claran/code_trace_2023 · Datasets at Hugging Face

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2023-11-16 18:48:42.6256970	7,425	66	Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ \|DISCLAIMER \| \| \| \|The articles published in the Annual Reports of the Northern Nut Growers\| \|Association are the findings and thoughts solely of the authors and are \| \|not to be construed as an endorsement by the Northern Nut Growers \| \|Association, its board of directors, or its members. No endorsement is \| \|intended for products mentioned, nor is criticism meant for products not\| \|mentioned. The laws and recommendations for pesticide application may \| \|have changed since the articles were written. It is always the pesticide\| \|applicator's responsibility, by law, to read and follow all current \| \|label directions for the specific pesticide being used. The discussion \| \|of specific nut tree cultivars and of specific techniques to grow nut \| \|trees that might have been successful in one area and at a particular \| \|time is not a guarantee that similar results will occur elsewhere. \| +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION REPORT OF THE PROCEEDINGS AT THE SEVENTH ANNUAL MEETING WASHINGTON, D. C. SEPTEMBER 8 AND 9, 1916. PRESS OF The Advertiser-republican, ANNAPOLIS, MD. CONTENTS PAGE Officers and Committees of the Association 4 Members of the Association 5 Constitution and By-Laws 10 Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Meeting 13 Report of the Secretary-Treasurer 14 Notes on the Chinquapins, Dr. Robert T. Morris, New York 15 The Black Walnut, T. P. Littlepage, Washington, D. C. 25 Discussion on the Almond 33 Discussion on the Hazel 37 The Chestnut Bark Disease, Dr. Haven Metcalf, Washington, D. C. 41 Discussion on Quarantine for Chestnut Nursery Stock 49 Hybrids and Other New Chestnuts for Blight Districts, Dr. Walter Van Fleet, Washington, D. C. 54 President's Address, Dr. J. Russell Smith, Roundhill, Va. 58 Diseases of the Persian Walnut, S. M. McMurran, Washington, D. C. 67 Discussion on Winter Killing 72 Address of Col. C. A. Van Duzee, Cairo, Georgia 75 Resolutions on Chestnut Blight Quarantine 80 Resolution on Investigations in Nut Tree Propagation 84 Discussion on the Growth and Fruiting of Pecans in the North 86 Top Working Pecans on Other Hickories 91 Appendix: Letter from W. C. Reed, Vice-President 98 The Food Value of Nuts, Dr. J. H. Kellogg, Battle Creek, Mich. 101 Letter from J. C. Cooper, McMinnville, Oregon 114 List of those present at the meeting 117 OFFICERS OF THE ASSOCIATION _President_ W. C. REED Vincennes, Indiana _Vice-President_ W. N. HUTT Raleigh, North Carolina _Secretary and Treasurer_ W. C. DEMING Georgetown, Connecticut COMMITTEES _Auditing_--C. P. CLOSE, C. A. REED _Executive_--T. P. LITTLEPAGE, J. RUSSELL SMITH AND THE OFFICERS _Finance_--T. P. LITTLEPAGE, WILLARD G. BIXBY, W. C. DEMING _Hybrids_--R. T. MORRIS, C. P. CLOSE, W. C. DEMING, J. G. RUSH _Membership_--HARRY R. WEBER, R. T. OLCOTT, F. N. FAGAN, W. O. POTTER, W. C. DEMING, WENDELL P. WILLIAMS, J. RUSSELL SMITH _Nomenclature_--C. A. REED, R. T. MORRIS, R. L. MCCOY, J. F. JONES _Press and Publication_--RALPH T. OLCOTT, J. RUSSELL SMITH, W. C. DEMING _Programme_--W. C. DEMING, J. RUSSELL SMITH, C. A. REED, W. N. HUTT, R. T. MORRIS _Promising Seedlings_--C. A. REED, J. F. JONES, PAUL WHITE STATE VICE-PRESIDENTS California T. C. Tucker 311 California St., San Francisco Canada G. H. Corsan 63 Avenue Road, Toronto Connecticut Charles H. Plump West Redding Delaware E. R. Angst 527 Dupont Building, Wilmington Georgia J. B. Wight Cairo Illinois H. A. Riehl Alton Indiana J. F. Wilkinson Rockport Iowa Wendell P. Williams Danville Kentucky A. L. Moseley Calhoun Maryland C. P. Close College Park Massachusetts James II. Bowditch 903 Tremont Building, Boston Michigan. Miss Maude M. Jessup 440 Thomas St., Grand Rapids Minnesota L. L. Powers 1018 Hudson Ave., St. Paul Missouri P. C. Stark Louisiana New Jersey C. S. Ridgway Lumberton New York M. E. Wile 37 Calumet St., Rochester North Carolina W. N. Hutt Raleigh Ohio Harry R. Weber 601 Gerke Building, Cincinnati Pennsylvania J. G. Rush West Willow Texas R. S. Trumbull M. S. R. R. Co., El Paso Virginia John S. Parish Eastham Washington A. E. Baldwin Kettle Falls West Virginia B. F. Hartzell Shepherdstown MEMBERS OF THE NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION CALIFORNIA Dawson, L. H., Llano Johnson, Chet, R. D. 1, Biggs Tucker, T. C., Manager California Almond Growers' Exchange, 311 California St., San Francisco CANADA Corsan, G. H., University of Toronto Dufresne, Dr. A. A., 1872 Cartier St., Montreal Sager, Dr. D. S., Brantford CONNECTICUT Barnes, John R., Yalesville Deming, Dr. W. C., Georgetown Deming, Mrs. W. C., Georgetown. Goodwin, James L., Box 447, Hartford Hungerford, Newman, Torrington, R. 2, Box 76, for circulars, Box 1082, Hartford, for letters Ives, Ernest M., Sterling Orchards, Meriden Lay, Charles Downing, Wellesmere, Stratford Lewis, Henry Leroy, Stratford Mikkelsen, Mrs. M. A., Georgetown Morris, Dr. Robert T., Cos Cob, R. 28, Box 95 Plump, Charles II., West Redding Sessions, Albert L., Bristol Staunton, Gray, R. D. 30, Stamford White, Gerrard, North Granby Williams, W. W., Milldale DELAWARE Augst, E. R., 527 DuPont Building, Wilmington, Del. Lord, George Frank, care of DuPont Powder Company, Wilmington DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA Close, Prof. C. P., Pomologist, Department of Agriculture, Washington Goddard, R. H., States' Relations Service, Washington Littlepage, T. P., Union Trust Building, Washington Reed, C. A., Nut Culturist, Department of Agriculture, Washington GEORGIA Bullard, Wm. P., Albany Van Duzee, C. A., Judson Orchard Farm, Cairo Wight, J. B., Cairo ILLINOIS Casper, O. II., Anna Poll, Carl J, 1009 Maple St., Danville Potter, Hon. W. O., Marion Riehl, E. A., Alton INDIANA Hutchings, Miss Lida G., 118 Third St., Madison Lukens, Mrs. B., Anderson Reed, M. P., Vincennes Reed, W. C, Vincennes Wilkinson, J. F., Rockport Woolbright, Clarence, R. D. 3, Elnora IOWA Snyder, D. C., Center Point Williams, Wendell P., Danville KENTUCKY Matthews, Prof. C. W., Horticulturist, State Agricultural Station, Lexington Moseley, A. L., Bank of Calhoun, Calhoun MARYLAND Campbell, George D., Lonaconing Darby, R. U., Suite 804, Continental Building, Baltimore Hayden, Chas. S., 200 E. Lexington St., Baltimore Keenan, Dr. John N., Brentwood King, W. J., 232 Prince George St., Annapolis Kyner, James H., Bladensburg Littlepage, Miss Louise, Bowie Murray, Miss Annie C., Cumberstone Stabler, Henry, Hancock White, Paul, Bowie MASSACHUSETTS Bowditch, James II., 903 Tremont Building, Boston Cleaver, C. Leroy, Hingham Center Cole, Mrs. George B., 15 Mystic Ave., Winchester Hoffman, Bernhard, Overbrook Orchard, Stockbridge Smith, Fred A., 39 Pine St., Danvers Vaughan, Horace A., Peacehaven, Assonet White, Warren, Holliston MICHIGAN Copland, Alexander W., Strawberry Hill Farm, Birmingham Jessup, Miss Maud M., 440 Thomas St., Grand Rapids Johnson, Franklin, Munising Kellogg, J. H., Battle Creek Staunton, Gray, Muskegon, Box 233 MINNESOTA Powers, L. L., 1018 Hudson Ave., St. Paul MISSOURI Bauman, X. C., Ste. Genevieve Darche, J. H., Parkville Funston, E. S., 1521 Morgan St., St. Louis Phelps, Howe, Pine Hurst Dairy, Carthage Stark, P. C., Louisiana (Mo.) NEBRASKA Kurtz, John W., 5304 Bedford St., Omaha NEW JERSEY Black, Walter C., of Jos. H. Black, Son & Co., Hightstown Childs, Fred., Morristown, R. D. 2 Jaques, Lee W., 74 Waverly St., Jersey City Heights Lovett, J. T., Little Silver Marston, Edwin S., Florham Park, Box 72 Mechling, Edward A., Wonderland Farm, Moorestown Ridgeway, C. S. Floralia, Lumberton, N. J. Roberts, Horace, Moorestown Young, Frederick C., Palmyra, Box 335 NEW YORK Abbott, Frederick B., 419 Ninth St., Brooklyn Atwater, C. G., The Barrett Co., 17 Battery Place, New York City Baker, Dr. Hugh P., Dean of State College of Forestry, Syracuse Baker, Prof. J. Fred, Director of Forest Investigations, State College of Forestry, Syracuse Baker, Wm. A., North Rose Bixby, Willard G., 46th St. and 2nd Ave., Brooklyn Brown, Ronald J., 320 Broadway, New York City Ellwanger, Mrs. W. D., 510 East Ave., Rochester Fullerton, H. B., Director Long Island Railroad Experiment Station, Medford, L. I. Haywood, Albert, Flushing Hickox, Ralph, 3832 White Plains Ave., New York City Holden, E. B., Hilton Huntington, A. M., 15 W. 81st St., New York City Jackson, Dr. James H., Dansville Loomis, C. B., East Greenbush Miller, Milton R., Batavia, Box 394 Morse, Geo. A., Fruit Acres, Williamson, N. Y. Nelson, Dr. James Robert, 23 Main St., Kingston-on-Hudson Olcott, Ralph T., Ellwanger & Barry Building, Rochester Palmer, A. C., New York Military Academy, Cornwall-on-Hudson Pannell, W. B., Pittsford Pomeroy, A. C., Lockport Rice, Mrs. Lillian McKee, Adelano, Pawling Simmons, A. L., State Highway Department, Albany Stuart, C. W., Newark Teele, A. W., 30 Broad St., New York City Teter, Walter C., 10 Wall St., New York City Thomson, Adelbert, East Avon Tuckerman, Bayard, 118 E. 37th St., New York City Ulman, Dr. Ira, 213 W. 147th St., New York City Wile, M. E., 37 Calumet St., Rochester Williams, Dr. Charles Mallory, 48 E. 49th St., New York City Wissman, Mrs. F. de R., Westchester, New York City NORTH CAROLINA Glover, J. Wheeler, Morehead City Hutt, Prof. W. N., State Horticulturist, Raleigh Van Lindley, J., J. Van Lindley Nursery Company, Pomona Whitfield, Dr. Wm. Cobb, Grifton OHIO Dayton, J. H., Storrs & Harrison Company, Painesville Evans, Miss Myrta L., Briallen Farm, Oak Hill, Jackson County Miller, H. A., Gypsum Thorne, Charles E., Wooster, Agric. Exp. Sta. Weber, Harry E., 601 Gerke Building, Cincinnati Yunck, E. G., 710 Central Ave., Sandusky PENNSYLVANIA Druckemiller, W. C., Sunbury Fagan, Prof. P. N., Department of Horticulture, State College Grubbs, H. L., Fairview, R. 1 Hall, Robt. W., 133 Church St., Bethlehem Harshman, U. W., Waynesboro Heffner, H., Highland Chestnut Grove, Leeper Hile, Anthony, Curwensville National Bank, Curwensville Hoopes, Wilmer W., Hoopes Brothers and Thomas Company, Westchester Hutchinson, Mahlon, Ashwood Farm, Devon, Chester County Jenkins, Charles Francis, Farm Journal, Philadelphia Jones, J. P., Lancaster, Box 527 Kaufman, M. M., Clarion Leas, F. C., 882 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Mountain Brook Orchard Company, Salem, Va. Middleton, Fenton H., 1118 Chestnut St., Philadelphia Murphy, P. J., Vice-President L. & W. R. R. R. Company, Scranton O'Neill, Wm. C., 1328 Walnut St., Philadelphia Rheam, J. F., 45 N. Walnut St., Lewistown Rick, John, 438 Pennsylvania Sq., Reading Rife, Jacob A., Camp Hill Rush, J. G., West Willow Sober, Col. C. K., Lewisburg Thomas, Joseph W., Jos. W. Thomas & Sons, King of Prussia P. O. Weaver, Wm. S., McCungie Webster, Mrs. Edmund, 1324 S. Broad St., Philadelphia Wister, John C, Wister St. and Clarkson Ave., Germantown Wright, R. P., 235 W. 6th St., Erie SOUTH CAROLINA Shanklin, Prof. A. G., Clemson College TENNESSEE Marr, Thomas S., 701 Stahlman Building, Nashville TEXAS Burkett, J. H., Nut Specialist, State Dept, of Agric., Clyde Trumbull, R. S., Agricultural Agent, El Paso & S. W. System, Morenci Southern Railroad Company, El Paso VIRGINIA Crockett, E. B., Monroe Engleby, Thos. L., 1002 Patterson Ave., Roanoke Lee, Lawrence R., Leesburg Miller, L. O., Miller & Rhodes, Richmond Parish, John S., Eastham, Albemarle County Shackford, Theodore B., care of Adams Brothers-Paynes Company, Lynchburg Smith, Dr. J. Russell, Roundhill WASHINGTON Baldwin, Dr. A. E., Kettle Falls Rogers, Dr. Albert, Okanogan WEST VIRGINIA Hartzell, B. F., Shepherdstown * Life member. CONSTITUTION ARTICLE I _Name._ This society shall be known as the NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION. ARTICLE II _Object._ Its object shall be the promotion of interest in nut-bearing plants, their products and their culture. ARTICLE III _Membership._ Membership in the society shall be open to all persons who desire to further nut culture, without reference to place of residence or nationality, subject to the rules and regulations of the committee on membership. ARTICLE IV _Officers._ There shall be a president, a vice-president and a secretary-treasurer, who shall be elected by ballot at the annual meeting; and an executive committee of five persons, of which the president, two last retiring presidents, vice-president and secretary-treasurer shall be members. There shall be a state vice-president from each state, dependency or country represented in the membership of the association, who shall be appointed by the president. ARTICLE V _Election of Officers._ A committee of five members shall be elected at the annual meeting for the purpose of nominating officers for the following year. ARTICLE VI _Meetings._ The place and time of the annual meeting shall be selected by the membership in session or, in the event of no selection being made at this time, the executive committee shall choose the place and time for the holding of the annual convention. Such other meetings as may seem desirable may be called by the president and executive committee. ARTICLE VII _Quorum._ Ten members of the association shall constitute a quorum, but must include a majority of the executive committee or two of the three elected officers. ARTICLE VIII _Amendments._ This constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote of the members present at any annual meeting, notice of such amendment having been read at the previous annual meeting, or a copy of the proposed amendment having been mailed by any member to each member thirty days before the date of the annual meeting. BY-LAWS ARTICLE I _Committees._ The association shall appoint standing committees as follows: On membership, on finance, on programme, on press and publication, on nomenclature, on promising seedlings, on hybrids, and an auditing committee. The committee on membership may make recommendations to the association as to the discipline or expulsion of any member. ARTICLE II _Fees._ The fees shall be of two kinds, annual and life. The former shall be two dollars, the latter twenty dollars. ARTICLE III _Membership._ All annual memberships shall begin with the first day of the calendar quarter following the date of joining the association. ARTICLE IV _Amendments._ By-laws may be amended by a two-thirds vote of members present at any annual meeting. Northern Nut Growers Association SEVENTH ANNUAL MEETING SEPTEMBER 8 AND 9, 1916 WASHINGTON, D. C. The seventh annual meeting of the Northern Nut Growers Association was called to order in rooms 42-43 of the new building of the National Museum at Washington, D. C., on Friday, September 8th, at 10 a. m., the president, Dr. J. Russell Smith, presiding. THE PRESIDENT: It is often customary to start meetings of this sort with a considerable amount of eloquence, such as an address of welcome by some high city or state official, a response to the address of welcome by some one else high in authority, and so on, during which the visitors are told of the many privileges they may enjoy, "the keys of the town" are handed over to them, and a good deal of high-flown oratory is indulged in. We suppose that the people in attendance at this meeting are so well acquainted with Washington that those preliminaries are unnecessary, and I have been informed by the members of the local committee that we can dispense with the frills in this case and proceed with the business of the meeting, which we think is going to rather crowd our time if we get said all that we want to say. We are going to devote this morning's programme first to a paper by Dr. Robert T. Morris on the chinquapin, and then to the discussion of a comparatively newly considered member of our nut family, namely, the American black walnut. We have been heretofore much interested in sundry exotics and talking far too little about this great tree nearer home. Before taking up the technical programme we have a few matters of business to put through. First, we will have the report of the secretary and treasurer. REPORT OF THE SECRETARY-TREASURER Balance on hand date of last report $ 140.24 Receipts: Dues 292.75 Advertisements 21.00 Contributions 5.50 Sale of report 34.75 Contributions for prizes 10.00 Miscellaneous .65 ------- $504.89 Expenses: Printing report $ 142.56 Envelopes for report 9.00 Miscellaneous printing 32.50 Postage and stationery 49.26 Stenographer 26.35 Express and freight 2.77 Prizes 18.00 Checks, J. R. S. expenses and circulars 180.00 Lantern operator 3.00 Litchfield Savings Society 20.00 ------- $483.44 ------- Balance on hand $21.45 Receipts from all sources, except sale of reports, have fallen off markedly, as have new members, 31 less than last year, though we have now 154 paid up members, one more than last year. 10 members have resigned and 42 have been dropped for non-payment of dues. We have lost one member by death, Herbert R. Orr, of Washington. The committees on membership and on finance should be more active. Our annual report constitutes the minutes of the last meeting. Our nut contest and other matters of interest have been reported through the columns of the American Nut Journal, our official organ. [Accepted.] THE PRESIDENT: Next in order of business is the first step toward the election of officers for the ensuing year. It is our custom to have a nominating committee elected at an early session. They deliberate and bring forward a slate which is voted on at a later session. This morning is a suitable time for the election of a committee, and tomorrow morning will be a suitable time for their report. Are there any nominations for the Nominating Committee? MR. M. P. REED: Mr. President, I move that Dr. Morris, Mr. C. P. Close, Mr. C. A. Reed, Prof. Stabler and Dr. Ira Ulman be appointed as the Nominating Committee. THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other nominations? MR. C. A. REED: Mr. President, I would like to ask that Mr. Littlepage's name replace my name on that committee. THE PRESIDENT: Will the nominating member accept that amendment? MR. M. P. REED: Yes, sir. THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other nominations? Do I hear a second to the nominations? A MEMBER: Second it. [Carried.] THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other committees to report at this time? THE SECRETARY: There is a Committee on Incorporation. MR. T. P. LITTLEPAGE: Mr. President, the Committee on Incorporation has done some investigating as to the desirability of incorporating the Association, and also, if desirable, under what laws, but that committee has not yet made any final report nor come to any final conclusion, and I would suggest, as a member of the committee, that the committee be continued and instructed to report the following year. THE PRESIDENT: I think that it is unnecessary to vote on the continuance of the committee, as it was appointed with indefinite tenure. We will proceed with the programme and first have the pleasure of listening to Dr. Morris. NOTES ON THE CHINQUAPINS. DR. ROBERT T. MORRIS, NEW YORK According to Sargent the chinquapin (_Castanea pumila_) occupies dry sandy ridges, rich hillsides and the borders of swamps from southern Pennsylvania to northern Florida and the valley of the Neches River in Texas. He states that this chestnut is usually shrubby in the region east of the Alleghany Mountains, and assuming the tree form west of the Mississippi River. Most abundant and of largest size in southern Arkansas and eastern Texas. Curiously enough there are chinquapins also in northeastern Asia which occur as understudies of the larger chestnuts, very much as they do in America. The indigenous range of the chinquapin in America is limited northward by a plan of nature for checking distribution of the species. This plan is manifested in a habit which the nuts have of sprouting immediately upon falling in the early autumn. They proceed busily to make a tap root which may become several inches in length before frost calls a halt. In the north where the warm season is not long enough to allow the autumn sprout to lignify sufficiently for bearing the rigors of winter it is killed. If we protect the small autumn plants, or if we transplant older seedlings from their natural habitat, they may be grown easily far north of their indigenous range. Thrifty chinquapins are happy in the Arnold Arboretum at Jamaica Plain in Massachusetts, and no one knows but they might be cultivated in Nova Scotia and Minnesota. The American chinquapin is one of the many beautiful and valuable plants which have not as yet been taken up by horticulturists for extensive development. It promises to become one of our important sources of food supply for tomorrow. If we were to develop all of our plant resources at once it would be an unkindness to the horticulturists of two thousand years from now, who would be left moping around with nothing to do. Chinquapin nuts borne in heavy profusion by the plants are delicious in quality, but usually too small to attract customers aside from the wood folk. The wood of the chinquapin of tree form (_C. pumila var. arboriformis_) is valuable for purposes to which wood of the common American chestnut is put, and some of the tree chinquapins acquire an earned increment of two or three feet diameter of trunk, and a height of more than fifty feet. The bush chinquapin on the other hand feels rather exclusive when attaining a height of as much as fifteen feet. I present for inspection a freshly cut branch from an ordinary bush chinquapin, loaded with burs, indicating the prolific nature of the variety. The nuts in this particular specimen are small. The next branch exhibited is from a similar bush, but with nuts quite as large as those of the average common chestnut. The horticulturist has only to graft or bud his ordinary run of chinquapin stocks from some one bush which bears large nuts, and he will then have a valuable graded market product. The larger the nut the less prolific the plant is a rule which holds good with the fruiting of almost any plant. Look at this branch from a tree chinquapin. It is not remarkable in any way, but the leaves seem to be a little larger than those of the bush chinquapin. My tree chinquapins came from Stark's nursery in Missouri. The first two which came into bearing had nuts quite as large as those of the common chestnut and I imagined that a discovery of value had been made, but other trees of this variety later bore very small nuts, and all of the tree chinquapin nuts, large and small, were much duller in color than those of the bush chinquapin. My final conclusion is that so far as nuts alone are concerned we may plant and cultivate either the tree variety or the bush variety of the species and then bud or graft any number of stocks from some one plant which bears the best product. DR. AUGUSTUS STABLER: Is it a somewhat finer grained wood than the ordinary chestnut? DR. MORRIS: I think it is. All the chestnuts have rather coarse wood. It is strong, hard, durable, and valuable. This chinquapin wood is somewhat coarse grained, but, for comparison with the American chestnut, I don't know. I imagine it is finer grained. DR. AUGUSTUS STABLER: I know that the chinquapin wood is very much tougher than the American chestnut. DR. MORRIS: Oh, yes. You cannot break the branches so easily. Here is a branch from a hybrid between a chinquapin and a common American chestnut (_Castanea dentata_). The leaves and bark, you will observe, are very much like those of the larger parent. The burs are borne singly or in small groups like those of the common chestnut, instead of being crowded in dense clusters like chinquapin burs. There are two or three nuts to the bur, while the chinquapin has normally, but one nut to the bur. This particular hybrid tree showed an interesting peculiarity. During the first two seasons of bearing it had but one nut to the bur, and this was of chinquapin character. In the third year its nuts were still borne singly, but they were lighter in color than before and oddly corrugated at the base. As the tree became older its chestnut parentage influence pre-dominated, and the tree began to bear two or three nuts to the bur, and more like chestnuts in character, becoming smooth again at the base. I have a number of hybrids between chinquapins and various species and varieties of other chestnuts, but none of these as yet has produced nuts of marked value. There seems to be a tendency for the coarseness of the larger nuts to prevail in the hybrids, a certain loss of gentility beneath a showy exterior. The next branch which I present for inspection is from a most beautiful member of the chestnut family, the alder-leaved chestnut (_Castanea alnifolia_). It is classed among the chinquapins in Georgia where the plant is nearly if not quite evergreen. At Stamford it is deciduous very late in the autumn, but sometimes a green leaf will be found in February, where snow or dead leaves on the ground have furnished a protecting covering. The notable value of this species is perhaps in its decorative character for lawns, although the nuts are first rate. The dark green brilliant leaves are striking in appearance, and the shrub is inclined toward a trailing habit, much like that of some of the junipers. This species is one of my pets at Merribrooke, and a perennial source of wonder that nurserymen have not as yet pounced upon it for purposes of exaggeration and misstatement in their annual catalogues. All of these specimens shown today are from my country place at Stam	1,898.645737
2023-11-16 18:48:42.6273060	2,960	29	Produced by Cindy Horton, Brian Coe, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) THE JUDGEMENT OF VALHALLA BY GILBERT FRANKAU NEW YORK FEDERAL PRINTING COMPANY 1918 Copyright, 1918 GILBERT FRANKAU _All rights reserved_ The Judgement of Valhalla BY GILBERT FRANKAU _THE DESERTER_ “I’m sorry I done it, Major.” We bandaged the livid face; And led him out, ere the wan sun rose, To die his death of disgrace. The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge; The rifles steadied to rest, As cold stock nestled at colder cheek And foresight lined on the breast. “_Fire!_” called the Sergeant-Major. The muzzles flamed as he spoke: And the shameless soul of a nameless man Went up in the cordite-smoke. _THE EYE AND THE TRUTH_ Up from the fret of the earth-world, through the Seven Circles of Flame, With the seven holes in Its tunic for sign of the death-in-shame, To the little gate of Valhalla the coward-spirit came. Cold, It crouched in the man-strong wind that sweeps Valhalla’s floor; Weak, It pawed and scratched on the wood; and howled, like a dog, at the Door Which is shut to the souls who are sped in shame, for ever and evermore: For It snuffed the Meat of the Banquet-boards where the Threefold Killers sit, Where the Free Beer foams to the tankard-rim, and the Endless Smokes are lit.... And It saw the Nakéd Eye come out above the lintel-slit. And now It quailed at Nakéd Eye which judges the naked dead; And now It snarled at Nakéd Truth that broodeth overhead; And now It looked to the earth below where the gun-flames flickered red. It muttered words It had learned on earth, the words of a black-coat priest Who had bade It pray to a pulpit god--but ever Eye’s Wrath increased; And It knew that Its words were empty words, and It whined like a homeless beast: Till, black above the lintel-slit, the Nakéd Eye went out; Till, loud across the Killer-Feasts, It heard the Killer-Shout-- The three-fold song of them that slew, and died... and had no doubt. _THE SONG OF THE RED-EDGED STEEL_ _Below your black priest’s heaven, Above his tinselled hell, Beyond the Circles Seven, The Red-Steel Killers dwell-- The men who drave, to blade-ring home, behind the marching shell._ We knew not good nor evil, Save only right of blade; Yet neither god nor devil Could hold us from our trade, When once we watched the barrage lift, and splendidly afraid Came scrambling out of cover, And staggered up the hill.... The bullets whistled over; Our sudden dead lay still; And the mad machine-gun chatter drove us fighting-wild to kill. Then the death-light lit our faces, And the death-mist floated red O’er the crimson cratered places Where his outposts crouched in dread.... And we stabbed or clubbed them as they crouched; and shot them as they fled; And floundered, torn and bleeding, Over trenches, through the wire, With the shrapnel-barrage leading To the prey of our desire-- To the men who rose to meet us from the blood-soaked battle-mire; Met them; gave and asked no quarter; But, where we saw the Gray, Plunged the edged steel of slaughter, Stabbed home, and wrenched away.... Till red wrists tired of killing-work, and none were left to slay. Now--while his fresh battalions Moved up to the attack-- Screaming like angry stallions, His shells came charging back, And stamped the ground with thunder-hooves and pawed it spouting-black And breathed down poison-stenches Upon us, leaping past.... Panting, we turned his trenches; And heard--each time we cast From parapet to parados--the scything bullet-blast. Till the whistle told his coming; Till we flung away the pick, Heard our Lewis guns’ crazed drumming, Grabbed our rifles, sighted quick, Fired... and watched his wounded writhing back from where his dead lay thick. So we laboured--while we lasted: Soaked in rain or parched in sun; Bullet-riddled; fire-blasted; Poisoned: fodder for the gun: So we perished, and our bodies rotted in the ground they won. It heard the song of the First of the Dead, as It couched by the lintel-post; And the coward-soul would have given Its soul to be back with the Red-Steel host.... But Eye peered down; and It quailed at the Eye; and Nakéd Truth said: “Lost.” And Eye went out. But It might not move; for, droned in the dark, It heard The Second Song of the Killer-men--word upon awful word Cleaving the void with a shrill, keen sound like the wings of a pouncing bird. _THE SONG OF THE CRASHING WING_ _Higher than tinselled heaven, Lower than angels dare, Loop to the fray, swoop on their prey, The Killers of the Air._ We scorned the Galilean, We mocked at Kingdom-Come: The old gods knew our pæan-- Our dawn-loud engine-hum: The old red gods of slaughter, The gods before the Jew! We heard their cruel laughter, Shrill round us, as we flew: When, deaf to earth and pity, Blind to the guns beneath, We loosed upon the city Our downward-plunging death. The Sun-God watched our flighting; No Christian priest could tame Our deathly stuttered fighting:-- The whirled drum, spitting flame; The roar, of blades behind her; The banking plane up-tossed; The swerve that sought to blind her; Masked faces, glimpsed and lost; The joy-stick wrenched to guide her; The swift and saving zoom, What time the shape beside her Went spinning to its doom. No angel-wings might follow Where, poised behind the fray, We spied our Lord Apollo Stoop down to mark his prey-- The hidden counter-forces; The guns upon the road; The tethered transport-horses, Stampeding, as we showed-- Dun hawks of death, loud-roaring-- A moment to their eyes: And slew; and passed far-soaring; And dwindled up the skies. But e’en Apollo’s pinions Had faltered where we ran, Low through his veiled dominions, To lead the charging van! The tree-tops slathered under; The Red-Steel Killers knew, Hard overhead, the thunder And backwash of her screw; The blurred clouds raced above her; The blurred fields streaked below, Where waited, crouched to cover, The foremost of our foe; Banking, we saw his furrows Leap at us, open wide: Hell-raked the man-packed burrows; And crashed--and crashing, died. It heard the song of the Dead in Air, as It huddled against the gate; And once again the Eye peered down--red-rimmed with scorn and hate For the shameless soul of the nameless one who had neither foe nor mate. And Eye was shut. But Nakéd Truth bent down to mock the Thing:-- “Thou hast heard the Song of the Red-edged Steel, and the Song of the Crashing Wing: Shall the word of a black-coat priest avail at Valhalla’s harvesting? Shalt _thou_ pass free to the Seven Halls--whose life in shame was sped?” And Truth was dumb. But the brooding word still echoed overhead, As roaring down the void outburst the last loud song of the dead. _THE SONG OF THE GUNNER-DEAD_ _In Thor’s own red Valhalla, Which priest may not unbar; But only Nakéd Truth and Eye, Last arbiters of War; Feast, by stark right of courage, The Killers from Afar._ We put no trust in heaven, We had no fear of hell; But lined, and ranged, and timed to clock, Our barrage-curtains fell, When guns gave tongue and breech-blocks swung And palms rammed home the shell. The Red-Steel ranks edged forward, And vanished in our smoke; Back from his churning craters, The Gray Man reeled and broke; While, fast as sweat could lay and set, Our rocking muzzles spoke. We blew him from the village; We chased him through the wood: Till, tiny on the crest-line Where once his trenches stood, We watched the wag of sending flag That told our work was good: Till, red behind the branches, The death-sun sank to blood; And the Red-Steel Killers rested.... But we, by swamp and flood, Through mirk and night--his shells for light-- Blaspheming, choked with mud, Roped to the tilting axles, Man-handled up the crest; And wrenched our plunging gun-teams Foam-flecked from jowl to breast, Downwards, and on, where trench-lights shone-- For _we_, we might not rest! Shell-deafened; soaked and sleepless; Short-handed; under fire; Days upon nights unending, We wrought, and dared not tire-- With whip and bit from dump to pit, From pit to trench with wire. The Killers in the Open, The Killers down the Wind, They saw the Gray Man eye to eye-- But _we_, we fought him blind, Nor knew whence came the screaming flame That killed us, miles behind. Yet, when the triple rockets Flew skyward, blazed and paled, For sign the lines were broken; When the Red Steel naught availed; When, through the smoke, on shield and spoke His rifle bullets hailed; When we waited, dazed and hopeless, Till the layer’s eye could trace Helmets, bobbing just above us Like mad jockeys in a race.... Then--loaded, laid, and unafraid, We met him face to face; Jerked the trigger; felt the trunnions Rock and quiver; saw the flail Of our zero-fuses blast him; Saw his gapping ranks turn tail; Heard the charging-cheer behind us... And dropped dead across the trail. _VALHALLA’S VERDICT_ It heard the Song of the Gunner-Dead die out to a sullen roar: But Nakéd Truth said never a word; and Eye peered down no more. For Eye had seen; and Truth had judged... and It might not pass the Door! And now, like a dog in the dark, It shrank from the voice of a man It knew:-- “There are empty seats at the Banquet-board, but there’s never a seat for you; For they will not drink with a coward soul, the stark red men who slew. There’s meat and to spare, at the Killer-Feasts where Thor’s swung hammer twirls; There’s beer and enough, in the Free Canteen where the Endless Smoke upcurls; There are lips and lips, for the Killer-Men, in the Hall of the Dancing-Girls. There’s a place for any that passes clean--but for you there’s never a place: The Endless Smoke would blacken your lips, and the Girls would spit in your face; And the Beer and the Meat go sour on your guts--for you died the death of disgrace. We were pals on earth: but by God’s brave Son and the bomb that I reached too late, I damn the day and I blast the hour when first I called you mate; And I’d sell my soul for one of my feet, to hack you from the gate-- To hack you hence to the lukewarm hells that the priest-made ovens heat,	1,898.647346
2023-11-16 18:48:42.7498730	2,155	66	Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. Fourth Series CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. NO. 703. SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._] A HOLIDAY IN THE LAKE-COUNTRY. Let those who have not as yet made up their minds how or where to spend their summer holiday, turn their steps towards Lakeland. There, beauty ever changing and ever charming in all her multiform varieties, lies in wait for them at every turn. Life too among the hills has a free hearty zest, born of the invigorating mountain breezes, which you search for in vain elsewhere. The wind, as it sweeps along the hill-side, recalls, as it fans the weary brow, the quick glad feeling of existence, the exuberance of gay animal spirits, which were natural and unprized in careless boyhood, but which are too often extinguished by the cares assumed with advancing years. The steep roads, the green hill-<DW72>s, the peaceful mossy boulders, the picturesque nooks, in which nestle quaint little homesteads, and the broad calm lake stretching out like a great embossed silver shield at your feet, with the deep shadows of the hills shading into purple gloom in its shining ripples--who that has once seen such a picture, particularly in sunshine, can ever forget it? In winter evenings, when the curtains are snugly drawn, and the howling storm shut out, and the firelight tinges all around with its warm ruddy glow, pleasant visions of the breezy fells, and the great hills with their changeful lights and shadows, and the leafy copses running down to the edge of the water, recur to the memory. You are again in the swiftly gliding boat; you lean over to gather the water-lilies, or to gaze into the clear pebbly-bottomed abysses of that softly yielding flood. Again you see mirrored in its crystal depths the straggling rifts of vapour, or the long rippling beaches of cloud. The sweet do-nothingness of the hour, its gay insouciance, or its vanished romance, are with you once more, and charm you as of old. It is with a feeling of half-sad tenderness that you turn away from the mental photograph, and leaving it safe in memory's keeping, go back to your busy commonplace world. Mr Payn, in his beautiful volume entitled _The Lakes in Sunshine_ (Windermere: J. Garnett), gives us a sparkling description of Lakeland. He begins with Windermere, because, as he says, 'the scenery of the northern lakes is unquestionably grander and wilder, and they should therefore be seen after their southern sisters.' Almost every one has seen Windermere, the queen of English lakes. Many have seen it as Mr Payn says it is best seen--by a Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league Alone. To such, a magic charm clings ever afterwards to each tree and shrub, investing those never-to-be-forgotten days of delicious idling on its pleasant shores with a glory peculiarly their own. Among the distinguished people who have done Windermere and climbed Orrest Head, to gaze from thence upon the panorama of lake and mountain and wooded hill and sea which stretch around, was Beau Brummel, who was, however, much too fine a gentleman to get up any unfashionable enthusiasm upon the subject. 'Charles,' he would drawl out to his valet, when he was asked which of the lakes was his favourite--'Charles, which lake was it we liked best?' Immediately beneath the tourist, as he stands on Orrest Head, is Elleray, where 'Christopher North' spent so much of his time. He loved the mountains around, and might be met upon them in all weathers, in shine or shower; the shower of course, as is the case all throughout Lakeland, predominating greatly. As a rule the weather is moist and often wet, although the dalesmen do not like to have it called so, or to have any exceptions taken to the lack of sunshine. They are as irritable upon the subject as a certain Parsee grandee was, who when his venerable ecclesiastical host, finding a dearth of topics of conversation, fell back upon that standing British theme the weather, and blandly observed: 'We have not seen the sun, Sir Jamsetjee, for many a day,' shut him up abruptly with a stern: 'And what is that to you, sir? The sun is my god.' In like manner mist and rain, the tutelary genii of Lakeland, are under the special protection of the aborigines. There are a number of pretty houses in the vicinity of Windermere, and land for building purposes is in great demand, and very difficult to be had; for a dalesman, although seldom caring a straw about the beauty of the scenery, is passionately attached to the little bit of land he has inherited from his father, and tenaciously determined, as he will tell you, 'to hand it forat,' that his son may be no worse off than he was himself. Unfortunately, he has no ambition to make him better; and the authoress of the _Cottagers of Glenburnie_, could she revisit the earth, might find work enough and to spare amid the untidy and half-ruinous homesteads of the Lake country. Towards the southern end of the lake is Storrs Hall, where once upon a time a brilliant company were wont to assemble, Canning, Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and Christopher North. Intellectual Titans! All that of yore awoke your admiration is here, but not one of your number lingers to admire! There still are the wooded coombs and knolls rich in myriad shifting lights of beauty, the might of the silent hills, the placid loveliness of the romantic lake; but ye have gone, and the place that knows you no more preaches to the musing stranger an eloquent homily upon the transitoriness of life, and even of that fame which we fondly call immortal. There is not in all Lakeland a more picturesque town than Ambleside. Here, as most people know, is the Knoll, the pretty little villa in which Miss Martineau spent the long tranquil autumn of her life. She built it for herself, and was commended for the wisdom of her choice by Wordsworth, who did not break into any poetic raptures over the lovely scenery; but taking a commonplace view of the case, said shrewdly: 'You have made a capital investment; it will double its value in ten years.' He also gave her a piece of advice about her housekeeping, which had more of calculating frugality in it than a superficial observer would have expected from the poetic temperament. 'You will have many visitors,' quoth the prudent bard of Lakeland. 'You must do as we do. You must say to them: "If you will have some tea with us, you are welcome; but if you want any meat along with it, you must pay for it as boarders do."' Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's home, is in the close vicinity of Ambleside, a sanctuary which Mr Payn would have closed against all pilgrims except those who can understand Wordsworth's works as well as quote them--a too severe ordeal, which would well nigh make a solitude of this classic spot. 'This intellectual winnowing-machine,' he says, 'would exclude about ninety out of a hundred of the well-meaning but really inexcusable folks who now request admittance at that sacred gate.' Opposite the principal hotel at Grasmere, upon the roadside that leads to the Wishing Gate, is the white cottage in which Wordsworth spent his early married life, and where De Quincey lived after him, and filled the little drawing-room with his library of five thousand books. Here, invigorated by the mountain breezes, or absorbed in his books and the beautiful scenery, the far-famed Opium-eater made a sudden descent from three hundred and twenty grains (eight thousand drops) per diem of his favourite drug to forty grains, and found himself, Mr Payn says, in the novel position of a man with opium to give away. One day when he was lounging among the June roses, a tawny stranger beturbaned and travel-stained asked an alms of him in the Malay tongue. Of this half-barbarous vernacular De Quincey was profoundly ignorant, as indeed he was of all Eastern languages, the only two Asiatic words he knew being the Arabic word for barley, and the Turkish name for opium. So he tried the dusky suppliant with Greek, which he replied to glibly in Malay. The end of the strange colloquy being that De Quincey, divining from the stranger's aspect that he also was an opium-eater, bestowed upon him a large cake of the precious drug; enough, he calculated, to serve him a fortnight. The Malay took it, and without more ado, swallowed it outright, leaving his benefactor transfixed with horror, staring dumbly after him as he went upon his way. For some days afterwards De Quincey was not unnaturally much exercised in mind, and very curious to learn from all passers-by if a man with a turban had been	1,898.769913
2023-11-16 18:48:42.8270790	3,638	15	Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Rick Morris and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS BY ROBERT SHALER NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Sterling Boy Scout Books _Bound in cloth_ _Ten titles_ 1 Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps. 2 Boy Scouts of Pioneer Camp. 3 Boy Scouts of the Geological Survey. 4 Boy Scouts of the Life Saving Crew. 5 Boy Scouts on Picket Duty. 6 Boy Scouts of the Flying Squadron. 7 Boy Scouts and the Prize Pennant. 8 Boy Scouts of the Naval Reserve. 9 Boy Scouts in the Saddle. 10 Boy Scouts for City Improvement. _You can purchase any of the above books at the price you paid for this one, or the publishers will send any book, postpaid, upon receipt of 25c._ HURST & CO., Publishers 432 Fourth Avenue, New York Copyright, 1914, by Hurst & Company. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Great Expectations 5 II. Forming the Signal Corps 21 III. A Perilous Encounter 35 IV. A Fire in Camp 48 V. Reveille 65 VI. The Chosen Few 81 VII. The End of the Hike 97 VIII. An Unexpected Reproof 113 IX. The Sham Battle 128 X. Around the Council-Fire 140 XI. A Mountain Adventure 152 The Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps CHAPTER I. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. "Hi! you, Billy Worth!" cried the leader of the Wolf patrol, a tall youth of seventeen named Hugh Hardin, addressing his assistant. "Scramble out of that bunky, my boy, in two wags of a Wolf's tail, or I'll have scout's law on you!" "All right, chief! Coming!" was the prompt response, as Billy, thus adjured, turned over in his bunk and thrust one long leg over the edge. His bare brown foot, dangling perilously near the head of another boy whose bunk was beneath Billy's, proved too great a temptation for the lad. Pulling a whisp of straw from his mattress, he proceeded to tickle the sole of that foot, thereby causing Billy to elevate it hastily with a loud squeal. As he did so, Hugh made a dexterous sweep of his arms, and, grasping Billy around the knees, almost flung him over one broad shoulder and deposited him none too gently on the floor. "Ouch!" whooped Billy. His shout and the dull thump of his fall aroused other inmates of the cabin who had not already wakened in time to witness the onslaught. "Help! Murder!" yelled a scout of the patrol. "Shut up!" another boy said, laughing, as he sprang from his bunk. "What's going on here, anyway?" "Not hurt, are you, old man?" inquired Hugh, a trifle anxiously, for he seldom cared to perpetrate practical jokes. "I didn't mean to----" No response from Billy. He lay where he had fallen, with one arm outstretched, the other pillowing his head. His face was covered by a limp hand, but between his fingers he slyly peeped out, and his twinkling eyes sought the serious face of Hugh, who was bending over him. "Billy's done for!" said the lad who had tickled him. "Let's put him to bed, chief, for he will be happier there." Ignoring this facetious suggestion, Hugh bent still lower; he even dropped upon one knee, and put his hands on Billy's shoulder. "Wake up, son!" he urged, smiling and giving his chum a gentle shake. "First round is over, and in ten seconds you will be counted out." This was the chance for which Billy had been waiting. Now he saw that Hugh was completely off his guard. Suddenly his free hand shot out, grasped Hugh's ankle from behind, gave it a strong push--and the next instant Hugh measured his length on the floor. Before Hugh could fully realize what had happened to upset his equilibrium, Billy gathered up his own sprawling limbs, and hurled himself upon his fallen leader. "Down and out, am I?" he gurgled. "Who said so? Come on, we'll----" "Sure! We'll see!" As he spoke, Hugh struggled free from the other's hold, and met the reprisal with his usual jolly laugh. "Good for you, Billy! Good one on me! O-ho!"--he dodged nimbly a "half-Nelson" which Billy had vainly attempted--"none of your famous strangle-holds, now!" Then ensued a rough-and-tumble match, the outcome of which was awaited in joyous suspense by every scout in the cabin. They all gathered in a wide circle around the wrestlers, showering liberal encouragement. Had the match been between Hugh or Billy and a member of the other patrol, however friendly, it might not have been greeted with the same impartiality. The circle soon narrowed, for not more than three minutes elapsed before both contestants were down on their sides, facing each other. Hugh, being quicker and less stockily built than his chum, was the first to make a final overthrow. In a trice, he pulled Billy under him; and, though Billy put up a good fight, he crumpled flat under Hugh's weight. "You win!" he gasped. "Get off my arm,--it hurts!" "Sorry, son," said Hugh, when murmurs of applause had died away. "Shall I put you back to bed now?" "No, thank you; I----" Laughter greeted Hugh's query, for Billy Worth bore an undeserved reputation of being a sluggard. On his part, he took the laugh good-humoredly. "Is that what you call doing a daily good turn?" he inquired of Hardin, with a grin. "You've begun the day nicely, I must say!" "_You_ did the good turn, old scout!" called Walter Osborne, of the Hawk patrol, from across the room. "I never saw a neater tumble!" "I'll take a fall out of you for that, Walt!" threatened Billy, cheerfully. "If we have archery practice to-day, you'll miss a feather from your wing!" "Hear! Hear!" came a chorus of voices. "Fly at him, Walt!" urged one of young Osborne's patrol. "Go to it, beak and claws," added another. "Billy the Wolf'll catch you if you don't watch out!" chanted a third, in a sing-song voice, thumping his pillow as if to beat time to the words. Neither Billy nor Hugh made any response to this friendly taunt. Hugh turned aside and, going to the rear of the room where a tier of lockers stood, numbered to correspond with the bunks, he drew out a pair of bathing trunks. "Going for a swim before breakfast?" asked Billy, turning to a young fellow who appeared in the doorway of the cabin and paused on the threshold outside. "Are you?" came the evasive answer. "You bet! The Lieutenant gave us permission yesterday, and we're off to the lake, bright and early." "I see," remarked the outsider, glancing around the cabin, which was filled with boys in various stages of undress. Something in the tone of his voice, a note of wistful bitterness, struck the ears of Hugh Hardin, who was standing near enough to overhear this brief colloquy. He looked up from the process of tying the strings of his shorts tight, and was on the point of making some remark, when, recognizing the visitor, he kept silence. Billy Worth was not so tactful. "Come along, Alec," he urged. "The water's fine!" "Can't." "Why not?" "I'm on police duty, as punishment." "Punishment? For what?" "Carelessness," was Alec's truthful, albeit sulky, reply. "Yesterday I dumped 'Buck' Winter out of a canoe,--though it wasn't all my fault. The kid wouldn't keep still, and he told me he could swim like a fish,--and he was nearly drowned." "Gee! That little piker! Why, he _can_ swim! Didn't he capture two points from us last week, in the hundred yards?" "Wrong again, Billy! It was his brother, who is the star swimmer of our patrol." "Well, your Otters put it all over us, Alec, in those water games." "That is why we are so glad to have morning practice," added Hugh, in a tone which he honestly intended to be kind. "We Wolves want time to find out what we can do." "Buck must have lost his head," remarked Walter Osborne, who had drawn near. "He did," said Alec, emphatically, "and he gave Chief Hardin a chance to qualify in first-aid--at my expense." There was no mistaking the resentment that underlay those words. Walt and Billy glanced uneasily at Hugh. A flush stained Hugh's bronzed cheeks and brow at the retort, and he turned away scornfully, biting his under lip. It was hard to keep his temper in control, as a scout should; but he managed to do so, and the next moment he was outside the cabin, filling his lungs with deep draughts of the pine-scented air and watching the mists roll up the side of the opposite mountain. With the coming of the sun, he was able to take fresh note of his surroundings, and his eager dark eyes dwelt fondly upon the familiar scene in the first light of a new day. Indeed, it was a scene to stir any red-blooded boy. As far as Hugh could see through the lifting vapor lay the lake, a great silvery mirror reflecting the heavily wooded shores so clearly that the inverted forest appeared no less real than the original. From the shores of the lake, in every direction, hills sloped ruggedly up into mountains, for the most part clothed to their summits with the variegated green of a mighty woodland. The side of one of the nearer mountains was scarred by exposed ledges of bare rock, which, as Lieutenant Denmead, the Scout Master, had said, would make fine strategic points for the Signalers' Game. "We'll try it some day this week," he had told Hugh on the previous evening, as he sat with his assistant scout master, Rawson, and the leaders of the four patrols around the camp-fire. Hugh recalled that vague promise now, as his gaze wandered from those rocky ledges to the deeper hollows not yet penetrated by the sun's rays. How dim and mysterious they looked! How Hugh longed to explore them and to discover, by means of such woodcraft as he had already learned, the treasures hidden in those shadowy nooks and ravines! Several boys of his patrol followed him from the cabin. They saw that something had vexed him, but they made no comments, even among themselves. Presently they dashed away, down to the shore of the lake, where most of the boys from the other cabins were gathered. These boys belonged to the Otter and the Fox patrols. Left alone for the moment, Hugh waited for Billy and Walter, to whom he had decided to make an explanation of Alec's thrust. As they walked down to the lake together,--Alec having departed on his rounds to the chip-basket,--he told them how he had happened to be on hand to give assistance at the canoe accident. "I didn't help very much, really," he finished, "and I don't see why Alec should be so sore." "Oh, never mind him, Hugh; he'll get over his grouch after a while," declared Billy. "He is jealous of you because you qualified as a first-class scout before he did, and because you are in line for a merit badge as chief scout woodsman." "Hello, son!" exclaimed Walter, turning to greet an eager-faced boy, Number 8 of his patrol, who had trotted up behind them. "What's eating you now?" "Do-do you know why the Big Chief has called a m-m-meeting of the patrols this morning?" panted the boy. "No, I don't," admitted Walter. "But we will find out after breakfast. Run along now, son, and mind: not more than ten minutes in the water!" "All right, I'll remember," promised the younger boy, and he raced ahead several yards. Suddenly he stopped short, turned around, and waited for the trio to come up. "I-I say, Hugh, will you--will you do me a favor?" he inquired hesitatingly. "Will you coach me on the crawl?" "Surest thing you know! That's what I'm here for," Hugh responded heartily. A few more strides brought them to the shore of the lake, where they stood for a moment, watching a group of boys swimming out to the raft. Then, with a quick "Come on, now! Watch me!" Hugh leaped forward into the water, followed by Walter and Billy. The boy whom he was coaching stood knee-deep in the water, gazing with admiration not unmixed with envy at the powerful yet easy overhand strokes that sent the swimmer through the ripples without apparent exertion, yet at a speed that made his own best efforts seem hopeless. In another moment he, too, was breasting the lake, and soon he gained the raft and climbed upon it. "That's much better," was Hugh's brief comment, at which his admirer glowed with pleasure. Praise from Hugh, who was usually so reserved, was rare indeed! Just as they were practicing swift dives, a bugle call rang clear and full across the water. "The'recall'," gasped Billy. "Wonder what's doing?" "That means everybody report at once," said Don Miller, leader of the Fox patrol. "Back to shore, fellows." "Hit her up, son!" added Walter, and, suiting his action to his words, he slid rapidly through the clear water, leaving a wake of swirling ripples. As soon as the swimmers reached shore, they hurried to their respective cabins, dressed, attended to their beds, and then repaired to the larger log-house, where a bountiful breakfast was served. During the meal the talk was all of the eagerly anticipated meeting of the patrols, and everyone wondered why it had been called. Mess over, Don Miller and Walter Osborne took their stand at either side of the cabin door, and as each boy passed out he saluted the two chiefs with the scout's salute, and was saluted in return. This was a point of etiquette upon which Lieutenant Denmead, who was a retired officer of the United States Army, always insisted, believing that it did much to maintain discipline and to instill the scout virtues of courtesy and of respect for superior officers. CHAPTER II. FORMING THE SIGNAL CORPS. A cheer, heartier and more informal than military, rose from forty throats, as Lieutenant Denmead and Assistant Scout Master Rawson came forth from their quarters to break the news to the assembled boys. "Scouts of Pioneer Camp," began the lieutenant, smiling, when silence had been restored, "I have called this meeting in order to lay before you a plan which I think will merit your approval. "Most of you have heard that in two weeks there are to be National Guard maneuvers over in Oakvale and the adjoining meadows, not far from here?" A murmur of assent greeted this question, and the Scout Master continued: "Part of these maneuvers will be the work of a carefully trained and efficient signal corps, and you boys will undoubtedly be interested in seeing that, among the other events. To understand it thoroughly, you should have some practical knowledge of the system of signaling; that is, the semaphore signal code, the wig-wag or Myer code, and the sound codes. You should know how to send and receive messages by each and all of these three methods. Such knowledge may be of great use and benefit to you or	1,898.847119
2023-11-16 18:48:42.8666370	1,990	8	Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Iris Schroeder-Gehring and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net HOW TO GET STRONG AND HOW TO STAY SO BY WILLIAM BLAIKIE [Illustration: Decoration] NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS FRANKLIN SQUARE 1883. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. TO ARCHIBALD MACLAREN _WHO HAS PROBABLY DONE MORE THAN ANY ONE ELSE NOW LIVING TO POINT OUT THE BENEFITS RESULTING FROM RATIONAL PHYSICAL EXERCISE, AND HOW TO ATTAIN THOSE BENEFITS_ THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY Dedicated PREFACE. Millions of our people pass their lives in cities and towns, and at work which keeps them nearly all day in-doors. Many hours are devoted for days and years, under careful teachers, and many millions of dollars are spent annually, in educating the mind and the moral nature. But the body is allowed to grow up all uneducated; indeed, often such a weak, shaky affair that it gets easily out of order, especially in middle and later life, and its owner is wholly unequal to tasks which would have proved easy to him, had he given it even a tithe of the education bestowed so generously in other directions. Not a few, to be sure, have the advantage in youth of years of active out-door life on a farm, and so lay up a store of vigor which stands them in good stead throughout a lifetime. But many, and especially those born and reared in towns and cities, have had no such training, or any equivalent, and so never have the developed lungs and muscles, the strong heart and vigorous digestion--in short, the improved tone and strength in all their vital organs--which any sensible plan of body-culture, followed up daily, would have secured. It does not matter so much whether we get vigor on the farm, the deck, the tow-path, or in the gymnasium, if we only get it. Fortunately, if not gotten in youth, when we are plastic and easily shaped, it may still be had, even far on in middle life, by judicious and systematic exercise, aimed first to bring up the weak and unused parts, and then by general work daily which shall maintain the equal development of the whole. The aim here has been, not to write a profound treatise on gymnastics, and point out how to eventually reach great performance in this art, but rather in a way so plain and untechnical that even any intelligent boy or girl can readily understand it, to first give the reader a nudge to take better care of his body, and so of his health, and then to point out one way to do it. That there are a hundred other ways is cheerfully conceded. If anything said here should stir up some to vigorously take hold of, and faithfully follow up, either the plan here indicated or any one of these others, it cannot fail to bring them marked benefit, and so to gratify THE AUTHOR. _New York, July, 1883._ CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. DO WE INHERIT SHAPELY BODIES? 9 II. HALF-BUILT BOYS 23 III. WILL DAILY PHYSICAL EXERCISE FOR GIRLS PAY? 42 IV. IS IT TOO LATE FOR WOMEN TO BEGIN? 57 V. WHY MEN SHOULD EXERCISE DAILY 74 VI. HOME GYMNASIUMS 91 VII. THE SCHOOL THE TRUE PLACE FOR CHILDREN'S PHYSICAL CULTURE 104 VIII. WHAT A GYMNASIUM MIGHT BE AND DO 117 IX. SOME RESULTS OF BRIEF SYSTEMATIC EXERCISE 138 X. WORK FOR THE FLESHY, THE THIN, THE OLD 154 XI. HALF-TRAINED FIREMEN AND POLICE 177 XII. SPECIAL EXERCISE FOR ANY GIVEN MUSCLES 199 _a._ To Develop the Leg below the Knee 200 _b._ Work for the Front of the Thigh 208 _c._ To Enlarge the Under Thigh 214 _d._ To Strengthen the Sides of the Waist 215 _e._ The Abdominal Muscles 218 _f._ Counterwork for the Abdominal Muscles 224 _g._ To Enlarge and give Power to the Loins 227 _h._ Development above the Waist 228 _i._ Filling out the Shoulders and Upper Back 230 _j._ To obtain a good Biceps 233 _k._ To bring up the Muscles on the Front and Side of the Shoulder 236 _l._ Forearm Work 237 _m._ Exercises for the Triceps Muscles 238 _n._ To Strengthen and Develop the Hand 241 _o._ To Enlarge and Strengthen the Front of the Chest 243 _p._ To Broaden and Deepen the Chest itself 245 XIII. WHAT EXERCISE TO TAKE DAILY 252 _a._ Daily Work for Children 253 _b._ Daily Exercise for Young Men 273 _c._ Daily Exercise for Women 276 _d._ Daily Exercise for Business Men 278 _e._ Daily Exercise for Consumptives 283 APPENDIX I. 291 " II. 291 " III. 292 " IV. 292 " V. 293 " VI. 294 " VII. 295 CONCLUSION 295 TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Fig. 1. A warped University Oarsman, imperfectly developed in Muscles not used in Rowing 36 " 2. A warped Professional Sculler, imperfectly developed in Muscles not used in Rowing 37 " 3. Horizontal Bar and Chest-bars, for Home Use 92 " 4. Noiseless Pulley-weights 94 " 5. Appliance for developing the Sides of the Waist 217 " 6. A Correct Position for Fast Walking 220 " 7. Device for developing the Abdominal Muscles 225 " 8. A Chest-widener 248 " 9. A Chest-deepener 250 HOW TO GET STRONG, AND HOW TO STAY SO. CHAPTER I. DO WE INHERIT SHAPELY BODIES? Probably more men walk past the corner of Broadway and Fulton Street, in New York city, in the course of one year, than any other point in America--men of all nations and ages, heights and weights. Look at them carefully as they pass, and you will see that scarcely one in ten is either erect or thoroughly well-built. Some slouch their shoulders and double in at the waist; some overstep; others cant to one side; this one has one shoulder higher than the other, and that one both too high; some have heavy bodies and light legs, others the reverse; and so on, each with his own peculiarities. A thoroughly erect, well-proportioned man, easy and graceful in his movements, is far from a frequent sight. Any one accustomed to athletic work, and knowing what it can do for the body, must at times have wondered why most men allowed themselves to go along for years, perhaps through life, so carrying themselves as not only to lack the outward grace and ease they might possess, and which they occasionally see in others, but so as to directly cramp and impede one or more of the vital organs. Nor is it always the man's fault that he is ill-proportioned. In most cases it comes down from his progenitors. The father's walk and physical peculiarities appear in the son, often so plainly that the former's calling might almost be told from a look at the latter. A very great majority of Americans are the sons either of farmers or merchants, mechanics or laborers. The work of each class soon develops peculiar characteristics. No one of the four classes has ordinarily had any training at all aimed to make him equally strong all over. Broad as is the variety of the farmer's work, far the greater, and certainly the	1,898.886677
2023-11-16 18:48:43.4304320	2,798	9	Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive BILL NYE AND BOOMERANG; Or, The Tale Of A Meek-Eyed Mule, And Some Other Literary Gems By Bill Nye Chicago, New York And San Francisco: Bedford, Clarke & Co. 1883= ```"And now, kind friends, what I have wrote ```I hope you will pass o'er, ```And not criticise as some has done, ```Hitherto, herebefore." `````Sweet Singer of Michigan. [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0007] MY MULE BOOMERANG, \|Whose bright smile haunts me still, and whose low, mellow notes are ever sounding in my ears, to whom I owe all that I am as a great man, and whose presence has inspired me ever and anon throughout the years that are gone. THIS VOLUME, this coronet of sparkling literary gems as it were, this wreath of fragrant forget-me-nots and meek-eyed johnny-jump-ups, with all its wealth of rare tropical blossoms and high-priced exotics, is cheerfully and even hilariously dedicated By the Author. THE APOLOGY. {In my Boudoir, {Nov. 17,1880. Belford, Clarke & Co.: Gentlemen:--In reply to your favor of the 22d ult., I herewith transmit the material necessary for a medium size volume of my chaste and unique writings. The matter has been arranged rather hurriedly, and no doubt in classifying this rectangular mass of soul, I have selected some little epics and ethereal flights of fancy which are not as good as others that I have left out, but my only excuse is this: the literary world has been compelled to yield up first one well known historical or scientific work and then another, careful investigation having shown that they were unreliable. This left suffering humanity almost destitute of a reliable work to which it could turn in its hour of great need. So I have been compelled to hurry more than I wanted to. It affords me great pleasure, however, to know what a feeling of blessed rest and childlike confidence and assurance-and some more things of that nature-will follow the publication of this work. Print the book in large coarse type, so that the old people can get a chance at it. It will reconcile them to death, perhaps. Then sell it at a moderate price. It is really priceless in value, but put it within the reach of all, and then turn it loose without a word of warning. The Author. Laramie City, Wyoming. OSTROPHE TO AN ORPHAN MULE. ```Oh! lonely, gentle, unobtrusive mule! ```Thou standest idly 'gainst the azure sky,` ``And sweetly, sadly singeth like a hired man.= `````Who taught thee thus to warble` ``In the noontide heat and wrestle with` ``Thy ceep, corroding grief and joyless woe?` ``Who taught thy simple heart ```Its pent-up, wildly-warring waste` ``Of wanton woe to carol forth upon` ````The silent air?= ```I chide thee not, because thy` ``Song is fraught with grief-embittered` ``Monotone and joyless minor chords` ``Of wild, imported melody, for thou` ``Art restless, woe begirt and` ``Compassed round about with gloom, `````Thou timid, trusting, orphan mule! `````Few joys indeed, are thine,` ``Thou thrice-bestricken, madly` ``Mournful, melancholy mule. ```And he alone who strews ```Thy pathway with his cold remains ```Can give thee recompense `````Of lemoncholy woe.= ```He who hath sought to steer` ``Thy limber, yielding tail` ``Ferninst thy crupper-band ```Hath given thee joy, and he alone. ```'Tip true, he may have shot` ``Athwart the Zodiac, and, looking` ``O'er the outer walls upon `````The New Jerusalem, ```Have uttered vain regrets.= ```Thou reckest not, O orphan mule, ```For it hath given thee joy, and` ``Bound about thy bursting heart, ```And held thy tottering reason` ````To its throne.= ```Sing on, O mule, and warble` ``In the twilight gray, ```Unchidden by the heartless throng. ```Sing of thy parents on thy father's side.` ``Yearn for the days now past and gone: ```For he who pens these halting, ```Limping lines to thee ```Doth bid thee yearn, and yearn, and yearn. A MINERS' MEETING--MY MINE--A MIRAGE ON E PLAINS. Camp on the New Jerusalem Mine, May 28, 1880. \|I write this letter in great haste, as I have just returned from the new carbonate discoveries, and haven't any surplus time left. While I was there a driving snow storm raged on the mountains, and slowly melting made the yellow ochre into tough plastic clay which adhered to my boots to such an extent that before I knew it my delicately arched feet were as large as a bale of hay with about the same symmetrical outlines. A miners' meeting was held there Wednesday evening, and a district to be called Mill Creek District, was formed, being fifteen miles each way. The Nellis cabin or ranch is situated in the center of the district. I presided over the meeting to give it an air of terror and gloom. It was very impressive. There was hardly a dry eye in the house as I was led to the chair by two old miners. I seated myself behind the flour barrel, and pounding on the head of the barrel with a pick handle, I called the august assemblage to order. Snuffing the candle with my fingers in a graceful and pleasing style, and wiping the black off on my pants, I said: "Gentlemen of the Convention: In your selection of a chairman I detect at once your mental acumen and intelligent foresight. While you feel confident that, in the rose- future, prosperity is in store for you, you still remember that now you look to capital for the immediate development of your district. "I am free to state that, although I have been but a few hours in your locality, I am highly gratified with your appearance, and I cheerfully assure you that the coffers which I command are at your disposal. In me you behold a capitalist who proposes to develop the country, regardless of expense. "I also recognize your good sense in selecting an old miner and mineral expert to preside over your meeting. Although it may require something of a mental strain for your chairman to detect the difference between porphyry and perdition, yet in the actual practical workings of a mining camp he feels that he is equal to any emergency. "After the band plays something soothing and the chaplain has drawn up a short petition to the throne of grace, I shall be glad to know the pleasure of the meeting." Round after round of applause greeted this little gem of oratory. A small boy gathered up the bouquets and filed them with the secretary, when the meeting proceeded with its work. Most of the delegates came instructed, and therefore the business was soon transacted. I located a claim called the Boomerang. I named it after my favorite mule. I call my mule Boomerang because he has such an eccentric orbit and no one can tell just when he will clash with some other heavenly body. He has a sigh like the long drawn breath of a fog-horn. He likes to come to my tent in the morning about daylight and sigh in my ear before I am awake. He is a highly amusing little cuss, and it tickles him a good deal to pour about 13 1/2 gallons of his melody into my car while I am dreaming, sweetly dreaming. He enjoys my look of pleasant surprise when I wake up. He would cheerfully pour more than 13 1/2 gallons of sigh into my ear, but that is all my ear will hold. There is nothing small about Boomerang. He is generous to a fault and lavishes his low, sad, tremulous wail on every one who has time to listen to it. Those who have never been wakened from a sweet, sweet dream by the low sad wail of a narrow-gauge mule, so close to the ear that the warm breath of the songster can be felt on the cheek, do not know what it is to be loved by a patient, faithful, dumb animal. The first time he rendered this voluntary for my benefit, I rose in my wrath and some other clothes, and went out and shot him. I discharged every chamber of my revolver into his carcass, and went back to bed to wait till it got lighter. In a couple of hours I arose and went out to bury Boomerang. The remains were off about twenty yards eating bunch grass. In the gloom and uncertainty of night, I had shot six shots into an old windlass near a deserted shaft. Boomerang and I get along first-rate together. When I am lonesome I shoot at him, and when he is lonesome he comes up and lays his head across my shoulder, and looks at me with great soulful eyes and sings to me. On our way in from the mines we saw one of those beautiful sights so common in this high altitude and clear atmosphere. It was a mirage. In the party were a lawyer, a United States official, a banker and myself. The other three members of the quartet, aside from myself are very modest men and do not wish to have their names mentioned. They were very particular about it and I have respected their wishes. Whatever Messrs. Blake, Snow or Ivinson ask me to do I will always do cheerfully. But we were speaking about the mirage. Across to the northeast our attention was at first attracted by a rank of gray towers growing taller and taller till their heads were lifted into the sky above, while at their feet there soon appeared a glassy lake in which was reflected the outlines of the massive gray walls above. It was a beautiful sight. The picture was as still and lovely to look upon as a school ma'am. We all went into raptures. It looked like some beautiful scene in Palestine. At least Snow said so, and he has read a book about Palestine, and ought to know. There was a silence in the air which seemed to indicate the deserted sepulchre of other days, and the grim ruins towering above the depths of clear waters on whose surface was mirrored the visage of the rocks and towers on their banks, all spoke of repose and decay and the silent, stately tread of relentless years. By and by, from out the grey background of the picture, there stole the wild, tremulous, heart-broken wail of a mule. It seemed to jar upon the surroundings and clash harshly against our sensitive natures. Some one of the party swore a little. Then another one came to the front, and took the job off his hands. We all joined, in a gentlemanly kind of way, in condemning the mule for his lack of tact, to say the least. All at once the line of magnificent ruins shortened and became reduced in height. They changed their positions and moved off to the left, and our dream had melted into the matter of fact scene of twenty-two immigrant wagons drawn by rat-tail mules and driven by long-haired Mormons, with the dirt and bacon rinds of prehistoric times adhering to them everywhere. What a vale of tears this is anyway! We are only marching toward the tomb, after all. We should learn a valuable lesson from this and never tell a lie. THE TRUE STORY OF DAMON AND PYTHIAS. CHAPTER I. \|The romantic story of Damon and Pythias, which has been celebrated in verse and song, for over two thousand years, is supposed to have originated during the reign of Dionysius I., or Dionysius the Elder as he was also called, who resigned about 350 years B.C. He must have been called "The Elder," more for a joke than anything else, as he was by inclination a Unitarian, although he was never a member of any church whatever, and was in fact the wickedest man in all Syracuse. Dionysius arose to the throne from the ranks, and used to call himself	1,899.450472
2023-11-16 18:48:44.2500020	2,227	15	Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: OSLER’S GLASS FOUNTAIN AND THE TRANSEPT. THE GREAT EXHIBITION. _Frontispiece._ ] HYDE PARK FROM _DOMESDAY-BOOK TO DATE_ BY JOHN ASHTON AUTHOR OF “SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE,” ETC., ETC. _ONE MAP AND TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS_ London DOWNEY & CO. YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON 1896 [_All rights reserved_] LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. JOHN’S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL ROAD, E.C. PREFACE. The only History of Hyde Park, at all worthy of the name, is Vol. I. of “The Story of the London Parks,” by Jacob Larwood. But, its author says, definitely, “What happened in Hyde Park subsequently to 1825, approaches too near to contemporary history to be told in these pages.” This (for Hyde Park has a history since then), added to the inaccuracies and imperfections of the book, has induced me to write a History of Hyde Park from Domesday Book to Date. JOHN ASHTON. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE The forests round London--The Manor of Eia in Domesday Book--Its subdivision--The Manor of Hyde--The Manor of Ebury--The Manor of Neate--The Neat houses--Henry VIII. and Hyde Park--Queen Elizabeth and Hyde Park--James I.--The deer in the Park--Last shooting therein--Foxes--The badger 1 CHAPTER II. Hyde Park in the early Commonwealth--Its sale--Toll on horses and carriages--A hurling match--Cromwell’s accident--Attempts to shoot him in the Park--Notices against trespassers--The Park at the Restoration 14 CHAPTER III. The camp in Hyde Park during the Plague of 1665--Boscobel Oaks in the Park--When first opened to the public--What it was then like--The Cheesecake House--Its homely refections--Orange girls 24 CHAPTER IV. Foot and horse racing in the Park--Prize fighting--Duelling--The duel between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton 32 CHAPTER V. Duelling in Hyde Park 39 CHAPTER VI. Skating on the ponds and Serpentine--The Ring--Many notices thereof--Fireworks in the Park--Bad roads therein, and accidents caused thereby--Regulations in the time of Queen Anne--Making the drive--Riding in the Park 49 CHAPTER VII. Rotten Row, the King’s Old Road--The New King’s Road made and lighted--The Allied Sovereigns in the Park--The Park after the Peninsular War--The Duke of Wellington in the Park--The Queen and Royal Family in the Park 61 CHAPTER VIII. The springs in Hyde Park--Used as water supply for Westminster--Horses in the Park--The Westbourne--Making the Serpentine--The “Naumachia” thereon--Satires about it--The Jubilee Fair 65 CHAPTER IX. Coronation of George IV.--Boat-racing on the Serpentine--Illumination of the Park--Fireworks--Coronation of Queen Victoria--Fair in the Park--Fireworks in Hyde Park, at “Peace rejoicing,” May, 1856 75 CHAPTER X. The Great Exhibition of 1851 94 CHAPTER XI. Royal Humane Society’s Receiving House--Boats and bathing--The Dell--Chelsea Water Works reservoir--Walnut-trees--Flower-walk--Military executions--The Magazine, Whip, Four-in-hand and Coaching Clubs--Their dress--Satire on Coaching--The Park as a military centre--The first review--Fort at Hyde Park Corner--Guard-house--Camp in Hyde Park--Insubordinate troops 120 CHAPTER XII. Grand Reviews in 1660-1661-1668, 1682-1695-1699--Camps in 1715-1716-1722--Poem on the latter--Reviews in 1755-1759-1760 132 CHAPTER XIII. Reviews in 1763-1764--Shooting-butts in 1778--Camp in 1780--Severe sentence of a Court-martial--Volunteer Reviews, 1799-1800--The rain at the latter 142 CHAPTER XIV. Volunteer Reviews of 1803--Review in honour of the Allied Sovereigns, 1814--Popularity of Blücher--Review by the Queen in 1838--Volunteer Review, 1860 152 CHAPTER XV. Volunteer Reviews, 1864, 1876--Mobs in the Park--Funeral of Queen Caroline 163 CHAPTER XVI. Commencement of the reign of King Mob--Sunday Trading Bill, 1855--Riots--Withdrawal of the Bill--Meetings about high price of food, 1855--Rough play and window smashing 177 CHAPTER XVII. Sympathy with Italy, 1859--Garibaldi riots, 1862--Reform League Meeting, 23rd July, 1866--Police proclamation against it--Attempt to hold it--Hyde Park railings destroyed 187 CHAPTER XVIII. Reform League Meeting of 25th July, 1866--Burning a tree--Stone-throwing--Temporizing policy of the Government--Special constables sworn in--Meeting abandoned--Return of police injured--Meeting of “Working Men’s Rights Association,” 1867--Reform League Meeting of 6th May, 1867--Police warning--Legal opinions--Meeting held--Meeting on 5th August, 1867 200 CHAPTER XIX. Demonstrations against the Irish Church, 1868--In favour of Fenians, 1869--Regulations made by Commissioners of Works--Fenian Demonstration, 1872--A speaker sentenced--Meeting about the Eastern Question, 1878--Fight--Preaching in the Park--Modern instances--May-Day and May 6, 1894--Against the House of Lords, Aug. 26, 1894 212 CHAPTER XX. The Children’s Fête in Hyde Park, 1887 224 CHAPTER XXI. List of Rangers--A horse jumping the wall--Highwaymen--Horace Walpole robbed--Other robberies--Assaults, offences, etc., in the present reign--A very recent case 235 CHAPTER XXII. The Gates--That into Kensington Gardens--Improvements in the Park--Encroachments--The case of Ann Hicks and the other fruit-sellers--Seats in the Park--New house in ditto 253 CHAPTER XXIII. Works of art in the Park--Drinking fountain--Marble Arch--Hyde Park Corner--Achilles statue--Walk round the park--Cemetery of St. George’s, Hanover Square--Sterne’s tomb and burial--Tyburn tree--The Tybourne--People executed--Henrietta Maria’s penance--Locality of the gallows--Princess Charlotte--Gloucester House--Dorchester House--Londonderry House--Apsley House--Allen’s apple stall--The Wellington Arch--Statues of the Duke--St. George’s Hospital, Knightsbridge--A fight on the bridge--Albert Gate and George Hudson--Knightsbridge Barracks 265 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Exhibition of 1851: Osier’s Glass Fountain and the Transept _Frontispiece_ Boscobel Oaks, 1804 27 Cheesecake House, 1826 30 Duel between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton 37 Duel between George Garrick and Mr. Baddeley, 1770 42 Winter Amusement, 1787 50 The Row, 1793 62 “ “ 1814. The Allied Sovereigns 62 “ “ 1834 62 The Duke of Wellington 64 A Spring in the Park, 1794 65 Houses in the Park, 1794 66 A Man of War, 1814 73 “Albert, spare those trees!” 103 Tailpiece: Col. Sibthorpe and Exhibition of 1851 119 Map of Hyde Park from “Roque’s Survey,” 1741-1745 120 Volunteer Review by George III., 1799 143 The Soldiers’ Toilet, 1780 145 Returning from the Review, 1800 150 Popularity of Blücher, 1814 157 The Broken Windows at Apsley House, 1831 280 [Illustration: decorative bar] HYDE PARK. CHAPTER I. The forests round London--The manor of Eia in Domesday Book--Its subdivision--The Manor of Hyde--The Manor of Ebury--The Manor of Neate--The Neat houses--Henry VIII. and Hyde Park--Queen Elizabeth and Hyde Park--James I.--The deer in the park--Last shooting therein--Foxes--The badger. In old times London was surrounded by forests, of which the only traces now remaining are at Bishop’s Wood, between Hampstead and Highgate, and the Chase at Enfield. FitzStephen, who lived in the reign of Henry II., tells us, in his Description of London, that beyond the fields to the north of London was an immense forest, beautified with woods and groves--or in other words, park land--full of the lairs and	1,900.270042
2023-11-16 18:48:44.2624920	985	9	Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) GLIMPSES OF THE SUPERNATURAL. The Other World; OR, GLIMPSES OF THE SUPERNATURAL. BEING FACTS, RECORDS, AND TRADITIONS RELATING TO DREAMS, OMENS, MIRACULOUS OCCURRENCES, APPARITIONS, WRAITHS, WARNINGS, SECOND-SIGHT, WITCHCRAFT, NECROMANCY, ETC. EDITED BY THE REV. FREDERICK GEORGE LEE, D.C.L. _Vicar of All Saints', Lambeth._ IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. HENRY S. KING AND CO., LONDON. 1875. (_All rights reserved._) TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AUGUSTA, COUNTESS OF STRADBROKE, OF HENHAM HALL, IN THE COUNTY OF SUFFOLK, THESE VOLUMES ARE, BY HER LADYSHIP'S KIND PERMISSION, VERY RESPECTFULLY Dedicated. "It is often asked--Do you believe in Prophecies and Miracles? Yes and no, one may answer; that depends. In general, yes; doubtless we believe in them, and are not of the number of those who 'pique themselves,' as Fenelon said, 'on rejecting as fables, without examination, all the wonders that God works.' But if you come to the particular, and say--Do you believe in such a revelation, such an apparition, such a cure?--here it is that it behoves us not to forget the rules of Christian prudence, nor the warnings of Holy Writ, nor the teaching of Theologians and Saints, nor, finally, the decrees of Councils, and the motives of those decrees. Has the proper Authority spoken? If it has spoken, let us bow with all the respect due to grave and mature ecclesiastical judgments, even where they are not clothed with infallible authority; if it has not spoken, let us not be of those who reject everything in a partizan spirit, and want to impose this unbelief upon everybody; nor of those who admit everything lightly, and want alike to impose their belief; let us be careful in discussing a particular fact, not to reject the very principle of the Supernatural, but neither let us shut our eyes to the evidence of testimony; let us be prudent, even to the most careful scrutiny--the subject-matter requires it, the Scriptures recommend it--but let us not be sceptics; let us be sincere, but not fanatical: that is the true mean. And let us not forget that most often the safest way in these matters is not to hurry one's judgment, not to decide sharply and affirm absolutely--in a word, not to anticipate, in one sense or the other, the judgment of those whose place and mission it is to examine herein; but to await, in the simplicity of faith and of Christian wisdom, a decision which marks out a wise rule, although not always with absolute certainty."--Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, "On Contemporary Prophecies." PREFACE. These volumes have been compiled from the standing-point of a hearty and reverent believer in Historical Christianity. No one can be more fully aware of their imperfections and incompleteness than the Editor; for the subjects under consideration occupy such a broad field, that their treatment at greater length would have largely increased the bulk of the volumes, and indefinitely postponed their publication. The facts and records set forth (and throughout, the Editor has dealt with facts, rather than with theories) have been gathered from time to time during the past twenty years, as well from ordinary historical narrations as from the personal information of several friends and acquaintances interested in the subject-matter of the book. The materials thus brought together from so many quarters have been carefully sifted, and those only made use of as would best assist in the arranged method of the volume, and suffice for its suitable illustration. The Editor regrets that, in the publication of so many recent examples of the Supernatural (about fifty), set forth for the first time in the following pages, the names of the persons to whom those examples occurred, and	1,900.282532
2023-11-16 18:48:44.3265760	2,498	11	Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Distributed Proofreaders Team [Illustration] SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 401 NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 8, 1883 Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVI, No. 401. Scientific American established 1845 Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year. Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year. * * * * * TABLE OF CONTENTS. I. CHEMISTRY.--On the Different Modifications of Silver Bromide and Silver Chloride. Analysis of New Zealand Coal. On the Determination of Manganese in Steel, Cast Iron, Ferro-manganese, etc. Manganese and its Uses. Ozokerite or Earth-wax. By WILLIAM L. LAY. A valuable and instructive paper read before the New York Academy of Sciences.--Showing the nature, sources, and applications of this remarkable product. On the Constitution of the Natural Fats. II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Improved Spring wheel Traction Engine.--With two engravings. An Improved Iron Frame Gang Saw Mill.--With one large engraving. The Heat Regenerative System of Firing Gas Retorts.--Siemens' principle.--As operated at the Glasgow Corporation Works.--With two engravings. A New Gas Heated Baker's Oven. III. TECHNOLOGY.--How to Produce Permanent Photographic Pictures on Terra Cotta, Glass, etc.--With recipes and full directions. How to Make Paper Photo Negatives.--Full directions. Some of the Uses of Common Alum. An Improved Cloth Stretching Machine.--With an engraving. Purification of Woolen Fabrics by Hydrochloric Acid Gas. Apparatus for Preventing the Loss of Carbonic Acid in Racking Beer.--With an engraving. IV. ELECTRICITY.--Application of Electricity to the Bleaching of Vetable Textile Materials.--With figure of apparatus. Table Showing the Relative Dimensions, Lengths, Electrical Resistances, and Weights of Pure Copper Wires. V. ASTRONOMY.--The Solar Eclipse of 1883.--An interesting abstract from a report of C. S. HASTINGS (Johns Hopkins University), of the American Astronomical Exhibition to the Caroline Islands. VI. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.--Recent Experiments Affecting the Received Theory of Music.--An interesting paper descriptive of certain experiments by President Morton, of Stevens Institute. The Motions of Camphor upon Water.--With an engraving. VII. ARCHITECTURE.--Suggestions in Village Architecture.-- Semidetached villas.--Bloomfield crescent.--With an engraving. Specimens of Old Knocking Devices for Doors.--Several figures. VIII. ARCHAEOLOGY.--A Buried City of the Exodus.--Being an account of the recent excavations and discoveries of Pithom Succoth, in Egypt.--With an engraving. The Moabite Manuscripts. IX. AGRICULTURE. HORTICULTURE, ETC.--The Queen Victoria Century Plant.--With an engraving. Charred Clover. A New Weathercock.--With one figure. X. MISCELLANEOUS.--New Monumental Statue and Landing Place in Honor of Christopher Columbus at Barcelona, Spain.--With an engraving. Scenery on the Utah Line of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway. Captain Matthew Webb.--Biographical sketch.--With portrait. The Dwellings of the Poor In Paris. Shipment of Ostriches from Cape Town, South Africa.--With one page of engravings. * * * * * MONUMENT TO CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN. The cultivated and patriotic city of Barcelona is about to erect a magnificent monument in honor of Columbus, the personage most distinguished in the historic annals of all nations and all epochs. The City of Earls does not forget that here the discoverer of America disembarked on the 3d of April, 1493, to present to the Catholic monarchs the evidences of the happy termination of his enterprise. In honoring Columbus they honor and exalt the sons of Catalonia, who also took part in the discovery and civilization of the New World, among whom may be named the Treasurer Santangel, Captain Margarit, Friar Benardo Boyl, first patriarch of the Indies, and the twelve missionaries of Monserrat, who accompanied the illustrious admiral on his second voyage. In September, 1881, a national competition was opened by the central executive committee for the monument, and by the unanimous voice of the committee the premium plans of the architect, Don Cayetano Buigas Monraba, were adopted. From these plans, which we find in _La Ilustracion Espanola_, we give an engraving. Richness, grandeur, and expression, worthily combined, are the characteristics of these plans. The landing structure is divided into three parts, a central and two laterals, each of which extends forward, after the manner of a cutwater, in the form of the bow of a vessel of the fifteenth century, bringing to mind the two caravels, the Pinta and Nina; two great lights occupy the advance points on each side; a rich balustrade and four statues of celebrated persons complete the magnificent frontage. A noble monument, surmounted by a statue of the discoverer, is seen on the esplanade. [Illustration: MONUMENTAL LANDING AND STATUE TO COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN.] * * * * * The commission appointed in France to consider the phylloxera has not awarded to anybody the prize of three hundred thousand francs that was offered to the discoverer of a trustworthy remedy or preventive for the fatal grape disease. There were not less than 182 competitors for the prize; but none had made a discovery that filled the bill. It is said, however, that a Strasbourg physician has found in naphthaline an absolutely trustworthy remedy. This liquid is poured upon the ground about the root of the vine, and it is said that it kills the parasites without hurting the grape. * * * * * SCENERY ON THE UTAH LINE OF THE DENVER AND RIO GRANDE. Mr. R.W. Raymond gives the following interesting account of the remarkable scenery on this recently opened route from Denver to Salt Lake: Having just made the trip from Salt Lake City to this place on the Denver & Rio Grande line, I cannot write you on any other subject at present. There is not in the world a railroad journey of thirty hours so filled with grand and beautiful views. I should perhaps qualify this statement by deducting the hours of darkness; yet this is really a fortunate enhancement of the traveler's enjoyment; it seems providential that there is one part of the way just long enough and uninteresting enough to permit one to go to sleep without the fear of missing anything sublime. Leaving Salt Lake City at noon, we sped through the fertile and populous Jordan Valley, past the fresh and lovely Utah Lake, and up the Valley of Spanish Fork. All the way the superb granite walls and summits of the Wahsatch accompanied us on the east, while westward, across the wide valley, were the blue outlines of the Oquirrh range. One after another of the magnificent canyons of the Wahsatch we passed, their mouths seeming mere gashes in the massive rock, but promising wild and rugged variety to him who enters--a promise which I have abundantly tested in other days. Parley's Canyon, the Big and Little Cottonwood, and most wonderful of all, the canyon of the American Fork, form a series not inferior to those of Boulder, Clear Creek, the Platte, and the Arkansas, in the front range of the Rockies. Following Spanish Fork eastward so far as it served our purpose, we crossed the divide to the head waters of the South Fork of Price River, a tributary of Green River. It was a regret to me, in choosing this route, that I should miss the familiar and beloved scenery of Weber and Echo canyons--the only part of the Union Pacific road which tempts one to look out of a car window, unless one may be tempted by the boundless monotony of the plains or the chance of a prairie dog. Great was my satisfaction, therefore, to find that this part of the new road, parallel with the Union Pacific, but a hundred miles farther south, traverses the same belt of rocks, and exhibits them in forms not less picturesque. Castle Canyon, on the South Fork of the Price, is the equivalent of Echo Canyon, and is equal or superior in everything except color. The brilliant red of the Echo cliffs is wanting. The towers and walls of Castle Canyon are yellowish-gray. But their forms are incomparably various and grotesque--in some instances sublime. The valley of Green River at this point is a cheerless sage-brush desert, as it is further north. To be sure, this uninviting stream, a couple of hundred miles further south, having united with the Grande, and formed the Rio Colorado, does indeed, by dint of burrowing deeper and deeper into the sunless chasms, become at last sublime. But here it gives no hint of its future somber glory. I remained awake till we had crossed Green River, to make sure that no striking scenery should be missed by sleep. But I got nothing for my pains except the moonlight on the muddy water; and next time I shall go to bed comfortably, proving to the conductor that I am a veteran and not a tender-foot. In the morning, we breakfasted at Cimarron, having in the interval passed the foot-hills of the Roan Mountains, crossed the Grande, and ascended for some distance the Gunnison, a tributary of the Grande, the Uncompahgre, a tributary of the Gunnison, and finally a branch, flowing westward, of the Uncompahgre. A high divide at the head of the latter was laboriously surmounted; and then, one of our two engines shooting ahead and piloting us, we slid speedily down to Cimarron. It is in such descents that the unaccustomed traveler usually feels alarmed. But the experience of the Rio Grande Railroad people is, that derailment is likely to occur on up-grades, and almost never in going down. From this point, comparison with the Union Pacific line in the matter of scenery ceases. As everybody knows, that road crosses the Rocky Mountains proper in a pass so wide and of such gradual ascent that the high summits are quite out of sight. If it were not for the monument to the Ameses, there would be nothing to mark the highest point. For all the wonderful scenery on the Rio Grande road, between Cimarron and Pueblo, the Union Pacific in the same longitudes has nothing to show. From an artistic stand-point, one	1,900.346616
2023-11-16 18:48:44.6254410	1,625	6	Produced by Anna Hall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS._ THE BLUE LAGOON. By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE. EVE'S APPLE. By ALPHONSE COURLANDER. PARADISE COURT. By J. S. FLETCHER. THE TRAITOR'S WIFE. By W. H. WILLIAMSON. MAROZIA. By A. G. HALES. LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN. THE WOMAN WHO VOWED (THE DEMETRIAN) BY ELLISON HARDING [Illustration] LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE MCMVIII CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A Goddess and a Comic Song 7 II. Harvesting and Harmony 21 III. The Cult of Demeter 37 IV. Anna of Ann 53 V. Irene 63 VI. Neaera 77 VII. A Tragic Denouement 94 VIII. How the Cult was Founded 101 IX. How It Might be Undermined 119 X. An Unexpected Solution 127 XI. The Plot Thickens 135 XII. Neaera's Idea of Diplomacy 144 XIII. Neaera Makes New Arrangements 150 XIV. "I Consented" 162 XV. The High Priest of Demeter 171 XVI. Anna's Secret 183 XVII. Designs on Anna of Ann 190 XVIII. A Dream 200 XIX. The Legislature Meets 207 XX. On Flavors and Finance 219 XXI. The Investigating Committee 226 XXII. "Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils" 238 XXIII. A Libel 249 XXIV. Neaera Again 259 XXV. The Libel Investigated 266 XXVI. The Election 285 XXVII. The Joint Session 293 XXVIII. Lydia to the Rescue 302 Conclusion 315 THE DEMETRIAN CHAPTER I A GODDESS AND A COMIC SONG I remember awakening with a start, conscious of a face bending over me that was beautiful and strange. I was quite unable to account for myself, and my surprise was heightened by the singular dress of the woman I saw. It was Greek--not of modern but of ancient Greece. What had happened? Had I been acting in a Greek play and been stunned by an accident to the scenery? No; the grass upon which I was lying was damp, and a sharp twinge between the shoulders told me I had been there already too long. What, then, was the meaning of this classic dress? I raised myself on one arm; and the young woman who had been kneeling beside me arose also. I was dazed, and shaded my eyes from the sun on the horizon--whether setting or rising I could not tell. I fixed my eyes upon the feet of my companion; they were curiously shod in soft leather, for cleanliness rather than for protection; tightly laced from the toe to the ankle and half way up the leg--half-moccasin and half-cothurnus. I fixed my eyes upon them and slowly became quite sure that I was alive and awake, but seemed still dazed and unwilling to look up. Presently she spoke. "Are you ill?" she asked. "I don't think so," answered I, as I lifted my eyes to hers. When our eyes met I jumped to my feet with an alertness so fresh and fruitful that I seemed to myself to have risen anew from the Fountain of Youth. A miracle had happened. I was dead and had come to life again--and apparently this time in the Olympian world. "Here!" I exclaimed; "or Athene! Cytherea, or Artemis!" Then quickly the look of sympathetic concern that I had just seen in her eyes vanished. A ripple of laughter passed over her face like the first touch of a breeze on a becalmed sea; for a moment she seemed to restrain it, but her merriment awakened mine, and on perceiving it she abandoned all restraint and burst into a laugh that was musical, bewitching, and contagious. We stood there a full minute, both of us laughing, though I did not understand why. She soon explained. "Where on earth do you come from, Xenos, and where--_where_ did you get _those_ things?" She pointed to my pantaloons as she spoke. Then I discovered how ridiculous I appeared. "And why have they cut all the hair off your face and left that ugly little stubble?" I put my hand to my chin and felt there a beard of several days' growth. "It must prick dreadfully," she said; and coming up to me she daintily passed a soft, rosy finger over my cheek. I caught her hand and kissed it. She jumped away from me like a fawn. "Take care, young man," she said, reprovingly but not reproachfully; "though I don't suppose you are very young, for I see some gray in your hair." I don't suppose I liked being reminded of my years, but I was altogether too much absorbed in the richness of her beauty and health to be concerned about myself. And the subtle combination of freedom and reserve in her manner conveyed to me an indescribable charm. At one moment it tempted me to trespass, but at the next I became aware that such an attempt would meet with humiliating resistance; for she was tall and strong. Her one rapid movement away from me proved her agility. She was perfectly able to take care of herself. Her consciousness of this had enabled her to meet my first advance with unruffled good humor, but I felt sure that persistence on my part would elicit repulsion and perhaps scorn. We stood a moment smiling at each other; then she said: "Come, you must take off those dreadful things; why, you are wet through"--and she passed her hand over my back--"and you must tell me what you are and where you come from. But you are chilled now and need something warm, so come to the Hall and you can tell me as we go." As she spoke she swung to her head a basket I had not before observed; it was heavy, for she straightened herself to support it; and the weight, until she balanced it, brought out the muscles of her neck. She put her arms akimbo and showed the way. "Well," she said, as we walked together side by side, "when are you going to begin?" "How and where shall I begin?" answered I. "You forget that I too have questions to ask; I am bewildered. Who and what are you? In what country am I? Where did you get that beautiful dress?" I stepped a little away from her to observe the beauty of her form	1,900.645481
