew nothing of the secret
history of her transactions, therefore they judged her by what was
thrown to the surface. For an act may be wrong judged purely by itself,
but when the motive that prompted the act is understood, it is construed
differently. I lay it down as an axiom, that only that is criminal in
the sight of God where crime is meditated. Mrs. Lincoln may have been
imprudent, but since her intentions were good, she should be judged more
kindly than she has been. But the world do not know what her intentions
were; they have only been made acquainted with her acts without knowing
what feeling guided her actions. If the world are to judge her as I have
judged her, they must be introduced to the secret history of her
transactions. The veil of mystery must be drawn aside; the origin of a
fact must be brought to light with the naked fact itself. If I have
betrayed confidence in anything I have published, it has been to place
Mrs. Lincoln in a better light before the world. A breach of trust--if
breach it can be called--of this kind is always excusable. My own
character, as well as the character of Mrs. Lincoln, is at stake, since
I have been intimately associated with that lady in the most eventful
periods of her life. I have been her confidante, and if evil charges are
laid at her door, they also must be laid at mine, since I have been a
party to all her movements. To defend myself I must defend the lady that
I have served. The world have judged Mrs. Lincoln by the facts which
float upon the surface, and through her have partially judged me, and
the only way to convince them that wrong was not meditated is to explain
the motives that actuated us. I have written nothing that can place Mrs.
Lincoln in a worse light before the world than the light in which she
now stands, therefore the secret history that I publish can do her no
harm. I have excluded everything of a personal character from her
letters; the extracts introduced only refer to public men, and are such
as to throw light upon her unfortunate adventure in New York. These
letters were not written for publication, for which reason they are all
the more valuable; they are the frank overflowings of the heart, the
outcropping of impulse, the key to genuine motives. They prove the
motive to have been pure, and if they shall help to stifle the voice of
calumny, I am content. I do not forget, before the public journals
vilified Mrs. Lincoln, that ladies who moved in the Washington circle in
which she moved, freely canvassed her character among themselves. They
gloated over many a tale of scandal that grew out of gossip in their own
circle. If these ladies, could say everything bad of the wife of the
President, why should I not be permitted to lay her secret history bare,
especially when that history plainly shows that her life, like all
lives, has its good side as well as its bad side! None of us are
perfect, for which reason we should heed the voice of charity when it
whispers in our ears, "Do not magnify the imperfections of others." Had
Mrs. Lincoln's acts never become public property, I should not have
published to the world the secret chapters of her life. I am not the
special champion of the widow of our lamented President; the reader of
the pages which follow will discover that I have written with the utmost
frankness in regard to her--have exposed her faults as well as given her
credit for honest motives. I wish the world to judge her as she is, free
from the exaggerations of praise or scandal, since I have been
associated with her in so many things that have provoked hostile
criticism; and the judgment that the world may pass upon her, I flatter
myself, will present my own actions in a better light.
ELIZABETH KECKLEY.
14 Carroll Place, New York,
March 14, 1868.
CHAPTER I
WHERE I WAS BORN
My life has been an eventful one. I was born a slave--was the child of
slave parents--therefore I came upon the earth free in God-like thought,
but fettered in action. My birthplace was Dinwiddie Court-House, in
Virginia. My recollections of childhood are distinct, perhaps for the
reason that many stirring incidents are associated with that period. I
am now on the shady side of forty, and as I sit alone in my room the
brain is busy, and a rapidly moving panorama brings scene after scene
before me, some pleasant and others sad; and when I thus greet old
familiar faces, I often find myself wondering if I am not living the
past over again. The visions are so terribly distinct that I almost
imagine them to be real. Hour after hour I sit while the scenes are
being shifted; and as I gaze upon the panorama of the past, I realize
how crowded with incidents my life has been. Every day seems like a
romance within itself, and the years grow into ponderous volumes. As I
cannot condense, I must omit many strange passages in my history. From
such a wilderness of events it is difficult to make a selection, but as
I am not writing altogether the history of myself, I will confine my
story to the most important incidents which I believe influenced the
moulding of my character. As I glance over the crowded sea of the past,
these incidents stand forth prominently, the guide-posts of memory. I
presume that I must have been four years old when I first began to
remember; at least, I cannot now recall anything occurring previous to
this period. My master, Col. A. Burwell, was somewhat unsettled in his
business affairs, and while I was yet an infant he made several
removals. While living at Hampton Sidney College, Prince Edward County,
Va., Mrs. Burwell gave birth to a daughter, a sweet, black-eyed baby,
my earliest and fondest pet. To take care of this baby was my first
duty. True, I was but a child myself--only four years old--but then I
had been raised in a hardy school--had been taught to rely upon myself,
and to prepare myself to render assistance to others. The lesson was not
a bitter one, for I was too young to indulge in philosophy, and the
precepts that I then treasured and practised I believe developed those
principles of character which have enabled me to triumph over so many
difficulties. Notwithstanding all the wrongs that slavery heaped upon
me, I can bless it for one thing--youth's important lesson of
self-reliance. The baby was named Elizabeth, and it was pleasant to me
to be assigned a duty in connection with it, for the discharge of that
duty transferred me from the rude cabin to the household of my master.
My simple attire was a short dress and a little white apron. My old
mistress encouraged me in rocking the cradle, by telling me that if I
would watch over the baby well, keep the flies out of its face, and not
let it cry, I should be its little maid. This was a golden promise, and
I required no better inducement for the faithful performance of my task.
I began to rock the cradle most industriously, when lo! out pitched
little pet on the floor. I instantly cried out, "Oh! the baby is on the
floor;" | 274.25529 |
2023-11-16 18:21:38.2540960 | 5,961 | 11 |
Produced by Lewis Jones
Divine Songs
Attempted in the Easy Language of Children.
By I. Watts.
_Out of the Mouth of Babes and Sucklings thou hast perfected
Praise_. Matt. xxi. 16.
Transcriber's Note.
Throughout, modern numerals have been substituted for their Roman
equivalents.
In Watts' dedication the original capitalisation, italics and
spelling are retained; the aim thereby is to convey more accurately
the flavour of the original.
TO
Mrs. SARAH )
Mrs. MARY _and_) ABNEY,
Mrs. ELIZABETH )
_Daughters of Sir_ THOMAS ABNEY, _Kt. and Alderman of London_.
_My Dear Young Friends_,
Whom I am constrained to love and honour by many Obligations. It was
the generous and condescending Friendship of your Parents under my
weak Circumstances of Health, that brought me to their Country-Seat
for the Benefit of the Air; but it was an Instance of most uncommon
Kindness, to supply me there so chearfully for two Years of Sickness
with the richest Conveniences of Life. Such a Favour requires my
most affectionate Returns of Service to themselves, and to all that
is dear to them; and meer Gratitude demands some solemn and publick
Acknowledgment.
But great Minds have the true Relish and Pleasure of doing Good, and
are content to be unknown.
It is such a silent Satisfaction Sir _Thomas Abney_ enjoys in the
unspeakable Blessings of this Year, that brought our present King to
the Throne: and he permits the World to forget that happy Turn that
was given to the Affairs of the Kingdom by his wise Management in
the Highest Office of the City, whereby the Settlement of the Crown
was so much strengthen'd in the Illustrious Family which now
possesses it. O may the Crown flourish many Years on the Head of our
Soveraign, and may his House possess it to the End of Time, to
secure all Religious and Civil Liberties to the Posterity of those
who have been so zealous to establish this Succession!
The fair and lovely Character your Honoured Father hath acquired by
passing thro' all the chief Offices of the City, and leaving a
Lustre upon them, seems imperfect in his own Esteem, without the
Addition of this Title, _A Succourer and a Friend of the Ministers
of Christ_. And in this part of his Honour the Lady your Mother is
resolved to have an unborrow'd Share, and becomes his daily Rival.
It is to her unwearied Tenderness, and many kind Offices by Night
and Day, in the more violent Seasons of my Indisposition, that
(under God) I own my Life, and Power to write or think. And while I
remember those Hours, I can't forget the cheerful and ready
Attendance of her worthy Sister, her dear Companion and Assistant in
every good Work.
Under the Influence of two such Examples I have also enjoy'd the
Pleasure and Conveniency of your younger Services, according to the
Capacity of your Years; and that with such a Degree of sincere and
hearty Zeal for my Welfare, that you are ready to vie with each
other in the kind Imployment, and assist all you can toward my
Recovery and Usefulness. So that whoever shall reap benefit by any
of my Labours, it is but a reasonable Request, that you share with
me in their Thanks and their Prayers.
But this is a small Part of your Praise.
If it would not be suspected of Flattery, I could tell the World
what an Acquaintance with Scripture, what a Knowledge of Religion,
what a Memory of Divine things both in Verse and Prose is found
among you; and what a just and regular account is given of Sermons
at your Age; to awaken all the Children that shall read these
_Songs_, to furnish their memories and beautify their Souls like
yours. The Honour you have done me in learning by heart so large a
number of the _Hymns_ I have publish'd, perhaps has been of some use
towards these greater Improvements, and gives me rich Encouragement
to offer you this little Present.
Since I have ventured to shew a Part of your early Character to the
World, I perswade my self you will remember, that it must inlarge
and brighten daily. Remember what the World will expect from the
Daughters of Sir _Thomas Abney's_ Family, under such an Education,
such Examples, and after such fair and promising Blossoms of Piety
and Goodness. Remember what God himself will expect at your hands,
from whose Grace you have received plentiful Distributions in the
Beginning of your Days. May the Blessings of his Right Hand more
enrich you daily, as your Capacities and your Years increase; and
may he add bountifully of the Favours of his Left Hand, Riches and
Honour. May his Grace make you so large a Return of all the Kindness
I have received in your Family, as may prevail above the fondest
Hopes of your Parents, and even exceed the warmest Prayers of
_Your most Affectionate Monitor and obliged Servant in the daily
Views of a future World_,
I. WATTS.
Theobalds,
June 18.
1715.
PREFACE
To all that are concerned in the Education of Children.
My Friends,
It is an awful and important charge that is committed to you. The
wisdom and welfare of the succeeding generation are intrusted with
you beforehand, and depend much on your conduct. The seeds of misery
or happiness in this world, and that to come, are oftentimes sown
very early, and therefore whatever may conduce to give the minds of
children a relish for vertue and religion, ought in the first place
to be proposed to you.
Verse was at first design'd for the service of God, tho' it hath
been wretchedly abused since. The ancients among the Jews and the
Heathens taught their children and disciples the precepts of
morality and worship in verse. The children of Israel were commanded
to learn the words of the song of Moses, Deut. 31. 19,30. And we are
directed in the New Testament, not only to sing with grace in the
heart, but to teach and admonish one another by hymns and songs,
Eph. 5. 19. and there are these four advantages in it:
1. There is a greater delight in the very learning of truths and
duties this way. There is something so amusing and entertaining in
rhymes and metre, that will incline children to make this part of
their business a diversion. And you may turn their very duty into a
reward, by giving them the privilege of learning one of these songs
every week, if they fulfil the business of the week well, and
promising them the book itself when they have learned ten or twenty
songs out of it.
2. What is learnt in verse is longer retained in memory, and sooner
recollected. The like sounds and the like number of syllables
exceedingly assist the remembrance. And it may often happen, that
the end of a song running in the mind may be an effectual means to
keep off some temptation, or to incline to some duty, when a word of
scripture is not upon the thoughts.
3. This will be a constant furniture for the minds of children, that
they may have something to think upon when alone, and sing over to
themselves. This may sometimes give their thoughts a divine turn,
and raise a young meditation. Thus they will not be forced to seek
relief for an emptiness of mind out of the loose and dangerous
sonnets of the age.
4. These _Divine Songs_ may be a pleasant and proper matter for
their daily or weekly worship, to sing one in the family at such
time as the parents or governors shall appoint; and therefore I have
confin'd the verse to the most usual psalm tunes.
The greatest part of this little book was composed several years
ago, at the request of a friend, who has been long engaged in the
work of catechising a very great number of children of all kinds,
and with abundant skill and success. So that you will find here
nothing that savours of a party: the children of high and low
degree, of the Church of England or Dissenters, baptized in infancy
or not, may all join together in these songs. And as I have
endeavoured to sink the language to the level of a child's
understanding, and yet to keep it (if possible) above contempt; so I
have designed to profit all (if possible) and offend none. I hope
the more general the sense is, these composures may be of the more
universal use and service.
I have added at the end an attempt or two of _Sonnets_ on _Moral
Subjects_ for children, with an air of pleasantry, to provoke some
fitter pen to write a little book of them. My talent doth not lie
that way, and a man on the borders of the grave has other work.
Besides, if I had health or leisure to lay out this way, it should
be employ'd in finishing the _Psalms_, which I have so long promised
the world.
May the Almighty God make you faithful in this important work of
education: may he succeed your cares with his abundant graces, that
the rising generation of Great Britain may be a glory amongst the
nations, a pattern to the Christian world, and a blessing to the
earth.
Divine Songs
For
Children.
Song 1.
_A General Song of Praise to God_.
1 How glorious is our Heavenly King,
Who reigns above the sky!
How shall a child presume to sing
His dreadful majesty?
2 How great his power is none can tell,
Nor think how large his grace;
Not men below, nor saints that dwell
On high before his face.
3 Not angels that stand round the Lord
Can search his secret will;
But they perform his heavenly word,
And sing his praises still.
4 Then let me join this holy train,
And my first offerings bring;
Th' eternal God will not disdain
To hear an infant sing.
5 My heart resolves, my tongue obeys,
And angels shall rejoice
To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.
Song 2.
_Praise for Creation and Providence_.
1 I sing th' almighty power of God,
That made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
And built the lofty skies.
2 I sing the wisdom that ordain'd
The sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at his command,
And all the stars obey.
3 I sing the goodness of the Lord,
That fill'd the earth with food;
He form'd the creatures with his Word,
And then pronounced them good.
4 Lord, how thy wonders are display'd
Where'er I turn mine eye,
If I survey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the sky.
5 There's not a plant or flower below
But makes thy glories known;
And clouds arise and tempests blow
By order from thy throne.
6 Creatures (as num'rous as they be)
Are subject to thy care:
There's not a place where we can flee,
But God is present there.
7 In heaven he shines with beams of love,
With wrath in hell beneath:
'Tis on his earth I stand or move,
And 'tis his air I breathe.
8 His hand is my perpetual guard,
He keeps me with his eye:
Why should I then forget the Lord
Who is for ever nigh?
Song 3.
_Praise to God for our Redemption_.
1 Blest be the wisdom and the power,
The justice and the grace,
That join'd in council to restore
And save our ruin'd race!
2 Our father eat forbidden fruit,
And from his glory fell;
And we, his children, thus were brought
To death, and near to hell.
3 Blest be the Lord, that sent his Son
To take our flesh and blood;
He for our lives gave up his own,
To make our peace with God.
4 He honour'd all his Father's laws,
Which we have disobey'd;
He bore our sins upon the cross,
And our full ransom paid.
5 Behold him rising from the grave;
Behold him rais'd on high:
He pleads his merits there to save
Transgressors doom'd to die.
6 There on a glorious throne, he reigns,
And by his power divine
Redeems us from the slavish chains
Of Satan, and of sin.
7 Thence shall the Lord to judgment come,
And, with a sovereign voice,
Shall call, and break up every tomb,
While waking saints rejoice.
8 O may I then with joy appear
Before the Judge's face,
And, with the blest assembly there,
Sing his redeeming grace!
Song 4.
_Praise for Mercies Spiritual and Temporal_.
1 Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see?
What shall I render to my God
For all his gifts to me?
2 Not more than others I deserve,
Yet God hath given me more;
For I have food, while others starve,
Or beg from door to door.
3 How many children in the street
Half naked I behold?
While I am clothed from head to feet,
And cover'd from the cold.
4 While some poor wretches scarce can tell
Where they may lay their head,
I have a home wherein to dwell,
And rest upon my bed.
5 While others early learn to swear,
And curse, and lie, and steal,
Lord, I am taught thy name to fear,
And do thy holy will.
6 Are these thy favours, day by day
To me above the rest?
Then let me love thee more than they,
And try to serve thee best.
Song 5.
_Praise for Birth and Education in a Christian Land_.
1 Great God, to thee my voice I raise,
To thee my youngest hours belong;
I would begin my life with praise,
Till growing years improve the song.
2 'Tis to thy soveraign grace I owe,
That I was born on Brittish ground,
Where streams of heavenly mercy flow,
And words of sweet salvation sound.
3 I would not change my native land
For rich Peru, with all her gold:
A nobler prize lies in my hand
Than East or Western Indies hold.
4 How do I pity those that dwell
Where ignorance and darkness reigns;
They know no heav'n, they fear no hell,
Those endless joys, those endless pains.
5 Thy glorious promises, O Lord,
Kindle my hope and my desire;
While all the preachers of thy word
Warn me t' escape eternal fire.
6 Thy praise shall still employ my breath,
Since thou hast mark'd my way to heaven;
Nor will I run the road to death,
And wast the blessings thou hast given.
Song 6.
_Praise for the Gospel_.
1 Lord, I ascribe it to thy grace,
And not to chance as others do,
That I was born of Christian race,
And not a Heathen, or a Jew.
2 What would the ancient Jewish kings,
And Jewish prophets once have given,
Could they have heard these glorious things,
Which Christ reveal'd, and brought from heav'n!
3 How glad the Heathens would have been,
That worship idols, wood, and stone,
If they the book of God had seen,
Or Jesus and his gospel known!
4 Then if the Gospel I refuse,
How shall I e'er lift up mine eyes?
For all the Gentiles and the Jews
Against me will in judgment rise.
Song 7.
_The Excellency of the Bible_.
1 Great God, with wonder and with praise,
On all thy works I look;
But still thy wisdom, power and grace
Shine brighter in thy Book.
2 The stars that in their courses roll,
Have much instruction given;
But thy good Word informs my soul
How I may climb to heaven.
3 The fields provide me food, and show
The goodness of the Lord;
But fruits of life and glory grow
In thy most holy Word.
4 Here are my choicest treasures hid,
Here my best comfort lies;
Here my desires are satisfy'd;
And hence my hopes arise.
5 Lord, make me understand thy law,
Show what my faults have been;
And from thy Gospel let me draw
Pardon for all my sin.
6 Here would I learn how Christ has dy'd
To save my soul from hell:
Not all the books on earth beside
Such heav'nly wonders tell.
7 Then let me love my Bible more,
And take a fresh delight
By day to read these wonders o'er,
And meditate by night.
Song 8.
_Praise to God for learning to read_.
1 The praises of my tongue
I offer to the Lord,
That I was taught, and learnt so young
To read his holy Word.
2 That I am taught to know
The danger I was in,
By nature and by practice too
A wretched slave to sin.
3 That I am led to see
I can do nothing well;
And whither shall a sinner flee,
To save himself from hell?
4 Dear Lord, this book of thine
Informs me where to go
For grace to pardon all my sin,
And make me holy too.
5 Here I can read and learn
How Christ the Son of God
Did undertake our great concern,
Our ransom cost his blood.
6 And now he reigns above,
He sends his Spirit down,
To show the wonders of his love,
And make his Gospel known.
7 O may that Spirit teach,
And make my heart receive
Those truths which all thy servants preach,
And all thy saints believe!
8 Then shall I praise the Lord
In a more chearful strain,
That I was taught to read his Word,
And have not learnt in vain.
Song 9.
The All-Seeing God.
1 Almighty God, thy piercing eye
Strikes through the shades of night,
And our most secret actions lie
All open to thy sight.
2 There's not a sin that we commit,
Nor wicked word we say,
But in thy dreadful book `tis writ
Against the judgment-day.
3 And must the crimes that I have done
Be read and publish'd there,
Be all exposed before the sun,
While men and angels hear?
4 Lord, at thy feet ashamed I lie,
Upward I dare not look;
Pardon my sins before I die,
And blot them from thy book.
5 Remember all the dying pains
That my Redeemer felt,
And let his blood wash out my stains,
And answer for my guilt.
6 O may I now for ever fear
T' indulge a sinful thought,
Since the great God can see, and hear,
And writes down every fault!
Song 10.
_Solemn Thoughts of God and Death_.
1 There is a God that reigns above,
Lord of the heavens, and earth, and seas:
I fear his wrath, I ask his love,
And with my lips I sing his praise.
2 There is a law which he has writ,
To teach us all what we must do;
My soul, to his commands submit,
For they are holy, just and true.
3 There is a Gospel of rich grace,
Whence sinners all their comfort draw;
Lord, I repent, and seek thy face;
For I have often broke thy law.
4 There is an hour when I must die,
Nor do I know how soon `twill come;
A thousand children young as I
Are call'd by death to hear their doom.
5 Let me improve the hours I have
Before the day of grace is fled;
There's no repentance in the grave,
No pardons offer'd to the dead.
6 Just as a tree cut down, that fell
To north, or southward, there it lies:
So man departs to heaven or hell,
Fix'd in the state wherein he dies.
Song 11.
_Heaven and Hell_.
1 There is beyond the sky
A heaven of joy and love,
And holy children, when they die,
Go to that world above.
2 There is a dreadful hell,
And everlasting pains,
There sinners must with devils dwell
In darkness, fire, and chains.
3 Can such a wretch as I
Escape this cursed end?
And may I hope, whene'er I die,
I shall to heaven ascend?
4 Then will I read and pray
While I have life and breath;
Lest I should be cut off to day,
And sent t' eternal death.
Song 12.
_The Advantages of early Religion_.
1 Happy's the child whose youngest years
Receive instruction well;
Who hates the sinner's path, and fears
The road that leads to hell.
2 When we devote our youth to God,
'Tis pleasing in his eyes;
A flower, when offer'd in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.
3 'Tis easier work if we begin
To fear the Lord betimes;
While sinners that grow old in sin
Are hard'ned in their crimes.
4 'Twill save us from a thousand snares
To mind religion young;
Grace will preserve our following years
And make our vertue strong.
5 To thee, Almighty God, to thee
Our childhood we resign;
'Twill please us to look back and see
That our whole lives were thine.
6 Let the sweet work of prayer and praise,
Employ my youngest breath;
Thus I'm prepar'd for longer days,
Or fit for early death.
Song 13.
_The Danger of Delay_.
1 Why should I say, "`Tis yet too soon
"To seek for heaven or think of death?"
A flower may fade before `tis noon,
And I this day may lose my breath.
2 If this rebellious heart of mine,
Despise the gracious calls of Heaven;
I may be hard'ned in my sin,
And never have repentance given.
3 What if the Lord grow wroth, and swear
While I refuse to read and pray,
That he'll refuse to lend an ear,
To all my groans another day?
4 What if his dreadful anger burn,
While I refuse his offer'd grace,
And all his love to fury turn,
And strike me dead upon the place?
5 'Tis dangerous to provoke a God;
His power and vengeance none can tell:
One stroke of his almighty rod
Shall send young sinners quick to hell.
6 Then `twill for ever be in vain
To cry for pardon or for grace,
To wish I had my time again,
Or hope to see my Maker's face.
Song 14.
_Examples of early piety_.
1 What blest examples do I find
Writ in the Word of Truth,
Of children that began to mind
Religion in their youth.
2 Jesus, who reigns above the skie,
And keeps the world in awe;
Was once a child as young as I,
And kept his Father's law.
3 At twelve years old he talk'd with men,
(The Jews all wondering stand;)
Yet he obey'd his Mother then,
And came at her command.
4 Children a sweet hosanna sung,
And blest their Saviour's name;
They gave him honour with their tongue
While scribes and priests blaspheme.
5 Samuel the child was wean'd, and brought
To wait upon the Lord;
Young Timothy betimes was taught
To know his holy Word.
6 Then why should I so long delay
What others learn so soon?
I would not pass another day
Without this work begun.
Song 15.
_Against Lying_.
1 O `tis a lovely thing for youth
To walk betimes in wisdom's way;
To fear a lye, to speak the truth,
That we may trust to all they say.
2 But lyars we can never trust,
Though they should speak the thing that's true,
And he that does one fault at first,
And lyes to hide it, makes it two.
3 Have we not known, nor heard, nor read,
How God abhors deceit and wrong?
How Ananias was struck dead
Catch'd with a lye upon his tongue?
4 So did his wife Sapphira die
When she came in, and grew so bold
As to confirm that wicked lye
That just before her husband told.
5 The Lord delights in them that speak
The words of truth; but every lyar
Must have his portion in the lake
That burns with brimstone and with fire.
6 Then let me always watch my lips,
Lest I be struck to death and hell,
Since God a book of reckoning keeps
For every lye that children tell.
Song 16.
_Against Quarrelling and Fighting_.
1 Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God has made them so;
Let bears and lyons growl and fight,
For `tis their nature too.
2 But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes.
3 Let love thro' all your actions run,
And all your words be mild;
Live like the blessed Virgin's Son,
That sweet and lovely child.
4 His soul was gentle as a lamb;
And as his stature grew,
He grew in favour both with man
And God his Father too.
5 Now, Lord of all, he reigns above,
And from his heavenly throne,
He sees what children dwell in love,
And marks them for his own.
Song 17.
_Love between Brothers and Sisters_.
1 What ever brawls are in the street
There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet
Quarrels shou'd never come.
2 Birds in their little nests agree;
And `tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight.
3 Hard names at first, and threatening words,
That are but noisy breath,
May grow to clubs and naked swords,
To murder and to death.
4 The devil tempts one mother's son
To rage against another:
So wicked Cain was hurried on,
Till he had kill'd his brother.
5 The wise will make their anger cool
At least before `tis night;
But in the bosom of a fool
It burns till morning light.
5 Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage;
Our little brawls remove;
That as we grow to riper age,
Our hearts may all be love.
Song 18.
_Against Scoffing and calling Names_.
1 Our tongues were made to bless the Lord,
And not speak ill of men:
When others give a railing word,
We must not rail again.
2 Cross words and angry names require
To be chastiz'd at school;
And he's in danger of hell-fire,
That calls his brother, fool.
3 But lips that dare be so prophane
To mock and jeer and scoff
At holy things, or holy men,
The Lord shall cut them off.
4 When children, in their wanton play
Served old Elisha so,
And bade the prophet go his way,
"Go up, thou bald head, go."
5 God quickly stopt their wicked breath,
And sent two raging bears,
That tore them limb from limb to death,
With blood and groans and tears.
6 Great God, how terrible art thou
To sinners ne'er so young!
Grant me thy grace and teach me how
To tame and rule my tongue.
Song 19.
_Against Swearing and Cursing, and taking God's Name in vain_.
1 Angels that high in glory dwell
Adore thy Name, Almighty God!
And devils tremble down in hell
Beneath the terrors of thy rod.
2 And yet how wicked children dare
Abuse thy dreadful glorious Name!
And when they're angry, how they swear | 274.274136 |
2023-11-16 18:21:38.3365340 | 7,412 | 14 |
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LIFE IN AN
INDIAN OUTPOST
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[Illustration: AFTER THE PROCLAMATION PARADE.]
LIFE IN AN
INDIAN OUTPOST
BY
MAJOR GORDON CASSERLY
(INDIAN ARMY)
AUTHOR OF
"THE LAND OF THE BOXERS; OR CHINA UNDER THE ALLIES"; ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE LTD.
CLIFFORD'S INN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A FRONTIER POST
PAGE
Our first view of the Himalayas--Across India in a troop
train--A scattered regiment--An elephant-haunted
railway--Kinchinjunga--The great Terai
Jungle--Rajabhatkawa--In the days of Warren
Hastings--Hillmen--Roving Chinese--We arrive at Buxa
Road--Relieved officers--An undesirable outpost--March
through the forest--The hills--A mountain road--Lovely
scenery--Buxa Duar--A lonely Station--The labours of an
Indian Army officer--Varied work--The frontier of
Bhutan--A gate of India--A Himalayan paradise--The
fort--Intrusive monkeys--The cantonment--The Picquet
Towers--The bazaar--The cemetery--Forgotten
graves--Tragedies of loneliness--From Bhutan to the sea 1
CHAPTER II
LIFE ON OUTPOST
The daily routine--Drill in the Indian Army--Hindustani--A
lingua franca--The divers tongues of India--The sepoys'
lodging--Their ablutions--An Indian's fare--An Indian
regiment--Rajput customs--The hospital--The doctor at
work--Queer patients--A vicious bear--The Officers'
Mess--Plain diet--Water--The simple life--A bachelor's
establishment--A faithful Indian--Fighting the
trusts--Transport in the hills--My bungalow--Amusements
in Buxa--Dull days--Asirgarh--A lonely
outpost--Poisoning a General--A storied
fortress--Soldier ghosts--A spectral officer--The
tragedy of isolation--A daring panther--A day on an
elephant--Sport in the jungle--_Gooral_ stalking in the
hills--Strange pets--A friendly deer--A terrified
visitor--A walking menagerie--Elephants tame and
wild--Their training--Their caution--Their rate of
speed--Fondness for water--Quickly reconciled to
captivity--Snakes--A narrow escape--A king-cobra; the
hamadryad--Hindu worship of the cobra--General Sir
Hamilton Bower--An adventurous career--E. F.
Knight--The General's inspection 19
CHAPTER III
THE BORDERLAND OF BHUTAN
The races along our North-East Border--Tibet--The
Mahatmas--Nepal---Bhutan--Its geography--Its
founder--Its Government--Religious rule--Analogy
between Bhutan and old Japan--_Penlops_ and
_Daimios_--The Tongsa _Penlop_--Reincarnation of the
Shaptung Rimpoche--China's claim to Bhutan--Capture of
the Maharajah of Cooch Behar--Bogle's mission--Raids
and outrages--The Bhutan War of 1864-5--The Duars--The
annual subsidy--Bhutan to-day--Religion--An impoverished
land--Bridges--Soldiers in Bhutan--Thefeudal
system--Administration of justice--Tyranny of
officials--The Bhuttias--Ugly women--Our neighbours in
Buxa--A Bhuttia festival--Archery--A banquet--A
dance--A Scotch half-caste--Chunabatti--Nature of the
borderland--Disappearing rivers--The Terai--Tea
gardens--A planter's life--The club--Wild beasts in the
path--The Indian planters--Misplaced sympathy--The tea
industry--Profits and losses--Planters' salaries--Their
daily life--Bhuttia raids on tea gardens--Fearless
planters--An unequal fight 45
CHAPTER IV
A DURBAR IN BUXA
Notice of the Political Officer's approaching visit--A
Durbar--The Bhutan Agent and the interpreter--Arrival
of the Deb Zimpun--An official call--Exchange of
presents--Bhutanese fruit--A return call--Native
liquor--A welcome gift--The Bhutanese
musicians--Entertaining the Envoy--A thirsty Lama--A
rifle match--An awkward official request--My
refusal--The Deb Zimpun removes to Chunabatti--Arrival
of the treasure--The Political Officer comes--His
retinue--The Durbar--The Guard of Honour--The
visitors--The Envoy comes in state--Bhutanese
courtesies--The spectators--The payment of the
subsidy--Lunch in Mess--Entertaining a difficult
guest--The official dinner--An archery match--Sikh
quoits--Field firing--Bhutanese
impressed--Blackmail--British subjects captured--Their
release--Tashi's case--Justice in Bhutan--Tyranny of
officials--Tashi refuses to quit Buxa--The next payment
of the subsidy--The treaty--Misguided humanitarians 64
CHAPTER V
IN THE JUNGLE
An Indian jungle--The trees--Creepers--Orchids--The
undergrowth--On an elephant in the jungle--Forcing a
passage--Wild bees--Red ants--A lost river--A _sambhur_
hind--Spiders--Jungle fowl--A stag--_Hallal_--Wounded
beasts--A halt--Skinning the stag--Ticks--Butcher
apprentices--Natural rope--Water in the air--_Pani
bel_--Trail of wild elephants--Their habits--An
impudent monkey--An adventure with a rogue
elephant--Fire lines--Wild dogs--A giant squirrel--The
barking deer--A good bag--Spotted deer--Protective
colouring--Dangerous beasts--Natives' dread of bears--A
bison calf--The fascination of the forest--The generous
jungle--Wild vegetables--Natural products--A home in
the trees--Forest Lodge the First--Destroyed by a wild
elephant--Its successor--A luncheon-party in the
air--The salt lick--Discovery of a coal mine--A
monkey's parliament--The jungle by night 83
CHAPTER VI
ROGUES OF THE FOREST
The lord of the forest--Wild elephants in India--_Kheddah_
operations in the Terai--How rogues are made--Rogues
attack villages--Highway robbers--Assault on a railway
station--A police convoy--A poacher's death--Chasing an
officer--My first encounter with a rogue--Stopping a
charge--Difficulty of killing an elephant--The law on
rogue shooting--A Government gazette--A tame elephant
shot by the Maharajah of Cooch Behar--Executing an
elephant--A chance shot--A planter's escape--Attack on
a tame elephant--The _mahout's_ peril--Jhansi's
wounds--Changes among the officers in Buxa--A Gurkha's
terrible death--The beginner's luck--Indian and Malayan
_sambhur_--A shot out of season--A fruitless
search--Jhansi's flight--A scout attacked by a
bear--Advertising for a truant--The agony
column--Runaway elephants--A fatal fraud--Jhansi's
return 104
CHAPTER VII
A FIGHT WITH AN ELEPHANT
We sight a rogue--A sudden onslaught--A wild elephant's
attack--Shooting under difficulties--Stopping a
rush--Repeated attacks--An invulnerable foe--Darkness
stops the pursuit--A council of war--Picking up the
trail--A _muckna_--A female elephant--Photographing a
lady--A good sitter--A stampede--A gallant
Rajput--Attacking on foot--A hazardous feat--A narrow
escape--Final charge--A bivouac in the forest--Dangers
of the night--A long chase--Planter
hospitality--Another stampede--A career of
crime--Eternal hope--A king-cobra--Abandoning the
pursuit--An unrepentant villain--In the moment of
danger 124
CHAPTER VIII
IN TIGER LAND
The tiger in India--His reputation--Wounded
tigers--Man-eaters--Game killers and cattle thieves--A
tiger's residence--Chance meetings--Methods of tiger
hunting--Beating with elephants--Sitting up--A
sportsman's patience--The charm of a night watch--A
cautious beast--A night over a kill--An unexpected
visitor--A tantalising tiger--A tiger at Asirgarh--A
chance shot--Buffaloes as trackers--Panthers--The wrong
prey--A beat for tiger--The Colonel wounds a tiger--A
night march--An elusive quarry--A successful beat--A
watery grave--Skinning a tiger 141
CHAPTER IX
A FOREST MARCH
Reasons for showing the flag--Soldierless Bengal--Planning
the march--Difficulties of transport--The first day's
march--Sepoys in the jungle--The water-creeper--The
commander loses his men--The bivouac at
Rajabhatkawa--Alipur Duar--A small Indian
Station--Long-delayed pay--The Subdivisional Officer--A
_dak_ bungalow--The sub-judge--Brahmin pharisees--The
_nautch_--A dusty march--Santals--A mission
settlement--Crossing a river--Rafts--A bivouac in a tea
garden--A dinner-party in an 80-lb. tent--Bears at
night--A daring tiger--Chasing a tiger on elephants--In
the forest again--A fickle river--A strange animal--The
Maharajah of Cooch Behar's experiment--A scare and a
disappointment--Across the Raidak--A woman killed by a
bear--A planters' club--Hospitality in the jungle--The
zareba--Impromptu sports--The Alarm Stakes--The raft
race--Hathipota--Jainti 174
CHAPTER X
THROUGH FIRE AND WATER
India in the hot weather--A land of torment--The
drought--Forest fires--The cholera huts
burned--Fighting the flames--Death of a sepoy--The bond
between British officers and their men--The sepoy's
funeral--A fortnight's vigil--Saving the Station--The
hills ablaze--A sublime spectacle--The devastated
forest--Fallen leaves on fire--Our elephants'
peril--Saving the zareba--A beat for game in the
jungle--Trying to catch a wild elephant--A moonlight
ramble--We meet a bear--The burst of the Monsoons--A
dull existence--Three hundred inches of rain--The
monotony of thunderstorms--A changed
world--Leeches--Monster hailstones--Surveyors caught in
a storm--A brink in the Rains--The revived
jungle--Useless lightning-conductors--The Monsoon
again--The loneliness of Buxa 196
CHAPTER XI
IN THE PALACE OF THE MAHARAJAH
The Durbar--Outside the palace--The State elephants--The
soldiery--The Durbar Hall--Officials and gentry of the
State--The throne--Queen Victoria's banner--The hidden
ladies--_Purdah nashin_--Arrival of the _Dewan_--The
Maharajah's entry--The Sons' Salute--A chivalrous
Indian custom--_Nuzzurs_--The Dewan's task--The
Maharani--An Indian reformer--_Bramo Samaj_--Pretty
princesses--An informal banquet--The _nautch_--A
moonlight ride--The Maharajah--A soldier and a
sportsman--Cooch Behar--The palace--A dinner-party--The
heir's birthday celebrations--Schoolboys'
sports--Indian amateur theatricals--An evening in the
palace--A panther-drive--Exciting sport--Death of the
panther--Partridge shooting on elephants--A stray
rhinoceros--Prince Jit's luck--Friendly intercourse
between Indians and Englishmen--An unjust complaint 213
CHAPTER XII
A MILITARY TRAGEDY
In the Mess--A gloomy conversation--Murder in the army--A
gallant officer--Running amuck on a rifle-range--"Was
that a shot?"--The alarm--The native officer's
report--The "fall in"--A dying man--A search round the
fort--A narrow escape--The flight--Search parties--The
inquiry into the crime--A fifty miles' cordon--An
unexpected visit--Havildar Ranjit Singh on the trail--A
night march through the forest--A fearsome ride--The
lost detachment--An early start--The ferry--The
prisoner--A well-planned capture--The prisoner's
story--The march to Hathipota--Return to the fort--A
well-guarded captive--A weary wait--A journey to
Calcutta--The escort--Excitement among the passengers
on the steamer--American globe-trotters--The court
martial--A callous criminal--Appeal to the
Viceroy--Sentence of death--The execution 232
CHAPTER XIII
IN AN INDIAN HILL STATION
To Darjeeling--Railway journeys in India--Protection for
solitary ladies--Reappearing rivers--Siliguri--At the
foot of the Himalayas--A mountain railway--Through the
jungle--Looping the loop--View of the
Plains--Darjeeling--Civilisation seven thousand feet
high--Varied types--View from the Chaurasta--White
workers in India--Life in Hill
Stations--Lieutenant-Governors--A "dull time" in
Darjeeling--The bazaar--Types of hill
races--Turquoises--Tiger-skins for tourists--The
Amusement Club--The Everlasting
Snows--Kinchinjunga--The bachelors' ball--A Government
House ball--The marriage-market value of Indian
civilians--Less demand for military
men--Theatricals--Lebong Races--Picturesque
race-goers--Ladies in India--Husband hunters--The empty
life of an Englishwoman--The dangers of Hill
Stations--A wife four months in the year--The hills
_taboo_ for the subaltern--Back to Buxa 262
CHAPTER XIV
A JUNGLE FORT
I decide on Fort Bower--Felling trees--A big
python--Clearing the jungle--Laying out the
post--Stockades and _Sungars_--The bastions--_Panjis_
and _abattis_--The huts--Jungle materials--Ingenious
craftsmen--The furniture--Sentry-posts--Alarm
signals--The _machicoulis_ gallery--Booby-traps--The
water-lifter--The hospital--Chloroforming a
monkey--Jungle dogs--An extraordinary shot--An unlucky
deer--A meeting with a panther--The alarm--Sohanpal
Singh and the tiger--Turning out to the rescue--The
General's arrival--Closed gates--The inspection--The
"Bower" and the "'Ump"--Flares and bombs--The General's
praise--Night firing--A Christmas camp 280
CHAPTER XV
FAREWELL TO THE HILLS
The Proclamation Parade--An unsteady charger--"Three cheers
for the King-Emperor!"--The Indian Army's loyalty--King
George and the sepoys--A land held by the sword--An
American Cavalry officer's visit--Hospitality of
American officers--Killing by kindness--The brotherhood
of soldiers--The bond between American and British
troops sealed by blood--U.S. officers' opinion of us--A
roaring tiger--Prince Jitendra Narayen--His visit to
Buxa--An intoxicated monkey--Projected visits--A road
report--A sketch fourteen feet long--The
start--Jalpaiguri--A planters' dinner-party--Crossing
the Tista River--A quicksand--A narrow
escape--Map-making in the army--In the China War of
1860--Officers' sketches used for the Canton Railway
survey--The country south of the hills--A sepoy's
explanation of Kinchinjunga--A native officer's theory
of the cause of earthquakes--Types on the road--After
the day's work--A man-eater--A brave postman--Human
beings killed by wild animals and snakes in
India--Crocodiles--Shooting a monster--Crocodiles on
land--Crossing the Torsa--Value of small
detachments--The maligned military officer--A life of
examinations--The man-killing elephant again--Death of
a Bhuttia woman--Ordered home--A last good-bye to a
comrade--Captain Balderston's death--A last view of the
hills 296
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
After the Proclamation Parade _Frontispiece_
Buxa Duar _To face page_ 16
"The fort was built on a knoll" " 16
Rajput sepoys cooking " 24
British and Indian officers " 24
My double company " 28
My bachelor establishment " 28
A kneeling elephant " 36
"The ladies of the hamlet came forward" " 54
Bhuttia drummers " 54
Chunabatti " 56
"From my doorstep I watched them coming
down the hill" " 66
The Deb Zimpun's prisoners " 66
The Durbar in Buxa " 74
A _sambhur_ stag and my elephant " 90
Bringing home the bag " 90
Forest Lodge the First " 100
Forest Lodge the Second " 100
"The _mahout_ was holding up the head" " 110
Subhedar Sohanpal Singh " 128
"We saw another elephant" " 130
The tiger's Lying in state " 172
The tiger's last home " 172
"My sepoys drilling" " 178
Buglers and non-commissioned officers of
my detachment " 178
The walled face of Fort Bower over the
river " 282
The stockade and ditch of Fort Bower " 282
The gate with wicket open and drawbridge
lowered " 286
Captain Balderston inside the stockade " 286
Bringing home the General's dinner " 290
"I was mounted on a country bred pony" " 296
"An elephant loaded with my stores and
baggage" " 296
LIFE IN AN INDIAN OUTPOST
CHAPTER I
A FRONTIER POST
Our first view of the Himalayas--Across India in a troop
train--A scattered regiment--An elephant-haunted
railway--Kinchinjunga--The great Terai
Jungle--Rajabhatkawa--In the days of Warren
Hastings--Hillmen--Roving Chinese--We arrive at Buxa
Road--Relieved officers--An undesirable outpost--March
through the forest--The hills--A mountain road--Lovely
scenery--Buxa Duar--A lonely Station--The labours of an
Indian Army officer--Varied work--The frontier of
Bhutan--A gate of India--A Himalayan paradise--The
fort--Intrusive monkeys--The cantonment--The Picquet
Towers--The bazaar--The cemetery--Forgotten
graves--Tragedies of loneliness--From Bhutan to the
sea.
Against the blue sky to the north lay a dark blur that, as our troop
train ran on through the level plains of Eastern Bengal, rose ever
higher and took shape--the distant line of the Himalayas. Around us the
restful though tame scenery of the little Cooch Behar State. The
chess-board pattern of mud-banked rice fields, long groves of the
graceful feathery bamboo, here and there a tiny hamlet of palm-thatched
huts--on their low roofs great sprawling green creepers with white
blotches that look like skulls but are only ripe melons. But the dark
outlines of the distant mountains drew my gaze and brought the heads of
my sepoys out of the carriage windows to stare at them.
For somewhere on the face of those hills was Buxa Duar, the little fort
that was to be our home for the next two years.
For four days my detachment of two hundred men of the 120th Rajputana
Infantry had been whirled across India from west to east towards it.