2023-11-16 18:48:46.4163700	7,435	127	E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 41730-h.htm or 41730-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h/41730-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://archive.org/details/dixieafterwarexp00avar DIXIE AFTER THE WAR [Illustration: JEFFERSON DAVIS After his prison life Copyright 1867, by Anderson] DIXIE AFTER THE WAR An Exposition of Social Conditions Existing in the South, During the Twelve Years Succeeding the Fall of Richmond. by MYRTA LOCKETT AVARY Author of "A Virginia Girl in the Civil War" With an Introduction by General Clement A. Evans Illustrated from old paintings, daguerreotypes and rare photographs New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1906 Copyright, 1906, by Doubleday, Page & Company Published September, 1906 All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian To THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, PHILIP LOCKETT, (_First Lieutenant, Company G, 14th Virginia Infantry, Armistead's Brigade, Pickett's Division, C. S. A._) _Entering the Confederate Army, when hardly more than a lad, he followed General Robert E. Lee for four years, surrendering at Appomattox. He was in Pickett's immortal charge at Gettysburg, and with Armistead when Armistead fell on Cemetery Hill._ The faces I see before me are those of young men. Had you not been this I would not have appeared alone as the defender of my southland, but for love of her I break my silence and speak to you. Before you lies the future--a future full of golden promise, full of recompense for noble endeavor, full of national glory before which the world will stand amazed. Let me beseech you to lay aside all rancor, and all bitter sectional feeling, and take your place in the rank of those who will bring about a conciliation out of which will issue a reunited country.--_From an address by Jefferson Davis in his last years, to the young men of the South_ INTRODUCTION This book may be called a revelation. It seems to me a body of discoveries that should not be kept from the public--discoveries which have origin in many sources but are here brought together in one book for the first time. No book hitherto published portrays so fully and graphically the social conditions existing in the South for the twelve years following the fall of Richmond, none so vividly presents race problems. It is the kind of history a witness gives. The author received from observers and participants the larger part of the incidents and anecdotes which she employs. Those who lived during reconstruction are passing away so rapidly that data, unless gathered now, can never be had thus at first hand; every year increases the difficulty. Mrs. Avary's experience as author, editor and journalist, her command of shorthand and her social connections have opened up opportunities not usually accessible to one person; added to this is the balance of sympathy which she is able to strike as a Southern woman who has sojourned much at the North. In these pages she renders a public service. She aids the American to better understanding of his country's past and clearer concept of its present. In connection with the book's genesis, it may be said that the author grew up after the war on a large Virginia plantation where her parents kept open house in the true Southern fashion. Two public roads which united at their gates, were thoroughfares linking county-towns in Virginia and North Carolina, and were much traveled by jurists, lawyers and politicians on their way to and from various court sittings; these gentlemen often found it both convenient and pleasant to stop for supper and over night at Lombardy Grove, particularly as a son of the house was of their guild. Perhaps few of the company thus gathered realised what an earnest listener they had in the little girl, Myrta, who sat intent at her father's or brother's knee, drinking in eagerly the discussions and stories. To impressions and information so acquired much was added through family correspondence with relatives and friends in Petersburg, Richmond, Atlanta, the Carolinas; also, in experiences related by these friends and relatives when hospitalities were exchanged; interesting and eventful diaries, too, were at the author's disposal. Such was her unconscious preparation for the writing of this book. Her conscious preparation was a tour of several Southern States recently undertaken for the purpose of collecting fresh data and substantiating information already possessed. While engaged, for a season, in journalism in New York, she put out her first Southern book, "A Virginia Girl in the Civil War" (1903). This met with such warm welcome that she was promptly called upon for a second dealing with post-bellum life from a woman's viewpoint. The result was the Southern journey mentioned, the accidental discovery and presentment (1905) of the war journal of Mrs. James Chestnut ("A Diary From Dixie"), and the writing of the present volume which, I think, exceeds her commission, inasmuch as it is not only what is known as a "woman's book" but is a "man's book" also, exhibiting a masculine grasp, explained by its origin, of political situations, and an intimate personal tone in dealing with the lighter social side of things, possible only to a woman's pen. It is a very unusual book. All readers may not accept the author's conclusions, but I think that all must be interested in what she says and impressed with her spirit of fairness and her painstaking effort to present a truthful picture of an extraordinary social and political period in our national life. Her work stimulates interest in Southern history. A safe prophecy is that this book will be the precursor of as many post-bellum memoirs of feminine authorship as was "A Virginia Girl" of memoirs of war-time. No successor can be more comprehensive, as a glance at the table of contents will show. The tragedy, pathos, corruption, humour, and absurdities of the military dictatorship and of reconstruction, the topsy-turvy conditions generally, domestic upheaval, <DW64>s voting, Black and Tan Conventions and Legislatures, disorder on plantations, Loyal Leagues and Freedmen's Bureaus, Ku Klux and Red Shirts, are presented with a vividness akin to the camera's. A wide interest is appealed to in the earlier chapters narrating incidents connected with Mr. Lincoln's visit to Richmond, Mr. Davis' journeyings, capture and imprisonment, the arrest of Vice-President Stephens and the effort to capture General Toombs. Those which deal with the Federal occupation of Columbia and Richmond at once rivet attention. The most full and graphic description of the situation in the latter city just after the war, that has yet been produced, is given, and I think the interpretation of Mr. Davis' course in leaving Richmond instead of remaining and trying to enter into peace negotiations, is a point not hitherto so clearly taken. As a bird's-eye view of the South after the war, the book is expositive of its title, every salient feature of the time and territory being brought under observation. The States upon which attention is chiefly focussed, however, are Virginia and South Carolina, two showing reconstruction at its best and worst. The reader does not need assurance that this volume cost the author years of well-directed labour; hasty effort could not have produced a work of such depth, breadth and variety. It will meet with prompt welcome, I am sure, and its value will not diminish with years. CLEMENT A. EVANS. _Atlanta, Ga._ CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I. THE FALLING CROSS 3 CHAPTER II. "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" 9 CHAPTER III. THE ARMY OF THE UNION: THE CHILDREN AND THE FLAG 15 CHAPTER IV. THE COMING OF LINCOLN 29 CHAPTER V. THE LAST CAPITAL OF THE CONFEDERACY 47 CHAPTER VI. THE COUNSEL OF LEE 67 CHAPTER VII. "THE SADDEST GOOD FRIDAY" 77 CHAPTER VIII. THE WRATH OF THE NORTH 89 CHAPTER IX. THE CHAINING OF JEFFERSON DAVIS 101 CHAPTER X. OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY 107 CHAPTER XI. BUTTONS, LOVERS, OATHS, WAR LORDS, AND PRAYERS FOR PRESIDENTS 123 CHAPTER XII. CLUBBED TO HIS KNEES 139 CHAPTER XIII. NEW FASHIONS: A LITTLE BONNET AND AN ALPACA SKIRT 147 CHAPTER XIV. THE GENERAL IN THE CORNFIELD 155 CHAPTER XV. TOURNAMENTS AND STARVATION PARTIES 167 CHAPTER XVI. THE BONDAGE OF THE FREE 179 CHAPTER XVII. BACK TO VOODOOISM 201 CHAPTER XVIII. THE FREEDMEN'S BUREAU 209 CHAPTER XIX. THE PRISONER OF FORTRESS MONROE 219 CHAPTER XX. RECONSTRUCTION ORATORY 229 CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER FREE 237 CHAPTER XXII. A LITTLE PLAIN HISTORY 247 CHAPTER XXIII. THE BLACK AND TAN CONVENTION: THE "MIDNIGHT CONSTITUTION" 253 CHAPTER XXIV. SECRET SOCIETIES: LOYAL LEAGUE, WHITE CAMELIAS, WHITE BROTHERHOOD, PALE FACES, KU KLUX 263 CHAPTER XXV. THE SOUTHERN BALLOT-BOX 281 CHAPTER XXVI. THE WHITE CHILD 297 CHAPTER XXVII. SCHOOLMARMS AND OTHER NEWCOMERS 311 CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CARPET-BAGGER 325 CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEVIL ON THE SANTEE (A RICE-PLANTER'S STORY) 341 CHAPTER XXX. BATTLE FOR THE STATE-HOUSE 353 CHAPTER XXXI. CRIME AGAINST WOMANHOOD 377 CHAPTER XXXII. RACE PREJUDICE 391 CHAPTER XXXIII. MEMORIAL DAY AND DECORATION DAY. CONFEDERATE SOCIETIES 405 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS JEFFERSON DAVIS _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE THE RUINS OF MILLWOOD 6 MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS 10 THE WHITE HOUSE 32 THE GOVERNOR'S MANSION, Richmond 36 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH 48 THE LAST CAPITOL OF THE CONFEDERACY 52 THE OLD BANK, Washington, Ga. 56 GENERAL AND MRS. JOHN H. MORGAN 62 THE LEE RESIDENCE, Richmond 68 MRS. ROBERT E. LEE 72 MRS. JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON 80 LIBBY PRISON 92 MRS. DAVID L. YULEE 110 MISS MARY MEADE 120 MRS. HENRY L. POPE 128 MRS. WILLIAM HOWELL 134 MRS. ANDREW GRAY 134 MISS ADDIE PRESCOTT 168 MRS. DAVID URQUHART 174 MRS. LEONIDAS POLK 180 MRS. ANDREW PICKENS CALHOUN 196 FORTRESS MONROE 222 HISTORICAL PETIT JURY 238 MRS. AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 248 MME. OCTAVIA WALTON LE VERT 248 MRS. DAVID R. WILLIAMS 268 MISS EMILY V. MASON 304 MRS. WADE HAMPTON 346 RADICAL MEMBERS OF THE LEGISLATURE OF SOUTH CAROLINA 354 THE SOUTHERN CROSS 364 MRS. REBECCA CALHOUN PICKENS BACON 406 MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR 412 WINNIE DAVIS, the Daughter of the Confederacy 416 THE FALLING CROSS CHAPTER I THE FALLING CROSS "The Southern Cross" and a cross that fell during the burning of Columbia occur to my mind in unison. With the Confederate Army gone and Richmond open to the Federal Army, her people remembered New Orleans, Atlanta, Columbia. New Orleans, where "Beast Butler" issued orders giving his soldiers license to treat ladies offending them as "women of the town." Atlanta, whose citizens were ordered to leave; General Hood had protested and Mayor Calhoun had plead the cause of the old and feeble, of women that were with child; and of them that turned out of their houses had nowhere to go, and without money, food, or shelter, must perish in woods and waysides. General Sherman had replied: "I give full credit to your statements of the distress that will be occasioned, yet shall not revoke my orders, because they were not designed to meet the humanities of the case. You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will. War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it." "The order to depopulate Atlanta was obeyed amid agonies and sorrows indescribable," Colonel J. H. Keatley, U. S. A., has affirmed. There are some who hold with General Sherman that the most merciful way to conduct war is to make it as merciless and horrible as possible, and so end it the quicker. One objection to this is that it creates in a subjugated people such hatred and distrust of the conquering army and government that a generation or two must die out before this passes away; and therefore, in a very real sense, the method does not make quick end of conflict. Richmond remembered how Mayor Goodwin went to meet General Sherman and surrendered Columbia, praying for it his pity and protection. General Sherman had said: "Go home and sleep in peace, Mr. Mayor. Your city shall be safe." Mayor Goodwin returned, praising General Sherman. By next morning, the City of Gardens was almost swept from the face of the earth. The rabble ("my <DW15>s," General Sherman laughingly called his men set apart for such work), pouring into the town, had invaded and sacked homes, driving inmates--among these mothers with new-born babes--into the streets; they had demolished furniture, fired dwellings. Houses of worship were not spared. The Methodist Church, at whose altar the Sabbath before Rev. William Martin had administered the Sacrament to over four hundred <DW64>s, was burned. So was the Ursuline Convent. This institution was a branch of the order in Ohio; it sheltered nuns and students of both sections; Protestant and Catholic alike were there in sanctuary. One Northern Sister had lost two brothers in the Federal Army. Another was joyously hoping to find in Sherman's ranks one or more of her five Yankee brothers. The shock of that night killed her. A Western girl was "hoping yet fearing" to see her kinsmen. Guards, appointed for protection, aided in destruction. Rooms were invaded, trunks rifled. Drunken soldiers blew smoke in nuns' faces, saying: "Holy! holy! O yes, we are holy as you!" And: "What do you think of God now? Is not Sherman greater?" Because of the sacred character of the establishment, because General Sherman was a Catholic, and because he had sent assurances of protection to the Mother Superior, they had felt safe. But they had to go. "I marched in the procession through the blazing streets," wrote the Western girl, "venerable Father O'Connell at the head holding high the crucifix, the black-robed Mother Superior and the _religieuses_ following with their charges, the white-faced, frightened girls and children, all in line and in perfect order. They sought the Catholic church for safety, and the Sisters put the little ones to sleep on the cushioned pews; then the children, driven out by roystering soldiers, ran stumbling and terror-stricken into the graveyard and crouched behind gravestones." One soldier said he was sorry for the women and children of South Carolina, but the hotbed of secession must be destroyed. "But I am not a South Carolinian," retorted the Western girl, "I am from Ohio. Our Mother Superior was in the same Convent in Ohio with General Sherman's sister and daughter." "The General ought to know that," he responded quickly. "If you are from Ohio--that's my state--I'll help you." For answer, she pointed to the Convent; the cross above it was falling. They recur to my mind in unison--that cross, sacred alike to North and South, falling above a burning city, and the falling Southern Cross, Dixie's beautiful battle-flag. Two nuns, conferring apart if it would not be well to take the children into the woods, heard a deep, sad voice saying: "Your position distresses me greatly!" Startled, they turned to perceive a Federal officer beside a tombstone just behind them. "Are you a Catholic," they asked, "that you pity us?" "No; simply a man and a soldier." Dawn came, and with it some Irish soldiers to early Mass. Appalled, they cried: "O, this will never do! Send for the General! The General would never permit it!" At reveille all arson, looting and violence had ceased as by magic, even as conflagration had started as by magic in the early hours of the night when four signal rockets went up from as many corners of the town. But the look of the desolated city in the glare of daylight was indescribable. Around the church were broken and empty trunks and boxes; in the entrance stood a harp with broken strings. General Sherman came riding by; the Mother Superior summoned him; calmly facing the Attila of his day, she said in her clear, sweet voice: "General, this is how you keep your promise to me, a cloistered nun, and these my sacred charges." General Sherman answered: "Madame, it is all the fault of your <DW64>s, who gave my soldiers liquor to drink." General Sherman, in official report, charged the burning of Columbia to General Hampton, and in his "Memoirs" gives his reason: "I confess that I did so to shake the faith of his people in him"; and asserts that his "right wing," "having utterly ruined Columbia," passed on to Winnsboro. Living witnesses tell how that firing was done. A party of soldiers would enter a dwelling, search and rifle; and in departing throw wads of burning paper into closets, corners, under beds, into cellars. Another party would repeat the process. Family and servants would follow after, removing wads and extinguishing flames until ready to drop. Devastation for secession, that was what was made plain in South Carolina; if the hotbed of "heresy" had to be destroyed for her sins, what of the Confederate Capital, Richmond, the long-desired, the "heart of the Rebellion"? [Illustration: THE RUINS OF MILLWOOD Millwood was the ancestral home of General Hampton, and was burned by Sherman's orders. The property is now owned by General Hampton's sisters.] "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" CHAPTER II "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" "When this cruel war is over" was the name of one of our war songs. So many things we planned to do when the war should be over. With the fall of the Southern Capital the war was over, though we did not know it at once. Again and again has the story been told of Sunday, April 2, in Richmond. The message brought into St. Paul's Church from Lee to Davis, saying Richmond could no longer be defended; the quiet departure of the President; the noble bearing of the beloved rector, Rev. Dr. Minnegerode; the self-control of the troubled people remaining; the solemn Communion Service; these are all a part now of American history of that sad time when brother strove with brother; a time whose memories should never be revived for the purpose of keeping rancor alive, but that should be unfalteringly remembered, and every phase of it diligently studied, that our common country may in no wise lose the lesson for which we of the North and South paid so tremendous a price. Into Dr. Hoge's church a hurried messenger came. The pastor read the note handed up to him, bowed his head in silent prayer, and then said: "Brethren, trying scenes are before us; General Lee has suffered reverses. But remember that God is with us in the storm as well as in the calm. Go quietly to your homes, and whatever may be in store for us, let us not forget that we are Christian men and women. The blessing of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost be with us all. Amen." So other pastors commended their people. None who lived through that Sabbath could forget it. Our Government, our soldiers, hurrying off; women saying goodbye to husband, lover, brother, or friend, and urging haste; everybody who could go, going, when means of transportation were insufficient for Government uses, and "a kingdom for a horse" could not buy one--horses brought that day $1,000 apiece in gold; handsome houses full of beautiful furniture left open and deserted; people of all sexes, colors and classes running hither and yon; boxes and barrels dragged about the streets from open commissary stores; explosions as of earthquakes; houses aflame; the sick and dying brought out; streets running liquid fire where liquor had been emptied into gutters, that it might not be available for invading troops; bibulous wretches in the midst of the terror, brooding over such waste; drunken roughs and looters, white and black, abroad; the penitentiary disgorging striped hordes; the ribald songs, the anguish, the fears, the tumult; the noble calm of brave souls, the patient endurance of sweet women and gentle children--these are all a part of American history, making thereon a page blistered with tears for some; and for others, illumined with symbols of triumph and glory. And yet, we are of one blood, and the triumph and glory of one is the triumph and glory of the other; the anguish and tears of one the anguish and tears of the other; and the shame of one is the shame of both. The fire was largely due to accident. In obedience to law, Confederate forces, in evacuating the city, fired tobacco warehouses, ordnance and other Government stores, gunboats in the James and bridges spanning the river. A wind, it is said, carried sparks towards the town, igniting first one building and then another; incendiarism lent aid that pilfering might go on in greater security through public disorder and distress. [Illustration: MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS] During the night detonations of exploding gunboats could be heard for miles, the noise and shock and lurid lights adding to the wretchedness of those within the city, and the anxieties of those who beheld its burnings from afar; among these, the advancing enemy, who was not without uneasy speculations lest he find Richmond, as Napoleon found Moscow, in ashes. General Shepley, U. S. A., has described the scene witnessed from his position near Petersburg, as a most beautiful and awful display of fireworks, the heavens at three o'clock being suddenly filled with bursting shells, red lights, Roman candles, fiery serpents, golden fountains, falling stars. Nearly all the young men were gone; the fire department, without a full force of operatives, without horses, without hose, was unable to cope with the situation. Old men, women and children, and <DW64> servants fought the flames as well as they could. Friends and relatives who were living in Richmond then have told me about their experiences until I seem to have shared them. One who appears in these pages as Matoaca, gives me this little word-picture of the morning after the evacuation: "I went early to the War Department, where I had been employed, to get letters out of my desk. The desk was open. Everything was open. Our President, our Government, our soldiers were gone. The papers were found and I started homeward. We saw rolls of smoke ahead, and trod carefully the fiery streets. Suddenly my companion caught my arm, crying: 'Is not that the sound of cavalry?' We hurried, almost running. Soon after we entered the house, some one exclaimed: "'God help us! The United States flag is flying over our Capitol!' "I laid my head on Uncle Randolph's knee and shivered. He placed his hand lightly on my head and said: 'Trust in God, my child. They can not be cruel to us. We are defenseless.' He had fought for that flag in Mexico. He had stood by Virginia, but he had always been a Unionist. I thought of New Orleans, Atlanta, Columbia." An impression obtained that to <DW64> troops was assigned the honor of first entering Richmond, hauling down the Southern Cross and hoisting in its place the Stars and Stripes. "Harper's Weekly" said: "It was fitting that the old flag should be restored by soldiers of the race to secure whose eternal degradation that flag had been pulled down." Whether the assignment was made or not, I am unable to say; if it was, it was not very graceful or wise on the part of our conquerors, and had it been carried out, would have been prophetic of what came after--the subversion. White troops first entered Richmond, and a white man ran up the flag of the Union over our Capitol. General Shepley says that to his aide, Lieutenant de Peyster, he accorded the privilege as a reward for caring for his old flag that had floated over City Hall in New Orleans. On the other hand, it is asserted that Major Stevens performed the historic office, running up the two small guidons of the Fourth Massachusetts Cavalry, which were presently displaced by the large flag Lieutenant de Peyster had been carrying in the holster at his saddle-bow for many a day, that it might be in readiness for the use to which he now put it. THE ARMY OF THE UNION CHAPTER III THE ARMY OF THE UNION: THE CHILDREN AND THE FLAG The Army of the Union entered Richmond with almost the solemnity of a processional entering church. It was occasion for solemn procession, that entrance into our burning city where a stricken people, flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone, watched in terror for their coming. Our broken-hearted people closed their windows and doors and shut out as far as they could all sights and sounds. Yet through closed lattice there came that night to those living near Military Headquarters echoes of rejoicings. Early that fateful morning, Mayor Mayo, Judge Meredith and Judge Lyons went out to meet the incoming foe and deliver up the keys of the city. Their coach of state was a dilapidated equipage, the horses being but raw-boned shadows of better days when there were corn and oats in the land. They carried a piece of wallpaper, on the unflowered side of which articles of surrender were inscribed in dignified terms setting forth that "it is proper to formally surrender the City of Richmond, hitherto Capital of the Confederate States of America." Had the words been engraved on satin in letters of gold, Judge Lyons (who had once represented the United States at the Court of St. James) could not have performed the honours of introduction between the municipal party and the Federal officers with statelier grace, nor could the latter have received the instrument of submission with profounder courtesy. "We went out not knowing what we would encounter," Mayor Mayo reported, "and we met a group of Chesterfields." Major Atherton H. Stevens, of General Weitzel's staff, was the immediate recipient of the wallpaper document. General Weitzel and his associates were merciful to the stricken city; they aided her people in extinguishing the flames; restored order and gave protection. Guards were posted wherever needed, with instructions to repress lawlessness, and they did it. To this day, Richmond people rise up in the gates and praise that Army of the Occupation as Columbia's people can never praise General Sherman's. Good effect on popular sentiment was immediate. Among many similar incidents of the times is this, as related by a prominent physician: "When I returned from my rounds at Chimborazo I found a Yankee soldier sitting on my stoop with my little boy, Walter, playing with the tassels and buttons on his uniform. He arose and saluted courteously, and told me he was there to guard my property. 'I am under orders,' he said, 'to comply with any wish you may express.'" Dr. Gildersleeve, in an address (June, 1904) before the Association of Medical Officers of the Army and Navy, C. S. A., referred to Chimborazo Hospital as "the most noted and largest military hospital in the annals of history, ancient or modern." With its many white buildings and tents on Chimborazo Hill, it looked like a town and a military post, which latter it was, with Dr. James B. McCaw for Commandant. General Weitzel and his staff visited the hospital promptly. Dr. McCaw and his corps in full uniform received them. Dr. Mott, General Weitzel's Chief Medical Director, exclaimed: "Ain't that old Jim McCaw?" "Yes," said "Jim McCaw," "and don't you want a drink?" "Invite the General, too," answered Dr. Mott. General Weitzel issued passes to Dr. McCaw and his corps, and gave verbal orders that Chimborazo Confederates should be taken care of under all circumstances. He proposed to take Dr. McCaw and his corps into the Federal service, thus arming him with power to make requisition for supplies, medicines, etc., which offer the doctor, as a loyal Confederate, was unable to accept. Others of our physicians and surgeons found friends in Federal ranks. To how many poor Boys in Blue, longing for home and kindred, had not they and our women ministered! The orders of the Confederate Government were that the sick and wounded of both armies should be treated alike. True, nobody had the best of fare, for we had it not to give. We were without medicines; it was almost impossible to get morphia, quinine, and other remedies. Quinine was $400 an ounce, when it could be bought at all, even in the earlier years of the war. Our women became experts in manufacturing substitutes out of native herbs and roots. We ran wofully short of dressings and bandages, and bundles of old rags became treasures priceless. But the most cruel shortage was in food. Bitter words in Northern papers and by Northern speakers--after our defeat intensified, multiplied, and illustrated--about our treatment of prisoners exasperated us. "Will they never learn," we asked, "that on such rations as we gave our prisoners, our men were fighting in the field? We had not food for ourselves; the North blockaded us so we could not bring food from outside, and refused to exchange prisoners with us. What could we do?" I wonder how many men now living remember certain loaves of wheaten bread which the women of Richmond collected with difficulty in the last days of the war and sent to Miss Emily V. Mason, our "Florence Nightingale," for our own boys. "Boys," Miss Emily announced--sick soldiers, if graybeards, were "boys" to "Cap'n," as they all called Miss Emily--"I have some flour-bread which the ladies of Richmond have sent you." Cheers, and other expressions of thankfulness. "The poor, sick Yankees," Miss Emily went on falteringly--uneasy countenances in the ward--"_can't_ eat corn-bread--" "Give the flour-bread to the poor, sick Yankees, Cap'n!" came in cheerful, if quavering chorus from the cots. "_We_ can eat corn-bread. Gruel is good	1,902.43641
2023-11-16 18:48:46.6570770	1,624	30	Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive) MADONNA MARY. A Novel. BY MRS. OLIPHANT, AUTHOR OF "LAST OF THE MORTIMERS," "IN THE DAYS OF MY LIFE," "SQUIRE ARDEN," "OMBRA," "MAY," ETC., ETC. _NEW EDITION._ LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1875. [_All rights reserved._] LONDON: SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C. MADONNA MARY. CHAPTER I. Major Ochterlony had been very fidgety after the coming in of the mail. He was very often so, as all his friends were aware, and nobody so much as Mary, his wife, who was herself, on ordinary occasions, of an admirable composure. But the arrival of the mail, which is so welcome an event at an Indian station, and which generally affected the Major very mildly, had produced a singular impression upon him on this special occasion. He was not a man who possessed a large correspondence in his own person; he had reached middle life, and had nobody particular belonging to him, except his wife and his little children, who were as yet too young to have been sent "home;" and consequently there was nobody to receive letters from, except a few married brothers and sisters, who don't count, as everybody knows. That kind of formally affectionate correspondence is not generally exciting, and even Major Ochterlony supported it with composure. But as for the mail which arrived on the 15th of April, 1838, its effect was different. He went out and in so often, that Mary got very little good of her letters, which were from her young sister and her old aunt, and were naturally overflowing with all kinds of pleasant gossip and domestic information. The present writer has so imperfect an idea of what an Indian bungalow is like, that it would be impossible for her to convey a clear idea to the reader, who probably knows much better about it. But yet it was in an Indian bungalow that Mrs. Ochterlony was seated--in the dim hot atmosphere, out of which the sun was carefully excluded, but in which, nevertheless, the inmates simmered softly with the patience of people who cannot help it, and who are used to their martyrdom. She sat still, and did her best to make out the pleasant babble in the letters, which seemed to take sound to itself as she read, and to break into a sweet confusion of kind voices, and rustling leaves, and running water, such as, she knew, had filled the little rustic drawing-room in which the letters were written. The sister was very young, and the aunt was old, and all the experience of the world possessed by the two together, might have gone into Mary's thimble, which she kept playing with upon her finger as she read. But though she knew twenty times better than they did, the soft old lady's gentle counsel, and the audacious girl's advice and censure, were sweet to Mary, who smiled many a time at their simplicity, and yet took the good of it in a way that was peculiar to her. She read, and she smiled in her reading, and felt the fresh English air blow about her, and the leaves rustling--if it had not been for the Major, who went and came like a ghost, and let everything fall that he touched, and hunted every innocent beetle or lizard that had come in to see how things were going on; for he was one of those men who have a great, almost womanish objection to reptiles and insects, which is a sentiment much misplaced in India. He fidgeted so much, indeed, as to disturb even his wife's accustomed nerves at last. "Is there anything wrong--has anything happened?" she asked, folding up her letter, and laying it down in her open work-basket. Her anxiety was not profound, for she was accustomed to the Major's "ways," but still she saw it was necessary for his comfort to utter what was on his mind. "When you have read your letters I want to speak to you," he said. "What do your people mean by sending you such heaps of letters? I thought you would never be done. Well, Mary, this is what it is--there's nothing wrong with the children, or anybody belonging to us, thank God; but it's very nearly as bad, and, I am at my wit's end. Old Sommerville's dead." "Old Sommerville!" said Mrs. Ochterlony. This time she was utterly perplexed and at a loss. She could read easily enough the anxiety which filled her husband's handsome, restless face; but, then, so small a matter put _him_ out of his ordinary! And she could not for her life remember who old Sommerville was. "I daresay _you_ don't recollect him," said the Major, in an aggrieved tone. "It is very odd how everything has gone wrong with us since that false start. It is an awful shame, when a set of old fogies put young people in such a position--all for nothing, too," Major Ochterlony added: "for after we were actually married, everybody came round. It is an awful shame!" "If I was a suspicious woman," said Mary, with a smile, "I should think it was our marriage that you called a false start and an awful shame." "And so it is, my love: so it is," said the innocent soldier, his face growing more and more cloudy. As for his wife being a suspicious woman, or the possible existence of any delicacy on her part about his words, the Major knew better than that. The truth was that he might have given utterance to sentiments of the most atrocious description on that point, sentiments which would have broken the heart and blighted the existence, so to speak, of any sensitive young woman, without producing the slightest effect upon Mary, or upon himself, to whom Mary was so utterly and absolutely necessary, that the idea of existing without her never once entered his restless but honest brain. "That is just what it is," he said; "it is a horrid business for me, and I don't know what to do about it. They must have been out of their senses to drive us to marry as we did; and we were a couple of awful fools," said the Major, with the gravest and most care-worn countenance. Mrs. Ochterlony was still a young woman, handsome and admired, and she might very well have taken offence at such words; but, oddly enough, there was something in his gravely-disturbed face and pathetic tone which touched another chord in Mary's breast. She laughed, which was unkind, considering all the circumstances, and took up her work, and fixed a pair of smiling eyes upon her perplexed husband's face. "I daresay it is not so bad as you think," she said, with the manner of a woman who was used to this kind	1,902.677117
2023-11-16 18:48:46.8728990	1,625	18	Produced by Julia Miller, Thiers Halliwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's notes: In this plain text version, bold script is denoted by =equals signs= and italic script by _underscores_. Text that was originally rendered in small capitals now appears in full capitals. No attempt has been made to standardise the numerous inconsistencies throughout the text with respect to punctuation, [e.g. (No. 490,)/(No. 490.)/(No. 490)/(No. 490).], spelling, case and hyphenation [e.g. P. 36/p. 88, DR. MOFFETT/Dr. MUFFETT, Colton/Coulton, toothach/toothache, Head-Ach/Head-ach/Head-ache, nightmare/Night-Mare/night-mare, mouthsful/mouthfuls, scum/skum, table-spoonful/tablespooonful, Curacoa/Curacoa, and others]. These and various archaic spellings all remain as in the original. The transcription also replicates the original text in its use of upper case, lower case, small capitals, and italics. On the other hand, several errors, omissions and uncertainties were corrected after referring to the subsequent edition (3rd) of the book for clarification: for example, missing characters resulting from incomplete scan images; missing quotation marks; a missing value for 'Port' in the table on page 138; and a three-paragraph apparent 'blockquote' on page 141 (actually a partial footnote that had become separated from its preceding paragraphs on page 139), is now reunited with the rest of the footnote. A few incorrect page references have been rectified. The incorrect sequencing of the index replicates that in the original publication. In that era the letters i and j were interchangeable, and words beginning with these letters are grouped together in the index. The words and abbreviations Ditto, ditto, Do., do., are used inconsistently in the index. Numbered items (sometimes asterisked) of the style (No. 463*) are references to the 3rd edition of "The Cook's Oracle" as mentioned at the top of the page that follows the Contents list. The footnotes, which are numerous and sometimes lengthy, have been relocated to the end of the e-book. A few of the original cross-references pointed to the _page_ on which the relevant footnote was located rather than to the footnote itself. As the footnotes are no longer on those pages, readers of this plain text version might have difficulty following such cross-references. On page 17, reference to a footnote that simply stated'see Index' has been changed to an in-line reference (as used elsewhere in the text). In this (Latin-1) version of the book, the apothecary's symbol meaning 'Prescription take' (Unicode letterlike symbol Dec 8478 Hex 211E) on pages 232 and 285 has been replaced by 'Rx', and in Footnote 104 the symbol for'scruple' (a measure of weight - Unicode letterlike symbol Dec 8456 Hex 2108) has been spelled out in full. THE ART OF INVIGORATING AND PROLONGING LIFE, BY FOOD, CLOTHES, AIR, EXERCISE, WINE, SLEEP, &c. AND PEPTIC PRECEPTS, POINTING OUT _AGREEABLE AND EFFECTUAL METHODS_ TO PREVENT AND RELIEVE INDIGESTION, AND TO _REGULATE AND STRENGTHEN THE ACTION_ OF THE STOMACH AND BOWELS. Suaviter in modo, sed fortiter in re. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE COOK'S ORACLE," &c. &c. &c. _SECOND EDITION._ LONDON: PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. 1821. TO THE NERVOUS AND BILIOUS, THE FOLLOWING TREATISE, ON THE ART OF MANAGING THOSE TEMPERAMENTS, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. PAGE ART OF INVIGORATING LIFE 1 Reducing Corpulence 50 Sleep 65 Siesta 94 Clothes 103 Fire 113 Air 119 Exercise 122 Wine 127 Peptic Precepts 156 Index 267 THE NUMBERS _affixed to the various Articles of Food, &c. are those referred to in the_ THIRD EDITION _of_ THE COOK'S ORACLE: CONTAINING RECEIPTS FOR PLAIN COOKERY ON THE MOST ECONOMICAL PLAN FOR PRIVATE FAMILIES: ALSO THE ART OF COMPOSING THE MOST SIMPLE, AND MOST HIGHLY FINISHED Broths, Gravies, Soups, Sauces, Store Sauces, AND FLAVOURING ESSENCES: _The Quantity of each Article is_ ACCURATELY STATED BY WEIGHT AND MEASURE; _THE WHOLE BEING THE RESULT OF_ Actual Experiments INSTITUTED IN THE KITCHEN OF A PHYSICIAN. "Miscuit utile dulce." THE THIRD EDITION, WHICH IS ALMOST ENTIRELY RE-WRITTEN. LONDON: PRINTED FOR A. CONSTABLE & Co. EDINBURGH; AND HURST, ROBINSON, & Co. CHEAPSIDE. _And sold also by all Booksellers in Town and Country._ 1821. THE ART OF INVIGORATING AND PROLONGING LIFE BY Diet and Regimen. "The choice and measure of the materials of which our Body is composed,--and what we take daily by POUNDS,--is at least of as much importance as what we take seldom, and only by _Grains_ and _Spoonsful_."--DR. ARBUTHNOT on _Aliment_, pref. p. iii. The Editor of the following pages had originally an extremely Delicate Constitution;--and at an early period devoted himself to the study of Physic, with the hope--of learning how to make the most of his small stock of Health. The System he adopted, succeeded, and he is arrived at his forty-third year, in tolerable good Health; and this without any uncomfortable abstinence:--his maxim has ever been, "_dum Vivimus, Vivamus_." He does not mean the Aguish existence of the votary of Fashion--whose Body is burning from voluptuous intemperance to-day, and freezing in miserable collapse to-morrow--not extravagantly consuming in a Day, the animal spirits which Nature intended for the animation of a Week--but keeping the expense of the machinery of Life within the income of Health	1,902.892939
2023-11-16 18:48:46.9520460	2,962	6	Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.) IN BLUE CREEK CANON BY ANNA CHAPIN RAY AUTHOR OF "HALF A DOZEN BOYS," "HALF A DOZEN GIRLS," ETC. NEW YORK: 46 EAST 14TH STREET THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. BOSTON: 100 PURCHASE STREET COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. _Printed and Electrotyped by_ ALFRED MUDGE & SON, BOSTON. [Illustration: "A quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates."] If you've wronged him, speak him fair. Say you're sorry and make it square; If he's wronged you, wink so tight None of you see what's plain in sight. When the world goes hard and wrong, Lend a hand to help him along; When his stockings have holes to darn, Don't you grudge him your ball of yarn. * * * * * Stick to each other through thick and thin; All the closer as age leaks in; Squalls will blow, and clouds will frown, But stay by your ship till you all go down! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. CONTENTS. I. A COUNCIL ON SKATES II. TO WELCOME THE COMING GUEST III. THE EVERETT HOUSEHOLD IV. ON THE CROSS-HEAD V. THE MEETING IN THE WATERS VI. MARJORIE'S PARTY VII. JANEY'S PROPHECY VIII. IN THE DARK IX. CAMPING ON THE BEAVERHEAD X. UP THE GULCH XI. "SWEET CHARITY'S SAKE" XII. HOME WITHOUT A MOTHER XIII. AT THE NINE-HUNDRED LEVEL XIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE OLD STORY XV. MR. ATHERDEN XVI. THE COMPLETED STORY XVII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE UNEXPECTED XVIII. UNDER ORDERS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "A quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates." "He cautiously moved away a few inches along the beam." "His lamp extended in one hand, while with his other he held his cane, which he was poking about in the soft, sticky mud." IN BLUE CREEK CANON. CHAPTER I. A COUNCIL ON SKATES. A strong southeast wind was blowing up the canon and driving before it the dense yellow smoke which rolled up from the great red chimneys of the smelter. To the east and west of the town, the mountains rose abruptly, their steep sides bare or covered with patches of yellow pine. At the north, the canon closed in to form a narrow gorge between the mountains; but towards the south it opened out into a broad valley, through which the swiftly rushing creek twisted and turned along its willow-bordered bed. A half mile below the town the creek suddenly broadened into a little lake that was now frozen over, forming a sheet of dazzling ice, upon which a quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates. "Ugh!" gasped one of the boys, as a sudden gust of wind, coming straight from the east, brought the stifling cloud in their direction; "I'm glad I'm not up in town this afternoon. It's getting ready for a storm, I think, from the way the smoke comes down; and they must be catching it all, up there." "Oh, dear!" sighed the girl with whom he was skating; "if it storms 'twill be sure to be more snow, and spoil the ice. It's too bad, for we get so little skating out here, and it's almost time to go home now. Just see how low the sun is getting!" "Never mind, Marjorie," said the boy, as he paused to breathe on his cold fingers; then held out his hand to her once more. "We'll have one more go across the pond, anyway, for there's no knowing when we'll have another chance. You take Allie, Ned, and we'll race you, two and two, over to that largest stump. Come on, and get into line. One! two! _three!_" Away they flew, the bright blades of their skates flashing in the long slanting rays of the late afternoon sun, and their eyes and cheeks glowing with the cold air and rapid exercise. Marjorie and her attendant knight were the first to reach the goal, and turned, panting, to face the others as they came up to them. "That was just fine!" exclaimed Allie's companion, as he dropped her hand and spun around in a narrow circle which sent the chips of ice flying from under his heel. "Don't let's go home just yet, 't won't be dark for an hour anyway, and we can go up in fifteen minutes. I'll race you over to the other side and back again, Howard, while the girls are getting their breath." "You don't mind being left, Allie?" And the taller boy glanced at the girls. "All right, just for once," said Allie; "then we really ought to go up, Howard; mamma wants us to be home in good season to-night, for dinner is going to be early, so papa can get the train down." "Is your father going away again?" asked Marjorie, as the girls skated idly to and fro, waiting for the boys to join them. "I thought he came in from camp only this morning." "So he did," answered her friend, burying her small nose in her muff for a moment, as she faced the cutting wind. "He's only going down to Pocatello to-night, and out on the main line a little ways, to meet Charlie MacGregor, our cousin that's coming." "Yes," nodded Marjorie, in acquiescence; "I remember now; I'd forgotten he was coming so soon. What fun you'll have with him, Allie! I wish I had a brother, or cousin, or something." "Perhaps I shall wish I didn't have both," said Allie, laughing. "I don't know how he and Howard will get on. I think Howard doesn't want him much; but I'd just as soon he'd be here." "What's he like?" queried Marjorie curiously. "I haven't much idea; I've never seen him," said Allie. "Papa saw him when he was east last summer, and we have a picture of him taken ever so long ago." "Who's that--Charlie MacGregor?" asked Howard, skating up to them at that moment. "He's not much to look at, Marjorie, if his picture's any good. He has a pug nose and wears giglamps, and I've a suspicion that he's a fearful dude. He'll be a tenderfoot, of course, but he'll get over that; but if he's a dude, we boys will make it lively for him." "Howard, you sha'n't!" remonstrated his sister, loyally coming to the defence of their unknown cousin. "It must be horrid for him to lose all his friends and have to be sent out here to relations he doesn't know nor care anything about, just like a barrel of flour." Allie's metaphors were becoming mixed; but she never heeded that, as she went on proudly: "And besides, we're MacGregors as much as he is, and mamma says that no MacGregor was ever rude to a cousin, or to anybody in trouble." "Good for you, Allie!" shouted the younger boy, as he stopped in the middle of a figure eight to applaud her words. "You're in the right of it; but you needn't think you'll ever keep Howard in order. How old is this lad, anyhow?" "Half way between Howard and me," replied Allie, as they started to skate slowly up the creek towards home, and Howard and Marjorie dropped a little in the rear. "He was thirteen last summer, and papa says he's a real, true musician. He'll bring his own piano with him; but I don't know where he'll find room to put it, for our house is full as can be, now. Then he sings, too,--at least, he used to,--in a boy choir. Haven't you seen his picture, Ned? It's homely, but it looks as if he might not be so bad." "Where's he coming from?" asked Ned. "New York. He's lived there always; but, you know, his father died two years ago, and his mother last month. He hasn't any relations but just us, so he is to live here for a while. You and Howard will stand by him, won't you, Ned?" she added persuasively, laying her mittened hand on his. "I'm afraid the other boys will run on him and make fun of him. Don't tell Howard I said so, but I don't expect to like him much myself, only I'm sort of sorry for him; and then he's our cousin, so I suppose we must make sure he has a good time." "I won't be hard on him, Allie," her companion answered her, laughing a little at the unwonted seriousness of her tone; "as long as he doesn't put on airs and talk big about New York and 'the way _we_ do East,' and all that poppycock, I'll stand by him. But if he's coming out here to show us how to do it, the sooner it's taken out of him the better." "Wait till the train comes in, day after to-morrow morning, Ned," said Howard, as, with a few quick strokes, he and Marjorie overtook them once more. "We'll take a look at him and see what he's like, before we make too many promises. Now, then, ma'am," he added, as he and Marjorie paused at a great stone on the bank of the creek; "if you'll be good enough to sit down, I'll have your skates off instanter." Marjorie laughed, as she dropped down on the stone and put one little foot on Howard's knee, while Ned performed a similar service for Allie. "I'm crazy to see your cousin, Allie," she said. "I know he's going to be great fun, only I'm afraid he'll think we are hopeless tomboys. Probably he's been used to girls that sit in the parlor and sew embroidery, instead of skating and riding bronchos bareback, and playing hare and hounds with the boys." "Don't care if he has!" And Allie made a little grimace of defiance as she scrambled to her feet. "I'm not going to give up all my good times and take to fancy work, when it's as much as I can do to sew on my own buttons. He can stay in the house, and sing songs and sew patchwork all day long, if he wants to, but I'm not going to give up all my frolics; need I, boys?" she concluded, in a mutinous outburst, quite at variance with her recent plea for their expected guest. Howard laughed teasingly. "Catch Allie turning the fine young lady! If you shut her up in a parlor, she'd jump over the chairs and play tag with herself around the table; and Marjorie is about as bad." "Perhaps I am," she assented placidly; "but you boys could never get along without us. I've heard you say, over and over again, that we can catch a ball as well as half the boys in town, and I can outrun you any day. Want to try?" "Not much," returned Howard, laughing, though there rankled in his mind the memory of recent races in which he had not been the winner. "You only beat me because you've been used to this air longer than I have. Besides, it would hurry us home too much, and I've an idea that this may be the last time that we four chums will be off together, for one while. I shall have to trot round with that fellow, for the next week, and show him the ways of the country, so he won't make too great a jay of himself. But, I say, if it doesn't storm to-morrow, we'll come down here again in the afternoon, and have an hour or two on the ice before it's spoiled." With their skates strapped together and slung over their shoulders, their collars turned up around their ears, and their hands plunged deep into pockets and muffs, they turned northward along the bank of the creek for a short distance, and then struck off across the level, open ground till they came into one of the streets of the little town, which they followed until they reached the main business street. There they parted, Ned and Marj	1,902.972086
2023-11-16 18:48:47.0370180	5,381	11	Produced by Barbara Tozier, Douglas L. Alley, III, Bill Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY OR THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS BY ANGELO DE GUBERNATIS PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT AND COMPARATIVE LITERATURE IN THE ISTITUTO DI STUDII SUPERIORI E DI PERFEZIONAMENTO, AT FLORENCE FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTE OF PHILOLOGY AND ETHNOGRAPHY OF THE DUTCH INDIES _IN TWO VOLUMES_ VOL. I. LONDON TRUeBNER & CO., 60 PATERNOSTER ROW 1872 [_All rights reserved_] PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY EDINBURGH AND LONDON TO MICHELE AMARI AND MICHELE COPPINO This Work IS DEDICATED AS A TRIBUTE OF LIVELY GRATITUDE AND PROFOUND ESTEEM BY THE AUTHOR. ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY; OR THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS. First Part. THE ANIMALS OF THE EARTH. CHAPTER I. THE COW AND THE BULL. SECTION I.--THE COW AND THE BULL IN THE VEDIC HYMNS. SUMMARY. Prelude.--The vault of Heaven as a luminous cow.--The gods and goddesses, sons and daughters of this cow.--The vault of Heaven as a spotted cow.--The sons and daughters of this cow, _i.e._ the winds, Marutas, and the clouds, Pricnayas.--The wind-bulls subdue the cloud-cows.--Indras, the rain-sending, thundering, lightening, radiant sun, who makes the rain fall and the light return, called the bull of bulls.--The bull Indras drinks the water of strength.--Hunger and thirst of the heroes of mythology.--The cloud-barrel.--The horns of the bull and of the cow are sharpened.--The thunderbolt-horns.--The cloud as a cow, and even as a stable or hiding-place for cows.--Cavern where the cows are shut up, of which cavern the bull Indras and the bulls Marutas remove the stone, and force the entrance, to reconquer the cows, delivering them from the monster; the male Indras finds himself again with his wife.--The cloud-fortress, which Indras destroys and Agnis sets on fire.--The cloud-forest, which the gods destroy.--The cloud-cow; the cow-bow; the bird-thunderbolts; the birds come out of the cow.--The monstrous cloud-cow, the wife of the monster.--Some phenomena of the cloudy sky are analogous to those of the gloomy sky of night and of winter.--The moment most fit for an epic poem is the meeting of such phenomena in a nocturnal tempest.--The stars, cows put to flight by the sun.--The moon, a milk-yielding cow.--The ambrosial moon fished up in the fountain, gives nourishment to Indras.--The moon as a male, or bull, discomfits, with the bull Indras, the monster.--The two bulls, or the two stallions, the two horsemen, the twins.--The bull chases the wolf from the waters.--The cow tied.--The aurora, or ambrosial cow, formed out of the skin of another cow by the Ribhavas.--The Ribhavas, bulls and wise birds.--The three Ribhavas reproduce the triple Indras and the triple Vishnus; their three relationships; the three brothers, eldest, middle, youngest; the three brother workmen; the youngest brother is the most intelligent, although at first thought stupid; the reason why.--The three brothers guests of a king.--The third of the Ribhavas, the third and youngest son becomes Tritas the third, in the heroic form of Indras, who kills the monster; Tritas, the third brother, after having accomplished the great heroic undertaking, is abandoned by his envious brothers in the well; the second brother is the son of the cow.--Indras a cowherd, parent of the sun and the aurora, the cow of abundance, milk-yielding and luminous.--The cow Sita.--Relationship of the sun to the aurora.--The aurora as cow-nurse of the sun, mother of the cows; the aurora cowherd; the sun hostler and cowherd.--The riddle of the wonderful cowherd; the sun solves the riddle proposed by the aurora.--The aurora wins the race, being the first to arrive at the barrier, without making use of her feet.--The chariot of the aurora.--She who has no feet, who leaves no footsteps; she who is without footsteps of the measure of the feet; she who has no slipper (which is the measure of the foot).--The sun who never puts his foot down, the sun without feet, the sun lame, who, during the night, becomes blind; the blind and the lame who help each other, whom Indra helps, whom the ambrosia of the aurora enables to walk and to see.--The aurora of evening, witch who blinds the sun; the sun Indras, in the morning, chases the aurora away; Indras subdues and destroys the witch aurora.--The brother sun follows, as a seducer, the aurora his sister, and wishes to burn her.--The sun follows his daughter the aurora.--The aurora, a beautiful young girl, deliverer of the sun, rich in treasure, awakener of the sleepers, saviour of mankind, foreseeing; from small becomes large, from dark becomes brilliant, from infirm, whole, from blind, seeing and protectress of sight.--Night and aurora, now mother and daughter, now sisters.--The luminous night a good sister; the gloomy night gives place to the aurora, her elder or better sister, working, purifying, cleansing.--The aurora shines only when near the sun her husband, before whom she dances splendidly dressed; the aurora Urvaci.--The wife of the sun followed by the monster.--The husband of the aurora subject to the same persecution. We are on the vast table-land of Central Asia; gigantic mountains send forth on every side their thousand rivers; immense pasture-lands and forests cover it; migratory tribes of pastoral nations traverse it; the _gopatis_, the shepherd or lord of the cows, is the king; the gopatis who has most herds is the most powerful. The story begins with a graceful pastoral idyll. To increase the number of the cows, to render them fruitful in milk and prolific in calves, to have them well looked after, is the dream, the ideal of the ancient Aryan. The bull, the _foecundator_, is the type of every male perfection, and the symbol of regal strength. Hence, it is only natural that the two most prominent animal figures in the mythical heaven should be the cow and the bull. The cow is the ready, loving, faithful, fruitful Providence of the shepherd. The worst enemy of the Aryan, therefore, is he who carries off the cow; the best, the most illustrious, of his friends, he who is able to recover it from the hands of the robber. The same idea is hence transferred to heaven; in heaven there is a beneficent, fruitful power, which is called the cow, and a beneficent _foecundator_ of this same power, which is called the bull. The dewy moon, the dewy aurora, the watery cloud, the entire vault of heaven, that giver of the quickening and benignant rain, that benefactress of mankind,--are each, with special predilection, represented as the beneficent cow of abundance. The lord of this multiform cow of heaven, he who makes it pregnant and fruitful and milk-yielding, the spring or morning sun, the rain-giving sun (or moon) is often represented as a bull. Now, to apprehend all this clearly, we ought to go back, as nearly as possible, to that epoch in which such conceptions would arise spontaneously; but as the imagination so indulged is apt to betray us into mere fantastical conceits, into an _a priori_ system, we shall begin by excluding it entirely from these preliminary researches, as being hazardous and misleading, and content ourselves with the humbler office of collecting the testimonies of the poets themselves who assisted in the creation of the mythology in question. I do not mean to say anything of the Vedic myths that is not taken from one or other of the hymns contained in the greatest of the Vedas, but only to arrange and connect together the links of the chain as they certainly existed in the imagination of the ancient Aryan people, and which the _Rigvedas_, the work of a hundred poets and of several centuries, presents to us as a whole, continuous and artistic. I shall indeed suppose myself in the valley of Kacmira, or on the banks of the Sindhus, under that sky, at the foot of these mountains, among these rivers; but I shall search in the sky for that which I find in the hymns, and not in the hymns for that which I may imagine I see in the sky. I shall begin my voyage with a trusty chart, and shall consult it with all the diligence in my power, in order not to lose any of the advantages that a voyage so full of surprises has to offer. Hence the notes will all, or nearly all, consist of quotations from my guide, in order that the learned reader may be able to verify for himself every separate assertion. And as to the frequent stoppages we shall have to make by the way, let me ask the reader not to ascribe these to anything arbitrary on my part, but rather to the necessities of a voyage, made, as it is, step by step, in a region but little known, and by the help of a guide, where nearly everything indeed is to be found, but where, as in a rich inventory, it is easier to lose one's way than to find it again. The immense vault of heaven which over-arches the earth, as the eternal storehouse of light and rain, as the power which causes the grass to grow, and therefore the animals which pasture upon it, assumes in the Vedic literature the name of Aditis, or the infinite, the inexhaustible, the fountain of ambrosia (_amritasya nabhis_). Thus far, however, we have no personification, as yet we have no myth. The _amritas_ is simply the immortal, and only poetically represents the rain, the dew, the luminous wave. But the inexhaustible soon comes to mean that which can be milked without end--and hence also, a celestial cow, an inoffensive cow, which we must not offend, which must remain intact.[1] The whole heavens being thus represented as an infinite cow, it was natural that the principal and most visible phenomena of the sky should become, in their turn, children of the cow, or themselves cows or bulls, and that the _foecundator_ of the great mother should also be called a bull. Hence we read that the wind (_Vayus_ or _Rudras_) gave birth, from the womb of the celestial cow, to the winds that howl in the tempest (_Marutas_ and _Rudras_), called for this reason children of the cow.[2] But, since this great celestial cow produces the tempestuous, noisy winds, she represents not only the serene, tranquil vault of the shining sky, but also the cloudy and tenebrous mother of storms. This great cow, this immense cloud, that occupies all the vault of heaven and unchains the winds, is a brown, dark, spotted (_pricnis_) cow; and so the winds, or Marutas, her sons, are called the children of the spotted one.[3] The singular has thus become a plural; the male sons of the cloud, the winds, are 21; the daughters, the clouds themselves, called the spotted ones (_pricnayas_) are also three times seven, or 21: 3 and 7 are sacred numbers in the Aryan faith; and the number 21 is only a multiple of these two great legendary numbers, by which either the strength of a god or that of a monster is often symbolised. If _pricnis_, or the variegated cow, therefore, is the mother of the Marutas, the winds, and of the variegated ones (_pricnayas_), the clouds, we may say that the clouds are the sisters of the winds. We often have three or seven sisters, three or seven brothers in the legends. Now, that 21, in the _Rigvedas_ itself, involves a reference to 3, is evident, if we only observe how one hymn speaks of the 3 times 7 spotted cows who bring to the god the divine drink, while another speaks of the spotted ones (the number not being specified) who give him three lakes to drink.[4] Evidently here the 3, or 7, or 21 sister cows that yield to the god of the eastern heavens their own nutritious milk, and amidst whose milky humours the winds, now become invulnerable, increase,[5] fulfil the pious duties of benevolent guardian fates. But if the winds are sons of a cow, and the cows are their nurses, the winds, or Marutas, must, as masculine, be necessarily represented as bulls. In reality the Wind (_Vayus_), their father, is borne by bulls--that is, by the winds themselves, who hurry, who grow, are movable as the rays of the sun, very strong, and indomitable;[6] the strength of the wind is compared to that of the bull or the bear;[7] the winds, as lusty as bulls, overcome and subdue the dark ones.[8] Here, therefore, the clouds are no longer represented as the cows that nurse, but with the gloomy aspect of a monster. The Marutas, the winds that howl in the tempest, are as swift as lightning, and surround themselves with lightning. Hence they are celebrated for their luminous vestments; and hence it is said that the reddish winds are resplendent with gems, as some bulls with stars.[9] As such--that is, as subduers of the clouds, and as they who run impetuously through them--these winds, these bulls, are the best friends, the most powerful helpers, of the great bellowing bull; of the god of thunder and rain; of the sun, the dispeller of clouds and darkness; of the supreme Vedic god, Indras, the friend of light and ambrosia--of Indras, who brings with him daylight and fine weather, who sends us the beneficent dew and the fertilising rain. Like the winds his companions, the sun Indras--the sun (and the luminous sky) hidden in the dark, who strives to dissipate the shadows, the sun hidden in the cloud that thunders and lightens, to dissolve it in rain--is represented as a powerful bull, as the bull of bulls, invincible son of the cow, that bellows like the Marutas.[10] But in order to become a bull, in order to grow, to develop the strength necessary to kill the serpent, Indras must drink; and he drinks the water of strength, the _somas_.[11] "Drink and grow,"[12] one of the poets says to him, while offering the symbolical libation of the cup of sacrifice, which is a type of the cup of heaven, now the heavenly vault, now the cloud, now the sun, and now the moon. From the sweet food of the celestial cow, Indras acquires a swiftness which resembles that of the horse;[13] and he eats and drinks at one time enough to enable him to attain maturity at once. The gods give him three hundred oxen to eat, and three lakes of ambrosial liquor[14] to drink, in order that he may be able to kill the monster serpent. The hunger and thirst of the heroes is always proportioned to the miracle they are called upon to perform; and for this reason the hymns of the _Rigvedas_ and of the _Atharvavedas_ often represent the cloud as an immense great-bellied barrel (_Kabandhas_), which is carried by the divine _bull_.[15] But when and how does the hero-bull display his extraordinary strength? The terrible bull bellows, and shows his strength, as he sharpens his horns:[16] the splendid bull, with sharpened horns, who is able of himself to overthrow all peoples.[17] But what are the horns of the bull Indras, the god of thunder? Evidently the thunderbolts; Indras is, in fact, said to sharpen the thunderbolts as a bull sharpens his horns;[18] the thunderbolt of Indras is said to be thousand-pointed;[19] the bull Indras is called the bull with the thousand horns, who rises from the sea[20] (or from the cloudy ocean as a thunder-dealing sun, from the gloomy ocean as a radiant sun--the thunderbolt being supposed to be rays from the solar disc). Sometimes the thunderbolt of Indras is itself called a bull,[21] and is sharpened by its beloved refulgent cows,[22] being used, now to withdraw the cows from the darkness, now to deliver them from the monster of darkness that envelops them,[23] and now to destroy the monster of clouds and darkness itself. Besides the name of Indras, this exceedingly powerful horned bull, who sharpens his horns to plunge them into the monster, assumes also, as the fire which sends forth lightning, as that which sends forth rays of light from the clouds and the darkness, the name of Agnis; and, as such, has two heads, four horns, three feet, seven hands, teeth of fire, and wings; he is borne on the wind, and blows.[24] Thus far, then, we have heavenly cows which nurture heavenly bulls, and heavenly bulls and cows which use their horns for a battle that is fought in heaven. Let us now suppose ourselves on the field of battle, and let us visit both the hostile camps. In one we find the sun (and sometimes the moon), the bull of bulls Indras, with the winds, Marutas, the radiant and bellowing bulls; in the other, a multiform monster, in the shape of wolves, serpents, wild boars, owls, mice, and such like. The bull Indras has cows with him, who help him; the monster has also cows, either such as he has carried off from Indras, and which he imprisons and secretes in gloomy caverns, towers, or fortresses, or those which he caresses as his own wives. In the one case, the cows consider the bull Indras as their friend and liberating hero; in the other, those with the monster are themselves monsters and enemies of Indras, who fights against them. The clouds, in a word, are regarded at one time as the friends of the rain-giving sun, who delivers them from the monster that keeps back the rain, and at another as attacked by the sun, as they who wickedly envelop him, and endeavour to destroy him. Let us now go on to search, in the _Rigvedas_, the proofs of this double battle. To begin with the first phase of the conflict, where in the sky does Indras fight the most celebrated of all his battles? The clouds generally assume the aspect of mountains; the words _adris_ and _parvatas_, in the Vedic language, expressing the several ideas of stone, mountain, and cloud.[25] The cloud being compared to a stone, a rock, or a mountain, it was natural,--1st, To imagine in the rock or mountain dens or caverns, which, as they imprisoned cows, might be likened to stables;[26] 2d, To pass from the idea of a rock to that of citadel, fortress, fortified city, tower; 3d, To pass from the idea of a mountain, which is immovable, to that of a tree which, though it cannot move from its place, yet rears itself and expands in the air; and from the idea of the tree of the forest to the shadowy and awe-inspiring grove. Hence the bull, or hero, or god Indras, or the sun of thunder, lightning, and rain, now does battle within a cavern, now carries a fortified town by assault, and now draws forth the cow from the forest, or unbinds it from the tree, destroying the _rakshas_, or monster, that enchained it. The Vedic poetry celebrates, in particular, the exploit of Indras against the cavern, enclosure, or mountain in which the monster (called by different names and especially by those of Valas, Vritras, Cushnas, of enemy, black one, thief, serpent, wolf, or wild boar) conceals the herds of the celestial heroes, or slaughters them. The black bull bellows; the thunderbolt bellows, that is, the thunder follows the lightning, as the cow follows its calf;[27] the Marutas bulls ascend the rock--now, by their own efforts, moving and making the sonorous stone, the rock mountain, fall;[28] now, with the iron edge of their rolling chariots violently splitting the mountain;[29] the valiant hero, beloved by the gods, moves the stone;[30] Indras hears the cows: by the aid of the wind-bulls he finds the cows hidden in the cavern; he himself, furnished with an arm of stone, opens the grotto of Valas, who keeps the cows; or, opens the cavern to the cows; he vanquishes, kills, and pursues the thieves in battle; the bulls bellow; the cows move forward to meet them; the bull, Indras, bellows and leaves his seed in the herd; the thunder-dealing male, Indras, and his spouse are glad and rejoice.[31] In this fabled enterprise, three moments must be noted: 1st, The effort to raise the stone; 2d, The struggle with the monster who carried off the cows; 3d, The liberation of the prisoners. It is an entire epic poem. The second form of the enterprise of Indras in the cloudy heavens is that which has for its object the destruction of the celestial fortresses, of the ninety, or ninety-nine, or hundred cities of Cambaras, of the cities which were the wives of the demons; and from this undertaking Indras acquired the surname of _puramdaras_ (explained as destroyer of cities); although he had in it a most valuable companion-in-arms, Agnis, that is, Fire, which naturally suggests to our thoughts the notion of destruction by fire.[32] In a hymn to Indras, the gods arrive at last, bring their axes, and with their edges destroy the woods, and burn the monsters who restrain the milk in the breasts of the cows.[33] The clouded sky here figures in the imagination as a great forest inhabited by _rakshasas_, or monsters, which render it unfruitful--that	1,903.057058
2023-11-16 18:48:47.2542790	2,676	8	Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE NEW DETECTIVE STORY. THE DIAMOND COTERIE BY LAWRENCE L. LYNCH AUTHOR OF "SHADOWED BY THREE" "MADELINE PAYNE," ETC. CHICAGO: HENRY A. SUMNER AND COMPANY. 1884. Copyright, 1882, by DONNELLEY, LOYD & CO., CHICAGO. Copyright, 1884, by R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS, CHICAGO. R. R. Donnelley & Sons, The Lakeside Press, Chicago. [Illustration: "Really this is a sad affair."] CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Two Shocks for W---- CHAPTER II. W---- Investigates CHAPTER III. A Sample of the Lamotte Blood CHAPTER IV. Sybil's Letter CHAPTER V. The Deductions of a Detective CHAPTER VI. Doctor Heath at Home CHAPTER VII. A Falling Out CHAPTER VIII. One Detective too Many CHAPTER IX. The Deductions of Detective Number Two CHAPTER X. Evan CHAPTER XI. The End of the Beginning CHAPTER XII. The Beginning of the End CHAPTER XIII. Constance's Diplomacy CHAPTER XIV. John Burrill, Aristocrat CHAPTER XV. Diamonds CHAPTER XVI. In Open Mutiny CHAPTER XVII. The Play Goes On CHAPTER XVIII. John Burrill, Plebeian CHAPTER XIX. Nance Burrill's Warning CHAPTER XX. Constance at Bay CHAPTER XXI. Appointing a Watch Dog CHAPTER XXII. The Watch Dog Discharged CHAPTER XXIII. Father and Son CHAPTER XXIV. A Day of Gloom CHAPTER XXV. That Night CHAPTER XXVI. Prince's Prey CHAPTER XXVII. A Turn in the Game CHAPTER XXVIII. Introducing Mr. Smith CHAPTER XXIX. Openly Accused CHAPTER XXX. An Obstinate Client CHAPTER XXXI. Beginning the Investigation CHAPTER XXXII. An Appeal to the Wardour Honor CHAPTER XXXIII. "I Can Save Him if I Will" CHAPTER XXXIV. A Last Resort CHAPTER XXXV. A Strange Interview CHAPTER XXXVI. Two Passengers West CHAPTER XXXVII. Some Excellent Advice CHAPTER XXXVIII. Belknap Outwitted CHAPTER XXXIX. "Will Love Outweigh Honor?" CHAPTER XL. "Too Young to Die" CHAPTER XLI. Sir Clifford Heathercliffe CHAPTER XLII. A Tortured Witness CHAPTER XLIII. Justice, Sacrifice, Death CHAPTER XLIV. A Spartan Mother CHAPTER XLV. Told by a Detective CHAPTER XLVI. The Story of Lucky Jim CHAPTER XLVII. After the Drama Ended LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. "Really, this is a sad affair." "I have a clue." "I am ready to do that at any and all times." "John Burrill! Why, he is a brute!" So he dines at Wardour Place "Who are you?" "Ah! This phial is one of a set." "Are we alone?" The tramp turned and looked back "Doctor Heath flatters himself." "Here is this man again." "Poor Frank! don't let this overcome you so." "Why, Evan, you look ghostly." "You must not have a third attack." "Conny, it has come." "I am happy to know you." "I have never once been tempted to self destruction." Only a moment did Sybil listen Evan saw Sybil and Frank canter away "It is not in his power or yours to alter my decision." "Then take that, and that." "It's the other one," he muttered "Stay a moment, sir." "I'll be hanged if I can understand it." "I hope you will excuse me." "Well, Roake, are you ready for business?" "If you ever see me again, you'll see me sober." "You promise never to marry Francis LaMotte?" The cottage stands quite by itself "Prince, come away, sir!" "Why, boy, bless me." "Any of the stiff's friends in this gang?" "Did you ever see that knife before?" They find Corliss at the Sheriff's desk "Softly, sir; reflect a little." "Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium." "Constance Wardour, you love Clifford Heath." "Another, Miss Wardour, is--yourself." "Mr. Belknap, it is I." "Cap'n, you're a good fellow." "My friend, come down off that." "That hope is ended now." "Prisoner at the Bar, are you guilty or not guilty?" "It was found close beside the body of John Burrill." They come slowly forward "There is a flash--a loud report." Bathurst telling the story THE DIAMOND COTERIE. CHAPTER I. TWO SHOCKS FOR W----. On a certain Saturday in June, year of our Lord 1880, between the hours of sunrise and sunset, the town of W----, in a State which shall be nameless, received two shocks. Small affairs, concerning small people, could never have thrown W---- into such a state of excitement, for she was a large and wealthy town, and understood what was due to herself. She possessed many factories, and sometimes a man came to his death among the ponderous machinery. Not long since one "hand" had stabbed another, fatally; and, still later, a factory girl had committed suicide. These things created a ripple, nothing more. It would ill become a town, boasting its aristocracy and "style," to grow frenzied over the woes of such common people. But W---- possessed a goodly number of wealthy families, and some blue blood. These were worthy of consideration, and upon these calamity had fallen. Let us read an extract or two from the W---- _Argus_, a newspaper of much enterprise and exceeding veracity: MONSTROUS DIAMOND ROBBERY--BOLD BURGLARY. This day we are startled by the news of a robbery in our midst, the like of which it has never been our fate to chronicle. When the servants at Wardour Place arose this morning, they found confusion reigning in the library, desks forced open, papers strewn about, and furniture disarranged. One of the long windows had been opened by forcing the shutters, and then cutting out a pane of glass, after which the bolts were easily drawn. Miss Wardour was at once aroused, and further examination disclosed the fact that her dressing room had been invaded, and every box, trunk and drawer searched. The beautiful little affair, which has the appearance of a miniature combined desk and bookcase, but which contains a small safe, that Miss Wardour believed burglar proof, had been forced, and the jewels so widely known as the "Wardour diamonds," stolen. Quite a large sum of money, and some papers of value, were also taken. Most of our readers are familiar with the history of the Wardour diamonds, and know that they represented a fortune. The burglary was effected without noise, not a sound disturbing Miss Wardour, or any of her servants, some of whom are light sleepers, and they have not a single clue by which to trace the robbers. Miss Wardour bears the loss with great calmness. Of course every effort will be made to recover the jewels, and capture the thieves. It is rumored that Mr. Jasper Lamotte, in behalf of Miss Wardour, will visit the city at once and set the detectives at work. This was shock number one for the public of W----. Miss Constance Wardour, of Wardour Place, was a lady of distinction. She possessed the oldest name, the bluest blood, the fairest face, and the longest purse, to be found in W----; and, the _Argus_ had said truly, the Wardour diamonds represented a fortune, and not a small one. Emmeline Wardour, the great grandmother of Miss Constance, was a belle and heiress. Her fondness for rare jewels amounted to a mania, and she spent enormous sums in collecting rare gems. At her death she bequeathed to her daughter a collection such as is owned by few ladies in private life. She also bequeathed to her daughter her mania. This daughter, after whom Constance was named, added to her mother's store of precious stones, from time to time, and when, one fine day, a bank, in which she had deposited some thousands of her dollars, failed, and she found herself a loser, she brought her craze to a climax, by converting all her money into diamonds, set and unset. At her death, her granddaughter, Constance, inherited these treasures, in addition to a handsome fortune from her mother; and, although the original collection made by Emmeline Wardour contained a variety of rare stones, opals, amethysts, pearls, cameos, etc., besides the many fine diamonds, they all came to be classed under the head of the "Wardour diamonds." It is small wonder that W---- stood aghast at the thought of such a robbery, and it is impossible to say when the talk, the wonderment, the conjectures, suggestions, theories, and general indignation would have ended, had not the second shock overborne the first. Once more let the _Argus_ speak: A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Yesterday afternoon, while the town was filled with the excitement caused by the Wardour robbery, Miss Sybil Lamotte, the beautiful daughter of our wealthy and highly respected citizen, Jasper Lamotte, Esq., eloped with John Burrill, who was, for a time, foreman in one of her father's mills. Burrill is known to be a divorced man, having a former wife and a child, living in W----; and his elopement with one of the aristocracy has filled the town with consternation. Mr. Lamotte, the father of the young lady, had not been from home two hours, in company with his wife, when his daughter fled. He was _en route_ for the city, to procure the services of detectives, in the hope of recovering the Wardour diamonds; both his sons were absent from home as well. Mr. Lamotte has not yet returned, and is still ignorant of his daughter's flight. Thus abruptly and reluctantly ends the second _Argus_ bombshell, and this same last bombshell had been a very different thing to handle. It might have been made far more sensational, and the editor had sighed as he penned the cautiously worded lines: "It was a monstrous _mesalliance_, and a great deal could be said in disparagement of Mr. John Burrill;" but Mr. Lamotte was absent; the brothers Lamotte were absent; and until he was certain what steps they would take in this matter, it were wise to err on the safe side. Sybil was an only daughter. Parents are sometimes prone to forgive much; it might be best to "let Mr. Burrill off easy." Thus to himself reasoned the editor, and, having bridled his pen, much against his will, he set free his tongue, and in the bosom of his family discoursed very freely of Mr. John Burrill. "My dear, it's unendurable," he announced to the little woman opposite, with the nod of a Solomon. "It's perfectly _incomprehensible_, how such a girl could do it. Why, he's a braggart and a bully. He drinks in our public saloons, and handles a woman's name as he does his beer glass. The factory men say that he has boasted openly that he meant to marry Miss Lamotte, _or_ Miss Wardour, he couldn't decide which. By the by, it's rather odd that those two young ladies should meet with such dissimilar misfortunes on the same day." Mrs. Editor,	1,903.274319
2023-11-16 18:48:47.3254770	242	19	Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Sania Ali Mirza, Jane Robins and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration] SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET EDITED, WITH NOTES BY WILLIAM J. ROLFE, LITT.D. FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL CAMBRIDGE, MASS. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1879 AND 1898, BY HARPER & BROTHERS. COPYRIGHT, 1904 AND 1907, BY WILLIAM J. ROLFE. ROMEO AND JULIET. W.P. 8 PREFACE This edition of _Romeo and Juliet_, first published in 1879, is now thoroughly revised on the same general plan	1,903.345517
2023-11-16 18:48:47.3682730	2,501	10	Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Little Folks' Handy Book BOOKS BY LINA BEARD AND ADELIA B. BEARD _Illustrated by the Authors_ ON THE TRAIL THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM RECREATIONS FOR GIRLS--INDOOR AND OUTDOOR WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO, AND NEW IDEAS FOR WORK AND PLAY THE AMERICAN GIRL'S HANDY BOOK; or, HOW TO AMUSE YOURSELF AND OTHERS LITTLE FOLKS' HANDY BOOK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Little Folks' Handy Book By LINA BEARD AND ADELIA B. BEARD With Many Illustrations by the Authors Charles Scribner's Sons NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Printed in the United States of America J SPECIAL NOTICE All the material in this book, both text and cuts, is original with the authors and invented by them; and warning is hereby given that the unauthorized printing of any portion of the text and the reproduction of any of the illustrations or diagrams are expressly forbidden. [Illustration] PREFACE "LET _me_ do it. Let _me_ make it," is the cry when a child sees an older person putting together the different parts of an interesting piece of work; and it is this desire to do things himself, this impulse toward self-expression, that, when properly directed, forms so great a factor in his all-around development and education. Using the hands and brain together stimulates interest and quickens observation and intelligence, and, as the object takes form beneath the little fingers, the act of making, of creating, brings with it a delight and satisfaction which the mere possession of the same thing made by another can not give. "Look! See what _I_ have made," comes with a ring of triumph as the childish hands gleefully hold up the finished article for inspection. In this book we have endeavored to open a new and large field of simple handicrafts for little folk, giving them an original line of toys and a new line of materials with which to make them. We hope in these pages to bring to children the joy of making creditable and instructive toys of such ordinary things as empty spools, sticks of kindling wood, wooden clothespins, natural twigs, old envelopes and newspapers, and in this way to encourage resourcefulness, originality, inventiveness, and the power to do with supplies at hand. Everything described in the book has been actually made by the authors, and made by such practical and simple methods that a child's mind can grasp them, and a child's hands be easily trained to manufacture the articles. It is, therefore, our hope that the "Little Folks' Handy Book" will be found useful both in Kindergarten and Primary grades of the schools and in the home nursery; a helpful friend to teachers and to mothers. LINA BEARD. ADELIA B. BEARD. FLUSHING, N. Y., _February 10, 1910._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. PAPER BUILDING CARDS 1 II. TOYS MADE OF COMMON WOODEN BERRY-BASKETS 5 III. STRAW AND PAPER FURNITURE 9 IV. A NEWSPAPER BOAT WHICH WILL SAIL ON REAL WATER 15 V. PAPER JEWELRY 19 VI. WHAT TO MAKE OF EMPTY SPOOLS 28 VII. OLD ENVELOPE TOYS AND HOW TO MAKE THEM 47 VIII. TOYS OF CLOTHESPINS 55 IX. SCRAP-BOOKS 64 X. TOYS MADE OF COMMON KINDLING WOOD 70 XI. LITTLE TWIG PEOPLE 79 XII. VISITING-CARD HOUSES 90 XIII. PLAYING INDIANS WITH COSTUMES MADE OF NEWSPAPERS 98 XIV. CHRISTMAS-TREE DECORATIONS 106 XV. A HOME-MADE SANTA CLAUS 124 XVI. NATURE STUDY WITH TISSUE-PAPER 130 LITTLE FOLKS' HANDY BOOK CHAPTER I PAPER BUILDING CARDS MAKE your building cards of ordinary writing-paper. You may have as many cards as you like, though twelve are all that are used to make the things shown in our photographs. [Illustration: FIG. 1--Cut an oblong out like this.] [Illustration: FIG. 2--This is the building card.] For each card cut an oblong of paper five inches long and two and a half inches wide. This is a very good size, but you can make them a little larger or smaller. Always remember, however, to have them just twice as long as they are wide, and all of one size. When you have cut out the oblong (Fig. 1) fold it through the middle, bringing the two short edges evenly together. The dotted line in Fig. 1 shows where it is to be folded. Now open the oblong half-way and you will have the building card (Fig. 2). They are very simple and easy to make, aren't they? But wonderful and delightful things can be built with these pieces of paper. You can have a whole camp of little tents by standing the cards with the folded edge up; and to make =A Camp Chair= all you need do is to push two of your tents close together, then on top of their folded edges lay another card with one flat side down to form the seat and the other side up for the back. [Illustration: FIG. 3--You can make a little camp chair.] The second illustration (Fig. 3) shows just how to do this. Use the tents again for =The Pyramid= in Fig. 4. Stand three tents in a row close together. On top of these make a floor by laying two cards across with one side of each card extending down at the back of the tents. Then build a second story--two tents this time, with a floor on top. [Illustration: FIG. 4--Use the tents to make this pyramid.] The third and top story will be one tent, which forms the peak of the pyramid. Of course you can make your pyramid very much larger by adding more tents to the first row and then building it up higher. =The Stable= is very cunning with its four little stalls. To build it you must stand the cards on their side edges as in Fig. 2. One side forms the back wall of the stall, the other the side wall. When you have reached the end of the row you will find the last stall lacks a side wall, but all you have to do is to slide another back wall behind the last and there you have the needed side wall. Put a roof over the stalls just as you made the floors for your pyramid, and then stand a tent on top for the cupola. Place a card at each end of the stalls, as shown in the illustration, and your stable is ready for its tiny horses. [Illustration: FIG. 5--A little stable with four little stalls.] Build =The Garden Wall= (Fig. 6) by standing the cards on their side edges. You can make the garden any size or shape you like, but always have the gateway just wide enough to hold the tent roof on top. See how the cards stand with edges in on either side of the opening. This will support the tent-shaped roof. Perhaps the children will want a house in the garden. You can build one if you try. Then see how many more things can be made of the paper cards, for I have not told you half of them. [Illustration: FIG. 6--A garden wall and gateway.] CHAPTER II TOYS MADE OF COMMON WOODEN BERRY-BASKETS USE a one-quart wooden berry-box for the china closet (Fig. 7). Turn the empty box facing you, and slide the prongs of a clothespin up through the open crack at the lower right hand of the box. Allow one prong of the clothespin to come on the outside and the other prong on the inside of the thin wooden side of the box; adjust the clothespin well to the front edge of the box, and it will form the right-hand front leg of the china closet. Add another leg in like manner on the same side of the box for the back leg; then slide two more clothespins up on the opposite side of the box to form the remaining two legs (Fig. 8). [Illustration: FIG. 7--The berry-basket china closet.] [Illustration: FIG. 8--Slide clothespins on the basket for legs.] The prongs of the clothespins do not reach up to the top of the inside of the box, but leave sufficient space for a shelf. Make the shelf by laying a clothespin across from side to side, supported by the prongs of the back legs, and another across, supported by the prongs of the front legs (Fig. 8). The clothespin used for the front of the shelf will probably have to be a trifle longer than that for the back, as the box is wider in front than at the back. Set some toy dishes on the top, the shelf, and the inside bottom of the china closet, as in Fig. 7. With another quart berry-box and four more clothespins make the =Doll's Table= Slide the prongs of a clothespin down on either side of the box at the four corners (Fig. 9), then turn the table right side up, placing it on its feet. Set the table with toy dishes, and dinner will be ready (Fig. 10). [Illustration: FIG. 9--Slide the prongs of the clothespins down on the sides of the box.] [Illustration: FIG. 10--Make the doll's table.] The table can be turned into a dressing-case by standing two clothespins on their heads at each side of the back of the top of the table, and sliding a piece of stiff paper across from clothespin to clothespin between the prongs for a mirror (Fig. 11). Of course, the addition of a fringed white paper, or cloth scarf, over the top of the dressing-case would enhance its appearance, as would also a table-cloth over the top of the dinner table, but the covers were purposely omitted in the photographs that one may see exactly how the articles were made. [Illustration: FIG. 11--The table can be turned into a dressing-case.] Make a =Dolly's Bassinet= (Fig. 12) of a small oblong berry-basket with four clothespin legs slanting outward at the bottom and the prongs of the legs on each side brought together at the top (Fig. 13). On the centre of one end of the	1,903.388313
2023-11-16 18:48:47.4259160	3,653	22	Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: PAUL REVERE AROUSING THE INHABITANTS ALONG THE ROAD TO LEXINGTON.] AMERICAN LEADERS AND HEROES A PRELIMINARY TEXT-BOOK IN UNITED STATES HISTORY BY WILBUR F. GORDY PRINCIPAL OF THE NORTH SCHOOL, HARTFORD, CONN.; AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES FOR SCHOOLS"; AND CO-AUTHOR OF "A PATHFINDER IN AMERICAN HISTORY" _WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS_ NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1907 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS [Illustration] PREFACE In teaching history to boys and girls from ten to twelve years old simple material should be used. Children of that age like action. They crave the dramatic, the picturesque, the concrete, the personal. When they read about Daniel Boone or Abraham Lincoln they do far more than admire their hero. By a mysterious, sympathetic process they so identify themselves with him as to feel that what they see in him is possible for them. Herein is suggested the ethical value of history. But such ethical stimulus, be it noted, can come only in so far as actions are translated into the thoughts and feelings embodied in the actions. In this process of passing from deeds to the hearts and heads of the doers the image-forming power plays a leading part. Therefore a special effort should be made to train the sensuous imagination by furnishing picturesque and dramatic incidents, and then so skilfully presenting them that the children may get living pictures. This I have endeavored to do in the preparation of this historical reader, by making prominent the personal traits of the heroes and leaders, as they are seen, in boyhood and manhood alike, in the environment of their every-day home and social life. With the purpose of quickening the imagination, questions "To the Pupil" are introduced at intervals throughout the book, and on almost every page additional questions of the same kind might be supplied to advantage. "What picture do you get in that paragraph?" may well be asked over and over again, as children read the book. If they get clear and definite pictures, they will be likely to see the past as a living present, and thus will experience anew the thoughts and feelings of those who now live only in their words and deeds. The steps in this vital process are imagination, sympathy, and assimilation. To the same end the excellent maps and illustrations contribute a prominent and valuable feature of the book. If, in the elementary stages of historical reading, the image-forming power is developed, when the later work in the study of organized history is reached the imagination can hold the outward event before the mind for the judgment to determine its inner significance. For historical interpretation is based upon the inner life quite as much as upon the outward expression of that life in action. Attention is called to the fact that while the biographical element predominates, around the heroes and leaders are clustered typical and significant events in such a way as to give the basal facts of American history. It is hoped, therefore, that this little volume will furnish the young mind some conception of what our history is, and at the same time stimulate an abiding interest in historical and biographical reading. Perhaps it is needless to say that the "Review Outline" may be used in many ways. It certainly will furnish excellent material for language work, oral or written. In so using it pupils may well be encouraged to enlarge the number of topics. I wish to acknowledge my obligations to Professor William E. Mead, of Wesleyan University, who has read the manuscript and made invaluable suggestions; also to my wife, whose interest and assistance have done much to give the book whatever of merit it may possess. WILBUR F. GORDY. HARTFORD, CONN., May 1, 1901. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA, 1 II. HERNANDO DE SOTO AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 22 III. SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND THE FIRST ENGLISH ATTEMPTS TO COLONIZE AMERICA, 31 IV. JOHN SMITH AND THE SETTLEMENT OF JAMESTOWN, 42 V. NATHANIEL BACON AND THE UPRISING OF THE PEOPLE IN VIRGINIA IN 1676, 55 VI. MILES STANDISH AND THE PILGRIMS, 64 VII. ROGER WILLIAMS AND THE PURITANS, 81 VIII. WILLIAM PENN AND THE SETTLEMENT OF PENNSYLVANIA, 92 IX. CAVELIER DE LA SALLE AND THE FRENCH IN THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY, 103 X. GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE BOY SURVEYOR AND YOUNG SOLDIER, 116 XI. JAMES WOLFE, THE HERO OF QUEBEC, 136 XII. PATRICK HENRY AND THE STAMP ACT, 146 XIII. SAMUEL ADAMS AND THE BOSTON TEA PARTY, 156 XIV. PAUL REVERE AND THE BATTLE OF CONCORD AND LEXINGTON, 165 XV. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND AID FROM FRANCE, 175 XVI. GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE VIRGINIA PLANTER AND THE REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIER, 189 XVII. NATHANIEL GREENE, THE HERO OF THE SOUTH, AND FRANCIS MARION, THE "SWAMP FOX," 211 XVIII. DANIEL BOONE, THE KENTUCKY PIONEER, 222 XIX. THOMAS JEFFERSON AND THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE, 234 XX. ROBERT FULTON AND THE STEAMBOAT, 246 XXI. ANDREW JACKSON, THE UPHOLDER OF THE UNION, 253 XXII. DANIEL WEBSTER, THE DEFENDER AND EXPOUNDER OF THE CONSTITUTION, 264 XXIII. SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE AND THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH, 273 XXIV. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, THE LIBERATOR OF THE SLAVES, 282 XXV. ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT AND THE CIVIL WAR, 302 XXVI. SOME LEADERS AND HEROES IN THE WAR WITH SPAIN, 314 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Christopher Columbus, 1 The Santa Maria, 7 The Nina, 8 The Pinta, 9 The Triumphal Return of Columbus to Spain, 13 An Indian Stone Maul, 20 Hernando De Soto, 22 De Soto Discovering the Mississippi, 25 Sir Walter Raleigh, 31 Queen Elizabeth, 35 Entrance to Raleigh's Cell in the Tower, 38 Tower of London, 39 An Indian Pipe, 40 John Smith, 42 John Smith and the Indians, 45 Indian Weapons, 46 Ruins of Jamestown, 47 Apache's War-club, 50 Sioux Indian Bow and Arrow with Stone Point, 50 Navajo Sling, 51 A Pappoose Case, 51 Tobacco Plant, 56 Loading Tobacco, 57 The Burning of Jamestown, 61 Miles Standish, 64 The Mayflower, 70 A Matchlock Gun, 74 A Group of Pilgrim Relics, 75 Pilgrims Returning from Church, 77 Brewster's and Standish's Swords, 79 Roger Williams on his Way to Visit the Chief of the Narragansett Indians, 83 A Block House, 84 Roger Williams's Meeting-House, 85 A Puritan Fireplace, 87 William Penn, 92 William Penn's Famous Treaty with the Indians, 95 Penn's Slate-roof House, Philadelphia, 98 A Belt of Wampum Given to Penn by the Indians, 99 Cavelier De La Salle, 103 Long House of the Iroquois, 104 The Murder of La Salle by his Followers, 113 George Washington, 116 Washington's Birthplace, 117 Washington Crossing the Alleghany River, 119 The Death of Braddock, 129 James Wolfe, 136 General Montcalm, 139 The Death of Wolfe, 141 Patrick Henry, 146 George III., 149 St. John's Church, Richmond, 152 Samuel Adams, 156 Faneuil Hall, Boston, 160 The Old South Church, Boston, 161 The "Boston Tea Party," 163 Paul Revere, 165 The Old North Church, 168 Stone in Front of the Harrington House, Lexington, Marking the Line of the Minute-Men, 170 The Retreat of the British from Concord, 172 Benjamin Franklin, 175 Franklin in the Streets of Philadelphia, 180 Franklin Experimenting with Electricity, 184 Lafayette Offering His Services to Franklin, 186 George Washington, 189 Washington's Coach, 190 A Stage Coach of the Eighteenth Century, 191 Washington's Retreat through New Jersey, 199 Winter at Valley Forge, 204 Washington's Home--Mount Vernon, 208 Nathaniel Greene, 211 Lord Cornwallis, 215 General Francis Marion, 218 Marion and His Men Swooping Down on a British Camp, 219 Daniel Boone, 222 Indian Costume (Female), 224 Indian Costume (Male), 225 Daniel Boone in his Cabin, 228 A Hand Corn Mill, 229 A Wigwam, 231 Indian Implements, 232 Thomas Jefferson, 234 Monticello, 237 Thomas Jefferson at Work upon the First Draft of the Declaration of Independence, 238 Robert Fulton, 246 A Pack Horse, 247 A Flat Boat, 248 The Clermont, 251 Andrew Jackson, 253 Andrew Jackson's Cradle, 254 A Spinning Wheel, 255 Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans, 261 Daniel Webster, 264 Marshfield--Home of Daniel Webster, 271 S. F. B. Morse, 273 Telegraph and Railroad, 280 Abraham Lincoln, 282 Lincoln's Birthplace, 283 Lincoln Studying, 287 Slaves on a Cotton Plantation, 299 Ulysses S. Grant, 302 The Meeting of Generals Grant and Lee at Appomattox, 310 The McLean House, 311 General R. E. Lee, 312 The Wreck of the Maine, 316 Admiral Dewey, 318 President MCKinley, 319 "Escolta," Manila's Main Street, 320 LIST OF MAPS PAGE Places of Interest in Connection with Columbus's Earlier Life, 3 The First Voyage of Columbus, and Places of Interest in Connection with his Later Voyages, 11 Routes Traversed by De Soto and De Leon, 27 Cabot's Route. Land Discovered by him Darkened, 33 Section where Raleigh's various Colonies were Located, 37 Jamestown and the Surrounding Country, 48 The Pilgrims in England and Holland, 67 The Pilgrim Settlement, 72 The Rhode Island Settlement, 88 The Pennsylvania Settlement, 97 Map Showing Routes of Cartier, Champlain, and La Salle, also French and English Possessions at the Time of the Last French War, 107 The English Colonies and the French Claims in 1754, 121 The French in the Ohio Valley, 123 Quebec and Surroundings, 138 Paul Revere's Ride, 167 Franklin's Journey from New York to Philadelphia, 178 Map Illustrating the Battle of Long Island, 196 Map Illustrating the Struggle for the Hudson River and the Middle States, 201 Map Showing the War in the South, 213 The Kentucky Settlement, 223 Map of Louisiana Purchase: also United States in 1803, 242 Map Illustrating Two of Andrew Jackson's Campaigns, 258 Map of the United States showing the Southern Confederacy, the Slave States that did not Secede, and the Territories, 297 Map Illustrating Campaigns in the West in 1862-63, 307 The United States Coast and the West Indies, 315 Portion of the Coast of China and the Philippine Islands, 325 CHAPTER I Christopher Columbus and the Discovery of America [1436-1506] [Illustration: Christopher Columbus.] From very early times there existed overland routes of trade between Europe and Asia. During the Middle Ages traffic over these routes greatly increased, so that by the fifteenth century a large and profitable trade was carried on between the West and the East. Merchants in Western Europe grew rich through trade in the silks, spices, and precious stones that were brought by caravan and ship from India, China, and Japan. But in 1453 the Turks conquered Constantinople, and by frequent attacks upon Christian vessels in the Mediterranean made the old routes unsafe. A more practicable one became necessary. Already in the early part of the fifteenth century Portuguese sea-captains had skirted the western coast of Africa, and by the close of the century others of their number had rounded the Cape of Good Hope, in their search for a water route to the Indies. But Spain, at that time the most powerful nation of Europe, adopted a plan quite different from that of the Portuguese. What this plan was and how it was carried out, we can best understand by an acquaintance with the life and work of the great sea-captain and navigator, Christopher Columbus. More than four hundred and fifty years ago there lived in the city of Genoa a poor workingman, who made his living by preparing wool for the spinners. Of his four sons, the eldest was Christopher, born in 1436. Young Christopher was not, so far as we know, very different from most other boys in Genoa. He doubtless joined in their every-day sports, going with them to see the many vessels that sailed in and out of that famous sea-port, and listening for hours to the stories of sailors about distant lands. But he did not spend all his time in playing and visiting the wharves, for we know that he learned his father's trade, and in school studied, among other things, reading, arithmetic, grammar, geography, and map-drawing. We can easily believe that he liked geography best of all, since it would carry his imagination far out over the	1,903.445956