From Baroda we had come--Baroda with its military cantonment set in an
English-like park, its vast native city with the gaily painted houses
and narrow streets where the Gaikwar's Cavalry rode with laced jackets
and slung pelisses like the Hussars of old, and his sentries mounted
guard over gold and silver cannons in a dingy backyard. Where in low
rooms, set out in glass cases, as in a cheap draper's shop, were the
famous pearl-embroidered carpets and gorgeous jewels of the State, worth
a king's ransom.
Four days of travel over the plains of India with their closely
cultivated fields, mud-walled villages, stony hills and stretches of
scrub jungle, where an occasional jackal slunk away from the train or an
antelope paused in its bounding flight to look back at the strange iron
monster. Across the sacred Ganges where Allahabad lies at its junction
with the River Jumna. The regiment was on its way to garrison widely
separated posts in outlying parts of the Indian Empire and neighbouring
countries. Two companies had already gone to be divided between Chumbi
in Tibet and Gantok in the dependent State of Sikkim, and to furnish the
guard to our Agent at Gyantse.
The month was December; and they had started in August to cross the
sixteen-thousand-feet high passes in the Himalayas before the winter
snows blocked them. The regimental headquarters, with four companies,
was on its way to embark on the steamers which would convey them a
fourteen days' journey on the giant rivers Ganges and Brahmaputra to
Dibrugarh and Sadiya in Assam.
At Benares my two companies had parted from the rest and entered another
troop train which carried us into Eastern Bengal.
Every day for three or four hours our trains had halted at some little
wayside station to enable the men to get out, make their cooking-places,
and prepare their food for the day. The previous night my detachment had
detrained at Gitaldaha, where we had to change again on to a narrow
gauge railway, two feet six inches in width, which would take us through
Cooch Behar to our destination. The railway officials informed me that
we must stay in the station all night, as the trains on this line ran
only by daylight. I asked the reason of this.
"They cannot go by night on account of the wild animals," was the reply.
"The wild animals?" I echoed in surprise.
"Yes; the line runs through a forest, the Terai Jungle, full of
elephants and bison. Three months ago one of our engines was derailed by
a wild elephant and the driver badly injured. And not long before that
another rogue elephant held up a station on the line, stopped a train,
blockaded the officials in the buildings, and broke a tusk trying to
root up the platform."
And when daylight dawned and I could see the toy engine and carriages, I
was not surprised at the fear of encountering an elephant on the line.
Now on our fifth day of travel we were nearing the end of the journey.
We had passed the capital of Cooch Behar and were approaching Alipur
Duar, the last station before the Terai Forest is reached. Suddenly,
high in the air above the now distinct line of hills, stood out in the
brilliant sunlight the white crest and snowy peaks of Kinchinjunga,
twenty-eight thousand feet high, and nearly one hundred and twenty miles
away. Past Alipur Duar, and then hills and snow-clad summits were lost
to sight as our little train plunged from the sunny plain into the deep
shadows of the famous Terai Forest--the wonderful jungle that stretches
east and west along the foot of the Himalayas, and clothes their lowest
<DW72>s. In whose recesses roam the wild elephant, the rhinoceros and the
bison, true lords of the woods; where deadlier foes to man than these,
malaria and blackwater fever hold sway and lay low the mightiest hunter
before the Lord. And standing on the back platform of our tiny carriage
my subaltern and I strove to pierce its gloomy depths, half hoping to
see the giant bulk of a wild elephant or a rhinoceros. But nothing met
our gaze save the great orchid-clad trees, the graceful fronds of
monster ferns, and the dense undergrowth that would deny a passage to
anything less powerful than bisons or elephants.
In a sudden clearing in the heart of the forest, the train stopped at a
small station near which stood a few bamboo huts and a gaunt,
two-storied wooden house in which, we afterwards learned, an English
forest officer lived his lonely life. The place was called Rajabhatkawa,
which in the vernacular means, "The Rajah ate his food." It was so named
because, nearly one hundred and thirty years before, in the days of
Warren Hastings, a Rajah of Cooch Behar ate his first meal there after
his release from captivity among the hill tribesmen of Bhutan who had
carried him away into their mountain fastnesses. They had released him
at the urgent instance of a British captain and two hundred sepoys who
had followed them up and captured three of their forts.
Among the crowd of natives on the platform at this station were several
of various hill races, Bhuttias and Gurkhas, with the small eyes and
flat nose of the Mongolian. I was surprised to see two Chinamen in blue
linen suits and straw hats, fanning themselves and smoking cigarettes,
as much at home as if they were on the Bund in Shanghai or in Queen's
Road in Hong Kong. But later on I learned that Rajabhatkawa led to
several tea gardens, where Chinese carpenters are always welcome. These
men are generally from Canton, the inhabitants of which city emigrate
freely. I have met them in Calcutta, Penang, Singapore, Manila, and San
Francisco.
On again through the jungle our train passed for another eight miles,
and then drew up at a small station of one low, stone building with a
nameboard nearly as big as itself, which bore the words "Buxa Road." It
stood in a little clearing in the forest, where the ground was piled
high with felled trees, ready to be dispatched to Calcutta. This was the
end of our railway journey.
The sepoys tumbled eagerly out of the train, threw their rolls of
bedding out of the compartments, fell in on the platform and piled arms,
and then turned to with a will to unload the heavy baggage from the
brake-vans. A number of tall, bearded Mohammedans, men of the detachment
of the Punjabi Regiment we were replacing, were at the station. Their
major came forward to welcome me, and expressed his extreme pleasure in
meeting the man who was to relieve him and enable him to quit a most
undesirable place.
This was a blow to me; for I had pictured life in this little outpost as
an ideal existence in a sportsman's paradise.
"What? Don't you like Buxa Duar?" I asked in surprise.
"Like it?" he exclaimed vehemently. "Most certainly not. In my time I
have been stationed in some poisonous places in Upper Burmah, when I was
in the Military Police; but the worst of them was heaven to Buxa."
I gasped with horror. "Is it as bad as all that? How long have you been
here?"
"Three weeks," replied the major; "and that was three weeks too long.
Before you have been here a fortnight you will be praying to all your
gods to take you anywhere else."
This was pleasant. The subaltern of the Punjabis now came up and was
introduced to me. He had been six months in Buxa; and _his_ opinion of
it was too lurid to print. My subaltern, who had been superintending the
unloading of the baggage, joined us and in his turn was regaled with
these cheering criticisms of our new home. His face fell; for, like me,
he had been looking forward eagerly to being quartered in this little
outpost, where, we had been told, the sport was excellent. Fortunately
men's tastes differ; and after eighteen months' experience of this
much-abused Buxa, I liked it better than any other place I have ever
served in in all my soldiering.
I learned from our new friends that the fort was six miles from the
railway and fifteen hundred feet above it; so I inquired for the
transport to convey our baggage there.
Before leaving Baroda the quartermaster of our regiment had written to
the nearest civil official of the district, requesting him to provide me
with a hundred coolies for the purpose. There were also, I knew, three
Government transport elephants in charge of the detachment | 274.356574 |
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THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO
by
ANTHONY HOPE
Author of The Prisoner of Zenda, etc.
With Photogravure Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1895
Copyright, 1895,
By Anthony Hope.
Copyright, 1895,
By D. Appleton and Company.
_TO THE HONOURABLE SIR HENRY HAWKINS._
_MY DEAR SIR HENRY_:
_It gives me very great pleasure to be allowed to dedicate this book
to you. I hope you will accept it as a token of thanks for much
kindness, of your former Marshal's pleasant memory of his service,
and of sincere respect for a clear-sighted, firm, and compassionate
Judge._
_Your affectionate cousin,_
_A. H. H._
_London, August, 1895._
[Illustration: _Behold! She is free._ (Chapter V.)]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--HOW COUNT ANTONIO TOOK TO THE HILLS 1
II.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE TRAITOR PRINCE 39
III.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE PRINCE OF MANTIVOGLIA 71
IV.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE WIZARD'S DRUG 116
V.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE SACRED BONES 158
VI.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE HERMIT OF THE VAULT 202
VII.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE LADY OF RILANO 245
VIII.--THE MANNER OF COUNT ANTONIO'S RETURN 290
THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO.
CHAPTER I.
HOW COUNT ANTONIO TOOK TO THE HILLS.
Countless are the stories told of the sayings that Count Antonio spoke
and of the deeds that he did when he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. For
tales and legends gather round his name thick as the berries hang on a
bush, and with the passage of every succeeding year it grows harder to
discern where truth lies and where the love of wonder, working together
with the sway of a great man's memory, has wrought the embroidery of its
fancy on the plain robe of fact. Yet, amid all that is of uncertain
knowledge and so must rest, this much at least should be known and
remembered for the honour of a noble family, how it fell out that Count
Antonio, a man of high lineage, forsook the service of his Prince,
disdained the obligation of his rank, set law at naught, and did what
seemed indeed in his own eyes to be good but was held by many to be
nothing other than the work of a rebel and a brigand. Yet, although it
is by these names that men often speak of him, they love his memory; and
I also, Ambrose the Franciscan, having gathered diligently all that I
could come by in the archives of the city or from the lips of aged folk,
have learned to love it in some sort. Thus I am minded to write, before
the time that I must carry what I know with me to the grave, the full
and whole truth concerning Antonio's flight from the city and the Court,
seeking in my heart, as I write, excuse for him, and finding in the
record, if little else, yet a tale that lovers must read in pride and
sorrow, and, if this be not too high a hope, that princes may study for
profit and for warning.
Now it was in the tenth year of the reign of Duke Valentine over the
city of Firmola, its territories and dependent towns, that Count Antonio
of Monte Velluto--having with him a youthful cousin of his, whom he
loved greatly, and whom, by reason of his small stature and of a boyish
gaiety he had, men called Tommasino--came from his own house on the hill
that fronts the great gate of the city, to the palace of the Duke, with
intent to ask His Highness's sanction for his marriage with the Lady
Lucia. This lady, being then seventeen years of age, loved Antonio, and
he her, and troth had been privily plighted between them for many
months; and such was the strength and power of the love they bore the
one to the other, that even to this day the old mock at young lovers who
show themselves overfond, crying, "'Tis Lucia and Antonio!"
But since the Lady Lucia was an orphan, Antonio came now to the Duke,
who enjoyed ward-ship over her, and setting out his passion and how that
his estate was sufficient and his family such as the Duke knew, prayed
leave of His Highness to wed her. But the Duke, a crafty and subtle
prince, knowing Antonio's temper and the favour in which he was held by
the people, counted not to augment his state and revenues by the gift of
a bride so richly dowered, but chose rather to give her to a favourite
of his, a man in whose devotion he could surely trust and whose
disposition was to serve his master in all things fair and foul, open or
secret. Such an one the Duke found in the Lord Robert de Beauregard, a
gentleman of Provence, who had quitted his own country, having been
drawn into some tumult there, and, having taken service with the Duke,
had risen to a great place in his esteem and confidence. Therefore, when
Antonio preferred his request, the Duke, with many a courteous regretful
phrase, made him aware that the lady stood promised to Robert by the
irrevocable sanctity of his princely pledge.
"So forget, I pray you, my good cousin Antonio," said he, "forget, as
young men lightly can, this desire of yours, and it shall be my charge
to find you a bride full as fair as the Lady Lucia."
But Antonio's face went red from brow to chin, as he answered: "My
gracious lord, I love the lady, and she me, and neither can wed another.
As for my Lord Robert, your Highness knows well that she loves him not."
"A girl's love!" smiled the Duke. "A girl's love! It rains and shines,
and shines and rains, Antonio."
"It has shone on me since she knew a man when she looked on him," said
Antonio.
And Tommasino, who stood by, recking as little of the Duke as of the
Duke's deerhound which he was patting the while, broke in, saying
carelessly, "And this Robert, my lord, is not the man for a pretty girl
to love. He is a sour fellow."
"I thank you for your counsel, my lord Tommasino," smiled the Duke. "Yet
I love him." Whereat Tommasino lifted his brows and patted the hound
again. "It is enough," added the Duke. "I have promised, Antonio. It is
enough."
"Yes, it is enough," said Antonio; and he and Tommasino, having bowed
low, withdrew from the presence of the Duke. But when he got clear
outside of the Duke's cabinet, Antonio laid his hand on Tommasino's
shoulder, saying, "It is not well that Robert have her."
"It is mighty ill," said Tommasino.
And then they walked in silence to the city gate, and, in silence
still, climbed the rugged hill where Antonio's house stood.
But the Duke sent for Robert de Beauregard into his cabinet and said to
him: "If you be wise, friend Robert, little grass shall grow under your
feet this side your marriage. This Antonio says not much; but I have
known him outrun his tongue with deeds."
"If the lady were as eager as I, the matter would not halt," said Robert
with a laugh. "But she weeps and spits fire at me, and cries for
Antonio."
"She will be cured after the wedding," said the Duke. "But see that she
be well guarded, Robert; let a company of your men watch her. I have
known the bride to be missing on a marriage day ere now."
"If he can touch her, he may wed her," cried Robert. "The pikemen are
close about her house, and she can neither go in nor come forth without
their knowledge."
"It is well," said the Duke. "Yet delay not. They are stubborn men,
these Counts of Monte Velluto."
Now had the Lady Lucia been of a spirit as haughty as her lover's, it
may be that she would have refused to wed Robert de Beauregard. But she
was afraid. When Antonio was with her, she had clung to him, and he
loved her the more for her timidity. With him gone and forbidden to come
near her, she dared not resist the Duke's will nor brave his
displeasure; so that a week before the day which the Duke had appointed
for the wedding, she sent to Antonio, bidding him abandon a hope that
was vain and set himself to forget a most unhappy lady.
"Robert shall not have her," said Antonio, putting the letter in his
belt.
"Then the time is short," said Tommasino.
They were walking together on the terrace before Antonio's house, whence
they looked on the city across the river. Antonio cast his eye on the
river and on the wall of the Duke's garden that ran along it; fair
trees, shrubs, and flowers lined the top of the wall, and the water
gleamed in the sunshine.
"It is strange," said Antonio, musing, "that one maiden can darken for a
man all the world that God lights with his sun. Yet since so it is,
Tommasino, a man can be but a man; and being a man, he is a poor man, if
he stand by while another takes his love."
"And that other a stranger, and, as I swear, a cut-throat," added
Tommasino.
When they had dined and evening began to come on, Antonio made his
servants saddle the best horses in his stable--though, indeed, the
choice was small, for Antonio was not rich as a man of his rank counts
riches--and the two rode down the hill towards the city. But, as they
went, Antonio turned once and again in his saddle and gazed long at the
old gray house, the round tower, and the narrow gate.
"Why look behind, and not forward?" asked Tommasino.
"Because there is a foreboding in me," answered Antonio, "that it will
be long before that gate again I pass through. Were there a hope of
persu | 274.361189 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=0nrlugEACAAJ
(the Bavarian State Library)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1270.
WITHIN THE MAZE BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WITHIN THE MAZE.
A NOVEL.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," ETC | 274.454386 |
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Produced by David Kline, David Cortesi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note: in this pure-ASCII edition, a small number of
non-ASCII characters have been encoded as follows: ['e] and [`e]
for accented E; [^e] and [^o] for E and O with circumflex; and
[:i] for I with an ulaut.
['E]dition d'['E]lite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors,"
"Tales from the Dramatists," etc.
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume I
American
I
J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1893, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1904, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE.]
PREFACE.
It has become a commonplace remark that fact is often
stranger than fiction. It may be said, as a variant of this,
that history is often more romantic than romance. The pages
of the record of man's doings are frequently illustrated by
entertaining and striking incidents, relief points in the
dull monotony of every-day events, stories fitted to rouse
the reader from languid weariness and stir anew in his veins
the pulse of interest in human life. There are many
such,--dramas on the stage of history, life scenes that are
pictures in action, tales pathetic, stirring, enlivening,
full of the element of the unusual, of the stuff the novel
and the romance are made of, yet with the advantage of being
actual fact. Incidents of this kind have proved as
attractive to writers as to readers. They have dwelt upon
them lovingly, embellished them with the charms of rhetoric
and occasionally with the inventions of fancy, until what
began as fact has often entered far into the domains of
legend and fiction. It may well be that some of the
narratives in the present work have gone through this
process. If so, it is simply indicative of the interest
they have awakened in generations of readers and writers.
But the bulk of them are fact, so far as history in general
can be called fact, it having been our design to cull from
the annals of the nations some of their more stirring and
romantic incidents, and present them as a gallery of
pictures that might serve to adorn the entrance to the
temple of history, of which this work is offered as in some
sense an illuminated ante-chamber. As such, it is hoped that
some pilgrims from the world of readers may find it a
pleasant halting-place on their way into the far-extending
aisles of the great temple beyond.
CONTENTS
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS 9
FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 26
CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS 34
SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP 53
THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES 69
HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED 80
HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA 90
THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS 98
SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM 111
A GALLANT DEFENCE 128
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY 138
PAUL'S REVERE'S RIDE 157
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 172
THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK 180
A QUAKERESS PATRIOT 189
THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER 195
ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR 211
MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX 223
THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA 237
THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR 249
HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED 259
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC 275
STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE 285
AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON 298
THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE 314
ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES 327
HOW HAWAII LOST ITS QUEEN AND ENTERED THE UNITED STATES 338
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME I.
WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. _Frontispiece._
VIKING SHIPS AT SEA. 11
LAKE CHAMPLAIN AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 41
POND ISLAND, MOUTH OF THE KENNEBEC. 54
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES. 76
THE CHARTER OAK, HARTFORD. 85
PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHEN A BOY. 90
WASHINGTON'S HOME AT MT. VERNON. 98
SHORE OF LAKE GEORGE. 118
INDIAN ATTACK AND GALLANT DEFENCE. 128
THE OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 158
THE SPIRIT OF '76. 166
ETHAN ALLEN'S ENTRANCE, TICONDEROGA. 172
THE OLD STATE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 191
THE BENEDICT ARNOLD MANSION. 220
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 280
LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND. 298
SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 319
MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA. 328
A NATIVE GRASS HUT, HAWAII. 340
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS.
The year 1000 A.D. was one of strange history. Its advent
threw the people of Europe into a state of mortal terror.
Ten centuries had passed since the birth of Christ. The
world was about to come to an end. Such was the general
belief. How it was to reach its end,--whether by fire,
water, or some other agent of ruin,--the prophets of
disaster did not say, nor did people trouble themselves to
learn. Destruction was coming upon them, that was enough to
know; how to provide against it was the one thing to be
considered.
Some hastened to the churches; others to the taverns. Here
prayers went up; there wine went down. The petitions of the
pious were matched by the ribaldry of the profligate. Some
made their wills; others wasted their wealth in revelry,
eager to get all the pleasure out of life that remained for
them. Many freely gave away their property, hoping, by
ridding themselves of the goods of this earth, to establish
a claim to the goods of Heaven, with little regard to the
fate of those whom they loaded with their discarded wealth.
It was an era of ignorance and superstition. Christendom
went insane over an idea. When the year ended, and the world
rolled on, none the worse for conflagration or deluge, green
with the spring leafage and ripe with the works of man,
dismay gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer,
man regained their flown wits, and those who had so
recklessly given away their wealth bethought themselves of
taking legal measures for its recovery.
Such was one of the events that made that year memorable.
There was another of a highly different character. Instead
of a world being lost, a world was found. The Old World not
only remained unharmed, but a New World was added to it, a
world beyond the seas, for this was the year in which the
foot of the European was first set upon the shores of the
trans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this first
discovery of America that we have now to tell.
In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far away from
fear-haunted Europe, a scene was being enacted of a very
different character from that just described. Over the
waters of unknown seas a small, strange craft boldly made
its way, manned by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorous
men, driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollen
texture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, which
seemed at times as if they would drive that deckless vessel
bodily beneath the waves.
This crew was of men to whom fear was almost unknown, the
stalwart Vikings of the North, whose oar-and sail-driven
barks now set out from the coasts of Norway and Denmark to
ravage the shores of southern Europe, now turned their prows
boldly to the west in search of unknown lands afar.
Shall we describe this craft? It was a tiny one in which to
venture upon an untravelled ocean in search of an unknown
continent,--a vessel shaped somewhat like a strung bow,
scarcely fifty feet in length, low amidships and curving
upwards to high peaks at stem and stern, both of which
converged to sharp edges. It resembled an enormous canoe
rather than aught else to which we can compare it. On the
stem was a carved and gilt dragon, the figurehead of the
ship, which glittered in the bright rays of the sun. Along
the bulwarks of the ship, fore and aft, hung rows of large
painted wooden shields, which gave an Argus-eyed aspect to
the craft. Between them was a double row of thole-pins for
the great oars, which now lay at rest in the bottom of the
boat, but by which, in calm weather, this "walker of the
seas" could be forced swiftly through the yielding element.
[Illustration: VIKING SHIPS AT SEA.]
Near the stern, on an elevated platform, stood the
commander, a man of large and powerful frame and imposing
aspect, one whose commands not the fiercest of his crew
would lightly venture to disobey. A coat of ring-mail
encircled his stalwart frame; by his side, in a
richly-embossed scabbard, hung a long sword, with hilt of
gilded bronze; on his head was a helmet that shone like pure
gold, shaped like a wolf's head, with gaping jaws and
threatening teeth. Land was in sight, an unknown coast,
peopled perhaps by warlike men. The cautious Viking leader
deemed it wise to be prepared for danger, and was armed for
possible combat.
Below him, on the rowing-benches, sat his hardy crew, their
arms--spears, axes, bows, and slings--beside them, ready
for any deed of daring they might be called upon to perform.
Their dress consisted of trousers of coarse stuff, belted at
the waist; thick woollen shirts, blue, red, or brown in
color; iron helmets, beneath which their long hair streamed
down to their shoulders; and a shoulder belt descending to
the waist and supporting their leather-covered
sword-scabbards. Heavy whiskers and moustaches added to the
fierceness of their stern faces, and many | 274.564049 |
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Distributed Proofreaders
THE LOST AMBASSADOR
OR,
THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING DELORA
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE," "THE MISSIONER,"
"JEANNE OF THE MARSHES," ETC.
With Illustrations in Color by
HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
BOSTON LITTLE,
BROWN, AND COMPANY
1910
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A RENCONTRE
II. A CAFE IN PARIS
III. DELORA
IV. DANGEROUS PLAY
V. SATISFACTION
VI. AN INFORMAL TRIBUNAL
VII. A DOUBLE ASSIGNATION
VIII. LOUIS INSISTS
IX. A TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCE
X. DELORA DISAPPEARS
XI. THROUGH THE TELEPHONE
XII. FELICIA DELORA
XIII. LOUIS, MAITRE D'HOTEL
XIV. LOUIS EXPLAINS
XV. A DANGEROUS IMPERSONATION
XVI. TWO OF A TRADE
XVII. A VERY SPECIAL DINNER
XVIII. CONTRASTS
XIX. WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
XX. A TERRIBLE NIGHT
XXI. A CHANGE OF PLANS
XXII. FORMAL CALL
XXIII. FELICIA
XXIV. A TANTALIZING GLIMPSE
XXV. PRIVATE AND DIPLOMATIC
XXVI. NEARLY
XXVII. WAR
XXVIII. CHECK
XXIX. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW
XXX. TO NEWCASTLE BY ROAD
XXXI. AN INTERESTING DAY
XXXII. A PROPOSAL
XXXIII. FELICIA HESITATES
XXXIV. AN APPOINTMENT WITH DELORA
XXXV. A NARROW ESCAPE
XXXVI. AN ABORTIVE ATTEMPT
XXXVII. DELORA RETURNS
XXXVIII. AT BAY
XXXIX. THE UNEXPECTED
ILLUSTRATIONS
"If monsieur is ready," he suggested, "perhaps
we had better go" Frontispiece
She took up a magazine and turned away
with a shrug of the shoulders Page 66
"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed " 135
I raised her fingers to my lips, and I smiled
into her face " 275
THE LOST AMBASSADOR
CHAPTER I
A RENCONTRE
There was no particular reason why, after having left the Opera House,
I should have retraced my steps and taken my place once more amongst
the throng of people who stood about in the _entresol_, exchanging
greetings and waiting for their carriages. A backward glance as I had
been about to turn into the Place de l'Opera had arrested my somewhat
hurried departure. The night was young, and where else was such a
sight to be seen? Besides, was it not amongst some such throng as this
that the end of my search might come?
I took up my place just inside, close to one of the pillars, and, with
an unlit cigarette still in my mouth, watched the flying
_chausseurs_, the medley of vehicles outside, the soft flow of
women in their white opera cloaks and jewels, who with their escorts
came streaming down the stairs and out of the great building, to enter
the waiting carriages and motor-cars drawn up in the privileged space
within the enclosure, or stretching right down into the Boulevard. I
stood there, watching them drive off one by one. I was borne a little
nearer to the door by the rush of people, and I was able, in most
cases, to hear the directions of the men as they followed their
womankind into the waiting vehicles. In nearly every case their
destination was one of the famous restaurants. Music begets hunger in
most capitals, and the cafes of Paris are never so full as after a
great night at the Opera. To-night there had been a wonderful
performance. The flow of people down the stairs seemed interminable.
Young women and old,--sleepy-looking beauties of the Southern type,
whose dark eyes seemed half closed with a languor partly passionate,
partly of pride; women of the truer French type,--brilliant, smiling,
vivacious, mostly pale, seldom good-looking, always attractive. A few
Germans, a fair sprinkling of Englishwomen, and a larger proportion
still of Americans, whose women were the best dressed of the whole
company. I was not sorry that I had returned. It was worth watching,
this endless stream of varying types.
Towards the end there came out two people who were becoming almost
familiar figures to me. The man was one of those whose nationality was
not so easily surmised. He was tall and thin, with iron-gray hair,
complexion so sallow as to be almost yellow, black moustache and
imperial, handsome in his way, distinguished, indescribable. By his
side was a girl who had the air of wearing her first long skirt, whose
hair was arranged in somewhat juvenile fashion, and whose dark eyes
were still glowing with the joy of the music. Her figure, though very
slim, was delightful, and she walked as though her feet touched the
clouds. Her laugh, which I heard distinctly as she brushed by me only
a few feet away, was like music. Of all the people who had passed me,
or whom I had come across during my fortnight's stay in Paris, there
was no one half so attractive. The girl was absolutely charming; the
man, remarkable not only in himself, but for a certain air of
repressed emotion, which, while it robbed his features of the dignity
of repose, was still, in a way, fascinating. They entered a waiting
motor-car splendidly appointed, and I heard the man tell the tall,
liveried footman to drive to the Ritz. I leaned forward a little
eagerly as they went. I watched the car glide off and disappear,
watched it until it was out of sight, and afterwards, even, watched
the spot where it had vanished. Then, with a little sigh, I turned
back once more into the great hall. There seemed to be no one left
now of any interest. The women had become ordinary, the men
impossible. With a little sigh I too aimlessly descended the steps,
and stood for a moment uncertain which way to turn.
"Monsieur is looking for a light?" a quiet voice said in my ear.
I turned, and found myself confronted by a Frenchman, who had also
just issued from the building and was himself lighting a cigarette. He
was clean-shaven and pale, so pale that his complexion was almost
olive. He had soft, curious-looking eyes. He was of medium height,
dark, correctly dressed according to the fashion of his country,
although his tie was black and his studs of unusual size. Something
about his face struck me from the first as familiar, but for the
moment I could not recall having seen him before.
"Thank you very much," I answered, accepting the match which he
offered.
The night was clear, and breathlessly still. The full yellow moon was
shining in an absolutely cloudless sky. The match--an English wax
one, by the way--burned without a flicker. I lit my cigarette, and
turning around found my companion still standing by my side.
"Monsieur does not do me the honor to recollect me," he remarked, with
a faint smile.
I looked at him steadfastly.
"I am sorry," I said. "Your face is perfectly familiar to me, and
yet--No, by Jove, I have it!" I broke off, with a little laugh. "It's
Louis, isn't it, from the Milan?"
"Monsieur's memory has soon returned," he answered, smiling. "I have
been chief _maitre d'hotel_ in the cafe there for some years. The
last time I had the honor of serving monsieur there was only a few
weeks ago."
I remembered him perfectly now. I remembered, even, the occasion of my
last visit to the cafe. Louis, with upraised hat, seemed as though he
would have passed on, but, curiously enough, I felt a desire to
continue the conversation. I had not as yet admitted the fact even to
myself; but I was bored, weary of my search, weary to death of my own
company and the company of my own acquaintances. I was reluctant to
let this little man go.
"You visit Paris often?" I asked.
"But naturally, monsieur," Louis answered, accepting my unspoken
invitation by keeping pace with me as we strolled towards the
Boulevard. "Once every six weeks I come over here. I go to the Ritz,
Paillard's, the Cafe de Paris,--to the others also. It is an affair of
business, of course. One must learn how the Frenchman eats and what he
eats, that one may teach the art."
"But you are a Frenchman yourself, Louis," I remarked.
"But, monsieur," he answered, "I live in London. _Voila
tout._ One cannot write menus there for long, and succeed. One
needs inspiration."
"And you find it here?" I asked.
Louis shrugged his shoulders.
"Paris, monsieur," he answered, "is my home. It is always a pleasure
to me to see smiling faces, to see men and women who walk as though
every footstep were taking them nearer to happiness. Have you never
noticed, monsieur," he continued, "the difference? They do not plod
here as do your English people. There is a buoyancy in their
footsteps, a mirth in their laughter, an expectancy in the way they
look around, as though adventures were everywhere. I cannot understand
it, but one feels it directly one sets foot in Paris."
I nodded--a little bitterly, perhaps.
"It is temperament," I answered. "We may envy, but we cannot acquire
it."
"It seems strange to see monsieur alone here," Louis remarked. "In
London, it is always so different. Monsieur has so many
acquaintances."
I was silent for a moment.
"I am here in search of some one," I told Louis. "It isn't a very
pleasant mission, and the memory of it is always with me."
"A search!" Louis repeated thoughtfully. "Paris is a large place,
monsieur."
"On the contrary," I answered, "it is small enough if a man will but
play the game. A man, who knows his Paris, must be in one of
half-a-dozen places some time during the day."
"It is true," Louis admitted. "Yet monsieur has not been successful."
"It has been because some one has warned the man of whom I am in
search!" I declared.
"There are worse places," he remarked, "in which one might be forced
to spend one's time."
"In theory, excellent, Louis," I said. "In practice, I am afraid I
cannot agree with you. So far," I declared, gloomily, "my pilgrimage
has been an utter failure. I cannot meet, I cannot hear of, the man
who I know was flaunting it before the world three weeks ago."
Louis shrugged his shoulders.
"Monsieur can do no more than seek," he remarked. "For the rest, one
may leave many burdens behind in the train at the Gare du Nord."
I shook my head.
"One cannot acquire gayety by only watching other people who are gay,"
I declared. "Paris is not for those who have anxieties, Louis. If ever
I were suffering from melancholia, for instance, I should choose some
other place for a visit."
Louis laughed softly.
"Ah! Monsieur," he answered, "you could not choose better. There is no
place so gay as this, no place so full of distractions."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"It is your native city," I reminded him.
"That goes for nothing," Louis answered. "Where I live, there always I
make my native city. I have lived in Vienna and Berlin, Budapest and
Palermo, Florence and London. It is not an affair of the place. Yet of
all these, if one seeks it, there is most distraction to be found
here. Monsieur does not agree with me," he added, glancing into my
face. "There is one thing more which I would tell him. Perhaps it is
the explanation. Paris, the very home of happiness and gayety, is also
the loneliest and the saddest city in the world for those who go
alone."
"There is truth in what you say, Louis," I admitted.
"The very fact," he continued slowly, "that all the world amuses
itself, all the world is gay here, makes the solitude of the
unfortunate who has no companion a thing more _triste_, more
keenly to be felt. Monsieur is alone?"
"I am alone," I admitted, "except for the companions of chance whom
one meets everywhere."
We had been walking for some time slowly side by side, and we came now
to a standstill. Louis held up his hand and called a taximeter.
"Monsieur goes somewhere to sup, without a doubt," he remarked.
I remained upon the pavement.
"Really, I don't know," I answered undecidedly. "There is a great deal
of truth in what you have been saying. A man alone here, especially at
night, seems to be looked upon as a sort of pariah. Women laugh at
him, men pity him. It is only the Englishman, they think, who would do
so foolish a thing."
Louis hesitated. There was a peculiar smile at the corners of his lips
which I did not quite understand.
"If monsieur would honor me," he said apologetically, "I am going
to-night to visit one or perhaps two of the smallest restaurants up in
the Montmartre. They are by way of being fashionable now, and they
tell me that there is an _Homard Speciale_ with a new sauce which
must be tasted at the Abbaye."
All the apology in Louis' tone was wasted. It troubled me not in the
least that my companion should be a _maitre d'hotel_. I did not
hesitate for a second.
"I'll come with pleasure, Louis," I said, "on condition that I am
host. It is very good of you to take pity upon me. We will take this
taximeter, shall we?"
Louis bowed. Once more I fancied that there was something in his face
which I did not altogether understand.
"It is an honor, monsieur," he said. "We will start, then, with the
Abbaye."
CHAPTER II
A CAFE IN PARIS
The Paris taximeters are good, and our progress was rapid. We passed
through the crowded streets, where the women spread themselves out
like beautiful butterflies, where the electric lights were deadened by
the brilliance of the moon, where men, bent double over the handles of
their bicycles, shot hither and thither with great paper lanterns
alight in front of them. We passed into the quieter streets, though
even here the wayfarers whom we met were obviously bent on pleasure,
up the hill, till at last we pulled up at one of the best-known
restaurants in the locality. Here Louis was welcomed as a prince. The
manager, with many exclamations and gesticulations, shook hands with
him like a long-lost brother. The _maitres d'hotel_ all came
crowding up for a word of greeting. A table in the best part of the
room, which was marked _reserve_, was immediately made ready.
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Norwegian Life
AN ACCOUNT OF PAST AND CONTEMPORARY | 274.756178 |
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THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN
BY ELLEN GLASGOW
AUTHOR OF "THE DELIVERANCE," "THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1909
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1909,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1909. Reprinted
May, July, August, September, twice, October, 1909.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. IN WHICH I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS
II. THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
III. A PAIR OF RED SHOES
IV. IN WHICH I PLAY IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
V. IN WHICH I START IN LIFE
VI. CONCERNING CARROTS
VII. IN WHICH I MOUNT THE FIRST RUNG OF THE LADDER
VIII. IN WHICH MY EDUCATION BEGINS
IX. I LEARN A LITTLE LATIN AND A GREAT DEAL OF LIFE
X. IN WHICH I GROW UP
XI. IN WHICH I ENTER SOCIETY AND GET A FALL
XII. I WALK INTO THE COUNTRY AND MEET WITH AN ADVENTURE
XIII. IN WHICH I RUN AGAINST TRADITIONS
XIV. IN WHICH I TEST MY STRENGTH
XV. A MEETING IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
XVI. IN WHICH SALLY SPEAKS HER MIND
XVII. IN WHICH MY FORTUNES RISE
XVIII. THE PRINCIPLES OF MISS MATOACA
XIX. SHOWS THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE
XX. IN WHICH SOCIETY RECEIVES US
XXI. I AM THE WONDER OF THE HOUR
XXII. THE MAN AND THE CLASS
XXIII. IN WHICH I WALK ON THIN ICE
XXIV. IN WHICH I GO DOWN
XXV. WE FACE THE FACTS AND EACH OTHER
XXVI. THE RED FLAG AT THE GATE
XXVII. WE CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND US
XXVIII. IN WHICH SALLY STOOPS
XXIX. IN WHICH WE RECEIVE VISITORS
XXX. IN WHICH SALLY PLANS
XXXI. THE DEEPEST SHADOW
XXXII. I COME TO THE SURFACE
XXXIII. THE GROWING DISTANCE
XXXIV. THE BLOW THAT CLEARS
XXXV. THE ULTIMATE CHOICE
THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS
As the storm broke and a shower of hail rattled like a handful of
pebbles against our little window, I choked back a sob and edged my
small green-painted stool a trifle nearer the hearth. On the opposite
side of the wire fender, my father kicked off his wet boots, stretched
his feet, in grey yarn stockings, out on the rag carpet in front of the
fire, and reached for his pipe which he had laid, still smoking, on the
floor under his chair.
"It's as true as the Bible, Benjy," he said, "that on the day you were
born yo' brother President traded off my huntin' breeches for a yaller
pup."
My knuckles went to my eyes, while the smart of my mother's slap faded
from the cheek I had turned to the fire.
"What's become o' th' p-p-up-p?" I demanded, as I stared up at him with
my mouth held half open in readiness to break out again.
"Dead," responded my father solemnly, and I wept aloud.
It was an October evening in my childhood, and so vivid has my later
memory of it become that I can still see the sheets of water that rolled
from the lead pipe on our roof, and can still hear the splash! splash!
with which they fell into the gutter below. For three days the clouds
had hung in a grey curtain over the city, and at dawn a high wind,
blowing up from the river, had driven the dead leaves from the
churchyard like flocks of startled swallows into our little street.
Since morning I had watched them across my mother's "prize" red geranium
upon our window-sill--now whipped into deep swirls and eddies over the
sunken brick pavement, now rising in sighing swarms against the closed
doors of the houses, now soaring aloft until they flew almost as high as
the living swallows in the belfry of old Saint John's. Then as the dusk
fell, and the street lamps glimmered like blurred stars through the
rain, I drew back into our little sitting-room, which glowed bright as
an ember against the fierce weather outside.
Half an hour earlier my father had come up from the marble yard, where
he spent his days cutting lambs and doves and elaborate ivy wreaths in
stone, and the smell from his great rubber coat, which hung drying
before the kitchen stove, floated with the aroma of coffee through the
half-open door. When I closed an eye and peeped through the crack, I
could see my mother's tall shadow, shifting, not flitting, on the
whitewashed wall of the kitchen, as she passed back and forth from the
stove to the wooden cradle in which my little sister Jessy lay asleep,
with the head of her rag doll in her mouth.
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A NOBLE NAME
OR
DOeNNINGHAUSEN
BY CLAIRE VON GLUeMER
TRANSLATED BY
MRS. A. L. WISTER
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1883
Copyright, 1882, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & Co.
CONTENTS.
I.--"ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE"
II.--DISAPPOINTED ASPIRATIONS
III.--A CRISIS
IV.--FUTURE PLANS DECIDED
V.--AT DOeNNINGHAUSEN
VI.--THE FREIHERR'S PRINCIPLES
VII.--JOHANNA TO LUDWIG
VIII.--CHRISTMAS AT DOeNNINGHAUSEN
IX.--NEW YEAR'S EVE
X.--"THAT BLASE LIEUTENANT"
XI.--RECOVERY
XII.--CELA N'ENGAGE A RIEN
XIII.--JOHANNA TO LUDWIG
XIV.--AN UNEXPECTED RETURN
XV.--A BIRTHDAY FETE
XVI.--A BETROTHAL
XVII.--JOHANNA TO LUDWIG
XVIII.--TANNHAGEN
XIX.--PROFESSIONAL ENTHUSIASM
XX.--AN EQUESTRIAN ARTIST
XXI.--SHIPWRECK
XXII.--DOeNNINGHAUSEN OBSTINACY
XXIII.--THE FREIHERR ASSERTS HIS AUTHORITY
XXIV.--DR. URBAN WOLF
XXV.--A WAGER AND AN ADVISER
XXVI.--DR. STEIN'S SCHEME
XXVII.--THE FREIHERR'S WEAKNESS IS PAST
XXVIII.--THE TERRACE-COTTAGE
XXIX.--CHANGES AT DOeNNINGHAUSEN
XXX.--AN OLD FRIEND ONCE MORE
XXXI.--THE TRUTH AT LAST
XXXII.--TWO YEARS AFTERWARD
A NOBLE NAME;
OR,
DOeNNINGHAUSEN.
CHAPTER I.
"ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE."
At the window of a luxuriously-furnished dressing-room a young girl was
seated sewing, murmuring verses the while to herself with an absorbed
air. All around her lay various stuffs, ribbons, and laces, while
standing upon a footstool at a toilet-table immediately behind her a
strikingly beautiful child, five or six years old, was twisting gay
ribbons about her head and arms, finally throwing around her shoulders a
blue satin sash and looking at herself in the glass with immense
satisfaction.
"Lisbeth, what are you doing?" a sharp voice suddenly asked, and from
between the curtains of the portiere of the door of the adjoining
sleeping-room came a fair, pretty woman in an evident ill humour.
"Mamma!" the child exclaimed, and jumping hastily down from the
footstool, she entangled herself in her draperies and fell. Her mother
hurried towards her with a scream, but the young girl had already flown
to the little one's assistance.
"I haven't hurt myself," the child immediately declared, looking up
beseechingly at her mother, who, nevertheless, seized her impatiently by
the arm and tore off the sash from her shoulders. "All this beautiful
ribbon crushed and spoiled!" she said, crossly. "If you can take no
better care of Lisbeth, my dear Johanna, the child must stay with Lina.
Go, go to the nursery, and don't disturb me again to-day," she added,
turning to the little girl; and then, sitting down before the
dressing-table, she began to arrange her abundant fair hair.
Lisbeth went to Johanna and seized her hand. "Don't be vexed with
Lisbeth, mamma," the young girl entreated. "She is not to blame. I was
not attending to her; I was going over my part."
"If you do not know it perfectly by this time you had better give it
up," the other said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Make up your
mind to do so, and I will give it to Fraeulein Dornbach. She can easily
learn those few words before to-morrow evening."
"Oh, no! let me try," the young girl exclaimed. "I have just said them
without stumbling. And my dress is nearly finished. I wanted to ask
you----"
"Well?" the other asked, when Johanna hesitated.
"To let me go to the theatre to-night," she replied, without looking up.
"What! again? You went only a couple of days ago."
"Yes, but I should so like to see papa as Egmont, and----" She hesitated
again and blushed. "And you as Claerchen," was what she meant to add,
knowing that this addition would have secured her the desired enjoyment;
but her innate integrity triumphed; her step-mother's acting was
distasteful to her, and she suppressed the end of her sentence.
With a degree of artistic instinct the lady divined her step-daughter's
thoughts. "You had better study your part," she said, rising. "And,
besides, I want you to trim my lace overdress with fresh ribbons; you
will have too much to do to-morrow to attend to it."
"There comes papa!" exclaimed Lisbeth, who had gone to the window and
was looking out. "He is just crossing the street." And she was hurrying
out of the room, when her mother called her back.
"Stay where you are!" she said. "You must not disturb papa now; we are
just going to the theatre. My hat and wrap, Johanna, and my gloves; be
quick, be quick!" And beginning to sing 'Joyous and sorrowing,' with a
languishing expression she took from her step-daughter the articles
brought to her and left the room.
Johanna sat down and went on with her sewing. She heard her father's
step in the anteroom, heard his sonorous voice. How many would be
delighted, enthralled, inspired by that voice this evening! She alone,
his most enthusiastic, rapt admirer, could not enjoy it. Tears rose to
her eyes and dropped unheeded upon her busy hands.
"Tell me a story," Lisbeth begged, standing beside her sister at the
window. "Oh, you are crying!" she added distressed as she looked round.
"What is the matter?"
"Nothing, darling," Johanna replied, hastily wiping her eyes. "What
shall I tell you? Cinderella, or Snowdrop and the Dwarfs?"
"No, no! nothing about bad step-mothers," the little girl exclaimed; and
then, with her eyes opened to their widest extent, she went on: "Only
think, Lina says that mamma is a step-mother,--so stupid of her,--my
dear pretty mamma. Friedrich laughed at her, and told her it was not
true; but then he is just as stupid himself, for he told her you were
not my sister, only an adopted child, and I won't have it; you shall be
my sister!"