2023-11-16 18:48:47.4615440	7,430	37	SKIN*** E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, Ronnie Sahlberg, cbott, John Hagerson, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 25944-h.htm or 25944-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/4/25944/25944-h/25944-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/4/25944/25944-h.zip) Transcriber's note: This book contains many characters not displayed by ASCII or iso-8859-1 (Latin1) character sets. In the text file these characters have been denoted by enclosing explanatory text within square brackets. Two of the more commonly occurring such characters are the oe-ligature (denoted by [oe] or [OE]) and a-macron (denoted by [=a]. Some, but not all, of the other such characters display properly in the html version. Text enclosed between pound signs was in bold face in the original (#bold face#). A detailed transcriber's note is at the end of the e-text. ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN Including the Syphilodermata Arranged in the Form of Questions and Answers Prepared Especially for Students of Medicine by HENRY W. STELWAGON, M.D., PH.D. * * * * * Get the Best The New Standard DORLAND'S AMERICAN ILLUSTRATED MEDICAL DICTIONARY For Students and Practitioners A New and Complete Dictionary of the terms used in Medicine, Surgery, Dentistry, Pharmacy, Chemistry, and kindred branches; together with new and elaborate Tables of Arteries, Muscles, Nerves, Veins, etc.; of Bacilli, Bacteria, Micrococci, etc.; Eponymic Tables of Diseases, Operations, Signs and Symptoms, Stains, Tests, Methods of Treatment, etc. By W.A.N. Dorland, M.D., Editor of the American Pocket Medical Dictionary. Large octavo, nearly 800 pages, bound in full flexible leather. Price, $4.50 net; with thumb index, $5.00 net. JUST ISSUED--NEW (4) REVISED EDITION--2000 NEW WORDS _It contains a maximum amount of matter in a minimum space and at the lowest possible cost._ This book contains #double the material in the ordinary students' dictionary#, and yet, by the use of a clear, condensed type and thin paper of the finest quality, is only 1-3/4 inches in thickness. It is bound in full flexible leather, and is just the kind of a book that a man will want to keep on his desk for constant reference. The book makes a special feature of #the newer words#, and defines hundreds of important terms not to be found in any other dictionary. It is especially #full in the matter of tables#, containing more than a hundred of great practical value, including new tables of Tests, Stains and Staining Methods. A new feature is the inclusion of numerous handsome illustrations, many of them in colors, drawn and engraved specially for this book. "I must acknowledge my astonishment at seeing how much he has condensed within relatively small space. I find nothing to criticise, very much to commend, and was interested in finding some of the new words which are not in other recent dictionaries."--Roswell Park, _Professor of Principles and Practice of Surgery and Clinical Surgery, University of Buffalo_. "Dr. Dorland's Dictionary is admirable. It is so well gotten up and of such convenient size. No errors have been found in my use of it."--Howard A. Kelly, _Professor of Gynecology, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore_. W. B. SAUNDERS COMPANY, 925 Walnut St., Phila. London: 9, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden Fifth Edition, Just Ready With Complete Vocabulary THE AMERICAN POCKET MEDICAL DICTIONARY EDITED BY W.A. NEWMAN DORLAND, A.M., M.D., Assistant Demonstrator of Obstetrics, University of Pennsylvania. HUNDREDS OF NEW TERMS Bound in Full Leather, Limp, with Gold Edges. Price, $1.00 net; with Patent Thumb Index, $1.25 net. The book is an #absolutely new one#. It is not a revision of any old work, but it has been written entirely anew and is constructed on lines that experience has shown to be the most practical for a work of this kind. It aims to be #complete#, and to that end contains practically all the terms of modern medicine. This makes an unusually large vocabulary. Besides the ordinary dictionary terms the book contains a wealth of #anatomical and other tables#. This matter is of particular value to students for memorizing in preparation for examination. "I am struck at once with admiration at the compact size and attractive exterior. I can recommend it to our students without reserve."--James W. Holland, M.D., _of Jefferson Medical College_. "This is a handy pocket dictionary, which is so full and complete that it puts to shame some of the more pretentious volumes."--_Journal of the American Medical Association._ "We have consulted it for the meaning of many new and rare terms, and have not met with a disappointment. The definitions are exquisitely clear and concise. We have never found so much information in so small a space."--_Dublin Journal of Medical Science._ "This is a handy little volume that, upon examination, seems fairly to fulfil the promise of its title, and to contain a vast amount of information in a very small space.... It is somewhat surprising that it contains so many of the rarer terms used in medicine."--_Bulletin Johns Hopkins Hospital_, Baltimore. W. B. SAUNDERS COMPANY, 925 Walnut St., Phila. London: 9, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden * * * * * ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN. Since the issue of the first volume of the #Saunders Question-Compends#, OVER 290,000 COPIES of these unrivalled publications have been sold. This enormous sale is indisputable evidence of the value of these self-helps to students and physicians. Saunders' Question-Compends. No. 11. ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN Including the Syphilodermata Arranged in the Form of Questions and Answers Prepared Especially for Students of Medicine by HENRY W. STELWAGON, M.D., PH.D. Professor of Dermatology in the Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia; Dermatologist to the Howard and Philadelphia Hospitals, etc. Seventh Edition, Thoroughly Revised Illustrated Philadelphia and London W. B. Saunders Company 1909 Set up, electrotyped, printed, 1890. Reprinted July, 1891. Revised, reprinted, June, 1894. Reprinted March, 1897. Revised, reprinted, August, 1899. Reprinted September, 1901, May, 1902, September, 1903. Revised, reprinted January, 1905. Reprinted March, 1906. Revised, reprinted March, 1909. Printed in America Press of W. B. Saunders Company Philadelphia PREFACE TO SEVENTH EDITION. In the present--seventh--edition the subject matter, especially as regards the practical part, has been gone over carefully and the necessary corrections and additions made. Nineteen new illustrations have been added, a few of the old ones being eliminated. It is hoped that the continued demand for this compend means a widening interest in the study of diseases of the skin, sufficiently keen as to lead to the desire for a still greater knowledge. H.W.S. PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. Much of the present volume is, in a measure, the outcome of a thorough revision, remodelling and simplification of the various articles contributed by the author to Pepper's System of Medicine, Buck's Reference Handbook of the Medical Sciences, and Keating's Cyclopaedia of the Diseases of Children. Moreover, in the endeavor to present the subject as tersely and briefly as compatible with clear understanding, the several standard treatises on diseases of the skin by Tilbury Fox, Duhring, Hyde, Robinson, Anderson, and Crocker, have been freely consulted, that of the last-named author suggesting the pictorial presentation of the "Anatomy of the Skin." The space allotted to each disease has been based upon relative importance. As to treatment, the best and approved methods only--those which are founded upon the aggregate experience of dermatologists--are referred to. For general information a statistical table from the Transactions of the American Dermatological Association is appended. H.W.S. CONTENTS. PAGE ANATOMY OF THE SKIN 17 The Epidermis 18 The Blood-vessels 19 The Nervous and Vascular Papillae 20 The Hair and Hair-follicle 21 SYMPTOMATOLOGY 22 Primary Lesions 22 Secondary Lesions 23 Distribution and Configuration 24 Relative Frequency 26 Contagiousness 27 Rapidity of Cure 27 Ointment Bases 27 CLASS I.--DISORDERS OF THE GLANDS 28 Hyperidrosis 28 Sudamen 30 Hydrocystoma 31 Anidrosis 31 Bromidrosis 32 Chromidrosis 32 Uridrosis 33 Phosphoridrosis 33 Seborrh[oe]a (Eczema Seborrhoicum) 33 Comedo 38 Milium 42 Steatoma 43 CLASS II.--INFLAMMATIONS 44 Erythema Simplex 44 Erythema Intertrigo 45 Erythema Multiforme 46 Erythema Nodosum 50 Erythema Induratum 51 Urticaria 52 Urticaria Pigmentosa 56 Dermatitis 58 Dermatitis Medicamentosa 60 X-Ray Dermatitis 63 Dermatitis Factitia 64 Dermatitis Gangraenosa 65 Erysipelas 66 Phlegmona Diffusa 68 Furunculus 68 Carbunculus 70 Pustula Maligna 72 Post-mortem Pustule 73 Framb[oe]sia 73 Verruga Peruana 73 Equinia 74 Miliaria 74 Pompholyx 76 Herpes Simplex 78 Hydroa Vacciniforme 80 Epidermolysis Bullosa 80 Dermatitis Repens 81 Herpes Zoster 81 Dermatitis Herpetiformis 83 Psoriasis 86 Pityriasis Rosea 95 Dermatitis Exfoliativa 96 Lichen Planus 98 Pityriasis Rubra Pilaris 99 Lichen Scrofulosus 100 Eczema 100 Prurigo 118 Acne 119 Acne Rosacea 126 Sycosis 130 Dermatitis Papillaris Capillitii 135 Impetigo Contagiosa 136 Impetigo Herpetiformis 138 Ecthyma 138 Pemphigus 140 CLASS III.--HEMORRHAGES 144 Purpura 144 Scorbutus 146 CLASS IV.--HYPERTROPHIES 148 Lentigo 148 Chloasma 149 Keratosis Pilaris 151 Keratosis Follicularis 153 Molluscum Epitheliale 153 Callositas 155 Clavus 156 Cornu Cutaneum 158 Verruca 160 Naevus Pigmentosus 162 Ichthyosis 165 Onychauxis 167 Hypertrichosis 168 [OE]dema Neonatorum 170 Sclerema Neonatorum 171 Scleroderma 172 Elephantiasis 174 Dermatolysis 176 CLASS V.--ATROPHIES 177 Albinismus 177 Vitiligo 178 Canities 180 Alopecia 181 Alopecia Areata 183 Atrophia Pilorum Propria 187 Atrophia Unguis 188 Atrophia Cutis 189 CLASS VI.--NEW GROWTHS 191 Keloid 191 Fibroma 192 Neuroma 194 Xanthoma 195 Myoma 196 Angioma 196 Telangiectasis 197 Lymphangioma 198 Rhinoscleroma 198 Lupus Erythematosus 199 Lupus Vulgaris 203 Tuberculosis Cutis 209 Ainhum 212 Mycetoma 212 Perforating Ulcer of the Foot 213 Syphilis Cutanea 213 Lepra 231 Pellagra 235 Epithelioma 236 Paget's Disease of the Nipple 240 Sarcoma 241 Granuloma Fungoides 242 CLASS VII.--NEUROSES 244 Hyperaesthesia 244 Dermatalgia 244 Anaesthesia 244 Pruritus 244 CLASS VIII.--PARASITIC AFFECTIONS 247 Tinea Favosa 247 Tinea Trichophytina 251 Tinea Imbricata 261 Tinea Versicolor 262 Erythrasma 265 Actinomycosis 266 Blastomycetic Dermatitis 266 Scabies 267 Pediculosis 271 Pediculosis Capitis 272 Pediculosis Corporis 274 Pediculosis Pubis 275 Cysticercus Cellulosae 276 Filaria Medinensis 277 Ixodes 277 Leptus 277 [OE]strus 278 Pulex Penetrans 278 Cimex Lectularius 278 Culex 279 Pulex Irritans 279 TABLE showing Relative Frequency of the Various Diseases of the Skin 280 DISEASES OF THE SKIN. #ANATOMY OF THE SKIN.# [Illustration: Fig. I. Vertical section of the skin--Diagrammatic. (_After Heitsmann._)] #The Epidermis.# [Illustration: Fig. 2. _c_, corneous (horny) layer; _g_, granular layer; _m_, mucous layer (rete Malpighii). The stratum lucidum is the layer just above the granular layer. Nerve terminations--_n_, afferent nerve; _b_, terminal nerve bulbs; _l_, cell of Langerhans. (_After Ranvier._)] #The Blood-vessels.# [Illustration: Fig. 3. _C_, epidermis; _D_, corium; _P_, papillae; _S_, sweat-gland duct. _v_, arterial and venous capillaries (superficial, or papillary plexus) of the papillae. Deep plexus is partly shown at lower margin of the diagram; _vs_--an intermediate plexus, an outgrowth from the deep plexus, supplying sweat-glands, and giving a loop to hair papilla. (_After Ranvier._)] #The Nervous and Vascular Papillae.# [Illustration: Fig. 4. _a_, a vascular papilla; _b_, a nervous papilla; _c_, a blood-vessel; _d_, a nerve fibre; _e_, a tactile corpuscle. (_After Biesiadecki._)] #The Hair and Hair-Follicle.# [Illustration: Fig. 5. _A_, shaft of the hair; _B_, root of the hair; _C_, cuticle of the hair; _D_, medullary substance of the hair. _E_, external layer of the hair-follicle; _F_, middle layer of the hair-follicle; _G_, internal layer of the hair-follicle; _H_, papilla of the hair; _I_, external root-sheath; _J_, outer layer of the internal root-sheath; _K_, internal layer of the internal root-sheath. (_After Duhring._)] #SYMPTOMATOLOGY.# The symptoms of cutaneous disease may be objective, subjective or both; and in some diseases, also, there may be systemic disturbance. #What do you mean by objective symptoms?# Those symptoms visible to the eye or touch. #What do you understand by subjective symptoms?# Those which relate to sensation, such as itching, tingling, burning, pain, tenderness, heat, anaesthesia, and hyperaesthesia. #What do you mean by systemic symptoms?# Those general symptoms, slight or profound, which are sometimes associated, primarily or secondarily, with the cutaneous disease, as, for example, the systemic disturbance in leprosy, pemphigus, and purpura hemorrhagica. #Into what two classes of lesions are the objective symptoms commonly divided?# Primary (or elementary), and Secondary (or consecutive). #Primary Lesions.# #What are primary lesions?# Those objective lesions with which cutaneous diseases begin. They may continue as such or may undergo modification, passing into the secondary or consecutive lesions. #Enumerate the primary lesions.# Macules, papules, tubercles, wheals, tumors, vesicles, blebs and pustules. #What are macules (maculae)?# Variously-sized, shaped and tinted spots and discolorations, without elevation or depression; as, for example, freckles, spots of purpura, macules of cutaneous syphilis. #What are papules (papulae)?# Small, circumscribed, solid elevations, rarely exceeding the size of a split-pea, and usually superficially seated; as, for example, the papules of eczema, of acne, and of cutaneous syphilis. #What are tubercles (tubercula)?# Circumscribed, solid elevations, commonly pea-sized and usually deep-seated; as, for example, the tubercles of syphilis, of leprosy, and of lupus. #What are wheals (pomphi)?# Variously-sized and shaped, whitish, pinkish or reddish elevations, of an evanescent character; as, for example, the lesions of urticaria, the lesions produced by the bite of a mosquito or by the sting of a nettle. #What are tumors (tumores)?# Soft or firm elevations, usually large and prominent, and having their seat in the corium and subcutaneous tissue; as, for example, sebaceous tumors, gummata, and the lesions of fibroma. #What are vesicles (vesiculae)?# Pin-head to pea-sized, circumscribed epidermal elevations, containing serous fluid; as, for example, the so-called fever-blisters, the lesions of herpes zoster, and of vesicular eczema. #What are blebs (bullae)?# Rounded or irregularly-shaped, pea to egg-sized epidermic elevations, with fluid contents; in short, they are essentially the same as vesicles and pustules except as to size; as, for example, the blebs of pemphigus, rhus poisoning, and syphilis. #What are pustules (pustulae)?# Circumscribed epidermic elevations containing pus; as, for example, the pustules of acne, of impetigo, and of sycosis. #Secondary Lesions.# #What are secondary lesions?# Those lesions resulting from accidental or natural change, modification or termination of the primary lesions. #Enumerate the secondary lesions.# Scales, crusts, excoriations, fissures, ulcers, scars and stains. #What are scales (squamae)?# Dry, laminated, epidermal exfoliations; as, for example, the scales of psoriasis, ichthyosis, and eczema. #What are crusts (crustae)?# Dried effete masses of exudation; as, for example, the crusts of impetigo, of eczema, and of the pustular and ulcerating syphilodermata. #What are excoriations (excoriationes)?# Superficial, usually epidermal, linear or punctate loss of tissue; as, for example, ordinary scratch-marks. #What are fissures (rhagades)?# Linear cracks or wounds, involving the epidermis, or epidermis and corium; as, for example, the cracks which often occur in eczema when seated about the joints, the cracks of chapped lips and hands. #What are ulcers (ulcera)?# Rounded or irregularly-shaped and sized loss of skin and subcutaneous tissue resulting from disease; as, for example, the ulcers of syphilis and of cancer. #What are scars (cicatrices)?# Connective-tissue new formations replacing loss of substance. #What are stains?# Discolorations left by cutaneous disease, which stains may be transitory or permanent. #Distribution and Configuration.# #What do you mean by a patch of eruption?# A single group or aggregation of lesions or an area of disease. #When is an eruption said to be limited or localized?# When it is confined to one part or region. #When is an eruption said to be general or generalized?# When it is scattered, uniformly or irregularly, over the entire surface. #When is an eruption universal?# When the whole integument is involved, without any intervening healthy skin. #When is an eruption said to be discrete?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are isolated, having more or less intervening normal skin. #When is an eruption confluent?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are so closely crowded that a solid sheet results. #When is an eruption uniform?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are all of one type or character. #When is an eruption multiform?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are of two or more types or characters. #When are lesions said to be aggregated?# When they tend to form groups or closely-crowded patches. #When are lesions disseminated?# When they are irregularly scattered, with no tendency to form groups or patches. #When is a patch of eruption said to be circinate?# When it presents a rounded form, and usually tending to clear in the centre; as, for example, a patch of ringworm. #When is a patch of eruption said to be annular?# When it is ring-shaped, the central portion being clear; as, for example, in erythema annulare. #What meaning is conveyed by the term "iris"?# The patch of eruption is made up of several concentric rings. Difference of duration of the individual rings, usually slight, tends to give the patch variegated coloration; as, for example, in erythema iris and herpes iris. #What meaning is conveyed by the term "marginate"?# The sheet of eruption is sharply defined against the healthy skin; as, for example, in erythema marginatum, eczema marginatum. #What meaning is conveyed by the qualifying term "circumscribed"?# The term is applied to small, usually more or less rounded, patches, when sharply defined; as, for example, the typical patches of psoriasis. #When is the qualifying term "gyrate" employed?# When the patches arrange themselves in an irregular winding or festoon-like manner; as, for instance, in some cases of psoriasis. It results, usually, from the coalescence of several rings, the eruption disappearing at the points of contact. #When is an eruption said to be serpiginous?# When the eruption spreads at the border, clearing up at the older part; as, for instance, in the serpiginous syphiloderm. #RELATIVE FREQUENCY.# #Name the more common cutaneous diseases and state approximately their frequency.# Eczema, 30.4%; syphilis cutanea, 11.2%; acne, 7.3%; pediculosis, 4%; psoriasis, 3.3%; ringworm, 3.2%; dermatitis, 2.6%; scabies, 2.6%; urticaria, 2.5%; pruritus, 2.1%; seborrh[oe]a, 2.1%; herpes simplex, 1.7%; favus, 1.7%; impetigo, 1.4%; herpes zoster, 1.2%; verruca, 1.1%; tinea versicolor, 1%. Total: eighteen diseases, representing 81 per cent. of all cases met with. (These percentages are based upon statistics, public and private, of the American Dermatological Association, covering a period of ten years. In private practice the proportion of cases of pediculosis, scabies, favus, and impetigo is much smaller, while acne, acne rosacea, seborrh[oe]a, epithelioma, and lupus are relatively more frequent.) #CONTAGIOUSNESS.# #Name the more actively contagious skin diseases.# Impetigo contagiosa, ringworm, favus, scabies and pediculosis; excluding the exanthemata, erysipelas, syphilis and certain rare and doubtful diseases. [At the present time when most diseases are presumed to be due to bacteria or parasites the belief in contagiousness, under certain conditions, has considerably broadened.] #RAPIDITY OF CURE.# #Is the rapid cure of a skin disease fraught with any danger to the patient?# No. It was formerly so considered, especially by the public and general profession, and the impression still holds to some extent, but it is not in accord with dermatological experience. #OINTMENT BASES.# #Name the several fats in common use for ointment bases.# Lard, petrolatum (or cosmoline or vaseline), cold cream and lanolin. #State the relative advantages of these several bases.# _Lard_ is the best all-around base, possessing penetrating properties scarcely exceeded by any other fat. _Petrolatum_ is also valuable, having little, if any, tendency to change; it is useful as a protective, but is lacking in its power of penetration. _Cold Cream_ (ungt. aquae rosae) is soothing and cooling, and may often be used when other fatty applications disagree. _Lanolin_ is said to surpass in its power of penetration all other bases, but this is not borne out by experience. It is an unsatisfactory base when used alone. It should be mixed with another base in about the proportion of 25% to 50%. These several bases may, and often with advantage, be variously combined. #What is to be added to these several bases if a stiffer ointment is required?# Simple cerate, wax, spermaceti, or suet; or in some instances, a pulverulent substance, such as starch, boric acid, and zinc oxide. #CLASS I.--DISORDERS OF THE GLANDS.# #Hyperidrosis.# [Illustration: Fig. 6. A normal sweat-gland, highly magnified. (_After Neumann._) _a_, Sweat-coil: _b_, sweat-duct; _c_, lumen of duct; _d_, connective-tissue capsule; _e_ and _f_, arterial trunk and capillaries.] #What is hyperidrosis?# Hyperidrosis is a functional disturbance of the sweat-glands, characterized by an increased production of sweat. This increase may be slight or excessive, local or general. #As a local affection, what parts are most commonly involved?# The hands, feet, especially the palmar and plantar surfaces, the axillae and the genitalia. #Describe the symptoms of the local forms of hyperidrosis.# The essential, and frequently the sole symptom, is more or less profuse sweating. If the hands are the parts involved, they are noted to be wet, clammy and sometimes cold. If involving the soles, the skin often becomes more or less macerated and sodden in appearance, and as a result of this maceration and continued irritation they may become inflamed, especially about the borders of the affected parts, and present a pinkish or pinkish-red color, having a violaceous tinge. The sweat undergoes change and becomes offensive. #Is hyperidrosis acute or chronic?# Usually chronic, although it may also occur as an acute affection. #What is the etiology of hyperidrosis?# Debility is commonly the cause in general hyperidrosis; the local forms are probably neurotic in origin. #What is the prognosis?# The disease is usually persistent and often rebellious to treatment; in many instances a permanent cure is possible, in others palliation. Relapses are not uncommon. #What systemic remedies are employed in hyperidrosis?# Ergot, belladonna, gallic acid, mineral acids, and tonics. Constitutional treatment is rarely of benefit in the local forms of hyperidrosis, and external applications are seldom of service in general hyperidrosis. Precipitated sulphur, a teaspoonful twice daily, is also well spoken of, combined, if necessary, with an astringent. #What external remedies are employed in the local forms?# Astringent lotions of zinc sulphate, tannin and alum, applied several times daily, with or without the supplementary use of dusting-powders. Weak solutions of formaldehyde, one to one hundred, are sometimes of value. Dusting-powders of boric acid and zinc oxide, to which may be added from ten to thirty grains of salicylic acid to the ounce, to be used freely and often:-- [Rx] Pulv. ac. salicylici................. gr. x-xxx. Pulv. ac. borici..................... [dram]v. Pulv. zinci oxidi.................... [dram]iij M. Diachylon ointment, and an ointment containing a drachm of tannin to the ounce; more especially applicable in hyperidrosis of the feet. The parts are first thoroughly washed, rubbed dry with towels and dusting-powder, and the ointment applied on strips of muslin or lint and bound on; the dressing is renewed twice daily, the parts each time being rubbed dry with soft towels and dusting-powder, and the treatment continued for ten days to two weeks, after which the dusting-powder is to be used alone for several weeks. No water is to be used after the first washing until the ointment is discontinued. One such course will occasionally suffice, but not infrequently a repetition is necessary. Faradization and galvanization are sometimes serviceable. Repeated mild exposures to the Roentgen rays have a favorable influence in some instances. #Sudamen.# (_Synonym:_	1,903.481584
2023-11-16 18:48:47.7421440	98	17	Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy 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.) PETER PRY'S PUPPET SHOW. _Part the II._ "There is a time for all things, A time to work, and a time to play." PHILADELPHIA: _Published and sold	1,903.762184
2023-11-16 18:48:48.0413450	242	12	Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Shireen and her Friends Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat By Gordon Stables Illustrations by Harrison Weir Published by Jarrold and Sons, 10 and 11 Warwick Lane, London EC. Shireen and her Friends, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ SHIREEN AND HER FRIENDS, BY GORDON STABLES. PREFACE. DEDICATED TO THE REVIEWER. Yes, this little preface is written for the Reviewer and nobody else. Indeed, the public seldom bother to read prefaces, and small blame to them. Reading the preface to a book is just like being button-holed by some loquacious fellow, as you are entering the theatre, who wants to tell you all about the play you are just going to see. So sure am I of this, that I had at first thought of writing my preface in ancient Greek. Of course every reviewer is as well-versed in that beautiful language as Professor Geddes, or John Stuart Blackie himself. I was	1,904.061385
2023-11-16 18:48:48.3312060	118	12	Produced by Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) LUMEN _The One Hundred and Forty-first of the Minor Planets, situated between Mars and Jupiter, which was discovered at the Paris Observatory by M. Paul Henry, on the 13th of January 1875, received the name of LUMEN in honour of the Author of this Work._ LUMEN	1,904.351246
2023-11-16 18:48:49.0759150	2,504	8	Produced by Richard Tonsing, deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _Advertisement._ There is now Engraving, and will speedily be Publish'd, _A New Pair of_ GLOBES, sixteen Inches Diameter; the _Terrestrial_ has on it all the New Discoveries that have been lately made, together with an useful View of the General and Coasting Trade-Winds, Moonsoons, _&c._ The _Cœlestial_ has the Stars laid down from the Correctest Tables of the best Astronomers of our Age, with eighteen Constellations never Engraven upon any Globe. All those Gentlemen that are willing to Furnish themselves with them, are desired speedily to inform the Undertakers _J. Senex_ and _C. Price_, next the _Fleece_-Tavern in _Cornhill_; They intending to fit up no more than what are Subscrib'd for. _Miscellanea Curiosa._ Containing a COLLECTION OF Curious Travels, VOYAGES, AND _Natural Histories_ OF COUNTRIES, As they have been Delivered in to the ROYAL SOCIETY. VOL. III. _LONDON_: Printed by _J. B._ for _Jeffery Wale_ at the _Angel_ in St. _Paul_'s Church-yard; _J. Senex _&_ C. Price_ next the _Fleece_ Tavern in _Cornhill_, 1707. THE CONTENTS. _A Journal of a Voyage from _England_ to _Constantinople_, made in the Year, 1668. by _T. Smith_, D. D. and F. R. S._ 1 _Historical Observations relating to _Constantinople_. By the Reverend and Learned _Tho. Smith_, D. D. Fellow of _Magd. Coll. Oxon._ and of the _Royal Society_._ 32 _An account of the City of _Prusa_ in _Bythynia_, and a continuation of the Historical Observations relating to _Constantinople_, by the Reverend and learned _Thomas Smith_ D. D. Fellow of _Magd. Coll. Oxon._ and of the _Royal Society_._ 49 _A Relation of a Voyage from _Aleppo_ to _Palmyra_ in _Syria_; sent by the Reverend Mr. _William Hallifax_ to Dr. _Edward Bernard_ (late) _Savilian_ Professor of Astronomy in _Oxford_, and by him communicated to Dr. _Thomas Smith_, _Reg. Soc. S.__ 84 _An Extract of the Journals of two several Voyages of the _English Merchants_ of the Factory of _Aleppo_, to _Tadmor_, anciently call'd _Palmyra_._ 120 _Some Account of the Ancient State of the City of _Palmyra_, with short Remarks upon the Inscriptions found there. By _E. Halley_._ 160 _A Voyage of the Emperour of _China_ into the Eastern _Tartary_, Anno. 1682._ 179 _The Distances of the Places thro' which we passed in the _Eastern_ Tartary._ 195 _A Voyage of the Emperor of _China_, into the Western _Tartary_ in the Year, 1683._ 196 _An Explanation, necessary to justify the _Geography_ supposed in these Letters._ 210 _Some Observations and Conjectures concerning the _Chinese_ Characters. Made by _R. H._ R. S. S._ 212 _A Letter from _F. A._ Esq; R. S. S. to the Publisher, with a Paper of Mr. _S. Flowers_, containing the Exact Draughts of several unknown Characters, taken from the Ruins at _Persepolis_._ 233 _A Letter from Monsieur _N. Witsen_ to Dr. _Martin Lister_, with two Draughts of the Famous _Persepolis_._ 236 _A Description of the Diamond-mines, as it was presented by the Right Honourable the Earl Marshal of _England_, to the _R. Society_._ 238 _A Letter from the _East Indies_, of Mr. _John Marshal_ to Dr. _Coga_, giving an Account of the Religion, Rites, Notions, Customs, Manners of the Heathen Priests commonly called _Bramines_. Communicated by the Reverend Mr. _Abraham de la Pryme_._ 256 _Part of two Letters to the Publisher from Mr. _James Cunningham_, F. R. S. and Physician to the _English_ at _Chusan_ in _China_, giving an account of his Voyage thither, of the Island of _Chusan_, of the several sorts of Tea, of the Fishing, Agriculture of the _Chinese_, _&c._ with several Observations not hitherto taken notice of._ 269 _A Letter from Mr. _John Clayton_ Rector of _Crofton_ at _Wakefield_ in _Yorkshire_, to the Royal Society, _May 12 1688._ giving an account of several Observables in _Virginia_, and in his Voyage thither, more particularly concerning the Air._ 281 _Mr. _Clayton_'s second Letter, containing his farther Observations on _Virginia_._ 293 _A Continuation of Mr. _John Clayton_'s Account of _Virginia_._ 301 _Mr. _John Clayton_, Rector of _Crofton_ at _Wakefield_, his Letter to the _Royal Society_, giving a farther Account of the Soil, and other Observables of _Virginia_._ 312 _A Continuation of Mr. _Clayton_'s Account of _Virginia_._ 337 _Part of Two Letters from Mr. _J. Hillier_, dated _Cape Corse_, _Jan. 3. 1687/8._ and _Apr. 25. 1688._ Wrote to the Reverend Dr. _Bathurst_, President of _Trinity Colledge, Oxon_; giving an Account of the Customs of the Inhabitants, the Air, _&c._ of that Place, together with an Account of the Weather there from _Nov. 24. 1686._ to the same Day 1687._ 356 _An Account of the _Moorish_ Way of Dressing their Meat (with other Remarks) in _West-Barbary_, from Cape _Spartel_ to Cape _de Geer_. By Mr. _Jezreel Jones_._ 381 _A Letter from Mr. _John Monro_ to the Publisher, concerning the Catacombs of _Rome_ and _Naples_._ 394 _An accurate Description of the _Lake of Geneva_, not long since made by a Person that had visited it divers times in the pleasantest season of the Year; and communicated to the Publisher by one of his Parisian Correspondents: English'd as followeth._ 404 _Part of a Journal kept from _Scotland_ to _New Caledonia_ in _Darien_, with a short Account of that Country. Communicated by Dr. _Wallace_, F. R. S._ 413 _A Discourse tending to prove at what Time and Place _Julius Cæsar_ made his first Descent upon _Britain_: Read before the _Royal Society_ by _E. Halley_._ 422 _Miscellanea Curiosa._ VOL. III. _A Journal of a Voyage from _England_ to _Constantinople_, made in the Year, 1668. by _T. Smith_, D. D. and F. R. S._ On _Monday_ Evening _August 3, 1668._ we took Barge at _Tower-Wharf_, and at _Greenwich_ went on Board the _Bezant_ Yacht for the _Downs_, where we arrived the next day in the Afternoon, and went on Board the _Leopard_ Frigat, a Ship of 56 Guns mounted, Captain _O Bryen_ Commander, appointed to carry Sir _Daniel Harvey_, his Majesty's Ambassador to the Port of the _Ottoman_ Emperor at _Constantinople_. Here, upon his first Arrival, the Ambassador was Complemented by Sir _Jeremy Smith_, then riding Admiral, Sir _Edward Spragg_, and several other Commanders of the Men of War, and afterwards Saluted with Fifteen Pieces of Ordinance by the Admiral, to whom we returned as many; then by the Vice-Admiral, and several other Ships. All which were answered together at the same time with 21 in the whole. Here we were forced to Ride for several days, the Winds being contrary. In the _Offing_ between the _North Foreland_ and _South Foreland_ it runs Tide and half Tide, that is, it is either ebbing Water or Flood upon the Shore, in that part of the _Downs_, three hours, which is grossly speaking the time of half a Tide, before it is so, off at Sea. (For the flux and reflux of the Sea is not made exactly twice in 24 hours, but, as it appears by accurate observation, it requires an overplus of almost 50 minutes.) The reason of this diversity of Tides, I take to be from the meeting of the two Seas in that narrow Streight. Oftentimes when the Wind has blown hard at N. E. or at W. or W. and by S. there has hapn'd an alteration of the Tides in the River of _Thames_, which ignorant People have mistakenly lookt upon as a Prodigy. It is a most certain Observation, that where it flows Tide and half Tide, tho' the Tide of Flood runs aloft, yet the Tide of Ebb runs under foot, that is, close by the _ground_; and so at the Tide of Ebb, it will flow under foot, as that great and experienc'd Sea-Commander, Sir _H. Manwaring_, words it. _August 9._ We sailed from the _Downs_, but were soon forced back by distress of Weather, and came to an Anchor S. W. of the _South Foreland_. 10. The Wind blew at S. S.	1,905.095955
2023-11-16 18:48:49.4876570	2,676	11	Produced by Roger Frank, David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: OCCASIONALLY A DARTING AIRPLANE ATTRACTED HER TO THE WINDOW.] Ruth Fielding In the Red Cross OR DOING HER BEST FOR UNCLE SAM BY ALICE B. EMERSON Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "Ruth Fielding in the Saddle," Etc. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY PUBLISHERS Books for Girls BY ALICE B. EMERSON RUTH FIELDING SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 50 cents, postpaid. RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York. Copyright, 1918, by Cupples & Leon Company Ruth Fielding in the Red Cross Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Uncle Jabez Is Excited 1 II. The Call of the Drum 9 III. The Woman in Black 17 IV. "Can a Poilu Love a Fat Girl?" 25 V. "The Boys of the Draft" 34 VI. The Patriotism of the Purse 39 VII. On the Way 49 VIII. The Nearest Duty 56 IX. Tom Sails, and Something Else Happens 64 X. Suspicions 75 XI. Said in German 81 XII. Through Dangerous Waters 90 XIII. The New Chief 99 XIV. A Change of Base 107 XV. New Work 118 XVI. The Days Roll By 127 XVII. At the Gateway of the Chateau 133 XVIII. Shocking News 141 XIX. At the Wayside Cross 149 XX. Many Things Happen 156 XXI. Again the Werwolf 165 XXII. The Countess and Her Dog 175 XXIII. Ruth Does Her Duty 180 XXIV. A Partial Exposure 191 XXV. Quite Satisfactory 197 RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS CHAPTER I--UNCLE JABEZ IS EXCITED "Oh! Not _Tom_?" Ruth Fielding looked up from the box she was packing for the local Red Cross chapter, and, almost horrified, gazed into the black eyes of the girl who confronted her. Helen Cameron's face was tragic in its expression. She had been crying. The closely written sheets of the letter in her hand were shaken, as were her shoulders, with the sobs she tried to suppress. "It--it's written to father," Helen said. "He gave it to me to read. I wish Tom had never gone to Harvard. Those boys there are completely crazy! To think--at the end of his freshman year--to throw it all up and go to a training camp!" "I guess Harvard isn't to blame," said Ruth practically. If she was deeply moved by what her chum had told her, she quickly recovered her self-control. "The boys are going from other colleges all over the land. Is Tom going to try for a commission?" "Yes." "What does your father say?" "Why," cried the other girl as though that, too, had surprised and hurt her, "father cried 'Bully for Tom!' and then wiped his eyes on his handkerchief. What can men be made of, Ruth? He knows Tom may be killed, and yet he cheers for him." Ruth Fielding smiled and suddenly hugged Helen. Ruth's smile was somewhat tremulous, but her chum did not observe this fact. "I understand how your father feels, dear. Tom does not want to be drafted----" "He wouldn't be drafted. He is not old enough. And even if they automatically draft the boys as they become of age, it would be months before they reached Tom, and the war will be over by that time. But here he is throwing himself away----" "Oh, Helen! Not that!" cried Ruth. "Our soldiers will fight for us--for their country--for honor. And a man's life lost in such a cause is not thrown away." "That's the way I feel," said Helen, more steadily. "Tom is my twin. You don't know what it means to have a twin brother, Ruth Fielding." "That is true," sighed Ruth. "But I can imagine how you feel, dear. If you have hopes of the war's being over so quickly, then I should expect Tom back from training camp safe and sound, and with no chance of ever facing the enemy. Has he really gone?" "Oh, yes," Helen told her despondently. "And lots of the boys who used to go to school with Tom at Seven Oaks. You know, all those jolly fellows who were at Snow Camp with us, and at Lighthouse Point, and on Cliff Island, and out West on Silver Ranch--and--and everywhere. Just to think! We may never see them again." "Dear me, Helen," Ruth urged, "don't look upon the blackest side of the cloud. It's a long time before they go over there." "We don't know how soon they will be in the trenches," said her friend hopelessly. "These boys going to war----" "And I wish I was young enough to go with 'em!" ejaculated a harsh voice, as the door of the back kitchen opened and the speaker stamped into the room. "Got that box ready to nail up, Niece Ruth? Ben's hitching up the mules, and I want to get to Cheslow before dark." "Oh! Almost ready, Uncle Jabez," cried the girl of the Red Mill, as the gray old man approached. He was lean and wiry and the dust of his mill seemed to have been so ground into his very skin that he was a regular "dusty miller." His features were as harsh as his voice, and he was seldom as excited as he seemed to be now. "Who's going to war now?" he asked, turning to Helen. "Poor--poor Tom!" burst out the black-eyed girl, and began to dabble her eyes again. "What's the matter o' him?" demanded the old miller. "He'll--he'll be shot--I know he'll be killed, and mangled horribly!" "Fiddle-de-dee!" grunted Uncle Jabez, but his tone of voice was not as harsh as his words sounded. "I never got shot, nor mangled none to speak of, and I was fightin' and marchin' three endurin' years." "_You_, Uncle Jabez?" cried Ruth. "Yep. And I wish they'd take me again. I can go a-soldierin' as good as the next one. I'm tough and I'm wiry. They talk about this war bein' a dreadful war. Shucks! All wars air dreadful. They won't never have a battle over there that'll be as bad as the Wilderness--believe me! They may have more battles, but I went through some of the wust a man could ever experience." "And--and you weren't shot?" gasped Helen. "Not a bit. Three years of campaigning and never was scratched. Don't you look for Tom Cameron to be killed fust thing just because he's going to the wars. If more men didn't come back from the wars than git killed in 'em how d'ye s'pose this old world would have gone on rolling? Shucks!" "I never knew you were a soldier, Uncle Jabez," Ruth Fielding said. "Wal, I was. Shucks! I was something of a sharpshooter, too. And we old fellers--course I was nothin' but a boy, _then_--we could shoot. We'd l'arn't to shoot on the farm. Powder an' shot was hard to git and we l'arn't to make every bullet count. My old Betsey--didn't ye ever see my Civil War rifle?" he demanded of Ruth. "You mean the old brown gun that hangs over your bed and that Aunt Alvirah is so much afraid of?" "That's old Betsey. Sharpe's rifle. In them days it was jest about the last thing in weepons. I brung it home after the Grand Army of the Potomac was disbanded. Know how I did it? Government claimed all the guns; but I took old Betsey apart and me an' my mates hid the pieces away in our clothes, and so got her home. Then I assembled her again," and Uncle Jabez broke into a chuckle that was actually almost startling to the girls, for the miller seldom laughed. "Say!" he exclaimed, in his strange excitement. "I'll show her to ye." He hurried out of the room, evidently in search of "Old Betsey." Helen said to the miller's niece: "Goodness, Ruth! what has happened to your Uncle Jabez?" "Just what has happened to Tom--and your father," returned the girl of the Red Mill. "I've seen it coming on. Uncle Jabez has been getting more and more excited ever since war was declared. You know, when we came home from college a month ago and decided to remain here and help in the Red Cross work instead of finishing our sophomore year at Ardmore, my decision was really the first one I ever made that Uncle Jabez seemed to approve of immediately. "He is thoroughly patriotic. When I told him I could study later--when the war was over--but that I must work for the soldiers now, he said I was a good girl. What do you think of _that_?" "Cheslow is not doing its share," Helen said thoughtfully, her mind switched by Ruth's last words to the matter that had completely filled her own and her chum's thoughts for weeks. "The people are not awake. They do not know we are at war yet. They have not done half for the Red Cross that they should do." "We'll make 'em!" declared Ruth Fielding. "We must get the women and girls to pull together." "Say, Ruth! what do you think of that woman in black--you know, the widow, or whoever she is? Dresses in black altogether; but maybe it's because she thinks black becomes her," added Helen rather scornfully. "Mrs. Mantel?" asked Ruth slowly. "I don't know what to think of her. She seems to be very anxious to help. Yet she does nothing really helpful--only talks." "And some of her talk I'd rather not hear," said Helen sharply. "I know what you mean," Ruth rejoined, nodding. "But so many people talk so doubtfully. They are unfamiliar with the history of the Red Cross and what it has done. Perhaps Mrs. Mantel means no harm." At that moment Uncle Jabez reappeared with the heavy rifle in his hands. He was still chuckling. "Calc'late I ain't heard Aunt Alvirah talk about this gun much of	1,905.507697
2023-11-16 18:48:49.7567180	1,732	9	Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive [Illustration: 006] [Illustration: 007] THE BOOK OF ROSES By Francis Parkman Boston J. E. Tilton And Company. 1871. INTRODUCTION \|IT IS needless to eulogize the Rose. Poets from Anacreon and Sappho, and earlier than they, down to our own times, have sung its praises; and yet the rose of Grecian and of Persian song, the rose of troubadours and minstrels, had no beauties so resplendent as those with which its offspring of the present day embellish our gardens. The "thirty sorts of rose," of which John Parkinson speaks in 1629, have multiplied to thousands. New races have been introduced from China, Persia, Hindostan, and our own country; and these, amalgamated with the older families by the art of the hybridist, have produced still other forms of surpassing variety and beauty. This multiplication and improvement are still in progress. The last two or three years have been prolific beyond precedent in new roses; and, with all regard for old favorites, it cannot be denied, that, while a few of the roses of our forefathers still hold their ground, the greater part are cast into the shade by the brilliant products of this generation. In the production of new roses, France takes the lead. A host of cultivators great and small--Laffay, Vibert, Verdier, Margottin, Trouillard, Portemer, and numberless others--have devoted themselves to the pleasant art of intermarrying the various families and individual varieties of the rose, and raising from them seedlings whose numbers every year may be counted by hundreds of thousands. Of these, a very few only are held worthy of preservation; and all the rest are consigned to the rubbish heap. The English, too, have of late done much in raising new varieties; though their climate is less favorable than that of France, and their cultivators less active and zealous in the work. Some excellent roses, too, have been produced in America. Our climate is very favorable to the raising of seedlings, and far more might easily be accomplished here. In France and England, the present rage for roses is intense. It is stimulated by exhibitions, where nurserymen, gardeners, landed gentlemen, and reverend clergymen of the Established Church, meet in friendly competition for the prize. While the French excel all others in the production of new varieties, the English are unsurpassed in the cultivation of varieties already known; and nothing can exceed the beauty and perfection of some of the specimens exhibited at their innumerable rose-shows. If the severity of our climate has its disadvantages, the clearness of our air and the warmth of our summer sun more than counterbalance them; and it is certain that roses can be raised here in as high perfection, to say the very least, as in any part of Europe. The object of this book is to convey information. The earlier portion will describe the various processes of culture, training, and propagation, both in the open ground and in pots; and this will be followed by an account of the various families and groups of the rose, with descriptions of the best varieties belonging to each. A descriptive list will be added of all the varieties, both of old roses and those most recently introduced, which are held in esteem by the experienced cultivators of the present day. The chapter relating to the classification of roses, their family relations, and the manner in which new races have arisen by combinations of two or more old ones, was suggested by the difficulties of the writer himself at an early period of his rose studies. The want of such explanations, in previous treatises, has left their readers in a state of lamentable perplexity on a subject which might easily have been made sufficiently clear. Books on the rose, written for the climates of France or England, will, in general, greatly mislead the cultivators here. Extracts will, however, be given from the writings of the best foreign cultivators, in cases where experience has shown that their directions are applicable to the climate of the Northern and Middle States. The writer having been for many years a cultivator of the rose, and having carefully put in practice the methods found successful abroad, is enabled to judge with some confidence of the extent to which they are applicable here, and to point out exceptions and modifications demanded by the nature of our climate. Among English writers on the rose, the best are Paul, Rivers, and more recently Cranston, together with the vivacious Mr. Radclyffe, a clergyman, a horticulturist, an excellent amateur of the rose, and a very amusing contributor to the "Florist." In France, Deslongchamps and several able contributors to the "Revue Horticole" are the most prominent. From these sources the writer of this book drew the instructions and hints which at first formed the basis of his practice; but he soon found that he must greatly modify it in accordance with American necessities. There was much to be added, much to be discarded, and much to be changed; and the results to which he arrived are given, as compactly as possible, in the following pages. Jan. 1,1866. [Illustration: 0018] [Illustration: 0019] CHAPTER I. OPEN AIR CULTURE [Illustration: 0021] \|THE ROSE requires high culture. This belle of the parterre, this "queen of flowers," is a lover of rich fare, and refuses to put forth all her beauties on a meagre diet. Roses, indeed, will grow and bloom in any soil; but deficient nourishment will reduce the size of the flowers, and impair the perfection of their form. Of all soils, one of a sandy or gravelly nature is the worst; while, on the other hand, a wet and dense clay is scarcely better. A rich, strong, and somewhat heavy garden loam, abundantly manured, is the soil best adapted to all the strong-growing roses; while those of more delicate growth prefer one pro-portionably lighter. Yet roses may be grown to perfection in any soil, if the needful pains are taken. We will suppose an extreme case: The grower wishes to plant a bed of roses on a spot where the soil is very poor and sandy. Let him mark out his bed, dig the soil to the depth of eighteen inches? throw out the worst portion of it, and substitute in its place a quantity of strong, heavy loam: rotted sods, if they can be had, will be an excellent addition; and so, also, will decayed leaves. Then add a liberal dressing of old stable manure: that taken from a last year's hot-bod will do admirably. It is scarcely possible to enrich too highly. One-fourth manure to three-fourths soil is not an excessive proportion. Now incorporate the whole thoroughly with a spade, level the top, and your bed is ready. Again: we will suppose a case, equally bad, but of the opposite character. Here the soil is very wet, cold, and heavy. The first step is to drain it. This may be done thoroughly with tiles, after the approved methods; or, if this is too troublesome or expensive, simpler means may be used, which will, in most situations, prove as effectual. Dig a hole about five feet deep and four feet wide at the lower side of your intended bed of roses: in this hole place an inverted barrel, with the head knocked out; or, what is better, an old oil cask. In the latter case, a hole	1,905.776758
2023-11-16 18:48:49.8279200	2,505	8	Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Judith Wirawan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +----------------------------------------------------------------+ \| Transcriber's Notes: \| \| \| \| Words surrounded by _ are italicized. \| \| Words surrounded by = are bold. \| \| Words surrounded by { } are superscript. \| \| \| \| A number of obvious errors have been corrected in this text. \| \| For a complete list, please see the bottom of this document. \| \| \| +----------------------------------------------------------------+ THE STANDARD GALLERIES HOLLAND [Illustration: JAN VERMEER View of Delft] THE STANDARD GALLERIES HOLLAND BY ESTHER SINGLETON _Author of "Dutch and Flemish Furniture," "Great Pictures Described by Great Writers," etc., etc._ WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS [Illustration: A. C. McClurg & Co Logo] CHICAGO A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 1908 COPYRIGHT A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 1908 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England _All rights reserved_ Published October 10, 1908 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. _Preface_ When a tourist who, having mapped out his itinerary in accordance with the time at his disposal for a European trip, arrives at a city for seeing which he has allowed two or three days at the utmost, the first question he puts to a fellow traveller, the hotel clerk, or his Baedeker is, "What must I see?" First, there is the city itself: its streets, bridges, canals, parks, and drives. Then there are famous churches, city halls, and other ancient buildings, including city gates and castles in the immediate neighborhood. Perhaps there is a palace, and most certainly one or more museums of art and antiquities. The tourist gazes his fill on architecture, stone and wood carving, exterior and interior; but above all he feels that he must make the best use of his opportunities of seeing the pictures, the fame of which has spread into all civilized countries. His time is short. He is therefore grateful for a guide that will direct him to the beauties and celebrities of the famous local picture-gallery, and point out to him the qualities of the paintings as well as tell him something of the art of the masters and of the school to which they belong. It is important first for him to know what he should see, and secondly what he should see in it beyond the bare facts he can gather from the catalogue. On returning home with a few photographs of the canvases that have struck his fancy, he is also pleased to renew his acquaintance with the gallery in the pages of a modest work that does not go too deeply into art questions beyond the grasp of the ordinary layman. Such a guide and companion this book aims to be; it leads the tourist rapidly through the most important picture-galleries of Holland, and points out the pictures that all the world talks about; and gives some account of the Dutch masters, their qualities and characteristics as exemplified in their works, there and elsewhere. It does not pretend to be exhaustive, and confines itself almost exclusively to the consideration of the examples of native schools. On going through a gallery the visitor, in accordance with his individual tastes, will frequently be halted by a picture whose fame has not reached him, but whose beauty appeals to him quite as much as the celebrities with which he is familiar from numberless reproductions, such as Potter's Bull, Rembrandt's Night Watch, or Snyder's Boar Hunt. The traveller is tempted to linger over the little pictures of the Little Masters, the charming interiors, marines, landscapes, and still life of the galaxy of painters of the seventeenth century. It is for this reason, therefore, that for illustrating the following pages I have selected many of the less familiar examples of the art of that period. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was a sound art critic as well as a great painter--an unusual combination of qualities--described with fine appreciation the pleasure derived from the contemplation of the works of the Dutch school. He says: "The most considerable of the Dutch school are Rembrandt, Teniers, Jan Steen, Ostade, Brouwer, Gerard Dow, Mieris, Metsu, and Terburg,--these excel in small conversations. For landscapes and cattle, Wouvermans, P. Potter, Berchem, and Ruysdael; and for buildings, Venderheyden. For sea-views, W. Vandervelde, jun., and Backhuysen. For dead game, Weenix and Hondekoeter. For flowers, De Heem, Vanhuysum, Rachael Roos, and Brueghel. These make the bulk of the Dutch school. "I consider those painters as belonging to this school, who painted only small conversations, landscapes, etc. Though some of these were born in Flanders, their works are principally found in Holland--and to separate them from the Flemish school, which generally painted figures large as life, it appears to me more reasonable to class them with the Dutch painters, and to distinguish those two schools rather by their style and manner, than by the place where the artist happened to be born. "Rembrandt may be considered as belonging to both or either, as he painted both large and small pictures. "A clearness and brilliancy of coloring may be learned by examining the flower-pieces of De Heem, Huysum, and Mignon; and a short time employed in painting flowers would make no improper part of a painter's study. Rubens's pictures strongly remind one of a nosegay of flowers, where all the colors are bright, clear, and transparent. "A market woman with a hare in her hand, a man blowing a trumpet, or a boy blowing bubbles, a view of the inside or outside of a church, are the subjects of some of their most valuable pictures; but there is still entertainment, even in such pictures--however uninteresting their subjects, there is some pleasure in the contemplation of the imitation. But to a painter they afford likewise instruction in his profession; here he may learn the art of coloring and composition, a skilful management of light and shade, and indeed all the mechanical parts of the art, as well as in any other school whatever. "The same skill which is practised by Rubens and Titian in their large works, is here exhibited, though on a smaller scale. Painters should go to the Dutch school to learn the art of painting as they would go to a grammar school to learn languages. They must go to Italy to learn the higher branches of knowledge." In attempting to be of some service to the art lover who has no leisure for extended and independent study, I have by no means relied entirely upon my own impressions and observation. In describing the pictures, I have drawn largely on the writings of the best English, French, German, and Dutch art critics and historians,--Crowe, Reynolds, Blanc, Burger, Havard, Fromentin, Michel, Mainz, Wurtz, Bode, Bredius, and many others. When so many authorities disagree with one another in the spelling of the names of the Dutch artists, I have endeavored to avoid all criticism by adopting the spelling used in the official catalogues of The Hague, Amsterdam, and Rotterdam galleries; and in a few instances these are not agreed. For valuable aid in compiling this work, my thanks are due to Mr. Arthur Shadwell Martin. E. S. NEW YORK, August 1, 1908. _Galleries Included_ PAGE THE HAGUE GALLERY 1 THE RIJKS MUSEUM 109 THE STEDELIJK MUSEUM 193 THE TOWN HALL, HAARLEM 211 THE BOIJMANS MUSEUM, ROTTERDAM 217 _Illustrations_ THE HAGUE GALLERY PAGE Vermeer, View of Delft _Frontispiece_ Paul Potter, _Vache qui se mire_ 10 Rembrandt, Portrait of Himself as Officer 14 Rembrandt, Homer 16 F. Bol, Admiral de Ruyter 24 Moeyaert, The Visit of Antiochus to the Augur 32 Ruisdael, Distant View of Haarlem 40 A. van de Velde, A Dutch Roadstead 48 P. Wouwermans, The Hay Wain 50 P. Wouwermans, The Arrival at the Inn 52 Dou, The Good Housekeeper 60 Ostade, The Fiddler 66 Ter Borch, The Despatch 70 Metsu, The Amateur Musicians 74 Rubens, Helena Fourment 100 THE RIJKS MUSEUM Moreelse, The Little Princess 118 Mierevelt, Prince Maurits of Nassau 120 Van der Helst, Company of Captain R. Bicker 126 Hobbema, The Water Mill 130 Hackaert, Avenue of Ash-trees 132 Maes, The Spinner 136 Cuijp, Fight between a Turkey and a Cock 140 Cuijp, Shepherds with their Flocks 142 Jan van Goyen, View of Dordrecht 144 W. van de Velde, The Ij, or Y, at Amsterdam 150 F. Snyders, Dead Game and Vegetables 152 M. d'Hondecoeter, The Floating Feather 154 Asselijn, The Swan 156 A. de Vois, Lady and Parrot 164 F. van Mieris, The Grocer's Shop 172 P. de Hooch, The Country House 176 Jan Steen, The Parrot Cage 178 Jan Steen, The Happy Family 180 Jan Steen, Eve of St. Nicholas 182 THE STEDELIJK MUSEUM, THE TOWN HALL, HAARLEM AND THE BOIJMANS MUSEUM Mauve, Sheep on the Dunes 196 Israels, Fisherman's Children 198 Roelofs, Marshy Landscape 200 A. Neuhuys, By the Cradle 202 Mesdag, Sunrise on the Dutch Coast 204 Israels, Old Jewish Peddler 206 J. Maris, Two Windmills 208 Frans Hals, Reunion of the Arquebusiers	1,905.84796
2023-11-16 18:49:30.0333830	2,756	7	Produced by Mike Lough THE STORY OF A PIONEER By Anna Howard Shaw, D.D., M.D. With The Collaboration Of Elizabeth Jordan TO THE WOMEN PIONEERS OF AMERICA They cut a path through tangled underwood Of old traditions, out to broader ways. They lived to here their work called brave and good, But oh! the thorns before the crown of bays. The world gives lashes to its Pioneers Until the goal is reached--then deafening cheers. Adapted by ANNA HOWARD SHAW. CONTENTS I. FIRST MEMORIES II. IN THE WILDERNESS III. HIGH-SCHOOL AND COLLEGE DAYS IV. THE WOLF AT THE DOOR V. SHEPHERD OF A DIVIDED FLOCK VI. CAPE COD MEMORIES VII. THE GREAT CAUSE VIII. DRAMA IN THE LECTURE FIELD IX. "AUNT SUSAN" X. THE PASSING OF "AUNT SUSAN" XI. THE WIDENING SUFFRAGE STREAM XII. BUILDING A HOME XIII. PRESIDENT OF "THE NATIONAL" XIV. RECENT CAMPAIGNS XV. CONVENTION INCIDENTS XVI. COUNCIL EPISODES XVII. VALE! ILLUSTRATIONS REVEREND ANNA HOWARD SHAW IN HER PULPIT ROBES LOCH-AN-EILAN CASTLE DR SHAW'S MOTHER, NICOLAS SHAW, AT SEVENTEEN ALNWICK CASTLE DR. SHAW AT THIRTY-TWO DR. SHAW AT FIFTY DR. SHAW AND "HER BABY"--THE DAUGHTER OF RACHEL FOSTER AVERY DR. SHAW'S MOTHER AT EIGHTY DR. SHAW'S FATHER AT EIGHTY DR. SHAW'S SISTER MARY, WHO DIED IN 1883 LUCY E. ANTHONY, DR. SHAW S FRIEND AND "AUNT SUSAN'S" FAVORITE NIECE THE WOOD ROAD NEAR DR. SHAW'S CAPE COD HOME, THE HAVEN DR. SHAW'S COTTAGE, THE HAVEN, AT WIANNO, CAPE COD--THE FIRST HOME SHE BUILT GATE ENTRANCE TO DR. SHAW'S HOME AT MOYLAN THE SECOND HOUSE THAT DR. SHAW BUILT SUSAN B. ANTHONY MISS MARY GARRETT, THE LIFE-LONG FRIEND OF MISS THOMAS MISS M. CAREY THOMAS, PRESIDENT OF BRYN MAWR COLLEGE ELIZABETH CADY STANTON CARRIE CHAPMAN CATT LUCY STONE MARY A. LIVERMORE FOUR PIONEERS IN THE SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT FIREPLACE IN THE LIVING-ROOM, SHOWING AUNT SUSAN'S" CHAIR HALLWAY IN DR. SHAW'S HOME AT MOYLAN DR. SHAW'S HOME (ALNWICK LODGE) AND HER TWO OAKS THE VERANDA AT ALNWICK LODGE SACCAWAGEA ALNWICK LODGE, DR. SHAW'S HOME THE ROCK-BORDERED BROOK WHICH DR. SHAW LOVES THE STORY OF A PIONEER I. FIRST MEMORIES My father's ancestors were the Shaws of Rothiemurchus, in Scotland, and the ruins of their castle may still be seen on the island of Loch-an-Eilan, in the northern Highlands. It was never the picturesque castle of song and story, this home of the fighting Shaws, but an austere fortress, probably built in Roman times; and even to-day the crumbling walls which alone are left of it show traces of the relentless assaults upon them. Of these the last and the most successful were made in the seventeenth century by the Grants and Rob Roy; and it was into the hands of the Grants that the Shaw fortress finally fell, about 1700, after almost a hundred years of ceaseless warfare. It gives me no pleasure to read the grisly details of their struggles, but I confess to a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that my ancestors made a good showing in the defense of what was theirs. Beyond doubt they were brave fighters and strong men. There were other sides to their natures, however, which the high lights of history throw up less appealingly. As an instance, we have in the family chronicles the blood-stained page of Allen Shaw, the oldest son of the last Lady Shaw who lived in the fortress. It appears that when the father of this young man died, about 1560, his mother married again, to the intense disapproval of her son. For some time after the marriage he made no open revolt against the new-comer in the domestic circle; but finally, on the pretext that his dog had been attacked by his stepfather, he forced a quarrel with the older man and the two fought a duel with swords, after which the victorious Allen showed a sad lack of chivalry. He not only killed his stepfather, but he cut off that gentleman's head and bore it to his mother in her bedchamber--an action which was considered, even in that tolerant age, to be carrying filial resentment too far. Probably Allen regretted it. Certainly he paid a high penalty for it, and his clan suffered with him. He was outlawed and fled, only to be hunted down for months, and finally captured and executed by one of the Grants, who, in further virtuous disapproval of Allen's act, seized and held the Shaw stronghold. The other Shaws of the clan fought long and ably for its recovery, but though they were helped by their kinsmen, the Mackintoshes, and though good Scotch blood dyed the gray walls of the fortress for many generations, the castle never again came into the hands of the Shaws. It still entails certain obligations for the Grants, however, and one of these is to give the King of England a snowball whenever he visits Loch-an-Eilan! As the years passed the Shaw clan scattered. Many Shaws are still to be found in the Mackintosh country and throughout southern Scotland. Others went to England, and it was from this latter branch that my father sprang. His name was Thomas Shaw, and he was the younger son of a gentleman--a word which in those days seemed to define a man who devoted his time largely to gambling and horse-racing. My grandfather, like his father before him, was true to the traditions of his time and class. Quite naturally and simply he squandered all he had, and died abruptly, leaving his wife and two sons penniless. They were not, however, a helpless band. They, too, had their traditions, handed down by the fighting Shaws. Peter, the older son, became a soldier, and died bravely in the Crimean War. My father, through some outside influence, turned his attention to trade, learning to stain and emboss wallpaper by hand, and developing this work until he became the recognized expert in his field. Indeed, he progressed until he himself checked his rise by inventing a machine that made his handwork unnecessary. His employer at once claimed and utilized this invention, to which, by the laws of those days, he was entitled, and thus the cornerstone on which my father had expected to build a fortune proved the rock on which his career was wrecked. But that was years later, in America, and many other things had happened first. For one, he had temporarily dropped his trade and gone into the flour-and-grain business; and, for another, he had married my mother. She was the daughter of a Scotch couple who had come to England and settled in Alnwick, in Northumberland County. Her father, James Stott, was the driver of the royal-mail stage between Alnwick and Newcastle, and his accidental death while he was still a young man left my grandmother and her eight children almost destitute. She was immediately given a position in the castle of the Duke of Northumberland, and her sons were educated in the duke's school, while her daughters were entered in the school of the duchess. My thoughts dwell lovingly on this grandmother, Nicolas Grant Stott, for she was a remarkable woman, with a dauntless soul and progressive ideas far in advance of her time. She was one of the first Unitarians in England, and years before any thought of woman suffrage entered the minds of her country-women she refused to pay tithes to the support of the Church of England--an action which precipitated a long-drawn-out conflict between her and the law. In those days it was customary to assess tithes on every pane of glass in a window, and a portion of the money thus collected went to the support of the Church. Year after year my intrepid grandmother refused to pay these assessments, and year after year she sat pensively upon her door-step, watching articles of her furniture being sold for money to pay her tithes. It must have been an impressive picture, and it was one with which the community became thoroughly familiar, as the determined old lady never won her fight and never abandoned it. She had at least the comfort of public sympathy, for she was by far the most popular woman in the countryside. Her neighbors admired her courage; perhaps they appreciated still more what she did for them, for she spent all her leisure in the homes of the very poor, mending their clothing and teaching them to sew. Also, she left behind her a path of cleanliness as definite as the line of foam that follows a ship; for it soon became known among her protegees that Nicolas Stott was as much opposed to dirt as she was to the payment of tithes. She kept her children in the schools of the duke and duchess until they had completed the entire course open to them. A hundred times, and among many new scenes and strange people, I have heard my mother describe her own experiences as a pupil. All the children of the dependents of the castle were expected to leave school at fourteen years of age. During their course they were not allowed to study geography, because, in the sage opinion of their elders, knowledge of foreign lands might make them discontented and inclined to wander. Neither was composition encouraged--that might lead to the writing of love-notes! But they were permitted to absorb all the reading and arithmetic their little brains could hold, while the art of sewing was not only encouraged, but proficiency in it was stimulated by the award of prizes. My mother, being a rather precocious young person, graduated at thirteen and carried off the first prize. The garment she made was a linen chemise for the duchess, and the little needlewoman had embroidered on it, with her own hair, the august lady's coat of arms. The offering must have been appreciated, for my mother's story always ended with the same words, uttered with the same air of gentle pride, "And the duchess gave me with her own hands my Bible and my mug of beer!" She never saw anything amusing in this association of gifts, and I always stood behind her when she told the incident, that she might not see the disrespectful mirth it aroused in me. My father and mother met in Alnwick, and were married in February, 1835. Ten years after his marriage father was forced into bankruptcy by the passage of the corn law, and to meet the obligations attending his failure he and my mother sold practically everything they possessed--their home, even their furniture. Their little sons, who were away at school, were brought home, and the family expenses were cut down to the barest margin; but all these sacrifices paid only part of the debts. My mother, finding that her early gift had a market value, took in sewing. Father went to work on a small salary, and both my parents saved every penny they could lay aside, with the desperate determination to pay their remaining debts. It was a long struggle and a painful one, but they finally won it. Before they had done so, however, and during their bleakest days, their baby died, and my mother, like her mother before her, paid the penalty of being outside	1,946.053423
2023-11-16 18:49:30.3271440	536	62	Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS BOOKS FOR COLLECTORS _With Frontispieces and many Illustrations Large Crown 8vo, cloth._ CHATS ON ENGLISH CHINA. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD FURNITURE By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD PRINTS. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON COSTUME. By G. Woolliscroft Rhead. CHATS ON OLD LACE AND NEEDLEWORK. By E. L. Lowes. CHATS ON ORIENTAL CHINA. By J. F. Blacker. CHATS ON OLD MINIATURES. By J. J. Foster, F.S.A. CHATS ON ENGLISH EARTHENWARE. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON AUTOGRAPHS. By A. M. Broadley. CHATS ON PEWTER. By H. J. L. J. Masse, M.A. CHATS ON POSTAGE STAMPS. By Fred. J. Melville. CHATS ON OLD JEWELLERY AND TRINKETS. By MacIver Percival. CHATS ON COTTAGE AND FARMHOUSE FURNITURE. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD COINS. By Fred. W. Burgess. CHATS ON OLD COPPER AND BRASS. By Fred. W. Burgess. CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS. By Fred. W. Burgess. _In Preparation._ CHATS ON BARGAINS. By Charles E. Jerningham. CHATS ON JAPANESE PRINTS. By Arthur Davison Ficke. CHATS ON OLD CLOCKS AND WATCHES. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD SILVER. By Arthur Hayden. LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN. NEW YORK: F. A. STOKES COMPANY. * * * * * [Illustration: FIG. 1.--OLD FIREPLACE, SHOWING SUSSEX BACK, ANDIRONS, AND TRIVET. Frontispiece.] * * * * * CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS BY FRED. W. BURGESS AUTHOR OF "CHATS ON OLD COINS," "CHATS ON OLD COPPER AND BRASS," ETC. WITH 94 ILLU	1,946.347184
2023-11-16 18:49:30.4396630	407	15	E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 34134-h.htm or 34134-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34134/34134-h/34134-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34134/34134-h.zip) THE GREAT MOGUL by LOUIS TRACY Author of "The Wings of the Morning" and "The Pillar of Light" Illustrations by J. C. Chase New York Edward J. Clode 156 Fifth Avenue 1905 Copyright, 1905 By Edward J. Clode The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. [Illustration: As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees.] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees _Frontispiece_ In a minute or less they were free 83 And that is the manner in which Nur Mahal, on her wedding night, came back to the Garden of Heart's Delight 135 "If we go to Burdwan, are you content to remain there?" 207 "Out of my path, swine!" 284 Instantly the man was put to the test 294 _The Great Mogul_ CHAPTER I "And is there care in Heaven?" _Spenser's Faerie Queene._ "Allah remembers us not. It is the divine decree. We can but die with His praises on our lips; perchance He may greet us at the gates of Paradise!" Overwhelmed with misery, the man drooped his head. The stout staff he held fell to his feet.	1,946.459703
2023-11-16 18:49:31.5644960	41	397	E-text prepared by Brian Coe, Chris Pinfield, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (	1,947.584536
2023-11-16 18:49:31.6935910	3,092	14	Produced by Al Haines [Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND. _See page 136_] ROGER DAVIS LOYALIST BY FRANK BAIRD WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS Toronto THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE OUTBREAK II. AMONG ENEMIES III. MADE PRISONER IV. PRISON EXPERIENCES V. THE TRIAL AND ESCAPE VI. KING OR PEOPLE? VII. THE DIE CAST VIII. OFF TO NOVA SCOTIA IX. IN THE 'TRUE NORTH' X. THE TREATY XI. HOME-MAKING BEGUN XII. FACING THE FUTURE XIII. THE GOVERNOR'S PERIL XIV. VICTORY AND REWARD LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND......... _Frontispiece_ SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR 'THAT MAN,' I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,' WHO SAT PALE AND SHIVERING 'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA,' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP Roger Davis, Loyalist Chapter I The Outbreak It was Duncan Hale, the schoolmaster, who first brought us the news. When he was half-way from the gate to the house, my mother met him. He bowed very low to her, and then, standing with his head uncovered--from my position in the hall--I heard him distinctly say, 'Your husband, madam, has been killed, and the British who went out to Lexington under Lord Percy have been forced to retreat into Boston, with a loss of two hundred and seventy-three officers and men.' The schoolmaster bowed again, one of those fine, sweeping, old-world bows which he had lately been teaching me with some impatience, I thought; then without further speech he moved toward the little gate. But I had caught a look of keen anxiety on his face as he addressed my mother. Once outside the garden, he stooped forward, and, breaking into a run, crouching as he went as though afraid of being seen, he soon disappeared around a turn in the road. My mother stood without speaking or moving for some moments. The birds in the blossom-shrouded trees of the garden were shrieking and chattering in the flood of April sunlight; I felt a draught of perfumed air draw into the hall. Then a mist that had been heavy all the morning on the Charles River, suddenly faded into the blue, and I could see clearly over to Boston, three miles away. I shall not soon forget the look on my mother's face as she turned and came toward me. I have wondered since if it were not born of a high resolve then made, to be put into effect later. She was not in tears as I thought she would be. There were no signs of grief on her face, but instead her whole countenance seemed illuminated with a strangely noble look. I was puzzled at this; but when I remembered that my mother was the daughter of an English officer who was killed while serving under Wolfe at Quebec, I understood. In a firm voice she repeated to me the words I had already heard, then she passed up the stairs. In a few moments I heard her telling my two sisters Caroline and Elizabeth--they were both younger than myself--that it was time to get up. After that I heard my mother go to her own room and shut the door. In the silence that followed this I fell to thinking. Was my father really dead? Could it be that the British had been repulsed? Duncan Hale had been telling me for weeks that war was coming, but I had not thought his prophecy would be fulfilled. Now I understood why he had come so often to visit my father; and why, during the past month, he had seemed so absent-minded in school. My preparation for going to Oxford in the autumn, over which he had been so enthusiastic, appeared to have been completely pushed out of his mind. I had once overheard my father caution him to keep his visits to Lord Percy strictly secret. I was wondering if the part he had played might have any ill consequences for him and for us, when my mother's footsteps sounded on the stairs. She came at once to where I had been standing for some moments, caught me in her arms, and, without speaking, held me close for a moment, and then pressed a kiss on my forehead. 'Go, Roger,' she said, 'and find Peter and Dora. Bring them to the library, and wait there till I come with your sisters.' I was turning to obey, when I caught a glimpse through the hall doorway of two rebel soldiers galloping up. They had evidently come from Boston. At sight of my mother, one of them addressed her with an unmannerly shout that sent the blood pulsing up to my cheeks in anger. What my mother had been thinking I did not know; but from that moment a great passion seized me. That shout which almost maddened me, had, I can see in looking back over it all, much to do in making me a Loyalist, and in sending me to Canada. The soldiers looked in somewhat critically, but passed. They were rough looking men, poorly mounted and badly dressed. My mother withdrew from the doorway and went upstairs, as I proceeded to seek out our two faithful <DW52> servants. I delivered to each the bare message given me by my mother, and returned at once to the library. Everything in the room suggested my father. On his desk lay an unfinished letter to my brother, who had enlisted in the King's forces some six months before. I had read but a few lines of this when the door opened, and my mother entered with Caroline and Elizabeth. In a moment I saw that the spirit of my mother had passed on to my sisters. I was sure they knew the worst; and although I could see Caroline struggle with her feelings, both girls maintained a brave and sensible silence. A moment later Peter and Dora entered, each wide-eyed and apprehensive, but still ignorant of the great calamity that had now befallen our recently happy household. The east window of the library looked toward Boston. To this my mother went, and stood looking out for some time; then she turned and began to speak. 'Your master,' she said, addressing Peter and Dora, 'has been killed. We are here to make plans for the future.' Dora threw up both hands, giving a little shriek as she did so. Peter lifted his great eyes to the ceiling, and slid to his knees; a little later he pressed his hands hard over his heart as though to prevent it from beating its way through. He found relief in swaying backward and forward, and uttering a long, low moan, which finally shaped into, 'Poor Massa killed.' He kept repeating this, until we were all on the point of giving way to our smothered emotion. But my mother's voice recalled us. 'What are we to do, Roger?' she said. Instantly the thought of a new and great responsibility flashed upon me. Was my mother to relinquish the leadership? Did her question mean that I was to step at once into the place of my fallen father? Had she forgotten that I was but sixteen? I glanced at my sisters, but I found I could not look long upon them in their helplessness, and retain my self-control. With a hurried glance at the servants, who now sobbed audibly in spite of all efforts at suppression of grief, my eyes came again to the face of my mother. The look of noble fortitude had gone, and I saw that I must no longer delay in coming to her assistance. She motioned me to my father's empty chair; I took it at once, and, though I felt all eyes in the room turn upon me, prompted by a rush of heroic feeling, I neither flinched nor blushed under their gaze. But in spite of my pretended composure nature had her way. My sister Elizabeth, breaking into a flood of tears, rushed across the floor to my mother's arms, and soon all were weeping uncontrollably. Mastering my rising feelings, I began thinking what was best to be done. [Illustration: SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR.] I knew the King's cause had many sympathisers on the farms that lay about us. What effect the real shedding of blood and the defeat of the British would have I could not determine, but, while I knew that the country would soon be swarming with rebels, I was equally sure that we would not be absolutely alone, if we resolved to declare ourselves in favour of the King and his government in the colony. At first, it occurred to me to advise fleeing at once inside the protected limits of Boston. But the thought of the value of my father's property turned me from this course. That we were in danger, I was certain. My father, owing to his trade relations with the colonists of all types, had not openly espoused the royal cause; on many occasions rebels had claimed him as a sympathiser; but I knew that now all would be revealed. The jeer of the soldiers half convinced me that all was known already. Had these simply gone by that they might return with others to carry us off prisoners? At that moment, on glancing through the window, I was startled to see several buildings on fire away toward Boston. The rebels had evidently begun the work of destruction; but the thought that it had suddenly come to this, that our quiet, happy, and thriving country-side was to be devastated by fire and sword as during old wars of which I had read in history, made me, for a moment, wonder if it were not all a horrible dream. Recalling myself, however, to the situation in which I was placed, as the defender of my mother and sisters, I turned from the window, and, when a silence fell in the sobbing, said, 'I shall see Duncan Hale; he will help us.' The painful day wore slowly on. It was evident that the whole country was deeply stirred. Not a single soldier of the King could be seen, but rebels were everywhere. On horseback and on foot; in rough carriages and farm wagons; armed and unarmed; singly and in crowds; cheering, shouting, swearing, threatening--all day long these rough, leaderless, untrained farmer soldiers kept passing and re-passing, in what seemed to be wild, purposeless confusion. Now and then the sound of distant firing came from the direction of Boston; occasionally a column of smoke arose from the country round, telling its own story of destruction. I wondered if a similar fate awaited our fine old house, with its fluted Corinthian corners, and its air of English solidity. I recalled the peculiar pride with which my father had shown visitors through and around it. The big hallway running from front to back, and on either side the lofty square rooms; the high wainscotting, the deeply recessed window seats, and queer, old-fashioned mouldings that bordered the ceilings; the wide fire-places with their curiously-wrought andirons; the two magnificent lindens before the door, planted by my grandmother when a bride some sixty years ago; the wide garden with shaded walks, and the hundred acres of rich, valuable land, all took on a new interest to me that day. It came to me that these things could not be given up without a pang. The day--it was the twentieth of April, 1775--proved gloriously fine until the end; this, with the unusual gaiety of the birds in the lindens, the bursting of the buds in the gardens, and other assurances of spring, were in striking contrast with all that had been taking place in the world of men. But the consequences of the events that had preceded that day were to be infinitely greater than any contrast could be. I can see now, as I did not then, that rightly looked at, the skirmish at Lexington where my father fell, had within it the beginnings of two nations--and one of them was Canada. But of this, later in the story. That night I was again in the library in consultation with my mother and sisters, regarding the possible recovery of my father's body, when a low knocking at the door startled us. A few moments later Duncan Hale and Doctor Canfield, minister of the parish, were seated among us. In a few softly spoken words the good clergyman expressed his sincere sympathy for us in our sudden affliction. Doctor Canfield was one of Harvard's most brilliant sons; he had travelled much; was directly descended from a noble English family; he was possessed of means; many of the foremost men of letters were his correspondents; he was tall and military in bearing; graceful and eloquent in speech; the soul of courtesy and honour; and withal, he was a master of the fine art of manners. It was Doctor Canfield and others like him who made separation from England difficult, standing, as they did, for the only refinement that the provinces knew, peopled as these were mainly with rough, plain tradespeople and farmers. As he talked with my mother, I could not help setting his fineness over against the coarseness of the many men I had seen through the day. Duncan Hale sat silent	1,947.713631
2023-11-16 18:49:31.6936230	2,258	19	Produced by Charles Keller A HISTORY OF SCIENCE BY HENRY SMITH WILLIAMS, M.D., LL.D. ASSISTED BY EDWARD H. WILLIAMS, M.D. IN FIVE VOLUMES VOLUME I. THE BEGINNINGS OF SCIENCE BOOK I. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PREHISTORIC SCIENCE CHAPTER II. EGYPTIAN SCIENCE CHAPTER III. SCIENCE OF BABYLONIA AND ASSYRIA CHAPTER IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ALPHABET CHAPTER V. THE BEGINNINGS OF GREEK SCIENCE CHAPTER VI. THE EARLY GREEK PHILOSOPHERS IN ITALY CHAPTER VII. GREEK SCIENCE IN THE EARLY ATTIC PERIOD CHAPTER VIII. POST-SOCRATIC SCIENCE AT ATHENS CHAPTER IX. GREEK SCIENCE OF THE ALEXANDRIAN OR HELLENISTIC PERIOD CHAPTER X. SCIENCE OF THE ROMAN PERIOD CHAPTER XI. A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE AT CLASSICAL SCIENCE APPENDIX A HISTORY OF SCIENCE BOOK I Should the story that is about to be unfolded be found to lack interest, the writers must stand convicted of unpardonable lack of art. Nothing but dulness in the telling could mar the story, for in itself it is the record of the growth of those ideas that have made our race and its civilization what they are; of ideas instinct with human interest, vital with meaning for our race; fundamental in their influence on human development; part and parcel of the mechanism of human thought on the one hand, and of practical civilization on the other. Such a phrase as "fundamental principles" may seem at first thought a hard saying, but the idea it implies is less repellent than the phrase itself, for the fundamental principles in question are so closely linked with the present interests of every one of us that they lie within the grasp of every average man and woman--nay, of every well-developed boy and girl. These principles are not merely the stepping-stones to culture, the prerequisites of knowledge--they are, in themselves, an essential part of the knowledge of every cultivated person. It is our task, not merely to show what these principles are, but to point out how they have been discovered by our predecessors. We shall trace the growth of these ideas from their first vague beginnings. We shall see how vagueness of thought gave way to precision; how a general truth, once grasped and formulated, was found to be a stepping-stone to other truths. We shall see that there are no isolated facts, no isolated principles, in nature; that each part of our story is linked by indissoluble bands with that which goes before, and with that which comes after. For the most part the discovery of this principle or that in a given sequence is no accident. Galileo and Keppler must precede Newton. Cuvier and Lyall must come before Darwin;--Which, after all, is no more than saying that in our Temple of Science, as in any other piece of architecture, the foundation must precede the superstructure. We shall best understand our story of the growth of science if we think of each new principle as a stepping-stone which must fit into its own particular niche; and if we reflect that the entire structure of modern civilization would be different from what it is, and less perfect than it is, had not that particular stepping-stone been found and shaped and placed in position. Taken as a whole, our stepping-stones lead us up and up towards the alluring heights of an acropolis of knowledge, on which stands the Temple of Modern Science. The story of the building of this wonderful structure is in itself fascinating and beautiful. I. PREHISTORIC SCIENCE To speak of a prehistoric science may seem like a contradiction of terms. The word prehistoric seems to imply barbarism, while science, clearly enough, seems the outgrowth of civilization; but rightly considered, there is no contradiction. For, on the one hand, man had ceased to be a barbarian long before the beginning of what we call the historical period; and, on the other hand, science, of a kind, is no less a precursor and a cause of civilization than it is a consequent. To get this clearly in mind, we must ask ourselves: What, then, is science? The word runs glibly enough upon the tongue of our every-day speech, but it is not often, perhaps, that they who use it habitually ask themselves just what it means. Yet the answer is not difficult. A little attention will show that science, as the word is commonly used, implies these things: first, the gathering of knowledge through observation; second, the classification of such knowledge, and through this classification, the elaboration of general ideas or principles. In the familiar definition of Herbert Spencer, science is organized knowledge. Now it is patent enough, at first glance, that the veriest savage must have been an observer of the phenomena of nature. But it may not be so obvious that he must also have been a classifier of his observations--an organizer of knowledge. Yet the more we consider the case, the more clear it will become that the two methods are too closely linked together to be dissevered. To observe outside phenomena is not more inherent in the nature of the mind than to draw inferences from these phenomena. A deer passing through the forest scents the ground and detects a certain odor. A sequence of ideas is generated in the mind of the deer. Nothing in the deer's experience can produce that odor but a wolf; therefore the scientific inference is drawn that wolves have passed that way. But it is a part of the deer's scientific knowledge, based on previous experience, individual and racial; that wolves are dangerous beasts, and so, combining direct observation in the present with the application of a general principle based on past experience, the deer reaches the very logical conclusion that it may wisely turn about and run in another direction. All this implies, essentially, a comprehension and use of scientific principles; and, strange as it seems to speak of a deer as possessing scientific knowledge, yet there is really no absurdity in the statement. The deer does possess scientific knowledge; knowledge differing in degree only, not in kind, from the knowledge of a Newton. Nor is the animal, within the range of its intelligence, less logical, less scientific in the application of that knowledge, than is the man. The animal that could not make accurate scientific observations of its surroundings, and deduce accurate scientific conclusions from them, would soon pay the penalty of its lack of logic. What is true of man's precursors in the animal scale is, of course, true in a wider and fuller sense of man himself at the very lowest stage of his development. Ages before the time which the limitations of our knowledge force us to speak of as the dawn of history, man had reached a high stage of development. As a social being, he had developed all the elements of a primitive civilization. If, for convenience of classification, we speak of his state as savage, or barbaric, we use terms which, after all, are relative, and which do not shut off our primitive ancestors from a tolerably close association with our own ideals. We know that, even in the Stone Age, man had learned how to domesticate animals and make them useful to him, and that he had also learned to cultivate the soil. Later on, doubtless by slow and painful stages, he attained those wonderful elements of knowledge that enabled him to smelt metals and to produce implements of bronze, and then of iron. Even in the Stone Age he was a mechanic of marvellous skill, as any one of to-day may satisfy himself by attempting to duplicate such an implement as a chipped arrow-head. And a barbarian who could fashion an axe or a knife of bronze had certainly gone far in his knowledge of scientific principles and their practical application. The practical application was, doubtless, the only thought that our primitive ancestor had in mind; quite probably the question as to principles that might be involved troubled him not at all. Yet, in spite of himself, he knew certain rudimentary principles of science, even though he did not formulate them. Let us inquire what some of these principles are. Such an inquiry will, as it were, clear the ground for our structure of science. It will show the plane of knowledge on which historical investigation begins. Incidentally, perhaps, it will reveal to us unsuspected affinities between ourselves and our remote ancestor. Without attempting anything like a full analysis, we may note in passing, not merely what primitive man knew, but what he did not know; that at least a vague notion may be gained of the field for scientific research that lay open for historic man to cultivate. It must be understood that the knowledge of primitive man, as we are about to outline it, is inferential. We cannot trace the development of these principles, much less can we say who discovered them. Some of them, as already suggested, are man's heritage from non-human ancestors. Others can only have been grasped by him after he had reached a relatively high stage of human development. But all the principles here listed must surely have been parts of our primitive ancestor's knowledge before those earliest days of Egyptian and Babylonian civilization, the records of which constitute our first introduction to the so-called historical period. Taken somewhat in the order of their probable discovery, the scientific ideas of primitive man may be roughly listed as follows: 1. Primitive man must have conceived that the earth is flat and of limitless extent. By this it is not meant to imply that he had a distinct conception of infinity, but, for that matter, it cannot be said that any one to-day has a conception of infinity that could be called definite. But, reasoning from experience and the reports of travellers, there was nothing to suggest to early man the limit of the earth. He did, indeed, find in his wanderings, that changed climatic conditions barred him from farther progress; but beyond the farthest reaches of his migrations, the seemingly flat land-surfaces and water-surfaces	1,947.713663
2023-11-16 18:49:31.6939880	1,113	9	Produced by Wayne Hammond, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 107. AUGUST 18, 1894. MORE ORNAMENTAL THAN USEFUL. (_A Legend of the Results of the School Board._) The Committee sat waiting patiently for candidates. Although the papers had been full of advertisements describing the appointments the _reclames_ had had no effect. There were certainly a number of persons in the waiting-room, but the usher had declared that they did not possess the elementary qualifications for the post that the Committee were seeking to fill with a suitable official. "Usher," cried the Chairman at length with some impatience; "I am sure you must be wrong. Let us see some of the occupants of the adjoining office." The usher bowed with a grace that had been acquired by several years study in deportment in the Board School, and replied that he fancied that most of the applicants were too highly educated for the coveted position. "Too highly educated!" exclaimed the representative of municipal progress. "It is impossible to be too highly educated! You don't know what you're talking about!" "Pardon me, Sir," returned the Usher, with another graceful inclination of the head, "but would not 'imperfectly acquainted with the subject of your discourse' be more polished? But, with your permission, I will obey you." And then the official returned to usher in an aged man wearing spectacles. The veteran immediately fell upon his knees and began to implore the Committee to appoint him to the vacant post. "I can assure you, Gentlemen, that, thanks to the School Board, I am a first-rate Latin and Greek scholar. I am intimately acquainted with the Hebrew language, and have the greatest possible respect for the Union Jack. I know all that can be known about mathematics, and can play several musical instruments. I am also an accomplished waltzer; I know the use of the globes, and can play the overture to _Zampa_ on the musical-glasses. I know the works of SHAKSPEARE backwards, and----" "Stop, stop!" interrupted the Chairman. "You may do all this, and more; but have you any knowledge of the _modus operandi_ of the labour required of you?" "Alas, no!" returned the applicant; "but if a man of education----" "Remove him, Usher!" cried the Chairman; and the veteran was removed in tears. A second, a third, and a fourth made their appearance, and disappeared, and none of them would do. They were all singularly accomplished. At length a rough man, who had been lounging down the street, walked into the Council-chamber. "What may you want, Sir?" asked the Chairman, indignantly. "What's that to you?" was the prompt reply. "I ain't a going to tell everyone my business--not me--you bet!" "Ungrammatical!" said Committee Man No. One. "Very promising." "Uncouth and vulgar!" murmured Committee Man No. Two. "Where were you educated?" queried the Chairman. "Nowheres in particular. I was brought up in the wilds of Canada. There's not much book learning over there," and the rough fellow indulged in a loud hoarse laugh. "Ah! that accounts for your not having enjoyed the great advantages of the School Board. Have you seen the circular--have you read the details of the proposed appointment?" "Me read!" cried the uncouth one; "oh, that is a game! Why I can't read nor yet write!" "Better and better," said Committee Man No. One. "First rate," murmured Committee Man No. Two. "I think we have at length found our ideal." Then the usher read the advertisement. "What! shake the hall mat!" cried the candidate. "Why I could do that little job on my head!" So there being no other applicant for the post, the backwoods' ignoramus was appointed office-sweeper at a couple of hundred pounds a year. "Rather high wages," said the Chairman to himself, as he went home on the top of an omnibus; "but what can one expect when we educate all the children at the cost of the rates. Last year there was an additional farthing; this year we have to pay five shillings, and goodness only knows how much it will be hereafter!" And as he thought this, the Chairman (in the names of the rest of the ratepayers) heartily cursed the School Board. * * * * * [Illustration: RETURNED EMPTY. _Old Mayfly_ (_who had dropped his Flask further down stream, and has just had it returned to him by Honest Rustic_). "DEAR ME! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!" (_Gives him a Shilling._) "DON'T KNOW WHAT I SHOULD HA' DONE WITHOUT IT!" (_Begins to unscrew top._) "MAY I OFFER YOU A	1,947.714028
2023-11-16 18:49:31.8256880	7,431	11	Produced by Turgut Dincer, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Transcriber’s Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded with _underscores_. In the main body of the text, words in mixed case and all cap small caps are in capital letters. A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber. Synopsis. Introduction. Plutarch on the Delay of the Divine Justice. Index. A complete list of corrections as well as other notes follows the text. PLUTARCH ON THE DELAY OF THE DIVINE JUSTICE. TRANSLATED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES. BY ANDREW P. PEABODY. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 1885. _Copyright, 1885_, By Andrew P. Peabody. University Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. SYNOPSIS. § 1. The dialogue opens with comments on the cavils against the Divine Providence by a person who is supposed to have just departed. 2. The alleged encouragement to the guilty by the delay of punishment, while the sufferers by the guilt of others are disheartened by failing to see the wrong-doers duly punished. 3. The guilty themselves, it is said, do not recognize punishment when it comes late, but think it mere misfortune. 4. Plutarch answers the objections to the course of Providence. In the first place, man must not be too confident of his ability to pass judgment on things divine. There are many things in human legislation undoubtedly reasonable, yet with no obvious reason. How much more in the administration of the universe by the Supreme Being! 5. God by the delay of punishment gives man the example of forbearance, and rebukes his yielding to the first impulses of anger and of a vindictive temper. 6. God has reference, in the delay of punishment, to the possible reformation of the guilty, and to the services which, when reformed, they may render to their country or their race. Instances cited. 7. The wicked often have their punishment postponed till after they have rendered some important service in which they are essential agents, and sometimes that, before their own punishment, they may serve as executioners for other guilty persons or communities. 8. There is frequently a peculiar timeliness and appropriateness in delayed punishment. 9. Punishment is delayed only in appearance, but commences when the guilt is incurred, so that it seems slow because it is long. 10. Instances of punishment in visions, apprehensions, and inward wretchedness, while there was no outward infliction of penalty. 11. There is really no need that punishment be inflicted; guilt is in the consciousness of the guilty its own adequate punishment. 12. Objection is made by one of the interlocutors to the justice of punishing children or posterity for the guilt of fathers or ancestors, and he heaps up an incongruous collection of cases in which he mingles confusedly the action of the Divine Providence and that of human caprice or malignity. 13. In answer to the objection, Plutarch first adduces as a precisely parallel order of things, with which no one finds fault, that by which children or posterity derive enduring benefit and honor from a parent’s or ancestor’s virtues and services. 14. There are alike in outward and in human nature occult and subtle transmissions of qualities and properties, both in time and in space. Those in space are so familiar that they excite no wonder; those in time, though less liable to attract notice, are no more wonderful. 15. A city has a continuous life, a definite and permanent character, and an individual unity, so that its moral responsibility may long outlast the lives of those who first contracted a specific form of guilt. 16. The same is to be said of a family or a race; and, moreover, the punishment for inherited guilt may often have a curative, or even a preventive efficacy, so that children or posterity may refrain from guilt because the ancestral penalty falls upon them before they become guilty. 17. The immortality of the soul asserted, on the ground that God would not have deemed a race doomed to perish after a brief earthly life worth rewarding or punishing. 18. Punishments in a future state of being are out of sight, and are liable to be disbelieved. Therefore it is necessary, in order to deter men from guilt, that there should be visible punishments in this life. 19. The remedial efficacy of the penal consequences of parental or ancestral guilt reaffirmed, and illustrated by analogies in the treatment of disease. 20. God often punishes latent and potential vice, visible only to Omniscience. 21. If a child has no taint of a father’s vices, he remains unpunished. But moral qualities, equally with physical traits, often lapse in the first generation, and reappear in the second or third, and even later. 22. The story of Thespesius, who—apparently killed, but really in a trance, in consequence of a fall—went into the infernal regions, beheld the punishments there inflicted, and came back to the body and its life, converted from a profligate into a man of pre-eminent virtue and excellence. INTRODUCTION.[vii:1] Plutarch[vii:2] was born, about the middle of the first Christian century, at Cheroneia in Boeotia, where he spent the greater part of his life, and where he probably died. The precise dates of his birth and death are unknown; but he can hardly have been born earlier than A. D. 45, and he must have lived nearly or quite till A. D. 120, as some of his works contain references to events that cannot have taken place earlier than the second decade of the second century. We know little of him from other sources, much from his own writings. There may have been many such men in his time; but antiquity has transmitted to us no record like his. He reminds one of such men as were to be found half a century ago in many of our American country towns. Those potentially like them have now, for the most part, emigrated to the large cities, and have become very unlike their prototypes. Cheroneia, with its great memories, was a small and insignificant town, and Plutarch was a country gentleman, superior, as in culture so in serviceableness, to all his fellow citizens, holding the foremost place in municipal affairs, liberal, generous, chosen to all local offices of honor, and especially of trust and responsibility, associating on the most pleasant terms with the common people, always ready to give them his advice and aid, and evidently respected and beloved by all. He belonged to an old and distinguished family, and seems always to have possessed a competency for an affluent, though sober, domestic establishment and style of living, and for an unstinted hospitality. He was probably the richest man in his native city; for he assigns as a reason for not leaving it and living at some centre of intellectual activity, that Cheroneia could not afford to lose the property which he would take with him in case of his removal. He had what corresponds to our university education, at Athens, under the Peripatetic philosopher Ammonius. He also visited Alexandria, then a renowned seat of learning; but how long he stayed there, or whether he extended his Egyptian travel beyond that city, we have no means of knowing. There is no proof of his having been in Rome or in Italy more than once, and that was when he was about forty years of age. He went to Rome on public business, probably in behalf of his native city, and remained there long enough to become acquainted with some eminent men, to make himself known as a scholar and an ethical philosopher, and to deliver lectures that attracted no little public notice. This visit seems to have been the great event of his life, as a winter spent in Boston or New York used to be in the life of one of our country gentlemen before the time of railways. He had a wife, who appears to have been of a character kindred to his own; at least five children, of whom two sons, if not more, lived to be themselves substantial citizens and worthy members of society; and two brothers, who seem to have possessed his full confidence and warm affection. He was singularly happy in his relations to a large circle of friends, especially in Athens, for which he had the lifelong love that students in our time acquire for a university town. He was archon, or mayor, of Cheroneia, probably more than once,—the office having doubtless been annual and elective,—and in this capacity he entered, like a veritable country magistrate, into material details of the public service, superintending, as he says, the measuring of tiles and the delivery of stone and mortar for municipal uses. He officiated for many years as priest of Apollo at Delphi, and as such gave several sumptuous entertainments. Indeed, hospitality of this sort appears, so far as we can see, to have been the sole or chief duty of his priestly office. As an adopted citizen of one of the Athenian tribes, he was not infrequently a guest at civic banquets and semi-civic festivals. As regards Plutarch’s philosophy, it is easier to say to which of the great schools he did not belong than to determine by what name he would have preferred to be called. He probably would have termed himself a Platonist, but not, like Cicero, of the New Academy, which had incorporated Pyrrhonism with the provisional acceptance of the Platonic philosophy. At the same time, he was a closer follower and a more literal interpreter of Plato than were the Neo-Platonists of Alexandria, who had not yet become a distinctly recognized sect, and who in many respects were the precursors of the mysticism of the Reformation era. Plutarch, with Plato, recognized two eternities: that of the Divine Being, supremely good and purely spiritual; and that of matter, as, if not intrinsically evil, the cause, condition, and seat of all evil, and as at least opposing such obstacles to its own best ideal manipulation that the Divine Being could not embody his pure and perfect goodness, unalloyed by evil, in any material form. Herein the Platonists were at variance with both the Stoics and the Epicureans. The Stoics regarded matter as virtually an emanation from the Supreme Being, who is not only the universal soul and reason, but the creative fire, which, transformed into air and water,—part of the water becoming earth,—is the source of the material universe, which must at the end of a certain cosmical cycle be re-absorbed into the divine essence, whence will emanate in endless succession new universes to replace those that pass away. The Epicureans, on the other hand, believed in the existence of matter only, and regarded mind and soul as the ultimate product of material organization. In one respect Plutarch transcends Plato, and, so far as I know, all pre-Christian philosophers. Plato’s theism bears a close kindred to pantheism. His God, if I may be permitted the phrase, is only semi-detached. He becomes the creator rather by blending his essence with eternal matter, than by shaping that matter to his will. He is rather in all things than above all things, rather the Soul of the universe than its sovereign Lord. But in Plutarch’s writings the Supreme Being is regarded as existing independently of material things; they, as subject to his will, not as a part of his essence. Plutarch was, like Plato, a realist. He regarded the ideas or patterns of material things, that is, _genera_, or kinds of objects, as having an actual existence (where or how it is hard to say), as projected from the Divine Mind, floating somewhere in ethereal spaces between the Deity and the material universe,—the models by which all things in the universe are made. As to Plutarch’s theology, he was certainly a monotheist. He probably had some vague belief in inferior deities (_daemons_ he would have called them), as holding a place like that filled by angels and by evil spirits in the creed of most Christians; yet it is entirely conceivable that his occasional references to these deities are due merely to the conventional rhetoric of his age. His priesthood of the Delphian Apollo can hardly be said to have been a religious office. It was rather a post of dignity and honor, which a gentleman of respectable standing, courteous manners, and hospitable habits might creditably fill, even though he had no faith in Apollo. But that Plutarch had a serious, earnest, and efficient faith in the one Supreme God, in the wise and eternal Providence, and in the Divine wisdom, purity, and holiness, we have in his writings an absolute certainty. Nor can we find, even in Christian literature, the record of a firmer belief than his in human immortality, and in a righteous retribution beginning in this world and reaching on into the world beyond death. But Plutarch was, most of all, an ethical philosopher. Yet here again he cannot be classed as belonging to any school. For Epicureanism he has an intense abhorrence, and regards the doctrines of that sect as theoretically absurd and practically demoralizing. He maintains that the disciples of Epicurus, as such, utterly fail in the quest of pleasure, or what according to their master is still better, painlessness: for the condition of those who, as he says, “swill the mind with the pleasures of the body, as hogherds do their swine,” cannot entirely smother the sense of vacuity and need; nor is it possible by any appliances of luxury to cut off even sources of bodily disquietude, which are only the more fatal to the happiness of him who seeks bodily well-being alone; while the prospect of annihilation at death deprives those necessarily unhappy in this life of their only solace, and gives those who live happily here the discomfort of anticipating the speedy and entire loss of all that has ministered to their enjoyment. In Plutarch’s moderation, his avoidance of extreme views, and his just estimate of happiness as an end, though not the supreme end, of being, he is in harmony with the Peripatetics, among whom his Athenian preceptor was the shining light of his age; but his ethical system was much more strict and uncompromising than theirs, and I cannot find that he quotes them or refers to them as a distinct school of philosophy. In matters appertaining to physical science he indeed often cites Aristotle, but not, I think, in a single instance, as to any question in morals. As regards the Stoics, Plutarch writes against them, but chiefly against dogmas which in his time had become nearly obsolete,—namely, that all acts not in accordance with the absolute right are equally bad; that all virtuous acts are equally good; that there is no intermediate moral condition between that of the wise or perfectly good man and that of the utterly vicious; and that outward circumstances neither enhance nor diminish the happiness of the truly wise man. These extravagances do not appear in the writings of Seneca, nor in Epictetus as reported by Arrian, and Plutarch in reasoning against them is controverting Zeno rather than his later disciples. He is in full sympathy with the Stoics as to their elevated moral standard, though without the sternness and rigidness which had often characterized their professed beliefs and their public teaching, yet of which there remained few vestiges among his contemporaries. With the utmost mildness and gentleness, he manifests everywhere an inflexibility of principle and a settled conviction as to the rightfulness or wrongfulness of specific acts which might satisfy the most rigid Stoic, and in which he plants himself as firmly on the ground of the eternal Right as if his philosophy had been founded on a distinctively Christian basis. Indeed, Plutarch is so often decidedly Christian in spirit, and in many passages of his writings there is such an almost manifest transcript of the thought of the Divine Founder of our religion, that it has been frequently maintained that he drew from Christian sources. This, I must believe, is utterly false in the sense in which it is commonly asserted, yet in a more recondite sense true. If Plutarch had known anything about Christians or the Christian Scriptures, he could not have failed to refer to them; for he is constantly making references to contemporary persons and objects, sects and opinions. We know of no Christian church at Cheroneia in that age, and indeed it is exceedingly improbable that there should have been one in so small a town. The circulation of thought, and consequently the diffusion of a new religion from the great centres of population to outlying districts or villages, was infinitesimally slow. Our word _pagan_ is an enduring witness of this tardiness of transmission. It had its birth (in its present sense) after Christianity had become the legally established religion of the Empire, and had supplanted heathen temples and rites in the cities, while in the _pagi_, or villages, the old gods were still in the ascendant. There were indeed Christian churches in Athens and in Rome; but they would most probably have eluded the curiosity and escaped the knowledge of a temporary resident, especially as most of their chief members were either Jews or slaves. Yet I cannot doubt that an infusion of Christianity had somehow infiltrated itself into Plutarch’s ethical opinions and sentiments, as into those of Seneca, who has been represented as an acquaintance and correspondent of St. Paul, though it is historically almost impossible that the two men ever saw or heard of each other. In one respect, the metaphor by which we call the Author of our religion the Sun of Righteousness has a special aptness. The sun, unlike lesser luminaries, lights up sheltered groves and grottos that are completely dark under the full moon, and sends its rays through every chink and cranny of roof or wall. In like manner there seems to have been an indirect and tortuous transmission of Christian thought into regions where its source was wholly unknown. In the ethical writings of the post-Christian philosophers, of Plutarch, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, there may be traced a loftiness, precision, delicacy, tenderness, breadth of human sympathy, and recognition of holiness in the Divine Being as the archetype of human purity, transcending all that is most admirable in pre-Christian moralists. Thus, while I cannot but regard Cicero’s “De Officiis” as in many respects the world’s master-work in ethical philosophy, containing fewer unchristian sentences than I could number on the fingers of one hand, there is nothing in it that reminds me of the Gospels; while these others often shape their thoughts in what seem to be evangelic moulds. Now I think that we may account for the large diffusion of Christian thought and sentiment among persons who knew not Christianity even by name. The new religion was very extensively embraced among slaves in all parts of the Roman Empire, and _slave_ then meant something very different from what it means now. It is an open question whether there was not, at least out of Greece, more of learning, culture, and refinement in the slave than in the free population of the Empire. We must remember how many illustrious names in Greek and Roman literature—such names as those of Aesop, Terence, Epictetus—belonged to slaves. Tiro, Cicero’s slave, was not only one of his dearest friends, but foremost among his literary confidants and advisers. Most of the rich men who had any love of literature owned their librarians and their copyists, and the teachers of the children were generally the property of the father. Among Christian slaves there were undoubtedly many who felt no call to martyrdom, (which can have been incumbent on them only when the alternative was apostasy and denial of their faith,) who therefore made no open profession of their religion, while in precept, conversation, and life they were imbued with its spirit,—a spirit as subtile in its penetrating power as it is refining and purifying in its influence. From the lips of Christian slaves many children, no doubt, received in classic forms moral precepts redolent of the aroma breathed from the Sermon on the Mount. If the social medium which Plutarch represents is a fair specimen of the best rural society of the Empire in his time, there must have been a ready receptivity for the highest style of ethical teaching,—a genial soil for the germination of a truly evangelic righteousness of moral conception, maxim, and principle. Probably no book except the Bible has had more readers than Plutarch’s Lives. These biographies have been translated into every language of the civilized world; they have been among the earliest and most fascinating books for children and youth of many successive generations; and down to the present time, when fiction seems to have almost superseded history and biography, and to have destroyed the once universal appetency for them among young people, they have exercised to a marvellous degree a shaping power over character. They are, indeed, underrated by the exact historian, because modern research has discovered here and there some mistake in the details of events. But such mistakes were in that age inevitable. Historical criticism was then an unknown science. Documents and traditions covering the same ground were deemed of equal value when they were in harmony, and when they differed an author followed the one which best suited his taste, or his purpose for the time being. Thus Cicero, in one case, in the same treatise gives three different versions of the same story. Thus, too, there were several stories afloat about the fate of Regulus; but Roman writers took that which Niebuhr thinks farthest from the truth, yet which threw the greatest odium on the hated name of Carthage. Now I have no doubt that, whenever there were two or more versions of the same act or event, Plutarch chose that which would best point his moral. But it is only in few and unimportant particulars that he has been proved to be inaccurate. It has been also objected to Plutarch, that he attaches less importance to the achievements of his heroes in war and in civic life, than to traits and anecdotes illustrative of their characters. This seems to me a feature which adds not only to the charm of these Lives, but even more to their historical value. The events of history are at once the outcome and the procreant cradle of character, and we know nothing of any period or portion of history except as we know the men who made it and the men whom it made. Biography is the soul; history the body, which it tenants and animates, and which, when not thus tenanted, is a heap of very dry bones. The most thorough knowledge of the topography of Julius Caesar’s battles in Gaul, the minutest description of the campaign that terminated in Pharsalia, the official journal of the Senate during his dictatorship, would tell us very little about him and his time. But a vivid sketch of his character, with well-chosen characteristic anecdotes, would give us a very distinct and realizing conception of the antecedent condition of things that made a life like his possible, and of his actual influence for good and for evil on his country and his age. Nor is the value of such a biography affected in the least by any doubts that we may entertain as to the authenticity of incidents, trivial except as illustrative of character, which occupy a large space in Plutarch’s Lives. Indeed, the least authentic may be of the greatest historical value. An anecdote may be literally true, and yet some peculiar combination of circumstances may have led him of whom it is told to speak or act out of character. But a mythical anecdote of a man, coming down from his own time and people, must needs owe its origin and complexion to his known character. It is perfectly easy to see throughout these biographies the author’s didactic aim. If I may use sacred words, here by no means misapplied, his prime object was “reproof, correction, and instruction in righteousness.” He evidently felt and mourned the degeneracy of his age, was profoundly aware of the worth of teaching by example, and was solicitous to bring from the past such elements of ethical wisdom as the records of illustrious men could be made to render up. True to this purpose, he measures the moral character of such transactions as he relates by the highest standard of right which he knows, and there is not a person or deed that fails to bear the stamp, clear-cut, yet seldom obtrusive, of his approval or censure. The Lives, though the best known of Plutarch’s writings, are but a small part of them, and hardly half of those still extant. His other works are generally grouped under the title of “Moralia,”[xx:1] or Morals, though among them there are many treatises that belong to the department of history or biography, some to that of physics. Most of these works are short; a few, of considerable length. Some of them may have been lectures; some are letters of advice or of consolation; some are in a narrative form; many are in the form of dialogue, which, sanctioned by the prestige of Plato’s pre-eminence, was very largely employed by philosophers of later times, possessing, as it does, the great advantage of putting opposite and diverse opinions in the mouths of interlocutors, and thus giving to the treatise the vivacity and the dramatic interest of oral discussion. Some of these dialogues have a _symposium_, or supper party, for their scene, and introduce a numerous corps of speakers. In these Plutarch himself commonly sustains a prominent part, and the members of his family often have their share in the conversation, or are the subjects of kindly mention. In several instances the occasion, circumstances, and conversation are described so naturally as to make it almost certain that the author simply wrote out from memory what was actually said. At any rate, these festive dialogues present very clearly his idea of what a _symposium_ ought to be, and in its entire freedom from excess and extravagance of any kind it would bear the strictest ordeal with all modern moralists, the extreme ascetics alone excepted. Had not the Lives been written, I am inclined to believe that the Moralia alone would have given Plutarch as high a place as he now holds, not only in the esteem of scholars, but in the interest and delight of all readers of good books; and I am sure that there is no loving reader of the Lives who will not be thankful to have his attention drawn to the Moralia. They exhibit throughout the same moral traits which their author shows as a biographer. He treats, indeed, incidentally, of some subjects which a purer ethical taste in the public mind might have excluded. He recognizes the existence of immoralities, which, not discreditable in the best society of unevangelized Greece and Rome, have almost lost their place and name in Christendom. Some of his dialogues have among the interlocutors those with whom as good a man as he would in our time associate only in the hope of converting them. But his own opinion and feeling on all moral questions are uniformly and explicitly in behalf of all that is pure, and true, and right, and reverent. Many of these Moralia are on what are commonly, yet wrongly, called the minor morals, that is, on the evils that most of all infest and destroy the happiness of families and the peace of society, and on the opposite virtues,—on such subjects, for instance, as “Idle Talking,” “Curiosity,” “Self-Praise,” and the like. Others are on such grave topics as “The Benefits that a Man may derive from his Enemies,” and “The Best Means of Self-Knowledge.” There is in all these treatises a large amount of blended common sense and keen ethical insight; and so little does human nature change with its surroundings that the greater part of Plutarch’s cautions, counsels, and precepts are as closely applicable to our own time as if they had been written yesterday. One of the most remarkable writings in this collection is Plutarch’s letter to his wife on the death of a daughter two years old, during his absence from home. It not only expresses sweetly and lovingly the topics of consolation which would most readily occur to a Christian father; it gives us also a charming picture of a household united by ties of spiritual affinity, and living in a purer, higher medium than that of affluence and luxury. A few sentences may convey something of the tone and spirit of this epistle. “Since our little daughter afforded us the sweetest and most charming pleasure, so ought we to cherish her memory, which will conduce in many ways, or rather many fold, more to our joy than our grief.” “They who were present at the funeral report this with admiration, that you neither put on mourning, nor disfigured yourself or any of your maids, neither were there any costly preparations nor magnificent pomp; but all things were managed with silence and moderation, in the presence of our relatives alone.” “So long as she is gone to a place where she feels no pain, why should we grieve for her?” “This is the most troublesome thing in old age, that it makes the soul weak in its remembrance of divine things, and too earnest for things relating to the body.” “But that which is taken away in youth, being more soft and tractable, soon returns to its native vigor and beauty.” “It is good to pass the gates of death before too great a love of bodily and earthly things be engendered in the soul.” “It is an impious thing to lament for those whose souls pass immediately into a better and more divine state.” “Wherefore let us comply with custom in our outward and public behavior, and let our interior be more unpolluted, pure and holy.” Now, when I remember that in the pre-Christian Greek and Roman world the strongest utterances about immortality had been by Socrates, if Plato reported him aright, when he expressed strong hope of life beyond death, yet warned his friends not to be too confident about a matter so wrapped in uncertainty,—and by Cicero, who, when his daughter died, confessed that his reasonings had left no conviction in his own mind,—I cannot doubt that some Easter morning rays had pierced the dense Boeotian atmosphere, and that the risen Saviour had in that lovely Cheroneian household those whom he designates as “other sheep, not of this fold.” There is among the Moralia another letter of consolation, to Apollonius on the death of his son, longer, more elaborate, and evidently intended as a literary composition, to be preserved with the author’s other works, which breathes the same spirit of submission and trust. Another of the Moralia, which has a special interest as regards the author’s own family, is on the “Training of Children,”—a series of counsels—including the careful heed of the parents to their own moral condition and habits—to which the experience of these intervening centuries has little to add, while it could find nothing to take away. In one sense, the miscellanies brought together under the name of “Moralia” bear that title not inappropriately; for, as I have intimated, Plutarch could not but be didactic in whatever he wrote, and the ethical feeling, spirit, and purpose are perpetually, yet never ostentatiously or inappropriately, coming to the surface on all kinds of subjects. But there is a great deal in the collection not professedly or directly ethical. There are many scraps of history and biography, and a very large number and variety of characteristic anecdotes, both of well-known personages, and of others who are made known to us almost as vividly by a single trait, deed, or saying as if we had their entire life-record. There is an invaluable series of “Apophthegms”[xxv:1] of kings and great commanders,[xxv:2] and another of “Laconic [or Spartan] Apophthegms,” which are much more than their name implies, some of them being condensed memoirs. There are, also, several papers that give us more definite notions than can be found anywhere else of the science and natural history of the author’s	1,947.845728