She stamped her little foot. Johanna took her in her arms. "Hush,
darling; I am really your sister," she said, stroking the little curly
head.
"Then why were you not always with me?" Lisbeth went on, pettishly. "All
the sisters I know are always together."
"I was far away from here, at boarding-school," Johanna replied. "Papa
sent me there when my poor dear mother died, and he did not know what to
do with me. He travelled about from one town to another; and then he
married your mamma, and then you were born, and he has grown very
famous. I think he had almost forgotten me----"
Here old Lina, Lisbeth's former nurse, entered.
"Fraeulein, a gentleman wishes to see you," she said, handing Johanna a
card.
"Dr. Ludwig Werner," the girl read, and started up with a joyous
exclamation. "Uncle, dear uncle!" she cried, and hurried into the
antechamber, where, however, instead of the old gentleman whom she had
expected to see, she was met by a young man.
"Johanna!" he exclaimed, with evident emotion, and he would have clasped
her in his arms, but she retreated and only gave him her hand. He
laughed, half confusedly, half derisively.
"It is you!" she said, and her voice, too, trembled. "I thought it was
your father. Pray come in."
She led the way to the drawing-room. Lina, who was standing holding
Lisbeth by the hand at the dressing-room door, looked after her in
surprise. How could Fraeulein Johanna receive so familiarly a young man
who paid visits in a shooting-jacket and shabby crush hat?
He himself became conscious of the contrast that he presented to his
surroundings as soon as he entered the drawing-room. As he looked about
him in the luxurious apartment, now lit up by the last rays of the
September sun, all trace of tenderness vanished from his face, leaving
there only the cynical expression which Johanna knew so well.
"And this is now your home," he said. "I begin to understand,--I have
not been able to do so hitherto. And you yourself,--are you as changed
as your surroundings?"
He had stepped out upon the balcony with her, and as he spoke looked at
her fixedly. There was no change in the grave unembarrassed expression
of the girl's large gray eyes as she returned his gaze.
"What have you been unable to understand?" she asked.
"How you could leave us and come hither--to this house----"
"To my father's house?" she interrupted him, and her eyes flashed. "Let
me tell you how it happened," she went on more gently, "and you will
easily comprehend."
They stood leaning against the balustrade of the balcony. The shady
little garden beneath them, the golden light of evening streaming from
the western sky awakened the same memory in each, but Johanna alone gave
it utterance. "Do you remember," she asked, "how we stood at your garden
wicket the evening before you left Lindenbad and watched the setting
sun? It was not quite two years ago, and yet how much has happened since
then! you have made a home both in Paris and in London."
"A home!" he interrupted her; "no, Johanna, not for a moment. I worked
hard in London and Paris, I studied day and night, looking neither to
the right nor to the left, for I had but one aim, one desire,--to return
to my home well skilled in my profession. I may have become a skilful
physician, but my home is desolate,--my mother dead,--you here."
"Your dear mother!" Johanna whispered, and her eyes filled with tears.
He did not see them.
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WHEN YOU WERE A BOY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHEN YOU
WERE A BOY
BY
EDWIN L. SABIN
WITH PICTURES BY
FREDERIC DORR STEELE
-------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Figure]
-------------------------------------------
New York
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
33-37 EAST 17TH STREET, UNION SQUARE (NORTH)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1905, by THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
---
Published October, 1905
The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
For permission to republish the following
sketches the author is gratefully indebted
to the Century Magazine, the Saturday Evening
Post, Everybody’s Magazine, and the National
Magazine.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
❦
PAGE
I The Match Game 11
II You at School 39
III Chums 65
IV In the Arena 91
V The Circus 111
VI When You Ran Away 135
VII Goin’ Fishin’ 155
VIII In Society 179
IX Middleton’s Hill 195
X Goin’ Swimmin’ 219
XI The Sunday-School Picnic 239
XII The Old Muzzle-Loader 257
XIII A Boy’s Loves 277
XIV Noon 297
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MATCH GAME
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: “YOU”]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHEN YOU WERE A BOY
THE MATCH GAME
“OUR” NINE
Billy Lunt, c
Fat Day, p
Hen Schmidt, 1b
Bob Leslie, 2b
Hod O’Shea, 3b
Chub Thornbury, ss
Nixie Kemp, lf
Tom Kemp, rf
“You,” cf.
“THEIR” NINE
Spunk Carey, c
Doc Kennedy, p
Screw Major, 1b
Ted Watson, 2b
Red Conroy, 3b
Slim Harding, ss
Pete Jones, lf
Tug McCormack, rf
Ollie Hansen, cf
We: 5 9 9 8—31
They: 11 14 9 16—50
FAT DAY was captain and pitcher. He was captain because, if he was
_not_, he wouldn’t play, and inasmuch as he owned the ball, this would
have been disastrous; and he was pitcher because he was captain.
In the North Stars were other pitchers—seven of them! The only member
who did not aspire to pitch was Billy Lunt, and as catcher he occupied a
place, in “takin’ ’em off the bat,” too delightfully hazardous for him
to surrender, and too painful for anybody else to covet.
[Illustration: FAT DAY]
The organization of the North Stars was effected through verbal
contracts somewhat as follows:
“Say, we want you to be in our nine.”
“All right. Will you lemme pitch?”
“Naw; Fat’s pitcher, ’cause he’s captain; but you can play first.”
“Pooh! _Fat_ can’t pitch—”
“I can, too. I can pitch lots better’n _you_ can, anyhow.” (This from
Fat himself.)
“W-well, I’ll play first, then. I don’t care.”
Thus an adjustment was reached.
A proud moment for you was it when _your_ merits as a ball-player were
recognized, and you were engaged for center-field. Of course, secretly
you nourished the strong conviction that you were cut out for a pitcher.
Next to pitcher, you preferred short-stop, and next to short-stop, first
base. But these positions, and pretty much everything, in fact, had been
preempted; so, after the necessary haggling, you accepted center-field.
Speedily the North Star make-up was complete, and disappointed
applicants—those too little, too big, too late, or not good enough—were
busy sneering about it.
[Illustration: BILLY LUNT]
The equipment of the North Star Base-Ball Club consisted of Fat’s
“regular league” ball, six bats (owned by various members, and in some
cases exercising no small influence in determining fitness of the same
for enlistment as recruits), and four uniforms.
Mother made your uniform. To-day you wonder how, amidst darning your
stockings and patching our trousers and mending your waists, she ever
found time in which to supply you with the additional regalia which,
according to your pursuits of the hour, day after day you insistently
demanded. But she always did.
[Illustration: SPUNK CAREY]
The uniform in question was composed of a pair of your linen
knickerbockers with a red tape tacked along the outside seam, and a huge
six-pointed blue flannel star, each point having a buttonhole whereby it
was attached to a button, corresponding, on the breast of your waist.
And was there a cap, or did you wear the faithful old straw? Fat Day,
you recollect, had a cap upon the front of which was lettered his
rank—“Captain.” It seems as though mother made you a cap, as well as the
striped trousers and breastplate. The cap was furnished with a
tremendously deep vizor of pasteboard, and was formed of four segments,
two white and two blue, meeting in the center of the crown.
All in all, the uniform was perfectly satisfactory; it was distinctive,
and was surpassed by none of the other three.
Evidently the mothers of five of the North Stars did not attend to
business, for their sons played in ordinary citizen’s attire of hats,
and of waists and trousers unadorned save by the stains incidental to
daily life.
The North Stars must have been employed for a time chiefly in parading
about and seeking whom they, as an aggregation, might devour, but as a
rule failing, owing to interfering house-and-yard duties, all to report
upon any one occasion. The contests had been with “picked nines,” “just
for fun” (meaning that there was no sting in defeat), when on a sudden
it was breathlessly announced from mouth, to mouth that “the
Second-street kids want to play us.”
[Illustration: HEN SCHMIDT]
“Come on!” responded, with a single valiant voice, the North Stars.
“We’re goin’ to play a match game next Tuesday,” you gave out, as a bit
of important news, at the supper-table.
“That so?” hazarded father, who had been flatteringly interested in your
blue star. “Who’s the other nine?”
“The Second-street fellows. Spunk Carey’s captain and—”
“Who is _Spunk_ Carey? Oh, Johnny, what outlandish names you boys do
rake up!” exclaimed mother.
“Why, he’s Frank Carey the hardware man’s boy,” explained father,
indulgently. “What’s his first name, John?”
[Illustration: CHUB THORNBURY]
“I dunno,” you hurriedly owned; “Spunk” had been quite sufficient for
all purposes. “But we’re goin’ to play in the vacant lot next to Carey’s
house. There’s a dandy diamond.”
So there was. The Carey side fence supplied a fine back-stop, and thence
the grounds extended in a superb level of dusty green, broken by burdock
clumps and interspersed with tin cans. The lot was bounded on the east
by the Carey fence, on the south and west by a high walk, and on the
north by the alley. It was a corner lot, which made it the more
spacious.
The diamond itself had been laid out, in the beginning, with proportions
accommodated to a pair of rocks that would answer for first and second
base; a slab dropped where third ought to be, and another dropped for
the home plate, finished the preliminary work, and thereafter scores of
running feet, shod and unshod, had worn bare the lines, and the spots
where stood pitcher, catcher, and batter.
A landscape architect might have passed criticism on the ensemble of the
plat, and a surveyor might have taken exceptions to the configuration of
the diamond, but who cared?
[Illustration: DOC KENNEDY]
“We” had promised that “we” would be there, ready to play, at two
o’clock, and “they” had solemnly vowed that “they” would be as prompt.
Tuesday’s dinner you gulped and gobbled; in those days your stomach was
patient and charitable almost beyond belief in this degenerate present.
It was imperative that you be at Carey’s lot immediately, and despite
the imploring objections of the family to your reckless haste, you
bolted out; and as you went you drew upon your left hand an old
fingerless kid glove, which was of some peculiar service in your
center-field duties.
[Illustration: RED CONROY]
Your uniform had been put on upon arising that morning. You always wore
it nowadays except when in bed or on Sundays. It was your toga of the
purple border, and the bat that you carried from early to late, in your
peregrinations, was your scepter mace.
At your unearthly yodel, from next door rushed out your crony, Hen
Schmidt, and joined you; and upon your way to the vacant lot you picked
up Billy Lunt and Chub Thornbury.
The four of you succeeded in all talking at once: the Second-streets
were great big fellows; their pitcher was Doc Kennedy and it wasn’t
fair, because he threw as hard as he could, and he was nearly sixteen;
Hop Hopkins said he’d be “empire”; Red Conroy was going to play, and he
always was wanting to fight; darn it—if Fat only wouldn’t pitch, but let
somebody else do it! Bob Leslie could throw an awful big “in,” etc.
The fateful lot dawned upon the right, around the corner of an alley
fence. Hurrah, there they are! You see Nixie and Tom Kemp, and Hod
O’Shea, and Bob Leslie, and Spunk, and Screw Major, and Ted Watson, and
Slim Harding, and the redoubtable Red Conroy (engaged in bullying a
smaller boy), and others who | 274.95598 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
TWO POETS
(Lost Illusions Part I)
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE
Two Poets is part one of a trilogy and begins the story of
Lucien, his sister Eve, and his friend David in the provincial
town of Angouleme. Part two, A Distinguished Provincial at
Paris is centered on Lucien's Parisian life. Part three, Eve
and David, reverts to the setting of Angouleme. In many
references parts one and three are combined under the title
Lost Illusions and A Distinguished Provincial at Paris is given
its individual title. Following this trilogy Lucien's story
is continued in another book, Scenes from a Courtesan's Life.
DEDICATION
To Monsieur Victor Hugo,
It was your birthright to be, like a Rafael or a Pitt, a great
poet at an age when other men are children; it was your fate, the
fate of Chateaubriand and of every man of genius, to struggle
against jealousy skulking behind the columns of a newspaper, or
crouching in the subterranean places of journalism. For this
reason I desired that your victorious name should help to win a
victory for this work that I inscribe to you, a work which, if
some persons are to be believed, is an act of courage as well as a
veracious history. If there had been journalists in the time of
Moliere, who can doubt but that they, like marquises, financiers,
doctors, and lawyers, would have been within the province of the
writer of plays? And why should Comedy, _qui castigat ridendo
mores_, make an exception in favor of one power, when the Parisian
press spares none? I am happy, monsieur, in this opportunity of
subscribing myself your sincere admirer and friend,
DE BALZAC.
TWO POETS
At the time when this story opens, the Stanhope press and the
ink-distributing roller were not as yet in general use in small
provincial printing establishments. Even at Angouleme, so closely
connected through its paper-mills with the art of typography in Paris,
the only machinery in use was the primitive wooden invention to which
the language owes a figure of speech--"the press groans" was no mere
rhetorical expression in those days. Leather ink-balls were still used
in old-fashioned printing houses; the pressman dabbed the ink by hand
on the characters, and the movable table on which the form of type
was placed in readiness for the sheet of paper, being made of marble,
literally deserved its name of "impression-stone." Modern machinery
has swept all this old-world mechanism into oblivion; the wooden press
which, with all its imperfections, turned out such beautiful work for
the Elzevirs, Plantin, Aldus, and Didot is so completely forgotten, that
something must be said as to the obsolete gear on which Jerome-Nicolas
Sechard set an almost superstitious affection, for it plays a part in
this chronicle of great small things.
Sechard had been in his time a journeyman pressman, a "bear" in
compositors' slang. The continued pacing to and fro of the pressman
from ink-table to press, from press to ink-table, no doubt suggested
the nickname. The "bears," however, make matters even by calling the
compositors monkeys, on account of the nimble industry displayed by
those gentlemen in picking out the type from the hundred and fifty-two
compartments of the cases.
In the disastrous year 1793, Sechard, being fifty years old and a
married man, escaped the great Requisition which swept the bulk of
French workmen into the army. The old pressman was the only hand left in
the printing-house; and when the master (otherwise the "gaffer") died,
leaving a widow, but no children, the business seemed to be on the verge
of extinction; for the solitary "bear" was quite incapable of the feat
of transformation into a "monkey," and in his quality of pressman had
never learned to read or write. Just then, however, a Representative
of the People being in a mighty hurry to publish the Decrees of
the Convention, bestowed a master printer's license on Sechard, and
requisitioned the establishment. Citizen Sechard accepted the dangerous
patent, bought the business of his master's widow with his wife's
savings, and took over the plant at half its value. But he was not even
at the beginning. He was bound to print the Decrees of the Republic
without mistakes and without delay.
In this strait Jerome-Nicolas Sechard had the luck to discover a noble
Marseillais who had no mind to emigrate and lose his lands, nor yet to
show himself openly and lose his head, and consequently was fain to earn
a living by some lawful industry. A bargain was struck. M. le Comte de
Maucombe, disguised in a provincial printer's jacket, set up, read, and
corrected the decrees which forbade citizens to harbor aristocrats under
pain of death; while the "bear," now a "gaffer," printed the copies and
duly posted them, and the pair remained safe and sound.
In 1795, when the squall of the Terror had passed over, Nicolas Sechard
was obliged to look out for another jack-of-all-trades to be compositor,
reader, and foreman in one; and an Abbe who declined the oath succeeded
the Comte de Maucombe as soon as the First Consul restored public
worship. The Abbe became a Bishop at the Restoration, and in after days
the Count and the Abbe met and sat together on the same bench of the
House of Peers.
In 1795 Jerome-Nicolas had not known how to read or write; in 1802 he
had made no progress in either art; but by allowing a handsome margin
for "wear and tear" in his estimates, he managed to pay a foreman's
wages. The once easy-going journeyman was a terror to his "bears" and
"monkeys." Where poverty ceases, avarice begins. From the day when
Sechard first caught a glimpse of the possibility of making a fortune, a
growing covetousness developed and sharpened in him a certain practical
faculty for business--greedy, suspicious, and keen-eyed. He carried
on his craft in disdain of theory. In course of time he had learned to
estimate at a glance the cost of printing per page or per sheet in every
kind of type. He proved to unlettered customers that large type costs
more to move; or, if small type was under discussion, that it was more
difficult to handle. The setting-up of the type was the one part of
his craft of which he knew nothing; and so great was his terror lest he
should not charge enough, that he always made a heavy profit. He never
took his eyes off his compositors while they were paid by the hour. If
he knew that a paper manufacturer was in difficulties, he would buy up
his stock at a cheap rate and warehouse the paper. So from this time
forward he was his own landlord, and owned the old house which had been
a printing office from time immemorial.
He had every sort of luck. He was left a widower with but one son. The
boy he sent to the grammar school; he must be educated, not so much
for his own sake as to train a successor to the business; and Sechard
treated the lad harshly so as to prolong the time of parental rule,
making him work at case on holidays, telling him that he must learn to
earn his own living, so as to recompense his poor old father, who was
slaving his life out to give him an education.
Then the Abbe went, and Sechard promoted one of his four compositors to
be foreman, making his choice on the future bishop's recommendation of
the man as an honest and intelligent workman. In these ways the worthy
printer thought to tide over the time until his son could take a
business which was sure to extend in young and clever hands.
David Sechard's school career was a brilliant one. Old Sechard, as a
"bear" who had succeeded in life without any education, entertained a
very considerable contempt for attainments in book learning; and when
he sent his son to Paris to study the higher branches of typography,
he recommended the lad so earnestly to save a good round sum in the
"working man's paradise" (as he was pleased to call the city), and so
distinctly gave the boy to understand that he was not to draw upon the
paternal purse, that it seemed as if old Sechard saw some way of gaining
private ends of his own by that sojourn in the Land of Sapience. So
David learned his trade, and completed his education at the same time,
and Didot's foreman became a scholar; and yet when he left Paris at the
end of 1819, summoned home by his father to take the helm of business,
he had not cost his parent a farthing.
Now Nicolas Sechard's establishment hitherto had enjoyed a monopoly of
all the official printing in the department, besides the work of the
prefecture and the diocese--three connections which should prove | 274.956238 |
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Produced by Jana Srna, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
HARVARD LAW REVIEW
VOL. IV
1890-91
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
PUBLISHED BY THE HARVARD LAW REVIEW PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
1891
_Copyright, 1891_
BY THE HARVARD LAW REVIEW PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION
HARVARD LAW REVIEW.
VOL. IV. DECEMBER 15, 1890. NO. 5.
THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY.
"It could be done only on principles of private justice, moral
fitness, and public convenience, which, when applied to a new
subject, make common law without a precedent; much more when
received and approved by usage."
WILLES, J., in Millar _v._ Taylor, 4 Burr. 2303, 2312.
That the individual shall have full protection in person and in property
is a principle as old as the common law; but it has been found necessary
from time to time to define anew the exact nature and extent of such
protection. Political, social, and economic changes entail the
recognition of new rights, and the common law, in its eternal youth,
grows to meet the demands of society. Thus, in very early times, the law
gave a remedy only for physical interference with life and property, for
trespasses _vi et armis_. Then the "right to life" served only to
protect the subject from battery in its various forms; liberty meant
freedom from actual restraint; and the right to property secured to the
individual his lands and his cattle. Later, there came a recognition of
man's spiritual nature, of his feelings and his intellect. Gradually the
scope of these legal rights broadened; and now the right to life has
come to mean the right to enjoy life,--the right to be let alone; the
right to liberty secures the exercise of extensive civil privileges; and
the term "property" has grown to comprise every form of
possession--intangible, as well as tangible.
Thus, with the recognition of the legal value of sensations, the
protection against actual bodily injury was extended to prohibit mere
attempts to do such injury; that is, the putting another in fear of
such injury. From the action of battery grew that of assault.[1] Much
later there came a qualified protection of the individual against
offensive noises and odors, against dust and smoke, and excessive
vibration. The law of nuisance was developed.[2] So regard for human
emotions soon extended the scope of personal immunity beyond the body of
the individual. His reputation, the standing among his fellow-men, was
considered, and the law of slander and libel arose.[3] Man's family
relations became a part of the legal conception of his life, and the
alienation of a wife's affections was held remediable.[4] Occasionally
the law halted,--as in its refusal to recognize the intrusion by
seduction upon the honor of the family. But even here the demands of
society were met. A mean fiction, the action _per quod servitium
amisit_, was resorted to, and by allowing damages for injury to the
parents' feelings, an adequate remedy was ordinarily afforded.[5]
Similar to the expansion of the right to life was the growth of the
legal conception of property. From corporeal property arose the
incorporeal rights issuing out of it; and then there opened the wide
realm of intangible property, in the products and processes of the
mind,[6] as works of literature and art,[7] goodwill,[8] trade secrets,
and trade-marks.[9]
This development of the law was inevitable. The intense intellectual
and emotional life, and the heightening of sensations which came with
the advance of civilization, made it clear to men that only a part of
the pain, pleasure, and profit of life lay in physical things. Thoughts,
emotions, and sensations demanded legal recognition, and the beautiful
capacity for growth which characterizes the common law enabled the
judges to afford the requisite protection, without the interposition of
the legislature.
Recent inventions and business methods call attention to the next step
which must be taken for the protection of the person, and for securing
to the individual what Judge Cooley calls the right "to be let
alone."[10] Instantaneous photographs and newspaper enterprise have
invaded the sacred precincts of private and domestic life; and numerous
mechanical devices threaten to make good the prediction that "what is
whispered in the closet shall be proclaimed from the house-tops." For
years there has been a feeling that the law must afford some remedy for
the unauthorized circulation of portraits of private persons;[11] and
the evil of the invasion of privacy by the newspapers, long keenly felt,
has been but recently discussed by an able writer.[12] The alleged facts
of a somewhat notorious case brought before an inferior tribunal in New
York a few months ago,[13] directly involved the consideration of the
right of circulating portraits; and the question whether our law will
recognize and protect the right to privacy in this and in other respects
must soon come before our courts for consideration.