2023-11-16 18:49:31.8262130	3,077	13	Produced by Steven Gibbs, Woodie4 and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE COINAGES OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL B. LOWSLEY, ROYAL ENGINEERS (RETD.). Author of Contributions on "The Coins and Tokens of Ceylon" (_Numismatic Chronicle, Vol. XV._); "The XVIIth Century Tokens of Berkshire" (_Williamson's Edition of Boyne's XVIIth Century Tokens_); "Berkshire Dialect and Folk Lore, with Glossary" (_the Publication of the English Dialect Society_), &c., &c., &c. London: VICTORIA PRINTING WORKS, 118 STANSTEAD ROAD, FOREST HILL, AND 15 KIRKDALE, SYDENHAM. 1897. INDEX. PAGE GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON COINAGES FOR THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 1 THE EARLIEST COINS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 4 ROMAN COINS IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 7 ON EARLY IMPORTED COINS AND THEIR VALUES 9 THE COATS OF ARMS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 26 THE JERSEY SILVER TOKENS OF 1813 28 COPPER AND BRONZE COINAGES OF JERSEY FROM 1841 30 ON GUERNSEY COINS FROM THE MIDDLE AGES 33 COPPER AND BRONZE COINAGES OF GUERNSEY FROM 1830 37 SILVER COUNTERMARKED GUERNSEY CROWN 38 CHANNEL ISLANDS COPPER TOKENS 39 SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES 40 The Coinages of the Channel Islands. BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL B. LOWSLEY, (Retired) Royal Engineers. Author of Contributions on "The Coins and Tokens of Ceylon" (_Numismatic Chronicle_, _Vol. XV._); "The XVIIth Century Tokens of Berkshire" (Williamson's Edition of Boyne's XVIIth Century Tokens); "Berkshire Dialect and Folk Lore, with Glossary" (the Publications of the English Dialect Society), &c., &c., &c. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON COINAGES FOR THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. Before treating of the Channel Islands coinages in detail, it may be of interest briefly to notice in order the various changes and the influences which led to these. The earliest inhabitants of the islands of whom anything is known were contemporaneous with the ancient Britons of Druidical times. Jersey and Guernsey are still rich in Druidical remains. The Table-stone of the Cromlech at Gorey is 160 feet superficial, and the weight, as I have made it, after careful calculation, is about 23-3/4 tons. It rests on six upright stones, weighing, on an average, one ton each. In the very complete work recently edited by E. Toulmin Nicolle[A] is the following interesting note:-- "That traces of the old Northmen, which were once obscure, have now become clear and patent; that institutions, long deemed Roman, may be Scandinavian; that in blood and language there are many more foreign elements than were originally recognized, are the results of much well-applied learning and acumen. But no approximation to the proportion that these foreign elements bear to the remainder has been obtained; neither has the analysis of them gone much beyond the discovery of those which are referred to Scandinavia. Of the tribes on the mainland, those which in the time of Caesar and in the first four centuries of our era have the best claim to be considered as the remote ancestors of the early occupants of the islanders, are the Curiosilites, the Rhedones, the Osismii, the Lemovices, the Veneti, and the Unelli--all mentioned by Caesar himself, as well as by writers who came after him. A little later appear the names of the Abrincatui and the Bajucasses. All these are referable to some part of either Normandy or Brittany, and all seem to have been populations allied to each other in habits and politics. They all belonged to the tract which bore the name of Armorica, a word which in the Keltic means the same as Pomerania in Sclavonic--_i.e._, the country along the seaside." [A] "The Channel Islands." By the late David Thomas Ansted, M.A., and the late Robert Gordon Latham, M.A. Revised and Edited by E. Toulmin Nicolle. Published by W. H. Allen and Co., 13, Waterloo Place, London. All evidences that can be gathered would tend to prove that before the time of the Romans the Channel Islands were but thinly populated. There are no traces of decayed large towns nor records of pirate strongholds, and the conclusion is that the inhabitants were fishermen, and some living by hunting and crude tillage. The frequent Druidical remains show the religion which obtained. Any coins in use in those days would be Gaulish, of the types then circulated amongst the mainland tribes above named. The writer of the foregoing notes considers that the earliest history of the Channel Islands is as follows (page 284):-- "1. At first the occupants were Bretons--few in number--pagan, and probably poor fishermen. "2. Under the Romans a slight infusion of either Roman or Legionary blood may have taken place--more in Alderney than in Jersey--more in Jersey than in Sark. "3. When the Litus Saxonicum was established, there may have been thereon lighthouses for the honest sailor, or small piratical holdings for the corsair, as the case might be. There were, however, no emporia or places either rich through the arts of peace, or formidable for the mechanism of war. "4. When the Irish Church, under the school of St. Columbanus, was in its full missionary vigour, Irish missionaries preached the Gospel to the islanders, and amongst the missionaries and the islanders there may have been a few Saxons of the Litus. "5. In the sixth century some portion of that mixture of Saxons, Danes, Chattuarii, Leti, Goths, Bretons, and Romanized Gauls, whom the Frank kings drove to the coasts, may have betaken themselves to the islands opposite. "To summarise--the elements of the population nearest the Channel Islands were:--(1) original Keltic; (2) Roman; (3) Legionary; (4) Saxon; (5) Gothic; (6) Letic; (7) Frank; (8) Vandal--all earlier than the time of Rollo, and most of them German; to which we may add, as a possible element, the Alans of Brittany. "That the soldiers of the Roman garrison were not necessarily Roman is suggested by the word "Legionary." Some of them are particularly stated to have been foreign. There is indeed special mention of the troop of cavalry from Dalmatia--"Equites Dalmatae." The inference from the above, as regards coins current in the Channel Islands prior to the Norman conquest of England, would clearly be that, subsequent to the circulation of the first uninscribed Gaulish coins as imitated from the Phillippus types, there followed the well-struck Roman issues, which, in course of time, were superseded by the coinages used and introduced by later invaders and settlers. British-struck coins of the Saxon kings are rarely found in the Channel Islands, the coins used at the Saxon period of England being doubtless drawn by these islands from Normandy and Brittany. There have never, so far as is known, been regal or state mints established in the Channel Islands, with the exception of the strange venture by Colonel Smyth in the reign of King Charles I., which will be fully noted in turn hereafter. "Freluques" and "enseignes" also perhaps appear to have been struck in Guernsey, and a few copper tokens, as will be described, were introduced by banks and firms. But from the time of the Romans until the present century, French and other foreign money has been imported, and formed the recognized currency. THE EARLIEST COINS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS As referred to in the preceding general notes, the earliest coins known to have been in use in the Channel Islands are of the same types as used at the time on the near coast of France. They are styled Gaulish, and are generally of the following description:-- _O._ Sinister head in profile; nose, lips, eyes, and ears expressed by duplicate lines; tracery or ornamentation in front of the face, and profuse rolls of curling hair. _R._ Figure of a horse, extravagantly drawn and decorated, and with ornaments or gear of some kind above and below. Often the mane of the horse is arranged and curled, as if specially so dressed for parade or show, and almost suggests decorations as still sometimes adopted by American Indian or other barbarian chiefs. There are reins, too, in some instances, and these are sometimes held by a rough representation of an arm and hand. The legs of the horse always indicate gallopping. The symbols underneath it are usually either (1) the wild boar, as perhaps indicative of the most important local wild beast in the chase; (2) the chariot wheel, as representing that the horse would draw this vehicle, there not being room to show the whole on the coin fully and in rear of the horse; (3) the implement described by Sir John Evans[B] as a "lyre-shaped object." It would be most interesting to ascertain what this instrument--which is frequently delineated--may really be. It might be a musical production of the bagpipe character, or a head-dress, or a warlike weapon. An extensive museum or collection of very ancient implements should solve the problem. [B] "The Coins of the Ancient Britons." By Sir John Evans, K.C.B., F.S.A., F.G.S. Published by J. Russell Smith, 36, Soho Square, London. As regards the metal of which the coins are made, Sir John Evans, at page 128 of his work, states as follows:-- "These coins are formed of _billon_ or base silver, which appears to vary considerably in the amount of its alloy. From an analysis made by De Caylus (Donop. Medailles Gallo Gaeeliques, page 24) of two coins, their compositions were found to be as follows:-- A. B. Silver .0413 .1770 Copper .8414 .7954 Tin .1166 .0265 Iron .0005 .0009 Gold .0002 .0002 ------ ------ 1.0000 1.0000 "The weight of the larger pieces ranges from 80 to 105 grains, and that of the smaller coins is about 25 grains." It will be observed from the above analysis how considerably the proportions of the white metals, as silver and tin, vary in these coins, and this variation, as regards metallic composition, is so universal that amongst a large number in the same "find" you will even, on cleaning the coins, see some of them look as if made of silver, and the colour vary, until you reach some that appear hardly better than wholly of copper. It would be very interesting to know where the metal or ore for these coinages was procured from. There must have been a natural mixture of most of the metals. I have looked through a "find" of more than 200 Jersey Gaulish coins, which are in the possession of R. R. Lempriere, Esq. They were turned up by the plough on his manor of Rozel; and whatever covering had enclosed them had either gone to decay, or become broken up, as they were quite loose. He had cleaned a few of them. Even to the eye the metallic composition varied greatly--some being of the colour of silver, and some lowering to that of copper. In this lot there were but two of the smaller size of 25 grains, and I think that proportion may perhaps give some indication as to the relative rarity of the two coins; for at a rough estimate one seems to meet only about one in a hundred, which is of the smaller kind. The larger Gaulish coins are common; large "finds" of the types formerly used in the Channel Islands having been made on the adjacent mainland of Normandy and Brittany, and also on the south coast of England. Sir John Evans mentions (page 128) the hoard at Mount Batten, near Plymouth (_Numismatic Journal_, Vol. I., page 224), and that in the _Arch. Assoc. Journal_, Vol. III., page 62, is an account of a find of them at Avranches, written by Mr. C. Roach Smith; also in 1820 nearly 1,000 were discovered in Jersey; and previously, in 1787, there had been a find in that island. The manor of Rozel seems to have been most rich in furnishing specimens. In addition to the number in possession of the seigneur of Rozel, as before referred to, there are from that district of the island collections at the St. Helier Museum, and with Lady Marett, Wm. Nicolle, Esq., Dr. Le Cronier, E. C. Cable	1,947.846253
2023-11-16 18:49:31.9755400	863	20	Produced by David Edwards, Demian Katz and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 10 MAY 1, 1909 FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S HARD LUCK OR THE BALLOON HOUSE PLOT [Illustration: "This way, Dick" yelled Motor Matt as he struck down one of the ruffians.] STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION _Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._ No. 10. NEW YORK, May 1, 1909. Price Five Cents. Motor Matt's Hard Luck OR, THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. AN OLD FRIEND. CHAPTER II. A TRAP. CHAPTER III. OVERBOARD. CHAPTER IV. RESCUED. CHAPTER V. BUYING THE "HAWK." CHAPTER VI. MATT SCORES AGAINST JAMESON. CHAPTER VII. AT THE BALLOON HOUSE. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOT OF THE BRADY GANG. CHAPTER IX. CARL IS SURPRISED. CHAPTER X. HELEN BRADY'S CLUE. CHAPTER XI. JERROLD GIVES HIS AID. CHAPTER XII. GRAND HAVEN. CHAPTER XIII. THE LINE ON BRADY. CHAPTER XIV. THE WOODS BY THE RIVER. CHAPTER XV. BRADY A PRISONER. CHAPTER XVI. BACK IN SOUTH CHICAGO. THE RED SPIDER. PIGEON-WHISTLE CONCERTS. CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. =Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of "Mile-a-minute Matt." =Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness. =Dick Ferral=, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. =Helen Brady=, Hector Brady's daughter, who helps Motor Matt. =Hector Brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from Hamilton Jerrold. His air ship is called the Hawk and is used for criminal purposes. Brady's attempt to secure Motor Matt's services as driver of the Hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang. =Hamilton Jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the Eagle. =Jameson=, a rich member of the Aëro Club, who thinks of buying the Hawk. =Whipple=, =Pete=, =Grove=, =Harper=, members of Brady's gang who carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of Hector Brady. =O	1,947.99558
2023-11-16 18:49:32.4788850	7,431	14	*** Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover art] [Illustration: HE WILDLY TORE AT EVERYTHING AND HURLED IT DOWN ON HIS PURSUERS _Page_ 86 _Frontispiece_] Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day BY SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL T. T. JEANS, C.M.G., R.N. Author of "John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N." "A Naval Venture" &c. _Illustrated by Edward S. Hodgson_ BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW 1908 By Surgeon Rear-Admiral T. T. Jeans The Gun-runners. John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N. A Naval Venture. Gunboat and Gun-runner. Ford of H.M.S. "Vigilant". On Foreign Service. Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_ Preface In this story of the modern Royal Navy I have endeavoured, whilst narrating many adventures both ashore and afloat, to portray the habits of thought and speech of various types of officers and men of the Senior Service who live and serve under the White Ensign to-day. To do this the more graphically I have made some of the leading characters take up, from each other, the threads of the story and continue the description of incidents from their own points of view; the remainder of the tale is written in the third person as by an outside narrator. I hope that this method will be found to lend additional interest to the book. I have had great assistance from several Gunnery, Torpedo, and Engineer Lieutenants, who have read the manuscripts as they were written, corrected many errors of detail, and made many useful suggestions. The story may therefore claim to be technically correct. T. T. JEANS, SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL, ROYAL NAVY Contents CHAP. I. The Luck of Midshipman Glover II. Helston receives a Strange Letter III. The Fitting Out of a Squadron IV. The Pirates are not Idle V. The Squadron leaves hurriedly VI. The Voyage East VII. The Pursuit of the Patagonian VIII. Mr. Ping Sang is Outwitted IX. Captain Helston Wounded X. Destroyer "No. 1" Meets her Fate XI. The Action off Sin Ling XII. A Council of War XIII. The Avenging of Destroyer "No. 1" XIV. Night Operations XV. Mr. Midshipman Glover Tells how he was Wounded XVI. Captain Helston's Indecision XVII. Spying Out the Pirates XVIII. The Escape from the Island XIX. Cummins Captures One Gun Hill XX. The Fight for One Gun Hill XXI. On One Gun Hill XXII. The Final Attack on the Hill XXIII. The Attack on the Forts XXIV. The Capture of the Island XXV. The Fruits of Victory XXVI. Home Again Illustrations He wildly tore at everything and hurled it down on his pursuers... _Frontispiece_ I struck at him with my heavy malacca stick The sinking of the Pirate Torpedo-Boat The Commander and Jones overpower the Two Sentries Map Illustrating the Operations Against the Pirates [Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING THE OPERATIONS AGAINST THE PIRATES] CHAPTER I The Luck of Midshipman Glover Ordered Abroad. Hurrah! _Midshipman Glover explains how Luck came to him_ It all started absolutely unexpectedly whilst we were on leave and staying with Mellins in the country. When I say "we", I mean Tommy Toddles and myself. His real name was Foote, but nobody ever called him anything but "Toddles", and I do believe that he would almost have forgotten what his real name actually was if it had not been engraved on the brass plate on the lid of his sea chest, and if he had not been obliged to have it marked very plainly on his washing. We had passed out of the _Britannia_ a fortnight before--passed out as full-blown midshipmen, too, which was all due to luck--and were both staying with Christie at his pater's place in Somerset. It was Christie whom we called Mellins, because he was so tremendously fat; and though he did not mind us doing so in the least, it was rather awkward whilst we were staying in his house, for we could hardly help calling his pater "Colonel Mellins". You see, he was even fatter than Mellins himself, and the very first night we were there--we were both just a little nervous--Toddles did call him Colonel Mellins when we wished him "Good-night", and he glared at us so fiercely, that we slunk up to our room and really thought we'd better run away. We even opened the window and looked out, feeling very miserable, to see if it was possible to scramble down the ivy or the rusty old water-spout without waking everybody, when Mellins suddenly burst in with a pillow he had screwed up jolly hard, and nearly banged us out of the window. By the time we had driven him back to his room at the other end of the corridor, and flattened him out, we had forgotten all about it, and we crept back like mice, and went to sleep. It was just at this time that the papers came out with those extraordinary yarns about the increase of piracy on the Chinese coast, and how some Chinese merchants had clubbed together to buy ships in England and fit out an expedition to clear the sea again. You can imagine how interested we three were, especially as fifty years ago Toddles's father had taken part in a great number of scraps with the Cantonese pirates, and Toddles rattled off the most exciting yarns which his father had told him. We saw in the papers that the Admiralty was about to lend naval officers to take command, but it never struck us that we might possibly get a look in, till one morning a letter came for me from Cousin Milly, whose father is an old admiral and lives at Fareham, and isn't particularly pleasant when I go to see him. My aunt! weren't we excited! Why, she actually wrote that if I wanted to go she thought she could get me appointed to the squadron, as the captain who was going in charge was a great friend of hers. You can imagine what I wrote, and how I buttered her up and called her a brick, and said she was a "perfect ripper". I ended up by saying that "Mr. Arthur Bouchier Christie, midshipman, and Mr. Thomas Algernon Foote, midshipman, chums of mine, would like to go too". I was very careful to give their full names to prevent mistakes, and put "midshipman" after their names just to show that they had also passed out of the _Britannia_. near the top of the list, and so must be pretty good at chasing "X and Y", which, of course, is a great "leg up" in the navy. Two mornings after this Milly sent me a postcard: "Hope to manage it for the three of you". We were so excited after that, that we did nothing but wait about for the postman, and even went down to the village post-office and hung about there, almost expecting a telegram. Well, you would hardly believe it! The very next morning our appointments were in the papers. I have the list somewhere stowed away even now, and it began: "The under-mentioned officers of the Royal Navy have been placed on half-pay and lent to the Imperial Chinese Government for special services". Down at the bottom of the list was "Midshipmen", and we nearly tore Colonel Christie's paper in our excitement as we read, in very small print and among a lot of other names, Arthur B. Christie, Harold S. Glover (that was myself--hurrah!), and Thomas A. Foote. Well, I can't tell you much of what happened after that, for we were simply mad with delight; but I do remember that when I rushed off home my father and mother rather threw a damper over it all. And when my gear had been packed and driven down to the station, I felt rather a brute because everyone cried, and even my father was a little husky when I wished him good-bye. I think something must have got into my eye too, a fly, probably, but it wasn't there when the train ran into Portsmouth Harbour station, and Mellins and Toddles met me and dragged me to the end of the pier to get our first view of our new ship, which was lying at Spithead. Now you will have to read how all these things came about, or you will never properly understand them. CHAPTER II Helston receives a Strange Letter Helston's Bad Luck--Ping Sang tells of Pirates--Ping Sang makes an Offer--Helston Jubilant In the year 1896 two naval officers were living a somewhat humdrum, monotonous existence in the quiet little Hampshire village of Fareham, which nestles under the fort-crowned Portsdown Hills, and is almost within earshot of the ceaseless clatter of riveting and hammering in the mighty dockyards of Portsmouth. These two men had both served many years before in the small gun-boat _Porcupine_ out in China, and their many escapades and adventures had frequently drawn down on their heads the wrath of the Admiral commanding that station. Wherever the _Porcupine_ went, trouble of some sort or another was sure to follow. At one place an indignant Taotai[#] complained that all the guns--obsolete old muzzle-loaders--in his fort had been tumbled into the ditch one night; at another they only just escaped with their lives from an infuriated mob whilst actually carrying from the temple a highly grotesque, but still more highly revered, joss, at which desecration they had cajoled and bribed the local priests to wink. [#] Taotai = military magistrate. Comrades in every adventure, and mess-mates during these four exciting years, they had ultimately drifted together on half-pay, and, with their old marine servant Jenkins, a taciturn old man, to look after them, had settled down in this village. Both men were below the age of forty, though a more accurate estimate would have been difficult, for the shorter of the two bore himself with the vigour and alertness of thirty, yet his face was old with the lines and furrows of care and sadness, whilst the tall, gaunt figure of the second was not held so erect, nor were his actions so vigorous, yet the youthful fire in his eyes gave to his sea-tanned face and his thin, tight-drawn lips and prominent jaw the appearance of a man who had not yet reached the zenith of his manhood. The shorter man was named Fox, a doctor, who had left the service when he married, only to lose his wife a year later, and with her his whole joy of existence. Settling down in this village, near her grave, he had worked up a small practice, which occupied but little of his time, and lived a life from which his great grief seemed to have removed any trace of his former ambition. Not so the taller man, Helston, a commander, who had been invalided and placed on half-pay, suffering from the effects of fevers picked up whilst cruising off the West Coast of Africa, in China, and in the Mediterranean. Though his body was weakened by disease, he was for ever buoyant at the prospects of being restored to health and full-pay, and dreamed eagerly of the time when once more he could go afloat and eventually command his own ship. He, however, generally found a most unsympathetic audience in the Doctor, who listened, with ill-concealed boredom, to his rose- plans, and cynically would say, "Who goes to sea for enjoyment would go to jail for a pastime. Take my advice and get a snug billet in the coast-guard, and don't bother the sea any more. It's not done you much good." "It's all my bad luck, Doc, old chap," Helston would answer; "no fault of the sea. I played the idiot when I was a youngster, was always in disgrace up at the Admiralty, and now, with this rotten fever in me, they won't employ me again." But he would always finish with, "Well, I've waited patiently enough for the last three years, and luck must turn soon". On one such occasion, when the warmth and brightness of a May day had made Helston more than usually enthusiastic as to his chances of full-pay service, Dr. Fox, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, growled, "Next ship, indeed! You talk of nothing but ships and sea, sea and ships, when you ought to be buying a Bath chair to be wheeled about in." "Never mind, old chap, I'm not as bad as that, and I'll bet you that they give me a ship in less than six months!" "If they do, I will come with you," jeered the Doctor, as he stalked moodily to bed. "That's a bargain," shouted Helston cheerfully after him. Now one reason why Helston had settled down here with the Doctor, and the great source of his ambitious dreams, was a certain lady named Milly, who, with her father--his name is not necessary, for he was always spoken of as "the Admiral", or "Miss Milly's father"--lived close to the village. He had wooed her constantly for many years, and had known her since she was born, but the somewhat disdainful little lady had refused him many times, though not without giving him some slight hope of better success if ever he were promoted to the rank of captain. However, as Mistress Milly never personally enters this story, nothing more need be said of her than that she was one of the most bewitching little flirts who ever tyrannized over an old father, or played havoc with the heart of every man she met. A few weeks after this incident, and whilst the two were at breakfast, the old village postman stumbled up the path leading to their house, and Jenkins, a sombre, morose man of few words, brought in a big official envelope. "What did I say, old chap?" cried Helston excitedly, tearing it open. "Didn't I say my luck would change? Hullo! this isn't an ordinary appointment. Whatever is it?" A large number of papers fell on the table, and, the Doctor showing some signs of interest, the two men hurriedly examined them, Jenkins standing behind at attention in order to learn the news. The first one was from the Admiralty, informing Helston that the enclosures had been received through the Chinese Embassy, and ordering him to report himself at Whitehall immediately. These enclosures were lists of ships supposed to be wrecked on the Chinese coast during the last few years, lists of Chinese men-of-war supposed to have been destroyed during the Chino-Japanese war, and papers showing the gradual rise in insurance rates for the Chinese coasting trade. "Where's your appointment?" sneered the Doctor. "I'm off to see my patients." "I've got it, Doc; look here! Do you remember that old mandarin we got out of a scrape at Cheefoo once? Well, here's a letter from him. Listen!" Saying which, Helston sat on the table and read it aloud, whilst the Doctor filled his pipe impatiently:-- "DEAR COMMANDER HELSTON,--Perhaps you remember saving my life at Cheefoo many years ago? Now perhaps I can do you a good turn. "For the last three or four years there has been a very large number of steamers, ships, and junks employed on the coast trade which have left port under favourable circumstances and apparently in good condition, yet have never been heard of since. The number has rapidly become so great, that myself and several friends interested in the shipping trade have suspected that these disappearances were not due to natural causes. This year, for instance, three of our newest steamers have left Nagasaki full of valuable cargo, and, though none of them could have experienced bad weather, yet none have been heard of since. All three, strangely enough, carried a large quantity of military stores for Pekin, which had been transhipped from German steamers, and all three left within three weeks. The captains were Englishmen--very good men, too--and what adds to the peculiarity of their disappearance is, that the captain of the English mail-steamer which followed the last out of harbour, and should have passed her eight hours later if she had been on her proper course, never sighted her. We searched the coast ineffectually for any trace of wreckage, and it is only within the last two months that we have obtained a clue. "One of our large junks from Formosa, being short of water, made for an island, previously reported as being only occasionally inhabited by Korean fishermen. A few men went ashore to fill the casks, found the fishing-nets deserted and no water, so followed a path leading inland and winding up a hill. When nearly at the top they came across four dead Chinamen hanging from trees, and although very frightened, they still pushed on until they came in sight of the natural harbour on the other side of the island. They swear solemnly that, lying at anchor, they saw twenty or thirty steamers and several men-of-war, and that on shore there were many storehouses (go-downs) and huts, and a very large number of natives. They were just going down for water when one of these men, who fortunately had formerly been one of the crew of the _Tslai-ming_, our crack steamer, recognized her lying there. He is a cute fellow, and at once jumped to the conclusion that these were pirates (you remember how terribly frightened they are of 'pilons'?), and ran back with his fellows to their boat. "They brought this news to us. "Four years ago, when this island was last visited, it was reported as uninhabited. Personally I did not doubt the men's tale. In fact, they are so frightened, and have spread their story so freely, that it is difficult to get a crew together for any port south of Amoy. "I have made very careful enquiries to account for the presence of the men-of-war, and have discovered that many of the war-ships, and nearly all the torpedo-boats which were run ashore to escape capture during the late war, had disappeared. "The local mandarins and officials of course know nothing, but from the natives living near I find that large ships came and stayed near the stranded ships for some weeks, and finally towed them away. There is no doubt that two, if not three, cruisers in bad plight have been sold to a couple of Europeans, and have disappeared, where, no one knows. A couple of the Yangtze corvettes have also mysteriously vanished. "I memorialized the throne, but they would do nothing, and made fun of my report. The mandarins got hold of my informants, tortured them till they denied the truth of their story, and then of course laughed at me. "Trade was practically at a stand-still, so we decided to send one of our best captains, an Englishman, to see if the men's story was correct. He landed at night from a junk, disguised as a native, and spent a day on the island, running great risks of detection, and being taken off next night. He reports that there are certainly three cruisers and seven torpedo-boats anchored there, and at least twenty coasting steamers, among them being the three that disappeared when laden with military stores. Great numbers of coolies were working at the narrow entrance to the harbour, and, as far as he could see, they were mounting guns behind earthworks. He thought he could distinguish some Europeans, but is not certain. He brought a rough plan of the harbour, marking the positions of ships, buildings, and guns. "I decided to take him next day to some of the ministers whom I knew personally, thinking that they would pay more attention to the word of an Englishman. I must tell you that the three natives who first brought the news and were tortured to deny it, have disappeared, and as they were very honest, faithful men, I suspected some underhanded dealing, and, thinking to keep the Englishman safe made him sleep in my _yamen_ that night. Next morning he had disappeared, and his body was found two days later in a low quarter of the town, stripped of all valuables including the plan, which he had in his pocket-book, although this itself was not taken. The gatekeeper saw him go out, and there is no doubt his habits were unsteady, but for all that his death is very suspicious. "Naturally I had no proof good enough for the Government, but my friends and myself subscribed ten million dollars, and asked the Government for another five millions, to fit out an expedition and destroy these pirates, offering to hand over to them the men-of-war we intended buying, and also a percentage of our recaptures. They refused at first, but thinking money was to be made out of it, promised us four millions, the protection of the Imperial flag, and the use of their dockyards. "We had thought of applying to some European power to take the matter up; but you know the great tension of affairs out here at the present, and the acute international jealousies; we therefore came to the conclusion that it would take years to bring this about through the ordinary diplomatic channels, and as every year's trade is worth from L10,000,000 to L20,000,000 for us, we cannot afford to wait. "I, therefore, as President of the China Trading Defence Committee, am authorized to offer you the control of this money if you will accept the responsibility of organizing a small expedition with the greatest possible speed to rid us of this unbearable piracy which is destroying our trade. "You will get this letter and the enclosed lists and tables from our Ambassador in London, who will give you every facility for granting Imperial commissions for your ships and officers, and every information he can. "I know enough of your service to think that if you take command of this expedition you will advance your prospects, and the opportunity of doing this I have very great pleasure in giving you. "Wire me your decision and plans; don't worry about money--haste is the great thing.--Your sincere friend, "PING SANG. "TIENTSIN, _17th March._ "_P.S._--If you do not accept the command it will be offered to Lieutenant Albrecht of the Imperial German Navy. "I hope the Doctor with the broad shoulders and terrible fists is well. Give him my 'chin chin', and bring him with you if you can." Helston finished reading, and both men stared at each other in blank amazement, whilst Jenkins commenced stealthily to remove the breakfast things. "Well, of all the hare-brained, foolish schemes I ever heard of!" gasped the Doctor. "There's something in it, old chap. Ping Sang was one of the richest mandarins in China when we were out there many years ago. A splendid chap, as you remember, and practically an Englishman in his ideas--he went to Charterhouse when he was a boy--and besides, his Government has taken it up, and I have to report myself to the Admiralty; so they believe in it, evidently. Why, old man," continued Helston, "if this is all true I shall get promotion out of it, and that means--you know as well as I do--that means Milly." And he danced about the room as if he never had had fever in his rheumatic legs. "Stop that tomfoolery, and go off to London and find out whether it's all a mare's nest or not," said the Doctor. "Jenkins, go and get the Commander's things ready at once." "For China, sir?" "No. For London, you fool!" "Very good, sir," and off went Jenkins. "Well, good-bye, Helston, I'm off round the practice. Don't make an ass of yourself, and let me know the result." By the time the Doctor returned Helston had disappeared, and it was late that evening when a telegram brought news of him. The Doctor hurriedly opened it: "Job genuine--accepted command. Send all clothes--cannot return--too busy." Three days later he received a long letter. In it Helston wrote that he had been backwards and forwards from the Admiralty, the Foreign Office, and the Chinese Embassy the whole of the last few days settling preliminary details. "The Bank of England has one and a half million to my credit, on the advice of the Ambassador and Ping Sang, so the money is safe enough, and I am trying to get hold of any ship which will be ready in the next three months. Our Admiralty did not at first wish me to take command, and wanted to give me some captains, just as advisers, but I knew what that meant. They would get all the kudos; I should get none. So I told them that if I did not take command, absolutely and entirely, I would throw it up, and, of course, that meant that the Germans would get a look in. That stuck in their gizzards, so they piped down, and I am to be my own boss and have any officers I want, and a large proportion of men, from the navy. They have given me an office and a couple of clerks, and already I'm terribly busy. "From what I can gather, their idea seems to be that a couple of cruisers of the _Apollo_ type and two or three destroyers will be sufficient for my purpose and well within my means; that if I find myself unable to destroy the pirates, whose existence they still doubt, I shall at least be able to blockade the island till the present tension of political affairs is somewhat relaxed, when they hope to be able to detach some ships from our fleet to help me, more especially if I prove conclusively the existence of these pirates. You may bet your boots," Helston concluded, "if I can get away from England and past Hong-Kong without interference, I sha'n't wait for other help. My luck is at the top now, and if only it will remain there for eighteen months or so, I shall be a made man. Will it? that is the question." "Silly fool!" thought the Doctor; "he's always brooding on his ill-luck. If people would only look more on the bright side of things, we should hear less about this fatal ill-luck which they always fancy follows them." When he returned from the round of his very limited practice and opened the London paper waiting for him, he swore angrily when he saw that two columns were devoted to the proposed expedition. "Silly fool! giving himself away to these interviewers. It may make him notorious, but the Admiralty won't like it; and if there _are_ pirates, they will learn his schemes and plans almost as soon as he knows them himself." CHAPTER III The Fitting Out of a Squadron Helston Tricks the Doctor--Valuable Information--The Doctor makes a Bargain--The Squadron Assembles A month had passed by, during which time the Doctor saw by the papers that Helston had acquired a cruiser at Elswick, built on "spec", an armoured cruiser being built by Laird's, for a South American republic which had waived its claim to her, and three destroyers which were being completed at Yarrow's, Thorneycroft's, and Laird's works respectively. At the end of the month he ran up to London, in response to a telegram, and met Helston at Waterloo. "I should hardly have known you," he said, grasping his hand; "you look twice the man you did six weeks ago. What fool's errand have you brought me here for?" "Going to show you round my little fleet, old chap. How's Milly and her old father?" "She's all right. Asked after her Don Quixote the last time I saw her; but confound you, I'm hungry, I don't want to see your ships. I've seen enough in my lifetime; you ought to have known that." "Come along then, old chap, we'll have some grub and put you in a better temper," answered Helston, smiling, and took him to his hotel. They visited Yarrow's yard that afternoon, and next day went up the river to Chiswick, where Thorneycroft's destroyer lay almost ready for launching, with her engines and boilers on board. "Funny state of affairs, Doc, old boy," began Helston, as he patted her smooth sides, "for me to be buying ships. Fancy imagining six weeks ago that I should ever be signing cheques to the value of three-quarters of a million and thinking nothing of it!" "How much did this one cost you?" asked the Doctor grimly. "Just over L40,000--a mere fleabite," laughed Helston; "and she's to do her trials next week--a guaranteed thirty knots. That would shake up your wretched liver, Doc, rushing along at more than thirty-five miles an hour! It's a funny thing, but they have had several bids for her during the last few days, so I wrote out a cheque on the spot and got her. The others were a little doubtful about cash." "Some of these smaller republics always are," laughed the manager, who was standing near them. "It was Patagonia, too, of all others," continued Helston. "She tried to get all my ships, and, strangely enough, has never been in the market before, and doesn't possess such a thing as a ship." "I expect she wants to become as civilized as some of her neighbours, and get up a rebellion against the army," added the manager. After dinner that night Helston showed the Doctor a list of officers he had chosen, among whom there were several they had known in the old days. The Admiralty had put them all on half-pay and lent them to the Chinese Government for eighteen months directly Helston had made out their temporary commissions for the squadron he was fitting out. The Chinese ambassador had been empowered to sign their commissions, and the ships were to fly the Yellow Dragon. "I see you have no doctors yet," said the Doctor. "I suppose no one has been such a fool as to volunteer." Helston opened a drawer in his desk. "There you are, nearly five hundred of them, men in the navy, army, and from every corner of the world." "I didn't know there were so many fools on earth," growled the Doctor. "To whom are you going to give the opportunity of being drowned or blown up?" "Oh, I'm not going to select them. I leave that job to my principal medical officer." "What idiot have you managed to get hold of to do that?" "You, old chap," replied Helston, slapping him on the shoulder; "you were the very first to volunteer." "I!" said the Doctor angrily. "Why, I'd as soon think of volunteering for a trip to the moon!" "Can't help that, Doc; you told me that night at Fareham, when you were in such a bad temper, that you would come with me if I got a ship, and here's your commission made out--'all belong ploper, savez'. Come on, old fellow, don't leave me in the lurch; come and have another look at China. We will look in at our old places in Japan and fancy ourselves young again. I'll make you as comfortable as you possibly can be on board a ship." "Well, you have played a trick on me," answered the Doctor, after he had stamped and fumed about the room, "and if you were not steeped in fever and ague, I would see you at Jericho first; but I'll see you safely through this foolery--more for Milly's sake, though, than for yours, you sly brute." "I knew you'd come, Doc; you aren't doing yourself any good moping down at Fareham, and the practice can manage itself pretty well, can't it? You'll get fleet	1,948.498925
2023-11-16 18:49:32.5691880	3,020	13	Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Vast Abyss, by George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ This is one of the very best books by GM Fenn. It has a good steady pace, yet one is constantly wondering how some dreadful situation is to be got out of. The hero is young Tom, whose father had been a doctor who had died in some recent epidemic, which had also carried off his mother. Tom has been taken into the house and law business of an uncle, but he does not seem to be getting on well there. Another uncle visits, and takes Tom back with him, giving him a much pleasanter and more interesting life. Together they convert an old windmill into an astronomical observatory, which means grinding the glass lenses and mirrors, as well as bringing the structure of the building up to the required standard. In this they are encouraged by the daily visits of the vicar, while the housekeeper, Mrs Fidler, and the old gardener, make various remarks on the sidelines. However, there is a boy in the village whose behaviour is not good at all, and many of the episodes in the story are concerned with him, his dog, and their deeds. Not wishing to spoil the story for you, we will simply say that there is another issue involving the legal uncle, and his rather nasty son. ________________________________________________________________________ THE VAST ABYSS, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. "I wish I wasn't such a fool!" Tom Blount said this to himself as he balanced that self upon a high stool at a desk in his uncle's office in Gray's Inn. There was a big book lying open, one which he had to study, but it did not interest him; and though he tried very hard to keep his attention fixed upon its learned words, invaluable to one who would some day bloom into a family solicitor, that book would keep on forming pictures that were not illustrations of legal practice in the courts of law. For there one moment was the big black pond on Elleston Common, where the water lay so still and deep under the huge elms, and the fat tench and eels every now and then sent up bubbles of air, dislodged as they disturbed the bottom. At another time it would be the cricket-field in summer, or the football on the common in winter, or the ringing ice on the winding river, with the skates flashing as they sent the white powder flying before the wind. Or again, as he stumbled through the opinions of the judge in "Coopendale _versus_ Drabb's Exors.," the old house and garden would stand out from the page like a miniature seen on the ground-glass of a camera; and Tom Blount sighed and his eyes grew dim as he thought of the old happy days in the pleasant home. For father and mother both had passed away to their rest; the house was occupied by another tenant; and he, Tom Blount, told himself that he ought to be very grateful to Uncle James for taking him into his office, to make a man of him by promising to have him articled if, during his year of probation, he proved himself worthy. "I wouldn't mind its being so dull," he thought, "or my aunt not liking me, or Sam being so disagreeable, if I could get on--but I can't. Uncle's right, I suppose, in what he says. He ought to know. I'm only a fool; and it doesn't seem to matter how I try, I can't get on." Just then a door opened, letting in a broad band of sunshine full of dancing motes, and at the same time Samuel Brandon, a lad of about the same age as Tom, but rather slighter of build, but all the same more manly of aspect. He was better dressed too, and wore a white flower in his button-hole, and a very glossy hat. One glove was off, displaying a signet-ring, and he brought with him into the dingy office a strong odour of scent, whose source was probably the white pocket-handkerchief prominently displayed outside his breast-pocket. "Hullo, bumpkin!" he cried. "How's Tidd getting on?" "Very slowly," said Tom. "I wish you'd try and explain what this bit means." "Likely! Think I'm going to find you in brains. Hurry on and peg away. Shovel it in, and think you are going to be Lord Chancellor some day. Guv'nor in his room?" "No; he has gone on down to the Court. Going out?" "Yes; up the river--Maidenhead. You heard at the breakfast, didn't you?" Tom shook his head. "I didn't hear," he said sadly. "You never hear anything or see anything. I never met such a dull, chuckle-headed chap as you are. Why don't you wake up?" "I don't know; I do try," said Tom sadly. "You don't know!--you don't know anything. I don't wonder at the governor grumbling at you. You'll have to pull up your boots if you expect to be articled here, and so I tell you. There, I'm off. I've got to meet the mater at Paddington at twelve. I say, got any money?" "No," said Tom sadly. "Tchah! you never have. There, pitch into Tidd. You've got your work cut out, young fellow. No letters for me?" "No. Yes, there is--one." "No!--yes! Well, you are a pretty sort of a fellow. Where is it?" "I laid it in uncle's room." "What! Didn't I tell you my letters were not to go into his room? Of all the--" Tom sighed, though he did not hear the last words, for his cousin hurried into the room on their right, came back with a letter, hurried out, and the door swung to again. "It's all through being such a fool, I suppose," muttered the boy. "Why am I not as clever and quick as Sam is? He's as sharp as uncle; but uncle doesn't seem a bit like poor mother was." Just then Tom Blount made an effort to drive away all thoughts of the past by planting his elbows on the desk, doubling his fists, and resting his puckered-up brow upon them, as he plunged once more into the study of the legal work. But the thoughts would come flitting by, full of sunshiny memories of the father who died a hero's death, fighting as a doctor the fell disease which devastated the country town; and of the mother who soon after followed her husband, after requesting her brother to do what he could to help and protect her son. Then the thought of his mother's last prayer came to him as it often did--that he should try his best to prove himself worthy of his uncle's kindness by studying hard. "And I do--I do--I do," he burst out aloud, passionately, "only it is so hard; and, as uncle says, I am such a fool." "You call me, Blount?" said a voice, and a young old-looking man came in from the next office. "I!--call? No, Pringle," said Tom, colouring up. "You said something out loud, sir, and I thought you called." "I--I--" "Oh, I see, sir; you was speaking a bit out of your book. Not a bad way to get it into your head. You see you think it and hear it too." "It's rather hard to me, I'm afraid," said Tom, with the puzzled look intensifying in his frank, pleasant face. "Hard, sir!" said the man, smiling, and wiping the pen he held on the tail of his coat, though it did not require it, and then he kept on holding it up to his eye as if there were a hair or bit of grit between the nibs. "Yes, I should just think it is hard. Nutshells is nothing to it. Just like bits of granite stones as they mend the roads with. They won't fit nowhere till you wear 'em and roll 'em down. The law is a hard road and no mistake." "And--and I don't think I'm very clever at it, Pringle." "Clever! You'd be a rum one, sir, if you was. Nobody ever masters it all. They pretend to, but it would take a thousand men boiled down and double distilled to get one as could regularly tackle it. It's an impossibility, sir." "What!" said Tom, with plenty of animation now. "Why, look at all the great lawyers!" "So I do, sir, and the judges too, and what do I see? Don't they all think different ways about things, and upset one another? Don't you get thinking you're not clever because you don't get on fast. As I said before, you'd be a rum one if you did." "But my cousin does," said Tom. "Him? Ck!" cried the clerk, with a derisive laugh. "Why, it's my belief that you know more law already than Mr Sam does, and what I say to you is--Look out! the guv'nor!" The warning came too late, for Mr James Brandon entered the outer office suddenly, and stopped short, to look sharply from one to the other--a keen-eyed, well-dressed man of five-and-forty; and as his brows contracted he said sharply-- "Then you've finished the deed, Pringle?" just as the clerk was in the act of passing through the door leading to the room where he should have been at work. "The deed, sir?--no, not quite, sir. Shan't be long, sir." "You shall be long--out of work, Mr Pringle, if you indulge in the bad habit of idling and gossiping as soon as my back's turned." Pringle shot back to his desk, the door swung to, and Mr James Brandon turned to his nephew, with his face looking double of aspect--that is to say, the frown was still upon his brow, while a peculiarly tight-looking smile appeared upon his lips, which seemed to grow thinner and longer, and as if a parenthesis mark appeared at each end to shut off the smile as something illegal. "I am glad you are mastering your work so well, Tom," he said softly. "Mastering it, uncle!" said Tom, with an uneasy feeling of doubt raised by his relative's look. "I--I'm afraid I am getting on very slowly." "But you can find time to idle and hinder my clerk." "He had only just come in, uncle, and--" "That will do, sir," said the lawyer, with the smile now gone. "I've told you more than once, sir, that you were a fool, and now I repeat it. You'll never make a lawyer. Your thick, dense brain has only one thought in it, and that is how you can idle and shirk the duty that I for your mother's sake have placed in your way. What do you expect, sir?--that I am going to let you loaf about my office, infecting those about you, and trying to teach your cousin your lazy ways? I don't know what I could have been thinking about to take charge of such a great idle, careless fellow." "Not careless, uncle," pleaded the lad. "I do try, but it is so hard." "Silence, sir! Try!--not you. I meant to do my duty by you, and in due time to impoverish myself by paying for your articles--nearly a hundred pounds, sir. But don't expect it. I'm not going to waste my hard-earned savings upon a worthless, idle fellow. Lawyer! Pish! You're about fit for a shoeblack, sir, or a carter. You'll grow into as great an idiot as your father was before you. What my poor sister could have seen in him I don't--" _Bang_! CHAPTER TWO. The loudly-closed door of the private office cut short Mr James Brandon's speech, and he had passed out without looking round, or he would have seen that his nephew looked anything but a fool as he sat there with his fists clenched and his eyes flashing. "How dare he call my dear dead father an idiot!" he said in a low fierce voice through his compressed teeth. "Oh, I can't bear it--I won't bear it. If I were not such a miserable coward I should go off and be a soldier, or a sailor, or anything so that I could be free, and not dependent on him. I'll go. I must go. I cannot bear it," he muttered; and then with a feeling of misery and despair rapidly increasing, he bent down over his book again, for a something within him seemed to whisper--"It would be far more cowardly to give up and go." Then came again the memory of his mother's words, and he drew his breath through his teeth as if he were in bodily as well as mental pain; and forcing himself to read, he went on studying the dreary law-book till, in his efforts to understand the author, his allusions, quotations, footnotes, and references, he grew giddy, and at last the words grew blurred, and he had to read sentences over and over again	1,948.589228
2023-11-16 18:49:32.7257330	2,757	12	*** Produced by Al Haines. WHITE WINGS: A Yachting Romance. BY WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF "THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON," "GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY," ETC. _IN THREE VOLUMES_ VOL. II. London: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1880. _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._ LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR. BREAD STREET HILL. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. VILLANY ABROAD CHAPTER II. AN ULTIMATUM CHAPTER III. THE NEW SUITOR CHAPTER IV. CHASING A THUNDERSTORM CHAPTER V. CHASING SEALS CHAPTER VI. "UNCERTAIN, COY, AND HARD TO PLEASE" CHAPTER VII. SECRET SCHEMES CHAPTER VIII. BEFORE BREAKFAST CHAPTER IX. A PROTECTOR CHAPTER X. "MARY, MARY!" CHAPTER XI. AN UNSPOKEN APPEAL CHAPTER XII. HIS LORDSHIP CHAPTER XIII. THE LAIRD'S PLANS CHAPTER XIV. A SUNDAY IN FAR SOLITUDES CHAPTER XV. HIDDEN SPRINGS WHITE WINGS: A Yachting Romance. CHAPTER I. VILLANY ABROAD. It is near mid-day; two late people are sitting at breakfast; the skylight overhead has been lifted, and the cool sea-air fills the saloon. "Dead calm again," says Angus Sutherland, for he can see the rose-red ensign hanging limp from the mizen-mast, a blaze of colour against the still blue. There is no doubt that the _White Dove_ is quite motionless; and that a perfect silence reigns around her. That is why we can hear so distinctly--through the open skylight--the gentle footsteps of two people who are pacing up and down the deck, and the soft voice of one of them as she speaks to her friend. What is all this wild enthusiasm about, then? "It is the noblest profession in the world!" we can hear so much as she passes the skylight. "One profession lives by fomenting quarrels; and another studies the art of killing in every form; but this one lives only to heal--only to relieve the suffering and help the miserable. That is the profession I should belong to, if I were a man!" Our young Doctor says nothing as the voice recedes; but he is obviously listening for the return walk along the deck. And here she comes again. "The patient drudgery of such a life is quite heroic--whether he is a man of science, working day and night to find out things for the good of the world, nobody thanking him or caring about him, or whether he is a physician in practice with not a minute that can be called his own--liable to be summoned at any hour----" The voice again becomes inaudible. It is remarked to this young man that Mary Avon seems to have a pretty high opinion of the medical profession. "She herself," he says hastily, with a touch of colour in his face, "has the patience and fortitude of a dozen doctors." Once more the light tread on deck comes near the skylight. "If I were the Government," says Mary Avon, warmly, "I should be ashamed to see so rich a country as England content to take her knowledge second-hand from the German Universities; while such men as Dr. Sutherland are harassed and hampered in their proper work by having to write articles and do ordinary doctor's visiting. I should be ashamed. If it is a want of money, why don't they pack off a dozen or two of the young noodles who pass the day whittling quills in the Foreign Office?----" Even when modified by the distance, and by the soft lapping of the water outside, this seems rather strong language for a young lady. Why should Miss Avon again insist in such a warm fashion on the necessity of endowing research? But Angus Sutherland's face is burning red. Listeners are said to hear ill of themselves. "However, Dr. Sutherland is not likely to complain," she says, proudly, as she comes by again. "No; he is too proud of his profession. He does his work; and leaves the appreciation of it to others. And when everybody knows that he will one day be among the most famous men in the country, is it not monstrous that he should be harassed by drudgery in the meantime? If I were the Government----" But Angus Sutherland cannot suffer this to go on. He leaves his breakfast unfinished, passes along the saloon, and ascends the companion. "Good morning!" he says. "Why, are you up already?" his hostess says. "We have been walking as lightly as we could, for we thought you were both asleep. And Mary has been heaping maledictions on the head of the Government because it doesn't subsidise all you microscope-men. The next thing she will want is a licence for the whole of you to be allowed to vivisect criminals." "I heard something of what Miss Avon said," he admitted. The girl, looking rather aghast, glanced at the open skylight. "We thought you were asleep," she stammered, and with her face somewhat flushed. "At least, I heard you say something about the Government," he said, kindly. "Well, all I ask from the Government is to give me a trip like this every summer." "What," says his hostess, "with a barometer that won't fall?" "I don't mind." "And seas like glass?" "I don't mind." "And the impossibility of getting back to land?" "So much the better," he says defiantly. "Why," she reminds him, laughing, "you were very anxious about getting back some days ago. What has made you change your wishes?" He hesitates for a moment, and then he says-- "I believe a sort of madness of idleness has got possession of me. I have dallied so long with that tempting invitation of yours to stay and see the _White Dove_ through the equinoctials that--that I think I really must give in----" "You cannot help yourself," his hostess says, promptly. "You have already promised. Mary is my witness." The witness seems anxious to avoid being brought into this matter; she turns to the Laird quickly, and asks him some question about Ru-na-Gaul light over there. Ru-na-Gaul light no doubt it is--shining white in the sun at the point of the great cliffs; and there is the entrance to Tobbermorry; and here is Mingary Castle--brown ruins amid the brilliant greens of those sloping shores--and there are the misty hills over Loch Sunart. For the rest, blue seas around us, glassy and still; and blue skies overhead, cloudless and pale. The barometer refuses to budge. But suddenly there is a brisk excitement. What though the breeze that is darkening the water there is coming on right ahead?--we shall be moving any way. And as the first puffs of it catch the sails, Angus Sutherland places Mary Avon in command; and she is now--by the permission of her travelling physician--allowed to stand as she guides the course of the vessel. She has become an experienced pilot: the occasional glance at the leach of the top-sail is all that is needed; she keeps as accurately "full and by" as the master of one of the famous cuptakers. "Now, Mary," says her hostess, "it all depends on you as to whether Angus will catch the steamer this evening." "Oh, does it?" she says, with apparent innocence. "Yes; we shall want very good steering to get within sight of Castle Osprey before the evening." "Very well, then," says this audacious person. At the same instant she deliberately puts the helm down. Of course the yacht directly runs up to the wind, her sails flapping helplessly. Everybody looks surprised; and John of Skye, thinking that the new skipper has only been a bit careless, calls out-- "Keep her full, mem, if you please." "What do you mean, Mary? What are you about?" cries Queen T. "I am not going to be responsible for sending Dr. Sutherland away," she says, in a matter-of-fact manner, "since he says he is in no hurry to go. If you wish to drive your guest away, I won't be a party to it. I mean to steer as badly as I can." "Then I depose you," says Dr. Sutherland promptly. "I cannot have a pilot who disobeys orders." "Very well," she says, "you may take the tiller yourself"--and she goes away, and sits down in high dudgeon, by the Laird. So once more we get the vessel under way; and the breeze is beginning to blow somewhat more briskly; and we notice with hopefulness that there is rougher water further down the Sound. But with this slow process of beating, how are we to get within sight of Castle Osprey before the great steamer comes up from the South? The Laird is puzzling over the Admiralty Sailing Directions. The young lady, deeply offended, who sits beside him, pays him great attention, and talks "at" the rest of the passengers with undisguised contempt. "It is all haphazard, the sailing of a yacht," she says to him, though we can all hear. "Anybody can do it. But they make a jargon about it to puzzle other people, and pretend it is a science, and all that." "Well," says the Laird, who is quite unaware of the fury that fills her brain, "there are some of the phrases in this book that are verra extraordinary. In navigating this same Sound of Mull, they say you are to keep the 'weather shore aboard.' How can ye keep the weather shore aboard?" "Indeed, if we don't get into a port soon," remarks our hostess and chief commissariat-officer, "it will be the only thing we shall have on board. How would you like it cooked, Mary?" "I won't speak to any of you," says the disgraced skipper, with much composure. "Will you sing to us, then?" "Will you behave properly if you are reinstated in command?" asks Angus Sutherland. "Yes, I will," she says, quite humbly; and forthwith she is allowed to have the tiller again. Brisker and brisker grows the breeze; it is veering to the south, too; the sea is rising, and with it the spirits of everybody on board. The ordinarily sedate and respectable _White Dove_ is showing herself a trifle frisky, moreover; an occasional clatter below of hairbrushes or candlesticks tells us that people accustomed to calms fall into the habit of leaving their cabins ill-arranged. "There will be more wind, sir," says John of Skye, coming aft; and he is looking at some long and streaky "mare's tails" in the south-western sky. "And if there wass a gale o' wind, I would let her have it!" Why that grim ferocity of look, Captain John? Is the poor old _White Dove_ responsible for the too fine weather, that you would like to see her driven, all wet and bedraggled, before a south-westerly gale? If you must quarrel with something, quarrel with the barometer; you may admonish it with a belaying-pin if you please. Brisker and brisker grows the breeze. Now we hear the first pistol-shots of the spray come rattling over the bows; and Hector of Moidart has from time to time to duck his head, or shake the water from his jersey. The _White Dove_ breasts these rushing waves and a foam of white water goes hissing away from either side of her. Speine Mor and Speine Beg we leave behind; in the distance we can	1,948.745773
2023-11-16 18:49:32.7582860	4,306	6	Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE PERILS AND ADVENTURES OF HARRY SKIPWITH, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. MY FIRST ADVENTURE--PROGRAMME OF TRAVEL--OFF ACROSS THE ATLANTIC--THE MISSISSIPPI--HOW WE GOT SNAGGED--I SAVE PETER ROBERTS--THE CAYMAN'S COMPANY--THE ISLAND REFUGE. The love of travel was a family instinct, and was born with me. My maternal grandfather went to Central Africa--at least, he left us intending to do so, but never came back again. I had a great uncle who voyaged three times round the world, and one sailor uncle who, half a century ago, spent a winter at the North Pole along with Parry and Franklin. Then I had a cousin who was very ambitious of reaching the moon, and spent his life in studying its maps and making preparations for the journey, which, however, he never accomplished. When asked when he was going to start, he always replied that he had deferred his journey for six months--circumstances requiring his longer sojourn on this planet Tellus; but he never expressed the slightest doubt about his being able ultimately to accomplish his proposed journey. I held him in great respect (which was more than any of the rest of the family did); but as my ambition never soared beyond an expedition round this sublunary globe, I resolved as soon as possible to commence my travels in the hopes of having the start of him. My voluntary studies were of a character to feed my taste. The travels of the famed Baron Munchausen, "Gulliver's Travels," those of Sir John Mandeville and Marco Polo, were read by me over and over again. I procured others of a more modern date, and calculated to give more correct information regarding the present state of the world; but I stuck to my old friends, and pictured the globe to myself much in the condition in which they described it. Not having the patience to wait till I grew up, I resolved at the commencement of my summer holidays to start by myself, hoping to come back before their termination, having a full supply of adventures to narrate. I was some days maturing my plans and making preparations for my journey. I had denied myself such luxuries as had been brought to our school by the pieman, and had saved up my pocket-money--an exercise of self-denial which proved the earnestness of my resolve. I had had too several presents made to me by relations and friends who happened to be in the house. I paid a visit also to my cousin, Booby Skipwith, as he was called. I did not confide to him all my plans; but I hinted that I had one of great importance in hand, and, to my great delight, he presented me with a five-pound note, observing that he believed that such things were not current in the moon, and that, therefore, he could dispense with them. I hinted that if such was the case he might hand me out a few more, for that where I was going they would be greatly in demand; but it proved that this was the only one of which he was possessed. I had got a small portmanteau, into which I packed all my best clothes and valuables, with a few glass beads and knives which I had purchased to bestow on any savages I might encounter. I had a lance-head brought home by my great uncle. With this I purposed manufacturing a lance for my defence. I knew that, as England is an island, I must cross the water. My idea, when on the other side, whether north, south, east, or west I did not care, was to purchase two steeds--one for myself and another for my luggage and a squire, whom I intended to find. I was certain that he would turn up somewhere, and be very faithful and brave. The first, thing, however, was to get away from home. I wrote an affectionate letter to my father, telling him that I was going on my travels as my ancestor had done, and that I should be back, I hoped, by the end of the holidays; that if I was not, it could not much signify, as I should be gaining more information from my intercourse with the great world than I could possibly hope to reap from the instruction of Dr Bumpus. This done, one very fine morning I crept out of the house with my portmanteau on my shoulders, and getting over the park palings, so as not to be seen by the lodge-keeper, I stood ready for a coach that would pass by, I had ascertained, about that time. I waited anxiously, thinking that it must have already passed. At last I saw it coming along the road in a cloud of dust. I hailed it in a knowing way, handed up my portmanteau to be placed by the coachman in the boot under his feet, and climbing up behind in a twinkling before any questions were asked, away we bowled at a famous rate. "All right," I thought; "I am now fairly off on my travels." We had twenty miles to get to the railway station. Once in the train, I should be beyond pursuit. I had no fear of that, however. I should not be missed for some hours, and then no one would know in what direction I had gone. We approached the station near Burton. My heart throbbed with eagerness. In a few minutes the train would be starting. The coach stopped before the hotel. At that a moment a gentleman on horseback was passing. He saw me before I had time to hide my face. "Why, Harry, where are you going?" he exclaimed. It was my uncle, Roland Skipwith, the arctic voyager. He looked into the coach, expecting to see some one. "What, are you all alone? Where are you going, boy?" "On my travels, uncle," I answered, boldly, hoping that he might approve of my purpose, seeing that he was himself a great traveller. "You will not stop me, I know." "We'll see about that," he answered, in a tone I did not quite like. "Get down, youngster. I'll give you a little advice on the subject. You can't go by this train, that's certain." While I reluctantly obeyed, he inquired of Tomkins, the coachman, how he came to bring me away from home. Tomkins apologised--thought that I was going on a visit to my aunt, Miss Rebecca Skipwith, who lived at Burton, and finished by handing out my portmanteau, and receiving my fare to Burton in exchange. I was sold, that was clear enough. The portmanteau was deposited in the bar till the coach would return soon after noon. "Come along," said my uncle, who had given his horse to the hostler. "I have ridden over to breakfast with your Aunt Rebecca, so we'll hear what she has to say on the matter." I felt rather foolish as he took my hand and led me away. We soon reached Aunt Becky's neat trim mansion. My uncle had time to say a few words to her before she saw me. She received me with her usual cordiality, for I was somewhat of a pet of hers. I was desperately hungry, and was soon seated at a table well spread with all sorts of appetising luxuries. My uncle, after a little time, when I had taken the edge off my hunger, began to question me as to my proposed plans, to an account of which he and Aunt Becky listened with profound gravity. I began to hope that he was going to approve of them, till suddenly he burst out laughing heartily. Aunt Becky joined him. I found that they had been hoaxing me. I was sold again. This was the last attempt I made during that period of my existence to commence my travels. On arriving at manhood, and having just quitted college and had an independence left me, the desire once more came strongly on me to see the world--not the fashionable world, as an infinitesimal portion of the human race delight to call themselves, but the great big round globe, covered with our fellow-creatures of varied colours, languages, customs, and religions. "Good-bye, Aunt Becky! I really and truly am off this time," I exclaimed, as I rushed into my dear, good old aunt's drawing-room at Burton, she looking as neat and trim as ever, being the perfection of nice old-maidenism, not a whit older than when, some thirteen years before, I had been brought there a prisoner by my uncle. "Where are you going to, my dear?" asked Aunt Becky, lifting up her spectacles from her nose with a look of surprise. "Oh, only just across the Atlantic, to take a run up and down North and South America, as a kind of experiment before I attempt a tour, by land and water, to China and Japan, and home again by way of Australia, New Zealand, and Tahiti, by the Panama route, which I mean to do some of these days." "Well, well," said Aunt Becky, "you are a true Skipwith, and if that Captain Grant hadn't got the start of you, I suppose you would have discovered the source of the Nile and the snow mountains under the equator, and, like Hercules, in that gem on my finger, which I wear for the sake of an old friend, have come home with a lion's skin across your shoulder, or dressed up like an ape, as Monsieur de Chaillu did sometime ago. However, I shall wish, Harry, if you ever want an additional hundred pounds or so, draw on me; I have always some spare cash at the banker's. But you'll never came back if you attempt half you talk of doing. You'll be scalped by Indians, or roasted and eaten by other savages; or be tossed by buffaloes, or lost in the snow; or be blown up in one of those dreadful American steamers, which seem to do nothing else; or you'll catch a fever, or be cast away on a desolate island, and we shall never hear anything more of you; or something else dreadful will happen to you, I am certain." "Never mind, Aunt Becky; I shall be embalmed in your memory, at all events," I answered; "and besides, I am going to have a companion to look after me." "Who can he be who would venture to accompany such a harum-scarum fellow as you are, Harry?" said my aunt, looking more satisfied. "One who has ever proved faithful, aunt: his name is Ready." "Why, he's your dog, Harry!" she exclaimed, disappointed. "Could I have a more trustworthy and, at the same time, active and intelligent follower?" I asked. "I had thought of taking Bunbry," (he was my father's old butler, and remarkable for his obesity and laziness); "but you see, aunt, in the first place, my father could not spare him; and, in the second, he could not exactly keep up with me on a day's march of thirty or forty miles, and would certainly be nowhere when chasing wild buffaloes, or hunting panthers or grizzly bears. So I gave up the idea of having a servant at all; and as for a friend, I don't happen to be supplied with one ready to go, and I hope to find plenty on the way." Having at length consoled Aunt Becky, by assuring her that I would take very good care of myself, and promising to bring her home trophies from all the lands I should visit, I gave her a parting kiss, in return for her blessing, and a few days afterwards I found myself, with Liverpool astern, sailing down the Mersey on board the good ship _Liberty_, bound for New Orleans, which the people on board pronounced New Orle-e-ens. The striped and starry banner waved over our heads. "There, now, that's the flag of flags," said the skipper, pointing to it. "You Britishers talk of your flag which has `braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,' but I guess that flag of ours will be flying proudly in every quarter of the globe when your old obsolete government will have come to a consummate smash." He looked so savage at me, that Ready would have flown at his leg, had I not held him back. I was determined not to be put out of temper, so I answered quietly-- "Now, captain, I should be very happy to suppose that your stars and stripes will fly to the end of the world; but I do not see why the banner of old England should not be allowed to wave as long. There's room for both of us, surely. It's my principle to live and let live." "Why, stranger, because you are not a nation of free men, you don't know what true liberty is," he replied, gnashing his teeth in a way which made Ready show his in return. "Our old obsolete government showed that it appreciated liberty when, at a vast cost, it knocked off the shackles from every slave owned by a Briton," I observed, calmly. "I guess you'd better not touch on that there subject, stranger, when you get to New Orle-e-ens, or Judge Lynch may have a word to say to you," croaked out the skipper, curling his nose, and giving a malicious wink at me while he squirted a stream of tobacco juice into the eye of poor Ready, who went howling round the deck with pain. I took the hint, and held my tongue on the dark subject. It's ill to talk of the gallows to a man whose father has been hung, and none but a Knight of La Mancha runs a tilt against windmills when travelling in foreign lands. Still, I say, do not do at Rome as Rome does, but protest, if not loudly, silently--by your conduct--against vice and immorality, and all the abominations you may meet with. We had a large number of emigrants on board, who were fully persuaded that they were going to enjoy not only the most perfect government under the sun, but every blessing this world can supply. Poor people! how different did they find the reality. We kept to the southward of that mighty stream which, coming out of the Gulf of Mexico, sweeps away north, across the Atlantic, and, with its well-heated waters, adds considerably to the warmth of our shores at home. We saw neither floating icebergs, whales, nor sea serpents, but had several births and deaths, and at last made the island of St. Thomas, which appeared floating like a blue cloud on the ocean. As we drew nearer, a vast mountain rose before us, seemingly, directly out of the water, having a sterile summit, sprinkled round with spots of refreshing verdure. The harbour is in the form of an amphitheatre, and the land round, with its glittering white town on three hills, its old fort advancing into the sea, its green valleys, groves of cocoa-nuts, and fields of sugar-cane, is a highly picturesque spot. We put in to get a supply of water, fruit, vegetables, and fresh provisions; but, as the yellow fever was at the time carrying off about twenty of the inhabitants a day, <DW64>s and mulattoes as well as white people, I was satisfied with admiring its beauties at a distance. Putting to sea again as fast as we could, we weathered the north-western point of Cuba, and entered the Gulf of Mexico, between that island and Florida. About a week afterwards vast numbers of logs of wood, floating in yellow water, indicated that we were at the mouths of the Mississippi, for, of course, a mighty stream a thousand miles long, would not be content with one mouth, like our poor little humble Thames. The scenery, consisting of mud-banks and swamps, as far as the eye can reach, is not very attractive. It is curious to look back after making numerous windings, and to observe the sea over the mud-banks, considerably lower than the water on which the ship is floating. With a fair wind stemming the stream for a hundred and thirty miles, we found ourselves amid a crowd of vessels of all nations off New Orleans, the capital of Louisiana. It is a large handsome looking city, but, as the ground on which it stands is lower than the surface of the river, I could not help feeling, while I was there, that some night I might find myself washed out of my bed by its muddy waters. Intending to return to New Orleans, I left my traps at my hotel, and embarked with Ready on board a huge steamer bound up the Mississippi. A cockney might describe her as like a Thames wherry with an omnibus on the top of it, and vast paddles outside all. I found that passengers could only ascend to the upper saloon, which ran the whole length of the vessel, the roof being of necessity sacred to the officers and crew. There were numerous galleries, however, on each side of the paddle-boxes, and forward and aft, whence I could observe the scenery. It was not very attractive, consisting chiefly of low swamps--the habitations of alligators and rattlesnakes. Here and there were more elevated spots, on which villages were perched, and patches where once the forest grew, but which were now covered with fields of sugar-cane, maize, and cotton bushes. We were dashing on at a prodigious rate--I fancy the engineer must have been sitting on the safety-valve--when, feeling a dreadful concussion, and being thrown forward with my nose on the deck, I heard those around me exclaim, "Snagged!" "We are sinking!" A snag is a log of timber stuck sloping in the mud. Against one of these snags we had run. Down, down sank the huge machine. "Aunt Becky forgot to mention this, among the other modes of losing my life which she enumerated," I thought to myself. "She forgot that Mississippi steamers could sink as well as blow up." However, I had no intention of going out of the world just then, if I could help it. The river was at that part very wide and shallow; but I observed an island not far off, and I hoped to reach it. If there were any boats round the vessel, there was no time to lower them. The awful plunge came. Some hundred human beings were hurled amid the turbid waters. Many were carried down with the vessel; others were shrieking piteously, and struggling for life. The weather was intensely	1,948.778326
2023-11-16 18:49:32.7881100	3,092	28	Produced by David Widger BIBLE STUDIES ESSAYS ON PHALLIC WORSHIP AND OTHER CURIOUS RITES AND CUSTOMS By J. M. Wheeler "There is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth anything to be unclean, to him it is unclean." --Paul (Romans xiv. 14). 1892. Printed and Published By G. W. Foote PREFACE. My old friend Mr. Wheeler asks me to launch this little craft, and I do so with great pleasure. She is not a thunderous ironclad, nor a gigantic ocean liner; but she is stoutly built, well fitted, and calculated to weather all the storms of criticism. My only fear is that she will not encounter them. During the sixteen years of my friend's collaboration with me in many enterprises for the spread of Freethought and the destruction of Superstition, he has written a vast variety of articles, all possessing distinctive merit, and some extremely valuable. From these he and I have made the following selection. The articles included deal with the Bible from a special standpoint; the standpoint of an Evolutionist, who reads the Jewish Scriptures in the light of anthropology, and finds infinite illustrations in them of the savage origin of religion. Literary and scientific criticism of the Old Testament have their numerous votaries. Mr. Wheeler's mind is given to a different study of the older half of the Bible. He is bent on showing what it really contains; what religious ideas, rites, and customs prevailed among the ancient Jews and find expression in their Scriptures. This is a fruitful method, especially in _our_ country, if it be true, as Dr. Tylor observes, that "the English mind, not readily swayed by rhetoric, moves freely under the pressure of facts." Careful readers of this little book will find it full of precious information. Mr. Wheeler has a peculiarly wide acquaintance with the literature of these subjects. He has gathered from far and wide, like the summer bee, and what he yields is not an undigested mass of facts, but the pure honey of truth. Many readers will be astonished at what Mr. Wheeler tells them. We have read the Bible, they will say, and never saw these things. That is because they read it without knowledge, or without attention. Reading is not done with the eyes only, but also with the brain; and the same sentences will make various impressions, according as the brain is rich or poor in facts and principles. Even the great, strong mind of Darwin had to be plentifully stored with biological knowledge before he could see the meaning of certain simple facts, and discover the wonderful law of Natural Selection. Those who have studied the works of Spencer, Tylor, Lubbock, Frazer, and such authors, will _not_ be astonished at the contents of this volume. But they will probably find some points they had overlooked; some familiar points presented with new force; and some fresh views, whose novelty is not their only virtue: for Mr. Wheeler is not a slavish follower of even the greatest teachers, he thinks for himself, and shows others what he has seen with his own eyes. I hope this little volume will find many readers. Its doing so will please the author, for every writer wishes to be read; why else, indeed, should he write? Only less will be the pleasure of his friend who pens this Preface. I am sure the book will be instructive to most of those into whose hands it falls; to the rest, the few who really study and reflect, it will be stimulating and suggestive. Greater praise the author would not desire; so much praise cannot often be given with sincerity. G. W. Foote. PHALLIC WORSHIP AMONG THE JEWS. "The hatred of indecency, which appears to us so natural as to be thought innate, and which is so valuable an aid to chastity, is a modern virtue, appertaining exclusively, as Sir G. Staunton remarks, to civilised life. This is shown by the ancient religious rites of various nations, by the drawings on the walls of Pompeii, and by the practices of many savages."--C. Darwin, "Descent of Man" pt. 1, chap. iv., vol. i., p. 182; 1888. The study of religions is a department of anthropology, and nowhere is it more important to remember the maxim of the pagan Terence, _Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto_. It is impossible to dive deep into any ancient faiths without coming across a deal of mud. Man has often been defined as a religious animal. He might as justly be termed a dirty and foolish animal. His religions have been growths of earth, not gifts from heaven, and they usually bear strong marks of their clayey origin.* * The Contemporary Review for June 1888, says (p. 804) "when Lord Dalhousie passed an Act intended to repress obscenity (in India), a special clause in it exempted all temples and religious emblems from its operation." I am not one of those who find in phallicism the key to all the mysteries of mythology. All the striking phenomena of nature--the alternations of light and darkness, sun and moon, the terrors of the thunderstorm, and of pain, disease and death, together with his own dreams and imaginations--contributed to evoke the wonder and superstition of early man. But investigation of early religion shows it often nucleated around the phenomena of generation. The first and final problem of religion concerns the production of things. Man's own body was always nearer to him than sun, moon, and stars; and early man, thinking not in words but in things, had to express the very idea of creation or production in terms of his own body. It was so in Egypt, where the symbol, from being the sign of production, became also the sign of life, and of regeneration and resurrection. It was so in Babylonia and Assyria, as in ancient Greece and Troy, and is so till this day in India. Montaigne says: "Fifty severall deities were in times past allotted to this office. And there hath beene a nation found which to allay and coole the lustful concupiscence of such as came for devotion, kept wenches of purpose in their temples to be used; for it was a point of religion to deale with them before one went to prayers. _Nimirum propter continentiam incontinentia neces-saria est, incendium ignibus extinguitur_: 'Belike we must be incontinent that we may be continent, burning is quenched by fire.' In most places of the world that part of our body was deified. In that same province some flead it to offer, and consecrated a peece thereof; others offered and consecrated their seed." It is in India that this early worship maybe best studied at the present day. The worshippers of Siva identify their great god, Maha Deva, with the linga, and wear on their left arm a bracelet containing the linga and yoni. The rival sect of followers of Vishnu have also a phallic significance in their symbolism. The linga yoni (fig. 1) is indeed one of the commonest of religious symbols in India. Its use extends from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. Major-General Forlong says the ordinary Maha Deva of Northern India is the simple arrangement shown in fig. 2, in which we see "what was I suspect the first Delphic tripod supporting a vase of water over the Linga in Yona. Such may be counted by scores in a day's march over Northern India, and especially at ghats or river ferries, or crossings of any streams or roads; for are they not Hermae?" The Linga Purana tells us that the linga was a pillar of fire in which Siva was present. This reminds one of Jahveh appearing as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. [Illustration: Fig. 1.--The Hindu Maha Deva, or Linga-Yoni] So astounded have been many writers at the phenomena presented by phallic worship that they have sought to explain it, not only by the story of the fall and the belief in original sin, but by the direct agency of devils.* Yet it may be wrong to associate the origin of phallic worship with obscenity. Early man was rather unmoral than immoral. Obliged to think in things, it was to him no perversion to mentally associate with his own person the awe of the mysterious power of production. The sense of pleasure and the desire for progeny of course contributed. The worship was indeed both natural and inevitable in the evolution of man from savagery. When, however, phallic worship was established, it naturally led to practices such as those which Herodotus, Diodorus, and Lucian tell us took place in the Egyptian, Babylonian, and Syrian religions. * See Gougenot des Mousseaux's curious work Dieu et les Dieux, Paris, 1854. When the Luxor monument was erected in Rome, Pope Sixtus V. deliberately exorcised the devils out of possession of it. [Illustration: Fig. 2.--Rural Hindu Lingam.] Hume's observation that polytheism invariably preceded monotheism has been confirmed by all subsequent investigation. The belief in one god or supreme spirit springs out of the belief in many gods or spirits. That this was so with the Jews there is sufficient evidence in the Bible, despite the fact that the documents so called have been frequently "redacted," that is corrected, and the evidence in large part erased. An instance of this falsification may be found in Judges xviii. 30 (see Revised Version), where "Manasseh" has been piously substituted for Moses, in order to conceal the fact that the direct descendants of Moses were image worshippers down till the time of the captivity. The Rabbis gave what Milton calls "this insulse rule out of their Talmud; 'That all words, which in the Law are written obscenely, must be changed to more civil words.' Fools who would teach men to read more decently than God thought good to write."* Instances of euphemisms may be traced in the case of the "feet" (Judges iii. 24, Song v. 3, Isaiah vii* 20); "thigh" (Num. v. 24); "heel" (Gen, iii. 15); "heels" (Jer. xiii. 22); and "hand" (Isaiah lvii. 7). This last verse is translated by Dr. Cheyne, "and behind the door and the post hast thou placed thy memorial, for apart from me thou hast uncovered and gone up; thou hast enlarged thy bed, and obtained a contract from them (?); thou hast loved their bed; thou hast beheld the phallus." In his note Dr. Cheyne gives the view of the Targum and Jerome "that'memorial' = idol (or rather idolatrous symbol--the phallus)." * "Apology for Smectymnus," Works, p.84. The priests, whose policy it was to keep the nation isolated, did their best to destroy the evidence that the Jews shared in the idolatrous beliefs and practices of the nations around them. In particular the cult of Baal and Asherah, which we shall see was a form of phallic worship, became obnoxious, and the evidence of its existence was sought to be obliterated. The worship, moreover, became an esoteric one, known only to the priestly caste, as it still is among Roman Catholic initiates, and the priestly caste were naturally desirous that the ordinary worshipper should not become "as one of us." It is unquestionable that in the earliest times the Hebrews worshipped Baal. In proof there is the direct assertion of Jahveh himself (Hosea ii. 16) that "thou shalt call me _Ishi_ [my husband] and shalt call me no more _Baali_." The evidence of names, too, is decisive. Gideon's other name, Jerubbaal (Jud. vi. 32, and 1 Sam. xii. 11), was evidently the true one, for in 2 Sam. xi. 21, the name Jerubbesheth is substituted. Eshbaal (1 Chron. viii. 33) is called Ishbosheth (2 Sam. ii. 8, 10). Meribbaal (1 Chron. viii. 34) is Mephibosheth (2 Sam. iv. 4).* Now _bosheth_ means v "shame," or "shameful thing," and as Dr. Donaldson points out, in especial, "sexual shame," as in Gen. ii. 25. In the Septuagint version of 1 Kings xviii. 25, the prophets of Baal are called "the prophets of that shame." Hosea ix. 10 says "they went to Baal-peor and consecrated themselves to Bosheth and became abominable like that they loved." Micah i. 11 "having thy Bosheth naked." Jeremiah xi. 5, "For according to the number of thy cities were thy gods, O Judah; and according to the number of the streets of Jerusalem have ye set up altars to Bosheth, altars to burn incense unto Baal." * So Baal	1,948.80815
2023-11-16 18:49:32.8268530	1,113	10	E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 25971-h.htm or 25971-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/7/25971/25971-h/25971-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/7/25971/25971-h.zip) Transcriber's note: [oe] represents the oe-ligature. THE CREATORS A Comedy by MAY SINCLAIR Author of "The Divine Fire," "The Helpmate," Etc. With Illustrations by Arthur I. Keller New York The Century Co. 1910 Copyright, 1909, 1910, by The Century Co. Published, October, 1910 [Illustration: "To the book!" she said. "To Nina Lempriere's book! You can drink now, George."] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "To the book!" she said. "To Nina Lempriere's book! You can drink now, George." "How any one can be unkind to dumb animals," said Rose, musing. "Why do you talk about my heart?" Jane started at this sudden voice of her own thought. "And he," she said, "has still a chance if I fail you?" She had wrung it from him, the thing that six days ago he had come to her to say. It was Jinny who lay there, Jinny, his wife. "Ah," she cried, "try not to hate me!" "George," she said... "I love you for defending him" She closed her eyes, "I'm quite happy" Jane stood in the doorway, quietly regarding them. THE CREATORS I Three times during dinner he had asked himself what, after all, was he there for? And at the end of it, as she rose, her eyes held him for the first time that evening, as if they said that he would see. She had put him as far from her as possible, at the foot of her table between two of the four preposterous celebrities whom she had asked him, George Tanqueray, to meet. Everything, except her eyes, had changed since he had last dined with Jane Holland, in the days when she was, if anything, more obscure than he. It was no longer she who presided at the feast, but her portrait by Gisborne, R.A. He had given most of his attention to the portrait. Gisborne, R.A., was a solemn egoist, and his picture represented, not Jane Holland, but Gisborne's limited idea of her. It was a sombre face, broadened and foreshortened by the heavy, leaning brows. A face with a straight-drawn mouth and eyes prophetic of tragedy, a face in which her genius brooded, downcast, flameless, and dumb. He had got all her features, her long black eyebrows, her large, deep-set eyes, flattened queerly by the level eyebrows, her nose, a trifle too long in the bridge, too wide in the nostril, and her mouth which could look straight enough when her will was dominant. He had got her hair, the darkness and the mass of it. Tanqueray, in his abominable way, had said that Gisborne had put his best work into that, and when Gisborne resented it he had told him that it was immortality enough for any one to have painted Jane Holland's hair. (This was in the days when Gisborne was celebrated and Tanqueray was not.) If Jane had had the face that Gisborne gave her she would never have had any charm for Tanqueray. For what Gisborne had tried to get was that oppressive effect of genius, heavily looming. Not a hint had he caught of her high levity, of her look when the bright devil of comedy possessed her, not a flash of her fiery quality, of her eyes' sudden gold, and the ways of her delicate, her brilliant mouth, its fine, deliberate sweep, its darting tilt, like wings lifted for flight. When Tanqueray wanted to annoy Jane he told her that she looked like her portrait by Gisborne, R.A. They were all going to the play together. But at the last moment, she, to Tanqueray's amazement, threw them over. She was too tired, she said, to go. The celebrities pressed round her, voluble in commiseration. Of course, if she wasn't going, they wouldn't go. They didn't want to. They would sacrifice a thousand plays, but not an evening with Jane Holland. They bowed before her in all the postures and ceremonies of their adoration. And Jane Holland looked at them curiously with her tired eyes; and Tanqueray looked at her.	1,948.846893
2023-11-16 18:49:33.0298810	1,750	391	Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter or number is superscripted (example: 15^b-18^a). [=e] represents "e" with a macon over it. HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT BY GEORGE FOOT MOORE, M.A., D.D., LL.D. LONDON WILLIAMS & NORGATE HENRY HOLT & Co., NEW YORK CANADA: WM. BRIGGS, TORONTO INDIA: R. & T. WASHBOURNE, LTD. [Illustration: HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE _Editors_: HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A., LL.D. PROF. GILBERT MURRAY, D.LITT., LL.D., F.B.A. PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A., LL.D. PROF. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A. (COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, U.S.A.) NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY] [Illustration: THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT BY GEORGE FOOT MOORE M.A., D.D., LL.D. Professor in Harvard University; Editor of the Harvard Theological Review; Author of "Commentary on Judges," etc. LONDON WILLIAMS AND NORGATE] The following volumes of kindred interest have already been published in the Home University Library:-- VOL. 56.--THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. By PROF. B. W. BACON, LL.D., D.D.Vol. VOL. 68.--COMPARATIVE RELIGION. By PRINCIPAL J. ESTLIN CARPENTER, D.Litt. VOL. 15.--MOHAMMEDANISM. By PROF. D. S. MARGOLIOUTH, M.A., D.Litt. VOL. 47.--BUDDHISM. By MRS. RHYS DAVIDS, M.A. VOL. 54.--ETHICS. By G. E. MOORE, M.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT 7 II THE OLD TESTAMENT AS A NATIONAL LITERATURE 25 III THE PENTATEUCH 29 IV CHARACTER OF THE SOURCES. GENESIS 33 V EXODUS, LEVITICUS, NUMBERS 47 VI DEUTERONOMY 58 VII AGE OF THE SOURCES. COMPOSITION OF THE PENTATEUCH 65 VIII JOSHUA 73 IX JUDGES 81 X SAMUEL 91 XI KINGS 100 XII CHRONICLES 118 XIII EZRA AND NEHEMIAH 128 XIV STORY BOOKS: ESTHER, RUTH, JONAH 134 XV THE PROPHETS 144 XVI ISAIAH 147 XVII JEREMIAH 164 XVIII EZEKIEL 174 XIX DANIEL 180 XX MINOR PROPHETS 190 XXI PSALMS. LAMENTATIONS 218 XXII PROVERBS 231 XXIII JOB 235 XXIV ECCLESIASTES. SONG OF SONGS 243 BIBLIOGRAPHY 251 INDEX 253 THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT CHAPTER I THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT The early Christians received the Sacred Books of the Jews as inspired Scripture containing a divine revelation and clothed with divine authority, and till well on in the first century of the Christian era the name Scriptures was applied exclusively to these books. In time, as they came to attach the same authority to the Epistles and Gospels, and to call them, too, Scriptures (2 Pet. iii. 16), they distinguished the Christian writings as the Scriptures of the new dispensation, or, as they called it, the "new covenant," from the Scriptures of the "old covenant" (2 Cor. iii. 6, 14), the Bible of the Jews. The Greek word for covenant (_diatheke_) was rendered in the early Latin translation by _testamentum_, and the two bodies of Scripture themselves were called the Old Testament and the New Testament respectively. The Scriptures of the Jews were written in Hebrew, the older language of the people; but a few chapters in Ezra and Daniel are in Aramaic, which gradually replaced Hebrew as the vernacular of Palestine from the fifth century B.C. The Sacred Books comprise the Law, that is, the Five Books of Moses; the Prophets, under which name are included the older historical books (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings) as well as what we call the Prophets (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Twelve, i.e. Minor Prophets); a third group, of less homogeneous character, had no more distinctive name than the "Scriptures"; it included Ruth, Psalms, Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Lamentations, Daniel, Esther, Ezra-Nehemiah, and Chronicles. The Minor Prophets counted as one book; and the division of Samuel, Kings, Ezra-Nehemiah, and Chronicles each into two books was made later, and perhaps only in Christian copies of the Bible. There are, consequently, according to the Jewish enumeration twenty-four books in the Bible, while in the English Old Testament, by subdivision, we count the same books as thirty-nine. The order of the books in the Pentateuch and "Former Prophets" (Joshua-Kings) is fixed by the historical sequence, and therefore constant; among the "Latter Prophets" Jeremiah was sometimes put first, immediately following the end of Kings, with which it was so closely connected. In the third group there was no such obvious principle of arrangement, and consequently there were different opinions about the proper order; that which is given above follows the oldest deliverance on the subject, and puts them in what the rabbis doubtless supposed to be a chronological series. So long as the books were written on separate rolls of papyrus, the question of order was theoretical rather than practical; and even when manuscripts were written in codex form (on folded leaves stitched together like our books), no uniformity was attained. At the beginning of the Christian era, lessons from the Law were regularly read in the synagogues on the sabbath (the Pentateuch being so divided that it was read through consecutively once in three years), and a second lesson was chosen from the Prophets. The title of these books to be regarded as Sacred Scripture was thus established by long-standing liturgical use, and was, indeed, beyond question. Nor was there any question about the inspiration of most of the books in the third group, the "Scriptures." There was a controversy, however, over Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs; some teachers of the strictest school denied that either of them was inspired, while others accepted only one of them. The question was voted on in a council of rabbis held at Jamnia about the	1,949.049921
2023-11-16 18:49:33.0374770	4,183	9	Produced by Annie McGuire THE SPECTACLE MAN Out of a song the story grew; Just how it happened nobody knew, But, song and story, it all came true. BOOKS BY MARY F. LEONARD. * * * * * =THE SPECTACLE MAN=. A STORY OF THE MISSING BRIDGE. 266 pages. Cloth. $1.00. =MR. PAT'S LITTLE GIRL=. A STORY OF THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 322 pages. Cloth. $1.50. =THE PLEASANT STREET PARTNERSHIP=. A NEIGHBORHOOD STORY. 269 pages. Cloth. $.75, _net_. [Illustration: "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case"] The Spectacle Man _A Story of the Missing Bridge_ * * * * * By Mary F. Leonard AUTHOR OF "THE BIG FRONT DOOR" _Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_ W. A. WILDE COMPANY BOSTON AND CHICAGO _Copyright, 1901,_ BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY. _All rights reserved_. _TO THE ONE Whose Love has been from Childhood An Unfailing Inspiration Whose Friendship has made Dark Paths Light This Little Book is Dedicated In Memory of "Remembered Hours"_ CONTENTS. CHAPTER FIRST. Page Frances meets the Spectacle Man 11 CHAPTER SECOND. A Certain Person 22 CHAPTER THIRD. Gladys 32 CHAPTER FOURTH. They look at a Flat 40 CHAPTER FIFTH. Some New Acquaintances 50 CHAPTER SIXTH. An Informal Affair 61 CHAPTER SEVENTH. A Portrait 77 CHAPTER EIGHTH. The Story of the Bridge 86 CHAPTER NINTH. Finding a Moral 106 CHAPTER TENTH. The Portrait Again 118 CHAPTER ELEVENTH. Mrs. Marvin is perplexed 128 CHAPTER TWELFTH. At Christmas Time 134 CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. One Sunday Afternoon 151 CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. Three of a Name 164 CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. A Confidence 177 CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. Hard Times 186 CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. At the Loan Exhibit 198 CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. The March Number of _The Young People's Journal_ 207 CHAPTER NINETEENTH. Surprises 215 CHAPTER TWENTIETH. Caroline's Story 231 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. Overheard by Peterkin 240 CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. The Little Girl in the Golden Doorway 249 CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. "The Ducks and the Geese they All swim over" 257 Illustrations. Page "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case" _Frontispiece_ 11 "'What is your name, baby?'" 54 "'Little girl, I wish I knew you'" 120 "She pointed out a picture, set in diamonds" 200 The Spectacle Man. * * * * * CHAPTER FIRST. FRANCES MEETS THE SPECTACLE MAN. "The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it, Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do--" sang the Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case, with his hands outspread, and the glasses between a thumb and finger, as he nodded merrily at Frances. Such an odd-looking person as he was! Instead of an ordinary coat he wore a velvet smoking-jacket; the top of his bald head was protected by a Scotch cap, and his fringe of hair, white like his pointed beard, was parted behind and brushed into a tuft over each ear, the ribbon ends of his cap hanging down between in the jauntiest way. It was really difficult to decide whether the back or front view of him was most cheerful. "Will it take long?" Frances asked, with dignity, although a certain dimple refused to be repressed. "Well, at least half an hour, if I am not interrupted; but as my clerk is out, I may have to stop to wait on a customer. Perhaps if you have other shopping to do you might call for them on your way home." If there was a twinkle in the eye of the Spectacle Man, nobody saw it except the gray cat who sat near by on the directory. "Thank you, I think I'd better wait," replied Frances, politely, much pleased to have it supposed she was out shopping. At this the optician hastened to give her a chair at the window, motioning her to it with a wave of the hand and a funny little bow; then he trotted into the next room and returned with a _St. Nicholas_, which he presented with another bow, and retired to his table in the corner. As he set to work he hummed his tune, glancing now and then over his shoulder in the direction of his small customer. Perched on the high-backed chair, in her scarlet coat and cap, her hands clasped over the book, her bright eyes fixed on the busy street, it was as if a stray red bird had fluttered in, bringing a touch of color to the gray-tinted room. From her waving brown locks to the tips of her toes she was a dainty little maid, and carried herself with the air of a person of some importance. If the Spectacle Man was interested in Frances, she was no less interested in him; neither the street nor the magazine attracted her half so much as the queer shop and its proprietor. It had once been the front parlor of the old dwelling which, with its veranda and grass-plat, still held its own in the midst of the tall business houses that closed it in on either side. Here were the show-cases, queer instruments, and cabalistic looking charts for trying the sight; over the high mantel hung a large clock, and in the grate below a coal fire nickered and purred in a lazy fashion; and through the half-open folding doors Francis had a glimpse into what seemed to be a study or library. At least a dozen questions were on the tip of her tongue, but didn't get any further. For instance, she longed to ask if those cunning little spectacles on the doll's head in the case near her, were for sale, and if the Spectacle Man had any children who read the _St. Nicholas_ and what the gray cat's name was, for that he had a name she didn't doubt, he was so evidently an important part of the establishment. He had descended from the directory, which was rather circumscribed for one of his size, and curled himself comfortably on the counter; but instead of going to sleep he gently fanned his nose with the tip of his tail, and kept his yellow eyes fixed on Frances as if he too felt some curiosity about her. She was thinking how much she would like to have him in her lap when the Spectacle Man looked around and said, "The next time your grandmother breaks these frames she will have to have some new ones." "They aren't my grandmother's, they are Mrs. Gray's. I haven't any grandmother," she answered. "You haven't? Why, that's a coincidence; neither have I!" Frances laughed but didn't think of anything else to say, so the conversation dropped, and the optician fell to humming:-- "The bridge is broke." They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain. "What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any umbrella." The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl was worried, he asked how far she had to go. "Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father were out when I left and won't know where I am." "Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a waterproof for you." This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar, he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot the storm. The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which, judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the Spectacle Man. "I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked. Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to have so many interesting things," she said. While she walked slowly around the room the optician sat down at the table and wrote rapidly. "How does this sound," he presently asked. "'WANTED: Occupants for a small, partially furnished flat. All conveniences; rent reasonable. Apply 432 Walnut Street.' You don't happen to know any one who wants a flat, I suppose?" Frances said she did not. "The lady who had my second story rooms was called away by her mother's death, and now she is not coming back. With Mark away at school it is really very important to have them rented." The Spectacle Man tapped the end of his nose with his pen and began to hum absent-mindedly:-- "The bridge is broke and I have to mend it." At this moment a boy with a dripping umbrella appeared at the door. He proved to be Dick, and was at once despatched to the Wentworth with instructions to ask for Mr. John Morrison, and let him know his daughter was safe and only waiting till the storm was over; and on his way back to stop at the newspaper office and leave the advertisement. "Dear me!" said Frances, after he had gone, "we might have sent Mrs. Gray's glasses; I am afraid she will be tired waiting for them. She can't see to do anything without them, and she is lame too." "Well, she is fortunate in having a friend to get them mended for her. And now I wonder if you wouldn't like to see old Toby," said the optician, taking down a funny looking jug in the shape of a very fat old gentleman. "When my grandfather died he left me this jug and the song about the bridge. Did you ever hear it before?" Frances said she never had. "Grandfather used to sing it to me when I was a little boy, and I find it still a very good song. When I get into a tight place and can't see how I am to get through, why--" here he waved his hands and nodded his head-- "'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,' "and I go to work and try. Sometimes it is for other people, sometimes for myself. Bridges are always getting broken,--'tisn't only spectacles." Frances smiled, for though she did not quite understand, it sounded interesting; but before she had time to ask any questions a tall young man entered. "Why, Wink! what in the world are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "Oh, daddy dear, I hope you haven't worried!" she cried, running to him; "Mrs. Gray broke her glasses and couldn't read or sew, and I thought I ought to have them mended for her,--it wasn't far you know--and then it began to rain so I couldn't get back." "And this is Mr. Clark, I suppose," said Mr. Morrison; "let me thank you for taking care of my little daughter. And now, Wink, put on this coat and your rubbers, and let us hurry before mother quite loses her mind." When she was enveloped in the waterproof, Frances held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Clark," she said; "I hope you will find some nice person to rent your flat. Good-by." The Spectacle Man stood in his door and watched the two figures till they disappeared in the misty twilight, then he returned to the shop. "Peterkin," he said, addressing the cat, "I like that little girl, and I suppose I'll never see her again." Peterkin uncurled himself, stood up on the counter, arched his back, and yawned three times. CHAPTER SECOND. A CERTAIN PERSON. A day or two after her visit to the optician's, Frances lay curled up on the broad window-sill, a thoughtful little pucker between her eyes. About fifteen minutes earlier she had entered the room where her father and mother were talking, just as the former said, "As a certain person is abroad I see no objection to your spending the winter here if you wish." Before she could ask a single question a caller was announced, and she had taken refuge behind the curtains. It was quite by accident that they happened to be staying for a few weeks in this pleasant town where the Spectacle Man lived. They were returning from North Carolina, where they had spent the summer, when a slight illness of Mrs. Morrison's made it seem wise to stop for a while on the way; and before she was quite well, Mr. Morrison was summoned to New York on business, so his wife and daughter stayed where they were, waiting for him, and enjoying the lovely fall weather. They liked it so well they were beginning to think with regret of the time when they must leave, for though really a city in size, the place had many of the attractions of a village. The gardens around the houses, the flowers and vines, the wide shady streets, combined to make an atmosphere of homelikeness; but to Frances' mind its greatest charm lay in the fact that once, long ago, her father had lived here. At least she felt sure it must have been long ago, for it was in that strange time before there was any Frances Morrison. She had never heard as much as she wanted to hear about these years, although she had heard a good deal. There were some things her father evidently did not care to talk about, and one of these was a mysterious individual known as a Certain Person. The first time she had heard this Certain Person mentioned she had questioned her mother, who had replied, "It is some one who was once a friend of father's, but is not now. I think he does not care to mention the name, dear." After this Frances asked no more questions, but she thought a great deal, and her imagination began to picture a tall, fierce looking man who lurked in dark corners ready to spring out at her. Sometimes when she was on the street at night she would see him skulking along in the shadows, and would clasp her father's hand more closely. Altogether this person had grown and flourished in her mind in a wonderful way. And, she couldn't tell how, a Certain Person was connected in her thoughts with "The Girl in the Golden Doorway." This was a story in her very own story-book, a collection of tales known only to her father and herself, which had all been told in the firelight on winter evenings and afterward written out in Mr. Morrison's clear hand in a book bought for the purpose, so that not even a printer knew anything about them. This particular story, which she had heard many times, was of a boy who lived in a great old-fashioned house in the country, where there were beautiful things all about, both indoors and out. The only other child in the house was a little girl who looked down from a heavy gilt frame above the library mantel. The boy, who was just six years old, used to lie on the hearth rug, gazing up at her, and sometimes she would smile and beckon to him as if she wanted to be friends. This happened only at nightfall when the shadows lay dark in the corners of the room and the fire blazed brightly; at such times things that had before been a puzzle to him became quite clear. For instance, he discovered one evening that what looked like the frame of a picture was really a doorway belonging to the house where the little girl lived, and it was plain that if he could only get up there he could find out all about her. Once there, he felt sure she would take him by the hand and together they would go away--away--somewhere! But the mantel was very high, and polished like glass. One afternoon when he had come in from a long drive, and feeling tired was lying very still in his usual place, looking up at the little girl and the long passage that seemed to stretch away behind her, a strange thing happened. So unexpectedly it sent his heart into his mouth, the girl stepped out of the doorway; and then, wonder of wonders! he saw a stairway at one side of the chimney-piece where he had never noticed one before. Daintily holding up her silken skirt, the little maid descended and stood beside him. Astonished and bewildered, he put out his hand to touch her, but with a laugh she flitted across the room. Seized with the fear that she would escape him altogether, the boy started in pursuit. In and out among the massive chairs and tables they ran, the girl always just out of reach, the boy breathless with anxiety. His heart quite failed him when she darted toward the mantel. Then he remembered he could follow; and indeed she seemed to expect it, for she stood still at the top of what had grown to be a very long flight of steps, and beckoned. He hurried on, but the steps were very steep and slippery, and try as he would he could not reach the top. Suddenly some	1,949.057517
2023-11-16 18:49:33.2355770	1,658	8	Produced by Greg Bergquist, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) [Illustration: Copyright, 1891, by A. S. Burbank. _Frontispiece._ PLYMOUTH IN 1622.] American Historic Towns HISTORIC TOWNS OF NEW ENGLAND Edited by LYMAN P. POWELL Illustrated G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS NEW YORK & LONDON The Knickerbocker Press 1898 COPYRIGHT, 1898 BY G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London The Knickerbocker Press, New York [Illustration] PREFACE In July, 1893, while the first Summer Meeting of the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching was in session at the University of Pennsylvania, I conducted the students, in trips taken from week to week, to historic spots in Philadelphia, the battle-fields of the Brandywine and of Germantown, and to the site of the winter camp at Valley Forge. The experiment was brought to the attention of Dr. Albert Shaw, and at his instance I made a plea through the pages of _The American Monthly Review of Reviews_, October, 1893, for the revival of the mediæval pilgrimage, and for its adaptation to educational and patriotic uses. After pointing out some of the advantages of visits paid under competent guidance and with reverent spirit to spots made sacred by high thinking and self-forgetful living, I suggested a ten days’ pilgrimage in the footsteps of George Washington. The suggestion took root in the public mind. Leading journals commended the idea. New England people, already acquainted with the thought of local historical excursions, hailed the proposed pilgrimage with enthusiasm. Men and women from a score of States avowed their eagerness to make the experiment; and at the close of the University Extension Summer Meeting of July, 1894, in which I had lectured on American history, I found myself conducting for the University Extension Society a pilgrimage, starting from Philadelphia, to Hartford, Boston, Cambridge, Lexington, Concord, Salem, Plymouth, Newburg, West Point, Tarrytown, Tappan, New York, Princeton, and Trenton. The press contributed with discrimination the publicity essential to success. Every community visited rendered intelligent and generous co-operation. And surely no pilgrims, mediæval or modern, ever had such leadership; for among our cicerones and patriotic orators were: Col. T. W. Higginson, Drs. Edward Everett Hale and Talcott Williams, Hon. Hampton L. Carson, Messrs. Charles Dudley Warner, Richard Watson Gilder, Charles Carlton Coffin, Frank B. Sanborn, Edwin D. Mead, Hezekiah Butterworth, George P. Morris, Professors W. P. Trent, William M. Sloane, W. W. Goodwin, E. S. Morse, Brig.-Gen. O. B. Ernst, Major Marshall H. Bright, and Rev. William E. Barton. I had planned in the months that followed to publish a souvenir volume containing the more important addresses made by distinguished men on the historic significance of the places visited; but as the happy experience receded into the past a larger thought laid hold of me. Why not sometime in the infrequent leisure of a busy minister’s life edit a series of volumes on _American Historic Towns_? Kingsley’s novels were written amid parish duties, and Dr. McCook has found time, amid exacting ministerial duties, to make perhaps the most searching study ever made by an American of the habits of spiders. Medical experts agree concerning the value of a wholesome avocation to the man who takes his vocation seriously; and congregations are quick to give ear to the earnest preacher whose sermons betray a large outlook on life. A series of illustrated volumes on _American Historic Towns_, edited with intelligence, would prove a unique and important contribution to historical literature. To the pious pilgrim to historic shrines the series would, perhaps, give the perspective that every pilgrim needs, and furnish information that no guide-book ever offers. To those who have to stay at home the illustrated volumes would present some compensation for the sacrifice, and would help to satisfy a recognized need. The volumes would probably quicken public interest in our historic past, and contribute to the making of another kind of patriotism than that Dr. Johnson had in mind when he defined it as the “last refuge of a scoundrel.” I foresaw some at least of the serious difficulties that await the editor of such a series. If all the towns for which antiquarians and local enthusiasts would fain find room should be included, the series would be too long. A staff of contributors must be secured, possessing literary skill, historical insight, the antiquarian’s patience, and enough confidence in the highest success of the series to be prepared to waive any requirement of adequate pecuniary compensation. Space must be apportioned with impartial but not unsympathetic hand, and the illustrations selected with due discrimination. And, finally, publishers were to be found willing to assume the expense required for the production in suitable form of a series for which no one could with accuracy forecast the sale. The last and perhaps most serious difficulty was removed almost a year ago when Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons expressed a willingness to take the commercial risk involved in publishing the present volume, which will, it is hoped, be the first of a series. Contributors were then found whose work has, I trust, secured for the undertaking an auspicious beginning. Critics inclined at first glance to speak harshly of the differences among the contributors in style and in literary method are advised to withhold judgment till a closer reading has made clear, as it will, the fundamental differences there are among the towns themselves in history and in spirit. Adequate reasons which need not be stated here have made it advisable to omit Lexington, Groton, Portsmouth, the Mystic towns, and other towns which would naturally be included in a later volume on New England Towns, in case the publication should be continued. So many have co-operated in the making of this book that I will not undertake to name them all. But I cannot forbear to acknowledge the valuable assistance I have received at every stage of the work from Mr. G. H. Putnam, Mr. George P. Morris, associate editor of _The Congregationalist_, and Miss Gertrude Wilson, instructor in history at the historic Emma Willard School. The Century Company has, in the preparation of the first chapter on Boston and the chapter on Newport, kindly allowed the use of certain illustrations and portions of articles on Boston and Newport, which have appeared in _St. Nicholas_ and old _Scribner’s_ respectively. Some of the illustrations for the Portland chapter have been furnished by Lamson, the Portland photographer. The Essex Institute, with characteristic generosity, has loaned most of the cuts for the Salem chapter. The Ohio State Archæological and Historical Society has allowed the reproduction from _The Ohio Quarterly_ of some of the designs in the Rutland chapter, while certain of the illustrations in the	1,949.255617
2023-11-16 18:49:33.3380560	7,432	13	Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ: A BOOK OF LYRICS: BY BLISS CARMAN [Illustration: logo] CHARLES L. WEBSTER AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MDCCCXCIII COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY BLISS CARMAN. (_All rights reserved._) PRESS OF JENKINS & MCCOWAN, NEW YORK. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The poems in this volume have been collected with reference to their similarity of tone. They are variations on a single theme, more or less aptly suggested by the title, _Low Tide on Grand Pré_. It seemed better to bring together between the same covers only those pieces of work which happened to be in the same key, rather than to publish a larger book of more uncertain aim. B. C. _By Grand Pré, September, 1893._ CONTENTS PAGE LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ 11 WHY 15 THE UNRETURNING 18 A WINDFLOWER 19 IN LYRIC SEASON 21 THE PENSIONERS 23 AT THE VOICE OF A BIRD 27 WHEN THE GUELDER ROSES BLOOM 31 SEVEN THINGS 44 A SEA CHILD 47 PULVIS ET UMBRA 48 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT 61 CARNATIONS IN WINTER 63 A NORTHERN VIGIL 65 THE EAVESDROPPER 73 IN APPLE TIME 77 WANDERER 79 AFOOT 89 WAYFARING 94 THE END OF THE TRAIL 103 THE VAGABONDS 111 WHITHER 118 TO S. M. C. _Spiritus haeres sit patriae quae tristia nescit._ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ The sun goes down, and over all These barren reaches by the tide Such unelusive glories fall, I almost dream they yet will bide Until the coming of the tide. And yet I know that not for us, By any ecstasy of dream, He lingers to keep luminous A little while the grievous stream, Which frets, uncomforted of dream— A grievous stream, that to and fro Athrough the fields of Acadie Goes wandering, as if to know Why one beloved face should be So long from home and Acadie. Was it a year or lives ago We took the grasses in our hands, And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands, And held it there between our hands? The while the river at our feet— A drowsy inland meadow stream— At set of sun the after-heat Made running gold, and in the gleam We freed our birch upon the stream. There down along the elms at dusk We lifted dripping blade to drift, Through twilight scented fine like musk, Where night and gloom awhile uplift, Nor sunder soul and soul adrift. And that we took into our hands Spirit of life or subtler thing— Breathed on us there, and loosed the bands Of death, and taught us, whispering, The secret of some wonder-thing. Then all your face grew light, and seemed To hold the shadow of the sun; The evening faltered, and I deemed That time was ripe, and years had done Their wheeling underneath the sun. So all desire and all regret, And fear and memory, were naught; One to remember or forget The keen delight our hands had caught; Morrow and yesterday were naught. The night has fallen, and the tide.... Now and again comes drifting home, Across these aching barrens wide, A sigh like driven wind or foam: In grief the flood is bursting home. WHY For a name unknown, Whose fame unblown Sleeps in the hills For ever and aye; For her who hears The stir of the years Go by on the wind By night and day; And heeds no thing Of the needs of spring, Of autumn's wonder Or winter's chill; For one who sees The great sun freeze, As he wanders a-cold From hill to hill; And all her heart Is a woven part Of the flurry and drift Of whirling snow; For the sake of two Sad eyes and true, And the old, old love So long ago. THE UNRETURNING The old eternal spring once more Comes back the sad eternal way, With tender rosy light before The going-out of day. The great white moon across my door A shadow in the twilight stirs; But now forever comes no more That wondrous look of Hers. A WINDFLOWER Between the roadside and the wood, Between the dawning and the dew, A tiny flower before the sun, Ephemeral in time, I grew. And there upon the trail of spring, Not death nor love nor any name Known among men in all their lands Could blur the wild desire with shame. But down my dayspan of the year The feet of straying winds came by; And all my trembling soul was thrilled To follow one lost mountain cry. And then my heart beat once and broke To hear the sweeping rain forebode Some ruin in the April world, Between the woodside and the road. To-night can bring no healing now; The calm of yesternight is gone; Surely the wind is but the wind, And I a broken waif thereon. IN LYRIC SEASON The lyric April time is forth With lyric mornings, frost and sun; From leaguers vast of night undone Auroral mild new stars are born. And ever at the year's return, Along the valleys gray with rime, Thou leadest as of old, where time Can naught but follow to thy sway. The trail is far through leagues of spring, And long the quest to the white core Of harvest quiet, yet once more I gird me to the old unrest. I know I shall not ever meet Thy still regard across the year, And yet I know thou wilt draw near, When the last hour of pain and loss Drifts out to slumber, and the deeps Of nightfall feel God's hand unbar His lyric April, star by star, And the lost twilight land reveal. THE PENSIONERS We are the pensioners of Spring, And take the largess of her hand When vassal warder winds unbar The wintry portals of her land; The lonely shadow-girdled winds, Her seraph almoners, who keep This little life in flesh and bone With meagre portions of white sleep. Then all year through with starveling care We go on some fool's idle quest, And eat her bread and wine in thrall To a fool's shame with blind unrest. Until her April train goes by, And then because we are the kin Of every hill flower on the hill We must arise and walk therein. Because her heart as our own heart, Knowing the same wild upward stir, Beats joyward by eternal laws, We must arise and go with her; Forget we are not where old joys Return when dawns and dreams retire; Make grief a phantom of regret, And fate the henchman of desire; Divorce unreason from delight; Learn how despair is uncontrol, Failure the shadow of remorse, And death a shudder of the soul. Yea, must we triumph when she leads. A little rain before the sun, A breath of wind on the road's dust, The sound of trammeled brooks undone, Along red glinting willow stems The year's white prime, on bank and stream The haunting cadence of no song And vivid wanderings of dream, A range of low blue hills, the far First whitethroat's ecstasy unfurled: And we are overlords of change, In the glad morning of the world, Though we should fare as they whose life Time takes within his hands to wring Between the winter and the sea, The weary pensioners of Spring. AT THE VOICE OF A BIRD _Consurgent ad vocem volucris._ Call to me, thrush, When night grows dim, When dreams unform And death is far! When hoar dews flush On dawn's rathe brim, Wake me to hear Thy wildwood charm, As a lone rush Astir in the slim White stream where sheer Blue mornings are. Stir the keen hush On twilight's rim When my own star Is white and clear. Fly low to brush Mine eyelids grim, Where sleep and storm Will set their bar; For God shall crush Spring balm for him, Stark on his bier Past fault or harm, Who once, as flush Of day might skim The dusk, afar In sleep shall hear Thy song's cool rush With joy rebrim The world, and calm The deep with cheer. Then, Heartsease, hush! If sense grow dim, Desire shall steer Us home from far. WHEN THE GUELDER ROSES BLOOM When the Guelder roses bloom, Love, the vagrant, wanders home. Love, that died so long ago, As we deemed, in dark and snow, Comes back to the door again, Guendolen, Guendolen. In his hands a few bright flowers, Gathered in the earlier hours, Speedwell-blue, and poppy-red, Withered in the sun and dead, With a history to each, Are more eloquent than speech. In his eyes the welling tears Plead against the lapse of years. And that mouth we knew so well, Hath a pilgrim's tale to tell. Hear his litany again: "Guendolen, Guendolen!" "No, love, no, thou art a ghost! Love long since in night was lost. "Thou art but the shade of him, For thine eyes are sad and dim." "Nay, but they will shine once more, Glad and brighter than before, "If thou bring me but again To my mother Guendolen! "These dark flowers are for thee, Gathered by the lonely sea. "And these singing shells for her Who first called me wanderer, "In whose beauty glad I grew, When this weary life was new." Hear him raving! "It is I. Love once born can never die." "Thou, poor love, thou art gone mad With the hardships thou hast had. "True, it is the spring of year, But thy mother is not here. "True, the Guelder roses bloom As long since about this room, "Where thy blessed self was born In the early golden morn "But the years are dead, good lack! Ah, love, why hast thou come back, "Pleading at the door again, 'Guendolen, Guendolen'?" When the Guelder roses bloom, And the vernal stars resume Their old purple sweep and range, I can hear a whisper strange As the wind gone daft again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" "When the Guelder roses blow, Love that died so long ago, "Why wilt thou return so oft, With that whisper sad and soft "On thy pleading lips again, 'Guendolen, Guendolen'!" Still the Guelder roses bloom, And the sunlight fills the room, Where love's shadow at the door Falls upon the dusty floor. And his eyes are sad and grave With the tenderness they crave, Seeing in the broken rhyme The significance of time, Wondrous eyes that know not sin From his brother death, wherein I can see thy look again, Guendolen, Guendolen. And love with no more to say, In this lovely world to-day Where the Guelder roses bloom, Than the record on a tomb, Only moves his lips again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" Then he passes up the road From this dwelling, where he bode In the by-gone years. And still, As he mounts the sunset hill Where the Guelder roses blow With their drifts of summer snow, I can hear him, like one dazed At a phantom he has raised, Murmur o'er and o'er again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" And thus every year, I know, When the Guelder roses blow, Love will wander by my door, Till the spring returns no more; Till no more I can withstand, But must rise and take his hand Through the countries of the night, Where he walks by his own sight, To the mountains of a dawn That has never yet come on, Out of this fair land of doom Where the Guelder roses bloom, Till I come to thee again, Guendolen, Guendolen. SEVEN THINGS The fields of earth are sown From the hand of the striding rain, And kernels of joy are strewn Abroad for the harrow of pain. I. The first song-sparrow brown That wakes the earliest spring, When time and fear sink down, And death is a fabled thing. II. The stealing of that first dawn Over the rosy brow, When thy soul said, "World, fare on, For Heaven is here and now!" III. The crimson shield of the sun On the wall of this House of Doom, With the garb of war undone At last in the narrow room. IV. A heart that abides to the end, As the hills for sureness and peace, And is neither weary to wend Nor reluctant at last of release. V. Thy mother's cradle croon To haunt thee over the deep, Out of the land of Boon Into the land of Sleep. VI. The sound of the sea in storm, Hearing its captain cry, When the wild, white riders form, And the Ride to the Dark draws nigh. VII. But last and best, the urge Of the great world's desire, Whose being from core to verge Only attains to aspire. A SEA CHILD The lover of child Marjory Had one white hour of life brim full; Now the old nurse, the rocking sea, Hath him to lull. The daughter of child Marjory Hath in her veins, to beat and run, The glad indomitable sea, The strong white sun. PULVIS ET UMBRA There is dust upon my fingers, Pale gray dust of beaten wings, Where a great moth came and settled From the night's blown winnowings. Harvest with her low red planets Wheeling over Arrochar; And the lonely hopeless calling Of the bell-buoy on the bar, Where the sea with her old secret Moves in sleep and cannot rest. From that dark beyond my doorway, Silent the unbidden guest Came and tarried, fearless, gentle, Vagrant of the starlit gloom, One frail waif of beauty fronting Immortality and doom; Through the chambers of the twilight Roaming from the vast outland, Resting for a thousand heart-beats In the hollow of my hand. "Did the volley of a thrush-song Lodge among some leaves and dew Hillward, then across the gloaming This dark mottled thing was you? "Or is my mute guest whose coming So unheralded befell From the border wilds of dreamland, Only whimsy Ariel, "Gleaning with the wind, in furrows Lonelier than dawn to reap, Dust and shadow and forgetting, Frost and reverie and sleep? "In the hush when Cleopatra Felt the darkness reel and cease, Was thy soul a wan blue lotus Laid upon her lips for peace? "And through all the years that wayward Passion in one mortal breath, Making thee a thing of silence, Made thee as the lords of death? "Or did goblin men contrive thee In the forges of the hills Out of thistle-drift and sundown Lost amid their tawny rills, "Every atom on their anvil Beaten fine and bolted home, Every quiver wrought to cadence From the rapture of a gnome? "Then the lonely mountain wood-wind, Straying up from dale to dale, Gave thee spirit, free forever, Thou immortal and so frail! "Surely thou art not that sun-bright Psyche, hoar with age, and hurled On the northern shore of Lethe, To this wan Auroral world! "Ghost of Psyche, uncompanioned, Are the yester-years all done? Have the oars of Charon ferried All thy playmates from the sun? "In thy wings the beat and breathing Of the wind of life abides, And the night whose sea-gray cohorts Swing the stars up with the tides. "Did they once make sail and wander Through the trembling harvest sky, Where the silent Northern streamers Change and rest not till they die? "Or from clouds that tent and people The blue firmamental waste, Did they learn the noiseless secret Of eternity's unhaste? "Where learned they to rove and loiter, By the margin of what sea? Was it with outworn Demeter, Searching for Persephone? "Or did that girl-queen behold thee In the fields of moveless air? Did these wings which break no whisper Brush the poppies in her hair? "Is it thence they wear the pulvil— Ash of ruined days and sleep, And the two great orbs of splendid Melting sable deep on deep! "Pilot of the shadow people, Steering whither by what star Hast thou come to hapless port here, Thou gray ghost of Arrochar?" For man walks the world with mourning Down to death, and leaves no trace, With the dust upon his forehead, And the shadow in his face. Pillared dust and fleeing shadow As the roadside wind goes by, And the fourscore years that vanish In the twinkling of an eye. Beauty, the fine frosty trace-work Of some breath upon the pane; Spirit, the keen wintry moonlight Flashed thereon to fade again. Beauty, the white clouds a-building When God said and it was done; Spirit, the sheer brooding rapture Where no mid-day brooks no sun. So. And here, the open casement Where my fellow-mate goes free; Eastward, the untrodden star-road And the long wind on the sea. What's to hinder but I follow This my gypsy guide afar, When the bugle rouses slumber Sounding taps on Arrochar? "Where, my brother, wends the by-way, To what bourne beneath what sun, Thou and I are set to travel Till the shifting dream be done? "Comrade of the dusk, forever I pursue the endless way Of the dust and shadew kindred, Thou art perfect for a day. "Yet from beauty marred and broken, Joy and memory and tears, I shall crush the clearer honey In the harvest of the years. "Thou art faultless as a flower Wrought of sun and wind and snow, I survive the fault and failure. The wise Fates will have it so. "For man walks the world in twilight, But the morn shall wipe all trace Of the dust from off his forehead, And the shadow from his face. "Cheer thee on, my tidings-bearer! All the valor of the North Mounts as soul from flesh escaping Through the night, and bids thee forth. "Go, and when thou hast discovered Her whose dark eyes match thy wings, Bid that lyric heart beat lighter For the joy thy beauty brings." Then I leaned far out and lifted My light guest up, and bade speed On the trail where no one tarries That wayfarer few will heed. Pale gray dust upon my fingers; And from this my cabined room The white soul of eager message Racing seaward in the gloom. Far off shore, the sweet low calling Of the bell-buoy on the bar, Warning night of dawn and ruin Lonelily on Arrochar. THROUGH THE TWILIGHT The red vines bar my window way; The Autumn sleeps beside his fire, For he has sent this fleet-foot day A year's march back to bring to me One face whose smile is my desire, Its light my star. Surely you will come near and speak, This calm of death from the day to sever! And so I shall draw down your cheek Close to my face—So close!—and know God's hand between our hands forever Will set no bar. Before the dusk falls—even now I know your step along the gravel, And catch your quiet poise of brow, And wait so long till you turn the latch! Is the way so hard you had to travel? Is the land so far? The dark has shut your eyes from mine, But in this hush of brooding weather A gleam on twilight's gathering line Has riven the barriers of dream: Soul of my soul, we are together As the angels are! CARNATIONS IN WINTER Your carmine flakes of bloom to-night The fire of wintry sunsets hold; Again in dreams you burn to light A far Canadian garden old. The blue north summer over it Is bland with long ethereal days; The gleaming martins wheel and flit Where breaks your sun down orient ways. There, when the gradual twilight falls, Through quietudes of dusk afar, Hermit antiphonal hermit calls From hills below the first pale star. Then in your passionate love's foredoom Once more your spirit stirs the air, And you are lifted through the gloom To warm the coils of her dark hair. A NORTHERN VIGIL Here by the gray north sea, In the wintry heart of the wild, Comes the old dream of thee, Guendolen, mistress and child. The heart of the forest grieves In the drift against my door; A voice is under the eaves, A footfall on the floor. Threshold, mirror and hall, Vacant and strangely aware, Wait for their soul's recall With the dumb expectant air. Here when the smouldering west Burns down into the sea, I take no heed of rest And keep the watch for thee. I sit by the fire and hear The restless wind go by, On the long dirge and drear, Under the low bleak sky. When day puts out to sea And night makes in for land, There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand! When night goes over the hill And dawn comes down the dale, It's O for the wild sweet will That shall no more prevail! When the zenith moon is round, And snow-wraiths gather and run, And there is set no bound To love beneath the sun, O wayward will, come near The old mad willful way, The soft mouth at my ear With words too sweet to say! Come, for the night is cold, The ghostly moonlight fills Hollow and rift and fold Of the eerie Ardise hills! The windows of my room Are dark with bitter frost, The stillness aches with doom Of something loved and lost. Outside, the great blue star Burns in the ghostland pale, Where giant Algebar Holds on the endless trail. Come, for the years are long, And silence keeps the door, Where shapes with the shadows throng The firelit chamber floor. Come, for thy kiss was warm, With the red embers' glare Across thy folding arm And dark tumultuous hair! And though thy coming rouse The sleep-cry of no bird, The keepers of the house Shall tremble at thy word. Come, for the soul is free! In all the vast dreamland There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand. Ah, not in dreams at all, Fleering, perishing, dim, But thy old self, supple and tall, Mistress and child of whim! The proud imperious guise, Impetuous and serene, The sad mysterious eyes, And dignity of mien! Yea, wilt thou not return, When the late hill-winds veer, And the bright hill-flowers burn With the reviving year? When April comes, and the sea Sparkles as if it smiled, Will they restore to me My dark Love, empress and child? The curtains seem to part; A sound is on the stair, As if at the last... I start; Only the wind is there. Lo, now far on the hills The crimson fumes uncurled, Where the caldron mantles and spills Another dawn on the world! THE EAVESDROPPER In a still room at hush of dawn, My Love and I lay side by side And heard the roaming forest wind Stir in the paling autumn-tide. I watched her earth-brown eyes grow glad Because the round day was so fair; While memories of reluctant night Lurked in the blue dusk of her hair. Outside, a yellow maple tree, Shifting upon the silvery blue With small innumerable sound, Rustled to let the sunlight through. The livelong day the elvish leaves Danced with their shadows on the floor; And the lost children of the wind Went straying homeward by our door. And all the swarthy afternoon We watched the great deliberate sun Walk through the crimsoned hazy world, Counting his hilltops one by one. Then as the purple twilight came And touched the vines along our eaves, Another Shadow stood without And gloomed the dancing of the leaves. The silence fell on my Love's lips; Her great brown eyes were veiled and sad With pondering some maze of dream, Though all the splendid year was glad. Restless and vague as a gray wind Her heart had grown, she knew not why. But hurrying to the open door, Against the verge of western sky I saw retreating on the hills, Looming and sinister and black, The stealthy figure swift and huge Of One who strode and looked not back. IN APPLE TIME The apple harvest days are here, The boding apple harvest days, And down the flaming valley ways, The foresters of time draw near. Through leagues of bloom I went with Spring, To call you on the <DW72>s of morn, Where in imperious song is borne The wild heart of the golden wing. I roamed through alien summer lands, I sought your beauty near and far; To-day, where russet shadows are, I hold your face between my hands. On runnels dark by <DW72>s of fern, The hazy undern sleeps in sun. Remembrance and desire, undone, From old regret to dreams return. The apple harvest time is here, The tender apple harvest time; A sheltering calm, unknown at prime, Settles upon the brooding year. WANDERER I Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the morning unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, come hither, Into the eld of the East with me!" Saith the wide wind of the low red morning, Making in from the gray rough sea. "Wanderer, come, of the footfall weary, And heavy at heart as the sad-heart sea. "For long ago, when the world was making, I walked through Eden with God for guide; And since that time in my heart forever His calm and wisdom and peace abide. "I am thy spirit and thy familiar, Child of the teeming earth's unrest! Before God's joy upon gloom begot thee I had hungered and searched and ended the quest. "I sit by the roadside wells of knowledge; I haunt the streams of the springs of thought; But because my voice is the voice of silence, The heart within thee regardeth not. "Yet I await thee, assured, unimpatient, Till thy small tumult of striving be past. How long, O wanderer, wilt thou a-weary, Keep thee afar from my arms at the last?" II Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the high noon unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, turn hither, Far to the burning South with me," Saith the soft wind on the high June headland, Sheering up from the summer sea, "While the implacable warder, Oblivion, Sleeps on the marge of a foamless sea! "Come where the urge of desire availeth, And no fear follows the children of men; For a handful of dust is the only heirloom The morrow bequeaths to its morrow again. "Touch and feel how the flesh is perfect Beyond the compass of dream to be! 'Bone of my bone,' said God to Adam; 'Core of my core,' say I to thee. "Look and see how the form is goodly Beyond the reach of desire and art! For he who fashioned the world so easily Laughed in his sleeve as he walked apart. "Therefore, O wanderer, cease from desiring; Take the wide province of seaway and sun! Here for the infinite quench of thy craving, Infinite yearning and bliss are one." III Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the evening unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, haste hither, Into the glad-heart West with me!" Saith the strong wind of the gold-green twilight, Gathering out of the autumn hills, "I am the word of the world's first dreamer Who woke when Freedom walked on the hills. "And the secret triumph from daring to doing, From musing to marble, I will be, Till the last fine fleck of the world is finished, And Freedom shall walk alone by the sea. "Who is thy heart's lord, who is thy hero? Bruce or Cæsar or Charlemagne, Hannibal, Olaf, Alaric, Roland? Dare as they dared and the deed's done again! "Here where they come of the habit immortal, By the open road to the land of the Name, Splendor and homage and wealth await thee Of builded cities and bruited fame. "Let loose the conquering toiler within	1,949.358096
2023-11-16 18:49:33.3602260	2,482	11	E-text prepared by Michael Gray ([email protected]) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 27951-h.htm or 27951-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/9/5/27951/27951-h/27951-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/9/5/27951/27951-h.zip) POLICEMAN BLUEJAY by LAURA BANCROFT Author of The Twinkle Tales, Etc. With Illustrations by Maginel Wright Enright [Frontispiece: "GO, BOTH OF YOU, AND JOIN THE BIRD THAT WARNED YOU"] Chicago The Reilly & Britton Co. Publishers Copyright, 1907 by The Reilly & Britton Co. The Lakeside Press R. R. Donnelley & Sons Company Chicago To the Children I MUST admit that the great success of the "TWINKLE TALES" has astonished me as much as it has delighted the solemn-eyed, hard working publishers. Therefore I have been encouraged to write a new "TWINKLE BOOK," hoping with all my heart that my little friends will find it worthy to occupy a place beside the others on their pet bookshelves. And because the children seem to especially love the story of "Bandit Jim Crow," and bird-life is sure to appeal alike to their hearts and their imaginations, I have again written about birds. The tale is fantastical, and intended to amuse rather than instruct; yet many of the traits of the feathered folk, herein described, are in strict accordance with natural history teachings and will serve to acquaint my readers with the habits of birds in their wildwood homes. At the same time my birds do unexpected things, because I have written a fairy tale and not a natural history. The question is often asked me whether Twinkle and Chubbins were asleep or awake when they encountered these wonderful adventures; and it grieves me to reflect that the modern child has been deprived of fairy tales to such an extent that it does not know--as I did when a girl-- that in a fairy story it does not matter whether one is awake or not. You must accept it as you would a fragrant breeze that cools your brow, a draught of sweet water, or the delicious flavor of a strawberry, and be grateful for the pleasure it brings you, without stopping to question too closely its source. For my part I am glad if my stories serve to while away a pleasant hour before bedtime or keep one contented on a rainy day. In this way they are sure to be useful, and if a little tenderness for the helpless animals and birds is acquired with the amusement, the value of the tales will be doubled. LAURA BANCROFT. LIST OF CHAPTERS I LITTLE ONES IN TROUBLE II POLICEMAN BLUEJAY III THE CHILD-LARKS IV AN AFTERNOON RECEPTION V THE ORIOLE'S STORY VI A MERRY ADVENTURE VII THE BLUEJAY'S STORY VIII MRS. HOOTAWAY IX THE DESTROYERS X IN THE EAGLE'S NEST XI THE ORPHANS XII THE GUARDIAN XIII THE KING BIRD XIV A REAL FAIRYLAND XV THE LAKE OF DRY WATER XVI THE BEAUTY DANCE XVII THE QUEEN BEE XVIII GOOD NEWS XIX THE REBELS XX THE BATTLE XXI THE TINGLE-BERRIES XXII THE TRANSFORMATION LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "GO, BOTH OF YOU, AND JOIN THE BIRD THAT WARNED YOU" THE MAN STOLE THE EGGS FROM THE NEST THE TRIAL OF THE SHRIKE "PEEP! PEEP! PEEP!" CRIED THE BABY GOLDFINCHES SAILING ON THE DRY WATER IN THE HONEY PALACE THE BATTLE "IT'S ALMOST DARK. LET'S GO HOME" [CHAPTER I] _Little Ones in Trouble_ "SEEMS to me, Chub," said Twinkle, "that we're lost." "Seems to me, Twink," said Chubbins, "that it isn't _we_ that's lost. It's the path." "It was here a minute ago," declared Twinkle. "But it isn't here now," replied the boy. "That's true," said the girl. It really _was_ queer. They had followed the straight path into the great forest, and had only stopped for a moment to sit down and rest, with the basket between them and their backs to a big tree. Twinkle winked just twice, because she usually took a nap in the afternoon, and Chubbins merely closed his eyes a second to find out if he could see that long streak of sunshine through his pink eyelids. Yet during this second, which happened while Twinkle was winking, the path had run away and left them without any guide or any notion which way they ought to go. Another strange thing was that when they jumped up to look around them the nearest trees began sliding away, in a circle, leaving the little girl and boy in a clear space. And the trees continued moving back and back, farther and farther, until all their trunks were jammed tight together, and not even a mouse could have crept between them. They made a solid ring around Twinkle and Chubbins, who stood looking at this transformation with wondering eyes. "It's a trap," said Chubbins; "and we're in it." "It looks that way," replied Twinkle, thoughtfully. "Isn't it lucky, Chub, we have the basket with us? If it wasn't for that, we might starve to death in our prison." "Oh, well," replied the little fellow, "the basket won't last long. There's plenty of starve in the bottom of it, Twinkle, any way you can fix it." "That's so; unless we can get out. Whatever do you suppose made the trees behave that way, Chubbins? "Don't know," said the boy. Just then a queer creature dropped from a tree into the ring and began moving slowly toward them. It was flat in shape, like a big turtle; only it hadn't a turtle's hard shell. Instead, its body was covered with sharp prickers, like rose thorns, and it had two small red eyes that looked cruel and wicked. The children could not see how many legs it had, but they must have been very short, because the creature moved so slowly over the ground. When it had drawn near to them it said, in a pleading tone that sounded soft and rather musical: "Little girl, pick me up in your arms, and pet me!" Twinkle shrank back. "My! I couldn't _think_ of doing such a thing," she answered. Then the creature said: "Little boy, please pick me up in your arms, and pet me!" "Go 'way!" shouted Chubbins. "I wouldn't touch you for anything." The creature turned its red eyes first upon one and then upon the other. "Listen, my dears," it continued; "I was once a beautiful maiden, but a cruel tuxix transformed me into this awful shape, and so must I remain until some child willingly takes me in its arms and pets me. Then, and not till then, will I be restored to my proper form." "Don't believe it! Don't believe it!" cried a high, clear voice, and both the boy and the girl looked quickly around to see who had spoken. But no one besides themselves was in sight, and they only noticed a thick branch of one of the trees slightly swaying its leaves. "What is a tuxix?" asked Twinkle, who was beginning to feel sorry for the poor creature. "It is a magician, a sorcerer, a wizard, and a witch all rolled into one," was the answer; "and you can imagine what a dreadful thing that would be." "Be careful!" cried the clear voice, again. "It is the tuxix herself who is talking to you. Don't believe a word you hear!" At this the red eyes of the creature flashed fire with anger, and it tried to turn its clumsy body around to find the speaker. Twinkle and Chubbins looked too, but only heard a flutter and a mocking laugh coming from the trees. "If I get my eye on that bird, it will never speak again," exclaimed the creature, in a voice of fury very different from the sweet tones it had at first used; and perhaps it was this fact that induced the children to believe the warning was from a friend, and they would do well to heed it. "Whether you are the tuxix or not," said Twinkle, "I never will touch you. You may be sure of that." "Nor I," declared Chubbins, stoutly, as he came closer to the girl and grasped her hand in his own. At this the horrid thing bristled all its sharp prickers in anger, and said: "Then, if I cannot conquer you in one way, I will in another. Go, both of you, and join the bird that warned you, and live in the air and the trees until you repent your stubbornness and promise to become my slaves. The tuxix has spoken, and her magical powers are at work. Go!" In an instant Twinkle saw Chubbins shoot through the air and disappear among the leaves of one of the tall trees. As he went he seemed to grow very small, and to change in shape. "Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming, too!" She was afraid of losing Chubbins, so she flew after him, feeling rather queer herself, and a moment after was safe in the tall tree, clinging with her toes to a branch and looking in amazement at the boy who sat beside her. Chubbins had been transformed into a pretty little bird--all, that is, except his head, which was Chubbins' own head reduced in size to fit the bird body. It still had upon it the straw hat, which had also grown small in size, and the sight that met Twinkle's eyes was so funny that she laughed merrily, and her laugh was like the sweet warbling of a skylark. Chubbins looked at her and saw almost what she saw; for Twinkle was a bird too, except for her head, with its checked sunbonnet, which had grown small enough to fit the pretty, glossy-feathered body of a lark. Both of them had to cling fast to the branch with their toes, for their arms and hands were now wings. The toes were long and sharp pointed, so that they could be used in the place of fingers. "My!" exclaimed Twinkle; "you're a queer sight, Chubbins!" "So are you," answered the boy. "That mean old thing must have 'witched us." "Yes, we're 'chanted," said Twinkle. "And now	1,949.380266
2023-11-16 18:49:33.4255500	407	8	E-text prepared by Chuck Greif, Jeannie Howse, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com) Note: Images of the original pages are available through the the Google Books Library Project. See http://books.google.com/books?vid=cwsRAAAAIAAJ&id +-----------------------------------------------------------+ \| Transcriber's Note: \| \| \| \| Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has \| \| been preserved. \| \| \| \| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For \| \| a complete list, please see the end of this document. \| \| \| +-----------------------------------------------------------+ A SYNOPSIS OF JEWISH HISTORY From the Return of the Jews from the Babylonish Captivity, to the Days of Herod The Great; Giving an account of the different Sects of those days; the introduction and use of Synagogues and Schools; the origin and introduction of Prayer among the Jews; the Ureem and Thumeem; the Mishna or Oral Law; the Gemara-Completion, usually styled the Talmud. by REV. H. A. HENRY, Rabbi Preacher of Congregation Sherith Israel, San Francisco; Author of Class Book for Jewish youth; of Discourses on the principles of the belief of Israel, &c., &c. San Francisco: Towne & Bacon, Publishers and Printers, No. 125 Clay Street, corner Sansome. 1859. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year of the World 5619,--1859, by Towne & Bacon, for the Author, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of California. P	1,949.44559
2023-11-16 18:49:33.6255080	4,183	9	Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Wilson's Tales of the Borders AND OF SCOTLAND. HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE, WITH A GLOSSARY. REVISED BY ALEXANDER LEIGHTON, _One of the Original Editors and Contributors_. VOL. XIX. LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE. 1884. CONTENTS. Page THE DOMESTIC GRIEFS OF GUSTAVUS M'IVER, (_Alexander Leighton_), 1 THE FIRST AND SECOND MARRIAGE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 35 THE DISSOLVED PLEDGE, (_Oliver Richardson_), 67 THE HAWICK SPATE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 99 THE AVENGER; OR, THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE, (_Alexander Leighton_), 129 THE LORD OF HERMITAGE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 155 GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT, (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)-- XVIII. KINALDY, 165 XIX. THE TRIALS OF THE REV. SAMUEL AUSTIN, 174 THE CURSE OF SCOTLAND, (_Alexander Campbell_), 196 LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON, (_John M. Wilson_), 199 THE SPORTSMAN OF OUTFIELDHAUGH, (_Alexander Leighton_), 232 THE SEA FIGHT, (_Anon._), 265 WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND. THE DOMESTIC GRIEFS OF GUSTAVUS M'IVER. CHAPTER I. GUSTAVUS'S ANTECEDENTS. In a little house in the Canongate of Edinburgh, there lived, not very long ago, Mr Gustavus M'Iver--(for he never would allow himself to be called Ensign M'Iver, though that was his proper professional designation),--as good a man as ever God put breath in, and as faithful a soldier as ever Lord Wellington commanded in the Peninsula. That is, doubtless, no small praise to one conceived in sin and brought forth in iniquity; and heaven knows if it were not as true as Jove's oath, it would never have been awarded by us. But he was remarkable in other respects than being honest; for he was six feet five without the aid of sock or buskin; and, if any man were to say that he was not four feet from acromion to acromion, he would assuredly be a big liar. But it is the head and face of a man that we like to look at; for, after all, what signifies (except in a warlike view, and ours is a peaceable one) a cart-load of mere bone and muscle, bound together with thick whangs of gristle, and yielding nothing but brute force, if it be not surmounted by a good microcosm of a head, with a good dial-plate to let a man know what is going on within. Do we not see every day great clocks put on the tops of big steeples, and yet, though they are nearer the sun than the little time-piece with the deuce a body at all, they go like an intermitting fever, telling us at one time that we are hurrying to the grave, and at another, that time has nothing to do with us at all. So is it with men; and, for our part, we could never discover any proper legitimate sympathetic accordance between the trunk and cranium of mortals, any more than if (like pins) they had been made in pieces and one head clapped on a body just as the occipital condyles suited the straps to which they are attached. The opinion now expressed is well justified by the example of the subject of our story; for, while the big limbs of him seemed to set at defiance all regular laws of motion, either horizontal or perpendicular, going, as one might say without a paradox, wherever and however they choose, his head was as methodical as that of a drill sergeant, and the like of him for regularity might not be seen from Lerwick to Berwick. Nor was his face ever known to be at fault as a faithful indicator; and verily there was no great wonder in that, for nothing short of the pulleys he carried in his brain could ever have moved a single hair-breadth up or down, to the right or to the left, the big jaw-bone which he seldom condescended to impart any living motion to, except at meal times, or when (and that occurred very seldom) he had an idea to express sufficient in size and importance to warrant such an excess of labour. We have said that Gustavus M'Iver had been in the Peninsula; and we may be believed or not, just as suits the reader's credulity with our credibility; but he was a luckless wight who dared to doubt that fact in the personal presence of the hero himself; better by far he had been at St Sebastian, for the never a one we ever heard of, that had the temerity to express any scepticism on the point that did not live to repent it. There can be no doubt, however, on the subject; for Gustavus was not only in the Peninsula, but he fought there very well; and no great thanks to him either, for he had the entire charge of the mess--a post of honour he had acquired from an indisputable superiority in culinary lore, and a most indefatigable perseverance as well as an unexampled adroitness in the art of carving both for himself and others. The praise he got for fighting was, in so far as regarded the immense heaps of hungry Frenchmen he hewed down with his falchion, true enough; the bulletin writer recorded the fact just as it was reported to him, that the great Goliath Gustavus did actually perform very wonderful feats of sheer killing; and we cannot help thinking, notwithstanding of the sneers of his brother officers, that it would not have become the dignity of a despatch to have made any allusion whatever to the manner in which he had kept up his body and his courage. When the war was done, he came home filled with glory; and as, when the world speaks of a man, it is unnecessary for him to speak of himself, he seldom (for he was a sensible man) ever thought of speaking either of himself or any other person or thing. Conceit is the foundation of speech; where a man is filled to the very throat with glory, there is little occasion for him ever opening his mouth; and therefore it was that Gustavus, in addition to his other peculiarities, seldom deigned to hold converse with the creatures of the earth, unless it were in his capacity of paymaster of pensions (an office his prowess had secured to him), when he was compelled to speak, to make others hold their tongues--an operation in which he succeeded to a miracle, from the accumulated load of authority he derived from his silence. CHAPTER II. GUSTAVUS FALLS IN LOVE. Now, it happened that this same Gustavus, after almost all the sap of his body had been eliminated by fighting, and there seemed to be scarcely enough left to lubricate the muscles that stretched from promontory to point of his big bones, like tough hausers, took it into his head to wish for a wife. We doubt if all the physiologists or psychologists that ever hunted for traces of the spirit among the white guts of the head could tell how such an idea came into such an extraordinary place; and if his heart was as dry as the voluntary muscles of his body, nothing short of a dislocation of Cupid's right arm could ever have sent into such a leathery organ the tickling shaft. True, however, it is as death, that Gustavus did actually fall in love, and the symptoms were just as extraordinary as the passion itself; for there never was heard in any man's lungs before, such a rattle of sighs; and as for the length of his jaws, the never a rough wood-cut of John Bunyan's hero in the Slough of Despond could come within many degrees of their lugubrious longitude. It is even true that the power of the tender passion reached to his stomach--a place of all others that might _a priori_ have been considered perfectly independent of all moral impulses whatsomever. Nothing before, except hunger itself, had ever affected that organ; and, indeed, ensconced behind and between, and beneath such ribs, nothing short of death itself might have been supposed capable of reaching it, or subduing its tough hide, its viscous linings, and its gastric juice, stronger than the best gin that ever was made at Schiedam. Now the _petit bel chose_ that had thus produced such an effect upon the moral and physical economy of this big son of Mars, was no other than a mere toy of a thing--a little milliner called Julia Briggs--scarcely so big, when divested of the padding and stuffing with which her art enabled her to supply her deficiency of natural size, as one of his huge limbs. But this may be no manner of marvel to those who are versant in the mysteries of love, who, being himself a small creature, seems to delight in throwing into the smallest of his victims the greatest portion of his power. It is difficult to see philosophically any final cause in the curious fact in nature; but surely, the never a man, who has any observation in him, will deny, that pigmy beauties and colossal swains (and _vice versa_) have a singular power of producing in each other the tender passion. It may be owing to nature's love of the _juste milieu_, that thus induces her to take this mode of keeping up a reasonable _mean size_ among human creatures, or it may be any one of a thousand other speculations; but what care we for such theories, when we have the fact to state as an undoubted truth, that Gustavus fell in love with Julia Briggs, as standing like a mighty Anak, in the Canongate of Edinburgh, he saw the little creature skipping along, twisting her little limbs as if she would have dislocated her joints in her efforts to appear graceful, in the eyes of mankind generally, and in those of the gigantic Gustavus, whom she had often seen looking after her, in particular! Successful beyond any prior example of her wriggling evolution of her graces, the little baggage--as quick in her eye as ever were Pip, Trip, or Skip, the maids of honour (according to Drayton) of Queen Mab--saw at once that she had hit the proper twirl and twinkle, at last, that would subdue the involuntary muscle that had so long been useless beneath the ribs of the great Gustavus. The moment the effect was produced, the sinews of his body began to move, and away he stalked after her, with strides as long as the whole height _a capite ad calcem_ of the quarry upon which he intended to pounce. It spoke well of the power of "her harness of gossamer," that it stood the tug of so huge a victim; and, as she turned her twinkling eye to observe the triumph of her power, she did not fail to rivet the chains by some higher displays of graceful contortion, that made his eyeballs roll in the large sockets, as if he had seen a hobgoblin, in place of Julia Briggs, the _petite marchande de modes_. This was just as good a beginning as ever a sly man-catcher essayed in the world of love, since the days of Helen; and the arch kidnapper knew very well how to follow up her wile; for, after displaying, by a proper caper, as much of her ancle as would do the business, she skipped away, as nimbly as Nymphidia in the service of Oberon's queen, and was not again seen till she opened the window of her mother's house, and displayed herself, capless and coifless, to her staring admirer. The capture was now completed. Jove himself was never more completely entoiled by the chains of the little baggage Iynge; and, during the whole of that day, Gustavus strode along the pavement, opposite the window of his charmer, as if he had been on duty before a besieged city. He had just as little power to walk away as he had to circumscribe his step to the ordinary measure of God's creatures; every stride occupying, at least, four feet of pavement, and being executed so regularly and methodically, that one step did not differ from another by a single inch. But it is a mere bagatelle to describe these pendulous movements, produced, for the first time, by the spirit of love; while, to execute with truth a faithful picture of the painful contortions of a countenance originally formed a wood-cut of extraordinary dimensions, and now under the soft, melting influence of the tenderest of passions, would require a goose-quill, owning no less an influence than the spirit of an immortal genius. As the loves of some of the inferior animals are expressed by sounds and signs that seem to indicate nothing but fierce war, so might the demonstrations of this extraordinary affair of the heart, exhibited through the grotesque motions of muscles that had been as rigid as dried leather for twenty years, be looked upon as anything rather than signs of the languishing passion which, as Augustin says, will make a musician out of an ass. Yet, doubtless, there was, both in his goggle-eyes and lengthened face, an expression that was intended for softness and languishment; and it is not impossible, that, if one had been apprized _a priori_ of the intention, he might have discovered in the ludicrous gesticulations some resemblance to at least a burlesque of what is only a very ridiculous exhibition at the very best. Love that is long a-coming, comes at last with a terrible onset--overturning all sense and prudence, kicking up the heels of all forms of etiquette, and removing every impediment to its progress. It is but a very small matter to say, that Gustavus could not sleep under the hug or embrace of the new customer that had taken such a violent hold of his heart, though we do not deem it an equally insignificant announcement, that a man who could swallow a couple of pounds of flesh at a down-sitting, should lose his gustative and digestive powers to such an extent that the knocking of his heart sounded audibly through his empty stomach, as if it had been a whispering gallery. But love is a leveller in more senses than the vulgar one; and the only circumstance about the matter of this particular case at all remarkable, was, that such effects, upon a body iron-bound as it was, and of such gigantic proportions, should have been produced by an agent of such truly insignificant dimensions. A resolute disciplinarian, however, at all points, without a single qualm of fear or doubt, and accustomed to attack a city or a haunch of beef with equal _sang froid_, the love-smitten victim, on the third day after his seizure, drew up his huge limbs to their full extent, till he seemed like the Colossus of Rhodes, and settled the whole affair by one resolute gnash of his under maxillary bone. Two strides took him to the door, one or two more brought him down stairs to the street, and the never a man that stalked off ground that was to be his own, went along with such strides as he used in making his way to the house of Julia Briggs. With one solitary idea in his head, and one word on his tongue--though there was room for a thousand--he went direct up to the door, knocked, like one of Froissard's warriors at the barricades, was admitted, turned off the momentous question of marriage by one heavy lurch of his jaw, and settled a matter that danglers take years about in the space of time that a thirsty Bacchanalian would occupy in taking a long pull of jolly good ale. CHAPTER III. GUSTAVUS IS MARRIED. In the week afterwards, the couple were united in the holy bands of matrimony; and, surely, to say that there was any ceremony about such a union, would be a burlesque of the mysteries of Hymen. Yet, rapid as were the movements, and wholesale the conclusion, no man ever put his neck in the noose with such imperturbable gravity, for, during the whole period occupied by the feast, which was in the form of a supper, no man could have observed in his gaunt face any one of the three laughs, Ionic, Megaric, or Sardonic, with which the face is usually convulsed; the only indication approaching to a cachination in the midst of the whoops and yells of the feasters, being a grin in the shape of a _risus Ajacis_, that defied all power of analysis. But even this caricature of a display of good humour, insignificant as it may seem, shewed to those who knew the man that he was labouring under the influence of some extraordinary emotion, as nothing of the kind had ever been seen in his countenance since the day on which he hewed down so unmercifully the French at St Sebastian. Nor, on the following day, when he had fairly entered upon the supreme happiness of the married state, was there seen any palpable sign of the joy that, of course, penetrated through all his well-mailed thoracic viscera--unless it were, perhaps, that his face had even increased in length, and the leathery aspect of all the "celestial index" of the soul was, if possible, more grim than ever. The getting of a wife is, after all, but a very small matter in comparison of the ruling of her; and sure, if ever there was a man in the world, since the days of the grim Hercules, who bungled the matter out and out, that had any chance of subjecting his wife to the requisite thraldom and subordination, Gustavus was that man; for a look of him	1,949.645548
2023-11-16 18:49:33.8540430	5,915	6	Produced by David Edwards, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) [Illustration: THE ADVENTURE WITH THE BASKET OF COIN.] A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF; OR, JACK HAZARD AND HIS TREASURE. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE, AUTHOR OF “JACK HAZARD AND HIS FORTUNES,” “LAWRENCE’S ADVENTURES,” “COUPON BONDS,” ETC. [Illustration: Publisher’s Logo] BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. 1872. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS. ------- CHAPTER PAGE I. THE THUNDER-SQUALL 7 II. WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG 13 III. “TREASURE-TROVE” 19 IV. IN WHICH JACK COUNTS HIS CHICKENS 28 V. WAITING FOR THE DEACON 32 VI. “ABOUT THAT HALF-DOLLAR” 36 VII. HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE 41 VIII. JACK AND THE SQUIRE 49 IX. THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY AND JACK’S STRATAGEM 58 X. “THE HUSWICK TRIBE” 65 XI. THE “COURT” AND THE “VERDICT” 70 XII. HOW HOD’S TROUSERS WENT TO THE SQUIRE’S HOUSE 78 XIII. HOW JACK RESCUED LION, BUT MISSED THE TREASURE 82 XIV. SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME 89 XV. JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS 96 XVI. HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S 104 XVII. HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS 111 XVIII. HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME WITHOUT SHOES AND STOCKINGS 116 XIX. HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE 122 XX. HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME 128 XXI. JACK IN DISGRACE 135 XXII. JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE 143 XXIII. BEFORE JUDGE GARTY 150 XXIV. THE PRISONER’S CUP OF MILK 157 XXV. JACK’S PRISONERS 160 XXVI. THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH, AND HIS DOG 167 XXVII. THE RACE, AND HOW IT ENDED 174 XXVIII. THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED 179 XXIX. THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD 187 XXX. JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR 194 XXXI. TEA WITH AUNT PATSY 201 XXXII. A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON 208 XXXIII. A STRANGE CALL AT A STRANGE HOUR OF THE NIGHT 216 XXXIV. HOW JACK WON A BET, AND RETURNED A FAVOR 221 XXXV. AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE 227 XXXVI. THE “RIDE” CONTINUED 234 XXXVII. ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS 239 XXXVIII. THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY 246 XXXIX. A TURN OF FORTUNE 251 XL. THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH 257 XLI. HOW IT ALL ENDED 264 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. ------- CHAPTER I THE THUNDER-SQUALL. [Illustration] ON a high, hilly pasture, occupying the northeast corner of Peach Hill Farm, a man and two boys were one afternoon clearing the ground of stones. The man—noticeable for his round shoulders, round puckered mouth, and two large, shining front teeth—wielded a stout iron bar called a “crow,” with which he pried up the turf-bound rocks, and helped to tumble them over upon a drag, called in that region a “stun-boat.” The larger of the boys—a bright, active lad of about fourteen years—lent a hand at the heavy rocks, and also gathered up and cast upon the drag the smaller stones, on his own account. The second lad—nearly as tall, and perhaps quite as old as the other—helped a little about the stones, but divided his attention chiefly between the horse that drew the drag, and a shaggy black dog that accompanied the party. “Come, boy!” said the man,—enunciating the _m_ and _b_ by closing the said front teeth upon his nether lip,—“ye better quit fool’n’, an’ ketch holt and help. ’S go’n’ to rain.” “Ain’t I helping?” retorted the smaller boy. “Don’t I drive the horse?” “A great sight,—long’s the reins are on his back, an’ I haf to holler to him half the time to git up an’ whoa. Git up, Maje! there! whoa!—Jack’s wuth jest about six of ye.” “O, Jack’s dreadful smart! Beats everything! And so are you, Phi Pipkin!” said the boy, sneeringly. “You feel mighty big since you got married, don’t ye?—I bet ye Lion’s got a squirrel under that big rock! I’m going to see!” And away he ran. “That ’ere Phin Chatford ain’t wuth the salt in his porridge,—if I do say it!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “I never did see sich a shirk; though when he comes to tell what’s been done, you’d think he was boss of all creation. Feel as if I’d like to take the gad to him sometimes, by hokey!” “O Jack!” cried Phin, who had mounted a boulder much too large for Mr. Pipkin’s crow-bar, “you can see Lake Ontario from here,—’way over the trees there! Come and get up here; it’s grand!” “I’ve been up there before,” replied Jack. “Haven’t time now. We shall have that shower here before we get half across the lot.” “Come, Phin!” called out Mr. Pipkin, “there’s reason in all things! We’ll onhitch soon’s we git this load, an’ dodge a wettin’.” “Seems to me you’re all-fired ’fraid of a wetting, both of ye,” cried Phin. “’T won’t hurt me! Let it come, and be darned to it, I say!” This last exclamation sounded so much like blasphemy to the boy’s own ears, and it was followed immediately by so vivid a flash of lightning and so terrific a peal of thunder, from a black cloud rolling up overhead, that he jumped down from the rock and crouched beside it, looking ludicrously pale and scared; while the dog, dropping ears and tail, and whining and trembling with fear, ran first for Jack’s legs, then for Mr. Pipkin’s, and finally crouched by the boulder with Phin. “You’re a perty pictur’ there!” cried Mr. Pipkin, with a loud, hoarse laugh. “Who’s afraid now?” “Lion, I guess,—I ain’t,” said Phin, with an unnatural grin. “Only thought I’d sit down a spell.” “It’s as cheap settin’ as standin’,—as the old hen remarked, arter she’d sot a month on rotten eggs, an’ nary chicken,” said Mr. Pipkin, whose spirits rose with the excitement of the occasion. “There’s a good reason for the dog’s skulking,” said Jack. “He’s afraid of thunder, ever since Squire Peternot fired the old musket in his face and eyes. Hello! another crack!” “I never see sich thunder!” exclaimed Mr. Pipkin. “Look a’ them rain-drops! big as bullets!” “It’s coming!” cried Jack; and instantly the heavy thunder-gust swept over them. “Onhitch!” roared out Mr. Pipkin, in the sudden tumult of rain and wind and thunder. “I must look out for my rheumatiz! Put for the house!” “We shall get drenched before we are half-way to the house,” replied Jack, dropping the trace-chains. “I go for the woods!” “I’ll take Old Maje, then,” said Mr. Pipkin. But before he could mount, Phin, darting from the imperfect shelter of the rock, ran and leaped across the horse’s back. As he was scrambling to a seat, holding on by mane and harness, kicking, and calling out, “Give me a boost, Phi!” Mr. Pipkin gave him a boost, and lost his hat by the operation. That was quickly recovered; but before the owner, clapping it on his head, could get back to the horse’s side, the youthful rider, using the gathered-up reins for a whip, had started for the barn. “Whoa! hold on! take me!” bellowed Mr. Pipkin. “He won’t carry double—ask Jack!” Flinging these parting words over his shoulder, the treacherous Phin went off at a gallop, leaving Mr. Pipkin to follow, at a heavy “dog-trot,” over the darkened hill, through the rushing, blinding storm. Jack was already leaping a wall which separated the pasture from a neighboring wood-lot. Plunging in among the reeling and clashing trees, he first sought shelter by placing himself close under the lee of a large basswood; but the rain dashed through the surging mass of foliage above, and trickled down upon him from trunk and limbs. Looking hastily about to see if he could better his situation, he cast his eye upon a prostrate tree, which some former gale had broken and overthrown, and from which the branches had mostly rotted and fallen away. It appeared to be hollow at the butt, and Jack ran to it, laughing at the thought of crawling in out of the rain. He put in his head, but took it out again immediately. The cavity was dark, and a disagreeable odor of rotten wood, suggestive of bugs and “thousand-legged worms,” repelled him. “Never mind!” thought he. “I can clap my clothes in the hole, and have ’em dry to put on after the shower is over.” He stripped himself in a moment, rolled up his garments in a neat bundle, and placed them, with his hat and shoes, within the hollow log. “Now for a jolly shower-bath!” And, seeing an opening in the woods a little farther on, he capered towards it, laughing at the oddness of his situation, and at the feeling of the rain trickling down his bare back. A few more lightning flashes and tremendous claps of thunder, then a steady, pouring rain for about five minutes, in which Jack danced and screamed in great glee,—and the storm was over. “What a soaking Phi and Phin must have got!” thought he. “And now won’t they be surprised to see me come home in dry clothes!” The wind had gone down before; and now a flood of silver light, like a more ethereal shower, broke upon the still woods, brightening through its arched vistas, glancing from the leaves, and glistening in countless drops from the dripping boughs. A light wind passed, and every tree seemed to shake down laughingly from its shining locks a shower of pearls. Jack was filled with a sense of wonder and joy as he walked back through the beautiful, fresh, wet woods to his hollow log. He waited only a minute or two for his skin to dry, and for the boughs to cease dripping; then put in his hand where he had left his clothes. His clothes were not there! Jack was startled: in place of the anticipated triumph of going home in dry garments, here was a chance of his going home in no garments at all! Yet who could have taken them? how was it possible that they could have been removed during his brief absence? “Maybe this isn’t the log!” He looked around. “Yes, it is, though!” No other fallen trunk at all resembling it was to be seen in the woods. Then he stooped again, and thrust his hand as far as he could into the opening. He touched something,—not what he sought, but a mass of hair, and the leg of some large animal. He recoiled instinctively, with—it must be confessed—a start of fear. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. JACK’S first thought was, that the creature, whatever it might be, was in the log when he placed his clothes there, and that it had afterwards seized them and perhaps torn them to pieces. Then he reflected that the hair he touched felt wet; and he said, “The thing ran to its hole after I put the clothes in, and it has pushed ’em along farther into the log. Wonder what it can be!” It was evidently much too large for a raccoon or a woodchuck: could it be a panther? or a young bear? “He’s got my clothes, any way! I must get him out, or go home without ’em!” Naked and weaponless as he was, he naturally shrank from attacking the strange beast; nor was it pleasant to think of going home in his present condition. It was not at all probable that Mr. Pipkin and Phin would return to their work that afternoon; and he was too far from the house to make his cries for help heard. He resolved to call, however. “Maybe I can make Lion hear. I wonder if he went home.” He remembered that the frightened dog was last seen crouching with Phin beside the rock, and hoping he was there still, he began to call. “Lion! here, Lion!” and, putting his fingers to his mouth, he whistled till all the woods rang. Then suddenly—for he watched the log all the while—he heard a tearing and rattling in the cavity, and saw that the beast was coming out. Stepping quickly backwards, he tripped over a stick; and the next moment the creature—big and shaggy and wet—was upon him. “You rogue! you coward! old Lion! what a fright you gave me! what have you done with my clothes? you foolish boy’s dog!” For the beast was no other than Lion himself; frightened from his retreat beside the boulder, he had followed his young master to the woods, and crept into the hollow of the log, after Jack had left his clothes in it. Jack returned to the log, and with some difficulty fished out his garments. He unfolded them one by one, holding them up and regarding them with ludicrous dismay. Lion had made a bed of them; and between his drenched hide and the rotten wood, they had suffered no slight damage. “O, my trousers!” Jack lamented. “And just look at that shirt! I’d better have worn them in fifty showers! So much for having a dog that’s afraid of thunder!” And he gave the mischief-maker a cuff on the ear. Jack recovered everything except one shoe, which he could not get without going considerably farther than he liked into the decayed trunk. “Here, Lion! you must get that shoe! That’s no more than fair. Understand?” And showing the other shoe, he pointed at the hole. In went Lion, scratching and scrambling, and presently came out again, bringing the shoe in his mouth. Encouraged by his young master’s approval, and eager to atone for his cowardice and the mischief he had done, he went in again, although no other article was missing, and was presently heard pawing and pulling at something deep in the log. “After squirrels, maybe,” said Jack, as, dressing himself, he stepped aside to avoid the volleys of dirt which now and then flew out of the opening. He thought no more of the matter, until the dog came backwards out of the hole, shook himself, and laid a curious trophy down by the shoe. Jack looked at it, and saw to his surprise that it was a metallic handle, such as he had seen used on the ends of small chests and trunks, or on bureau-drawers. He scraped off with his knife some of the rust with which it was covered, and found that it was made of brass. At the ends were short rusty screws, which, upon examination, appeared to have been recently wrenched out of a piece of damp wood. “It’s a trunk-handle,” said Jack. “Lion has pulled it off. And the trunk is in the log!” He grew quite excited over the discovery, and sent the dog in again for further particulars, while he hurriedly put on his shoes. Lion gnawed and dug for a while, and at last reappeared with a small strip of partially decayed board in his mouth. “It’s a piece of the box!” exclaimed Jack. “Try again, old fellow!” Lion plunged once more into the opening, and immediately brought out something still more extraordinary. It was a round piece of metal, about the size of an American half-dollar; but so badly tarnished that it was a long time before Jack would believe that it was really money. He rubbed, he scraped, he turned it over, and rubbed and scraped again, then uttered a scream of delight. “A silver half-dollar, sure as you live, old Lion!” The dog was already in the log again. This time he brought out two more pieces of money like the first, and dropped them in Jack’s hand. “Here, Lion!” cried the excited lad. “I’m going in there myself!” He pulled the dog away, and entered the cavity, quite regardless now of rotten wood, bugs, and “thousand-legged worms.” His heels were still sticking out of the log, when his hand touched the broken end of a small trunk, and slid over a heap of coin, which had almost filled it, and run out in a little stream from the opening the dog had made. Out came Jack again, covered with dirt, his hair tumbled over his eyes, and both hands full of half-dollars. He dashed back the stray locks with his sleeve, glanced eagerly at the coin, looked quickly around to see if there was any person in sight, then examined the contents of his hands. “If there’s no owner to this money, I’m a rich man!” he said, with sparkling eyes. “There ain’t less than a thousand dollars in that trunk!” To a lad in his circumstances, five-and-twenty years ago, such a sum might well appear prodigious. To Jack it was an immense fortune. “And how can there be an owner?” he reasoned. “It must have been in that log a good many years,—long enough for the trunk to begin to rot, any way. Some fellow must have stolen it and hid it there; and he’d have been back after it long ago, if he hadn’t been dead,—or like enough he’s in prison somewhere. Here, Lion! keep out of that!” and Jack cuffed the dog’s ears, to enforce strict future obedience to that command. “Nobody must know of that log,” he muttered, looking cautiously all about him again, “till I can take the money away.” But now, along with the sudden tide of his joy and hopes, a multitude of doubts rushed in upon his mind. How was he to keep his great discovery a secret until he should be ready to take advantage of it? The thief who had stolen the coin might be dead; but was it not the finder’s duty to seek out the real owner and restore it to him? Already that question began to disturb the boy’s conscience; but he soon forgot it in the consideration of others more immediately alarming. “The thief may have been in prison, and he may come back this very night to find his booty! Or the owner of the land may claim it, because it was found on his premises.” And Jack remembered with no little anxiety that the land belonged to Mr. Chatford’s neighbor, the stern and grasping Squire Peternot. “Or, after all,” he thought, “it may be counterfeit!” That was the most unpleasant conjecture of any. “I’ll find out about that, the first thing,” said Jack; and he determined to keep his discovery in the meanwhile a profound secret. Accordingly, after due deliberation, he crept back into the log, and replaced the piece of the trunk, with the handle, and all the coin except one half-dollar; then, having partially stopped the opening with broken sticks and branches, he started for home. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III “TREASURE-TROVE.” TAKING a circuitous route, in order that, if he was seen emerging from the woods, it might be at a distance from the spot where his treasure was concealed, Jack came out upon the pasture, crossed it, took the lane, and soon got over the bars into the barn-yard. As he entered from one side he met Mr. Pipkin coming in from the other. “Hullo!” he cried, with a wonderfully natural and careless air, “did ye get wet?” “Yes, wet as a drownded rat, I did! So did Phin,—and good enough for him, by hokey!” said Mr. Pipkin. “Where’ve you been?” “O, I went into the woods. Got wet, though, a little; and dirty enough,—just look at my clothes!” “I’ve changed mine,” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “Wasn’t a rag on me but what was soakin’ wet. I wished I had gone to the woods.” “I’m glad ye didn’t,” thought Jack, as he walked on. “O,” said he, turning back as if he had just thought of something to tell, “see what I found!” “Half a dollar? ye don’t say! Found it? Where, I want to know!” said Mr. Pipkin, rubbing the piece, first on his trousers, then on his boot. “Over in the woods there,—picked it up on the ground,” said Jack, who discreetly omitted to mention the fact that it had first been laid on the ground by Lion. “That’s curi’s!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “What is it?” said Phin, making his appearance, also in dry garments. He looked at the coin, while Jack repeated the story he had just told Mr. Pipkin; then said, with a sarcastic smile, “Feel mighty smart, don’t ye, with yer old half-dollar! I don’t believe it’s a good one.” And Master Chatford sounded it on a grindstone under the shed. “Couldn’t ye find any more where ye found this?” “What should I want of any more, if this isn’t a good one?” replied Jack. “Here! give it back to me!” “’Tain’t yours,” said Phin, with a laugh, pocketing the piece, and making off with it. “It’s mine, if I don’t find the owner. ’Tisn’t yours, any way! Phin Chatford!”—Phin started to run, giggling as if it was all a good joke, while Jack started in pursuit, very much in earnest. “Give me my money, or I’ll choke it out of ye!” he cried, jumping upon the fugitive’s back, midway between barn and house. “Here, here! Boys! boys!” said a reproving voice; and Phin’s father, coming out of the wood-shed, approached the scene of the scuffle. “What’s the trouble, Phineas? What is it, Jack?” “He’s choking me!” squealed Phineas. “He’s got my half-dollar!” exclaimed Jack, without loosing his hold of Phin’s neck. “Come, come!” said Mr. Chatford. “No quarrelling. Have you got his half-dollar?” “Only in fun. Besides, ’tain’t his”; and Phin squalled again. “Let go of him, Jack!” said Mr. Chatford, sternly. Jack obeyed reluctantly. “Now what is it all about?” “I’ll tell ye, deacon!” said round-shouldered Mr. Pipkin, coming forward. “It’s an old half-dollar Jack found in the woods; Phin snatched it and run off with ’t. Jack was arter him to git it back; he lit on him like a hawk on a June-bug; but he ha’n’t begun to give him the chokin’ he desarves!” “Give me the money!” said the deacon. “No more fooling, Phineas!” “Here’s the rusty old thing! ’Tain’t worth making a fuss about, any way,” said Phin, contemptuously. “Ho! Jack! you don’t know how to take a joke!” “You _do_ know how to take what don’t belong to you,” replied Jack. “Is it a good one, Mr. Chatford? That’s what I want to know.” “Yes, I guess so,—I don’ know,—looks a little suspicious. Can’t tell about that, though; any silver money will tarnish, exposed to the damp. I’ll ring it. Sounds a little mite peculiar. Who’s got a half-dollar?” “I have!” cried Phin’s little sister Kate. In a minute her piece was brought, and Jack’s was sounded beside it on the door-stone; Jack listening with an anxious and excited look. [Illustration: SOUNDING THE HALF-DOLLAR.] “No, it don’t ring like the other,” observed the deacon. Jack’s heart sank. “Has a more leaden sound.” His heart went down into his shoes. “It may be good, though, after	1,949.874083
2023-11-16 18:49:33.8844640	2,794	11	The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v3 #61 in our series French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy #3 in our series by Rene Bazin Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Please do not remove this. This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they need about what they can legally do with the texts. 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INDEMNITY You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this "Small Print!" and all other	1,949.904504