Of the desirability--indeed of the necessity--of some such protection,
there can, it is believed, be no doubt. The press is overstepping in
every direction the obvious bounds of propriety and of decency. Gossip
is no longer the resource of the idle and of the vicious, but has become
a trade, which is pursued with industry as well as effrontery. To
satisfy a prurient taste the details of sexual relations are spread
broadcast in the columns of the daily papers. To occupy the indolent,
column upon column is filled with idle gossip, which can only be
procured by intrusion upon the domestic circle. The intensity and
complexity of life, attendant upon advancing civilization, have rendered
necessary some retreat from the world, and man, under the refining
influence of culture, has become more sensitive to publicity, so that
solitude and privacy have become more essential to the individual; but
modern enterprise and invention have, through invasions upon his
privacy, subjected him to mental pain and distress, far greater than
could be inflicted by mere bodily injury. Nor is the harm wrought by
such invasions confined to the suffering of those who may be made the
subjects of journalistic or other enterprise. In this, as in other
branches of commerce, the supply creates the demand. Each crop of
unseemly gossip, thus harvested, becomes the seed of more, and, in
direct proportion to its circulation, results in a lowering of social
standards and of morality. Even gossip apparently harmless, when widely
and persistently circulated, is potent for evil. It both belittles and
perverts. It belittles by inverting the relative importance of things,
thus dwarfing the thoughts and aspirations of a people. When personal
gossip attains the dignity of print, and crowds the space available for
matters of real interest to the community, what wonder that the ignorant
and thoughtless mistake its relative importance. Easy of comprehension,
appealing to that weak side of human nature which is never wholly cast
down by the misfortunes and frailties of our neighbors, no one can be
surprised that it usurps the place of interest in brains capable of
other things. Triviality destroys at once robustness of thought and
delicacy of feeling. No enthusiasm can flourish, no generous impulse can
survive under its blighting influence.
It is our purpose to consider whether the existing law affords a
principle which can properly be invoked to protect the privacy of the
individual; and, if it does, what the nature and extent of such
protection is.
* * * * *
Owing to the nature of the instruments by which privacy is invaded, the
injury inflicted bears a superficial resemblance to the wrongs dealt
with by the law of slander and of libel, while a legal remedy for such
injury seems to involve the treatment of mere wounded feelings, as a
substantive cause of action. The principle on which the law of
defamation rests, covers, however, a radically different class of
effects from those for which attention is now asked. It deals only with
damage to reputation, with the injury done to the individual in his
external relations to the community, by lowering him in the estimation
of his fellows. The matter published of him, however widely circulated,
and however unsuited to publicity, must, in order to be actionable, have
a direct tendency to injure him in his intercourse with others, and even
if in writing or in print, must subject him to the hatred, ridicule, or
contempt of his fellow-men,--the effect of the publication upon his
estimate of himself and upon his own feelings not forming an essential
element in the cause of action. In short, the wrongs and correlative
rights recognized by the law of slander and libel are in their nature
material rather than spiritual. That branch of the law simply extends
the protection surrounding physical property to certain of the
conditions necessary or helpful to worldly prosperity. On the other
hand, our law recognizes no principle upon which compensation can be
granted for mere injury to the feelings. However painful the mental
effects upon another of an act, though purely wanton or even malicious,
yet if the act itself is otherwise lawful, the suffering inflicted is
_damnum absque injuria_. Injury of feelings may indeed be taken account
of in ascertaining the amount of damages when attending what is
recognized as a legal injury;[14] but our system, unlike the Roman law,
does not afford a remedy even for mental suffering which results from
mere contumely and insult, from an intentional and unwarranted violation
of the "honor" of another.[15]
It is not however necessary, in order to sustain the view that the
common law recognizes and upholds a principle applicable to cases of
invasion of privacy, to invoke the analogy, which is but superficial, to
injuries sustained, either by an attack upon reputation or by what the
civilians called a violation of honor; for the legal doctrines relating
to infractions of what is ordinarily termed the common-law right to
intellectual and artistic property are, it is believed, but instances
and applications of a general right to privacy, which properly
understood afford a remedy for the evils under consideration.
The common law secures to each individual the right of determining,
ordinarily, to what extent his thoughts, sentiments, and emotions shall
be communicated to others.[16] Under our system of government, he can
never be compelled to express them (except when upon the witness-stand);
and even if he has chosen to give them expression, he generally retains
the power to fix the limits of the publicity which shall be given them.
The existence of this right does not depend upon the particular method
of expression adopted. It is immaterial whether it be by word[17] or by
signs,[18] in painting,[19] by sculpture, or in music.[20] Neither does
the existence of the right depend upon the nature or value of the
thought or emotion, nor upon the excellence of the means of
expression.[21] The same protection is accorded to a casual letter or an
entry in a diary and to the most valuable poem or essay, to a botch or
daub and to a masterpiece. In every such case the individual is entitled
to decide whether that which is his shall be given to the public.[22] No
other has the right to publish his productions in any form, without his
consent. This right is wholly independent of the material on which, or
the means by which, the thought, sentiment, or emotion is expressed. It
may exist independently of any corporeal being, as in words spoken, a
song sung, a drama acted. Or if expressed on any material, as a poem in
writing, the author may have parted with the paper, without forfeiting
any proprietary right in the composition itself. The right is lost only
when the author himself communicates his production to the public,--in
other words, publishes it.[23] It is entirely independent of the
copyright laws, and their extension into the domain of art. The aim of
those statutes is to secure to the author, composer, or artist the
entire profits arising from publication; but the common-law protection
enables him to control absolutely the act of publication, and in the
exercise of his own discretion, to decide whether there shall be any
publication at all.[24] The statutory right is of no value, _unless_
there is a publication; the common-law right is lost _as soon as_ there
is a publication.
What is the nature, the basis, of this right to prevent the
publication of manuscripts or works of art? It is stated to be the
enforcement of a right of property;[25] and no difficulty arises in
accepting this view, so long as we have only to deal with the
reproduction of literary and artistic compositions. They certainly
possess | 275.054486 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 50744-h.htm or 50744-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50744/50744-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/britishriflemanj00simm
A BRITISH RIFLE MAN
The Journals and Correspondence | 275.059949 |
2023-11-16 18:21:39.4372680 | 200 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines.
MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE OLD MANSE.
The Author makes the Reader acquainted with his Abode.
Between two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itself
having fallen from its hinges at some unknown epoch) we beheld the
gray front of the old parsonage, terminating the vista of an avenue of
black-ash trees. It was now a twelvemonth since the funeral
procession of the venerable clergyman, its last inhabitant, had turned
from that gateway towards the village burying-ground. The wheel-track
leading to the door, as well as the whole breadth of the avenue, was
almost overgrown with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or
three vagrant cows and an old white horse who had his own living to
pick up | 275.457308 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, Broward County Libraries and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Harry Houdini]
_Frontispiece_]
THE UNMASKING
_OF_
ROBERT-HOUDIN
_BY_
HARRY HOUDINI
[Illustration]
_NEW YORK_
_THE PUBLISHERS PRINTING CO._
_1908_
_Copyright, 1906_
_Copyright, 1907_
_Copyright, 1908_
_By HARRY HOUDINI_
_Entered at Stationer's Hall, London, England_
_All rights reserved_
Composition, Electrotyping and Printing by
The Publishers Printing Company
New York, N.Y., U.S.A.
Dedication
_This Book is affectionately dedicated to the memory of
my father,
Rev. M. S. Weiss, Ph.D., LL.D.,
who instilled in me love of study and patience in research_
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 7
CHAPTER
I. SIGNIFICANT EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF ROBERT-HOUDIN, 33
II. THE ORANGE-TREE TRICK, 51
III. THE WRITING AND DRAWING FIGURE, 83
IV. THE PASTRY COOK OF THE PALAIS ROYAL, 116
V. THE OBEDIENT CARDS--THE CABALISTIC CLOCK--THE
TRAPEZE AUTOMATON, 141
VI. THE INEXHAUSTIBLE BOTTLE, 176
VII. SECOND SIGHT, 200
VIII. THE SUSPENSION TRICK, 222
IX. THE DISAPPEARING HANDKERCHIEF, 245
X. ROBERT-HOUDIN'S IGNORANCE OF MAGIC AS BETRAYED
BY HIS OWN PEN, 264
XI. THE NARROWNESS OF ROBERT-HOUDIN'S "MEMOIRS," 295
INTRODUCTION
This book is the natural result of the moulding, dominating influence
which the spirit and writings of Robert-Houdin have exerted over my
professional career. My interest in conjuring and magic and my
enthusiasm for Robert-Houdin came into existence simultaneously. From
the moment that I began to study the art, he became my guide and hero. I
accepted his writings as my text-book and my gospel. What Blackstone is
to the struggling lawyer, Hardee's "Tactics" to the would-be officer, or
Bismarck's life and writings to the coming statesman, Robert-Houdin's
books were to me.
To my unsophisticated mind, his "Memoirs" gave to the profession a
dignity worth attaining at the cost of earnest, life-long effort. When
it became necessary for me to take a stage-name, and a fellow-player,
possessing a veneer of culture, told me that if I would add the letter
"i" to Houdin's name, it would mean, in the French language, "like
Houdin," I adopted the suggestion with enthusiasm. I asked nothing more
of life | 275.55614 |
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Produced by Anthony J. Adam
MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE
By James Russell Lowell
ONE of the most delightful books in my father's library was White's
"Natural History of Selborne." For me it has rather gained in charm with
years. I used to read it without knowing the secret of the pleasure I
found in it, but as I grow older I begin to detect some of the simple
expedients of this natural magic. Open the book where you will, it takes
you out of doors. In our broiling July weather one can walk out with
this genially garrulous Fellow of Oriel and find refreshment instead
of fatigue. You have no trouble in keeping abreast of him as he ambles
along on his hobby-horse, now pointing to a pretty view, now stopping to
watch the motions of a bird or an insect, or to bag a specimen for the
Honorable Daines Barrington or Mr. Pennant. In simplicity of taste and
natural refinement he reminds one of Walton; in tenderness toward
what he would have called the brute creation, of Cowper. I do not know
whether his descriptions of scenery are good or not, but they have made
me familiar with his neighborhood. Since I first read him, I have walked
over some of his favorite haunts, but I still see them through his eyes
rather than by any recollection of actual and personal vision. The book
has also the delightfulness of absolute leisure. Mr. White seems never
to have had any harder work to do than to study the habits of his
feathered fellow-townsfolk, or to watch the ripening of his peaches on
the wall. His volumes are the journal of Adam in Paradise,
"Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade."
It is positive rest only to look into that garden of his. It is vastly
better than to
"See great Diocletian walk
In the Salonian garden's noble shade,"
for thither ambassadors intrude to bring with them the noises of Rome,
while here the world has no entrance. No rumor of the revolt of the
American Colonies seems to have reached him. "The natural term of an
hog's life" has more interest for him than that of an empire. Burgoyne
may surrender and welcome; of what consequence is _that_ compared with
the fact that we can explain the odd tumbling of rooks in the air
by their turning over "to scratch themselves with one claw"? All the
couriers in Europe spurring rowel-deep make no stir in Mr. White's
little Chartreuse;(1) but the arrival of the house-martin a day earlier
or later than last year is a piece of news worth sending express to all
his correspondents.
(1) _La Grande Chartreuse_ was the original Carthusian monastery in
France, where the most austere privacy was maintained.
Another secret charm of this book is its inadvertent humor, so
much the more delicious because unsuspected by the author. How pleasant
is his innocent vanity in adding to the list of the British, and
still more of the Selbornian, _fauna!_ I believe he would gladly have
consented to be eaten by a tiger or a crocodile, if by that means
the occasional presence within the parish limits of either of these
anthropophagous brutes could have been established. He brags of no
fine society, but is plainly a little elated by "having considerable
acquaintance with a tame brown owl." Most of us have known our share
of owls, but few can boast of intimacy with a feathered one. The great
events of Mr. White's life, too, have that disproportionate importance
which is always humorous. To think of his hands having actually been
though worthy (as neither Willoughby's nor Ray's were) to hold a stilted
plover, the _Charadrius himaniopus,_ with no back toe, and therefore
"liable, in speculation, to perpetual vacillations"! I wonder, by
the way, if metaphysicians have no hind toes. In 1770 he makes the
acquaintance in Sussex of "an old family tortoise," which had then been
domesticated for thirty years. It is clear that he fell in love with it
at first sight. We have no means of tracing the growth of his passion;
but in 1780 we find him eloping with its object in a post-chaise. "The
rattle and hurry of the journey so perfectly roused it that, when I
turned it out in a border, it walked twice down to the bottom of my
garden." It reads like a Court Journal: "Yesterday morning H.R.H. the
Princess Alice took an airing of half an hour on the terrace of Windsor
Castle." This tortoise might have been a member of the Royal Society,
if he could have condescended to so ignoble an ambition. It had but
just been discovered that a surface inclined at a certain angle with
the plane of the horizon took more of the sun's rays. The tortoise had
always known this (though he unostentatiously made no parade of it),
and used accordingly to tilt himself up against the garden-wall in the
autumn. He seems to have been more of a philosopher than even Mr. White
himself, caring for nothing but to get under a cabbage-leaf when
it rained, or the sun was too hot, and to bury himself alive before
frost,--a four-footed Diogenes, who carried his tub on his back.
There are moods in which this kind of history is infinitely
refreshing. These creatures whom we affect to look down upon as the
drudges of instinct are members of a commonwealth whose constitution
rests on immovable bases, never any need of reconstruction there! _They_
never dream of settling it by vote that eight hours are equal to ten, or
that one creature is as clever as another and no more. _They_ do not
use their poor wits in regulating God's clocks, nor think they cannot
go astray so long as they carry their guide-board about with them,--a
delusion we often practise upon ourselves with our high and mighty
reason, that admirable finger-post which points every way and always
right. It is good for us now and then to converse with a world like Mr.
White's, where Man is the least important of animals. But one who, like
me, has always lived in the country and always on the same spot, is
drawn to his book by other occult sympathies. Do we not share his
indignation at that stupid Martin who had graduated his thermometer no
lower than 4o above zero of Fahrenheit, so that in the coldest weather
ever known the mercury basely absconded into the bulb, and left us to
see the victory slip through our fingers, just as they were closing
upon it? No man, I suspect, ever lived long in the country without being
bitten by these meteorological ambitions. He likes to be hotter and
colder, to have been more deeply snowed up, to have more trees and
larger blow down than his neighbors. With us descendants of the Puritans
especially, these weather-competitions supply the abnegated excitement
of the race-course. Men learn to value thermometers of the true
imaginative temperament, capable of prodigious elations and
corresponding dejections. The other day (5th July) I marked 98o in the
shade, my high water mark, higher by one degree than I had ever seen it
before. I happened to meet a neighbor; as we mopped our brows at each
other, he told me that he had just cleared 100o, and I went home
a beaten man. I had not felt the heat before, save as a beautiful
exaggeration of sunshine; but now it oppressed me with the prosaic
vulgarity of an oven. What had been poetic intensity became all at once
rhetorical hyperbole. I might suspect his thermometer (as indeed I did,
for we Harvard men are apt to think ill of any graduation but our
own); but it was a poor consolation. The fact remained that his herald
Mercury, standing a tiptoe, could look down on mine. I seem to glimpse
something of this familiar weakness in Mr. White. He, too, has shared in
these mercurial triumphs and defeats. Nor do I doubt that he had a
true country-gentleman's interest in the weather-cock; that his first
question on coming down of a morning was, like Barabas's,
"Into what quarter peers my halcyon's bill?"
It is an innocent and healthful employment of the mind,
distracting one from too continual study of himself, and leading him to
dwell rather upon the indigestions of the elements than his own. "Did
the wind back round, or go about with the sun?" is a rational question
that bears not remotely on the making of hay and the prosperity of
crops. I have little doubt that the regulated observation of the vane
in many different places, and the interchange of results by telegraph,
would put the weather, as it were, in our power, by betraying its
ambushes before it is ready to give the assault. At first sight,
nothing seems more drolly trivial than the lives of those whose single
achievement is to record the wind and the temperature three times a day.
Yet such men are doubtless sent into the world for this special end, and
perhaps there is no kind of accurate observation, whatever its object,
that has not its final use and value for some one or other. It is even
to be hoped that the speculations of our newspaper editors and their
myriad correspondence upon the signs of the political atmosphere may
also fill their appointed place in a well-regulated universe, if it
be only that of supplying so many more jack-o'-lanterns to the future
historian. Nay, the observations on finance of an M.C. whose sole
knowledge of the subject has been derived from a life-long success
in getting a living out of the public without paying any equivalent
therefor, will perhaps be of interest hereafter to some explorer of our
_cloaca maxima,_ whenever it is cleansed.
For many years I have been in the habit of noting down some of
the leading events of my embowered solitude, such as the coming of
certain birds and the like,--a kind of _memoires pour servir,_ after
the fashion of White, rather than properly digested natural history.
I thought it not impossible that a few simple stories of my winged
acquaintances might be found entertaining by persons of kindred taste.
There is a common notion that animals are better meteorologists
than men, and I have little doubt that in immediate weather-wisdom
they have the advantage of our sophisticated senses (though I suspect a
sailor or shepherd would be their match), but I have seen nothing that
leads me to believe their minds capable of erecting the horoscope of a
whole season, and letting us know beforehand whether the winter will be
severe or the summer rainless. I more than suspect that the clerk of the
weather himself does not always know very long in advance whether he
is to draw an order for hot or cold, dry or moist, and the musquash is
scarce likely to be wiser. I have noted but two days' difference in
the coming of the song-sparrow between a very early and a very backward
spring. This very year I saw the linnets at work thatching, just before
a snow-storm which covered the ground several inches deep for a number
of days. They struck work and left us for a while, no doubt in search
of food. Birds frequently perish from sudden changes in our whimsical
spring weather of which they had no foreboding. More than thirty years
ago, a cherry-tree, then in full bloom, near my window, was covered
with humming-birds benumbed by a fall of mingled rain and snow, which
probably killed many of them. It should seem that their coming was dated
by the height of the sun, which betrays them into unthrifty matrimony;
"So priketh hem Nature in hir corages;"(1)
but their going is another matter. The chimney swallows leave us early,
for example, apparently so soon as their latest fledglings are firm
enough of wing to attempt the long rowing-match that is before them. On
the other hand the wild-geese probably do not leave the North till they
are frozen out, for I have heard their bugles sounding southward so
late as the middle of December. What may be called local migrations are
doubtless dictated by the chances of food. I have once been visited by
large flights of cross-bills; and whenever the snow lies long and deep
on the ground, a flock of cedar-birds comes in mid-winter to eat the
berries on my hawthorns. I have never been quite able to fathom the
local, or rather geographical partialities of birds. Never before this
summer (1870) have the king-birds, handsomest of flycatchers, built in
my orchard; though I always know where to find them within half a mile.
The rose-breasted grosbeak has been a familiar bird in Brookline (three
miles away), yet I never saw one here till last July, when I found a
female busy among my raspberries and surprisingly bold. I hope she was
_prospecting_ with a view to settlement in our garden. She seemed, on
the whole, to think well of my fruit, and I would gladly plant another
bed if it would help to win over so delightful a neighbor.
(1) Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales, Prologue,_ line 11.
The return of the robin is commonly announced by the
newspapers, like that of eminent or notorious people to a
watering-place, as the first authentic notification of spring. And such
his appearance in the orchard and garden undoubtedly is. But, in spite
of his name of migratory thrush, he stays with us all winter, and I
have seen him when the thermometer marked 15 degrees below zero of
Fahrenheit, armed impregnably within,(1) like Emerson's Titmouse, and as
cheerful as he. The robin has a bad reputation among people who do not
value themselves less for being fond of cherries. There is, I admit,
a spice of vulgarity in him, and his song is rather of the Bloomfield
sort, too largely ballasted with prose. His ethics are of the Poor
Richard school, and the main chance which calls forth all his energy
is altogether of the belly. He never has these fine intervals of lunacy
into which his cousins, the catbird and the mavis, are apt to fall. But
for a' that and twice as muckle's a' that, I would not exchange him for
all the cherries that ever came out of Asia Minor. With whatever faults,
he has not wholly forfeited that superiority which belongs to the
children of nature. He has a finer taste in fruit than could be
distilled from many successive committees of the Horticultural Society,
and he eats with a relishing gulp not inferior to Dr. Johnson's. He
feels and freely exercises his right of eminent domain. His is the
earliest mess of green peas; his all the mulberries I had fancied mine.
But if he get also the lion's share of the raspberries, he is a
great planter, and sows those wild ones in the woods that solace the
pedestrian, and give a momentary calm even to the jaded victims of the
White Hills. He keeps a strict eye over one's fruit, and knows to a
shade of purple when your grapes have cooked long enough in the sun.
During the severe drought a few years ago the robins wholly vanished
from my garden. I neither saw nor heard one for three weeks, meanwhile
a small foreign grape-vine, rather shy of bearing, seemed to find the
dusty air | 275.671895 |
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Produced by Lynn Ratcliffe
THE LAST OF THE CHIEFS
A Story of the Great Sioux War
by Joseph A. Altsheler
Contents
I--The Train
II--King Bison
III--The Pass
IV--Treasure-Trove
V--The Lost Valley
VI--Castle Howard
VII--An Animal Progression
VIII--The Trap Makers
IX--The Timber Wolves
X--Dick Goes Scouting
XI--The Terrible Pursuit
XII--The Fight with Nature
XIII--Albert's Victory
XIV--Prisoners
XV--The Indian Village
XVI--The Gathering of the Sioux
XVII--Great Sun Dance
XVIII--The Circle of Death
XIX--A Happy Meeting
XX--Bright Sun's Good-by
Chapter I
The Train
The boy in the third wagon was suffering from exhaustion. The
days and days of walking over the rolling prairie, under a brassy
sun, the hard food of the train, and the short hours of rest, had
put too severe a trial upon his delicate frame. Now, as he lay
against the sacks and boxes that had been drawn up to form a sort
of couch for him, his breath came in short gasps, and his face
was very pale. His brother, older, and stronger by far, who
walked at the wheel, regarded him with a look in which affection
and intense anxiety were mingled. It was not a time and place in
which one could afford to be ill.
Richard and Albert Howard were bound together by the strongest of
brotherly ties. Richard had inherited his father's bigness and
powerful constitution, Albert his mother's slenderness and
fragility. But it was the mother who lived the longer, although
even she did not attain middle age, and her last words to her
older son were: "Richard, take care of Albert." He had promised,
and now was thinking how he could keep the promise.
It was a terrible problem that confronted Richard Howard. He
felt no fear on his own account. A boy in years, he was a man in
the ability to care for himself, wherever he might be. In a
boyhood spent on an Illinois farm, where the prairies <DW72> up to
the forest, he had learned the ways of wood and field, and was
full of courage, strength, and resource.
But Albert was different. He had not thrived in the moist air of
the great valley. Tall enough he was, but the width of chest and
thickness of bone were lacking. Noticing this, the idea of going
to California had come to the older brother. The great gold days
had passed years since, but it was still a land of enchantment to
the youth of the older states, and the long journey in the high,
dry air of the plains would be good for Albert. There was
nothing to keep them back. They had no property save a little
money--enough for their equipment, and a few dollars over to
live on in California until they could get work.
To decide was to start, and here they were in the middle of the
vast country that rolled away west of the Missouri, known but
little, and full of dangers. The journey had been much harder
than the older boy had expected. The days stretched out, the
weeks trailed away, and still the plains rolled before them.
The summer had been of the hottest, and the heated earth gave
back the glare until the air quivered in torrid waves. Richard
had drawn back the cover of the wagon that his brother might
breathe the air, but he replaced it now to protect him from the
overpowering beams. Once more he anxiously studied the country,
but it gave him little hope. The green of the grass was gone,
and most of the grass with it. The brown undulations swept away
from horizon to horizon, treeless, waterless, and bare. In all
that vast desolation there was nothing save the tired and dusty
train at the very center of it.
"Anything in sight, Dick?" asked Albert, who had followed his
brother's questioning look.
Dick shook his head.
"Nothing, Al," he replied.
"I wish we'd come to a grove," said the sick boy.
He longed, as do all those who are born in the hills, for the
sight of trees and clear, running water.
"I was thinking, Dick," he resumed in short, gasping tones, "that
it would be well for us, just as the evening was coming on, to go
over a swell and ride right into a forest of big oaks and maples,
with the finest little creek that you ever saw running through
the middle of it. It would be pleasant and shady there. Leaves
would be lying about, the water would be cold, and maybe we'd see
elk coming down to drink."
"Perhaps we'll have such luck, Al," said Dick, although his tone
showed no such hope. But he added, assuming a cheerful manner:
"This can't go on forever; we'll be reaching the mountains soon,
and then you'll get well."
"How's that brother of yours? No better, I see, and he's got to
ride all the time now, making more load for the animals."
It was Sam Conway, the leader of the train, who spoke, a rough
man of middle age, for whom both Dick and Albert had acquired a
deep dislike. Dick flushed through his tan at the hard words.
"If he's sick he had the right to ride," he replied sharply.
"We've paid our share for this trip and maybe a little more.
You know that."
Conway gave him an ugly look, but Dick stood up straight and
strong, and met him eye for eye. He was aware of their rights
and he meant to defend them. Conway, confronted by a dauntless
spirit, turned away, muttering in a surly fashion:
"We didn't bargain to take corpses across the plains."
Fortunately, the boy in the wagon did not hear him, and, though
his eyes flashed ominously, Dick said nothing. It was not a time
for quarreling, but it was often hard to restrain one's temper.
He had realized, soon after the start, when it was too late to
withdraw, that the train was not a good one. It was made up
mostly of men. There were no children, and the few women, like
the men, were coarse and rough. Turbulent scenes had occurred,
but Dick and Albert kept aloof, steadily minding their own
business.
"What did Conway say?" asked Albert, after the man had gone.
"Nothing of any importance. He was merely growling as usual. He
likes to make himself disagreeable. I never saw another man who
got as much enjoyment out of that sort of thing."
Albert said nothing more, but closed his eyes. The canvas cover
protected him from the glare of the sun, but seemed to hold the
heat within it. Drops of perspiration stood on his face, and
Dick longed for the mountains, for his brother's sake.
All the train fell into a sullen silence, and no sound was heard
but the unsteady rumble of the wheels, the creak of an ungreased
axle, and the occasional crack of a whip. Clouds of dust arose
and were whipped by the stray winds into the faces of the
travelers, the fine particles burning like hot ashes. The train
moved slowly and heavily, as if it dragged a wounded length over
the hard ground.
Dick Howard kept his position by the side of the wagon in which
his brother lay. He did not intend that Albert should hear
bitter words leveled at his weakness, and he knew that his own
presence was a deterrent. The strong figures and dauntless port
of the older youth inspired respect. Moreover, he carried over
his shoulder a repeating rifle of the latest pattern, and his
belt was full of cartridges. He and Albert had been particular
about their arms. It was a necessity. The plains and the
mountains were subject to all the dangers of Indian warfare, and
they had taken a natural youthful pride in buying the finest of
weapons.
The hot dust burned Dick Howard's face and crept into his eyes
and throat. His tongue lay dry in his mouth. He might have
ridden in one of the wagons, too, had he chosen. As he truly
said, he and Albert had paid their full share, and in the labor
of the trail, he was more efficient than anybody else in the
train. But his pride had been touched by Conway's words. He
would not ride, nor would he show any signs of weakness. He
strode on by the side of the wagon, head erect, his step firm and
springy.
The sun crept slowly down the brassy arch of the heavens, and the
glare grew less blinding. The heat abated, but Albert Howard,
who had fallen asleep, slept on. His brother drew a blanket over
him, knowing that he could not afford to catch cold, and breathed
the cooler air himself, with thankfulness. Conway came back
again, and was scarcely less gruff than before, although he said
nothing about Albert.
"Bright Sun says than in another day or two we'll be seeing the
mountains," he vouchsafed; "and I'll be glad of it, because then
we'll be coming to water and game."
"I'd like to be seeing them now," responded Dick; "but do you
believe everything that Bright Sun says?"
"Of course I do. Hasn't he brought us along all right? What are
you driving at?"
His voice rose to a challenging tone, in full accordance with the
nature of the man, whenever anyone disagreed with him, but Dick
Howard took not the least fear.
"I don't altogether like Bright Sun," he replied. "Just why, I
can't say, but the fact remains that I don't like him. It
doesn't seem natural for an Indian to be so fond of white people,
and to prefer another race to his own."
Conway laughed harshly.
"That shows how much you know," he said. "Bright Sun is smart,
smarter than a steel trap. He knows that the day of the red is
passing, and he's going to train with the white. What's the use
of being on the losing side? It's what I say, and it's what
Bright Sun thinks."
The man's manner was gross and materialistic, so repellent that
Dick would have turned away, but at that moment Bright Sun
himself approached. Dick regarded him, as always, with the
keenest interest and curiosity mixed with some suspicion. Yet
almost anyone would have been reassured by the appearance of
Bright Sun. He was a splendid specimen of the Indian, although
in white garb, even to the soft felt hat shading his face. But
he could never have been taken for a white man. His hair was
thick, black, and coarse, his skin of the red man's typical
coppery tint, and his cheek bones high and sharp. His lean but
sinewy and powerful figure rose two inches above six feet. There
was an air about him, too, that told of strength other than that
of the body. Guide he was, but leader he looked.
"Say, Bright Sun," exclaimed Conway coarsely, "Dick Howard here
thinks you're too friendly with the whites. It don't seem
natural to him that one of your color should consort so freely
with us."
Dick's face flushed through the brown, and he shot an angry
glance at Conway, but Bright Sun did not seem to be offended.
"Why not?" he asked in perfect English. "I was educated in a
mission school. I have been with white people most of my life, I
have read your books, I know your civilization, and I like it."
"There now!" exclaimed Conway triumphantly. "Ain't that an
answer for you? I tell you what, Bright Sun, I'm for you, I
believe in you, and if anybody can take us through all right to
California, you're the man."
"It is my task and I will accomplish it," said Bright Sun in the
precise English he had learned at the mission school.
His eyes met Dick's for a moment, and the boy saw there a flash
that might mean many things--defiance, primeval force, and the
quality that plans and does. But the flash was gone in an
instant, like a dying spark, and Bright Sun turned away. Conway
also left, but Dick's gaze followed the Indian.
He did not know Bright Sun's tribe. He had heard that he was a
Sioux, also that he was a Crow, and a third report credited him
with being a Cheyenne. As he never painted his face, dressed
like a white man, and did not talk of himself and his people, the
curious were free to surmise as they chose. But Dick was sure of
one thing: Bright Sun was a man of power. It was not a matter of
surmise, he felt it instinctively.
The tall figure of the Indian was lost among the wagons, and Dick
turned his attention to the trail. The cooling waves continued
to roll up, as the west reddened into a brilliant sunset. Great
bars of crimson, then of gold, and the shades in between, piled
above one another on the horizon. The plains lost their brown,
and gleamed in wonderful shimmering tints. The great desolate
world became beautiful.
The train stopped with a rumble, a creak, and a lurch, and the
men began to unharness the animals. Albert awoke with a start
and sat up in the wagon.
"Night and the camp, Al," said Dick cheerfully; "feel better,
don't you?
"Yes, I do," replied Albert, as a faint color came into his face.
"Thought the rest and the coolness would brace you up," continued
Dick in the same cheerful tone.
Albert, a tall, emaciated boy with a face of great refinement and
delicacy, climbed out of the wagon and looked about. Dick busied
himself with the work of making camp, letting Albert give what
help he could.
But Dick always undertook to do enough for two--his brother and
himself--and he really did enough for three. No other was so
swift and skillful at taking the gear off horse or mule, nor was
there a stronger or readier arm at the wheel when it was
necessary to complete the circle of wagons that they nightly
made. When this was done, he went out on the prairie in search
of buffalo chips for the fire, which he was fortunate enough to
find without any trouble.
Before returning with his burden, Dick stood a few moments
looking back at the camp. The dusk had fully come, but the fires
were not yet lighted, and he saw only the shadowy forms of the
wagons and flitting figures about them. But much talked reached
his ears, most of it coarse and rough, with a liberal sprinkling
of oaths. Dick sighed. His regret was keener than ever that
Albert and he were in such company. Then he looked the other
way out upon the fathomless plains, where the night had gathered,
and the wind was moaning among the swells. The air was now chill
enough to make him shiver, and he gazed with certain awe into the
black depths. The camp, even with all its coarseness and
roughness, was better, and he walked swiftly back with his load
of fuel.
They built a dozen fires within the circle of the wagons, and
again Dick was the most active and industrious of them all, doing
his share, Albert's, and something besides. When the fires were
lighted they burned rapidly and merrily, sending up great tongues
of red or yellow flame, which shed a flickering light over
wagons, animals, and men. A pleasant heat was suffused and Dick
began to cook supper for Albert and himself, bringing it from the
wagon in which his brother and he had a share. He fried bacon
and strips of dried beef, boiled coffee, and warmed slices of
bread over the coals.
He saw with intense pleasure that Albert ate with a better
appetite than he had shown for days. As for himself, he was as
hungry as a horse--he always was on this great journey--and
since there was plenty, he ate long, and was happy.
Dick went to the wagon, and returned with a heavy cloak, which he
threw over Albert's shoulders.
"The night's getting colder," he said, "and you mustn't take any
risks, Al. There's one trouble about a camp fire in the open--your
face can burn while your back freezes."
Content fell over the camp. Even rough men of savage instincts
are willing to lie quiet when they are warm and well fed. Jokes,
coarse but invariably | 275.685156 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
McCLURE'S LIBRARY OF CHILDREN'S CLASSICS
EDITED BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
GOLDEN NUMBERS
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH
THE POSY RING
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN
PINAFORE PALACE
A BOOK OF RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY
_Library of Fairy Literature_
THE FAIRY RING
MAGIC CASEMENTS A SECOND FAIRY BOOK
OTHER VOLUMES TO FOLLOW
_Send to the publishers for Complete Descriptive Catalogue_
GOLDEN NUMBERS
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH
CHOSEN AND CLASSIFIED BY
_Kate Douglas Wiggin_
AND
_Nora Archibald Smith_
WITH INTRODUCTION AND INTERLEAVES BY
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
[Illustration]
"_To add to golden numbers, golden numbers._"
THOMAS DEKKER.
NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1909
_Copyright, 1902, by_
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, October, 1902, N
GOLDEN NUMBERS
_Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice._
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
_Hark! the numbers soft and clear_
_Gently steal upon the ear;_
_Now louder, and yet louder rise,_
_And fill with spreading sounds the skies;_
_Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,_
_In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats._
ALEXANDER POPE.
A NOTE
We are indebted to the following firms for permission to use poems
mentioned:
Frederick Warne & Co., for poems of George Herbert and Reginald Heber;
Small, Maynard & Co., for two poems by Walt Whitman, and "The
Tax-Gatherer," by John B. Tabb; George Routledge & Son, for "Sir Lark
and King Sun," George Macdonald; Longmans, Green & Co., for Andrew
Lang's "Scythe Song"; Lee & Shepard, for "A Christmas Hymn," "Alfred
Dommett," and "Minstrels and Maids," William Morris; J. B. Lippincott
Co., for three poems by Thomas Buchanan Read; John Lane, for "The
Forsaken Merman," Matthew Arnold, and "Song to April," William Watson;
"The Skylark," Frederick Tennyson; E. P. Dutton & Co., for "O Little
Town of Bethlehem," Phillips Brooks; Dana, Estes & Co., for "July," by
Susan Hartley Swett; Little, Brown & Co., for poems of Christina G.
Rossetti, and for the three poems, "The Grass," "The Bee," and
"Chartless" by Emily Dickinson; D. Appleton & Co., publishers of
Bryant's Complete Poetical Works, for "March," "Planting of the Apple
Tree," "To the Fringed Gentian," "Death of Flowers," "To a Waterfowl,"
and "The Twenty-second of December"; Charles Scribner's Sons, for "The
Wind" and "A Visit from the Sea," both taken from "A Child's Garden of
Verses"; "The Angler's Reveille," from "The Toiling of Felix"; "Dear
Land of All My Love," from "Poems of Sidney Lanier," and "The Three
Kings," from "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field; The Churchman,
for "Tacking Ship Off Shore," by Walter Mitchell; The Whitaker-Ray Co.,
for "Columbus" and "Crossing the Plains," from The Complete Poetical
Works of Joaquin Miller; The Macmillan Co., for "At Gibraltar," from
"North Shore Watch and Other Poems," by George Edward Woodberry.
The following poems are used by permission of, and by special
arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Co., the authorized publishers:
T. B. Aldrich, "A Turkish Legend," "Before the Rain," "Maple Leaves,"
and "Tiger Lilies"; Christopher P. Cranch, "The Bobolinks"; Alice Cary,
"The Gray Swan"; Margaret Deland, "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks
by Night"; Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Forbearance," "The Humble-Bee," "Duty,"
"The Rhodora," "Concord Hymn," "The Snow Storm," and Ode Sung in the
Town Hall, Concord; James T. Fields, "Song of the Turtle and the
Flamingo"; Oliver Wendell Holmes, "Old Ironsides" and "The Chambered
Nautilus"; John Hay, "The Enchanted Shirt"; Julia Ward Howe, "Battle
Hymn of the Republic"; Bret Harte, "The Reveille" and "A Greyport
Legend"; T. W. Higginson, "The Snowing of the Pines"; H. W. Longfellow,
"The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Psalm of Life," "Home Song," "The
Three Kings," and "The Harvest Moon"; James Russell Lowell,
"Washington," extracts from "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "The
Fatherland," "To the Dandelion," "The Singing Leaves," and "Stanzas on
Freedom"; Lucy Larcom, "Hannah Binding Shoes"; Edna Dean Proctor,
"Columbia's Emblem"; T. W. Parsons, "Dirge for One Who Fell in Battle";
E. C. Stedman, "The Flight of the Birds" and "Going A-Nutting"; E. R.
Sill, "Opportunity"; W. W. Story, "The English Language"; Celia
Thaxter, "The Sandpiper" and "Nikolina"; J. T. Trowbridge, "Evening at
the Farm" and "Midwinter"; Bayard Taylor, "A Night With a Wolf" and "The
Song of the Camp"; J. G. Whittier, "The Corn Song," "The Barefoot Boy,"
"Barbara Frietchie," extracts from "Snow-Bound," "Song of the <DW64>
Boatman," and "The Pipes at Lucknow"; W. D. Howells, "In August"; J. G.
Saxe, "Solomon and the Bees."
CONTENTS
A CHANTED CALENDAR Page
Daybreak. By _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 1
Morning. By _John Keats_ 1
A Morning Song. By _William Shakespeare_ 2
Evening in Paradise. By _John Milton_ 2
Evening Song. By _John Fletcher_ 3
Night. By _Robert Southey_ 4
A Fine Day. By _Michael Drayton_ 5
The Seasons. By _Edmund Spenser_ 5
The Eternal Spring. By _John Milton_ 5
March. By _William Cullen Bryant_ 6
Spring. By _Thomas Carew_ 7
Song to April. By _William Watson_ 7
April in England. By _Robert Browning_ 8
April and May. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 9
May. By _Edmund Spenser_ 9
Song on May Morning. By _John Milton_ 10
Summer. By _Edmund Spenser_ 10
June Weather. By _James Russell Lowell_ 11
July. By _Susan Hartley Swett_ 13
August. By _Edmund Spenser_ 14
In August. By _William Dean Howells_ 14
Autumn. By _Edmund Spenser_ 15
Sweet September. By _George Arnold_ 15
Autumn's Processional. By _Dinah M. Mulock_ 16
October's Bright Blue Weather. By _H. H._ 16
Maple Leaves. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 17
Down to Sleep. By _H. H._ 18
Winter. By _Edmund Spenser_ 19
When Icicles Hang by the Wall. By _William Shakespeare_ 19
A Winter Morning. By _James Russell Lowell_ 20
The Snow Storm. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 21
Old Winter. By _Thomas Noel_ 22
Midwinter. By _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 23
Dirge for the Year. By _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 25
THE WORLD BEAUTIFUL
The World Beautiful. By _John Milton_ 27
The Harvest Moon. By _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 27
The Cloud. By _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 28
Before the Rain. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 31
Rain in Summer. By _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 32
Invocation to Rain in Summer. By _William C. Bennett_ 34
The Latter Rain. By _Jones Very_ 35
The Wind. By _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 35
Ode to the Northeast Wind. By _Charles Kingsley_ 36
The Windy Night. By _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 39
The Brook. By _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 40
The Brook in Winter. By _James Russell Lowell_ 42
Clear and Cool. By _Charles Kingsley_ 44
Minnows. By _John Keats_ 45
Snow-Bound (Extracts). By _John G. Whittier_ 46
Highland Cattle. By _Dinah M. Mulock_ 50
A Scene in Paradise. By _John Milton_ 52
The Tiger. By _William Blake_ 53
The Spacious Firmament on High. By _Joseph Addison_ 54
GREEN THINGS GROWING
Green Things Growing. By _Dinah M. Mulock_ 57
The Sigh of Silence. By _John Keats_ 58
Under the Greenwood Tree. By _William Shakespeare_ 59
The Planting of the Apple Tree. By _William Cullen Bryant_ 59
The Apple Orchard in the Spring. By _William Martin_ 63
Mine Host of "The Golden Apple." By _Thomas Westwood_ 64
The Tree. By _Jones Very_ 65
A Young Fir-Wood. By _Dante G. Rossetti_ 65
The Snowing of the Pines. By _Thomas W. Higginson_ 66
The Procession of the Flowers. By _Sydney Dobell_ 67
Sweet Peas. By _John Keats_ 68
A Snowdrop. By _Harriet Prescott Spofford_ 69
Almond Blossom. By _Sir Edwin Arnold_ 69
Wild Rose. By _William Allingham_ 70
Tiger-Lilies. By _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 71
To the Fringed Gentian. By _William Cullen Bryant_ 72
To a Mountain Daisy. By _Robert Burns_ 73
Bind-Weed. By _Susan Coolidge_ 74
The Rhodora. By _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 76
A Song of Clover. By "_Saxe Holm_" 76
To the Dandelion (Extract). By _James Russell Lowell_ 77
To Daffodils. By _Robert Herrick_ 78
The Daffodils. By _William Wordsworth_ 79
The White Anemone. By _Owen Meredith_ 80
The Grass. By _Emily Dickinson_ 81
The Corn-Song. By _John G. Whittier_ 82
Columbia's Emblem. By _Edna Dean Proctor_ 84
Scythe Song. By _Andrew Lang_ 86
Time to Go. By _Susan Coolidge_ 86
The Death of the Flowers. By _William Cullen Bryant_ 88
Autumn's Mirth. By _Samuel Minturn Peck_ 90
ON THE WING
Sing On, Blithe Bird. By _William Motherwell_ 93
To a Skylark. By _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 94
Sir | 275.754316 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust)
METHOD IN THE STUDY OF TOTEMISM
BY
ANDREW LANG
GLASGOW
Printed at the University Press by
ROBERT MACLEHOSE & CO. LTD.
1911
METHOD IN THE STUDY OF TOTEMISM
Is there any human institution which can be safely called "Totemism"?
Is there any possibility of defining, or even describing Totemism? Is
it legitimate--is it even possible, with due regard for "methodology"
and logic--to seek for the "normal" form of Totemism, and to trace it
through many Protean changes, produced by various causes, social and
speculative? I think it possible to discern the main type of Totemism,
and to account for divergences.
Quite the opposite opinion appears to | 276.054291 |
2023-11-16 18:21:40.0390060 | 5,963 | 7 |
Produced by David Starner, Richard Hulse, Chuck Greif and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
EARLY AMERICAN POETRY
1610-1820
A LIST OF WORKS IN
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
_COMPILED BY_
JOHN C. FRANK
NEW YORK
1917
_NOTE_
_This list includes titles of works in The New York Public Library on
August 1, 1917. They are in the Reference Department of the Library,
in the Central Building at Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street._
REPRINTED OCTOBER 1917
FROM THE
BULLETIN OF THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
OF AUGUST 1917
form p-100 [x-10-17 3c]
EARLY AMERICAN POETRY, 1610-1820
A LIST OF WORKS IN THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
* * * * *
COMPILED BY JOHN C. FRANK
* * * * *
=Adams=, John, 1704-40. Poems on several occasions, original and
translated. By the late reverend and learned John Adams, M.A. Boston:
Printed for D. Goodkin, in Marlborough-Street, over against the Old
South Meeting House. 1745. 4 p.l., 176 p. 16vo.