2023-11-16 18:49:35.1009380	2,260	34	Produced by David Garcia 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.) The Library Assistant's Manual By THEODORE W. KOCH Librarian, University of Michigan Provisional Edition LANSING, MICHIGAN STATE BOARD OF LIBRARY COMMISSIONERS 1913 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _Issued on the occasion of the 61st annual meeting of the Michigan State Teachers' Association, Ann Arbor, October 30-November 1, 1913._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS. Page I. The library movement in the United States 7-15 II. Organization of a library 16-19 III. Book selection and buying 20-24 IV. Classification 25-32 V. Cataloging 33-38 VI. Reference work and circulation 39-50 VII. The binding and care of library books 51-53 VIII. Work with children 54-58 IX. The high school library 59-66 X. Suggested readings in the Encyclopaedia Britannica 67-78 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER I. =THE LIBRARY MOVEMENT IN THE UNITED STATES.= The forerunner of the American public library of today is found in the subscription or stock company libraries of Philadelphia, Boston and other cities. The oldest of these is the Philadelphia Library Company, founded in 1731 by Benjamin Franklin who later referred to it as "the mother of all subscription libraries in America." The Rev. Jacob Duche, a director of the Library Company, wrote in 1774: "Literary accomplishments here meet with deserved applause. But such is the taste for books that almost every man is a reader." The Library Company's authority on book selection was James Logan (the friend of William Penn) who was esteemed "to be a gentleman of universal learning and the best judge of books in these parts." In 1783 the Library Committee instructed its London agent that "though not averse to mingling the dulce with the utile, they did not care to have him buy any more novels." In 1869 the Library Company was made the beneficiary under the will of Dr. James Rush, who left $1,500,000 to establish the Ridgeway Branch. On account of the conditions attached to the bequest, the gift was accepted by a bare majority of the stockholders. Among other restrictions, the will contained the following clause: "Let the library not keep cushioned seats for time-wasting and lounging readers, nor places for every-day novels, mind-tainting reviews, controversial politics, scribblings of poetry and prose, biographies of unknown names, nor for those teachers of disjointed thinking, the daily newspapers." The provisions of the will were strictly carried out and today the Ridgeway Library stands as a storehouse of the literature of the past, a monument to the donor and an evidence of the change that has come over the world in its conception of the function of the library. =Boston Athenaeum.=--Like the Philadelphia Library Company, the Boston Athenaeum was the outgrowth of a group of men who had in common an interest in books. In May 1806, the Anthology Society, which had been editing the "Monthly Anthology and Boston review," established a reading room, the object of which was to afford subscribers a meeting place furnished with the principal American and European periodicals. The annual subscription was placed at ten dollars, which was not more than the cost of a single daily paper. The organization prospered and by 1827 the treasurer's books showed property valued at more than $100,000. Two years later the library administration faced a new problem: a woman applied for admission to the library. Having no precedent to guide him, the librarian allowed the applicant free access to the shelves. She was Hannah Adams, who wrote "A view of religious opinions," a "History of New England," and "The history of the Jews." The next woman to ask for admission to the treasures of the Athenaeum was Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, (1802-1880), author of "The rebels," "The freedman's books," "Hobomok," etc., but her ticket of admission was shortly revoked "lest the privilege cause future embarrassment." As late as 1855 Charles Folsom entered a protest against women having access to "the corrupter portions of polite literature." =Boston Public Library.=--In 1825 a plan was proposed whereby all the libraries in Boston should be united under one roof. Later, a Frenchman by name of Vattemare, caused to be introduced into Congress a measure which was to build up great libraries through international exchanges. A public meeting was held in Boston but a committee of the Boston Athenaeum opposed the scheme and it was dropped. However, in return for some books forwarded through Vattemare to the Municipal Council of Paris, the Mayor of Boston received in 1843 about fifty volumes, which in reality formed the nucleus of the Boston Public Library. In 1847 the Boston City Council appointed a joint committee on a library. The next year a special act was passed by the Massachusetts State Legislature authorizing the city of Boston to found and maintain a library. Efforts were made to effect a union of interests with the Boston Athenaeum, but they failed. In 1849 the first books were presented by the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, and in the following year J. P. Bigelow, then Mayor of the city, turned over to a library fund the sum of $1,000 which had been presented to him as a personal testimony. Edward Everett presented 1,000 United States documents, and Edward Capen was appointed librarian by the Mayor. George Ticknor, a member of the Board, helped to draw up a preliminary report outlining the ideals for the new civic institution. The library was not to be a "mere resort of professed scholars." The key note of the whole public library movement in America was struck by Ticknor when in 1851 he wrote of his hopes for the new library proposed for Boston: "I would establish a library which differs from all free libraries yet attempted; I mean one in which any popular books, tending to moral and intellectual improvement, shall be furnished in such numbers of copies that many persons can be reading the same book at the same time; in short, that not only the best books of all sorts, but the pleasant literature of the day, shall be made accessible to the whole people when they most care for it, that is, when it is fresh and new." A timely friend was found in Joshua Bates, who gave more than $50,000 for the purchase of books, saying that he thought it was desirable to render the public library at once as useful as possible by providing it with a large collection of books in many departments of knowledge. Thus the aim of the founders was quickly realized, it having been their professed intention to make the library what no other library in the world had either attempted or desired to become, "a powerful and direct means for the intellectual and moral advancement of a whole people without distinction of class or condition." The Boston Public Library was the pioneer of the large public libraries in America and as such has long enjoyed a prominence which in a way has resulted in its differentiation from other large municipal institutions. =Astor Library.=--John Jacob Astor, who came to this country in 1783, as a young man of 20, independent of capital, family connections or influence, became the richest man of his day in the United States, and wished to show his feelings of gratitude towards the city of New York, in which he had lived so long and prospered. When he consulted with his friends, Fitz Green Halleck and Washington Irving among others, as to the object to which his liberality should be applied, the plan of building a public library was the most approved and a decision was promptly made in favor of it. Four hundred thousand dollars was left for this purpose. The site chosen for the new Astor Library was in Lafayette Place, in which street lived Mr. William B. Astor, a son of the donor. Washington Irving was the first president of the Board of Trustees, and Joseph G. Cogswell was the first librarian. According to John Hill Burton in the "Book hunter," Mr. Cogswell "spent some years in Europe with Mr. Astor's princely endowment in his pocket, and showed himself a judicious, active and formidable sportsman in the book-hunting world. Whenever from private collections or the breaking up of public institutions, rarities got abroad in the open market, the collectors of the old world found that they had a resolute competitor to deal with, almost, it might be said, a desperate one, since he was, in a manner, the representative of a nation using powerful efforts to get a share of the library treasures of the old world. I know that in the instance of the Astor Library the selections of the books have been made with great judgment and that after the boundaries of the common crowded markets were passed and individual rarities had to be stalked in distant hunting grounds, innate literary value was still held as an object more important than mere abstract rarity, and, as the more worthy quality of the two, that on which the buying power available to the emissary was brought to bear." Cogswell was essentially a bibliophile. He loved books "with an eager and grasping love," said Donald G. Mitchell. To his fruitful labor was due the splendid growth of the Astor collections. Cogswell presented to the Library his own collection of bibliographical literature, and gave the institution a reputation for wealth in this field. "So well has the impress thus imparted been maintained," said Dr. Richard Garnett, "that the Astor Library is said to contain hardly any light and frivolous books." Both the son and grandson of the	1,951.120978
2023-11-16 18:49:35.3281580	1,026	13	Produced by Donald Cummings, Adrian Mastronardi, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) [Illustration: A MISTY MORNING, NEWBY BRIDGE, WINDERMERE] THE ENGLISH LAKES PAINTED BY A. HEATON COOPER • DESCRIBED BY WM. T. PALMER • PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK • LONDON • MCMVIII [Illustration: Lotus Logo] AGENTS IN AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK First Edition _July_, 1905 Second Edition _October_, 1908 CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION 1 CHAPTER II BY STEAM YACHT ON WINDERMERE 9 CHAPTER III BY WORDSWORTH’S ROTHAY 30 CHAPTER IV RYDAL AND GRASMERE 36 CHAPTER V ESTHWAITE WATER AND OLD HAWKSHEAD 49 CHAPTER VI CONISTON WATER 60 CHAPTER VII THE MOODS OF WASTWATER 79 CHAPTER VIII THE GLORY OF ENNERDALE 98 CHAPTER IX BY SOFT LOWESWATER 106 CHAPTER X CRUMMOCK WATER 116 CHAPTER XI BUTTERMERE 124 CHAPTER XII THE CHARMS OF DERWENTWATER 137 CHAPTER XIII BASSENTHWAITE 156 CHAPTER XIV THIRLMERE FROM THE MAIN ROAD 165 CHAPTER XV HAWESWATER AND THE BIRDS 178 CHAPTER XVI ULLSWATER, HOME OF BEAUTY 185 CHAPTER XVII MOUNTAIN TARNS 203 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1. A Misty Morning, Newby Bridge, Windermere _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE 2. Furness Abbey in the Vale of Nightshade 4 3. Windermere from Wansfell (sunset) 8 4. Swan Inn, Newby Bridge, Windermere 12 5. Near the Ferry, Windermere: Skating by Moonlight 16 6. The Old Ferry, Windermere 20 7. Old Laburnums at Newby Bridge, Windermere 24 8. Windermere and Langdale Pikes, from Lowwood 28 9. A Glimpse of Grasmere (evening sun) 30 10. Wild Hyacinths 32 11. Dungeon Ghyll Force, Langdale 34 12. Dove Cottage, Grasmere 36 13. Skelwith Force, Langdale 40 14. Sunset, Rydal Water 42 15. Grasmere Church 46 16. Esthwaite Water: Apple Blossom 50 17. An Old Street in Hawkshead 52 18. Sheep-Shearing, Esthwaite Hall Farm 56 19. Dawn, Coniston 60 20. Charcoal-Burners, Coniston Lake 62 21. Brantwood, Coniston Lake: Char-fishing 64 22. Coniston Village: the Old Butcher’s shop 66 23. Moonlight and Lamplight, Coniston 68 24. An Old Inn Kitchen, Coniston 70 25. The Shepherd, Yewdale, Coniston 72 26. Stepping-Stones, Seathwaite 74 27. Winter Sunshine, Coniston 76 28. Daffodils by the Banks of the Silvery Duddon 78 29. A Fell Fox-hunt, Head of Eskdale and Scawfell 80 30. Wastwater, from Strands 82 31. Wastwater and Scawfell 84 32. Wastdalehead and Great	1,951.348198
2023-11-16 18:49:35.6256370	866	15	Produced by MFR, John Campbell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=. Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book. HOW TO TEACH MANNERS IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. BY MRS. JULIA M. DEWEY, METHOD AND CRITIC TEACHER IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF RUTLAND, VT.; FORMERLY SUPT. OF SCHOOLS, HOOSIC FALLS, N. Y. “Who misses or who wins the prize? Go, lose or conquer, as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman.” --_Epilogue to Dr. Birch and his Pupils._ [Illustration: (Publisher’s colophon)] THE A. S. BARNES COMPANY NEW YORK AND CHICAGO COPYRIGHT, 1888 E. L. KELLOGG & CO. NEW YORK INTRODUCTION. Importance of the definite teaching of manners. Children are close imitators; they will learn some kind of manners, and one who teaches positively or emphatically (or contrariwise) may often see a miniature of himself in his young pupil. With this truth in mind one can hardly attach too much importance to punctilious politeness on the teacher’s part in his intercourse with pupils. But however polite a teacher may be, the informal or unconscious teaching of manners is not enough. The school-room does not afford opportunity to exemplify all the necessary practices in good manners, and there is no other way but to teach the various requirements of an accepted code with reference to actual examples that may present themselves at any time in life. It is to be remembered that many children have no opportunity of obtaining a knowledge of good manners, either by practice or precept, except as it is afforded by the schools. And as habits formed in childhood are the most enduring, a lack of early training in good manners will show itself as long as life lasts. Many other reasons weigh in favor of the definite teaching of manners, one of which is, if courtesy is demanded of pupils. The underlying principles of courtesy should be inculcated, that children may know it is more than an empty show. Children need to learn the definite language courtesy employs. This to many children is a new language, and can only be accomplished by definite teaching. Beside, if manners are considered of sufficient importance to be counted a regular part of the school, they will attract much more importance. Accompanying this by observance on the part of teacher, the pupil acquires a valuable knowledge. Good manners ever prove an invaluable aid in doing away with many of the unpleasantnesses of school-life. Courtesy of manner under all circumstances means great self-control, and a lack of self-control in teacher or pupil is the origin of most misdemeanors in school. Aside from the benefits to be derived in the school-room, gentle manners help one on in the world wonderfully. They are more powerful in many cases than their other knowledge. “All doors fly open to the one who possesses them.” “Manners are the shadows of great virtues.”--_Whately._ “High thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy.”--_Sir Philip Sidney._ Mr. Calvert says: “A gentleman is never unduly familiar; takes no liberties; is chary of questions; is neither artificial nor affected; is as little obtrusive upon the mind or feelings of others as on their persons; bears himself tenderly toward the weak and unprotected; is not arrogant; cannot be supercilious; can be self-denying without struggle; is not vain of his advantages;	1,951.645677
2023-11-16 18:49:35.6256760	4,303	8	Produced by Chris Curnow, Matthew Wheaton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) London. Edward Moxon & Co. Dover Street. _MOXON'S MINIATURE POETS._ A SELECTION FROM THE WORKS OF FREDERICK LOCKER. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY RICHARD DOYLE. LONDON: EDWARD MOXON & CO., DOVER STREET. 1865. PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS. THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., AND RICHARD DOYLE THE COVER FROM A DESIGN BY JOHN LEIGHTON, F.S.A. THE SERIES PROJECTED AND SUPERINTENDED BY Some of these pieces appeared in a volume called "London Lyrics," of which there have been two editions, the first in 1857, and the second in 1862; a few of the pieces have been restored to the reading of the First Edition. TO C. C. L. I pause upon the threshold, Charlotte dear, To write thy name; so may my book acquire One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here Who come and go in homeliest attire, Unknown, or only by the few who see The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought: Of such art thou, and I have found in thee The love and truth that HE, the MASTER, taught; Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say With truth, dear Charlotte?--"And I like his lay." ROME, _May_, 1862. CONTENTS. THE JESTER'S MORAL BRAMBLE-RISE THE WIDOW'S MITE ON AN OLD MUFF A HUMAN SKULL TO MY GRANDMOTHER O TEMPORA MUTANTUR! REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A LOCK OF HAIR THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD BROADOAK AN INVITATION TO ROME, AND THE REPLY:-- THE INVITATION THE REPLY OLD LETTERS MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE PICCADILLY THE PILGRIMS OF PALL MALL GERALDINE "O DOMINE DEUS" THE HOUSEMAID THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK A WISH THE JESTER'S PLEA THE OLD CRADLE TO MY MISTRESS TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS THE ROSE AND THE RING TO MY OLD FRIEND POSTUMUS THE RUSSET PITCHER THE FAIRY ROSE 1863 GERALDINE GREEN:-- I. THE SERENADE II. MY LIFE IS A---- MRS. SMITH THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD THE VICTORIA CROSS ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE SORRENTO JANET BERANGER THE BEAR PIT THE CASTLE IN THE AIR GLYCERE VAE VICTIS IMPLORA PACE VANITY FAIR THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES MY FIRST-BORN SUSANNAH:-- I. THE ELDER TREES II. A KIND PROVIDENCE CIRCUMSTANCE ARCADIA THE CROSSING-SWEEPER A SONG THAT WAS NEVER SUNG MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS BEGGARS THE ANGORA CAT ON A PORTRAIT OF DR. LAURENCE STERNE A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS LITTLE PITCHER UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY ADVICE TO A POET NOTES The Jesters Moral I wish that I could run away From House, and Court, and Levee: Where bearded men appear to-day, Just Eton boys grown heavy.--W. M. PRAED. Is human life a pleasant game That gives a palm to all? A fight for fortune, or for fame? A struggle, and a fall? Who views the Past, and all he prized, With tranquil exultation? And who can say, I've realised My fondest aspiration? Alas, not one! for rest assured That all are prone to quarrel With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd, Or mildew spoils their laurel: The prize may come to cheer our lot, But all too late--and granted 'Tis even better--still 'tis not Exactly what we wanted. My school-boy time! I wish to praise That bud of brief existence, The vision of my youthful days Now trembles in the distance. An envious vapour lingers here, And there I find a chasm; But much remains, distinct and clear, To sink enthusiasm. Such thoughts just now disturb my soul With reason good--for lately I took the train to Marley-knoll, And crossed the fields to Mately. I found old Wheeler at his gate, Who used rare sport to show me: My Mentor once on snares and bait-- But Wheeler did not know me. "Goodlord!" at last exclaimed the churl, "Are you the little chap, sir, What used to train his hair in curl, And wore a scarlet cap, sir?" And then he fell to fill in blanks, And conjure up old faces; And talk of well-remembered pranks, In half forgotten places. It pleased the man to tell his brief And somewhat mournful story, Old Bliss's school had come to grief-- And Bliss had "gone to glory." His trees were felled, his house was razed-- And what less keenly pained me, A venerable donkey grazed Exactly where he caned me. And where have all my playmates sped, Whose ranks were once so serried? Why some are wed, and some are dead, And some are only buried; Frank Petre, erst so full of fun, Is now St. Blaise's prior-- And Travers, the attorney's son, Is member for the shire. Dame Fortune, that inconstant jade, Can smile when least expected, And those who languish in the shade, Need never be dejected. Poor Pat, who once did nothing right, Has proved a famous writer; While Mat "shirked prayers" (with all his might!) And wears, withal, his mitre. Dull maskers we! Life's festival Enchants the blithe new-comer; But seasons change, and where are all These friendships of our summer? Wan pilgrims flit athwart our track-- Cold looks attend the meeting-- We only greet them, glancing back, Or pass without a greeting! I owe old Bliss some rubs, but pride Constrains me to postpone 'em, He taught me something, 'ere he died, About _nil nisi bonum_. I've met with wiser, better men, But I forgive him wholly; Perhaps his jokes were sad--but then He used to storm so drolly. I still can laugh, is still my boast, But mirth has sounded gayer; And which provokes my laughter most-- The preacher, or the player? Alack, I cannot laugh at what Once made us laugh so freely, For Nestroy and Grassot are not-- And where is Mr. Keeley? O, shall I run away from hence, And dress and shave like Crusoe? Or join St. Blaise? No, Common Sense, Forbid that I should do so. I'd sooner dress your Little Miss As Paulet shaves his poodles! As soon propose for Betsy Bliss-- Or get proposed for Boodle's. We prate of Life's illusive dyes, Yet still fond Hope enchants us; We all believe we near the prize, Till some fresh dupe supplants us! A bright reward, forsooth! And though No mortal has attained it, I still can hope, for well I know That Love has so ordained it. PARIS, _November, 1864_. BRAMBLE-RISE. What changes greet my wistful eyes In quiet little Bramble-Rise, Once smallest of its shire? How altered is each pleasant nook! The dumpy church used not to look So dumpy in the spire. This village is no longer mine; And though the Inn has changed its sign, The beer may not be stronger: The river, dwindled by degrees, Is now a brook,--the cottages Are cottages no longer. The thatch is slate, the plaster bricks, The trees have cut their ancient sticks, Or else the sticks are stunted: I'm sure these thistles once grew figs, These geese were swans, and once these pigs More musically grunted. Where early reapers whistled, shrill A whistle may be noted still,-- The locomotive's ravings. New custom newer want begets,-- My bank of early violets Is now a bank for savings! That voice I have not heard for long! So Patty still can sing the song A merry playmate taught her; I know the strain, but much suspect 'Tis not the child I recollect, But Patty,--Patty's daughter; And has she too outlived the spells Of breezy hills and silent dells Where childhood loved to ramble? Then Life was thornless to our ken, And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then A rise without a bramble. Whence comes the change? 'Twere easy told That some grow wise, and some grow cold, And all feel time and trouble: If Life an empty bubble be, How sad are those who will not see A rainbow in the bubble! And senseless too, for mistress Fate Is not the gloomy reprobate That mouldy sages thought her; My heart leaps up, and I rejoice As falls upon my ear thy voice, My frisky little daughter. Come hither, Pussy, perch on these Thy most unworthy father's knees, And tell him all about it: Are dolls but bran? Can men be base? When gazing on thy blessed face I'm quite prepared to doubt it. O, mayst thou own, my winsome elf, Some day a pet just like thyself, Her sanguine thoughts to borrow; Content to use her brighter eyes,-- Accept her childish ecstacies,-- If need be, share her sorrow! The wisdom of thy prattle cheers This heart; and when outworn in years And homeward I am starting, My Darling, lead me gently down To Life's dim strand: the dark waves frown, But weep not for our parting. Though Life is called a doleful jaunt, In sorrow rife, in sunshine scant, Though earthly joys, the wisest grant, Have no enduring basis; 'Tis something in a desert sere, For her so fresh--for me so drear, To find in Puss, my daughter dear, A little cool oasis! APRIL, 1857. THE WIDOW'S MITE. The Widow had but only one, A puny and decrepit son; Yet, day and night, Though fretful oft, and weak, and small, A loving child, he was her all-- The Widow's Mite. The Widow's might,--yes! so sustained, She battled onward, nor complained When friends were fewer: And, cheerful at her daily care, A little crutch upon the stair Was music to her. I saw her then,--and now I see, Though cheerful and resigned, still she Has sorrowed much: She has--HE gave it tenderly-- Much faith--and, carefully laid by, A little crutch. ON AN OLD MUFF Time has a magic wand! What is this meets my hand, Moth-eaten, mouldy, and Covered with fluff? Faded, and stiff, and scant; Can it be? no, it can't-- Yes,--I declare 'tis Aunt Prudence's Muff! Years ago--twenty-three! Old Uncle Barnaby Gave it to Aunty P.-- Laughing and teasing-- "Pru., of the breezy curls, Whisper these solemn churls, _What holds a pretty girl's Hand without squeezing?_" Uncle was then a lad Gay, but, I grieve to add, Sinful: if smoking bad _Baccy's_ a vice: Glossy was then this mink Muff, lined with pretty pink Satin, which maidens think "Awfully nice!" I see, in retrospect, Aunt, in her best bedecked, Gliding, with mien erect, Gravely to Meeting: Psalm-book, and kerchief new, Peeped from the muff of Pru.-- Young men--and pious too-- Giving her greeting. Pure was the life she led Then--from this Muff, 'tis said, Tracts she distributed:-- Scapegraces many, Seeing the grace they lacked, Followed her--one, in fact, Asked for--and got his tract Oftener than any. Love has a potent spell! Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well, Aunt's sweet susceptible Heart undermining, Slipped, so the scandal runs, Notes in the pretty nun's Muff--triple-cornered ones-- Pink as its lining! Worse even, soon the jade Fled (to oblige her blade!) Whilst her friends thought that they'd Locked her up tightly: After such shocking games Aunt is of wedded dames Gayest--and now her name's Mrs. Golightly. In female conduct flaw Sadder I never saw, Still I've faith in the law Of compensation. Once Uncle went astray-- Smoked, joked, and swore away-- Sworn by, he's now, by a Large congregation! Changed is the Child of Sin, Now he's (he once was thin) Grave, with a double chin,-- Blest be his fat form! Changed is the garb he wore,-- Preacher was never more Prized than is Uncle for Pulpit or platform. If all's as best befits Mortals of slender wits, Then beg this Muff, and its Fair Owner pardon: _All's for the best_,--indeed Such is _my_ simple creed-- Still I must go and weed Hard in my garden. A HUMAN SKULL. A human skull! I bought it passing cheap,-- It might be dearer to its first employer; I thought mortality did well to keep Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer. Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin, Here lips were wooed perchance in transport tender;-- Some may have chucked what was a dimpled chin, And never had my doubt about its gender! Did she live yesterday or ages back? What colour were the eyes when bright and waking? And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black, Poor little head! that long has done with aching? It may have held (to shoot some random shots) Thy brains, Eliza Fry,--or Baron Byron's, The wits of Nelly Gwynn, or Doctor Watts,-- Two quoted bards! two philanthropic sirens! But this I surely knew before I closed The bargain on the morning that I bought it; It was not half so bad as some supposed, Nor quite as good as many may have thought it. Who love, can need no special type of death; He bares his awful face too soon, too often; "Immortelles" bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath, And does not yon green elm contain a coffin? O, _cara_ mine, what lines of care are these? The heart still lingers with the golden hours, An Autumn tint is on the chestnut trees, And where is all that boasted wealth of flowers? If life no more can yield us what it gave, It still is linked with much that calls for praises; A very worthless rogue may dig the grave, But hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies. TO MY GRANDMOTHER. (SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.) This relative of mine Was she seventy and nine When she died? By the canvas may be seen How she looked at seventeen,-- As a bride. Beneath a summer tree As she sits, her reverie Has a charm; Her ringlets are in taste,-- What an arm! and what a waist For an arm! In bridal coronet, Lace, ribbons, and _coquette Falbala_; Were Romney's limning true, What a lucky dog were you, Grandpapa! Her lips are sweet as love,-- They are parting! Do they move? Are they dumb?-- Her eyes are blue, and beam Beseechingly, and seem To say, "Come." What funny fancy slips From atween these cherry lips? Whisper me, Sweet deity, in paint, What canon says I mayn't Marry thee? That good-for-nothing Time Has a confidence sublime! When I first Saw this lady, in my youth, Her winters had, forsooth, Done their worst. Her locks (as white as snow) Once shamed the swarthy crow. By-and-by, That fowl's avenging sprite, Set his cloven foot for spite In her eye. Her rounded form was lean, And her silk was bombazine:-- Well I wot, With her needles would she sit, And for hours would she knit,-- Would she not? Ah, perishable clay! Her charms had dropt away One by one. But if she heaved a sigh	1,951.645716
2023-11-16 18:49:35.6277780	1,661	8	Produced by Larry Mittell and PG Distributed Proofreaders FIFTEENTH THOUSAND. THE EXPLORING EXPEDITION TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, OREGON AND CALIFORNIA, BY BREVET COL. J.C. FREMONT. TO WHICH IS ADDED A DESCRIPTION OF THE PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF CALIFORNIA. WITH RECENT NOTICES OF THE GOLD REGION FROM THE LATEST AND MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES. 1852 * * * * * PREFACE. No work has appeared from the American press within the past few years better calculated to interest the community at large than Colonel J.C. Fremont's Narrative of his Exploring Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, Oregon, and North California, undertaken by the orders of the United States government. Eminently qualified for the task assigned him, Colonel Fremont entered upon his duties with alacrity, and has embodied in the following pages the results of his observations. The country thus explored is daily making deeper and more abiding impressions upon the minds of the people, and information is eagerly sought in regard to its natural resources, its climate, inhabitants, productions, and adaptation for supplying the wants and providing the comforts for a dense population. The day is not far distant when that territory, hitherto so little known, will be intersected by railroads, its waters navigated, and its fertile portions peopled by an active and intelligent population. To all persons interested in the successful extension of our free institutions over this now wilderness portion of our land, this work of Fremont commends itself as a faithful and accurate statement of the present state of affairs in that country. Since the preparation of this report, Colonel Fremont has been engaged in still farther explorations by order of the government, the results of which will probably be presented to the country as soon as he shall be relieved from his present arduous and responsible station. He is now engaged in active military service in New Mexico, and has won imperishable renown by his rapid and successful subjugation of that country. The map accompanying this edition is not the one prepared by the order of government, but it is one that can be relied upon for its accuracy. July, 1847. * * * * * ADVERTISEMENT TO THE NEW EDITION. The dreams of the visionary have "come to pass!" the unseen El Dorado of the "fathers" looms, in all its virgin freshness and beauty, before the eyes of their children! The "set time" for the Golden age, the advent of which has been looked for and longed for during many centuries of iron wrongs and hardships, has fully come. In the sunny clime of the south west--in Upper California--may be found the modern Canaan, a land "flowing with milk and honey," its mountains studded and its rivers lined and choked, with gold! He who would know more of this rich and rare land before commencing his pilgrimage to its golden bosom, will find, in the last part of this new edition of a most deservedly popular work, a succinct yet comprehensive account of its inexhaustible riches and its transcendent loveliness, and a fund of much needed information in regard to the several routes which lead to its inviting borders. January 1849. * * * * * A REPORT ON AN EXPLORATION OF THE COUNTRY LYING BETWEEN THE MISSOURI RIVER AND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, ON THE LINE OF THE KANSAS AND GREAT PLATTE RIVERS. * * * * * Washington, March 1, 1843. To Colonel J.J. Abert, _Chief of the Corps of Top. Eng._ Sir: Agreeably to your orders to explore and report upon the country between the frontiers of Missouri and the South Pass in the Rocky Mountains, and on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte rivers, I set out from Washington city on the 2d day of May, 1842, and arrived at St. Louis by way of New York, the 22d of May, where the necessary preparations were completed, and the expedition commenced. I proceeded in a steamboat to Chouteau's landing, about four hundred miles by water from St. Louis, and near the mouth of the Kansas river, whence we proceeded twelve miles to Mr. Cyprian Chouteau's trading-house, where we completed our final arrangements for the expedition. Bad weather, which interfered with astronomical observations, delayed us several days in the early part of June at this post, which is on the right bank of the Kansas river, about ten miles above the mouth, and six beyond the western boundary of Missouri. The sky cleared off at length and we were enabled to determine our position, in longitude 90 deg. 25' 46", and latitude 39 deg. 5' 57". The elevation above the sea is about 700 feet. Our camp, in the mean time, presented an animated and bustling scene. All were busily engaged in completing the necessary arrangements for our campaign in the wilderness, and profiting by this short stay on the verge of civilization, to provide ourselves with all the little essentials to comfort in the nomadic life we were to lead for the ensuing summer months. Gradually, however, every thing--the _materiel_ of the camp--men, horses, and even mules--settled into its place; and by the 10th we were ready to depart; but, before we mount our horses, I will give a short description of the party with which I performed the service. I had collected in the neighborhood of St. Louis twenty-one men, principally Creole and Canadian _voyageurs_, who had become familiar with prairie life in the service of the fur companies in the Indian country. Mr. Charles Preuss, native of Germany, was my assistant in the topographical part of the survey; L. Maxwell, of Kaskaskia, had been engaged as hunter, and Christopher Carson (more familiarly known, for his exploits in the mountains, as Kit Carson) was our guide. The persons engaged in St. Louis were: Clement Lambert, J.B. L'Esperance, J.B. Lefevre, Benjamin Potra, Louis Gouin, J.B. Dumes, Basil Lajeunesse, Francois Tessier, Benjamin Cadotte, Joseph Clement, Daniel Simonds, Leonard Benoit, Michel Morly, Baptiste Bernier, Honore Ayot, Francois La Tulipe, Francis Badeau, Louis Menard, Joseph Ruelle, Moise Chardonnais, Auguste Janisse, Raphael Proue. In addition to these, Henry Brant, son of Col. J.B. Brant, of St. Louis, a young man of nineteen years of age, and Randolph, a lively boy of twelve, son of the Hon. Thomas H. Benton, accompanied me, for the development of mind and body such an expedition would give. We were well armed and mounted, with the exception of eight men, who conducted as many carts, in which were packed our stores, with the baggage and instruments, and which were drawn by two mules. A few loose horses, and four oxen, which had been added to our stock of provisions, completed the train	1,951.647818
2023-11-16 18:49:35.7297760	2,552	10	*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Diary of Samuel Pepys* Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Please do not remove this. This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they need about what they can legally do with the texts. Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971 These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and further information is included below. We need your donations. 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2023-11-16 18:49:36.2286840	247	30	Produced by Mark C. Orton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) "Entered according to Act of the Provincial Legislature, for the Protection of Copy-rights, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six, by P. SINCLAIR, Quebec, in the Office of the Registrar of the Province of Canada." THE RISE OF CANADA, FROM BARBARISM TO WEALTH AND CIVILISATION. BY CHARLES ROGER, QUEBEC. Una manus calamum teneat, manus altera ferrum, Sic sis nominibus dignus utrinque tuis. VOLUME I. QUEBEC: PETER SINCLAIR. Montreal, H. Ramsay and B. Dawson; Toronto, A. H. Armour & Co.; London, C. W., Andrews & Coombe; Port Hope, James Ainsley; New York, H. Long & Brothers, D. Appleton & Co., J. C. Francis	1,952.248724
2023-11-16 18:49:36.3256150	2,554	7	Produced by 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) STIRLING CASTLE PUBLISHED BY JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, Publishers to the University. MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. _New York_, _The Macmillan Co._ _Toronto_, _The Macmillan Co. of Canada_. _London_, _Simpkin, Hamilton and Co._ _Cambridge_, _Bowes and Bowes_. _Edinburgh_, _Douglas and Foulis_. _Sydney_, _Angus and Robertson_. MCMXIII. [Illustration: STIRLING CASTLE.] STIRLING CASTLE ITS PLACE IN SCOTTISH HISTORY BY ERIC STAIR-KERR M.A. EDIN. AND OXON., F.S.A. SCOT. AUTHOR OF “SCOTLAND UNDER JAMES IV” _WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUGH ARMSTRONG CAMERON_ GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY 1913 PREFACE Stirling Castle is a many-sided subject that can be treated in more than one way. The story of the castle might be dealt with in a book divided into sections, each one taking up a special part, such as Military History, Stirling as a Royal Palace, Notable Visitors, etc.; but I have thought it better to set forth the whole of the castle’s history in chronological order, and, after discussing the buildings and their associations, to bring together the salient events connected with the three chief Scottish strongholds, and to record what the poets have said about Stirling. With regard to dates, for the sake of simplicity I have adopted the historical computation; that is to say, the years have been reckoned as if they had always begun on the 1st of January and not on the 25th of March, as was the rule in Scotland until 1600. For example, the date of Prince Henry’s birth is given as February, 1594, although the event was considered at the time to belong to the year 1593. I am glad to express here my thanks to my uncle, the Rev. Eric Robertson, for suggesting that I should undertake this work, and for valuable hints given from time to time; to Mr. David B. Morris, Stirling, who has always responded most willingly to any appeal for help, and who has kindly read the proofs; and to Mr. James Hyslop, Edinburgh, for guidance in the subject of the buildings of the castle. To the artist, Mr. Cameron, I am grateful for the whole-hearted interest which he has taken in my part of the work as well as in his own. E. S. K. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. EARLY HISTORY 1 II. THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 18 III. THE EARLY STEWARTS 36 IV. JAMES V. AND MARY 57 V. JAMES VI. 79 VI. LATER HISTORY 114 VII. THE BUILDINGS, THE PARK, AND THE BRIDGE 133 VIII. THE ASSOCIATIONS OF THE BUILDINGS 161 IX. STIRLING’S POSITION WITH REGARD TO OTHER CASTLES 178 X. STIRLING CASTLE IN POETRY 197 INDEX 214 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Stirling Castle _frontispiece_ The Highlands from Stirling Castle 13 The Abbey Craig and River Forth 21 Stirling Castle from Bannockburn 29 The Prospect of Stirling Castle 32 _From Engraving by Captain John Slezer, circa 1693._ The Douglas Window 45 James IV.’s Gateway (where Margaret Tudor defied the Commissioners) 59 The Pass of Ballengeich 67 The Keep and the Prince’s Walk 89 The Chapel Royal 109 Stirling Castle 112 _From Engraving by Robert Sayer, 1753._ Turret on Queen Anne’s Battery 125 The Old Mint 135 Portcullis in James IV.’s Gateway 139 James V. as the Gudeman o’ Ballengeich 143 *The Prospect of Their Majesties’ Castle of Stirling 144 _From Engraving by Captain John Slezer, 1693._ Stirling Old Bridge 155 The Parliament House 163 Old Entrance from Ballengeich 167 Old Buildings in Upper Square 189 A Chimney of the Palace 193 _All the Illustrations, with the exception of the three marked with an asterisk, are by Mr. Hugh Armstrong Cameron._ CHAPTER I. EARLY HISTORY. For many centuries travellers have been struck by the remarkable resemblance which Stirling bears to Edinburgh. In each case there is a castle perched on a precipitous rock, and a town built on a narrow ridge that <DW72>s from the crag to the plain. That two places so much alike in situation should be found in Scotland, and but thirty miles apart, may seem a matter for wonder, but a word or two on the geology of the district may help to explain how the similarity arose. During the Great Ice Age, when the physical features of Scotland were moulded into almost their present form, the extensive plain of the River Forth was filled by a giant glacier, which swept down from the Highland hills to the lower land on the south and east, clearing the softer rocks from its path and exposing the hard basalt of igneous sheets and old volcanic necks. These great eruptive obstructions withstood the pressure of the eastward-moving mass of ice, and so prevented the ground on their lee sides from being subjected to the scouring action that hollowed out the land on the north and west and south. Numerous examples of this “crag and tail” formation are to be found in the track of the ancient glacier, but two of the rocks stand out with striking prominence; on one is built the Castle of Edinburgh, on the other that of Stirling. It is strange that of such natural strongholds early history has so little to say, for these fortresses were afterwards to have their names writ large on almost every page of Scotland’s romantic story. The third sister castle, Dumbarton, came earlier to the front. It was a stronghold of renown in the days of the Strathclyde Britons; but as time wore on its importance diminished, and the place which it had held in the principality of Strathclyde was taken by Stirling and Edinburgh in the consolidated Kingdom of Scotland. On the Gowan Hills, to the north of Stirling Castle, traces of an ancient fort show that the Britons considered it more important to defend the rising ground overlooking the River Forth than to occupy the crag, with its precipitous south-west face. When the Romans under Agricola attempted the conquest of northern Britain they constructed a chain of forts across the country, between the Firths of Forth and Clyde. The untrustworthy Boece asserts that Stirling was fortified at the time of those campaigns, but no real traces of their work have been discovered to prove that the Romans occupied the castle rock under Agricola in A.D. 81-82, or when Lollius Urbicus, Governor of Britain for Antoninus Pius, erected the wall on the line of the earlier forts. Near the Pass of Ballengeich is the so-called Roman Stone, with its indistinct, almost unintelligible letters. Antiquaries of a former day--Camden, Sibbald and Horsley--considered the inscription genuine, but recent scholars are of opinion that the letters were carved many centuries after the departure of the legions from Britain. Again, the existence of a Roman causeway has not yet been proved. The natural supposition that a military road, connecting the camp at Ardoch with the south, passed near Stirling led to the belief that the highway crossed the Forth at Kildean, or higher up at the Ferry of Drip. No vestiges of a causeway of undoubted Roman origin have, however, been discovered either at the river or on the Field of Bannockburn, through which it was thought to have passed on its way to the station of Camelon. After the withdrawal of the Roman legions, Stirling Castle dimly appears in the haze of half-real history. King Arthur is claimed as a local prince in Brittany, Cornwall, Wales and Cumberland, but southern Scotland seems to have, on the whole, the best right to the hero of romance. His tenth battle, it would seem, was fought in the neighbourhood of Stirling, and his victory over the Saxons gave him possession of the fortress. Tradition has always associated his name with the Round Table, which afterwards became the King’s Knot, and William of Worcester, who flourished in the fifteenth century, wrote that King Arthur preserved the Round Table in the Castle of Stirling or Snowden.[1] A less famous, though not a less real, person than the great British warrior chief was Monenna or Modwenna, a high-born saint of Ireland. At least two women bearing this name devoted themselves to the religious life, and some confusion has arisen as to which of them it was who became connected with Stirling. The Monenna who lived in the ninth century, however, apparently visited both England and Scotland, and she seems to have been the one who built, among other churches, the chapel in Stirling Castle.[2] Perhaps because the fortress was so obviously a place of strength the early chroniclers have associated with it events which possibly never took place. Boece mentions that Kenneth MacAlpine laid siege to the castle during the Pictish wars; and the same historian asserts that King Osbert of Northumbria occupied Stirling for a number of years, and established a mint in the fortress. A “cunyie-house” at one time did exist in the castle, but the oldest coins known to have been struck at Stirling date from the reign of Alexander III. A site so favourable for a stronghold, however, must have been the scene of many unrecorded fights, so that “the place of striving,” which was formerly thought to have been the meaning of the citadel’s name, would be no inappropriate appellation. “Stirling” is now held to be a corruption of the Welsh _Ystre Felyn_, signifying “The dwelling of Velin,” old forms of the name being _Estrevelyn_, _Striviling_ and _Struelin_.[3] The more poetic “Snowdon” or “Snawdoun,” a corruption perhaps of some Celtic appellation, or else meaning merely the “snowy hill,” was the name given to Stirling by some of the old chroniclers, as well as by Sir David Lyndsay in _The	1,952.345655
2023-11-16 18:49:36.4774850	1,026	31	Produced by Cindy Horton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) THE BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKER’S AND SUGAR-BOILER’S ASSISTANT Including a large variety of Modern Recipes FOR _BREAD -- TEA CAKES -- HARD AND FANCY BISCUITS -- BUNS -- GINGERBREADS -- SHORTBREADS -- PASTRY -- CUSTARDS -- FRUIT CAKES -- SMALL GOODS FOR SMALL MASTERS -- CONFECTIONS IN SUGAR -- LOZENGES -- ICE CREAMS -- PRESERVING FRUIT -- CHOCOLATE, ETC., ETC._ WITH REMARKS ON THE ART OF BREAD-MAKING AND CHEMISTRY AS APPLIED TO BREAD-MAKING BY ROBERT WELLS PRACTICAL BAKER, CONFECTIONER, AND PASTRYCOOK, SCARBOROUGH Second Edition, with Additional Recipes. [Illustration: Capio Lumen] LONDON CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON 7, STATIONERS’ HALL COURT, LUDGATE HILL 1890 [_All rights reserved._] PREFACE. In submitting the following pages for public approval, the Author hopes that the work may prove acceptable and useful to the Baking Trade as a Book of Instruction for Learners, and for daily reference in the Shop and Bakehouse; and having exercised great care in its compilation, he believes that in all its details it will be found a trustworthy guide. From his own experience in the Baker’s business, he is satisfied that a book of this kind, embodying in a handy form the accumulated results of the work of practical men, is really wanted; and as in the choice of Recipes he has been guided by an intimate acquaintance with the requirements of the trade, and as every recipe here given has been tested by actual and successful use, he trusts that the labour which he has bestowed upon the preparation of the work may be rewarded by its wide acceptance by his brethren in the trade. The work being divided into sections, as shown in the Contents, and a full Index having been added, reference can readily be made, as occasion may arise, either to a class of goods, or to a particular recipe. Any suggestions for the improvement of the work, which the experience of others may lead them to propose, will, if communicated to the Author, be gratefully esteemed and carefully dealt with in future editions. SCARBOROUGH, _October, 1888_. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. It is very gratifying to both Author and Publishers that this little book has been so favourably received by the Baking Trade and the public that a second edition is required within a few months of the first issue of the work. The opportunity has been taken to insert some additional recipes for the whole-meal and other breads which of late have been so frequently recommended as substitutes for the white bread in established use, together with some remarks on the subject by Professors Jago and Graham; and a few corrections in the text (the necessity for which escaped notice when the work was first in the press) have also been made. _August, 1889._ CONTENTS. BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKING, ETC. PAGE I.--INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Slow Process in the Art of Bread-making 1 Need of Technical Training 1 Chemistry as applied to Bread-making 2 Process of Fermentation 4 Liebig on the Process of Bread-making 5 Professors Jago and Graham on Brown Bread 7, 8 II.--GENERAL REMARKS ON BAKING. Baking and its several Branches 10 Essentials of good Bread-making 10 German Yeast and Parisian Barm 11 Recipe for American Patent Yeast 12 Judging between good and bad Flour 13 Liebig on the Action of Alum in Bread 13 Professor Vaughan on Adulteration with Alum 13 Importance of good Butter to the Pastrycook 13 III.--BREAD, TEA CAKES, BUNS, ETC. 1. To make Home-made Bread 17 2. Bread-making by the Old Method	1,952.497525
2023-11-16 18:49:36.6270200	251	10	Produced by David Widger SKETCHES NEW AND OLD by Mark Twain Part 3. DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed boy, on his way to Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the city prison for stoning Chinamen." What a commentary is this upon human justice! What sad prominence it gives to our human disposition to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco has little right to take credit to herself for her treatment of this poor boy. What had the child's education been? How should he suppose it was wrong to stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him, along with outraged San Francisco, let us give him a chance--let us hear the testimony for the defense. He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and therefore the chances are that his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people, with just enough natural villainy in their composition to make them yearn after the daily papers, and enjoy them; and so this boy had opportunities to learn all	1,952.64706
2023-11-16 18:49:36.7258190	2,369	6	*** Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover art] [Illustration: HE WILDLY TORE AT EVERYTHING AND HURLED IT DOWN ON HIS PURSUERS _Page_ 86 _Frontispiece_] Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day BY SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL T. T. JEANS, C.M.G., R.N. Author of "John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N." "A Naval Venture" &c. _Illustrated by Edward S. Hodgson_ BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW 1908 By Surgeon Rear-Admiral T. T. Jeans The Gun-runners. John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N. A Naval Venture. Gunboat and Gun-runner. Ford of H.M.S. "Vigilant". On Foreign Service. Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_ Preface In this story of the modern Royal Navy I have endeavoured, whilst narrating many adventures both ashore and afloat, to portray the habits of thought and speech of various types of officers and men of the Senior Service who live and serve under the White Ensign to-day. To do this the more graphically I have made some of the leading characters take up, from each other, the threads of the story and continue the description of incidents from their own points of view; the remainder of the tale is written in the third person as by an outside narrator. I hope that this method will be found to lend additional interest to the book. I have had great assistance from several Gunnery, Torpedo, and Engineer Lieutenants, who have read the manuscripts as they were written, corrected many errors of detail, and made many useful suggestions. The story may therefore claim to be technically correct. T. T. JEANS, SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL, ROYAL NAVY Contents CHAP. I. The Luck of Midshipman Glover II. Helston receives a Strange Letter III. The Fitting Out of a Squadron IV. The Pirates are not Idle V. The Squadron leaves hurriedly VI. The Voyage East VII. The Pursuit of the Patagonian VIII. Mr. Ping Sang is Outwitted IX. Captain Helston Wounded X. Destroyer "No. 1" Meets her Fate XI. The Action off Sin Ling XII. A Council of War XIII. The Avenging of Destroyer "No. 1" XIV. Night Operations XV. Mr. Midshipman Glover Tells how he was Wounded XVI. Captain Helston's Indecision XVII. Spying Out the Pirates XVIII. The Escape from the Island XIX. Cummins Captures One Gun Hill XX. The Fight for One Gun Hill XXI. On One Gun Hill XXII. The Final Attack on the Hill XXIII. The Attack on the Forts XXIV. The Capture of the Island XXV. The Fruits of Victory XXVI. Home Again Illustrations He wildly tore at everything and hurled it down on his pursuers... _Frontispiece_ I struck at him with my heavy malacca stick The sinking of the Pirate Torpedo-Boat The Commander and Jones overpower the Two Sentries Map Illustrating the Operations Against the Pirates [Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING THE OPERATIONS AGAINST THE PIRATES] CHAPTER I The Luck of Midshipman Glover Ordered Abroad. Hurrah! _Midshipman Glover explains how Luck came to him_ It all started absolutely unexpectedly whilst we were on leave and staying with Mellins in the country. When I say "we", I mean Tommy Toddles and myself. His real name was Foote, but nobody ever called him anything but "Toddles", and I do believe that he would almost have forgotten what his real name actually was if it had not been engraved on the brass plate on the lid of his sea chest, and if he had not been obliged to have it marked very plainly on his washing. We had passed out of the _Britannia_ a fortnight before--passed out as full-blown midshipmen, too, which was all due to luck--and were both staying with Christie at his pater's place in Somerset. It was Christie whom we called Mellins, because he was so tremendously fat; and though he did not mind us doing so in the least, it was rather awkward whilst we were staying in his house, for we could hardly help calling his pater "Colonel Mellins". You see, he was even fatter than Mellins himself, and the very first night we were there--we were both just a little nervous--Toddles did call him Colonel Mellins when we wished him "Good-night", and he glared at us so fiercely, that we slunk up to our room and really thought we'd better run away. We even opened the window and looked out, feeling very miserable, to see if it was possible to scramble down the ivy or the rusty old water-spout without waking everybody, when Mellins suddenly burst in with a pillow he had screwed up jolly hard, and nearly banged us out of the window. By the time we had driven him back to his room at the other end of the corridor, and flattened him out, we had forgotten all about it, and we crept back like mice, and went to sleep. It was just at this time that the papers came out with those extraordinary yarns about the increase of piracy on the Chinese coast, and how some Chinese merchants had clubbed together to buy ships in England and fit out an expedition to clear the sea again. You can imagine how interested we three were, especially as fifty years ago Toddles's father had taken part in a great number of scraps with the Cantonese pirates, and Toddles rattled off the most exciting yarns which his father had told him. We saw in the papers that the Admiralty was about to lend naval officers to take command, but it never struck us that we might possibly get a look in, till one morning a letter came for me from Cousin Milly, whose father is an old admiral and lives at Fareham, and isn't particularly pleasant when I go to see him. My aunt! weren't we excited! Why, she actually wrote that if I wanted to go she thought she could get me appointed to the squadron, as the captain who was going in charge was a great friend of hers. You can imagine what I wrote, and how I buttered her up and called her a brick, and said she was a "perfect ripper". I ended up by saying that "Mr. Arthur Bouchier Christie, midshipman, and Mr. Thomas Algernon Foote, midshipman, chums of mine, would like to go too". I was very careful to give their full names to prevent mistakes, and put "midshipman" after their names just to show that they had also passed out of the _Britannia_. near the top of the list, and so must be pretty good at chasing "X and Y", which, of course, is a great "leg up" in the navy. Two mornings after this Milly sent me a postcard: "Hope to manage it for the three of you". We were so excited after that, that we did nothing but wait about for the postman, and even went down to the village post-office and hung about there, almost expecting a telegram. Well, you would hardly believe it! The very next morning our appointments were in the papers. I have the list somewhere stowed away even now, and it began: "The under-mentioned officers of the Royal Navy have been placed on half-pay and lent to the Imperial Chinese Government for special services". Down at the bottom of the list was "Midshipmen", and we nearly tore Colonel Christie's paper in our excitement as we read, in very small print and among a lot of other names, Arthur B. Christie, Harold S. Glover (that was myself--hurrah!), and Thomas A. Foote. Well, I can't tell you much of what happened after that, for we were simply mad with delight; but I do remember that when I rushed off home my father and mother rather threw a damper over it all. And when my gear had been packed and driven down to the station, I felt rather a brute because everyone cried, and even my father was a little husky when I wished him good-bye. I think something must have got into my eye too, a fly, probably, but it wasn't there when the train ran into Portsmouth Harbour station, and Mellins and Toddles met me and dragged me to the end of the pier to get our first view of our new ship, which was lying at Spithead. Now you will have to read how all these things came about, or you will never properly understand them. CHAPTER II Helston receives a Strange Letter Helston's Bad Luck--Ping Sang tells of Pirates--Ping Sang makes an Offer--Helston Jubilant In the year 1896 two naval officers were living a somewhat humdrum, monotonous existence in the quiet little Hampshire village of Fareham, which nestles under the fort-crowned Portsdown Hills, and is almost within earshot of the ceaseless clatter of riveting and hammering in the mighty dockyards of Portsmouth. These two men had both served many years before in the small gun-boat _Porcupine_ out in China, and their many escapades and adventures had frequently drawn down on their heads the wrath of the Admiral commanding that station. Wherever the _Porcupine_ went, trouble of some sort or another was sure to follow. At one place an indignant Taotai[#] complained that all the guns--obsolete old muzzle-loaders--in his fort had been tumbled into the ditch one night; at another they only just escaped with their lives from an infuriated mob whilst actually carrying from the temple a highly grotesque, but still more highly revered, joss, at which desecration they had cajoled and bribed the local priests to wink. [#] Taotai = military magistrate. Com	1,952.745859
2023-11-16 18:49:36.7299790	2,796	11	Produced by Al Haines INDIAN AND OTHER TALES By M. L. HOPE Toronto William Briggs 1911 Copyright, Canada, 1911, By M. L. Hope. {5} INDIAN AND OTHER TALES O beautiful wind of the West, In your wand'rings o'er land and sea, What have you seen in your quest? Come, tell your story to me. In the isles of the southern seas, Where the crystal-clear ocean a melody sang To the beautiful kauri trees, I wandered the summer day through, In the forest's dappled shade, Where the graceful fern-tree bowed its head To woo the Maori maid. A nymph of the woods was she In her kiwi mantle brown; And the fern-tree wooed her with tender grace From dawn till the sun went down; But a Maori chieftain came In the glory of life's young morn, And the maiden forsook her mystic love, Leaving it sad and forlorn. But the tui-bird saw its grief, And in loving sympathy Built her beautiful, woven nest In the heart of the lonely tree. {6} And when its liquid notes echoed the woodland through, The fern-tree lifted its drooping head And was fresh as the morning dew; So I left them in their joy--the youth and his fairy bride, The tree with its nest of callow birds-- And I crossed the ocean tide. In the early morn I came to a land where the orchards were white With their wealth of apple blossoms, and bathed in the spring sunlight; There I found a winding road with banks where the wild-flowers grew, And through a vista of blossoming trees the sea came into view, As it sparkled in the sun and kissed the golden shore, Then laughed aloud in its mirth and ran back to the sea once more. And again I wandered on, until in the twilight dim I came where the scent of the wattle seemed the incense to Nature's hymn, For a brooding peace lay o'er land and sea As I sank to rest in a blue gum-tree, And when I awoke in the dawn, the dew lay on vineyards green, {7} Where they nestled in valleys of red-hued loam; And a river whose fount was a cascade clear, Which burst from the brow of a mountain near, Wended its way through the verdant land, Till it reached at last the ocean strand, Where it lost itself in the waters deep, And only the mermaids saw it leap With joy, as it reached the Garden of Sleep. And still I wandered on until I came to tropical seas, Where the odors of spices were wafted afar by every passing breeze; And in the pearly light of the coming day I saw the feathery bamboo groves, where the elephant loves to stray; I heard his mighty trump, as he waked from his dream, And the sound of women's voices as they wended their way to the stream; A laughing, chattering throng, they passed me on their way To bathe in the limpid waters, ere the sun held his sovereign sway. I followed a Purple Emperor to the cinnamon gardens near, Then chased a laughing rickshaw boy, and whispered in his ear; What the secret was I may not tell, But the rickshaw boy seemed to know it well. {8} Then I left behind me this island fair, With its wondrous charm and fragrant air, And ere night had fallen had crossed the sea, And come to the land of the banyan tree, Where nature is wrapped in mystery deep, And the gods in the cups of the Lotus-flower sleep; And even my spirit felt its spell, For I scarcely breathed as the twilight fell; And when o'er the palm-trees and temples fair The crescent moon hung in the evening air, And from shadowy doorways and wayside shrines near The chant of the Koran fell on my ear; Still more did its mystery my spirit fill, For I felt that I only could breathe and be still. And so on to the Isles of the West I roam, Which the hearts of the exiles ever call home; And I think that the primrose and hare-bells blue Are emblems of hearts that are ever true, And the shamrock doth also with elfin grace Claim for itself in my heart a place; So I whisper them each that no fairer land Have I found in my wanderings from strand to strand; They each have their charm and magic spell, And loving hearts in each one doth dwell. ---------- {9} It was night and the tired villagers were wrapped in sleep; Only within her lonely hut did a mother her vigil keep. All day she had toiled and labored, carrying bricks and stone, While her child lay sick with fever, and uttered his weary moan. Oft she had paused in her work, and in soft, caressing tone Had soothed his plaintive crying, then gone back to her work alone, And now, though tired and weary, and heavy her eyes with sleep, She sat and nursed her baby with a mother love true and deep; And when with a last little cry he turned in her arms and was still, She knew that no more would his baby love the place in her hard life fill. She was only a coolie mother, but her heart was heavy with pain, For she knew that she never would clasp her child in her lonely arms again. What had mattered the daily toil in the heat of the burning sun, When she knew that she had her little one to caress when the day was done? To you he was only a coolie child with his baby limbs dimpled and bare, But now he is one of those favored ones who are safe in their Saviour's care. ---------- {10} The highway was hot and dusty, oppressive the air; The sun on the tired bullocks beat down with pitiless glare. Mere living skeletons were they, their worn-out hides scarce covering their aching bones; Hunger and thirst were their daily lot, while many a cruel blow Forced them to drag their heavy load, though weary their gait and slow; The look in their eyes was pitiful, so full of helpless pain, While ever the cruel driver showered his blows like rain. Have ye no heart, ye men of the East, that ye treat dumb creatures so? Does it help you to bear your own weary lot to add to their tale of woe? Bruised and maim, half-blind, and halt, you drive them until they drop! Oh, had I the power I would wield it, such cruelty to stop; When I see you <DW8> them with pointed stick, my soul cries in answering pain; Oh, why will you treat your oxen so, and give to your land this stain? ---------- {11} Tired out with the heat and the burden of day, And the miles I have walked 'neath the sun's fierce ray, I think with delight of the bungalow dim, And how I shall fill my long glass to the brim; But when I arrive all is empty and bare, The khansamah has gone to his evening prayer. I think I will rest on the charpoi awhile, But the mosquitoes turn out in most welcoming style; I then in despair do betake me outside, Still to find I am helpless to stem their fierce tide. But wait, there's still balm for my weary soul-- I take out my pipe and fill up the bowl, And for a few moments I have a respite, But, oh, I'd be glad of my supper to-night. But presently cometh mine host of the inn, And soon from the murghi's there issues a din, The heartless khansamah he cares not a jot, The dechie is here, but the murghi is not. And though it is tough, and not cooked with great care, I am not in a mood to complain of my fare. You may think that travelling hath its delights, But wait till you've spent a few weary nights In a dak-bungalow, empty and bare, With no punka coolie to answer your prayer, Then I'm sure you'll agree that a pleasanter lot Is to live in a place where dak-bungalows are not. ---------- {12} Again a dak-bungalow is the theme of my lay, But now it is cool, and the close of the day Finds me seated outside in my long-armed chair, My report to the Burra Sahib now to prepare, But, oh, ye great gods, what a discordant din Doth break on the peace and contentment within! A horde of wild monkeys the compound invade, Of every color and age and grade. A venerable sage cometh close to my chair As though he intended my labors to share. But his better-half thinks she has by far the best right To my paper and pens, should I guard them less tight; So she sends him off flying with a howl of pain, Then comes back and watches my efforts again; Meanwhile, the rest of the tribe chatter and grin, Until I think I am being turned outside in. Oh, where are my dreams of peace and delight-- A peg and a smoke in the cool of the night? Their noise and their chatter drive all peace away, And make we feel minded those monkeys to slay; But when I start up and with a stone take a shot, The compound is bare, and the monkeys have got; They have vanished away like the mist in the sun; And, well, after all, they were only in fun. ---------- {13} It was May in the dear old homeland, And the woods and valleys green Were a vision of radiant beauty, For summer now reigned as queen. The lark sang high in the heavens, Filling the air with song, And the thrush with its liquid melody Was glad as the day was long. The brooks through the meadows rippled, Reflecting the sun's bright ray; And the whole earth joined in singing To the summer a welcoming lay. May, in an Eastern city, under burning skies, Where many a weary exile for the dear old homeland cries; Only those know the longing and pain Who have spent long years on the sun-dried plain, Whom days of toil under a pitiless sun Have robbed of hope ere the race was won. Those who each year are free to go To the hills where the cooling breezes blow; Where they see afar off the snow-clad peaks, And nature in all her beauty speaks, Of the weary striving know but the least, For they see but the bright side of life in the East. ---------- {14} I. 'Twas the hush of the early dawn, Ere nature had wakened from sleep; The stars still shone in the opal sky, And deep called unto deep, "Where is the monarch of day-- Why tarrieth he so long? Knoweth he not that his bride, the Morn, Waiteth to greet him with song?" II. And e'en as the clarion cry Rang out from shore to shore, The waves from their deep caves leapt With a mighty roar. The sea-birds wakened from sleep And circled the air; The wild beasts ceased hunting their prey, And sought their lair. III. The mountains caught up the cry And echoed it afar, While dim in the East became The morning star. {15} The hills and the valleys awoke, And with joyous strain The birds of the woodlands broke Into song again. IV. And now the full glory of day Reigned over earth and sea, And morn in her mantle fair Was glad as a bride could be; For night had faded away; And the glorious light of the sun Had filled all her being with joy And made her and the Sun-king one. ---------- I. O land of sunshine	1,952.750019
2023-11-16 18:49:36.9262860	4,305	8	Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS VOL. III. _By the same Author_ IRELAND UNDER THE TUDORS 3 vols. 8vo. Vols. I. and II.--From the First Invasion of the Northmen to the year 1578. (Out of Print.) Vol. III.--1578-1603. 18_s._ IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS AND DURING THE INTERREGNUM 3 vols. 8vo. Vols. I. and II.--1603-1660. With 2 Maps. 28_s._ net. LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS AND DURING THE INTERREGNUM BY RICHARD BAGWELL, M.A. HON. LITT.D. (DUBLIN), AUTHOR OF 'IRELAND UNDER THE TUDORS' VOL. III. 1660-1690 _WITH MAP_ LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON FOURTH AVENUE & 30th STREET, NEW YORK BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS 1916 All rights reserved CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME CHAPTER XL THE RESTORATION GOVERNMENT, 1660 PAGE The Irish Convention 1 Charles II. proclaimed 3 Coote and Broghill 4 The Church re-established 8 CHAPTER XLI DECLARATION AND ACT OF SETTLEMENT, 1660-1662 Position of Irish Recusants 11 The Declaration 13 Various classes of claimants 14 First Commission of Claims 16 The Irish Parliament, May 1661 18 The Declaration debated 19 Conditions of Settlement 20 Insufficiency of land 22 Ormonde Lord Lieutenant 24 He arrives in Ireland 27 The Clanmalier Estate--Portarlington 28 CHAPTER XLII COURT OF CLAIMS AND ACT OF EXPLANATION, 1662-1665 The second Court of Claims 30 Innocents and Nocents 31 General dissatisfaction 32 Discontented soldiers 34 Plot to seize Dublin Castle--Blood 35 Lord Antrim's case 39 'Murder will out' 42 Bill of Explanation 43 Violent debates 49 The Bill passes 50 CHAPTER XLIII ORMONDE AND THE IRISH HIERARCHY Ormonde's royalism 51 Peter Walsh, Orrery, and Bellings 51 Walsh and the loyal remonstrance 55 Opposition of Primate O'Reilly 56 Incompatibility of royal and papal claims 58 The Congregation meets, June 1666 61 The Remonstrance rejected 62 Why the Congregation failed 64 CHAPTER XLIV GOVERNMENT OF ORMONDE, 1665-1668 Irish Parliament dissolved 67 Mutiny at Carrickfergus 68 Partial exclusion of Irish cattle 69 The Canary Company 70 Disputes on the cattle question 72 Irish cattle excluded and voted a public nuisance 74 Evil effects of exclusion policy 77 Ireland retaliates on Scotland 79 The first Dutch war--coast defence 81 Fall of Clarendon 84 Ormonde and Orrery 86 Recall of Ormonde 87 CHAPTER XLV ROBARTES AND BERKELEY, 1669-1672 Lord Robartes made Lord Lieutenant 89 The Tories 90 Ossory and Robartes 92 Character of Robartes 94 Attempt to impeach Orrery 96 Lord Berkeley and his Secretary 99 Recusants indulged--Oliver Plunket 100 Blood tries to kidnap Ormonde 102 Attacks on the Act of Settlement 102 Lady Clanbrassil 104 The dispensing power 105 Riots in Dublin--Bloody Bridge 106 CHAPTER XLVI GOVERNMENT OF ESSEX, 1672-1677 Essex reaches Ireland 108 Dublin agitators 110 Essex protects Phoenix Park 111 Provincial presidencies suppressed 112 Intolerance of the English Parliament 113 Charles II. submits 114 Agreement of Essex and Ormonde 116 Financial abuses--Ranelagh 119 Ormonde restored to favour 121 And to the Lord Lieutenancy 123 CHAPTER XLVII GOVERNMENT OF ORMONDE, 1677-1685 Revenue troubles 125 Scramble for land 126 Oates's plot 127 Ormonde and Orrery 129 Intrigues of Shaftesbury 130 Spies and false witnesses 133 Trial and execution of Oliver Plunket 134 Ormonde's opinion of the witnesses 139 Castlehaven's Memoirs 140 Ormonde and Anglesey 141 Tories--O'Hanlon and Power 143 Attack on the Settlement 144 Court of Grace 145 Death of Charles II. 147 CHAPTER XLVIII CLARENDON AND TYRCONNEL, 1685-1686 Accession of James II. 148 Purging the army--Tyrconnel 149 Clarendon made Lord Lieutenant 150 His journey to Ireland 151 Tyrconnel goes to London 152 Irish and French Protestant refugees 153 Judges dismissed 154 A new Privy Council 156 Tyrconnel returns as Commander-in-Chief 157 Catherine Sedley in Ireland 157 Drastic changes in the army 158 Hard cases 159 Tory Hamilton's case 160 Tyrconnel summoned to London 162 'Lillibullero' 164 Clarendon leaves Ireland 165 CHAPTER XLIX GOVERNMENT OF TYRCONNEL, 1687-1688 Tyrconnel made Lord Deputy 167 The Coventry letter 168 The Land Settlement threatened 169 Protestant corporations attacked 170 The _Quo Warrantos_ 172 Panic among the Protestants 173 Lord Chancellor Porter dismissed 174 Succeeded by Fitton 175 Judges, magistrates, and sheriffs 176 Rice and Nugent in London 177 Declaration of Indulgence 178 Tyrconnel multiplies commissions 179 Irish soldiers in England 180 Fresh regiments raised 181 Death and character of Ormonde 182 Disturbed state of society--Leinster 184 Southwell's case 186 William's overtures to Tyrconnel 187 Panic in Ulster--Lord Mountjoy 188 Gates of Londonderry shut 190 Enniskillen and Sligo 191 Break of Dromore 193 CHAPTER L JAMES II. IN IRELAND, 1689 French designs on Ireland--Pointis 195 Tyrconnel invites James to Ireland 198 France, Emperor, and Pope 198 Tyrconnel prepares for war 200 Attempts at resistance--Bandon 202 Kenmare 203 James arrives in Ireland 206 From Cork to Dublin 208 Avaux and Melfort 209 Fighting in Ulster--George Walker 212 William III. proclaimed at Londonderry 213 James II. in Ulster 214 Naval action at Bantry 217 Confusion in Dublin--John Stevens 218 CHAPTER LI THE PARLIAMENT OF 1689 Tyrconnel, MacCarthy, and Sarsfield 219 The Hamiltons 222 Composition of Parliament 223 The King's speech 224 The Land Settlement attacked 225 Act of Settlement repealed 227 Act of Attainder 228 Case of Trinity College 231 Treatment of the clergy 232 Commercial legislation 233 Daly's case--scramble for property 234 French efforts to capture trade 236 End of the Parliament 237 CHAPTER LII LONDONDERRY AND ENNISKILLEN, 1689 Siege of Londonderry 239 An English squadron appears 242 Schomberg orders the town to be relieved 243 Cruelty of De Rosen--indignation of James 245 Londonderry relieved by sea 248 Cost of the siege 250 Defence of Enniskillen 250 Colonel Lloyd--the Break of Belleek 252 Kirke in Lough Swilly--Colonel Wolseley 253 Battle of Newtown Butler 255 Walker in England 257 Controversy as to his 'True Account' 258 CHAPTER LIII JAMES II. AND SCHOMBERG, 1689-1690 Schomberg's preparations 260 He reaches Ireland 261 Carrickfergus taken 263 Berwick evacuates Newry 264 Flight of Melfort 265 Schomberg refuses battle 266 Military conspiracy 267 Sufferings of Schomberg's army--Shales 268 Sligo taken and retaken 271 State of Dublin 272 Lauzun sent to Ireland 273 French opinion 274 Brass money 276 Fighting at Newry, Belturbet, and Cavan 278 Avaux and Rosen recalled 280 Lauzun reaches Ireland 281 Disarming the Protestants 282 King and Bonnell 283 Treatment of Trinity College 285 CHAPTER LIV WILLIAM III. IN IRELAND, 1690. THE BOYNE English and French interests 287 Charlemont taken 288 Opposition to William's expedition 289 He lands in Ireland 290 James moves to meet him 292 William reaches the Boyne 293 Battle of the Boyne, July 1 295 Flight of James 299 Political importance of the battle 301 James escapes to France 304 William enters Dublin 306 Final ruin of the Stuart cause 307 CHAPTER LV SOCIAL IRELAND FROM RESTORATION TO REVOLUTION Ireland after the Civil War 309 Country-houses--Portmore, Charleville, Kilkenny 310 Dublin Castle 312 An Irish spa 313 Condition of the poor 314 Ploughing by the tail 316 Some Dublin houses 317 Prosperity under Charles II. 318 CHAPTER LVI THE THREE IRISH CHURCHES The Establishment 319 Jeremy Taylor 320 Bishops ignorant of Irish 321 Condition of the clergy 322 The Irish Bible 324 The Presbyterians 325 The Roman Catholics 326 Oliver Plunket 327 Talbot, O'Molony, and other Bishops 328 Recusants after James II. 330 Slow growth of toleration 331 APPENDIX Letter from Ormonde to Bennet, 1663 333 MAP Ireland to illustrate the reign of James II. _At end of the volume._ IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS CHAPTER XL THE RESTORATION GOVERNMENT, 1660 The King enjoyed his own again, and England rejoiced exceedingly. Even Oliver's unbeaten soldiers, disgusted with his incompetent successors, were for the most part ready to retire into private life. Yet the spirit of the Puritan revolution survived, and the Mayor of Dover presented a richly bound Bible to the restored monarch, who graciously accepted it, remarking that it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. At Canterbury a crowd of importunate suitors gave him some foretaste of future troubles, but the entry into London was wonderful. 'I stood in the Strand,' says Evelyn, 'and beheld it, and blessed God.' With the shouts of welcome still in his ears Charles took refuge in the arms of Barbara Palmer, and next day issued a proclamation against vicious, debauched, and profane persons. [Sidenote: The Irish Convention.] Coote and Broghill were jealous of each other. There is reason to believe that the former was inclined to claim the whole credit of restoring the King, but that the latter proved his own priority by producing a letter from his rival acknowledging the fact. They agreed that the Restoration might be delayed or frustrated by hasty action in Ireland, and that it was better to wait until England herself was committed to it. The officers who had gladly pronounced for a free Parliament might not have been united had royalty been openly favoured. But the Irish Convention lost no time in repudiating Cromwell's plan of one legislature for the whole of the British Islands, while strongly approving the restoration of the secluded members in England. They declared that 'as for several hundreds of years last passed by the laws and laudable custom and constitution of this nation, Parliaments have been usually held in Ireland and that in those Parliaments laws have been enacted and laws repealed, and subsidies granted, as public occasion required so that right of having Parliaments held in Ireland is still justly and lawfully due and belonging to Ireland, and that the Parliament of England never charged Ireland in any age with subsidies or other public taxes and assessments, until after the violence offered to the Parliament of England in December 1648, since which time they who invaded the rights of the Parliament of England invaded also the rights of the Parliament of Ireland by imposing taxes and assessments upon Ireland.' This important declaration was not made for more than a month after the first meeting of the Convention, and the leaders had prevented news from crossing the Channel until they were sure of unanimity. It is therefore not surprising that they were reported to favour separation from England. The Convention now stigmatised this as a calumny originating with Ludlow and his friends, for the idea of separation was hateful to Ireland as absolutely destructive, 'being generally bone of their bone, flesh of their flesh.' It was clearly seen that the colonists would have a majority, and means were taken to make it permanent. The Convention pledged themselves to favour education, and to assist in the establishment of a pious, learned, and orthodox parochial clergy supported by tithes or endowments. The adventurers and soldiers were to be secured in the lands they had acquired, and all arrears of military pay to be cleared off.[1] [Sidenote: Provisional taxation.] For some months before and after the Restoration all real power was in the hands of the army, but the Irish Convention gave a show of legality to the means by which the soldiers were paid. A poll tax was imposed for this and other public charges, every person of either sex under the degree of yeoman or farmer being assessed at twelve pence, which was the minimum, and the rate rose according to social position. A baron's contribution was fixed at thirty shillings, and that of a marquis, marchioness, or marchioness dowager at eight pounds, which was the maximum. The chief Protestant gentry were appointed collectors in each county, Coote heading the list for Roscommon and Broghill for Cork. The royalist wire-pullers in London had been urging the managers of the Convention not to go too fast for fear of alarming the Presbyterians, and it was not till May 1 that they published a declaration condemning the high court of justice and the sentence on the late King. The people of Ireland, they said, took the first opportunity afforded them of denouncing the most foul murder recorded in sacred or profane history, considering that it had been committed in a country where the true reformed religion flourished, and that it was contrary to the solemn league and covenant which the murderers had themselves taken.[2] [Sidenote: Charles II. proclaimed May 14.] Charles II. was proclaimed in Westminster Hall on May 8, and six days later in Dublin; and there were general rejoicings though the central figure was wanting. The shops were shut, all the finery they contained having been transferred to the citizens' backs. Hogsheads of wine were provided for the multitude, and the more they drank the better the givers were pleased. The guns of the Castle thundered salutes, volleys of musketry were heard on all sides, bonfires and fireworks blazed until midnight. A headless figure stuffed with hay and reclining on a rude hearse was carried in a mock funeral procession, and subjected to the blows and insults of the mob. The journey ended at the mayor's door 'where it was in part burnt before the bonfire there, and part trod to dirt and mortar by the rout.' Such was the end of the mighty Long Parliament.[3] [Sidenote: Lords Justices appointed.] Sir Charles Coote had been President of Connaught since 1645, and there was no difficulty in his case, since service under the Protector was not to be considered a disability. Broghill's appointment, if ever regularly made, was of much later date and of republican origin, but he had the military authority and the legal presidency was soon conferred on him also. With these two was associated Major, soon after Sir William Bury of Grantham, who had been one of the Irish Council under both Protectors. These three were appointed Commissioners for the Government of Ireland	1,952.946326
2023-11-16 18:49:36.9263470	4,700	9	Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOLUME 93. * * * * * JULY 16, 1887. * * * * * THE LAST VISIT TO THE ACADEMY. [Illustration: No. 691. The Donkey Rider Stopped. "You can't go further than this for twopence."] [Illustration: No. 540. Arrival of the G.O.M. Collars in Venice.] [Illustration: No. 35. A Brave Lassie. "Come on!--the whole lot of you! I'll give it you!"] [Illustration: No. 928. Cat and Child Fight.] * * * * * ABSURD TO A DEGREE. Now that girls have proved themselves capable of earning the highest University honours, why should women remain debarred of University degrees? If any senatorial difficulty precludes the removal of that ridiculous injustice, a girl forbidden to term herself a Bachelor of Arts, for example, might, it has been suggested, "invent some other title more significant of the distinction she has won." No invention could be easier. Her alternative for Bachelor would be obviously Spinster of Arts. No Graduate able to pass the _Pons Asinorum_ can be such a preposterous donkey as to persist in denying even the plainest--possibly the prettiest--Passwoman that. The Dons will be unworthy of the name they go by unless they immediately remove the disability their old-world statutes have imposed upon the _Donne_. * * * * * ROBERT AT THE ACADEMY. I PAID my reglar wisit to the Academy last week, and was glad to find that my werry ernest remonstrance of last year had perduced sech a change as regards Staggerers. No Miss Menads a hunting in Burnham Beeches without no close on to speak of, and no Mr. Cassandra a carrying off of a pore yung lady afore she's had time to dress, merely because she upset the salad-bowl. I don't think it's because "familyaryty breeds content," as the poet says, that I am less staggered than last year, but becos there ain't so many staggerers to be staggered at. Not that there ain't none. Why, there's one lady in the werry same dishabil as Madame Wenus herself a poring out somethink that the Catalog says is a incantashun, but then her pecooliar costoom is reelly xcusable, for she's that red hot that wood excuse anythink or nothink, as in her case. One of the jolliest picturs to my mind is a portrate of a Port Wine drinker. Why, it seems to be a oozing out of ewery pore of his skin! and nothink younger than '63, I'll be bound. What a life to lead, and what a life to look back upon with proud satisfacshun! Poor Lord HARTINGTON looks terribly bored at having to be gazed at so constantly by so many longing, if not loving, eyes, and at being pinted at by the old dowagers as their bo ideall of a sun in law. Ah, Mr. STORY tells us a story as I've offen witnessed, when a young swell stands treat to a few frends and then ain't got enuff money to pay the bill! Wot a nuisance for him, but still wuss for the Landlord, and wussest of all for the pore Waiter. Poor Mr. GROSSMITH looks werry much paler than when I saw him after a jolly dinner at the Mettropole. I thinks as a glass or two of old Port would do him all the good in the world. I now come to another staggerer, that fairly puzzles me. It's a nice young Lady, named, as I see by the Catalog, Euridice, which I beleeve is Greek for "You're a nice one!" who is a trying for to pull a rock down, but I'm sure she'll never do it, though she has taken off ewery morsel of her close, ewen down to her stockings, to give her more strength. I really wonders as she doesn't put a few of her things on, as she must see as Mr. HADES is a cumming towards her, and won't he jest be shocked! And then here's another young Lady, almost as lightly drest, a sitting quietly on a large cold stone, as if there wasn't no North-East wind a blowing, and by moonlight too. What time can she expect to git home, and what will her poor Mother say when she sees her? If I'd ha' bin Mr. HAYNE, Esq., M.P., I'd ha bort a new Hat afore I was painted for my pictur, and ewen gone to the xpense of a new pair of gloves, speshally as his pictur is a going to be given to sumbody. So now he'll go down to remote posteriority with a shabby Hat, and a old pair of gloves on his table. His new Coat looks butifool. It is, I'm told, a capital likeness. The LORD MARE is placed in his proper persition as first in the best room, and looks as happy and as jolly as I've no dout he ginerally feels, though he don't never seem to git no rest. In the next rooms its the great Cardinal MANNING, who ewerybody loves and respects, Waiters and all, though it does rather try our loyalty to see him at dinner, when he don't eat enuff wittles to fatten a church mouse. If I'd ha' bin Sir EDWARD WATKIN, the grate Railway King, I'd ha had a much cleaner shave afore I set for my pictur than he had. I know as he doesn't like to be thought a close shaver in gineral, but, in this werry partickler case, he might have made a xcepshun to his gineral rule. There's a lovely pictur called Ambrosia, a ewident misprint for Hambrosia--probably a new kind of sandwitch--in which there's a werry model of a good-looking waitress a carrying such a elegant little lunshon, as reelly made me quite hungry to look at. I thinks as the reel natives is quite a triumph of Hart. There's quite a grand pictur of the dear old Bank, with all the Carts and Cabs and Omnibuses, and people being all scrowged up together, just like life, and ewerybody a wondering how on earth they shall hever be able to cross, jest like life, and the Bus Coachman a flirtin with the lady passenger on the box, jest like life, and the Policeman a driving away the pore little beggar, jest like life. Ah, it's a reel lovely pictur that is, and werry creditabel to Mr. DOGSTAIL who I'm told painted it. I think the most perthetic pictur in the hole lot is the one called "the Dunce." He's a setting all by hisself, pore feller, what they calls detained, a trying his werry best to do his lesson and he can't do it. And why, coz his thoughts is away out in the playground, where he hears the shouts and the larfing of his skool-fellers. Now, what shood I do, Doctor ABBOTT, if I was his master? Why I shood let him have a nours run with his playmates, and then, when he cums in fresh and jolly, try him again, and praps he'd estonish you. I was a Dunce myself wunce, spechally at spelling, and that's how _I_ was cured. How werry contented all the Parsons looks, they lolls back in their cumferal chairs as much as to say to the tired wisitors, "Don't you wish you had sitch chairs as these to set in?" Some of the Solgers looks at you jest as if they'd like to say, "What on airth are you staring at?" I coud ony take jest a glance at the lovely landscapes; but oh, how nice and cool and carm they all looked, after the staring portrates with their flaring cullers. ROBERT. * * * * * "_THE Wye_" is among STANFORD'S Tourist Guides for this season. He ought to issue another called "_The Wherefore_." If he doesn't show cause for the tour, people will simply ask, "Why?" and stop at home. * * * * * MR. NEWTON will by this time have received quite a refreshing torrent of abuse on his devoted head. No--not torrent--CASS-cade. * * * * * [Illustration: REMARKS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNANSWERED. _Lady Godiva._ "YES, MR. GREEN, I'VE BEEN PAINTED BY ALL THE MOST CELEBRATED ARTISTS OF MY TIME; BUT NOT _ONE_ OF THEM HAS EVER DONE ME JUSTICE!" _Mr. Green._ "WHAT--NOT EVEN _SIR JOSHUA?_"] * * * * * MIXED PICKLES; OR, A VERY LATE PARTY. SCENE--_A Private Room. Two Eminent Statesmen discovered in consultation. Lists of past and present Members of Parliament, also political Maps of England, scattered about._ _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Well, we're agreed about the name, then. It's to be the "National Radical Conservative Unionist Liberal Party," eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (doubtfully)._ Rather long, isn't it? Wouldn't the "Old England Party"--no connection with DIZZY'S "Young England" ditto--sound better? And then we're safe to be called "Nationalists," and the word has such disagreeable associations. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (cheerfully)._ Pooh! What's in a name? I've been called lots of nasty ones before now. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Yes, and called them yourself, too, sometimes. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (with gay indifference)._ Now to business. The most important thing we have to decide is--Who are to be the members of the New Party? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (confidently)._ Quite so. There'll be a perfect rush to join us. We shall have to "hold the fort" pretty strongly to prevent our being swamped. Mind, no weak compliance with what are called "social influences." _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ No. And no claim for admission founded on mere relationship to be regarded for a moment. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Hm! I don't know. Family life, you see, is, after all, the basis of the State; and so it's only fair that the State should do something for one's family in return. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (diplomatically)._ All right! Then we'll shelve that subject. Now, as regards the G. O. M. Suppose he found himself quite out in the cold, and wanted to join us, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (decidedly)._ Not for a moment. Where would our "Dual Control" be then? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Of course. Shouldn't we let in HARTINGTON? Yes. Well, how about SALISBURY? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Awkward if SALISBURY thinks of becoming member of New Party, eh? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (energetically)._ That's my view entirely. You see, if SALISBURY joins, he'll want to be Prime Minister, and then where should I be? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (surprised)._ You! The question rather is, where I should be? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (hastily)._ Ah, well; then we'll shelve _that_ subject too for the present. Wouldn't you--er--like--er--to go into the Lords, and lead _them_? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ You mean, of course, as Premier? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (modestly)._ I thought--ahem--that _my_ natural qualifications for that post were so obvious that----but, as I said, let's drop the subject for a time. We can come back to it again. Now, what's to be the programme of the Party? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with emphasis)._ There's no doubt about _that_, I should think. Free Education, of course. Then JESSE insists on allotments and free holdings---- _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (thoughtlessly)._ Hang JESSE! _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with considerable dignity)._ Hang him? I intend JESSE as our first Chancellor of the Exchequer, or President of Board of Trade, I can tell you. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (gaily)._ All right. I don't mind, if you consent to WOLFF being next Governor-General of India. Army and Navy Estimates to be cut down Five Millions, each, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Couldn't think of it. We must have a Fleet of some sort, you know. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (discontentedly)._ Then _that_ subject will have to be shelved, too, I suppose. You don't mind, at any rate, a clean sweep being made of the present Admiralty and Ordnance officials, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (heartily)._ Not a bit. No broom you can use will be too hard for them. They'll make it a dirty sweep before you've done. Then there's Local Government, of course. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Readjustment of Taxation. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Disestablishm---- _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Eh? what? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (calmly)._ Don't be alarmed. We'll shelve _that_ too, if you like. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (relieved)._ By all means. (_With growing uneasiness._) But then, I say, after all, what is our programme? How does it differ from SALISBURY'S, for instance? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (ingeniously)._ Oh, it's far more really Conservative than his, you know. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Yes--(_encouraged_)--I see. Of course it is. And how does it differ from GLADSTONE'S? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ GLADSTONE'S? Oh, well--er--it's more _really and truly Liberal_ than his! _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (ruminating)._ That _sounds_ all right. The question is, will the country believe it? And if we have to shelve so many questions in order to form our new National Party, shan't we run a risk of being shelved ourselves when the next "wave of progress" sweeps over the Constituencies? [_Left ruminating._ * * * * * WORTH MENTIONING. "WESTGATE-ON-SEA." _Mr. Punch_ takes off his coat and westgate in this hot weather to correct a slight misquotation. _Mr. Punch_ is represented as saying that none of the greatest Composers ever produced an air to equal "the exhilarating, recuperating air" of Westgate-on-Sea. Now _Mr. Punch_, when he wrote this (July 2), did not limit this lovely air to one particular spot, but described it as "the exhilarating, recuperating air of the Isle of Thanet." That Westgate is in Thanet is true, but the advertiser poetically uses the part for the whole, thereby omitting Birchington, Margate, Broadstairs, not to mention the inland villages (delightful in the fall of the year), and above all Ramsgate, which is not _Mr. Punch's_ "seaside resort," as is Westgate when he wants a northerly breeze, but _Mr. Punch's_ seaside Residence, where ten-twelfths of the year are delightful, where sky and sea come out in Mediterranean colour,--where it is Nice without its cold-catching dangers, where fruit and vegetables are flavoursome and plentiful, and where there is even more than a fair share of that exhilarating, recuperating air, of which the Isle of Thanet has the sole patent. In one hour and forty minutes, the L. C. & D. takes the traveller from Town to Westgate, and in two hours to Ramsgate, by Granville Express from Victoria and Holborn Viaduct. On Sunday morning, starting at 10.30 A.M., the Jaded One can be down for lunch at Ramsgate by 12.30, and all the day before him. _A propos_ of the Granville Express, _Mr. Punch_ had the pleasure of dining at the Granville Hotel the other evening, and a better dinner, better chosen, cooked, and served, could not be got anywhere in London, or out of it. The proprietor, Mr. QUATERMAIN EAST, may not wish this to be generally known, but _Mr. Punch_, who specially compliments the _chef_ on his clear turtle and whitebait, thinks that he shall be doing a service to everybody by not keeping secret the story of this QUATERMAIN--not Mr. RIDER HAGGARD'S "_Allan_,"--who means to remain the "Q in the corner" of the Isle of Thanet. "Q. E. D." and "D" stands for "Dinner." * * * * * [Illustration: LATEST STREET IMPROVEMENT. _Regent Street Tradesman._ "LOOK HERE, MR. POLICEMAN, AS WE WANT THE JOB OF CLEARING UP THIS PLACE WELL DONE, WE'LL DO IT OURSELVES."] * * * * * "IF you want a thing done, you should do it yourself," Is an excellent maxim, no doubt, in its way; But, when citizens willingly part with their pelf, They're entitled to claim some return for their pay. BULL does _not_ pay Bobbies to lounge on their beats, And leave him at last to look after his streets. About "Law and Order" there's plenty of talk, But Order seems missing, and Law appears blind. The streets of his City in safety to walk, After stumping up taxes of every kind, Is surely not much for a man to expect, And excuses for failure he's prone to reject. Sure, Regent Street is not Alsatia--not quite, And this handing it over to rufflers and pests, At whatever hour of the day or the night, Is a thing against which civic judgment protests; And BULL, when once roused, be you sure, will determine Against caving in to noctivagant vermin. Must Trade, then, turn scavenger, tradesmen turn out With besom and basket to keep their ways clean? The Bigwigs and Bobbies might like it, no doubt, But BULL will demand what the dickens they mean. He'll have his streets decent by daylight or dark; For why should a man who keeps dogs have to bark? FROM "NORMA."--Moonlight Serenade for Three Voices--a Magistrate, a Policeman, and a Home Secretary--in Regent Street:--"_Cass-ta Diva, Incantatrice!_" * * * * * "GESTA GRAYORUM." THE _Times_ of Thursday last in a learned article on the Gray's Inn Masque, records that "On the 28th February 1587, eight members of the Society were engaged in the production of _The Misfortunes of Arthur_" but on the occasion of _The Maske of Flowers_ in 1887, the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn showed what could be done with the _Success of Arthur_; that is, of Master ARTHUR W. A BECKETT, Master of the Revel	1,952.946387
2023-11-16 18:49:37.0293180	1,029	7	Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tony Towers and PG Distributed Proofreaders THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY By G. Lowes Dickinson 1916 CONTENTS 1. INTRODUCTION Europe since the Fifteenth Century--Machiavellianism--Empire and the Balance of Power 2. THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE AND THE ENTENTE Belgian Dispatches of 1905-14. 3. GREAT BRITAIN The Policy of Great Britain--Essentially an Overseas Power 4. FRANCE The Policy of France since 1870--Peace and Imperialism--Conflicting Elements 5. RUSSIA The Policy of Russia--Especially towards Austria 6. AUSTRIA-HUNGARY The Policy of Austria-Hungary--Especially towards the Balkans 7. GERMANY The Policy of Germany--From 1866 to the Decade 1890-1900--A Change 8. OPINION IN GERMANY German "Romanticism"--New Ambitions. 9. OPINION ABOUT GERMANY Bourdon--Beyens--Cambon--Summary 10. GERMAN POLICY FROM THE DECADE 1890-1900 Relation to Great Britain--The Navy. 11. VAIN ATTEMPTS AT HARMONY Great Britain's Efforts for Arbitration--Mutual Suspicion 12. EUROPE SINCE THE DECADE 1890-1900 13. GERMANY AND TURKEY The Bagdad Railway 14. AUSTRIA AND THE BALKANS 15. MOROCCO 16. THE LAST YEARS Before the War--The Outbreak of War 17. THE RESPONSIBILITY AND THE MORAL The Pursuit of Power and Wealth 18. THE SETTLEMENT 19. THE CHANGE NEEDED Change of Outlook and Change of System--An International League--International Law and Control THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY 1. _Introduction_. In the great and tragic history of Europe there is a turning-point that marks the defeat of the ideal of a world-order and the definite acceptance of international anarchy. That turning-point is the emergence of the sovereign State at the end of the fifteenth century. And it is symbolical of all that was to follow that at that point stands, looking down the vista of the centuries, the brilliant and sinister figure of Machiavelli. From that date onwards international policy has meant Machiavellianism. Sometimes the masters of the craft, like Catherine de Medici or Napoleon, have avowed it; sometimes, like Frederick the Great, they have disclaimed it. But always they have practised it. They could not, indeed, practise anything else. For it is as true of an aggregation of States as of an aggregation of individuals that, whatever moral sentiments may prevail, if there is no common law and no common force the best intentions will be defeated by lack of confidence and security. Mutual fear and mutual suspicion, aggression masquerading as defence and defence masquerading as aggression, will be the protagonists in the bloody drama; and there will be, what Hobbes truly asserted to be the essence of such a situation, a chronic state of war, open or veiled. For peace itself will be a latent war; and the more the States arm to prevent a conflict the more certainly will it be provoked, since to one or another it will always seem a better chance to have it now than to have it on worse conditions later. Some one State at any moment may be the immediate offender; but the main and permanent offence is common to all States. It is the anarchy which they are all responsible for perpetuating. While this anarchy continues the struggle between States will tend to assume a certain stereotyped form. One will endeavour to acquire supremacy over the others for motives at once of security and of domination, the others will combine to defeat it, and history will turn upon the two poles of empire and the balance of power. So it has been in Europe, and so it will continue to be, until either empire is achieved, as once it was achieved by Rome, or a common law and a common authority is established by agreement. In the past empire over Europe has been sought by Spain, by Austria, and by France; and soldiers, politicians, and professors in Germany have sought, and seek, to secure it now for Germany. On the other hand, Great Britain has long stood, as she stands now, for the balance of power. As ambitious, as quarrelsome, and as aggressive as other States, her geographical	1,953.049358