=Reserve=
=Adams=, John Quincy, 1767-1848. On the discoveries of Captain Lewis.
(In: The Monthly anthology and Boston review. Boston, 1807. 8vo. v. 4,
p. 143-144.)
=* DA=
Also printed in E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck's _Cyclopaedia
of American literature_, New York, 1866, v. 1, p. 395, _NBB._
=Agricola=, pseud. _See_ The =Squabble=; a pastoral eclogue.
=Albany= Register. The humble address of the Carriers of the Albany
Register, to their generous customers, greeting them with a Happy New
Year. [Albany, N. Y.: Jan. 1, 1796.] Broadside.
=Reserve=
=All= the world's a stage. A poem, in three parts. The stranger.
Newburyport: Printed by William Barrett. 1796. 15 [really 14] p. 8vo.
=Reserve=
The name "I. Storey" is written on the title in a
contemporary hand, in the place where the author's name is
usually printed; the reference being undoubtedly to Isaac
Story, who was born at Marblehead in 1774, and published his
first poem, _An Epistle from Yarico to Inkle_, in 1792.
=Allen=, Benjamin, 1789-1829. Miscellaneous poems, on moral and
religious subjects: By Osander [pseud. of Benjamin Allen]. Hudson:
Printed by Wm. E. Norman No. 2, Warren Street. 1811. 2 p.l., 7(1) p.,
2 l., 11-180 p. 16vo.
=NBHD=
---- ---- New-York: Printed by J. Seymour, Sold by Griffin and Rudd,
agents for the publisher; 189, Greenwich-St. 1812. 4 p.l., 5-180
p. 24vo.
=NBHD=
Published to aid the author to study for the ministry.
---- Urania, or The true use of poesy; a poem. By B. Allen, Jun.
New-York: Published by A. H. Inskeep, and Bradford & Inskeep.
Philadelphia. 1814. 3 p.l., (1)8-192 p. 24vo.
=NBHD=
Page 8 is wrongly numbered p. 5.
=Allen=, Mrs. Brasseya, 1760 or 1762-18--? Pastorals, elegies, odes,
epistles, and other poems. By Mrs. Allen. (Copy right secured.)
Abingdon, (Md.): Printed by Daniel P. Ruff. 1806. 5 p.l., (1)10-163 p.
16vo.
=NBHD=
Dedicated to Thomas Jefferson.
=Allen=, James, 1739-1808. An intended inscription written for the
monument on Beacon-Hill in Boston, and addressed to the passenger.
(In: American poems, selected and original. Litchfield, 1793. 12vo.
p. 199-201.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
Also printed in _The Columbian muse_, New York, 1794,
p. 146-147, _NBH_, and in Samuel Kettell, _Specimens of
American poetry_, Boston, 1829, v. 1, p. 170-171, _NBH_.
---- Lines on the [Boston] massacre. (In: Samuel Kettell, Specimens of
American poetry. Boston, 1829. 12vo. v. 1, p. 162-165.)
=NBH=
Written in 1772 but not published till 1782.
---- [Poem] On Washington's visit to Boston, 1789. (In: Samuel
Kettell, Specimens of American poetry. Boston, 1829. 12vo. p. 171-173.)
=NBH=
---- Poem, written in Boston, at the commencement of the late
Revolution. (In: American poems, selected and original. Litchfield,
1793. 12vo. p. 193-199.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
---- The retrospect. (In: Samuel Kettell, Specimens of American
poetry. Boston, 1829. 12vo. v. 1, p. 165-170.)
=NBH=
=Allen=, Paul, 1775-1826. Original poems, serious and entertaining. By
Paul Allen, A.M. Published according to act of Congress. Printed by
Joshua Cushing, Salem, 1801. 2 p.l., (i)vi-xi, 141 p. 16vo.
=Reserve= and =NBHD=
---- A poem, delivered in the Baptist Meeting House in Providence,
September 4th A. D. 1793, being the anniversary commencement of Rhode
Island College. By Paul Allen. (In: Massachusetts magazine. Boston,
1793. 8vo. October, 1793, p. 594-599.)
=Reserve=
=Allston=, Washington, 1779-1843. The sylphs of the seasons, with
other poems. By W. Allston. First American from the London edition.
Boston: Published by Cummings and Hilliard, No. 1, Cornhill.
Cambridge.... Hilliard & Metcalf. 1813. 2 p.l., (i)vi-vii p., 1 l.,
(1)12-168 p. 12vo.
=NBHD=
The first edition was published in London, 1813.
_Contents_: The sylphs of the seasons, a poet's
dream, p. 11-43.--The two painters, a tale,
p. 45-86.--Eccentricity, p. 87-113.--The paint-king,
p. 115-129.--Myrtilla, p. 131-141.--To a lady, who
spoke slightingly of poets, p. 143-147.--Sonnets,
p. 149-154.--The mad lover at the grave of his mistress,
155-158.--First love, a ballad, p. 159-161.--The complaint,
p. p. 162-164.--Will, the maniac, a ballad, p. 165-168.
---- Lectures on art, and poems, by Washington Allston. Edited by
Richard Henry Dana, Jr. New York: Baker and Scribner, 1850. xi,
380 p. 8vo.
=NBI=
In addition to the poems mentioned in the previous
entry, includes _America to Great Britain_. This poem,
written in 1810, was inserted by Coleridge in the first
edition of his _Sibylline leaves_, London, 1817, p. 276-278,
with the following note: "This poem, written by an American
gentleman, a valued and dear friend, I communicate to the
reader for its moral, no less than its poetic spirit."
=Alsop=, George, b. 1638. A character of the province of Maryland,
wherein is described in four distinct parts, (viz.) I. The situation,
and plenty of the province. II. The laws, customs, and natural
demeanor of the inhabitant. III. The worst and best usage of a
Maryland servant, opened in view. IV. The traffique, and vendable
commodities of the countrey. Also a small treatise on the wild and
naked Indians (or Susquehanokes) of Mary-Land, their customs, manners,
absurdities, & religion. Together with a collection of historical
letters. By George Alsop. London, Printed by T. J. for Peter Dring,
at the sign of the Sun in the Poultrey: 1666. 10 p.l., 118 p., 2 l.,
1 port. (8vo.)
=Reserve=
1 facsimile portrait inserted.
Poems on the following pages: p.l. 6-7; p. 26, 44-45,
55, 75-80, 82-83, 103-104, 108-111.
---- ---- A new edition with an introduction and copious historical
notes. By John Gilmary Shea.... New York: William Gowans, 1869.
125 p., 1 map, 1 port. 8vo. (Gowans' Bibliotheca Americana, no. 5.)
=ISG= and =IAG=
Includes a type-facsimile title-page.
Reissued as _Fund publication_, no. 15, of the Mary-land
Historical Society, _IAA_.
---- ---- Reprinted from the original edition of 1666. With
introduction and notes by Newton D. Mereness.... Cleveland: The
Burrows Brothers Company, 1902. 113 p., 1 map, 1 pl., 1 port. 8vo.
=ISG=
Includes a reduced photo-facsimile of original
title-page.
No. 145 of 250 copies printed.
=Alsop=, Richard, 1761-1815. The charms of fancy: a poem in four
cantos, with notes. By Richard Alsop. Edited from the original
manuscripts, with a biographical sketch of the author, by Theodore
Dwight. New York: D. Appleton and Company, M.DCCC.LVI. xii p., 1 l.,
(1)14-214 p. 8vo.
=NBHD=
This poem was mostly written before 1788.
---- Elegy. (In: E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck, Cyclopaedia of American
literature. New York, 1866. 8vo. v. 1, p. 497.)
=NBB=
---- An elegy written in February 1791. (In: American poems, selected
and original. Litchfield, 1793. 12vo. p. 251-255.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
Also printed in _The Columbian muse_, New York, 1794,
p. 190-194, _NBH_.
---- Extract from the Conquest of Scandinavia; being the introduction
to the fourth book. (In: American poems, selected and original.
Litchfield, 1793. 12vo. p. 272-284.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
---- Habakkuk, chap. III. (In: American poems, selected and original.
Litchfield, 1793. 12vo. p. 263-264.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
---- The incantation of Ulfo. From the Conquest of Scandinavia. (In:
Samuel Kettell, Specimens of American poetry. Boston, 1829. 12vo. v. 2,
p. 61-67.)
=NBH=
---- A poem; sacred to the memory of George Washington, late president
of the United States, and commander in chief of the armies of the
United States. Adapted to the 22d of Feb. 1800. By Richard Alsop.
Hartford: Printed by Hudson and Goodwin. 1800. 23 p. 8vo.
=Reserve=
This poem was delivered by Richard Alsop before the
citizens of Middletown, Conn., at the memorial service of
February 22, 1800.
---- Twilight of the Gods; or Destruction of the world, from the Edda,
a system of ancient Scandinavian mythology. (In: American poems,
selected and original. Litchfield, 1793. 12vo. p. 265-272.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
---- Verses to the shearwater--on the morning after the storm at sea.
(In: Samuel Kettell, Specimens of American poetry. Boston, 1829. 12vo.
v. 2, p. 60-61.)
=NBH=
---- Versification of a passage from the fifth book of Ossian's
Temora. (In: American poems, selected and original. Litchfield, 1793.
12vo. p. 255-262.)
=Reserve= and =NBH=
---- _See also_ The =Echo=; The =Political= greenhouse for the year
1798.
An =American=, pseud. Crystalina; a fairy tale. _See_ Harney, John
Milton.
An =American=, pseud. _See_ =Oppression=, a poem.
An =American=, pseud. _See_ =Prime=, Benjamin Young.
=American= poems, selected and original. Vol. 1. Litchfield: Printed
by Collier and Buel. [1793.] (The copy right secured as the Act
directs.) viii, 304 p., 4 l. 12vo.
=Reserve= and =NBH=
No more published.
"The first general collection of poetry ever attempted
in this country."--C. W. Everest, _Poets of Connecticut_,
Hartford, 1843, p. 103.
The editorship is attributed by Everest to Dr. Elihu
Hubbard Smith, but the postscript to the preface of the work
p. [vi] refers to "the ill health of one of the editors."
The Reserve copy contains the autographs of Daniel
Crocker, Samuel Austin, and Samuel G. Drake.
_Contents_: Elegy on the times; Elegy on the death of
Mr. Buckingham St. John; Ambition; Prophecy of Balaam;
Downfall of Babylon; Speech of Proteus to Aristaeus; by John
Trumbull.--Trial of faith; Address to genius of Columbia;
Columbia; The seasons moralized; A hymn; A song; The
critics; Epistle to Col. Humphreys; by Timothy Dwight.--The
prospect of peace; A poem spoken at commencement at Yale
College; Elegy on Titus Hosmer; by Joel Barlow.--Elegy
on burning of Fairfield, Connecticut; Elegy on Lieut. De
Hart; Mount Vernon; An ode addressed to Laura; Genius of
America; Epistle to Dr. Dwight; A song translated from the
French; by David Humphreys.--Epitaph on a patient killed by
cancer quack; Hypocrite's hope; On general Ethan Allen; by
Lemuel Hopkins.--An oration which might have been delivered
to students in anatomy on the late rupture between two
schools in Philadelphia, by Francis Hopkinson.--Philosophic
solitude, by William Livingston.--Descriptive lines upon
prospect from Beacon-Hill in Boston; Ode to the President
on his visiting the Northern states; Invocation to Hope;
Prayer to Patience; Lines addressed to Della Crusca; by
Philenia, a lady of Boston.--Alfred to Philenia.--Philenia
to Alfred.--Poem written in Boston at the commencement of
the Revolution; An intended inscription for monument on
Beacon-Hill in Boston; by James Allen.--Elegiac ode to
General Greene, by George Richards. Country school.--Speech
of Hesper.--[Poem on the distress of inhabitants of
Guinea.]--New Year's wish; From a Gentleman to a lady who
had presented him with a cake heart; by Dr....--Utrum
horum mavis elige.--Ella, a Norwegian tale, by William
Dunlap.--Eulogium on rum, by J. Smith.--Country meeting,
by T. C. James.--Written at sea in a heavy gale, by Philip
Freneau.--To Ella, from Bertha.--An elegy written in
February 1791; Versification of passage from fifth book of
Ossian's Temora; Habakkuk, chap. III; Twilight of the Gods;
Extract from Conquest of Scandinavia; by Richard Alsop.--Ode
to conscience, by Theodore Dwight.--Collolloo, an Indian
tale, by William Dunlap.--An ode to Miss ****, by Joseph
Howe.--Message from Mordecai to Esther, by Timothy Dwight.
The =American= poetical miscellany. Original and selected.
Philadelphia: Published by Robert Johnson, C. & A. Conrad & Co.
and Mathew Carey, booksellers and stationers. 1809. 1 p.l.,
(1)4-304 p. 16vo.
=NBH=
John Binns, printer.
Includes the following poems by American authors:
The burning of Fairfield, by D. Humphreys.--Mercy, by
Salleck Osborn.--Eulogium on rum, by Joseph Smith.--The
country meeting, by T. C. James.--The house of sloth, by
Timothy Dwight.--Extract from a dramatic manuscript, by
Salleck Osborn.
=American= taxation [a poem], 1765. (In: E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck,
Cyclopaedia of American literature. New York, 1866. 8vo. v. 1,
p. 461-463.)
=NBB=
Attributed to Samuel St. John of New Canaan,
Connecticut, and to Peter St. John of Norwalk, Connecticut.
Also printed in Frank Moore, _Songs and ballads of the
American Revolution_, New York, 1856, p. 1-17, _NBH_.
The =American= times, a satire, in three parts. _See_ =Odell=,
Jonathan.
An =American= youth, pseud. _See_ The =Spunkiad=: or Heroism improved.
=Ames=, Nathaniel, 1708-1764. An essay upon the microscope. (In his:
An astronomical diary, or An almanac for the year of our Lord Christ,
1741. Boston, 1741. 12vo.)
=Reserve=
Reprinted in Stedman and Hutchinson, _A library of
American literature_, New York, 1889, v. 2, p. 425-427,
_NBB_.
Additional poems without titles will be found in his
_An astronomical diary, or An almanac... for the years
1731, 1733-35, 1737-50, 1752-75_, copies of which are in the
_Reserve Room_ of the Library.
---- A poetical essay on happiness. (In his: Ames's almanac revived
and improved: or, An astronomical diary for the year of our Lord
Christ, 1766. Boston, 1766. 12vo.)
=Reserve=
---- Victory implor'd for success against the French in America. (In
his: An astronomical diary, or An almanac for the year of our Lord
Christ, 1747. Boston, 1747. 12vo.)
=Reserve=
---- The waking of sun. (In his: An astronomical diary, or An almanac
for the year of our Lord Christ, 1739. Boston, 1739. 12vo.)
=Reserve=
Reprinted in Stedman and Hutchinson, _A library of
American literature_, New York, 1889, v. 2, p. 424-425,
_NBB_.
The =Anarchiard=: a New England poem. Written in concert by David
Humphreys, Joel Barlow, John Trumbull, and Dr. Lemuel Hopkins. Now
first published in book form. Edited, with notes and appendices, by
Luther G. Riggs. New Haven: Published by Thomas H. Pease, 323 Chapel
Street. 1861. viii, 120 p. 24vo.
=NBHD=
The Library has another copy with the following
portraits inserted: David Humphreys, Joel Barlow, John
Trumbull, Nathanael Greene, Robert Morris.
This poem was originally published in the following
numbers of _The New Haven Gazette and Connecticut Magazine_:
Oct. 26, Nov. 2, Dec. 28, 1786; Jan. 11, 25, Feb. 22, March
15, 22, April 5, May 24, Aug. 16, Sept. 13, 1787. The
Library possesses all the numbers of the _New Haven Gazette_
in which this poem appeared, except the last one, Sept. 13,
1787.
Nos. 1-4 of _The Anarchiard_ were also printed in _The
American museum_, Philadelphia, 1789, v. 5, p. 94-100,
303-305.
The projector of this poem was Colonel David Humphreys;
and it was written in concert with Barlow, Trumbull, and
Hopkins; but what particular installment or number was
written by each has never been definitely ascertained.
=Andre=, John, 1751-1780. Cow-chace, in three cantos, published
on occasion of the Rebel General Wayne's attack of the Refugees
Block-House on Hudson's river, on Friday the 21st of July, 1780. [By
Major John Andre.] New-York: Printed by James Rivington, MDCCLXXX.
1 p.l., (1)4-69 p. 8vo.
=Reserve=
Included with the Cow-chace, are the following poems:
Yankee Doodle's Expedition to Rhode Island, written at
Philadelphia, p. 19-21; On the Affair between the Rebel
Generals Howe and Gaddesden, written at Charlestown,
p. 23-26; The American times, a satire. In three parts....
By Camillo Querno, p. 27-69.
Inserted, a portrait of Andre, engraved by Hapwood, from
a drawing by Major Andre, ornamented by Shirt.
The _Cow-chace_ appeared originally in _The Royal
Gazette_, in the following numbers: Canto I, Aug. 16, 1780;
Canto II, Aug. 30, 1780; Canto III, Sept. 23, 1780.
Also printed in William Dunlap, _Andre; a tragedy_, New
York, 1798, p. 75-84, _Reserve_, and in Winthrop Sargent,
_The life of Major Andre_, Boston, 1861, and New York, 1871,
p. 236-249, _IGM_.
=Andrews=, Edward W. An address before the Washington Benevolent
Society, in Newburyport, on the 22d. Feb. 1816. By Edward W. Andrews,
A.M. Published by request of the society. Newburyport: Published by
William B. Allen & Co. No. 13, Cornhill. 1816. 1 p.l., (1)4-15 p. 8vo.
=NBHD p.v. 5, no. 14=
=Aquiline Nimble-Chops=, pseud. Democracy: an epic poem. _See_
=Livingston=, Henry Brockholst.
=Aristocracy.= An epic poem. Philadelphia: Printed for the editor.
1795. 2 v. 8vo.
=Reserve=
In two parts issued separately.
[Part] 1 has 16 p. and is dated on p. vii: Philadelphia,
January 5, 1795.
[Part] 2, without imprint, has 18 [really 17] p., pages
numbered 1-16, 18, and dated, on p. [4]: Philadelphia, March
26th, 1795.
=Armstrong=, William Clinton, 1855--, editor. Patriotic poems of New
Jersey. [Newark, N. J., 1906.] 3 p.l., ii-v, 248 p., 5 pl., 3 ports.
8vo. (Sons of the American Revolution.--New Jersey Society. New Jersey
and the American Revolution.)
=NBH=
=Arnold=, Josias Lyndon, 1765-1796. Poems. By the late Josias Lyndon
Arnold, Esq; of St. Johnsbury (Vermont) formerly of Providence, and
a tutor in Rhode-Island College. Printed at Providence, by Carter
and Wilkinson, and sold at their bookstore, opposite the market.
M.DCC.XCVII. xii, (1)14-141 p. 12vo.
=Reserve=
Introduction by the editor, signed and dated: James
Burrill, jun. Providence, April, 1797.
"The last words of Sholum; or | 276.059046 |
2023-11-16 18:21:40.4128370 | 1,951 | 48 |
Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny
VENDETTA
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor.
VENDETTA
CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE
In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied
by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of
the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled
down, at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended
to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the
Valois.
The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he
sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at
his wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed
wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose
long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a single
glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than
love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their
movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of
all ties.
The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick
hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet
black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his
features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident
strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty
years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country.
Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed
the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm
countenance whenever her husband looked at her.
The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the
youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast
of countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched
brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who
passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group,
who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the
expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy,
characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the
stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his observer
with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step as
though he had trod upon a serpent.
After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly
passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts
that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate
resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew
a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in
Italian:--
"I will see if the Bonapartes remember us."
Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the
palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular
guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this
man's obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the
form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that
moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the
spot where the commander of the post was standing.
"Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,"
said the Italian to the captain on duty.
In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the
First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing;
the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The
officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the
order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting
a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible for the
misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence,
folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station
under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication between
the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who will things
intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when
Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone posts which
was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte,
minister of the interior, issued.
"Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!" cried the stranger.
These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment
when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot,
and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear,
he took the Corsican away with him.
Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First
Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance
as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and
led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with
his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and
Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order
to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the
aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First
Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the adjoining salon, opened
the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the
cabinet.
"Do you choose not to understand me?" said the First Consul. "I wish to
be alone with my compatriot."
"A Corsican!" replied the aide-de-camp. "I distrust those fellows too
much to--"
The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful
officer by the shoulders.
"Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?" said Napoleon.
"To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican,"
replied Bartolomeo, roughly.
"What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the
most--"
"I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican, in a deep voice,
frowning heavily.
The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise.
"Do you mean to betray me?" cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at
Bonaparte. "Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?"
Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it.
"Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?" he said.
Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at
Piombo and said:--
"Why did you kill the Portas?"
"We had made friends," replied the man; "the Barbantis reconciled us.
The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home
because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and
set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My
daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning,
escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house;
my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck
against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. 'The
Portas have dealt me this blow,' I said; and, forthwith, I went to
the woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever
served,--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of
the Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all
before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But
I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I have
left the island with my wife and child without being able to discover
whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive."
Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise.
"How many were there?" asked Lucien.
"Seven," replied Piombo. "All of them were your persecutors in the olden
times."
These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two
brothers.
"Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!" cried Piombo, with a sort of despair.
"Farewell. In other days I protected you," he added, in a reproachful
tone. "Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille," he
said, addressing | 276.432877 |
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