2023-11-16 18:49:37.1255180	3,575	7	Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sjaani and PG Proofreaders HAPPINESS AND MARRIAGE BY ELIZABETH TOWNE "The inner side of every cloud Is bright and shining; I therefore turn my clouds about, And always wear them inside out-- To show the lining." --_James Whitcomb Riley_. "And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future, And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turned to beautiful results." --_Walt Whitman_. 1904 CHAPTER I. TO BE HAPPY THOUGH MARRIED. "Some dear relatives of mine proposed Ada as my future bride. I like Ada and I gladly accepted the offer, and I mean to wed her about the middle of this year. Is this a working of the Law of Attraction? I want to make our married life happy and peaceful. I long for a wedded life of pure blessedness and love and joy without even a pinhead of bitterness ever finding lodgment in our household. How can I attain this state of peace? This is what I now do: I enter into the Silence daily at a particular hour and enjoy the mental picture of how I desire to be when married. Am I right? Please tell me how to make my ideal real." Tudor, Island of Ceylon. The above letter comes from a member of the Success Circle who is a highly cultured and interesting looking native East Indian. We have a full length photo of him in native costume. He asks if "this is the working of the Law of Attraction." Certainly it is. Just as the sun acts through a sheet of glass so the Law of Attraction acts through the conventionalities of a race. Whatever comes together is drawn together by the Law. Whatever is held together is held by that same Law of Attraction. This is just as true in unhappy marriages as in happy ones. If two people are distinctly enough individualized; that is, if they understand and command themselves sufficiently; their attraction and marriage will bring to them only pleasure. If they are not distinctly enough individualized there will be a monkey-and-parrot experience whilst they are working out the wisdom _for which they were attracted_. When soda and sour milk are drawn together there is a great stew and fizz, but the end thereof is sweetness and usefulness. So with two adverse and uncontrolled natures; but out of the stew comes added wisdom, self-command and rounded character for each. When each has finished the work of helping the other to develop they will either find themselves _really_ in love with each other, or they will fall apart. _Some stronger attraction will separate them at the right time_--perhaps through divorce, perhaps through death. _All_ our goings and comings are due to the Law of Attraction. The Law of Attraction giveth, and it taketh away. _Blessed_ is the Law. _Let_ it work. And forget not that _all_ things are due to its working. This does not mean that the Law has no way of working _except_ through the conventionalities of a people. Many times the attraction is to break away from the conventional. _The stronger attraction always wins_-- whatever is, is _best_ for _that time and place_. "Tudor" says he "enters into the silence daily at a particular hour and enjoys the mental picture of how he desires to be when married." His success all depends upon the _equity_ in that picture; upon its truth to the law of being. An impractical idealist lives in the silence with beautiful pictures of "how he desires to be when married." When he gets married there isn't a single detail of his daily experience which is like his mental picture. He is sadly disappointed and perhaps embittered or discouraged. It all depends upon the picture. If Tudor's picture contains a benignant lord and master and a sweet little Alice Ben Bolt sort of wife who shall laugh with delight when he gives her a smile and wouldn't hurt his feelings for a farm; who does his bidding before he bids and is always content with what he is pleased, or able, to do for her; if this is the style of Tudor's mental picture he is certainly doomed to disappointment. I have a suspicion that Tudor is a natural born teacher. His mental pictures may represent himself as a dispenser of moral and mental blessings. He may see Ada sitting adoringly at his feet, ever eager to learn. If so there will certainly be disappointment. East Indian girls may be more docile than American girls; East Indian men may be better and wiser lords and masters; but "Ada" is a Human Being before she is an East Indian; and a Human Being instinctively revolts from a life passed in leading strings. If Tudor continues to remind her that he is her schoolmaster she will certainly revolt; inwardly if not outwardly. Whether the revolt comes inwardly or outwardly harmony is doomed. The first principle of happy marriage is _equality_. The second principle is _mutual confidence_, which can NEVER exist without the first. I do not mean by "equality" what is usually meant. One member of the married twain may be rich, the other poor in worldly goods; one an aristocrat, the other plebeian; one educated, the other unschooled; and yet they may be to each other what they are in _truth_, equals. Equality is a _mental state_, not a matter of birth or breeding, wisdom or ignorance. The TRUTH is that _all_ men and women are equal; all are sparks of the One Life; all children of the one highly aristocratic "Father"; all heirs to the wisdom and wealth of the ages which go to make up eternity. But all men and women are more or less unconscious, in spots at least, of this truth. They spend their lives "looking down" upon each other. Men "look down" upon their wives as "weak" or "inferior," and women look down upon their husbands as "animals" or "great brutes." Men are contemptuous of their wives visionariness, and women despise their husbands for "cold and calculating" tendencies. Every man and woman values certain qualities highly, and in proportion as another fails to manifest these particular qualities he is classed as "low," and his society is not valued. This is the great source of trouble between husbands and wives. Each values his or her own qualities and despises the other's. So _in their own minds_ they are not equal, and the first principle of harmony is missing. The real truth is that in marriage a man is schoolmaster to his wife _and she is equally schoolmistress to him._ This is true in a less degree, of _all_ the relationships of life. The Law of Attraction draws people together _that they may learn_. There is but one Life, which is growth in wisdom and knowledge. There is but one Death, _which is refusal to learn_. If husbands and wives were equals _in their own minds_ they would not despise each other and _refuse to learn_ of each other. The Law of Attraction, or Love, almost invariably attracts opposites, and for their own good. A visionary, idealistic woman is drawn to a practical man, where, kick and fuss and despise each other as they will, she is bound to become more practical and he more idealistic. They exchange qualities in spite of themselves; each is an unconscious agent in rounding out the character and making more abundant the life of the other. Much of this blending of natures is accomplished through passion, the least understood of forces. And the children of a union of opposites, even where there is _great_ contempt and unhappiness between the parents, are almost invariably _better balanced_ than _either_ of the parents. I cannot believe that unhappy marriages are "mistakes" or that they serve no good purpose. The Law of Attraction draws together those who need each other at that particular stage of their growth. The unhappiness is due to their own foolish _refusal_ to learn; and this refusal is due to their contempt for each other. They are like naughty children at school, who cry or sulk and refuse to work out their problems. Like those same naughty children they _make themselves_ unhappy, and fail to "pass" as soon as they might. Remember, that contempt for each other is at the very bottom of all marital unhappiness. The practical man despises his wife's impulsive idealism and tries to make her over. The wife despises his "cold and calculating" tendencies and tries to make him over. That means war, for it is impossible to make over _anybody but yourself_. _Because_ the man despises his wife's tendencies and she despises his, it never occurs to either to try making over _themselves_, thus helping along the very thing they were drawn together for. If Tudor's picture holds two people who are _always_ equal though utterly different; whose future actions are an unknown quantity to be taken as they come and each action to be met in a spirit of _respect_ and inquiry, with a view to understanding and learning from it; if over and through all his picture Tudor spreads a glow of _purpose_ to preserve _his own_ respect and love _for her_, at all costs;--if this is the sort of picture Tudor makes in the silence he will surely realize it later. It requires but one to strike the keynote of respect and personal freedom in marriage; the other will soon come into harmony. You can readily see that all marital jars come from this lack of equality in the individual mind. If a man thinks he is perfectly able to take care of and to judge for himself he resents interference from another. On the other hand if he believes his wife is equally able to judge for _herself_, he _never_ thinks of interfering with her actions. Of course the same is true of the wife. It is lack of respect and confidence which begets the making-over spirit in a family, and from this one cause arises all in harmony. Individual freedom is the _only_ basis for harmonious action; not only in marriage but in all other relationships of life. And individual freedom _cannot_ be granted by the man or woman who considers his or her judgments superior to the judgments of another. A man _must_ accord his wife _equal_ wisdom and power with himself, else he _cannot_ free her to act for herself. A woman must accord her husband that same equality, or she _cannot_ leave him free. It is human (and divine) nature to correct what we believe to be wrong. Only in believing that the other "king (or queen) can do no wrong," lies the possibility of individual freedom, in marriage or out. The man or woman who knows he or she is believed in and trusted is very careful to _deserve_ that trust. Did you know that? The sure way to have your wishes consulted is to exalt and appreciate the other party. Did you know that a man or woman will cheerfully sacrifice his or her own opinions in order to retain the respect and love of the other? But if he thinks the respect and love of the other party is growing less he will give free reign to his own desires. Married people "grow apart" for the one reason that they find fault with each other. Of course it begins by their being disrespectful to each other's faults, but it soon develops into disrespect of each other. From "looking down" upon a husband's faults it is only a few short steps to looking down upon _him_. His faults keep growing by recognition, and his good points keep shrivelling for lack of notice, until _in your_ _mind_ there is nothing left but faults. From trying to make him over you come to despair, and give him up as an altogether bad job. And there isn't a grain of sense in all this madness. Stick to the TRUTH and you will get rid of the madness and the friction, too. The truth is that your husband, or your wife, would be an egregious _fool_ to follow your judgments. You don't know beans from barley corn when it comes to the actions of anybody but yourself. The One Spirit which enlightens _you_ as to _your_ actions is also enlightening your other half as to _her_ actions; and do you suppose this Spirit is going to favor _you_ with better judgment about your other half's duties, than it has given _her?_ I guess _not_. Don't be presumptuous, my boy. Do you own little best, and _trust_ your other half to do hers. Trust that she _is_ doing the best. And above all trust the One Spirit to run you both. If you do this your wife will _rise fast_ in your esteem. And the higher she finds herself in your esteem the harder she will try to please you-- and rise higher. And, girls, don't forget that the shoe fits equally well the other foot. Either man or wife can bring harmony out of chaos simply by _respecting_ the other half _and all his or her acts_. A marriage without "even a pinhead of bitterness" is a marriage without a pin-point of fault-finding, mental or oral. CHAPTER II. A TALE OF WOE. "Why is it that, in more than two-thirds of families the wife and mother bears not only the children but the burdens and heartaches? The husband supplies the _money_ (generally not enough), the wife has the care of a growing and increasing family, the best of everything is saved for 'Father' and he is waited on, etc. If the children annoy him he goes to his club; if the wife dies, why there are plenty more women for the asking. Thousands of women are simply starving for Love and men are either willfully blind or wholly and utterly selfish. You possibly know that this is quite true. Another thing that has caused me many a time to question everything: During the Christmas holidays many times I have seen half-clad, hungry, shivering little ones gazing longingly into the wonderful show windows, wanting probably just one toy, while children no more worthy drive by in carriages, having more than they want. Love, home, mother, everything; on the other hand hunger, want, blues (many times), and both God's children. Let us hear what you have to say about this." B. B. Why does the mother in two-thirds of the families bear not only the children but the burdens and heartaches? _Because she is too thoughtless and inert not to_. It is _easier_ to submit to bearing children than it is to rise up and take command of her own body. It is easier to carry burdens than to wake up and _fire_ them. It is easier to "bear" things and grumble than it is to kick over the traces and _change_ them. To be sure, most women are yet under the hypnotic spell of the old race belief that it is woman's duty to "submit" herself to any kind of an old husband; but that is just what I said--women find it easier to go through life half asleep rather than to _think_ for themselves. Paul says a woman is _not_ to think, she is to ask her husband to think for her. (At least that is what the translators _say_ Paul says. Privately, I have my suspicions that those manly translators helped Paul to say a bit more than he meant to.) It is _easier_ to let her husband think for her even when she doesn't like his thoughts. So she uses her brain in _grumbling_ instead of thinking. People who don't think are ruled by _feeling_. Women feel. They feel not only for themselves but for other people. They shoulder the burdens of the whole family and a few outside the family. They do it themselves-- because it is _easier_ to feel than to think. Nobody walks up to a woman and says, "Here--I have a burden that's very heavy--_you_ carry it	1,953.145558
2023-11-16 18:49:37.2346090	1,137	10	Produced by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's notes: Several chapters were omitted from the English translation of which this is a transcription. The reasons for this are given in the footnotes. Words originally printed in Greek are shown that way in some versions of this eBook. English transliterations were added to all versions by the Transcribers and are enclosed in {curly braces}. Other notes will be found at the end of this eBook. [Illustration] UNIVERSAL CLASSICS LIBRARY EDITOR'S AUTOGRAPH EDITION ATTEST: Robert Arnot MANAGING EDITOR [Illustration] UNIVERSAL CLASSICS LIBRARY ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAVURES ON JAPAN VELLUM HAND PAINTED REPRODUCTIONS AND FULL PAGE PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS M. WALTER DUNNE PUBLISHER NEW YORK AND LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER GENERAL PREFACE [Illustration] Of the Library of Universal Classics and Rare Manuscripts, twenty volumes are devoted to the various branches of Government, Philosophy, Law, Ethics, English and French Belles Lettres, Hebraic, Ottoman, and Arabian Literature, and one to a collection of 150 reproductions, bound in English vellum, of the autographs, papers and letters of Rulers, Statesmen, Poets, Artists and Celebrities ranging through three centuries, crowned by an illuminated facsimile of that historic Document, the Magna Carta. The series in itself is an epitome of the best in History, Philosophy and Literature. The great writers of past ages are accessible to readers in general solely through translations. It was, therefore, necessary that translations of such rare Classics as are embodied in this series should be of the best, and should possess exactitude in text and supreme faithfulness in rendering the author's thought. Under the vigilant scholarship of the Editorial Council this has been accomplished with unvarying excellence. The classification, selection and editing of the various volumes have been the subject of much earnest thought and consultation on the part of more than twenty of the best known scholars of the day. The Universities of Yale, Washington, Cornell, Chicago, Pennsylvania, Columbia, London, Toronto and Edinburgh are all represented among the contributors, the writers of special introductions, or upon the consulting staff, the latter including the Presidents of five of the Universities mentioned. Among others who contribute special essays upon given subjects may be mentioned the late Librarian of the British Museum, Dr. Richard Garnett, who furnishes the essay introducing "Evelyn's Diary." From the Librarian of the National Library of France, Leon Vallee, comes the fascinating introduction to the celebrated "Memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon." The scholarly minister to Switzerland (late First Assistant Secretary of State), Dr. David J. Hill, lent his wide reading to the brilliant and luminous essay that precedes the "Rights of War and Peace." The resources of the Congressional Library at Washington, as well as of foreign libraries, have all been drawn upon in the gigantic task of compressing into the somewhat narrow limits of twenty volumes all that was highest, best, most enduring and useful in the various ramifications of literature at large. The first section of the Library is devoted entirely to the manuscript reproductions of the autographs of celebrated men in all ranks and phases of life, covering a period of three centuries. They are, in fact, the American edition of the reproduction of rare and celebrated autographs drawn from the British Museum that was issued in England under the editorship of the Assistant Keeper of the Manuscripts. They afford an opportunity to the inquiring reader to study the characters of Rulers, Statesmen, Writers, and Artists through the medium of their chirography. It has long been recognized that character is traceable through handwriting. So it is interesting to discern in the characters traced by Henry VIII the hardened, sensual and selfish character of that autocrat and polygamist; in the writing of Thomas Wolsey, those crafty traits combined with perseverance and mock humility which raised him wellnigh to supremacy in the realm and led him finally to a downfall more complete than any we read of in English history; and in that of Charles V, of Spain, the hard-headed continence of character and superb common sense which enabled him at the height of glory to retire to a monastery while yet there was "daylight in life," as he expressed it, "for the making of his soul." Apart from the historical interest of these Documents, this study of character as revealed in them will prove fascinating to thinking minds. The Magna Carta, greatest of all historical charters wrung from the various kings of England from Henry I downward, was granted by King	1,953.254649
2023-11-16 18:49:37.3493830	251	25	Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) FROM HEADQUARTERS ODD TALES PICKED UP IN THE VOLUNTEER SERVICE BY JAMES ALBERT FRYE BOSTON ESTES AND LAURIAT 1893 Copyright, 1892 BY JAMES ALBERT FRYE TO THE FIRST INFANTRY M.V.M. PREFACE. In the odd though truthful tales here brought together--of which, by the way, some already have been in print--there is not the slightest attempt at pen portraiture, nor is there any pretence to the accuracy of the military historian; in other words, this is a collection of chance yarns, and not a portrait gallery--and no one is asked to believe that either the Nineteenth Army Corps or the "Old Regiment" ever were found in any situations like those in which they here find themselves placed. This book, perhaps, may fall into the hands of one of those	1,953.369423
2023-11-16 18:49:37.4256060	106	8	Produced by Curtis Weyant and David Maddock {~--- UTF-8 BOM ---~} The Mill on the Floss George Eliot Table of Contents Book I: Boy and Girl 1. Outside Dorlcote Mill 2. Mr. Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom 3. Mr. Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom 4. Tom Is Expected 5. Tom Comes	1,953.445646
2023-11-16 18:49:37.4277890	4,306	7	E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 56442-h.htm or 56442-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/56442/56442-h/56442-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/56442/56442-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/romanticcitiesof00cairrich Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). ROMANTIC CITIES OF PROVENCE [Illustration: CLOISTERS OF ST. TROPHINE, ARLES. _By E. M. Synge._] ROMANTIC CITIES OF PROVENCE by MONA CAIRD Illustrated from Sketches by Joseph Pennell and Edward M. Synge New York: Charles Scribner's Sons London: T. Fisher Unwin TO MARGUERITE HAMILTON SYNGE [All rights reserved.] Preface This volume can hardly be said to have been written: it came about. The little tour in the South of France which is responsible for its existence, happened some years ago, and was undertaken for various reasons, health and rest among others, and the very last idea which served as a motive for the journey was that of writing about the country whose history is so voluminous and so incalculably ancient. Nobody but a historian and a scholar already deeply versed in the subject could dream of attempting to treat it in any serious or complete fashion. But this fact did not prevent the country from instantly making a profound and singular impression upon a mind entirely unprepared by special study or knowledge to be thus stirred. The vividness of the impression, therefore, was not to be accounted for by associations of facts and scenes already formed in the imagination. True, many an incident of history and romance now found its scene and background, but before these corresponding parts of the puzzle had been fitted together the potent charm had penetrated, giving that strange, baffling sense of home-coming which certain lands and places have for certain minds, remaining for ever mysterious, yet for ever familiar as some haunt of early childhood. An experience of that sort will not, as a rule, allow itself to be set aside. It works and troubles and urges, until, sooner or later, some form of transmutation must take place, some condensing into form of the formless, some passing of impulse into expression, be it what it may. And thus the first stray notes and sketches were made without ultimate intention. But the charm imposed itself, and the notes grew and grew. Then a more definite curiosity awoke and gradually the scene widened: history and imagination took sisterly hands and whispered suggestions, explanations of the secret of the extraordinary magic, till finally the desultory sketches began to demand something of order in their undrilled ranks. The real toil then began. The subject, once touched upon, however slightly, is so unendingly vast and many-sided, so entangled with scholarly controversy, that the few words possible to say in a volume of this kind seem but to cause obscurity, and worst of all, to falsify the general balance of impression because of the innumerable other things that must perforce be left unsaid. An uneasy struggle is set up in the mind to avoid, if possible, that most fatal sort of misrepresentation, viz., that which contains a certain proportion of truth. And how to choose among varying accounts and theories, one contradicting the other? Authorities differ on important points as radically and as surely as they differ about the spelling of the names of persons and places. There is conflict even as to the names in use at the present day, as, for instance, the little mountain range of the Alpilles, which some writers persistently spell _Alpines_, out of pure pigheadedness or desire to make themselves conspicuous, as it seems to the weary seeker after textual consistency. Where doctors disagree what can one do who is not a doctor, but try to give a general impression of the whole matter and leave the rest to the gods? As for dates----! Now there are two things with which no one who has not been marked out by Providence by a special and triumphant gift ought to dream of attempting to deal, namely, dates and keys--between which evanescent, elusive and fundamentally absurd entities there is a subtle and deep-seated affinity. If meddled with at all, they must be treated in a large spirit: no meticulous analysis; no pursuit of a pettifogging date sharpening the point of accuracy down to a paltry twelve months. And correspondingly, as regards the smaller kind of keys, no one who values length of days should ever touch them! They are the vehicles of demoniac powers. Of course the good, quiet, well-developed cellar or stable-door key is another matter; and thus (to pursue the parallel) dates can be dealt with in a broadly synthetic fashion, in centuries and group of centuries, so that while the author gains in peace of mind, the reader is spared the painful experience of being stalked and hunted from page to page, and confronted round every corner by quartets of dreary figures, minutely defining moments of time which are about as much to him as they are to Hecuba! The chronology in this volume, therefore, may be described as frugal rather than generous in character, but what there is of it is handled in the "grand manner." Such, then, is the history of the volume which still retains the character of its irregular origin. Historically it attempts nothing but the roughest outline of the salient points of the story about which a traveller interested in the subject at all is at once curious for information. The one thing on which it lays stress is the quality of the country as distinguished from its outward features. For to many (for example, to our severe critic whose impressions are recorded in Chapter III.) these external features are devoid of all attraction. It is necessary to keep this fact in mind. A wide plain bounded by mountains of moderate height and an insignificant chain of bare limestone hills (the Alpilles); cities ancient indeed, but small, shabby, not too clean, with dingy old hotels, and no particular advantages of situation--such a description of Provence would be accurate for those who are not among its enthusiasts. To traverse the country in an express train, especially with the eyes still full of the more obvious beauties of the Pyrenees and the Alps, is to see all the wonder of the land of the troubadours reduced to the mere flatness of a map. In a few minutes the "rapide" had darted past some of its most ancient and romantic cities--quiet and simple they stand, merged into the very soil, with no large or striking features to catch the eye; only a patch of grey masonry in the landscape and a few towers upon the horizon, easily missed in the quick rush of the train. A deeper sound in the rumble of the flying wheels for a couple of minutes announces the crossing of some river: long stretches of waste land, covered for miles and miles with sunburnt stones, and again stretches of country, low-lying, God-forsaken, scarcely cultivated, with a few stunted, melancholy trees, a farmstead on the outskirts here and there: these are the "features of the country," as they might be described without departure from bare, literal, all-deceiving fact. How many travellers of the thousands who pass along this line every year are interested in such a scene or guess its profound and multitudinous experiences? How many realise as they rattle past, that in this arid land of the vine and the cypress were born and fostered the sentiments, the unwritten laws and traditions on which is built all that we understand by civilised life? How many say to themselves as they pass: "But for the men and women who dreamt and sang and suffered in this Cradle of Chivalry, the world that I live in would never have been born, the thoughts I think and the emotions to which I am heir would never have arisen out of the darkness?" But, indeed, the strange, many-sided country gives little aid or suggestion for such realisations: it has reticently covered itself with a mantle; it seems to crouch down out of sight while the monster engine thunders by with its freight of preoccupied passengers. A bare, flat, sun-scorched land. Yes, these are the "facts," but ah! how different from the magic truth! With facts, therefore, this volume has only incidentally to do. It is a "true and veracious history," but by no means a literal one. As to the mere accidents of travel, these are treated lightly. Exactly in which order the cities were visited no reader need count upon certainly knowing--and indeed it concerns him nothing--when and where the observations were made by "Barbara," or the "severe critic," or the landlady of the Hotel de Provence and so forth, the following pages may or may not accurately inform him (with the exception, indeed, of the curious, self-revelation of Raphael of Tarascon, which is given almost word for word as it occurred, for here accident and essence chanced to coincide); but he may be sure that though Barbara possibly did not speak or act as represented then and there, she did or might have so spoken or acted elsewhere and at another time. The irrelevancies of chance and incident have been ignored in the interests of the essential. Barbara may not recognise all her observations when she sees them. _Tant pis pour Barbara!_ They are true in the spirit if not in the letter. And so throughout. From the moment that the original "notes" began to be written, the one and sole impulse and desire has been to suggest, to hint to the imagination that which can never be really told of the poetry, the idealism, the glory, the sadness, and the great joy of this wondrous land of Sun and Wind and Dream. Contents PAGE PREFACE 7 CHAPTER I. THE SPELL OF PROVENCE 17 II. AVIGNON 29 III. A SEVERE CRITIC--UZÈS AND BARBENTANE 49 IV. PETRARCH AND LAURA 67 V. THE CITIES OF THE LAGOONS 81 VI. THE BIRTH OF CHIVALRY 93 VII. THE GAY SCIENCE 111 VIII. ORANGE AND MARTIGUES 131 IX. ROMANTIC LOVE 143 X. ARLES 159 XI. SONG, DANCE, AND LEGEND 171 XII. TARASCON 189 XIII. THE PONT DU GARD 209 XIV. A HUMAN DOCUMENT 219 XV. BEAUCAIRE AND ITS LOVE-STORY 229 XVI. CARCASSONNE, THE ALBIGENSES AND PIERRE VIDAL 241 XVII. MAGUELONNE 261 XVIII. THE SPIRIT OF THE WILDERNESS 269 XIX. ROSES OF PROVENCE 283 XX. AN INN PARLOUR 295 XXI. LES BAUX 307 XXII. RAIMBAUT DE VACQUEIRAS AND GUILHELM DES BAUX 321 XXIII. THE SORCERESS OF THE ALPILLES 335 XXIV. ACROSS THE AGES 349 XXV. THE SONG OF THE RHONE 373 XXVI. THE CAMARGUE 385 XXVII. "ARTISTS IN HAPPINESS" 401 List of Illustrations CLOISTERS OF ST. TROPHINE, ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) _Frontispiece_ PAGE A PROVENÇAL ROAD (_Joseph Pennell_) 19 PONT DE ST. BENÉZET, AVIGNON (_E. M. Synge_) 32 PALACE OF THE POPES AND CATHEDRAL " 35 CHARTREUSE DU VAL-DE-BÉNÉDICTION, VILLENEUVE-LES-AVIGNON " 43 CASTLE OF ST. ANDRÉ, VILLENEUVE-LES-AVIGNON " 45 CHATEAUNEUF, NEAR AVIGNON " 53 RIENZI'S TOWER, AVIGNON " 57 STREET AT UZÈS " 61 GATEWAY, BARBENTANE " 63 VALE AND SOURCE OF THE SORGUE, VAUCLUSE " 71 MILL IN VALE OF THE SORGUE AT VAUCLUSE " 78 ON THE DURANCE " 85 AIGUES MORTES FROM THE CAMARGUE " 86 AT THE PORT OF AIGUES MORTES " 96 CHURCH AT BARBENTANE (_E. M. Synge_) 101 CASTLE OF MONTMAJOUR, ARLES " 106 VIEW FROM ST. GILLES, IN THE CAMARGUE " 115 FAÇADE OF CHURCH, ST. GILLES (_Joseph Pennell_) 117 OUTSIDE THE CHURCH, SAINTES MARIES " 119 THE CHURCH OF LES SAINTES MARIES AT NIGHT " 122 FARM IN PROVENCE " 126 ROMAN GATEWAY AT ORANGE (ON THE LYONS ROAD) " 134 LOOKING DOWN THE GRANDE RUE, MARTIGUES " 135 ON THE GRAND CANAL, MARTIGUES " 137 CHURCH AT MARTIGUES " 138 BOATS, MARTIGUES " 139 THE PORTAL OF THE CHURCH, MARTIGUES " 140 A SQUARE AT NIMES " 145 IN THE CAMARGUE, FROM THE RAILWAY (_E. M. Synge_) 149 OLD BRIDGE AT ST. GILLES " 155 ST. TROPHIME, ARLES (_Joseph Pennell_) 161 LES ALISCAMPS, ARLES " 166 ARLES FROM THE RIVER " 169 ROMAN THEATRE, ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) 170 TARASCON FROM BEAUCAIRE, SHOWING KING RENÉ'S CASTLE " 192 THE CHÂTEAU OF KING RENÉ, TARASCON (_Joseph Pennell_) 198 ENTRANCE TO KING RENÉ'S CASTLE, TARASCON (_E. M. Synge_) 205 THE PONT DU GARD (_E. M. Synge_) 213 THE ROMAN TOUR MAGNE, NIMES, FROM THE FOUNTAIN GARDEN (_Joseph Pennell_) 215 VIEW FROM VISIGOTH TOWER, BEAUCAIRE (_E. M. Synge_) 232 VISIGOTH TOWER, CASTLE OF BEAUCAIRE " 235 BEAUCAIRE FROM TARASCON (_Joseph Pennell_) 238 ROMAN FOUNTAIN AT NIMES " 244 ENTRANCE TOWERS, CARCASSONNE (_E. M. Synge_) 247 THE RAMPARTS, CARCASSONNE " 253 MAGUELONNE FROM THE LAGOON " 265 CHURCH OF MAGUELONNE " 267 ON THE VERGE OF LA CRAU " 273 BASE OF MONUMENT OF MARIUS, ST. REMY (_Joseph Pennell_) 285 ROMAN ARCH, ST. REMY " 287 LA CROIX DE VERTU, ST. REMY (_E. M. Synge_) 291 GROVE AT ST. REMY " 299 ROMAN MONUMENTS, ST. REMY " 303 QUARRY IN VALLEY BELOW LES BAUX " 310 DAUDET'S WINDMILL (_Joseph Pennell_) 315 LES BAUX FROM THE ROAD TO ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) 317 WINDOW IN RUINED HOUSE OF A SEIGNEUR OF LES BAUX " 319 LES BAUX FROM THE ROAD TO ST. REMY, SHOWING PLATFORM IN FRONT OF CHURCH OF ST. VINCENT " 331 AT LES BAUX (_E. M. Synge_) 337 LES BAUX FROM LEVEL OF THE TOWN " 341 OLD HOUSE, ST. REMY " 345 THE CHURCH DOOR, SAINTES MARIES (_Joseph Pennell_) 353 LA LICE, ARLES " 359 A PROVENÇAL FARM (_E. M. Synge_) 366 COW-BOYS OF THE CAMARGUE (_Joseph Pennell_) 371 ANGLORE ON THE RIVER BANK (_E. M. Synge_) 379 PORCH OF CHURCH OF ST. GILLES IN THE CAMARGUE " 388 AIGUES MORTES, LOOKING ALONG THE WALLS " 391 THE CHURCH OF LES SAINTES MARIES SEEN FROM THE CAMARGUE (_Joseph Pennell_) 394 CROSS IN VILLAGE SQUARE AT LES SAINTES MARIES (_E. M. Synge_) 396 LES SAINTES MARIES " 398 CHAPTER I THE SPELL OF PROVENCE "Aubouro-te, raço Latino-- Emé toun péu que se desnouso A l'auro santo dou tabour, Tu siès la raço lumenouso Que viéu de joio e d'estrambord; Tu siès la raço apoustoulico Que souno li campano â brand: Tu siès la troumpo que publico E siès la man que tr	1,953.447829
2023-11-16 18:49:37.7275610	768	13	Produced by readbueno, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A RAILWAY ROMANCE. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN: _A ROMANCE OF_ London and North-Western Railway Shares. BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS. LONDON: JAMES HOGG AND SONS, 7 LOVELL'S COURT, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1888. _All Rights reserved._ Richard Clay & Sons, BREAD STREET HILL, LONDON; _Bungay, Suffolk_. INTRODUCTION. The following story was told me by that meek but estimable little man who forms the central figure in it. I have made him relate the strange vicissitudes of his life in the first person, and, by doing so, preserve, I venture to believe, some quaintness of thought and expression that is characteristic of him. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN. CHAPTER I. A DANGEROUS LEGACY. The rain gave over about five o'clock, and the sun, having struggled unavailingly all day with a leaden November sky, burst forth in fiery rage, when but a few short minutes separated him from the horizon. His tawny splendour surrounded me as I trudged from Richmond, in Surrey, to the neighbouring hamlet of Petersham. Above me the wet, naked branches of the trees shone red, and seemed to drip with blood; the hedgerows sparkled their flaming gems; in the meadows, which I struck across to save time, parallel streaks of crimson lay along the cart-ruts. All nature glowed in the lurid light, and, to a mind fraught with much trouble and anxiety, there was something sinister in the slowly dying illumination, in the lowering, savage sky, in the bars of blood that sank hurtling together into the west, and in the vast cloudlands of gloom that were now fast bringing back the rain and the night. Should you ask what reason I, John Lott, a small, middle-aged, banking clerk, who lived in North London, might have for thus rushing away from the warm fire, good wife, pretty daughter, and comforting tea-cake, that were all at this moment awaiting me somewhere in Kilburn, I would reply, that death, sudden and startling, had brought about this earthquake in my orderly existence. Should you again naturally suggest that a four-wheeled cab might have effected with greater cleanliness and dispatch, than my short legs, the country journey between Richmond and Petersham, I would admit the fact, but, at the same time, advance sufficiently sound reasons why that muddy walk was best undertaken on foot. For, touching this death, but one other living man could have equal interest in it with myself; and for me, especially, were entwined round about it issues of very grave and stupendous moment. Honour, rectitude, my duty to myself and to my neighbour, together with other no less important questions, were all at stake; and upon my individual judgment, blinded by no thoughts of personal danger or self-interest, must the case be	1,953.747601
2023-11-16 18:49:37.8384360	622	15	Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England From Squire to Squatter A Tale of the Old Land and the New By Gordon Stables Published by John F. Shaw and Co., 48 Paternoster Row, London. This edition dated 1888. CHAPTER ONE. BOOK I--AT BURLEY OLD FARM. "TEN TO-MORROW, ARCHIE." "So you'll be ten years old to-morrow, Archie?" "Yes, father; ten to-morrow. Quite old, isn't it? I'll soon be a man, dad. Won't it be fun, just?" His father laughed, simply because Archie laughed. "I don't know about the fun of it," he said; "for, Archie lad, your growing a man will result in my getting old. Don't you see?" Archie turned his handsome brown face towards the fire, and gazed at it--or rather into it--for a few moments thoughtfully. Then he gave his head a little negative kind of a shake, and, still looking towards the fire as if addressing it, replied: "No, no, no; I don't see it. Other boys' fathers _may_ grow old; mine won't, mine couldn't, never, _never_." "Dad," said a voice from the corner. It was a very weary, rather feeble, voice. The owner of it occupied a kind of invalid couch, on which he half sat and half reclined--a lad of only nine years, with a thin, pale, old-fashioned face, and big, dark, dreamy eyes that seemed to look you through and through as you talked to him. "Dad." "Yes, my dear." "Wouldn't you like to be old really?" "Wel--," the father was beginning. "Oh," the boy went on, "I should dearly love to be old, very old, and very wise, like one of these!" Here his glance reverted to a story-book he had been reading, and which now lay on his lap. His father and mother were used to the boy's odd remarks. Both parents sat here to-night, and both looked at him with a sort of fond pity; but the child's eyes had half closed, and presently he dropped out of the conversation, and to all intents and purposes out of the company. "Yes," said Archie, "ten is terribly old, I know; but is it quite a man though? Because mummie there said, that when Solomon became a man, he thought, and spoke, and did everything manly, and put away all his boy's things. I shouldn't like to put away my bow and arrow--what say, mum? I shan't be altogether quite a man to-morrow, shall I?" "No, child. Who put that in your head?" "Oh,	1,953.858476
2023-11-16 18:49:37.9795610	1,138	10	Produced by Clytie Siddall and Distributed Proofreaders THE LITERARY REMAINS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE VOLUME THE THIRD COLLECTED AND EDITED BY HENRY NELSON COLERIDGE. 1838 TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE THE THIRD AND FOURTH VOLUMES OF COLERIDGE'S REMAINS ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS Preface Formula Fidei de SS. Trinitate Nightly Prayer Notes on 'The Book of Common Prayer' Notes on Hooker Notes on Field Notes on Donne Notes on Henry More Notes on Heinrichs Notes on Hacket Notes on Jeremy Taylor Notes on 'The Pilgrim's Progress' Notes on John Smith Letter to a Godchild PREFACE For a statement of the circumstances under which the collection of Mr. Coleridge's Literary Remains was undertaken, the Reader is referred to the Preface to the two preceding Volumes published in 1836. But the graver character of the general contents of this Volume and of that which will immediately follow it, seems to justify the Editor in soliciting particular attention to a few additional remarks. Although the Author in his will contemplated the publication of some at least of the numerous notes left by him on the margins and blank spaces of books and pamphlets, he most certainly wrote the notes themselves without any purpose beyond that of delivering his mind of the thoughts and aspirations suggested by the text under perusal. His books, that is, any person's books--even those from a circulating library--were to him, whilst reading them, as dear friends; he conversed with them as with their authors, praising, or censuring, or qualifying, as the open page seemed to give him cause; little solicitous in so doing to draw summaries or to strike balances of literary merit, but seeking rather to detect and appreciate the moving principle or moral life, ever one and single, of the work in reference to absolute truth. Thus employed he had few reserves, but in general poured forth, as in a confessional, all his mind upon every subject,--not keeping back any doubt or conjecture which at the time and for the purpose seemed worthy of consideration. In probing another's heart he laid his hand upon his own. He thought pious frauds the worst of all frauds, and the system of economizing truth too near akin to the corruption of it to be generally compatible with the Job-like integrity of a true Christian's conscience. Further, he distinguished so strongly between that internal faith which lies at the base of, and supports, the whole moral and religious being of man, and the belief, as historically true, of several incidents and relations found or supposed to be found in the text of the Scriptures, that he habitually exercised a liberty of criticism with respect to the latter, which will probably seem objectionable to many of his readers in this country. [1] His friends have always known this to be the fact; and he vindicated this so openly that it would be folly to attempt to conceal it: nay, he pleaded for it so earnestly--as the only middle path of safety and peace between a godless disregard of the unique and transcendant character of the Bible taken generally, and that scheme of interpretation, scarcely less adverse to the pure spirit of Christian wisdom, which wildly arrays our faith in opposition to our reason, and inculcates the sacrifice of the latter to the former,--that to suppress this important part of his solemn convictions would be to misrepresent and betray him. For he threw up his hands in dismay at the language of some of our modern divinity on this point;--as if a faith not founded on insight were aught else than a specious name for wilful positiveness;--as if the Father of Lights could require, or would accept, from the only one of his creatures whom he had endowed with reason the sacrifice of fools! Did Coleridge, therefore, mean that the doctrines revealed in the Scriptures were to be judged according to their supposed harmony or discrepancy with the evidence of the senses, or the deductions of the mere understanding from that evidence? Exactly the reverse: he disdained to argue even against Transubstantiation on such a ground, well knowing and loudly proclaiming its utter weakness and instability. But it was a leading principle in all his moral and intellectual views to assert the existence in all men equally of a power or faculty superior to, and independent of, the external senses: in this power or faculty he recognized that image of God in which man was made; and he could as little understand how faith, the indivisibly joint act or efflux of our reason and our will, should be at variance with one of its factors or elements, as how the Author and Upholder of all truth should be in contradiction to himself. He trembled at the dreadful dogma which rests God's right to man's obedience on the fact of his almighty power,--a position falsely inferred from a misconceived illustration of St. Paul	1,953.999601
2023-11-16 18:49:38.2257400	2,797	6	E-text prepared by Sean C. Sieger and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP: A COLLECTION OF SONGS FOR ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS COMPILED BY WILLIAM W. BROWN, A FUGITIVE SLAVE. 1848. PREFACE. The demand of the public for a cheap Anti-Slavery Song-Book, containing Songs of a more recent composition, has induced me to collect together, and present to the public, the songs contained in this book. In making this collection, however, I am indebted to the authors of the "Liberty Minstrel," and "the Anti-Slavery Melodies," But the larger portion of these songs has never before been published; some have never been in print. To all true friends of the Slave, the Anti-Slavery Harp is respectfully dedicated, W. W. BROWN. BOSTON, JUNE, 1848. SONGS. HAVE WE NOT ALL ONE FATHER? AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER? AIR--Bride's Farewell. Am I not a man and brother? Ought I not, then, to be free? Sell me not one to another, Take not thus my liberty. Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour, Died for me as well as thee. Am I not a man and brother? Have I not a soul to save? Oh, do not my spirit smother, Making me a wretched slave; God of mercy, God of mercy, Let me fill a freeman's grave! Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though thou long hast groaned a slave, Bound with cruel cords and tether From the cradle to the grave! Yet the Saviour, yet the Saviour, Bled and died all souls to save. Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though we long have told thee nay; And are bound to aid each other, All along our pilgrim way. Come and welcome, come and welcome, Join with us to praise and pray! O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER. AIR--Araby's Daughter. I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary, Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast; I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary, I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed. O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion, As she thinks of her children about to be sold; You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean, But the grief of that mother can never be known. The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom, That ever has bloomed in her path-way below; It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom, And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe; Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression; Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay; No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggression-- She must weep as she treads on her desolate way. O, slave mother, hope! see--the nation is shaking! The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong! The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking, Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong! Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing, May one day lift up its unmanacled form, While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering, Is born, like the rain-bow,'mid tempest and storm. THE BLIND SLAVE BOY. AIR--Sweet Afton. Come back to me, mother! why linger away From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day! I mark every footstep, I list to each tone, And wonder my mother should leave me alone! There are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee, But there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me; For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share, And none for the poor little blind boy will care. My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed; Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek, And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak! O mother! I've no one to love me--no heart Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part; No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind, O! none like a mother can cherish the blind! Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear, No mother can hasten to banish thy fear; For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild, And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child! Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal The anguish that none but a mother can feel, When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God! Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, She hears in her anguish his piteous moan, As he eagerly listens--but listens in vain, To catch the loved tones of his mother again! The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy, Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy! YE SONS OF FREEMEN. AIR--Marseilles Hymn. Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness, Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise; Three millions of our race in madness Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish, Yes, trembling slaves in freedom's land, Endure the lash, nor raise a hand? Must nature 'neath the whip-cord languish? Have pity on the slave, Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. The fearful storm--it threatens lowering, Which God in mercy long delays; Slaves yet may see their masters cowering, While whole plantations smoke and blaze! While whole plantations smoke and blaze; And we may now prevent the ruin, Ere lawless force with guilty stride Shall scatter vengeance far and wide-- With untold crimes their hands imbruing. Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. With luxury and wealth surrounded, The southern masters proudly dare, With thirst of gold and power unbounded, To mete and vend God's light and air! To mete and vend God's light and air; Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded, Till life's poor toilsome day is o'er; While they in vain for right implore; And shall they longer still be goaded? Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. O Liberty! can man e'er bind thee? Can overseers quench thy flame? Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee, Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame? Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame? Too long the slave has groaned, bewailing The power these heartless tyrants wield; Yet free them not by sword or shield, For with men's hearts they're unavailing; Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Toil on! toil on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free! FREEDOM'S STAR. AIR--Silver Moon. As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day, I turned my fond gaze to the sky; I beheld all the stars as so sweetly they lay, And but one fixed my heart or my eye. Shine on, northern star, thou'rt beautiful and bright To the slave on his journey afar; For he speeds from his foes in the darkness of night, Guided on by thy light, freedom's star. On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back; Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods, With thy beams shining full on his track. Shine on, &c. Unwelcome to him is the bright orb of day, As it glides o'er the earth and the sea; He seeks then to hide like a wild beast of prey, But with hope, rests his heart upon thee. Shine on, &c. May never a cloud overshadow thy face, While the slave flies before his pursuer; Gleam steadily on to the end of his race, Till his body and soul are secure. Shine on, &c. THE LIBERTY BALL. AIR--Rosin the Bow. Come all ye true friends of the nation, Attend to humanity's call; Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball-- And roll on the liberty ball-- Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball. The Liberty hosts are advancing-- For freedom to _all_ they declare; The down-trodden millions are sighing-- Come, break up our gloom of despair. Come break up our gloom of despair, &c. Ye Democrats, come to the rescue, And aid on the liberty cause, And millions will rise up and bless you, With heart-cheering songs of applause, With heart-cheering songs, &c. Ye Whigs, forsake slavery's minions, And boldly step into our ranks; We care not for party opinions, But invite all the friends of the banks,-- And invite all the friends of the banks, &c, And when we have formed the blest union We'll firmly march on, one and all-- We'll sing when we meet in communion, And _roll on_ the liberty ball, And roll on the liberty ball, dec. EMANCIPATION HYMN OF THE WEST INDIAN <DW64>s. FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST CELEBRATION. Praise we the Lord! let songs resound To earth's remotest shore! Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise-- For we are slaves no more. Praise we the Lord! His power hath rent The chains that held us long! His voice is mighty, as of old, And still His arm is strong. Praise we the Lord! His wrath arose, His arm our fetters broke; The tyrant dropped the lash, and we To liberty awoke! Praise we the Lord! let holy songs Rise from these happy isles!-- O! let us not unworthy prove, On whom His bounty smiles. And cease we not the fight of faith Till all mankind be free; Till mercy o'er the earth shall flow, As waters o'er the sea. Then shall indeed Messiah's reign Through all the world extend; Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned, And Heaven with earth shall blend. OVER THE MOUNTAIN. Over the mountain, and over the moor, Hungry and weary I wander forlorn; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return; Give me some food for my mother in charity; Give me some food and then I will be gone. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind and the night's coming on. Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough, Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew; I've two little brothers at home, when they're old enough, They will work hard for the gifts you bestow; Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity. Cold blows the wind, and the night's coming on; Give me some food for my mother in charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone. JUBILEE SONG. Air--Away the Bowl. Our grateful hearts with joy o'erflow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, We hail the Despot's overthrow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, No more he'll raise the gory lash, And sink it deep in human flesh, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra Hurra, Hurra, Hurra. We raise the song in Freedom's name, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Her glorious triumph we proclaim, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Beneath her feet lie Slavery's chains, Their power to curse no more remains, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra. With joy we'll make the air resound,	1,954.24578
2023-11-16 18:49:38.8267510	2,798	9	Produced by Chris Curnow, Sue Fleming and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. FRONTISPIECE. [Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his scymetar to cut off her head.] THE POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. Embellished with neat Engravings. [Illustration] COOPERSTOWN: Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney. 1828 _The Alphabet._ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z _A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z_ _a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z_ fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 . , ; : ? ! ' () [] * [dagger] [double dagger] Sec. \|\| ¶ THE POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. A long time ago, and at a considerable distance from any town, there lived a gentleman, who was not only in possession of great riches, but of the largest estates in that part of the country. Although he had some very elegant neat mansions on his estates, he generally resided in a magnificent castle, beautifully situated on a rising ground, surrounded with groves of the finest evergreens, and other choice trees and shrubs. The inside of this fine castle was even more beautiful than the outside; for the rooms were all hung with the richest damask, curiously ornamented; the chairs and sofas were covered with the finest velvet, fringed with gold; and his table-dishes and plates were either of silver or gold, finished in the most elegant style. His carriages and horses might have served a king, and perhaps were finer than any monarch's of the present day. The gentleman's appearance, however, did not altogether correspond to his wealth; for, to a fierce disagreeable countenance, was added an ugly blue beard, which made him an object of fear and disgust in the neighbourhood, where he usually went by the name of Blue Beard. There resided, at some considerable distance from Blue Beard's castle, an old lady and her two daughters, who were people of some rank, but by no means wealthy. The two young ladies were very pretty, and the fame of their beauty having reached Blue Beard, he determined to ask one of them in marriage. Having ordered a carriage, he called at their house, where he saw the two young ladies, and was very politely received by their mother, with whom he begged a few moments conversation. [Illustration] After the two young ladies left the room, he began by describing his immense riches, and then told her the purport of his visit, begging she would use her interest in his favour. They were both so lovely, he said, that he would be happy to get either of them for his wife, and would therefore leave it to their own choice to determine upon the subject, and immediately took his leave. When the proposals of Blue Beard were mentioned to the young ladies by their mother, both Miss Anne and her sister Fatima protested, that they would never marry an ugly man, and particularly one with such a frightful blue beard; because, although he possessed immense riches, it was reported in the country, that he had married several beautiful ladies, and nobody could tell what had become of them. Their mother said, that the gentleman was agreeable in his conversation and manners; that the ugliness of his face, and the blue beard, were defects which they would soon be reconciled to from habit: that his immense riches would procure them every luxury their heart could desire; and he was so civil, that she was certain the scandalous reports about his wives must be entirely without foundation. The two young ladies were as civil as they possibly could be, in order to conceal the disgust they felt at Blue Beard, and, to soften their refusal, replied to this effect,--That, at present, they had no desire to change their situation; but if they had, the one sister could never think of depriving the other of so good a match, and that they did not wish to be separated. Blue Beard having called next day, the old lady told him what her daughters had said; on which he sighed deeply, and pretended to be very much disappointed; but as he had the mother on his side, he still continued his visits to the family. Blue Beard, knowing the attractions that fine houses, fine furniture, and fine entertainments, have on the minds of ladies in general, invited the mother, her two daughters, and two or three other ladies who were then on a visit to them, to spend a day or two with him at his castle. [Illustration] Blue Beard's invitation was accepted, and having spent a considerable time in arranging their wardrobe, and in adorning their persons, they all set out for the splendid mansion of Blue Beard. On coming near the castle, although they had heard a great deal of the taste and expense that had been employed in decorating it, they were struck with the beauty of the trees that overshadowed the walks through which they passed, and with the fragrancy of the flowers which perfumed the air. When they reached the castle, Blue Beard, attended by a number of his servants in splendid dresses, received them with the most polite courtesy, and conducted them to a magnificent drawing-room. An elegant repast was ready in the dining-room, to which they adjourned. Here they were again astonished by the grandeur of the apartment and the elegance of the entertainment, and they felt so happy, that the evening passed away before they were aware. Next day, after they had finished breakfast, the ladies proceeded to examine the pictures and furniture of the rooms that were open, and were truly astonished at the magnificence that every where met their view. [Illustration] The time rolled pleasantly away amidst a succession of the most agreeable amusements, consisting of hunting, music, dancing, and banquets, where the richest wines, and most tempting delicacies, in most luxurious profusion, presented themselves in every direction. The party felt so agreeable amidst these scenes of festivity, that they continued at the castle several days, during which the cunning Blue Beard, by every obsequious service, tried to gain the favour of his fair guests. Personal attentions, even although paid us by an ugly creature, seldom fail to make a favourable impression; it was therefore no wonder that Fatima, the youngest of the two sisters, began to think Blue Beard a very polite, pleasant, and civil gentleman; and that the beard, which she and her sister had been so much afraid of, was not so very blue. A short time after her return home, Fatima, who was delighted with the attention which had been paid her at the castle, told her mother that she did not now feel any objections to accept of Blue Beard as a husband. The old lady immediately communicated to him the change in her daughter's sentiments. Blue Beard, who lost no time in paying the family a visit, was in a few days privately married to the young lady and soon after the ceremony, Fatima, accompanied by her sister, returned to the castle the wife of Blue Beard. [Illustration] On arriving there, they were received at the entrance by all his retinue, attired in splendid dresses, and Blue Beard, after saluting his bride, led the way to an elegant entertainment, where, every thing that could add to to their comfort being prepared, they spent the evening in the most agreeable manner. The next day, and every succeeding day, Blue Beard always varied the amusements, and a month had passed away imperceptibly, when he told his wife that he was obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had some affairs to transact in a distant part of the country, which required his personal attendance. "But," said he, "my dear Fatima, you may enjoy yourself in my absence in any way that will add to your happiness, and you can invite your friends to make the time pass more agreeably, for you are sole mistress in this castle. Here are the keys of the two large wardrobes; this is the key of the great box that contains the best plate, which we use for company; this of my strong box, where I keep my money; and this belongs to the casket, in which are all my jewels. Here also is a master-key to all the rooms in the house; but this small key belongs to the blue closet at the end of the long gallery on the ground floor. I give you leave," he continued, "to open, or do what you like with all the rest of the castle except this closet: now, my dear, remember you must not enter it, nor even put the key into the lock. If you do not obey me in this, expect the most dreadful of punishments." [Illustration] She promised him implicit obedience to his orders, and then accompanied him to the gate, where Blue Beard, after saluting her in a tender manner, stepped into the coach, and drove away. When Blue Beard was gone, Fatima sent a kind invitation to her friends to come immediately to the castle, and ordered a grand entertainment to be prepared for their reception. She also sent a messenger to her two brothers, both officers in the army, who were quartered about forty miles distant, requesting they would obtain leave of absence, and spend a few days with her. So eager were her friends to see the apartments and the riches of Blue Beard's castle, of which they had heard so much, that in less than two hours after receiving notice, the whole company were assembled, with the exception of her brothers, who were not expected till the following day. As her guests had arrived long before the time appointed them for the entertainment. Fatima took them thro' every apartment in the castle, and displayed all the wealth she had acquired by her marriage with Blue Beard. They went from room to room, and from wardrobe to wardrobe, expressing fresh wonder and delight at every new object they came to; but their surprise was increased when they entered the drawing-rooms, and saw the grandeur of the furniture. During the day, Fatima was so much engaged, that she never once thought of the blue closet, which Blue Beard had ordered her not to open; but when all the visitors were gone, she felt a great curiosity to know its contents. She took out the key, which was made of the finest gold, and went to consult with her sister on the subject. Anne used every argument she could think of to dissuade Fatima from her purpose, and reminded her of the threats of Blue Beard; but all in vain, for Fatima was now bent on gratifying her curiosity. She therefore, in spite of all her sister could do, seized one of the candles, and hurried down stairs to the fatal closet. On reaching the door she stopped, and began to reason with herself on the propriety of her conduct; but her curiosity at length overcame every other consideration, and, with a trembling hand, she applied the key to the lock, and opened the door. She had only advanced a few steps, when the most frightful scene met her view, and, struck with horror and dismay, she dropped the key of the closet	1,954.846791
2023-11-16 18:49:39.0577710	2,998	6	Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. The University of Iowa, Iowa Authors collection graciously researched and provided scans of missing pages for this book. (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH BY EMERSON HOUGH _Author of_ "YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE ROCKIES" ETC. ILLUSTRATED HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH Copyright, 1918, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America [Illustration: THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS WERE HAULED UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS OF BLOCK AND TACKLE"] CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN 1 II. THE SCOWS 12 III. THE GREAT BRIGADE 32 IV. THE GRAND RAPIDS 51 V. WHITE-WATER DAYS 64 VI. ON THE STEAMBOAT 79 VII. THE WILD PORTAGE 89 VIII. ON THE MACKENZIE 112 IX. UNDER THE ARCTIC CIRCLE 132 X. FARTHEST NORTH 149 XI. THE MIDNIGHT SUN 164 XII. THE RAT PORTAGE 176 XIII. DOWN THE PORCUPINE 192 XIV. AT FORT YUKON 212 XV. THE FUR TRADE 222 XVI. DAWSON, THE GOLDEN CITY 231 XVII. WHAT UNCLE DICK THOUGHT 246 ILLUSTRATIONS THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS WERE HAULED UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS OF BLOCK AND TACKLE" _Frontispiece_ AN ENCAMPMENT OF ESKIMOS ON THE BEACH AT FORT MCPHERSON _Facing p._ 55 HUSKY FLEET--FORT MCPHERSON " 172 HUSKY DOG--RAMPART HOUSE " 206 YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH I THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN "Well, fellows," said Jesse Wilcox, the youngest of the three boys who stood now at the ragged railway station of Athabasca Landing, where they had just disembarked, "here we are once more. For my part, I'm ready to start right now." He spoke somewhat pompously for a youth no more than fifteen years of age. John Hardy and Rob McIntyre, his two companions, somewhat older than himself, laughed at him as he sat now on his pack-bag, which had just been tossed off the baggage-car of the train that had brought them hither. "You might wait for Uncle Dick," said John. "He'd feel pretty bad if we started off now for the Arctic Circle and didn't allow him to come along!" Rob, the older of the three, and the one to whom they were all in the habit of looking up in their wilderness journeyings, smiled at them both. He was not apt to talk very much in any case, and he seemed now content in these new surroundings to sit and observe what lay about him. It was a straggling little settlement which they saw, with one long, broken street running through the center. There was a church spire, to be sure, and a square little wooden building in which some business men had started a bank for the sake of the coming settlers now beginning to pass through for the country along the Peace River. There were one or two stores, as the average new-comer would have called them, though each really was the post of one of the fur-trading companies then occupying that country. Most prominent of these, naturally, was the building of the ancient Hudson's Bay Company. A rude hotel with a dirty bar full of carousing half-breeds and rowdy new-comers lay just beyond the end of the uneven railroad tracks which had been laid within the month. The surface of the low hills running back from the Athabasca River was covered with a stunted growth of aspens, scattered among which here and there stood the cabins or board houses of the men who had moved here following the rush of the last emigration to the North. There were a few tents and lodges of half-breeds also scattered about. "Well, Uncle Dick said we would be starting right away," argued Jesse, a trifle crestfallen. "Yes," said Rob, "but he told me we would be lucky if 'right away' meant inside of a week. He said the breeds always powwow around and drink for a few days before they start north with the brigade for a long trip. That's a custom they have. They say the Hudson's Bay Company has more customs than customers these days. Times are changing for the fur trade even here. "Where's your map, John?" he added; and John spread out on the platform where they stood his own rude tracing of the upper country which he had made by reference to the best government maps obtainable. Their uncle Dick, engineer of this new railroad and other frontier development enterprises, of course had a full supply of these maps, but it pleased the boys better to think that they made their own maps--as indeed they always had in such earlier trips as those across the Rockies, down the Peace River, in the Kadiak Island country, or along the headwaters of the Columbia, where, as has been told, they had followed the trails of the wilderness in their adventures before this time. They all now bent over the great sheet of paper, some of which was blank and marked "Unknown." "Here we are, right here," said John, putting his finger on the map. "Only, when this map was made there wasn't any railroad. They used to come up from Edmonton a hundred miles across the prairies and muskeg by wagon. A rotten bad journey, Uncle Dick said." "Well, it couldn't have been much worse than the new railroad," grumbled Jesse. "It was awfully rough, and there wasn't any place to eat." "Oh, don't condemn the new railroad too much," said Rob. "You may be glad to see it before you get back from this trip. It's going to be the hardest one we ever had. Uncle Dick says this is the last great wilderness of the world, and one less known than any other part of the earth's surface. Look here! It's two thousand miles from here to the top of the map, northwest, where the Mackenzie comes in. We've got to get there if all goes well with us." John was still tracing localities on the map with his forefinger. "Right here is where we are now. If we went the other way, up the Athabasca instead of down, then we would come out at the Peace River Landing, beyond Little Slave Lake. That's where we came out when we crossed the Rockies, down the Finlay and the Parsnip and the Peace. I've got that course of ours all marked in red." "But we go the other way," began Jesse, bending over his shoulder and looking at the map now. "Here's the mouth of the Peace River, more than four hundred miles north of here, in Athabasca Lake. Both these two rivers, you might say, come together there. But look what a long river it is if you call the Athabasca and the Mackenzie the same! And look at the big lakes up there that we have read about. The Mackenzie takes you right into that country." "The Mackenzie! One of the very greatest rivers of the world," said Rob. "I've always wanted to see it some time. And now we shall. "I'd have liked to have been along with old Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the old trader who first explored it," he added, thoughtfully. "I forget just what time that was," said Jesse, hesitating and scratching his head. "It was in seventeen eighty-nine," said Rob, always accurate. "He was only a young Scotchman then, and they didn't call him Sir Alexander at all until a good while later--after he had made some of his great discoveries. He put up the first post on Lake Athabasca--right here where our river discharges--and he went from there to the mouth of the Mackenzie River and back all in one season." "How did they travel?" demanded John. "They must have had nothing better than canoes." "Nothing else," nodded Rob, "for they could have had nothing else. They just had birch-bark canoes, too, not as good as white men take into that country now. There were only six white men in the party, with a few Indians. They left Athabasca Lake--here it is on the map--on June third, and they got to the mouth of the great river in forty days. That certainly must have been traveling pretty fast! It was more than fifteen hundred miles--almost sixteen hundred. But they got back to Athabasca Lake in one hundred and two days, covering over three thousand miles down-stream and up-stream. Well, we've all traveled enough in these strong rivers to know how hard it is to go back up-stream, whether with the tracking-line or the paddle or the sail. They did it." "And now we're here to see what it was that they did," said Jesse, looking with some respect at the ragged line on the map which marked the strong course of the Mackenzie River toward the Arctic Sea. "He must have been quite a man, old Alexander Mackenzie," John added. "Yes," said Rob. "As you know, he came back to Athabasca and started up the Peace River in seventeen ninety-three, and was the first man to cross to the Pacific. We studied him over in there. But he went up-stream there, and we came down. That's much easier. It will be easier going down this river, too, which was his first great exploration place. "Now," he continued, "we'll be going down-stream, as I said, almost two thousand miles to the mouth of that river. Uncle Dick says we'll be comfortable as princes all the way. We'll have big scows to travel in, with everything fixed up fine." "Here," said Jesse, putting his finger on the map hesitatingly, "is the place where it says 'rapids.' Must be over a hundred miles of it on this river, or even more." "That's right, Jess," commented John. "We can't dodge those rapids yet. Uncle Dick says that the new railroad in the North may go to Fort McMurray at the foot of this great system of the Athabasca rapids. That would cut out a lot of hard work. If there were a railroad up there, a fellow could go to the Arctics almost as easy as going to New York." "I'd rather go to the Midnight Sun now," said Rob. "There's some trouble about it now, and there's some wilderness now between here and there. It's no fun to do a thing when it's too easy. I wouldn't give a cent to go to Fort McPherson, the last post north, by any railroad." John was still poring over the map, which lay upon the rude boards of the platform, and he shook his head now somewhat dubiously. "Look where we'll have to go," he said, "and all in three months. We have to get back for school next fall." "Never doubt we can do it," said Rob, stoutly. "If we couldn't, Uncle Dick would never try it. He's got it all figured out, you may be sure of that, and he's made all his arrangements with the Hudson's Bay Company. You forget they've been going up into this country for a hundred years, and they know how long it takes and how hard it is. They know all about how to outfit for it, too." "The hardest place we'll have," said John, following his map with his finger now almost to the upper edge, "is right here where we leave the Mackenzie and start over toward the Yukon, just south of the Arctic Ocean. That's a whizzer, all right! No railroad up in there, and I guess there never will be. That's where so many of the Klondikers were lost, my father told me--twenty years ago that was." "They took a year for it," commented Rob, "and sometimes eighteen months, to get across the mountains there. They built houses and passed the winter, and so a great many of them got sick and died. But twenty years ago is a long time nowadays. We can do easily what they could hardly do at all. Uncle Dick has allowed us about three weeks to cover that five hundred miles over the Rat Portage!" "Well, surely if Sir Alexander Mackenzie could make that trip in birch-bark canoes, over three thousand miles, with just a few men who didn't know where they were going, we ought to be able to get through now. That was a hundred and twenty-eight years ago, I figure it, and a lot of things have happened since then." John spoke now with considerable confidence. "Well, Uncle Dick will take care of	1,955.077811
2023-11-16 18:49:39.1260420	12	10	Produced by deaurider, Brian Wilcox	1,955.146082
2023-11-16 18:49:39.4615220	7,436	26	E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, Sam W., 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 54682-h.htm or 54682-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54682/54682-h/54682-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54682/54682-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/zuifolktales00cushrich ZUÑI FOLK TALES Recorded and Translated by FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING With an Introduction by J. W. Powell [Illustration: TÉNATSALI] New York and London G. P. Putnam’S Sons The Knickerbocker Press 1901 Copyright, 1901 By Emily T. M. Cushing The Knickerbocker Press, New York [Illustration: {Photograph of Frank Hamilton Cushing}] LIST OF TALES PAGE THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MÁTSAKI AND THE RED FEATHER 1 THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34 THE POOR TURKEY GIRL 54 HOW THE SUMMER BIRDS CAME 65 THE SERPENT OF THE SEA 93 THE MAIDEN OF THE YELLOW ROCKS 104 THE FOSTER-CHILD OF THE DEER 132 THE BOY HUNTER WHO NEVER SACRIFICED TO THE DEER HE HAD SLAIN: OR THE ORIGIN OF THE SOCIETY OF RATTLESNAKES 150 HOW ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA STOLE THE THUNDER-STONE AND THE LIGHTNING-SHAFT 175 THE WARRIOR SUITOR OF MOKI 185 HOW THE COYOTE JOINED THE DANCE OF THE BURROWING-OWLS 203 THE COYOTE WHO KILLED THE DEMON SÍUIUKI: OR WHY COYOTES RUN THEIR NOSES INTO DEADFALLS 215 HOW THE COYOTES TRIED TO STEAL THE CHILDREN OF THE SACRED DANCE 229 THE COYOTE AND THE BEETLE 235 HOW THE COYOTE DANCED WITH THE BLACKBIRDS 237 HOW THE TURTLE OUT HUNTING DUPED THE COYOTE 243 THE COYOTE AND THE LOCUST 255 THE COYOTE AND THE RAVENS WHO RACED THEIR EYES 262 THE PRAIRIE-DOGS AND THEIR PRIEST, THE BURROWING-OWL 269 HOW THE GOPHER RACED WITH THE RUNNERS OF K’IÁKIME 277 HOW THE RATTLESNAKES CAME TO BE WHAT THEY ARE 285 HOW THE CORN-PESTS WERE ENSNARED 288 JACK-RABBIT AND COTTONTAIL 296 THE RABBIT HUNTRESS AND HER ADVENTURES 297 THE UGLY WILD BOY WHO DROVE THE BEAR AWAY FROM SOUTHEASTERN MESA 310 THE REVENGE OF THE TWO BROTHERS ON THE HÁWIKUHKWE, OR THE TWO LITTLE ONES AND THEIR TURKEYS 317 THE YOUNG SWIFT-RUNNER WHO WAS STRIPPED OF HIS CLOTHING BY THE AGED TARANTULA 345 ÁTAHSAIA, THE CANNIBAL DEMON 365 THE HERMIT MÍTSINA 385 HOW THE TWINS OF WAR AND CHANCE, ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA, FARED WITH THE UNBORN-MADE MEN OF THE UNDERWORLD 398 THE COCK AND THE MOUSE 411 THE GIANT CLOUD-SWALLOWER 423 THE MAIDEN THE SUN MADE LOVE TO, AND HER BOYS: OR THE ORIGIN OF ANGER 429 LIST OF PLATES PAGE PORTRAIT OF FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING _Frontispiece_ THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34 ZUÑI FROM THE SOUTH 64 WAÍHUSIWA 92 A BURRO TRAIN IN A ZUÑI STREET 132 THUNDER MOUNTAIN FROM ZUÑI 174 A HOPI (MOKI) MAIDEN 184 A DANCE OF THE KÂKÂ 228 ACROSS THE TERRACES OF ZUÑI 276 THE PINNACLES OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN 344 PÁLOWAHTIWA 388 ZUÑI WOMEN CARRYING WATER 428 INTRODUCTION It is instructive to compare superstition with science. Mythology is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ancients. Folk-lore is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ignorant of today. Ancient mythology has been carefully studied by modern thinkers for purposes of trope and simile in the embellishment of literature, and especially of poetry; then it has been investigated for the purpose of discovering its meaning in the hope that some occult significance might be found, on the theory that the wisdom of the ancients was far superior to that of modern men. Now, science has entered this field of study to compare one mythology with another, and pre-eminently to compare mythology with science itself, for the purpose of discovering stages of human opinion. When the mythology of tribal men came to be studied, it was found that their philosophy was also a mythology in which the mysteries of the universe were explained in a collection of tales told by wise men, prophets, and priests. This lore of the wise among savage men is of the same origin and has the same significance as the lore of Hesiod and Homer. It is thus a mythology in the early sense of that term. But the mythology of tribal men is devoid of that glamour and witchery born of poetry; hence it seems rude and savage in comparison, for example, with the mythology of the _Odyssey_, and to rank no higher as philosophic thought than the tales of the ignorant and superstitious which are called folk-lore; and gradually such mythology has come to be called folk-lore. Folk-lore is a discredited mythology--a mythology once held as a philosophy. Nowadays the tales of savage men, not being credited by civilized and enlightened men with that wisdom which is held to belong to philosophy, are called folk-lore, or sometimes folk-tales. The folk-tales collected by Mr. Cushing constitute a charming exhibit of the wisdom of the Zuñis as they believe, though it may be but a charming exhibit of the follies of the Zuñis as we believe. The wisdom of one age is the folly of the next, and the opinions of tribal men seem childish to civilized men. Then why should we seek to discover their thoughts? Science, in seeking to know the truth about the universe, does not expect to find it in mythology or folk-lore, does not even consider it as a paramount end that it should be used as an embellishment of literature, though it serves this purpose well. Modern science now considers it of profound importance to know the course of the evolution of the humanities; that is, the evolution of pleasures, the evolution of industries, the evolution of institutions, the evolution of languages, and, finally, the evolution of opinions. How opinions grow seems to be one of the most instructive chapters in the science of psychology. Psychologists do not go to the past to find valid opinions, but to find stages of development in opinions; hence mythology or folk-lore is of profound interest and supreme importance. Under the scriptorial wand of Cushing the folk-tales of the Zuñis are destined to become a part of the living literature of the world, for he is a poet although he does not write in verse. Cushing can think as myth-makers think, he can speak as prophets speak, he can expound as priests expound, and his tales have the verisimilitude of ancient lore; but his sympathy with the mythology of tribal men does not veil the realities of science from his mind. The gods of Zuñi, like those of all primitive people, are the ancients of animals, but we must understand and heartily appreciate their simple thought if we would do them justice. All entities are animals--men, brutes, plants, stars, lands, waters, and rocks--and all have souls. The souls are tenuous existences--mist entities, gaseous creatures inhabiting firmer bodies of matter. They are ghosts that own bodies. They can leave their bodies, or if they discover bodies that have been vacated they can take possession of them. Force and mind belong to souls; fixed form, firm existence belong to matter, while bodies and souls constitute the world. The world is a universe of animals. The stars are animals compelled to travel around the world by magic. The plants are animals under a spell of enchantment, so that usually they cannot travel. The waters are animals sometimes under the spell of enchantment. Lakes writhe in waves, the sea travels in circles about the earth, and the streams run over the lands. Mountains and hills tremble in pain, but cannot wander about; but rocks and hills and mountains sometimes travel about by night. These animals of the world come in a flood of generations, and the first-born are gods and are usually called the ancients, or the first ones; the later-born generations are descendants of the gods, but alas, they are degenerate sons. The theatre of the world is the theatre of necromancy, and the gods are the primeval wonder-workers; the gods still live, but their descendants often die. Death itself is the result of necromancy practiced by bad men or angry gods. In every Amerindian language there is a term to express this magical power. Among the Iroquoian tribes it is called _orenda_; among the Siouan tribe some manifestations of it are called _wakan_ or _wakanda_, but the generic term in this language is _hube_. Among the Shoshonean tribes it is called _pokunt_. Let us borrow one of these terms and call it “orenda.” All unexplained phenomena are attributed to orenda. Thus the venom of the serpent is orenda, and this orenda can pass from a serpent to an arrow by another exercise of orenda, and hence the arrow is charmed. The rattlesnake may be stretched beside the arrow, and an invocation may be performed that will convey the orenda from the snake to the arrow, or the serpent may be made into a witch’s stew and the arrow dipped into the brew. No man has contributed more to our understanding of the doctrine of orenda as believed and practised by the Amerindian tribes than Cushing himself. In other publications he has elaborately discussed this doctrine, and in his lectures he was wont to show how forms and decorations of implements and utensils have orenda for their motive. When one of the ancients--that is, one of the gods--of the Iroquois was planning the streams of earth by his orenda or magical power, he determined to have them run up one side and down the other; if he had done this men could float up or down at will, by passing from one side to the other of the river, but his wicked brother interfered and made them run down on both sides; so orenda may thwart orenda. The bird that sings is universally held by tribal men to be exercising its orenda. And when human beings sing they also exercise orenda; hence song is a universal accompaniment of Amerindian worship. All their worship is thus fundamentally terpsichorean, for it is supposed that they can be induced to grant favors by pleasing them. All diseases and ailments of mankind are attributed by tribal men to orenda, and all mythology is a theory of magic. Yet many of the tribes, perhaps all of them, teach in their tales of some method of introducing death and disease into the world, but it is a method by which supernatural agencies can cause sickness and death. The prophets, who are also priests, wonder-workers, and medicine-men, are called shamans in scientific literature. In popular literature and in frontier parlance they are usually called medicine-men. Shamans are usually initiated into the guild, and frequently there are elaborate tribal ceremonies for the purpose. Often individuals have revelations and set up to prophesy, to expel diseases, and to teach as priests. If they gain a following they may ultimately exert much influence and be greatly revered, but if they fail they may gradually be looked upon as wizards or witches, and they may be accused of black art, and in extreme cases may be put to death. All Amerindians believe in shamancraft and witchcraft. The myths of cosmology are usually called creation myths. Sometimes all myths which account for things, even the most trivial, are called creation myths. Every striking phenomenon observed by the Amerind has a myth designed to account for its origin. The horn of the buffalo, the tawny patch on the shoulders of the rabbit, the crest of the blue-jay, the tail of the magpie, the sheen of the chameleon, the rattle of the snake,--in fact, everything that challenges attention gives rise to a myth. Thus the folk-tales of the Amerinds seem to be inexhaustible, for in every language, and there are hundreds of them, a different set of myths is found. In all of these languages a strange similarity in cosmology is observed, in that it is a cosmology of regions or worlds. About the home world of the tribe there is gathered a group of worlds, one above, another below, and four more: one at every cardinal point; or we may describe it as a central world, an upper world, a lower world, a northern world, a southern world, an eastern world, and a western world. All of the animals of the tribes, be they human animals, tree animals, star animals, water animals (that is, bodies of water), or stone animals (that is, mountains, hills, valleys, and rocks), have an appropriate habitation in the zenith world, the nadir world, or in one of the cardinal worlds, and their dwelling in the center world is accounted for by some myth of travel to this world. All bodies and all attributes of bodies have a home or proper place of habitation; even the colors of the clouds and the rainbow and of all other objects on earth are assigned to the six regions from which they come to the midworld. We may better understand this habit of thought by considering the folk-lore of civilization. Here are but three regions: heaven, earth, and hell. All good things come from heaven; and all bad things from hell. It is true that this cosmology is not entertained by scholarly people. An enlightened man thinks of moral good as a state of mind in the individual, an attribute of his soul, and a moral evil as the characteristic of an immoral man; but still it is practically universal for even the most intelligent to affirm by a figure of speech that heaven is the place of good, and hell the place of evil. Now, enlarge this conception so as to assign a place as the proper region for all bodies and attributes, and you will understand the cosmological concepts of the Amerinds. The primitive religion of every Amerindian tribe is an organized system of inducing the ancients to take part in the affairs of men, and the worship of the gods is a system designed to please the gods, that they may be induced to act for men, particularly the tribe of men who are the worshipers. Time would fail me to tell of the multitude of activities in tribal life designed for this purpose, but a few of them may be mentioned. The first and most important of all are terpsichorean ceremonies and festivals. Singing and dancing are universal, and festivals are given at appointed times and places by every tribe. The long nights of winter are devoted largely to worship, and a succession of festival days are established, to be held at appropriate seasons for the worship of the gods. Thus there are festival days for invoking rain, there are festival days for thanksgiving--for harvest homes. In lands where the grasshopper is an important food there are grasshopper festivals. In lands where corn is an important food there are green-corn festivals; where the buffalo constituted an important part of their aliment there were buffalo dances. So there is a bear dance or festival, and elk dance or festival, and a multitude of other festivals as we go from tribe to tribe, all of which are fixed at times indicated by signs of the zodiac. In the higher tribes elaborate calendars are devised from which we unravel their picture-writings. The practice of medicine by the shamans is an invocation to the gods to drive out evil spirits from the sick and to frighten them that they may leave. By music and dancing they obtain the help of the ancients, and by a great variety of methods they drive out the evil beings. Resort is often had to scarifying and searing, especially when the sick man has great local pains. All American tribes entertain a profound belief in the doctrine of signatures,--_similia, similibus curantur_,--and they use this belief in procuring charms as medicine to drive out the ghostly diseases that plague their sick folk. Next in importance to terpsichorean worship is altar worship. The altar is a space cleared upon the ground, or a platform raised from the ground or floor of the kiva or assembly-house of the people. Around the altar are gathered the priests and their acolytes, and here they make prayers and perform ceremonies with the aid of altar-pieces of various kinds, especially tablets of picture-writings on wood, bone, or the skins of animals. The altar-pieces consist of representatives of the thing for which supplication is made: ears of corn or vases of meal, ewers of water, parts of animals designed for food, cakes of grasshoppers, basins of honey, in fine any kind of food; then crystals or fragments of rock to signify that they desire the corn to be hard, or of honeydew that they desire the corn to be sweet, or of corn of different colors that they desire the corn to be of a variety of colors. That which is of great interest to students of ethnology is the system of picture-writing exhibited on the altars. In this a great variety of things which they desire and a great variety of the characteristics of these things are represented in pictographs, or modeled in clay, or carved from wood and bone. The graphic art, as painting and sculpture, has its origin with tribal men in the development of altar-pieces. So also the drama is derived from primeval worship, as the modern practice of medicine has been evolved from necromancy. There is another method of worship found in savagery, but more highly developed in barbarism,--the worship of sacrifice. The altar-pieces and the dramatic supplications of the lower stage gradually develop into a sacrificial stage in the higher culture. Then the objects are supposed to supply the ancients themselves with food and drink and the pleasures of life. This stage was most highly developed in Mexico, especially by the Nahua or Aztec, where human beings were sacrificed. In general, among the Amerinds, not only are sacrifices made on the altar, but they are also made whenever food or drink is used. Thus the first portions of objects designed for consumption are dedicated to the gods. There are in America many examples of these pagan religions, to a greater or less extent affiliated in doctrine and in worship with the religion of Christian origin. In the early history of the association of white men with the Seneca of New York and Pennsylvania, there was in the tribe a celebrated shaman named Handsome Lake, as his Indian name is translated into English. Handsome Lake had a nephew who was taken by the Spaniards to Europe and educated as a priest. The nephew, on his return to America, told many Bible stories to his uncle, for he speedily relapsed into paganism. The uncle compounded some of these Bible stories with Seneca folk-tales, and through his eloquence and great influence as a shaman succeeded in establishing among the Seneca a new cult of doctrine and worship. The Seneca are now divided into two very distinct bodies who live together on the same reservation,--the one are “Christians,” the other are “Pagans” who believe and teach the cult of Handsome Lake. Mr. Cushing has introduced a hybrid tale into his collection, entitled “The Cock and the Mouse.” Such tales are found again and again among the Amerinds. In a large majority of cases Bible stories are compounded with native stories, so that unwary people have been led to believe that the Amerinds are descendants of the lost tribes of Israel. J. W. Powell. Washington City, November, 1901. ZUÑI FOLK TALES THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MÁTSAKI AND THE RED FEATHER (_Told the First Night_) In the days of the ancients, when Mátsaki was the home of the children of men, there lived, in that town, which is called “Salt City,” because the Goddess of Salt made a white lake there in the days of the New, a beautiful maiden. She was passing beautiful, and the daughter of the priest-chief, who owned more buckskins and blankets than he could hang on his poles, and whose port-holes were covered with turquoises and precious shells from the ocean--so many were the sacrifices he made to the gods. His house was the largest in Mátsaki, and his ladder-poles were tall and decorated with slabs of carved wood--which you know was a great thing, for our grandfathers cut with the _tímush_ or flint knife, and even tilled their corn-fields with wooden hoes sharpened with stone and weighted with granite. That’s the reason why all the young men in the towns round about were in love with the beautiful maiden of Salt City. Now, there was one very fine young man who lived across the western plains, in the Pueblo of the Winds. He was so filled with thoughts of the maiden of Mátsaki that he labored long to gather presents for her, and looked not with favor on any girl of his own pueblo. One morning he said to his fathers: “I have seen the maiden of Mátsaki; what think ye?” “Be it well,” said the old ones. So toward night the young man made a bundle of mantles and necklaces, which he rolled up in the best and whitest buckskin he had. When the sun was setting he started toward Mátsaki, and just as the old man’s children had gathered in to smoke and talk he reached the house of the maiden’s father and climbed the ladder. He lifted the corner of the mat door and shouted to the people below--“_Shé!_” “_Hai!_” answered more than a pair of voices from below. “Pull me down,” cried the young man, at the same time showing his bundle through the sky-hole. The maiden’s mother rose and helped the young man down the ladder, and as he entered the fire-light he laid the bundle down. “My fathers and mothers, my sisters and friends, how be ye these many days?” said he, very carefully, as though he were speaking to a council. “Happy! Happy!” they all responded, and they said also: “Sit down; sit down on this stool,” which they placed for him in the fire-light. “My daughter,” remarked the old man, who was smoking his cigarette by the opposite side of the hearth-place, “when a stranger enters the house of a stranger, the girl should place before him food and cooked things.” So the girl brought from the great vessel in the corner fresh rolls of _héwe_, or bread of corn-flour, thin as papers, and placed them in a tray before the young man, where the light would fall on them. “Eat!” said she, and he replied, “It is well.” Whereupon he sat up very straight, and placing his left hand across his breast, very slowly took a roll of the wafer bread with his right hand and ate ever so little; for you know it is not well or polite to eat much when you go to see a strange girl, especially if you want to ask her if she will let you live in the same house with her. So the young man ate ever so little, and said, “Thank you.” “Eat more,” said the old ones; but when he replied that he was “past the naming of want,” they said, “Have eaten,” and the girl carried the tray away and swept away the crumbs. “Well,” said the old man, after a short time, “when a stranger enters the house of a stranger, it is not thinking of nothing that he enters.” “Why, that is quite true,” said the youth, and then he waited. “Then what may it be that thou hast come thinking of?” added the old man. “I have heard,” said the young man, “of your daughter, and have seen her, and it was with thoughts of her that I came.” Just then the grown-up sons of the old man, who had come to smoke and chat, rose and said to one another: “Is it not about time we should be going home? The stars must be all out.” Thus saying, they bade the old ones to “wait happily until the morning,” and shook hands with the young man who had come, and went to the homes of their wives’ mothers. “Listen, my child!” said the old man after they had gone away, turning toward his daughter, who was sitting near the wall and looking down at the beads on her belt fringe. “Listen! You have heard what the young man has said. What think you?” “Why! I know not; but what should I say but ‘Be it well,’” said the girl, “if thus think my old ones?” “As you may,” said the old man; and then he made a cigarette and smoked with the young man. When he had thrown away his cigarette he said to the mother: “Old one, is it not time to stretch out?” So when the old ones were asleep in the corner, the girl said to the youth, but in a low voice: “Only possibly you love me. True, I have said ‘Be it well’; but before I take your bundle and say ‘thanks,’ I would that you, to prove that you verily love me, should go down into my corn-field, among the lands of the priest-chief, by the side of the river, and hoe all the corn in a single morning. If you will do this, then shall I know you love me; then shall I take of your presents, and happy we will be together.” “Very well,” replied the young man; “I am willing.” Then the young girl lighted a bundle of cedar splints and showed him a room which contained a bed of soft robes and blankets, and, placing her father’s hoe near the door, bade the young man “wait happily unto the morning.” So when she had gone he looked at the hoe and thought: “Ha! if that be all, she shall see in the morning that I am a man.” At the peep of day over the eastern mesa he roused himself, and, shouldering the wooden hoe, ran down to the corn-fields; and when, as the sun was coming out, the young girl awoke and looked down from her house-top, “Aha!” thought she, “he is doing well, but my children and I shall see how he gets on somewhat later. I doubt if he loves me as much as he thinks he does.” So she went into a closed room. Down in the corner stood a water jar, beautifully painted and as bright as new. It looked like other water jars, but it was not. It was wonderful, wonderful! for it was covered with a stone lid which held down many may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes. The maiden lifted the lid and began to speak to the little animals as though she were praying. “Now, then, my children, this day fly ye forth all, and in the corn-fields by the river there shall ye see a young man hoeing. So hard is he working that he is stripped as for a race. Go forth and seek him.” “_Tsu-nu-nu-nu_,” said the flies, and “_Tsi-ni-ni-ni_,” sang the gnats and mosquitoes; which meant “Yes,” you know. “And,” further said the girl, “when ye find him, bite him, his body all over, and eat ye freely of his blood; spare not his armpits, neither his neck nor his eyelids, and fill his ears with humming.” And again the flies said, “_Tsu-nu-nu-nu_,” and the mosquitoes and gnats, “_Tsi-ni-ni-ni._” Then, _nu-u-u_, away they all flew like a cloud of sand on a windy morning. “Blood!” exclaimed the young man. He wiped the sweat from his face and said, “The gods be angry!” Then he dropped his hoe and rubbed his shins with sand and slapped his sides. “_Atu!_” he yelled; “what matters--what in the name of the Moon Mother matters with these little beasts that cause thoughts?” Whereupon, crazed and restless as a spider on hot ashes, he rolled in the dust, but to no purpose, for the flies and gnats and mosquitoes sang “_hu-n-n_” and “_tsi-ni-ni_” about his ears until he grabbed up his blanket and breakfast, and ran toward the home of his fathers. “_Wa-ha ha! Ho o!_” laughed a young man in the Tented Pueblo to the north, when he heard how the lover had fared. “_Shoom!_” he sneered. “Much of a man he must have been to give up the maid of Mátsaki for may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes!” So on the very next morning, he, too, said to his old ones: “What a fool that little _boy_ must have been. I will visit the maiden of Mátsaki. I’ll show the people of Pínawa what a Hámpasawan man can do. Courage!”--and, as the old ones said “Be it well,” he went as the other had gone; but, pshaw! he fared no better. After some time, a young man who lived in the River Town heard about it and laughed as hard as the youth of the Tented Pueblo had. He called the two others fools, and said that “girls were not in the habit of asking much when one’s bundle was large.” And as he was a young man who had everything, he made a bundle of presents as large as he could carry; but it did him no good. He, too, ran away from the may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes. Many days passed before any one else would try again to woo the maiden of Mátsaki. They did not know, it is true, that she was a Passing Being; but others had failed all on account of mosquitoes and may-flies and little black gnats, and had been more satisfied with shame than a full hungry man with food. “That is sick satisfaction,” they would say to one another, the fear of which made them wait to see what others would do. Now, in the Ant Hill, which was named Hálonawan,[1] lived a handsome young man, but he was poor, although the son of the priest-chief of Hálonawan. He thought many days, and at last said to his grandmother, who was very old and crafty, “_Hó-ta?_” [1] The ancient pueblo of Zuñi itself was called Hálonawan, or the Ant Hill, the ruins of which, now buried beneath the sands, lie opposite the modern town within the cast of a stone. Long before Hálonawan was abandoned, the nucleus of the present structure was begun around one of the now central plazas. It was then, and still is, in the ancient songs and rituals of the Zuñis, _Hálona-ítiwana_, or the “Middle Ant Hill	1,955.481562
2023-11-16 18:49:39.6278450	976	11	Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Internet Web Archive Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov03spei (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. A Novel. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 1874. (_All rights reserved_.) CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER I. A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. II. IN THE SYCAMORE WALK. III. MISS CULPEPPER SPEAKS HER MIND. IV. KNOCKLEY HOLT. V. AT THE THREE CROWNS HOTEL. VI. TOM FINDS HIS TONGUE. VII. EXIT MRS. MCDERMOTT. VIII. DIRTY JACK. IX. WHAT TO DO NEXT? X. HOW TOM WINS HIS WIFE. XI. THE EIGHTH OF MAY. XII. GATHERED THREADS. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. CHAPTER I. A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. Two hours after the receipt of Mrs. McDermott's second letter, Squire Culpepper was on his way to Sugden's bank. His heart was heavy, and his step slow. He had never had to borrow a farthing from any man--at least, never since he had come into the estate--and he felt the humiliation, as he himself called it, very bitterly. There was something of bitterness, too, in having to confess to his friend Cope how all his brilliant castles in the air had vanished utterly, leaving not a wrack behind. He could see, in imagination, the sneer that would creep over Cope's face as the latter asked him why he could not obtain a mortgage on his fine new mansion at Pincote; the mansion he had talked so much about--about which he had bored his friends; the mansion that was to have been built out of the Alcazar shares, but of which not even the foundation-stone would ever now be laid. Then, again, the Squire was far from certain as to the kind of reception which would be accorded him by the banker. Of late he had seemed cool, very cool--refrigerating almost. Once or twice, too, when he had called, Mr. Cope had been invisible: a Jupiter Tonans buried for the time being among a cloud of ledgers and dockets and transfers: not to be seen by any one save his own immediate satellites. The time had been, and not so very long ago, when he could walk unchallenged through the outer bank office, whoever else might be waiting, and so into the inner sanctum, and be sure of a welcome when he got there. But now he was sure to be intercepted by one or other of the clerks with a "Will you please to take a seat for a moment while I see whether Mr. Cope is disengaged." The Squire groaned with inward rage as, leaning on his thick stick, he limped down Duxley High Street and thought of all these things. As he had surmised it would be, so it was on the present occasion. He had to sit down in the outer office, one of a row of six who were waiting Mr. Cope's time and pleasure to see them. "He won't lend me the money," said the Squire to himself, as he sat there choking with secret mortification. "He'll find some paltry excuse for refusing me. It's almost worth a man's while to tumble into trouble just to find out who are his friends and who are not." However, the banker did not keep him waiting more than five or six minutes. "Mr. Cope will see you, sir," said a liveried messenger, who came up to him with a low bow; and into Mr. Cope's parlour the Squire was thereupon ushered. The two men met with a certain amount of restraint on either side. They shook hands as a matter of course, and made a few remarks about the weather; and then the banker began to play with his seals, and waited in bland silence to hear whatever the Squire might have to say to him. Mr. Culpepper fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat.	1,955.647885
2023-11-16 18:49:54.4788780	7,151	9	Produced by Sue Asscher. HTML version by Al Haines. THE VALLEY OF DECISION BY EDITH WHARTON Author of "A Gift from the Grave," "Crucial Instances," etc. "Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision." TO MY FRIENDS PAUL AND MINNIE BOURGET IN REMEMBRANCE OF ITALIAN DAYS TOGETHER. CONTENTS. BOOK I. THE OLD ORDER. BOOK II. THE NEW LIGHT. BOOK III. THE CHOICE. BOOK IV. THE REWARD. BOOK I. THE OLD ORDER. Prima che incontro alla festosa fronte I lugubri suoi lampi il ver baleni. 1.1. It was very still in the small neglected chapel. The noises of the farm came faintly through closed doors--voices shouting at the oxen in the lower fields, the querulous bark of the old house-dog, and Filomena's angry calls to the little white-faced foundling in the kitchen. The February day was closing, and a ray of sunshine, slanting through a slit in the chapel wall, brought out the vision of a pale haloed head floating against the dusky background of the chancel like a water-lily on its leaf. The face was that of the saint of Assisi--a sunken ravaged countenance, lit with an ecstasy of suffering that seemed not so much to reflect the anguish of the Christ at whose feet the saint knelt, as the mute pain of all poor down-trodden folk on earth. When the small Odo Valsecca--the only frequenter of the chapel--had been taunted by the farmer's wife for being a beggar's brat, or when his ears were tingling from the heavy hand of the farmer's son, he found a melancholy kinship in that suffering face; but since he had fighting blood in him too, coming on the mother's side of the rude Piedmontese stock of the Marquesses di Donnaz, there were other moods when he turned instead to the stout Saint George in gold armour, just discernible through the grime and dust of the opposite wall. The chapel of Pontesordo was indeed as wonderful a storybook as fate ever unrolled before the eyes of a neglected and solitary child. For a hundred years or more Pontesordo, a fortified manor of the Dukes of Pianura, had been used as a farmhouse; and the chapel was never opened save when, on Easter Sunday, a priest came from the town to say mass. At other times it stood abandoned, cobwebs curtaining the narrow windows, farm tools leaning against the walls, and the dust deep on the sea-gods and acanthus volutes of the altar. The manor of Pontesordo was very old. The country people said that the great warlock Virgil, whose dwelling-place was at Mantua, had once shut himself up for a year in the topmost chamber of the keep, engaged in unholy researches; and another legend related that Alda, wife of an early lord of Pianura, had thrown herself from its battlements to escape the pursuit of the terrible Ezzelino. The chapel adjoined this keep, and Filomena, the farmer's wife, told Odo that it was even older than the tower and that the walls had been painted by early martyrs who had concealed themselves there from the persecutions of the pagan emperors. On such questions a child of Odo's age could obviously have no pronounced opinion, the less so as Filomena's facts varied according to the seasons or her mood, so that on a day of east wind or when the worms were not hatching well, she had been known to affirm that the pagans had painted the chapel under Virgil's instruction, to commemorate the Christians they had tortured. In spite of the distance to which these conflicting statements seemed to relegate them, Odo somehow felt as though these pale strange people--youths with ardent faces under their small round caps, damsels with wheat- hair and boys no bigger than himself, holding spotted dogs in leash--were younger and nearer to him than the dwellers on the farm: Jacopone the farmer, the shrill Filomena, who was Odo's foster-mother, the hulking bully their son and the abate who once a week came out from Pianura to give Odo religious instruction and who dismissed his questions with the invariable exhortation not to pry into matters that were beyond his years. Odo had loved the pictures in the chapel all the better since the abate, with a shrug, had told him they were nothing but old rubbish, the work of the barbarians. Life at Pontesordo was in truth not very pleasant for an ardent and sensitive little boy of nine, whose remote connection with the reigning line of Pianura did not preserve him from wearing torn clothes and eating black bread and beans out of an earthen bowl on the kitchen doorstep. "Go ask your mother for new clothes!" Filomena would snap at him, when his toes came through his shoes and the rents in his jacket-sleeves had spread beyond darning. "These you are wearing are my Giannozzo's, as you well know, and every rag on your back is mine, if there were any law for poor folk, for not a copper of pay for your keep or a stitch of clothing for your body have we had these two years come Assumption--. What's that? You can't ask your mother, you say, because she never comes here? True enough--fine ladies let their brats live in cow-dung, but they must have Indian carpets under their own feet. Well, ask the abate, then--he has lace ruffles to his coat and a naked woman painted on his snuff box--What? He only holds his hands up when you ask? Well, then, go ask your friends on the chapel-walls--maybe they'll give you a pair of shoes--though Saint Francis, for that matter, was the father of the discalced, and would doubtless tell you to go without!" And she would add with a coarse laugh: "Don't you know that the discalced are shod with gold?" It was after such a scene that the beggar-noble, as they called him at Pontesordo, would steal away to the chapel and, seating himself on an upturned basket or a heap of pumpkins, gaze long into the face of the mournful saint. There was nothing unusual in Odo's lot. It was that of many children in the eighteenth century, especially those whose parents were cadets of noble houses, with an appanage barely sufficient to keep their wives and themselves in court finery, much less to pay their debts and clothe and educate their children. All over Italy at that moment, had Odo Valsecca but known it, were lads whose ancestors, like his own, had been dukes and crusaders, but who, none the less, were faring, as he fared, on black bread and hard blows, and the half-comprehended taunts of unpaid foster-parents. Many, doubtless, there were who cared little enough, as long as they might play morro with the farmer's lads and ride the colt bare-back through the pasture and go bird-netting and frog-hunting with the village children; but some perhaps, like Odo, suffered in a dumb animal way, without understanding why life was so hard on little boys. Odo, for his part, had small taste for the sports in which Gianozzo and the village lads took pleasure. He shrank from any amusement associated with the frightening or hurting of animals, and his bosom swelled with the fine gentleman's scorn of the clowns who got their fun in so coarse a way. Now and then he found a moment's glee in a sharp tussle with one of the younger children who had been tormenting a frog or a beetle; but he was still too young for real fighting, and could only hang on the outskirts when the bigger boys closed, and think how some day he would be at them and break their lubberly heads. There were thus many hours when he turned to the silent consolations of the chapel. So familiar had he grown with the images on its walls that he had a name for every one: the King, the Knight, the Lady, the children with guinea-pigs, basilisks and leopards, and lastly the Friend, as he called Saint Francis. An almond-faced lady on a white palfrey with gold trappings represented his mother, whom he had seen too seldom for any distinct image to interfere with the illusion; a knight in damascened armour and scarlet cloak was the valiant captain, his father, who held a commission in the ducal army; and a proud young man in diadem and ermine, attended by a retinue of pages, stood for his cousin, the reigning Duke of Pianura. A mist, as usual at that hour, was rising from the marshes between Pontesordo and Pianura, and the light soon ebbed from the saint's face, leaving the chapel in obscurity. Odo had crept there that afternoon with a keener sense than usual of the fact that life was hard on little boys; and though he was cold and hungry and half afraid, the solitude in which he cowered seemed more endurable than the noisy kitchen where, at that hour, the farm hands were gathering for their polenta, and Filomena was screaming at the frightened orphan who carried the dishes to the table. He knew, of course, that life at Pontesordo would not last for ever--that in time he would grow up and be mysteriously transformed into a young gentleman with a sword and laced coat, who would go to court and perhaps be an officer in the Duke's army or in that of some neighbouring prince; but, viewed from the lowliness of his nine years, that dazzling prospect was too remote to yield much solace for the cuffs and sneers, the ragged shoes and sour bread of the present. The fog outside had thickened, and the face of Odo's friend was now discernible only as a spot of pallor in the surrounding dimness. Even he seemed farther away than usual, withdrawn into the fog as into that mist of indifference which lay all about Odo's hot and eager spirit. The child sat down among the gourds and medlars on the muddy floor and hid his face against his knees. He had sat there a long time when the noise of wheels and the crack of a postillion's whip roused the dogs chained in the stable. Odo's heart began to beat. What could the sounds mean? It was as though the flood-tide of the unknown were rising about him and bursting open the chapel door to pour in on his loneliness. It was, in fact, Filomena who opened the door, crying out to him in an odd Easter Sunday voice, the voice she used when she had on her silk neckerchief and gold chain or when she was talking to the bailiff. Odo sprang up and hid his face in her lap. She seemed, of a sudden, nearer to him than any one else--a last barrier between himself and the mystery that awaited him outside. "Come, you poor sparrow," she said, dragging him across the threshold of the chapel, "the abate is here asking for you;" and she crossed herself, as though she had named a saint. Odo pulled away from her with a last wistful glance at Saint Francis, who looked back at him in an ecstasy of commiseration. "Come, come," Filomena repeated, dropping to her ordinary key as she felt the resistance of the little boy's hand. "Have you no heart, you wicked child? But, to be sure, the poor innocent doesn't know! Come cavaliere, your illustrious mother waits." "My mother?" The blood rushed to his face; and she had called him "cavaliere"! "Not here, my poor lamb! The abate is here; don't you see the lights of the carriage? There, there, go to him. I haven't told him, your reverence; it's my silly tender-heartedness that won't let me. He's always been like one of my own creatures to me--" and she confounded Odo by bursting into tears. The abate stood on the doorstep. He was a tall stout man with a hooked nose and lace ruffles. His nostrils were stained with snuff and he took a pinch from a tortoise-shell box set with the miniature of a lady; then he looked down at Odo and shrugged his shoulders. Odo was growing sick with apprehension. It was two days before the appointed time for his weekly instruction and he had not prepared his catechism. He had not even thought of it--and the abate could use the cane. Odo stood silent and envied girls, who are not disgraced by crying. The tears were in his throat, but he had fixed principles about crying. It was his opinion that a little boy who was a cavaliere might weep when he was angry or sorry, but never when he was afraid; so he held his head high and put his hand to his side, as though to rest it on his sword. The abate sneezed and tapped his snuff-box. "Come, come, cavaliere, you must be brave--you must be a man; you have duties, you have responsibilities. It's your duty to console your mother--the poor lady is plunged in despair. Eh? What's that? You haven't told him? Cavaliere, your illustrious father is no more." Odo stared a moment without understanding; then his grief burst from him in a great sob, and he hid himself against Filomena's apron, weeping for the father in damascened armour and scarlet cloak. "Come, come," said the abate impatiently. "Is supper laid? for we must be gone as soon as the mist rises." He took the little boy by the hand. "Would it not distract your mind to recite the catechism?" he inquired. "No, no!" cried Odo with redoubled sobs. "Well, then, as you will. What a madman!" he exclaimed to Filomena. "I warrant it hasn't seen its father three times in its life. Come in, cavaliere; come to supper." Filomena had laid a table in the stone chamber known as the bailiff's parlour, and thither the abate dragged his charge and set him down before the coarse tablecloth covered with earthen platters. A tallow dip threw its flare on the abate's big aquiline face as he sat opposite Odo, gulping the hastily prepared frittura and the thick purple wine in its wicker flask. Odo could eat nothing. The tears still ran down his cheeks and his whole soul was possessed by the longing to steal back and see whether the figure of the knight in the scarlet cloak had vanished from the chapel wall. The abate sat in silence, gobbling his food like the old black pig in the yard. When he had finished he stood up, exclaiming: "Death comes to us all, as the hawk said to the chicken. You must be a man, cavaliere." Then he stepped into the kitchen, and called out for the horses to be put to. The farm hands had slunk away to one of the outhouses, and Filomena and Jacopone stood bowing and curtseying as the carriage drew up at the kitchen door. In a corner of the big vaulted room the little foundling was washing the dishes, heaping the scraps in a bowl for herself and the fowls. Odo ran back and touched her arm. She gave a start and looked at him with frightened eyes. He had nothing to give her, but he said: "Good-bye, Momola"; and he thought to himself that when he was grown up and had a sword he would surely come back and bring her a pair of shoes and a panettone. The abate was calling him, and the next moment he found himself lifted into the carriage, amid the blessings and lamentations of his foster-parents; and with a great baying of dogs and clacking of whipcord the horses clattered out of the farmyard, and turned their heads toward Pianura. The mist had rolled back and fields and vineyards lay bare to the winter moon. The way was lonely, for it skirted the marsh, where no one lived; and only here and there the tall black shadow of a crucifix ate into the whiteness of the road. Shreds of vapour still hung about the hollows, but beyond these fold on fold of translucent hills melted into a sky dewy with stars. Odo cowered in his corner, staring out awestruck at the unrolling of the strange white landscape. He had seldom been out at night, and never in a carriage; and there was something terrifying to him in this flight through the silent moon-washed fields, where no oxen moved in the furrows, no peasants pruned the mulberries, and not a goat's bell tinkled among the oaks. He felt himself alone in a ghostly world from which even the animals had vanished, and at last he averted his eyes from the dreadful scene and sat watching the abate, who had fixed a reading-lamp at his back, and whose hooked-nosed shadow, as the springs jolted him up and down, danced overhead like the huge Pulcinella at the fair of Pontesordo. 1.2. The gleam of a lantern woke Odo. The horses had stopped at the gates of Pianura, and the abate giving the pass-word, the carriage rolled under the gatehouse and continued its way over the loud cobble-stones of the ducal streets. These streets were so dark, being lit but by some lantern projecting here and there from the angle of a wall, or by the flare of an oil-lamp under a shrine, that Odo, leaning eagerly out, could only now and then catch a sculptured palace-window, the grinning mask on the keystone of an archway, or the gleaming yellowish facade of a church inlaid with marbles. Once or twice an uncurtained window showed a group of men drinking about a wineshop table, or an artisan bending over his work by the light of a tallow dip; but for the most part doors and windows were barred and the streets disturbed only by the watchman's cry or by a flash of light and noise as a sedan chair passed with its escort of linkmen and servants. All this was amazing enough to the sleepy eyes of the little boy so unexpectedly translated from the solitude of Pontesordo; but when the carriage turned under another arch and drew up before the doorway of a great building ablaze with lights, the pressure of accumulated emotions made him fling his arms about his preceptor's neck. "Courage, cavaliere, courage! You have duties, you have responsibilities," the abate admonished him; and Odo, choking back his fright, suffered himself to be lifted out by one of the lacqueys grouped about the door. The abate, who carried a much lower crest than at Pontesordo, and seemed far more anxious to please the servants than they to oblige him, led the way up a shining marble staircase where beggars whined on the landings and powdered footmen in the ducal livery were running to and fro with trays of refreshments. Odo, who knew that his mother lived in the Duke's palace, had vaguely imagined that his father's death must have plunged its huge precincts into silence and mourning; but as he followed the abate up successive flights of stairs and down long corridors full of shadow he heard a sound of dance music below and caught the flash of girandoles through the antechamber doors. The thought that his father's death had made no difference to any one in the palace was to the child so much more astonishing than any of the other impressions crowding his brain, that these were scarcely felt, and he passed as in a dream through rooms where servants were quarrelling over cards and waiting-women rummaged in wardrobes full of perfumed finery, to a bedchamber in which a lady dressed in weeds sat disconsolately at supper. "Mamma! Mamma!" he cried, springing forward in a passion of tears. The lady, who was young, pale and handsome, pushed back her chair with a warning hand. "Child," she exclaimed, "your shoes are covered with mud; and, good heavens, how you smell of the stable! Abate, is it thus you teach your pupil to approach me?" "Madam, I am abashed by the cavaliere's temerity. But in truth I believe excessive grief has clouded his wits--'tis inconceivable how he mourns his father!" Donna Laura's eyebrows rose in a faint smile. "May he never have worse to grieve for!" said she in French; then, extending her scented hand to the little boy, she added solemnly: "My son, we have suffered an irreparable loss." Odo, abashed by her rebuke and the abate's apology, had drawn his heels together in a rustic version of the low bow with which the children of that day were taught to approach their parents. "Holy Virgin!" said his mother with a laugh, "I perceive they have no dancing-master at Pontesordo. Cavaliere, you may kiss my hand. So--that's better; we shall make a gentleman of you yet. But what makes your face so wet? Ah, crying, to be sure. Mother of God! as for crying, there's enough to cry about." She put the child aside and turned to the preceptor. "The Duke refuses to pay," she said with a shrug of despair. "Good heavens!" lamented the abate, raising his hands. "And Don Lelio?" he faltered. She shrugged again, impatiently. "As great a gambler as my husband. They're all alike, abate: six times since last Easter has the bill been sent to me for that trifle of a turquoise buckle he made such a to-do about giving me." She rose and began to pace the room in disorder. "I'm a ruined woman," she cried, "and it's a disgrace for the Duke to refuse me." The abate raised an admonishing finger. "Excellency...excellency..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Eh? You're right. Everything is heard here. But who's to pay for my mourning the saints alone know! I sent an express this morning to my father, but you know my brothers bleed him like leeches. I could have got this easily enough from the Duke a year ago--it's his marriage has made him so stiff. That little white-faced fool--she hates me because Lelio won't look at her, and she thinks it's my fault. As if I cared whom he looks at! Sometimes I think he has money put away...all I want is two hundred ducats...a woman of my rank!" She turned suddenly on Odo, who stood, very small and frightened, in the corner to which she had pushed him. "What are you staring at, child? Eh! the monkey is dropping with sleep. Look at his eyes, abate! Here, Vanna, Tonina, to bed with him; he may sleep with you in my dressing-closet, Tonina. Go with her, child, go; but for God's sake wake him if he snores. I'm too ill to have my rest disturbed." And she lifted a pomander to her nostrils. The next few days dwelt in Odo's memory as a blur of strange sights and sounds. The super-acute state of his perceptions was succeeded after a night's sleep by the natural passivity with which children accept the improbable, so that he passed from one novel impression to another as easily and with the same exhilaration as if he had been listening to a fairy tale. Solitude and neglect had no surprises for him, and it seemed natural enough that his mother and her maids should be too busy to remember his presence. For the first day or two he sat unnoticed on his little stool in a corner of his mother's room, while packing-chests were dragged in, wardrobes emptied, mantua-makers and milliners consulted, and troublesome creditors dismissed with abuse, or even blows, by the servants lounging in the ante-chamber. Donna Laura continued to show the liveliest symptoms of concern, but the child perceived her distress to be but indirectly connected with the loss she had suffered, and he had seen enough of poverty at the farm to guess that the need of money was somehow at the bottom of her troubles. How any one could be in want, who slept between damask curtains and lived on sweet cakes and chocolate, it exceeded his fancy to conceive; yet there were times when his mother's voice had the same frightened angry sound as Filomena's on the days when the bailiff went over the accounts at Pontesordo. Her excellency's rooms, during these days, were always crowded, for besides the dressmakers and other merchants there was the hairdresser, or French Monsu--a loud, important figure, with a bag full of cosmetics and curling-irons--the abate, always running in and out with messages and letters, and taking no more notice of Odo than if he had never seen him, and a succession of ladies brimming with condolences, and each followed by a servant who swelled the noisy crowd of card-playing lacqueys in the ante-chamber. Through all these figures came and went another, to Odo the most noticeable,--that of a handsome young man with a high manner, dressed always in black, but with an excess of lace ruffles and jewels, a clouded amber head to his cane, and red heels to his shoes. This young gentleman, whose age could not have been more than twenty, and who had the coldest insolent air, was treated with profound respect by all but Donna Laura, who was for ever quarrelling with him when he was present, yet could not support his absence without lamentations and alarm. The abate appeared to act as messenger between the two, and when he came to say that the Count rode with the court, or was engaged to sup with the Prime Minister, or had business on his father's estate in the country, the lady would openly yield to her distress, crying out that she knew well enough what his excuses meant: that she was the most cruelly outraged of women, and that he treated her no better than a husband. For two days Odo languished in his corner, whisked by the women's skirts, smothered under the hoops and falbalas which the dressmakers unpacked from their cases, fed at irregular hours, and faring on the whole no better than at Pontesordo. The third morning, Vanna, who seemed the most good-natured of the women, cried out on his pale looks when she brought him his cup of chocolate. "I declare," she exclaimed, "the child has had no air since he came in from the farm. What does your excellency say? Shall the hunchback take him for a walk in the gardens?" To this her excellency, who sat at her toilet under the hair-dresser's hands, irritably replied that she had not slept all night and was in no state to be tormented about such trifles, but that the child might go where he pleased. Odo, who was very weary of his corner, sprang up readily enough when Vanna, at this, beckoned him to the inner ante-chamber. Here, where persons of a certain condition waited (the outer being given over to servants and tradesmen), they found a lean humpbacked boy, shabbily dressed in darned stockings and a faded coat, but with an extraordinary keen pale face that at once attracted and frightened the child. "There, go with him; he won't eat you," said Vanna, giving him a push as she hurried away; and Odo, trembling a little, laid his hand in the boy's. "Where do you come from?" he faltered, looking up into his companion's face. The boy laughed and the blood rose to his high cheekbones. "I?--From the Innocenti, if your Excellency knows where that is," said he. Odo's face lit up. "Of course I do," he cried, reassured. "I know a girl who comes from there--the Momola at Pontesordo." "Ah, indeed?" said the boy with a queer look. "Well, she's my sister, then. Give her my compliments when you see her, cavaliere. Oh, we're a large family, we are!" Odo's perplexity was returning. "Are you really Momola's brother?" he asked. "Eh, in a way--we're children of the same house." "But you live in the palace, don't you?" Odo persisted, his curiosity surmounting his fear. "Are you a servant of my mother's?" "I'm the servant of your illustrious mother's servants; the abatino of the waiting-women. I write their love-letters, do you see, cavaliere, I carry their rubbish to the pawnbroker's when their sweethearts have bled them of their savings; I clean the birdcages and feed the monkeys, and do the steward's accounts when he's drunk, and sleep on a bench in the portico and steal my food from the pantry...and my father very likely goes in velvet and carries a sword at his side." The boy's voice had grown shrill, and his eyes blazed like an owl's in the dark. Odo would have given the world to be back in his corner, but he was ashamed to betray his lack of heart; and to give himself courage he asked haughtily: "And what is your name, boy?" The hunchback gave him a gleaming look. "Call me Brutus," he cried, "for Brutus killed a tyrant." He gave Odo's hand a pull. "Come along," said he, "and I'll show you his statue in the garden--Brutus's statue in a prince's garden, mind you!" And as the little boy trotted at his side down the long corridors he kept repeating under his breath in a kind of angry sing-song, "For Brutus killed a tyrant." The sense of strangeness inspired by his odd companion soon gave way in Odo's mind to emotions of delight and wonder. He was, even at that age, unusually sensitive to external impressions, and when the hunchback, after descending many stairs and winding through endless back-passages, at length led him out on a terrace above the gardens, the beauty of the sight swelled his little heart to bursting. A Duke of Pianura had, some hundred years earlier, caused a great wing to be added to his palace by the eminent architect Carlo Borromini, and this accomplished designer had at the same time replanted and enlarged the ducal gardens. To Odo, who had never seen plantations more artful than the vineyards and mulberry orchards about Pontesordo, these perspectives of clipped beech and yew, these knots of box filled in with multi- sand, appeared, with the fountains, colonnades and trellised arbours surmounted by globes of glass, to represent the very pattern and Paradise of gardens. It seemed indeed too beautiful to be real, and he trembled, as he sometimes did at the music of the Easter mass	1,970.498918
2023-11-16 18:49:54.4801020	5,381	6	Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: "You must accept my word."] INSIDE THE LINES _By_ EARL DERR BIGGERS AND ROBERT WELLES RITCHIE _Founded on Earl Derr Biggers' Play of the Same Name_ INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1915 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN. N. Y. CONTENTS CHAPTER I Jane Gerson, Buyer II From the Wilhelmstrasse III Billy Capper at Play IV 32 Queen's Terrace V A Ferret VI A Fugitive VII The Hotel Splendide VIII Chaff of War IX Room D X A Visit to a Lady XI A Spy in the Signal Tower XII Her Country's Example XIII Enter, a Cigarette XIV The Captain Comes to Tea XV The Third Degree XVI The Pendulum of Fate XVII Three-Thirty A. M. XVIII The Trap Is Sprung XIX At the Quay INSIDE THE LINES CHAPTER I JANE GERSON, BUYER "I had two trunks--two, you ninny! Two! _Ou est l'autre?_" The grinning customs guard lifted his shoulders to his ears and spread out his palms. "_Mais, mamselle----_" "Don't you '_mais_' me, sir! I had two trunks--_deux troncs_--when I got aboard that wabbly old boat at Dover this morning, and I'm not going to budge from this wharf until I find the other one. Where _did_ you learn your French, anyway? Can't you understand when I speak your language?" The girl plumped herself down on top of the unhasped trunk and folded her arms truculently. With a quizzical smile, the customs guard looked down into her brown eyes, smoldering dangerously now, and began all over again his speech of explanation. "_Wagon-lit?_" She caught a familiar word. "_Mais oui_; that's where I want to go--aboard your wagon-lit, for Paris. _Voilà!_"--the girl carefully gave the word three syllables--"_mon ticket pour Paree!_" She opened her patent-leather reticule, rummaged furiously therein, brought out a handkerchief, a tiny mirror, a packet of rice papers, and at last a folded and punched ticket. This she displayed with a triumphant flourish. "_Voilà! Il dit_ 'Miss Jane Gerson'; that's me--_moi-meme_, I mean. And _il dit 'deux troncs'_; now you can't go behind that, can you? Where is that other trunk?" A whistle shrilled back beyond the swinging doors of the station. Folk in the customs shed began a hasty gathering together of parcels and shawl straps, and a general exodus toward the train sheds commenced. The girl on the trunk looked appealingly about her; nothing but bustle and confusion; no Samaritan to turn aside and rescue a fair traveler fallen among customs guards. Her eyes filled with trouble, and for an instant her reliant mouth broke its line of determination; the lower lip quivered suspiciously. Even the guard started to walk away. "Oh, oh, please don't go!" Jane Gerson was on her feet, and her hands shot out in an impulsive appeal. "Oh, dear; maybe I forgot to tip you. Here, _attende au secours_, if you'll only find that other trunk before the train----" "Pardon; but if I may be of any assistance----" Miss Gerson turned. A tallish, old-young-looking man, in a gray lounge suit, stood heels together and bent stiffly in a bow. Nothing of the beau or the boulevardier about his face or manner. Miss Gerson accepted his intervention as heaven-sent. "Oh, thank you ever so much! The guard, you see, doesn't understand good French. I just can't make him understand that one of my trunks is missing. And the train for Paris----" Already the stranger was rattling incisive French at the guard. That official bowed low, and, with hands and lips, gave rapid explanation. The man in the gray lounge suit turned to the girl. "A little misunderstanding, Miss--ah----" "Gerson--Jane Gerson, of New York," she promptly supplied. "A little misunderstanding, Miss Gerson. The customs guard says your other trunk has already been examined, passed, and placed on the baggage van. He was trying to tell you that it would be necessary for you to permit a porter to take this trunk to the train before time for starting. With your permission----" The stranger turned and halloed to a porter, who came running. Miss Gerson had the trunk locked and strapped in no time, and it was on the shoulders of the porter. "You have very little time, Miss Gerson. The train will be making a start directly. If I might--ah--pilot you through the station to the proper train shed. I am not presuming?" "You are very kind," she answered hurriedly. They set off, the providential Samaritan in the lead. Through the waiting-room and on to a broad platform, almost deserted, they went. A guard's whistle shrilled. The stranger tucked a helping hand under Jane Gerson's arm to steady her in the sharp sprint down a long aisle between tracks to where the Paris train stood. It began to move before they had reached its mid-length. A guard threw open a carriage door, in they hopped, and with a rattle of chains and banging of buffers the Express du Nord was off on its arrow flight from Calais to the capital. The carriage, which was of the second class, was comfortably filled. Miss Gerson stumbled over the feet of a puffy Fleming nearest the door, was launched into the lap of a comfortably upholstered widow on the opposite seat, ricochetted back to jam an elbow into a French gentleman's spread newspaper, and finally was catapulted into a vacant space next to the window on the carriage's far side. She giggled, tucked the skirts of her pearl-gray duster about her, righted the chic sailor hat on her chestnut-brown head, and patted a stray wisp of hair back into place. Her meteor flight into and through the carriage disturbed her not a whit. As for the Samaritan, he stood uncertainly in the narrow cross aisle, swaying to the swing of the carriage and reconnoitering seating possibilities. There was a place, a very narrow one, next to the fat Fleming; also there was a vacant place next to Jane Gerson. The Samaritan caught the girl's glance in his indecision, read in it something frankly comradely, and chose the seat beside her. "Very good of you, I'm sure," he murmured. "I did not wish to presume----" "You're not," the girl assured, and there was something so fresh, so ingenuous, in the tone and the level glance of her brown eyes that the Samaritan felt all at once distinctly satisfied with the cast of fortune that had thrown him in the way of a distressed traveler. He sat down with a lifting of the checkered Alpine hat he wore and a stiff little bow from the waist. "If I may, Miss Gerson--I am Captain Woodhouse, of the signal service." "Oh!" The girl let slip a little gasp--the meed of admiration the feminine heart always pays to shoulder straps. "Signal service; that means the army?" "His majesty's service; yes, Miss Gerson." "You are, of course, off duty?" she suggested, with the faintest possible tinge of regret at the absence of the stripes and buttons that spell "soldier" with the woman. "You might say so, Miss Gerson. Egypt--the Nile country is my station. I am on my way back there after a bit of a vacation at home--London I mean, of course." She stole a quick side glance at the face of her companion. A soldier's face it was, lean and school-hardened and competent. Lines about the eyes and mouth--the stamp of the sun and the imprint of the habit to command--had taken from Captain Woodhouse's features something of freshness and youth, though giving in return the index of inflexible will and lust for achievement. His smooth lips were a bit thin, Jane Gerson thought, and the out-shooting chin, almost squared at the angles, marked Captain Woodhouse as anything but a trifler or a flirt. She was satisfied that nothing of presumption or forwardness on the part of this hard-molded chap from Egypt would give her cause to regret her unconventional offer of friendship. Captain Woodhouse, in his turn, had made a satisfying, though covert, appraisal of his traveling companion by means of a narrow mirror inset above the baggage rack over the opposite seat. Trim and petite of figure, which was just a shade under the average for height and plumpness; a small head set sturdily on a round smooth neck; face the very embodiment of independence and self-confidence, with its brown eyes wide apart, its high brow under the parting waves of golden chestnut, broad humorous mouth, and tiny nose slightly nibbed upward: Miss Up-to-the-Minute New York, indeed! From the cocked red feather in her hat to the dainty spatted boots Jane Gerson appeared in Woodhouse's eyes a perfect, virile, vividly alive American girl. He'd met her kind before; had seen them browbeating bazaar merchants in Cairo and riding desert donkeys like strong young queens. The type appealed to him. The first stiffness of informal meeting wore away speedily. The girl tactfully directed the channel of conversation into lines familiar to Woodhouse. What was Egypt like; who owned the Pyramids, and why didn't the owners plant a park around them and charge admittance? Didn't he think Rameses and all those other old Pharaohs had the right idea in advertising--putting up stone billboards to last all time? The questions came crisp and startling; Woodhouse found himself chuckling at the shrewd incisiveness of them. Rameses an advertiser and the Pyramids stone hoardings to carry all those old boys' fame through the ages! He'd never looked on them in that light before. "I say, Miss Gerson, you'd make an excellent business person, now, really," the captain voiced his admiration. "Just cable that at my expense to old Pop Hildebrand, of Hildebrand's department store, New York," she flashed back at him. "I'm trying to convince him of just that very thing." "Really, now; a department shop! What, may I ask, do you have to do for--ah--Pop Hildebrand?" "Oh, I'm his foreign buyer," Jane answered, with a conscious note of pride. "I'm over here to buy gowns for the winter season, you see. Paul Poiret--Worth--Paquin; you've heard of those wonderful people, of course?" "Can't say I have," the captain confessed, with a rueful smile into the girl's brown eyes. "Then you've never bought a Worth?" she challenged. "For if you had you'd not forget the name--or the price--very soon." "Gowns--and things are not in my line, Miss Gerson," he answered simply, and the girl caught herself feeling a secret elation. A man who didn't know gowns couldn't be very intimately acquainted with women. And--well-- "And this Hildebrand, he sends you over here alone just to buy pretties for New York's wonderful women?" the captain was saying. "Aren't you just a bit--ah--nervous to be over in this part of the world--alone?" "Not in the least," the girl caught him up. "Not about the alone part, I should say. Maybe I am fidgety and sort of worried about making good on the job. This is my first trip--my very first as a buyer for Hildebrand. And, of course, if I should fall down----" "Fall down?" Woodhouse echoed, mystified. The girl laughed, and struck her left wrist a smart blow with her gloved right hand. "There I go again--slang; 'vulgar American slang,' you'll call it. If I could only rattle off the French as easily as I do New Yorkese I'd be a wonder. I mean I'm afraid I won't make good." "Oh!" "But why should I worry about coming over alone?" Jane urged. "Lots of American girls come over here alone with an American flag pinned to their shirt-waists and wearing a Baedeker for a wrist watch. Nothing ever happens to them." Captain Woodhouse looked out on the flying panorama of straw-thatched houses and fields heavy with green grain. He seemed to be balancing words. He glanced at the passenger across the aisle, a wizened little man, asleep. In a lowered voice he began: "A woman alone--over here on the Continent at this time; why, I very much fear she will have great difficulties when the--ah--trouble comes." "Trouble?" Jane's eyes were questioning. "I do not wish to be an alarmist, Miss Gerson," Captain Woodhouse continued, hesitant. "Goodness knows we've had enough calamity shouters among the Unionists at home. But have you considered what you would do--how you would get back to America in case of--war?" The last word was almost a whisper. "War?" she echoed. "Why, you don't mean all this talk in the papers is----" "Is serious, yes," Woodhouse answered quietly. "Very serious." "Why, Captain Woodhouse, I thought you had war talk every summer over here just as our papers are filled each spring with gossip about how Tesreau is going to jump to the Feds, or the Yanks are going to be sold. It's your regular midsummer outdoor sport over here, this stirring up the animals." Woodhouse smiled, though his gray eyes were filled with something not mirth. "I fear the animals are--stirred, as you say, too far this time," he resumed. "The assassination of the Archduke Ferd----" "Yes, I remember I did read something about that in the papers at home. But archdukes and kings have been killed before, and no war came of it. In Mexico they murder a president before he has a chance to send out 'At home' cards." "Europe is so different from Mexico," her companion continued, the lines of his face deepening. "I am afraid you over in the States do not know the dangerous politics here; you are so far away; you should thank God for that. You are not in a land where one man--or two or three--may say, 'We will now go to war,' and then you go, willy-nilly." The seriousness of the captain's speech and the fear that he could not keep from his eyes sobered the girl. She looked out on the sun-drenched plains of Pas de Calais, where toy villages, hedged fields, and squat farmhouses lay all in order, established, seeming for all time in the comfortable doze of security. The plodding manikins in the fields, the slumberous oxen drawing the harrows amid the beet rows, pigeons circling over the straw hutches by the tracks' side--all this denied the possibility of war's corrosion. "Don't you think everybody is suffering from a bad dream when they say there's to be fighting?" she queried. "Surely it is impossible that folks over here would all consent to destroy this." She waved toward the peaceful countryside. "A bad dream, yes. But one that will end in a nightmare," he answered. "Tell me, Miss Gerson, when will you be through with your work in Paris, and on your way back to America?" "Not for a month; that's sure. Maybe I'll be longer if I like the place." Woodhouse pondered. "A month. This is the tenth of July. I am afraid---- I say, Miss Gerson, please do not set me down for a meddler--this short acquaintance, and all that; but may I not urge on you that you finish your work in Paris and get back to England at least in two weeks?" The captain had turned, and was looking into the girl's eyes with an earnest intensity that startled her. "I can not tell you all I know, of course. I may not even know the truth, though I think I have a bit of it, right enough. But one of your sort--to be caught alone on this side of the water by the madness that is brewing! By George, I do not like to think of it!" "I thank you, Captain Woodhouse, for your warning," Jane answered him, and impulsively she put out her hand to his. "But, you see, I'll have to run the risk. I couldn't go scampering back to New York like a scared pussy-cat just because somebody starts a war over here. I'm on trial. This is my first trip as buyer for Hildebrand, and it's a case of make or break with me. War or no war, I've got to make good. Anyway"--this with a toss of her round little chin--"I'm an American citizen, and nobody'll dare to start anything with me." "Right you are!" Woodhouse beamed his admiration. "Now we'll talk about those skyscrapers of yours. Everybody back from the States has something to say about those famous buildings, and I'm fairly burning for first-hand information from one who knows them." Laughingly she acquiesced, and the grim shadow of war was pushed away from them, though hardly forgotten by either. At the man's prompting, Jane gave intimate pictures of life in the New World metropolis, touching with shrewd insight the fads and shams of New York's denizens even as she exalted the achievements of their restless energy. Woodhouse found secret amusement and delight in her racy nervous speech, in the dexterity of her idiom and patness of her characterizations. Here was a new sort of for him. Not the languid creature of studied suppression and feeble enthusiasm he had known, but a virile, vivid, sparkling woman of a new land, whose impulses were as unhindered as her speech was heterodox. She was a woman who worked for her living; that was a new type, too. Unafraid, she threw herself into the competition of a man's world; insensibly she prided herself on her ability to "make good"--expressive Americanism, that,--under any handicap. She was a woman with a "job"; Captain Woodhouse had never before met one such. Again, here was a woman who tried none of the stale arts and tricks of coquetry; no eyebrow strategy or maidenly simpering about Jane Gerson. Once sure Woodhouse was what she took him to be, a gentleman, the girl had established a frank basis of comradeship that took no reckoning of the age-old conventions of sex allure and sex defense. The unconventionality of their meeting weighed nothing with her. Equally there was not a hint of sophistication on the girl's part. So the afternoon sped, and when the sun dropped over the maze of spires and chimney pots that was Paris, each felt regret at parting. "To Egypt, yes," Woodhouse ruefully admitted. "A dreary deadly 'place in the sun' for me. To have met you, Miss Gerson; it has been delightful, quite." "I hope," the girl said, as Woodhouse handed her into a taxi, "I hope that _if_ that war comes it will find you still in Egypt, away from the firing-line." "Not a fair thing to wish for a man in the service," Woodhouse answered, laughing. "I may be more happy when I say my best wish for you is that _when_ the war comes it will find you a long way from Paris. Good-by, Miss Gerson, and good luck!" Captain Woodhouse stood, heels together and hat in hand, while her taxi trundled off, a farewell flash of brown eyes rewarding him for the military correctness of his courtesy. Then he hurried to another station to take a train--not for a Mediterranean port and distant Egypt, but for Berlin. CHAPTER II FROM THE WILHELMSTRASSE "It would be wiser to talk in German," the woman said. "In these times French or English speech in Berlin----" she finished, with a lifting of her shapely bare shoulders, sufficiently eloquent. The waiter speeded his task of refilling the man's glass and discreetly withdrew. "Oh, I'll talk in German quick enough," the man assented, draining his thin half bubble of glass down to the last fizzing residue in the stem. "Only just show me you've got the right to hear, and the good fat bank-notes to pay; that's all." He propped his sharp chin on a hand that shook slightly, and pushed his lean flushed face nearer hers. An owlish caution fought the wine fancies in his shifting lynx eyes under reddened lids; also there was admiration for the milk-white skin and ripe lips of the woman by his side. For an instant--half the time of a breath--a flash of loathing made the woman's eyes tigerish; but at once they changed again to mild bantering. "So? Friend Billy Capper, of Brussels, has a touch of the spy fever himself, and distrusts an old pal?" She laughed softly, and one slim hand toyed with a heavy gold locket on her bosom. "Friend Billy Capper forgets old times and old faces--forgets even the matter of the Lord Fisher letters----" "Chop it, Louisa!" The man called Capper lapsed into brusk English as he banged the stem of his wineglass on the damask. "No sense in raking that up again--just because I ask you a fair question--ask you to identify yourself in your new job." "We go no further, Billy Capper," she returned, speaking swiftly in German; "not another word between us unless you obey my rule, and talk this language. Why did you get that message through to me to meet you here in the Café Riche to-night if you did not trust me? Why did you have me carry your offer to--to headquarters and come here ready to talk business if it was only to hum and haw about my identifying myself?" The tenseness of exaggerated concentration on Capper's gaunt face began slowly to dissolve. First the thin line of shaven lips flickered and became weak at down-drawn corners; then the frown faded from about the eyes, and the beginnings of tears gathered there. Shrewdness and the stamp of cunning sped entirely, and naught but weakness remained. "Louisa--Louisa, old pal; don't be hard on poor Billy Capper," he mumbled. "I'm down, girl--away down again. Since they kicked me out	1,970.500142
2023-11-16 18:49:54.5841700	1,101	76	Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: When the wagon came Nell was placed inside (page 138)] NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER Told from Charles Dickens's "The Old Curiosity Shop" THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK 1908 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS. I. The Old Curiosity Shop II. Driven from Home III. In the Open Country IV. The Village School V. The Caravan VI. The Wax-work Show VII. Nell the Bread-Winner VIII. Trouble for Nell IX. Flying from Temptation X. A Bed of Ashes XI. A Friend in Need XII. Peace after Storm _LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS._ When the wagon came Nell was placed inside... _Frontispiece_ The old man gave an angry reply Forth from the city went the two poor wanderers (missing from book) So they set off together The tea things were set forth upon a drum (missing from book) After a few moments she moved nearer to the group NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER. Chapter I. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. One evening an Old Gentleman was taking a walk in the city of London, when some one spoke to him in a soft, sweet voice that fell pleasantly upon his ears. He turned hastily round, and found at his elbow a pretty little girl of some thirteen summers, who begged to be directed to a certain street which was in quite another part of London. "It is a very long way from here, my child," said the Old Gentleman. "I know that, sir," she replied timidly. "I am afraid it _is_ a very long way, for I came from there to-night." "Alone?" said the Old Gentleman. "Oh yes; I don't mind that. But I am a little afraid now, for I have lost my road." "And what made you ask it of me? Suppose I should tell you wrong?" "I am sure you will not do that," said the little maiden. "You are such a very old gentleman, and walk so slow yourself." As the child spoke these words a tear came into her clear eye, and her slight figure trembled as she looked up into the Old Gentleman's face. "Come," said he, "I'll take you there." She put her hand in his as if she had known him from her cradle; and they trudged away together, the little creature rather seeming to lead and take care of the Old Gentleman than he to be protecting her. "Who has sent you so far by yourself?" said he. "Somebody who is very kind to me, sir." "And what have you been doing?" "That I must not tell," said the child. The Old Gentleman looked at the little creature with surprise, for he wondered what kind of errand it might be that made her unwilling to answer the question. Her quick eye seemed to read his thoughts. As it met his she added that there was no harm in what she had been doing, but it was a great secret--a secret which she did not even know herself. This was said with perfect frankness. She now walked on as before, talking cheerfully by the way; but she said no more about her home, beyond remarking that they were going quite a new road, and asking if it were a short one. At length, clapping her hands with pleasure and running on before her new friend for a short distance, the little girl stopped at a door, and remaining on the step till the Old Gentleman came up, knocked at it when he joined her. When she had knocked twice or thrice there was a noise as if some person were moving inside, and at length a faint light was seen through the glass of the upper part of the door. As this light approached very slowly it showed clearly both what kind of person it was who advanced and what kind of apartment it was through which he came. He was a little old man, with long gray hair, whose face and figure, as he held the light above his head and looked before him, could be plainly seen. The place through which he made his way was one of those found in odd corners of the town, and known as "curiosity shops." There were suits of mail standing like ghosts in armour here and there; rusty weapons of various kinds; twisted figures in china, and wood, and iron, and ivory; curtains, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams. The thin, worn face of the little old man was suited to the place. He might have groped among old churches, and tombs, and deserted houses, and gathered all the spoils	1,970.60421
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9784230	13	52	Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online	1,970.998463
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9791630	7,435	15	Produced by Chris Curnow, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _Grimm Library_ No. 15 THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT (_Appendix to No. 12, 'The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac'_) _The Grimm Library._ (_Crown 8vo. Net Prices._) I. GEORGIAN FOLK-TALES. Translated by Marjory Wardrop. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 175. 5_s._ II., III., V. THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS. By Edwin Sidney Hartland, F.S.A. 3 vols. L1, 7_s._ 6_d._ Vol. I. THE SUPERNATURAL BIRTH. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxiv + 228 (_not sold separately_). Vol. II. THE LIFE-TOKEN. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ viii + 445. 12_s._ 6_d._ Vol. III. ANDROMEDA. MEDUSA. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxvii + 225. 7_s._ 6_d._ IV., VI. THE VOYAGE OF BRAN, SON OF FEBAL. An Eighth-century Irish Saga, now first edited and translated by Kuno Meyer. Vol. I. With an Essay upon the Happy Otherworld in Irish Myth, by Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xvii + 331. 10_s._ 6_d._ Vol. II. With an Essay on the Celtic Doctrine of Rebirth, by Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 352. 10_s._ 6_d._ VII. THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN. Studies upon its Original Scope and Significance. By Jessie L. Weston, translator of Wolfram von Eschenbach's 'Parzival.' _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xiv + 111. 4_s._ VIII. THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE. Being a Collection of Stories relating to the Hero Cuchullin, translated from the Irish by various Scholars. Compiled and Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Eleanor Hull. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 316. 7_s._ 6_d._ IX., X. THE PRE- AND PROTO-HISTORIC FINNS, both Eastern and Western, with the Magic Songs of the West Finns. By the Hon. John Abercromby. I., _pp._ xxiv + 363. II., _pp._ xiii + 400. L1, 1_s._ XI. THE HOME OF THE EDDIC POEMS. With Especial Reference to the 'Helgi Lays,' by Sophus Bugge, Professor in the University of Christiania. Revised Edition, with a new Introduction concerning Old Norse Mythology. Translated from the Norwegian by William Henry Schofield, Instructor in Harvard University. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 408. 12_s._ 6_d._ XII. THE LEGEND OF SIR LANCELOT DU LAC. Studies upon its Origin, Development, and Position in the Arthurian Romantic Cycle. By Jessie L. Weston. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 252. 7_s._ 6_d._ XIII. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. Its Sources and Analogues. By C. F. Maynadier. _Pp._ xii + 222. 6_s._ XIV. SOHRAB AND RUSTEM. The Epic Theme of a Combat between Father and Son. A Study of its Genesis and Use in Literature and Popular Tradition. By Murray Anthony Potter, A.M. _Pp._ xii + 235. 6_s._ _All rights reserved_ THE Three Days' Tournament A Study in Romance and Folk-Lore _Being an Appendix to the Author's 'Legend of Sir Lancelot'_ By Jessie L. Weston AUTHOR OF 'THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN' ETC., ETC. London Published by David Nutt At the Sign of the Phoenix Long Acre 1902 Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable PREFACE The Study comprised in the following pages should, as the title indicates, be regarded as an Appendix to the Studies on the Lancelot Legend previously published in the Grimm Library Series. As will be seen, they not only deal with an adventure ascribed to that hero, but also provide additional arguments in support of the theory of romantic evolution there set forth. Should the earlier volume ever attain to the honour of a second edition, it will probably be found well to include this Study in the form of an additional chapter; but serious students of Arthurian romance are unfortunately not so large a body that the speedy exhaustion of an edition of any work dealing with the subject can be looked for, and, therefore, as the facts elucidated in the following pages are of considerable interest and importance to all concerned in the difficult task of investigating the sources of the Arthurian legend, it has been thought well to publish them without delay in their present form. In the course of this Study I have, as opportunity afforded, expressed opinions on certain points upon which Arthurian scholars are at issue. Here in these few introductory words I should like, if possible, to make clear my own position with regard to the question of Arthurian criticism as a whole. I shall probably be deemed presumptuous when I say that, so far, I very much doubt whether we have any one clearly ascertained and established fact that will serve as a definite and solid basis for the construction of a working hypothesis as to the origin and development of this immense body of romance. We all of us have taken, and are taking, far too much for granted. We have but very few thoroughly reliable critical editions, based upon a comparative study of all the extant manuscripts. Failing a more general existence of such critical editions, it appears impossible to hope with any prospect of success to 'place' the various romances.[1] Further, it may be doubted if the true conditions of the problem, or problems, involved have even yet been adequately realised. The Arthurian cycle is not based, as is the Charlemagne cycle, upon a solid substratum of fact, which though modified for literary purposes is yet more or less capable of identification and rectification; such basis of historic fact as exists is extremely small, and for critical purposes may practically be restricted to certain definite borrowings from the early chronicles. The great body of Arthurian romance took shape and form in the minds of a people reminiscent of past, hopeful of future, glory, who interwove with their dreams of the past, and their hopes for the future, the current beliefs of the present. To thoroughly understand, and to be able intelligently and helpfully to criticise the Arthurian Legend, it is essential that we do not allow ourselves to be led astray by what we may call the 'accidents' of the problem--the moulding into literary shape under French influence--but rather fix our attention upon the 'essentials'--the radically Celtic and folk-lore character of the material of which it is composed. We need, as it were, to place ourselves _en rapport_ with the mind alike of the conquered and the conquerors. It is not easy to shake ourselves free from the traditions and methods of mere textual criticism and treat a question, which is after all more or less a question of scholarship, on a wider basis than such questions usually demand. Yet, unless I am much mistaken, this adherence to traditional methods, and consequent confusion between what is essential and what merely accidental, has operated disastrously in retarding the progress of Arthurian criticism; because we have failed to realise the true character of the material involved, we have fallen into the error of criticising Arthurian romance as if its beginnings synchronised more or less exactly with its appearance in literary form. A more scientific method will, I believe, before long force us to the conclusion that the majority of the stories existed in a fully developed, coherent, and what we may fairly call a romantic form for a considerable period before they found literary shape. We shall also, probably, find that in their gradual development they owed infinitely less to independent and individual imagination than they did to borrowings from that inexhaustible stock of tales in which all peoples of the world appear to have a common share. Thus I believe that the first two lessons which the student of Arthurian romance should take to heart are (_a_) the extreme paucity of any definite critical result, (_b_) the extreme antiquity of much of the material with which we are dealing. But there is also a third point as yet insufficiently realised--the historic factors of the problem. We hear a great deal of the undying hatred which is supposed to have existed between the Britons and their Saxon conquerors; the historical facts, such as they are, have been worked for all they are worth in the interests of a particular school of criticism; but so far attention has been but little directed to a series of at least equally remarkable historic facts--the deliberate attempts made to conciliate the conquered Britons by a dexterous political use of their national beliefs and aspirations. In 1894, when publishing my first essay in Arthurian criticism, the translation of Wolfram von Eschenbach's _Parzival_, I drew attention to the very curious Angevin allusions of that poem, and the definite parallels to be traced between the incidents of the story and those recorded in the genuine Angevin Chronicles. I then hazarded the suggestion that many of the peculiarities of this version might be accounted for by a desire on the part of the author to compliment the most noted prince of that house by drawing a parallel between the fortunes of Perceval and his mother, Herzeleide, and those of Henry of Anjou and his mother, the Empress Maude. Subsequent study has only confirmed the opinion then tentatively expressed; and I cannot but feel strongly that the average method of criticism, which contents itself merely with discussion of those portions of Wolfram's poem which correspond to other versions of the _Perceval_ story, while it neglects those sections (_i.e._ the Angevin allusions and the Grail 'Templars') to which no parallel can be found elsewhere, is a method which entirely defeats its own object, and one from which only partial results can be obtained. For critical purposes, and for determining certain central problems of the location and growth of the Arthurian Legend in literary form, I doubt whether the _Parzival_ be not the most important extant text of the entire cycle: once realise--as if we thoroughly understand the historic conditions of the time we can scarcely fail to realise--that those two first introductory books could not possibly be written at the date of the composition of the German poem, and we shall then begin to recognise the extreme importance of discovering the when, where, and why of their original composition. Could we solve the riddle of the date and authorship of the earlier poem, that containing the Angevin allusions, the Grail Temple with its knights, and, we may add, the numerous Oriental references, we should, I believe, hold in our hand the master-key which would unlock the main problems confronting us. In all probability that unlocking when it comes will furnish us with more than one surprise. The Arthurian problem is one which appeals not only to the literary critic but also to the historian. Have we not in the past been tempted to regard it too exclusively as the property of the one, and to hold that a British chieftain of whose name and exploits such scanty record survives can scarcely be a worthy subject of serious historic research? But if the study of history fails to elucidate much concerning the personality and feats of Arthur, it may yet discover much with regard to the growth and development of his legend. The Arthurian cycle, both in literary value and in intrinsic interest, forms undoubtedly the most important group in Mediaeval literature. Is it not a reproach to scholars that to-day, at the beginning of the twentieth century, there should be such an utter lack of knowledge of the proper order and relation of the members of that group? The most brilliant Arthurian scholars can offer us no more than an accurate acquaintance with certain texts, and, perhaps, an hypothesis as to their relative order. The result is that a period extending over some fifty years or more of unusual literary activity, and far-reaching influence, lies at present outside the area of scientific knowledge, and is, for teaching purposes, practically non-existent. We cannot write the history of Arthurian literature, we cannot teach or lecture with confidence upon any portion of it, until a more determined and systematic attempt at unravelling its many puzzles be made. Is it not time to seriously consider the desirability of co-ordinating the labours of individual scholars? At present each works, as Hal o' the Wynd fought, for his own hand, and it is only by a happy chance that the work of one supplements and supports that of another. Is not the time ripe for the formation of an International Society, composed of those students, in France, Germany, America and England, who are sincerely interested in the elucidation of this important section of Mediaeval literature, and who, working on an organised and predetermined plan, shall co-operate towards rendering possible the compilation of a really accurate and scientific history of the Arthurian cycle? Those who took a share, however small, in such a work would at least have the satisfaction of knowing that they were contributing, not to the ephemeral curiosity or pleasure of the passing moment, but to the enduring profit and permanent intellectual wealth of the world. Dulwich, _September 1902_. CONTENTS PAGE The Evidence of the Ipomedon, 1-14 The Tournament in Cliges, 14-21 The Tournament in Folk-Tale, 21-34 The Tournament in Romance, 34-43 The Bearing on the Lancelot Story, 43-51 Evidence for an Insular Version of the Romance, 51-59 THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT I _Sul ne sai pas de mentir lart_ _Walter Map reset ben sa part._ _Ipomedon_, fo. 82, ll. 29-30. These words of the author of the _Ipomedon_ were, some years ago, commented upon by Mr. Ward in his valuable _Catalogue of Romances in the British Museum_, vol. i. He there remarks that the allusion is especially valuable as being the direct ascription, by a contemporary, of the character of romance-writer to Walter Map, and that in apparent connection with the romance most persistently attributed to him--the _Prose Lancelot_. The suggestive remarks of Mr. Ward do not appear hitherto to have attracted the attention they deserve. Recently, having occasion to write a brief notice of Walter Map, they came, for the first time, under my notice, and, taken in connection with certain points of the _Lancelot_ study in which I had for some time been engaged, assumed an unexpected importance. It became evident to me that the whole question of the connection of the _Ipomedon_ with Arthurian literature, and the light which the words of the author might throw upon the relation to each other of different forms of the same story, was well worth study; and might eventually be of material assistance in determining the much debated question of the position of Chretien de Troyes in the Arthurian cycle. In the following pages I propose to examine, first, the exact nature and value of the evidence of the _Ipomedon_ as regards Arthurian tradition; second, its bearing upon the versions of a popular incident in romance--the appearance of a knight at a tournament on three consecutive days, in the disguise of three different suits of armour--especially with relation to the versions of the _Prose Lancelot_, the _Lanzelet_ of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven, and the _Cliges_ of Chretien de Troyes. To begin with the _Ipomedon_. As is probably known to most scholars, the scene of this story is laid in the south of Europe--Sicily, Calabria, Apulia--and the names of the characters are largely borrowed from classical sources. The poem relates at considerable length the wooing of the Princess of Calabria, known as _La Fiere_, by Ipomedon, son of the King of Apulia. (In the second part of the poem the hero's father is dead, and he is, himself, king.) The lady has made a vow to wed none but the bravest of knights. Ipomedon, disguised as her cup-bearer, wins her love, and at a three days' tournament, in a varying armour of white, red, and black, wins her hand, but disappears without claiming it, under the pretext that he has not won sufficient fame to satisfy her pride. In the second part of the poem the lady is threatened by an unwelcome suitor, in the person of a hideous giant. Ipomedon, aware of her plight, disguises himself as a fool, and goes to her uncle's court, knowing that she will send thither for aid. He demands from the king the gift of the first combat that shall offer, which is granted as a mere joke. On the appearance of the messenger sent by _La Fiere_--the favourite friend of the princess--Ipomedon claims the fulfilment of the king's pledge, much to the disgust of the maiden, who will have nothing to do with him at first, but whose confidence he wins by his valiant deeds on the journey, defeats and slays the giant; and hindered from evasion by her gallant cousin, who proves to be his own unknown brother, finally marries _La Fiere_, and, we learn, is eventually slain with his brother before Thebes. The author of this poem calls himself Hue de Rotelande, and says that he lives at Credehulle, which Mr. Ward identifies with Credenhill, near Hereford. After completing the _Ipomedon_ he wrote a sequel, _Prothesilaus_, which he dedicated to his patron, Gilbert Fitz-Baderon, Lord of Monmouth. This Gilbert, the only one of his family so named, was Lord of Monmouth certainly from 1176 to 1190-91, and may have succeeded to the dignity earlier, as the last mention of his father is in 1165-66; but the payment by Gilbert of a fine for trespassing in the royal forests in 1176 is the first mention we have of him. As in the _Ipomedon_ Hue refers to the siege of Rouen in 1174, it is clear that both his poems fall between that date and 1190, the year of Gilbert's death, but we cannot date them more exactly.[2] It is, however, certain that he wrote his poems on English ground, consequently it follows as a matter of course that any incident of Arthurian romances to which he may allude must have been known in England at that date. Now what are the indications of familiarity with Arthurian tradition which we find in the _Ipomedon_? Setting aside for the present the Three Days' Tournament, the main subject of our study, we may point out certain other incidents which have attracted the attention of scholars. Professor Koelbing,[3] in his study of the English versions of the poem, remarks justly that every reader must be struck with the close resemblance between the circumstances under which, in the second part of the poem, Ipomedon undertakes the defence of _La Fiere_ and the opening of the _Bel Inconnu_ poems.[4] It may be pointed out that while in the first instance the parallel is with the English rather than with the French version, _i.e._, Ipomedon, like Libeaus Desconus, demands the _first combat_ that shall offer, while Bel Inconnu simply asks that the first request he shall make be granted, the feature that the maiden leaves the court without waiting for her unwelcome defender agrees with the French rather than with the English version: in the latter both depart together. As in all romances of the _Bel Inconnu_ cycle, the messenger is accompanied by a dwarf, who endeavours to induce a more gentle treatment of the knight, and as in all she continues to flout the hero till confuted by his deeds of valour. In the _Ipomedon_, certainly the conversion is more complete, as she offers the hero her love, if he will renounce the quest and accompany her to her own land. It is impossible to read the _Ipomedon_ and to doubt that the author was familiar with the story of Gawain's unnamed son.[5] Again, the seneschal of King Meleager, Cananeus, Caymys, or Kaenius, as his name is variously spelt, with his sharp tongue and overbearing manner, is strongly reminiscent of Sir Kay; and the parallel is further brought out in the encounter with Ipomedon, where that hero thrusts him from his steed, '_tope over tayle_,' breaking in one version his shoulder-blade, in another his arm.[6] This should be compared with Lanzelet's joust with Kay, and its result '_er stach hern Keiin so das im die fueeze harte ho uf ze berge kaften und dem zalehaften daz houbet gein der erde fuor_;[7] also with _Morien_,[8] where Arthur reminds Kay of the result of his joust with Perceval--'_Hine stac u dat u wel sceen dat gi braect u canefbeen, ende dede u oec met onneren beide die vote opwerd keren_.' Professor Koelbing also points out that the position held by Cabaneus, nephew of King Meleager, is analogous to that of Gawain, in the Arthurian cycle (to which I would also add that the name of _La Fiere_ recalls that of _L'Orgueilleuse de Logres_ in Chretien), and decides that the romance, as a whole, '_schliesst sich nach tendenz characterzeichnung und handlung diese klasse (i.e. dem artus-kreise) unverkennbar an_.'[9] That is, the _genre_ of composition was by 1174-90 so well established that it was freely imitated in romances entirely unconnected with the cycle by subject-matter. When, therefore, in direct connection with an adventure of which several versions are preserved in the Arthurian cycle--the Three Days' Tournament--we find the author of the poem excusing himself for somewhat embroidering his tale, and quoting Walter Map as one who practises the same art, our minds naturally turn to the romances of that cycle, and to Map's reputed connection with Arthurian story. As is well known, the question as to the share which may rightly be assigned to Walter Map in the evolution of the Arthurian legend is one of the problems of modern criticism. At one time or another, with the exception of the _Merlin_ and the _Tristan_, all the great prose romances of the cycle, the _Lancelot_, in its completed form, the _Grand S. Graal_, _Queste_, and _Mort Artur_, have been assigned to him,[10] and till quite recently writers on early English literature did not scruple to accept the tradition. Probably even to-day the majority would name Walter Map as the populariser, if not the inventor, of the Grail legend. Those, however, who are familiar at first hand with the romances in question have long since realised that in their present form they represent the result of a long period of accretion, and have undergone many redactions; they cannot possibly, as they now stand, be held to be the work of any one writer, certainly not of one who took so active and leading a part in public affairs as did Map. Further, his own statement, in the famous words recorded by Giraldus Cambrensis, to whom they were addressed, '_Multa_ _scripsistis et multum adhuc scribitis et nos multa diximus. Vos scripta dedistis et nos verba_,' with the application that follows, have been held by Professor Birch-Hirschfeld and other scholars to be a direct denial on his part of any literary activity.[11] At the same time we know Map did write, and was interested in romantic and popular tales, further that he had the reputation of being a poet,[12] and the persistence of the tradition connecting him with the Arthurian cycle can hardly be set aside. The question is, do these words of Hue de Rotelande throw any light upon this disputed point? Can we hope by the aid of this contemporary of Map's to arrive at a conclusion which may assist us in determining the real nature of his contribution to the development of this famous cycle, and will the ascertaining of this fact help us, as the definite establishment of a single fact often does, to solve other problems closely connected therewith? Mr. Ward, when he wrote the article to which I have referred above, expressed a decided opinion on this point; and it appears to me that by following up the lines of research there indicated we shall attain results far more important in themselves, and far more startling in their ultimate effect than he then suspected. First, let us see exactly what Hue says. The passage in question (which will not be found in the translations) occurs at the end of the first portion of the poem. The author has just been relating how his hero, who is living at King Meleager's court, in the assumed character of body-servant to the queen, scouts the idea of attending the tournament which is to decide who shall wed _La Fiere_ of Calabria, loudly expressing his preference for the pleasures of the chase. Each morning he leaves the court before daylight, announcing his departure by loud blasts of the horn; but having reached the forest, where his servant awaits him with steed and armour, he sends his 'Master,' Tholomy, to hunt in his stead; and arming himself each day in a different suit of armour, white, red, and black, proceeds to the tournament, where he carries off the prize for valour, unhorsing all the principal knights on either side, even to the king himself, and his valiant nephew Cabaneus. Each evening he returns to the forest, reassumes his hunter's garb, and with the spoils of the chase won by Tholomy takes his way to the court, where he vaunts the skill of his hounds above that of the unknown knight, and is roundly mocked for his lack of prowess by the ladies. After the third day he leaves secretly, to return to his own land, sending to the king, by the hand of a messenger, the spoils of his three days' victory. The seneschal, Cananeus, volunteers to bring him back, and is punished for his officious interference, as related above.[13] At the conclusion of this episode, Hue states that he is not lying--at least not more than a little--and if he be ''tis but the custom of the day, and all the blame should not be laid upon him, Walter Map is just as bad.' _'Ore entendez seignurs mut ben_ _Hue dit ke il ni ment de ren_ _Fors aukune feiz neent mut_ _Nuls ne se pot garder par tut_ _En mendre afere mut suvent_ _Un bon renable hom mesprent_ _El mund nen ad un sul si sage_ _Ki tuz iurz seit en un curage_ _Kar cist secles lad ore en sei_ _Nel metez mie tut sur mei_ _Sul ne sai pas de mentir lart_ _Walter Map reset ben sa part.'_ --P. 82, ll. 19-30. Now shall we understand this merely as a general allusion, without any special significance, or was there anything in the story which Hue had just been relating which might reasonably be supposed to have brought Map to his mind? Mr. Ward very pertinently draws attention to the fact that this appearance at a tournament on successive days, in different armour, is precisely an adventure attributed to Lancelot, and the _Lancelot_ is the romance most persistently attributed to Map. The parallel to which Mr. Ward refers is that contained in the earlier part of the _Prose Lancelot_.[14] Lancelot first appears at Arthur's court in white armour: he is known as 'le Blanc Chevalier.' On his first absence after receiving knighthood he is taken prisoner by the Lady of Malehaut, who detains him in her castle. A tournament, of a very warlike nature, taking place between Arthur and Galehault, the lady releases Lancelot, who, disguised in red armour, performs deeds of surpassing valour. He returns to prison, and on the encounter between the kings being renewed, again appears, this time in black. Finally, he reveals himself to the queen, and tells her that all the feats of arms he has achieved in the characters of white, red, and black knight were undertaken in her honour. The general resemblance is, as Mr. Ward remarks, too striking to be overlooked; though, as he does _not_ remark, there are certain differences which seem to indicate that the version of the _Prose Lancelot_ has undergone some modification. Thus, there are not three consecutive days, but Lancelot's appearance in the three characters occurs at widely separated intervals. Further, Mr. Ward does not seem to be aware that this is but one instance out of three in which the same, or a similar, adventure is attributed to Lancelot. In the latter part of the _Prose Lancelot_, the section represented by the Dutch translation, we find Arthur holding a tournament, which has been suggested by Guinevere with the view of recalling Lancelot, who has long been absent, to court, and heightening his fame. Lancelot returns secretly, unknown to all but the queen, who sends him a message to come and discomfit the knights who are jealous of him. Lancelot appears in _red_ armour and overthrows them all. The queen demands another tournament in three days' time, when Lancelot appears as a _white_ knight, with the same result. After this he reveals himself to Arthur.[15] But the best parallel is that contained in the _Lanzelet_ of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven. Here Lanzelet makes his first appearance at court at a three days' tournament; the first day dressed in _green_, the second in _white_, the third in _red_; overthrows all opposed to him, including Kay,[16] and takes his departure, without revealing himself. With these repeated parallels before us, it seems impossible to doubt that when Hue de Rotelande referred to Walter Map, in connection with the tournament episode of _Ipomedon_, he had in his mind a version of the _Lancelot_, which also contained such a story, and which was attributed to the latter writer. But what could this version have been? Certainly not the _Prose Lancelot_ in its present form. As we remarked before, this romance is the result of slow growth and successive redactions, and the two parallels contained in it bear marks of modification and dislocation. In my recent studies on the Lancelot legend[17] I have pointed out that in the process of evolution it certainly passed through a stage in which it was closely connected with, and affected by, the _Perceval_ story. Gradually the popularity of the hero of the younger tale obscured that of the elder; and in the _Lancelot_, as we now have it, the traces of _Perceval_ influence have almost disappeared from the majority of the printed versions, though interesting survivals are still to be found in certain manuscripts and in the Dutch translation. Now one of the best known adventures attributed to Perceval is that in which the sight of blood-drops on new-fallen snow--caused by a bird having been wounded, or slain, by a hawk--recalls to his mind the lady of his love, and plunges	1,970.999203
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9793060	95	14	E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Transcriber's note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the end of the text. A BLACK ADONIS. by ALBERT ROSS. * * * *	1,970.999346
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9802470	2,607	64	Produced by Distributed Proofreaders Female Scripture Biography: Including an Essay on What Christianity Has Done for Women. By Francis Augustus Cox, A.M. "It is a necessary charity to the (female) sex to acquaint them with their own value, to animate them to some higher thoughts of themselves, not to yield their suffrage to those injurious estimates the world hath made of them, and from a supposed incapacity of noble things, to neglect the pursuit of them, from which God and nature have no more precluded the feminine than the masculine part of mankind." The Ladies' Calling, Pref. VOL. II. BOSTON: LINCOLN & EDMANDS. 1831. Contents of Vol. I. Essay The Virgin Mary--Chapter I. Section I. Congratulation of the angel Gabriel--advantages of the Christian dispensation--Eve and Mary compared--state of Mary's family at the incarnation--she receives an angelic visit--his promise to her of a son, and prediction of his future greatness--Mary goes to Elizabeth, their meeting--Mary's holy enthusiasm and remarkable language--Joseph informed of the miraculous conception by an angel--general remarks Section II. Nothing happens by chance--dispensations preparatory to the coming of Christ--prophecy of Micah accomplished by means of the decree of Augustus--Mary supernaturally strengthened to attend upon her new-born infant--visit of the shepherds Mary's reflections--circumcision of the child--taken to the temple--Simeon's rapture and prediction--visit and offerings of the Arabian philosophers--general considerations Section III. The flight into Egypt--Herod's cruel proceedings and death--Mary goes to Jerusalem with Joseph--on their return their Child is missing--they find him among the doctors--he returns with them, the feast of Cana--Christ's treatment of his mother when she desired to speak to him--her behaviour at the crucifixion--she is committed to the care of John--valuable lessons to be derived from this touching scene Section IV. Brief account of the extravagant regard which has been paid to the Virgin Mary at different periods--the names by which she has been addressed, and the festivals instituted to honour her memory--general remarks on the nature and character of superstition, particularly that of the Catholics Elizabeth--Chapter II. The angelic appearance to Zacharias--birth of John characters of Elizabeth and Zacharias--importance of domestic union being founded on religion, shown in them--their venerable age--the characteristic features of their piety--the happiness of a life like theirs--the effect it is calculated to produce on others--the perpetuation of holy friendship through immortal ages--the miserable condition of the irreligious Anna--Chapter III. Introduction of Anna into the sacred story--inspired description of her--the aged apt to be unduly attached to life--Anna probably religious at an early period--Religion the most substantial support amidst the infirmities of age--the most effectual guard against its vices--and the best preparation for its end The Woman of Samaria--Chapter IV. Account of Christ's journey through Samaria--he arrives at Jacob's well--enters into conversation with a woman of the country--her misapprehensions--the discovery of his character to her as a prophet her convictions--her admission of his claim as the true Messiah, which she reports in the city--the great and good effect--reflections The Woman Who Was a Sinner--Chapter V. Jesus and John contrasted--the former goes to dine at the house of a Pharisee--a notorious woman introduces herself, and weeps at his feet--remarks on true repentance and faith, as exemplified in her conduct--surmises of Simon the Pharisee--the answer of Jesus the woman assured of forgiveness--instructions deducible from the parable The Syrophenician--Chapter VI. Introductory observations--Christ could not be concealed the Syrophenician woman goes to him on account of her daughter--her humility--earnestness--faith--the silence of Christ upon her application to him--the disciples repulsed--the woman's renewed importunity--the apparent scorn with which it is treated--her admission of the contemptuous insinuation--her persevering ardour--her ultimate success--the necessity of being importunate in prayer--remarks on the woman's national character--present state of the Jews: the hope of their final restoration, Martha and Mary--Chapter VII. Bethany distinguished as the residence of a pious family, which consisted of Lazarus and his two sisters--their diversity of character--the faults of Martha, domestic vanity and fretfulness of temper--her counterbalancing excellencies--Mary's choice and Christ's commendation--decease of Lazarus--his restoration to life at the voice of Jesus--remarks on death being inflicted upon the people of God as well as others--the triumph which Christianity affords over this terrible evil--account of Mary's annointing the feet of Jesus, and his vindication of her conduct, The Poor Widow--Chapter VIII. Account of Christ's sitting over against the treasury--he particularly notices the conduct of an obscure individual--she casts in two mites--it is to be viewed as a religious offering--the ground on which it is eulogized by Christ--the example honorable to the female sex--people charitable from different motives--two reasons which might have been pleaded as an apology for withholding this donation she was poor and a widow--her pious liberality notwithstanding--all have something to give--the most trifling sum of importance--the habit of bestowing in pious charity beneficial motives to gratitude deduced from the wretchedness of others, the promises of God, and the cross of Jesus, Sapphira--Chapter IX. Mixed constitution of the church of Christ--benevolent spirit of the primitive believers at Jerusalem--anxiety of Ananias and Sapphira to appear as zealous and liberal as others--Ananias repairs to the apostles to deposit the price of his possessions--is detected in deception and dies--similar deceit and death of Sapphira--nature and progress of apostasy--peculiar guilt of Sapphira--agency of Satan distinctly marked--diabolical influence ascertained--consolatory sentiments suggested to Christians, Dorcas--Chapter X. Joppa illustrious on many accounts, particularly as the residence of Dorcas--she was a disciple of Christ--faith described as the principle of discipleship--the inspired testimony to the character of Dorcas--she was probably a widow or an aged maiden--remarks on reproaches commonly cast upon the latter class of women--Dorcas exhibited as a pattern of liberality, being prompt in the relief she afforded--her charities abundant--and personally bestowed: observations on the propriety of visiting the poor--the charities of Dorcas often free and unsolicited--wise and conducted upon a plan--the pretences of the uncharitable stated and confuted--riches only valuable as they are used in bountiful distribution, Lydia--Chapter XI. Account of Paul and his companions meeting with Lydia by the river-side at Philippi--the impression produced upon her heart by the preaching of Paul--the remarks on conversion, as exemplified in the case of this disciple--its seat the heart--its accomplishment the result of divine agency--the manner of it noticed: the effects of a divine influence upon the human mind, namely, attention to the word of God and the ordinances of the Gospel, and affectionate regard to the servants of Christ--remarks on the paucity of real Christians--the multiplying power of Christianity--its present state in Britain--efforts of the Bible Society Female Scripture Biography Vol. II The Virgin Mary. Chapter I. Section I. Congratulation of the Angel Gabriel--Advantages of the Christian Dispensation--Eve and Mary compared--State of Mary's Family at the Incarnation--she receives an angelic Visit--his Promise to her of a Son, and Prediction of his future Greatness--Mary goes to Elizabeth--their Meeting--Mary's holy Enthusiasm and remarkable Language--Joseph informed of the miraculous Conception by an Angel--general Remarks. "HAIL, THOU THAT ART HIGHLY FAVOURED, THE LORD IS WITH THEE! BLESSED ART THOU AMONG WOMEN!" Such was the congratulatory language in which the commissioned angel addressed the virgin of Nazareth, when about to announce the intention of Heaven, that she should become the mother of Jesus; and such the strain which we cannot help feeling disposed to adopt, while recording her illustrious name, and contemplating this wonderful transaction. On Mary devolved the blessing which the most pious of women had for a long succession of ages so eagerly desired, and which had often created such an impatience for the birth of children, in some of whom they indulged the sublime hope of seeing the promised Messiah. In her offspring was accomplished the long series of prophecy which commenced even at the moment when the justice of God pronounced a sentence of condemnation upon rebellious man; and which, like a bright track extending through the moral night, and shining amidst the typical shadows of the Mosaic dispensation, fixed the attention of patriarchs, and prophets, and saints, for four thousand years:--and upon this otherwise obscure and insignificant female beamed the first ray of that evangelical morning which rose upon the world with such blissful radiance, and is increasing to the "perfect day." Infidels may contemplate the manifestation with unholy ridicule or vain indifference; but we will neither consent to renounce the evidence afforded to the historic fact, nor cease to celebrate the mysterious miracle. We will unite with the impassioned angel, at least in the sentiment and spirit of his address; and join the high praises of the midnight anthem, sung by descending spirits in the fields of Bethlehem: "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOOD WILL TOWARDS MEN!" In the course of Scripture history, we are now advanced to that period which the apostle emphatically denominates "the last days," in which "God, who at sundry times and in divers manners, spake in time past, unto the fathers by the prophets," speaks to us "by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds." Let us hear his voice, admit his claims, and bow to his dictates. As truth arises upon us with greater splendour, we shall find that character is formed to greater maturity under the immediate influence of "the ministration of righteousness" which "exceeds in glory." By the unparalleled transactions of this age we shall see the whole energy of the human mind drawn forth, and furnished with ample scope for exercise; all the faculties become ennobled and purified; and the female sex especially, from the days of Elizabeth and Mary to the close of the sacred record, becomes marked with a holy singularity. By the starlight of the former dispensation, we have discovered many women of superior excellence, availing themselves of all the means they enjoyed, and presenting a pre-eminence of character proportioned to their comparatively few advantages and imperfect revelation; but amidst the splendours of	1,971.000287
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9864620	2,422	25	Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The Table of Contents is placed after the Preface. This book contains illustrations showing some of the tricks described. The illustrations are available in the HTML version. In this text-only version they are replaced by the place-holder "[Illustration]", but in the section "Match Puzzles", some simple ASCII diagrams have been created to represent the matches when possible. In the text-only version, italic type is marked _like this_, and bold face like this. Footnotes are represented with uppercase letters in square brackets. Two publisher's advertisement pages were placed at the beginning of the book in the printed edition, in this version they have been moved to the end, with the other advertisement pages. A list of changes to the original publication is given at the end. More Conjuring. [Illustration] By HERCAT. HERCAT'S SIMPLE TRICKS MORE CONJURING BY HERCAT Simple Tricks for Social Gatherings BY THE AUTHOR OF "LATEST SLEIGHTS AND ILLUSIONS," "HERCAT'S CARD TRICKS," "CONJURING UP TO DATE," "HERCAT'S VENTRILOQUIST," "HERCAT'S CHAPEAUGRAPHY, SHADOWGRAPHY, AND PAPER FOLDING," ETC. [Illustration: D&S limited] London: DEAN & SON, Ltd., [Illustration: Hamley's 160a, 35, NEW OXFORD STREET, Fleet Street, LONDON, W.C.] E.C. 1912 PREFACE The title of this little brochure indicates its contents. _Simple Tricks_ and simple tricks only. No apparatus is required and but little sleight-of-hand is needed in the performance of any of them. They consist of a series of tricks and problems, easily acquired, suitable for gatherings round the table on winter evenings. Some of them are new and many are old; but even the oldest are new to the rising generation. For six of the latest tricks,--"A Hindoo Swindle," "The Elusive Match," "A Subtle Impromptu Effect with a Coin," "A Novel Card Effect," "An Artful Card Force," and "Another Easy Card Force,"--I am indebted to my friend Mr. F. Walford Perry, a thoroughly up-to-date and original young conjurer. As I have already said, I have included no tricks which require the exercise of much sleight-of-hand; but even the most simple trick should be thoroughly practised before you present it to your friends, especially those tricks which require the assistance of a confederate. Rehearse everything with him thoroughly beforehand. Even your "patter" should be rehearsed. But endeavour to lead your audience to believe that, like "Mr. Wemmick's" marriage, it is all impromptu. He said, "Hello! here's a church. Let's have a wedding." You say, "Hand me that serviette ring and I'll show you a trick." If, when the contents of this little volume have been thoroughly digested, my readers desire to make a study of more advanced legerdemain, I recommend my _Conjuring Up to Date_, _Card Tricks with and without Apparatus_, and _Latest Sleights and Illusions_ to their notice. For tricks which require apparatus my readers cannot do better than to send to Messrs. Hamley Bros., Ltd., 35, New Oxford Street, or one of their branches, for their Magical Catalogue. _The Daily Telegraph_, in a recent article on "Magic Fifty Years Ago," used these words: "Hamleys' were then, as they are now, the premier manufacturers of magical apparatus." A statement which I cordially endorse. The apparatus sold by Messrs. Hamley Bros. is invariably reliable. In conclusion I beg to offer my readers the following advice:-- Never state the nature of the trick you are about to perform. Make it a rule never to repeat a trick the same evening unless you have acquired a different way of showing it. In fact, it is advisable to learn several methods of presenting the same trick. Talk as much as possible and make your "patter" lively, but do not try to be funny unless you are naturally humorous; and, above all, avoid allusions to politics, religion, or any subject about which there may be a diversity of opinion among your audience. HERCAT. CONTENTS SIMPLE CARD TRICKS PAGE An Easy Method of Finding a Selected Card 9 To Bring a Chosen Card from the Bottom of the Pack at any Number Requested 10 A Chosen Card Shaken through a Handkerchief 10 A Selected Card found in a Lighted Cigarette 12 A Sticking Card 13 Two Selected Cards Caught in the Air 13 An Easy but Puzzling Trick 14 Travelling Cards 14 To Name all the Cards in the Pack 16 A New Method 16 The Sense of Touch 17 Where is the Ace? 18 To Make a Person Name a Card which You have Yourself Selected 19 The Clock 21 How to Guess Cards Thought of 22 An Ingenious Card Trick 23 To Name a Card which Some One has Thought of 25 The Rejected Recruits--a Laughable Trick 26 A Novel Card Effect 26 An Artful Card Force 28 Another Easy Card Force 28 A Simple but Puzzling Card Trick 29 SIMPLE COIN TRICKS How to Detect a Marked Coin 30 A Penetrative Shilling 30 Another Simple Trick 31 A Coin to Disappear from Your Cheek and Reappear at Your Elbow 32 Two Vanished Half-Crowns 33 A Divination 33 An Effective but Simple Trick 34 Changing Apple and Coins 35 An Obedient Sixpence 36 Coin and Glass 36 A Simple Experiment with Four Shillings 38 Puzzle of Ten Halfpence 39 How to Increase Your Wealth 39 A Neat Coin Trick 40 A Subtle Impromptu Effect with a Coin 41 An Original Coin Swindle 42 A Cross 43 SIMPLE TRICKS WITH HANDKERCHIEFS, RINGS, CANDLES, ETC. A Knot that Cannot be Drawn Tight 44 To Tie an Instantaneous Knot in a Handkerchief 45 Half a Burnt Message Found Restored in a Candle 46 Two Good Ring Tricks 47 SIMPLE ARITHMETICAL PROBLEMS To Ascertain a Number Thought of 49 How to Name a Number which has been Erased 51 A Lesson in the Correct Formation of a Figure 52 Four Nines Problem 53 An Answer to a Sum Given in Advance 53 An Arithmetical Puzzle 54 An Arithmetical Mystery 55 How to Tell Her Age 55 A Race in Addition 56 To Predict the Hour Your Friend Intends to Rise on the Following Morning 57 MATCH PUZZLES Experiment with Ten Matches 59 The Magic Nine 60 Triangles with Matches 61 Match Squares 61 Your Opponent must Take the Last Match 62 A Shakespearean Quotation 63 Numeral 63 Six and Five Make Nine 63 The Artful Schoolboys 64 What are Matches Made of? 66 A Sheep Pen 66 Post and Rail Puzzle 67 SIMPLE MISCELLANEOUS TRICKS A Good After-Dinner Trick 68 To Remove a Serviette Ring from a Tape Held on the Thumbs of Another Person 70 An Experiment in Gravity 71 A Scissors Feat 71 Another Trick with a Pair of Scissors 72 An Indestructible Cigarette Paper 73 To Cut an Apple in Two with Your Finger 74 A Trick with Dominoes 74 An Escape 75 Cigarette Papers and Serviettes 76 Four Cigarette Papers 77 A Hindoo Swindle 77 The Elusive Match--a Capital Impromptu Trick 79 SIMPLE CARD TRICKS AN EASY METHOD OF FINDING A SELECTED CARD Throw the pack on the table and request some one to select a card. Then gather up the rest of the cards and request your friend to show his card to his neighbour, to avoid mistakes. While this is being done bend the pack slightly while pretending to shuffle it, and cause the card to be returned and the pack shuffled. The selected card can then be easily detected among the bent cards by its being perfectly straight. A good way to finish the trick is to bring the card to the top of the pack and cause it to project about an inch over the right side; cover the front end of the pack with your four fingers so that the edge of the projecting card is concealed, and, with your thumb at the other end, hold the pack firmly about eighteen inches above the table. Request the person who drew the card to call it by name. On this being done, drop the pack on the table, when the projecting card will be completely turned over by the air in its descent and lie perfectly square on the top of the pack. Another good finish is to bring the chosen card to the bottom of the pack, and requesting the person who selected it to hold the pack by pinching it tightly between his finger and thumb close to the corner, you give the pack a sharp rap, when all the cards will fall excepting the one chosen. TO BRING A CHOSEN CARD FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE PACK AT ANY NUMBER REQUESTED Ask a member of the company to take a card, look at it, and return it to the pack. Make the "pass" (_Hercat's Card Tricks_, p. 7); "palm" the card (_Card Tricks_, p. 18) and hand the pack to be shuffled. While this is being done transfer the palmed card to your left hand, and on receiving the pack back, place it over the concealed card, and tell the company you will produce the latter from the bottom of the pack at	1,971.006502
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9866930	29	6	Produced by Maria Notarangelo and Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously	1,971.006733
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9877230	892	8	Produced by Barbara Tozier, Jane Hyland, Bill Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Secret Memoirs THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY 1891-1902 This edition, printed on Japanese vellum paper, is limited to two hundred and fifty copies. No. ________ [Illustration: LOUISE, EX-CROWN-PRINCESS OF SAXONY Photo taken shortly before her flight from Dresden] Secret Memoirs THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY 1891-1902 THE STORY OF LOUISE CROWN PRINCESS FROM THE PAGES OF HER DIARY, LOST AT THE TIME OF HER ELOPEMENT FROM DRESDEN WITH M. ANDRE ("RICHARD") GIRON BY HENRY W. FISCHER Author of "Private Lives of William II and His Consort," "Secret History of the Court of Berlin," etc., etc. Illustrated from Photographs BENSONHURST, NEW YORK FISCHER'S FOREIGN LETTERS, INC. PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1912 BY HENRY W. FISCHER Copyright, 1912, applied for by Henry W. Fischer in Great Britain Copyright, 1912, by Henry W. Fischer, in Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, and all foreign countries having international copyright arrangements with the United States [_All rights reserved, including those of translation_] EDITOR'S CARD This is to certify that the Ex-Crown Princess of Saxony, now called Countess Montiguoso, Madame Toselli by her married name, is in no way, either directly or indirectly, interested in this publication. There has been no communication of whatever nature, directly or through a third party, between this lady and the editor or publishers. In fact, the publication will be as much a surprise to her as to the general public. The Royal Court of Saxony, therefore, has no right to claim, on the ground of this publication, that Princess Louise violated her agreement with that court as set forth in the chapter on the _Kith and Kin of the ex-Crown Princess of Saxony_, under the heads of "_Louise's Alimony and Conditions_" and "_Allowance Raised and a Further Threat_." HENRY W. FISCHER, _Editor_. Fischer's Foreign Letters, Publishers THIS BOOK AND ITS PURPOSE By Henry W. Fischer Of Memoirs that are truly faithful records of royal lives, we have a few; the late Queen Victoria led the small number of crowned autobiographists only to discourage the reading of self-satisfied royal ego-portrayals forever, but in the Story of Louise of Saxony we have the main life epoch of a Cyprian Royal, who had no inducement to say anything false and is not afraid to say anything true. For the Saxon Louise wrote not to guide the hand of future official historiographers, or to make virtue distasteful to some sixty odd grand-children, bored to death by the recital of the late "Mrs. John Brown's" sublime goodness:--Louise wrote for her own amusement, even as Pepys did when he diarized the peccadilloes of the Second Charles' English and French "hures" (which is the estimate these ladies put upon themselves).[1] The ex-Crown Princess of Saxony suffered much in her youth by a narrow-minded, bigoted mother, a Sadist like the monstrous Torquemada; marriage, she imagined, spelled a rich husband, more lover than master; freedom from tyranny, paltry surroundings, interference. To her untutored mind, life at the Saxon Court meant right royal splendor, liberty to do as one pleases, the companionship of agreeable, amusing and ready-to-serve friends. _The Sad Saxon Court_ Her experience? Instead of the Imperial mother who took delight in cutting her children's faces with diamonds and exposing her daughters to the foul mach	1,971.007763
2023-11-16 18:49:54.9894790	94	13	Produced by Rose Mawhorter and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) [Illustration: DAVID LOW DODGE] WAR INCONSISTENT WITH THE RELIGION OF JESUS CHRIST BY DAVID LOW DODGE WITH	1,971.009519
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1784400	1,307	16	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	1,971.19848
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1831340	331	19	Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton 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: GUTENBERG TAKES THE FIRST PROOF] Historic Inventions By RUPERT S. HOLLAND _Author of "Historic Boyhoods," "Historic Girlhoods," "Builders of United Italy," etc._ PHILADELPHIA GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1911, by GEORGE W. JACOBS AND COMPANY _Published August, 1911_ _All rights reserved_ Printed in U.S.A. _To J. W. H._ CONTENTS I. GUTENBERG AND THE PRINTING PRESS 9 II. PALISSY AND HIS ENAMEL 42 III. GALILEO AND THE TELESCOPE 53 IV. WATT AND THE STEAM-ENGINE 70 V. ARKWRIGHT AND THE SPINNING-JENNY 84 VI. WHITNEY AND THE COTTON-GIN 96 VII. FULTON AND THE STEAMBOAT 111 VIII. DAVY AND THE SAFETY-LAMP 126	1,971.203174
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1844180	4,217	7	Produced by Henry Flower, Jonathan Ingram, Suzanne Lybarger, the booksmiths at eBookForge and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note Italics are indicated by _underscores_, and bold text by =equals= signs. [Illustration: HENRY MAYHEW. [_From a Daguerreotype by_ BEARD.]] LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR A Cyclopædia of the Condition and Earnings OF THOSE THAT _WILL_ WORK THOSE THAT _CANNOT_ WORK, AND THOSE THAT _WILL NOT_ WORK BY HENRY MAYHEW THE LONDON STREET-FOLK COMPRISING STREET SELLERS · STREET BUYERS · STREET FINDERS STREET PERFORMERS · STREET ARTIZANS · STREET LABOURERS WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS VOLUME ONE First edition 1851 (_Volume One only and parts of Volumes Two and Three_) Enlarged edition (Four volumes) 1861-62 New impression 1865 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. THE STREET-FOLK. PAGE WANDERING TRIBES IN GENERAL 1 WANDERING TRIBES IN THE COUNTRY 2 THE LONDON STREET-FOLK 3 COSTERMONGERS 4 STREET SELLERS OF FISH 61 STREET SELLERS OF FRUIT AND VEGETABLES 79 STATIONARY STREET SELLERS OF FISH, FRUIT, AND VEGETABLES 97 THE STREET IRISH 104 STREET SELLERS OF GAME, POULTRY, RABBITS, BUTTER, CHEESE, AND EGGS 120 STREET SELLERS OF TREES, SHRUBS, FLOWERS, ROOTS, SEEDS, AND BRANCHES 131 STREET SELLERS OF GREEN STUFF 145 STREET SELLERS OF EATABLES AND DRINKABLES 158 STREET SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE, AND THE FINE ARTS 213 STREET SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES 323 THE WOMEN STREET SELLERS 457 THE CHILDREN STREET SELLERS 468 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. LONDON COSTERMONGER Page 13 THE COSTER GIRL „ 37 THE OYSTER STALL „ 49 THE ORANGE MART (DUKE’S PLACE) „ 73 THE IRISH STREET-SELLER „ 97 THE WALL-FLOWER GIRL „ 127 THE GROUNDSELL MAN „ 147 THE BAKED POTATO MAN „ 167 THE COFFEE STALL To face page 184 COSTER BOY AND GIRL “TOSSING THE PIEMAN” „ 196 DOCTOR BOKANKY, THE STREET-HERBALIST „ 206 THE LONG SONG SELLER „ 222 ILLUSTRATIONS OF STREET ART, NO. I. „ 224 „ „ NO. II. „ 238 THE HINDOO TRACT SELLER „ 242 THE “KITCHEN,” FOX COURT „ 251 ILLUSTRATIONS OF STREET ART, NO. III. „ 278 THE BOOK AUCTIONEER „ 296 THE STREET-SELLER OF NUTMEG-GRATERS „ 330 THE STREET-SELLER OF DOG-COLLARS „ 360 THE STREET-SELLER OF CROCKERYWARE „ 366 THE BLIND BOOT-LACE SELLER „ 406 THE STREET-SELLER OF GREASE-REMOVING COMPOSITION „ 428 THE LUCIFER-MATCH GIRL „ 432 THE STREET-SELLER OF WALKING-STICKS „ 438 THE STREET-SELLER OF RHUBARB AND SPICE „ 452 THE STREET-SELLER OF COMBS „ 458 PORTRAIT OF MR. MAYHEW To face the Title Page PREFACE. The present volume is the first of an intended series, which it is hoped will form, when complete, a cyclopædia of the industry, the want, and the vice of the great Metropolis. It is believed that the book is curious for many reasons: It surely may be considered curious as being the first attempt to publish the history of a people, from the lips of the people themselves--giving a literal description of their labour, their earnings, their trials, and their sufferings, in their own “unvarnished” language; and to pourtray the condition of their homes and their families by personal observation of the places, and direct communion with the individuals. It may be considered curious also as being the first commission of inquiry into the state of the people, undertaken by a private individual, and the first “blue book” ever published in twopenny numbers. It is curious, moreover, as supplying information concerning a large body of persons, of whom the public had less knowledge than of the most distant tribes of the earth--the government population returns not even numbering them among the inhabitants of the kingdom; and as adducing facts so extraordinary, that the traveller in the undiscovered country of the poor must, like Bruce, until his stories are corroborated by after investigators, be content to lie under the imputation of telling such tales, as travellers are generally supposed to delight in. Be the faults of the present volume what they may, assuredly they are rather short-comings than exaggerations, for in every instance the author and his coadjutors have sought to understate, and most assuredly never to exceed the truth. For the omissions, the author would merely remind the reader of the entire novelty of the task--there being no other similar work in the language by which to guide or check his inquiries. When the following leaves are turned over, and the two or three pages of information derived from books contrasted with the hundreds of pages of facts obtained by positive observation and investigation, surely some allowance will be made for the details which may still be left for others to supply. Within the last two years some thousands of the humbler classes of society must have been seen and visited with the especial view of noticing their condition and learning their histories; and it is but right that the truthfulness of the poor generally should be made known; for though checks have been usually adopted, the people have been mostly found to be astonishingly correct in their statements,--so much so indeed, that the attempts at deception are certainly the exceptions rather than the rule. Those persons who, from an ignorance of the simplicity of the honest poor, might be inclined to think otherwise, have, in order to be convinced of the justice of the above remarks, only to consult the details given in the present volume, and to perceive the extraordinary agreement in the statements of all the vast number of individuals who have been seen at different times, and who cannot possibly have been supposed to have been acting in concert. The larger statistics, such as those of the quantities of fish and fruit, &c., sold in London, have been collected from tradesmen connected with the several markets, or from the wholesale merchants belonging to the trade specified--gentlemen to whose courtesy and co-operation I am indebted for much valuable information, and whose names, were I at liberty to publish them, would be an indisputable guarantee for the facts advanced. The other statistics have been obtained in the same manner--the best authorities having been invariably consulted on the subject treated of. It is right that I should make special mention of the assistance I have received in the compilation of the present volume from Mr. HENRY WOOD and Mr. RICHARD KNIGHT (late of the City Mission), gentlemen who have been engaged with me from nearly the commencement of my inquiries, and to whose hearty co-operation both myself and the public are indebted for a large increase of knowledge. Mr. Wood, indeed, has contributed so large a proportion of the contents of the present volume that he may fairly be considered as one of its authors. The subject of the Street-Folk will still require another volume, in order to complete it in that comprehensive manner in which I am desirous of executing the modern history of this and every other portion of the people. There still remain--the _Street-Buyers_, the _Street-Finders_, the _Street-Performers_, the _Street-Artizans_, and the _Street-Labourers_, to be done, among the several classes of street-people; and the _Street Jews_, the _Street Italians and Foreigners_, and the _Street Mechanics_, to be treated of as varieties of the order. The present volume refers more particularly to the _Street-Sellers_, and includes special accounts of the _Costermongers_ and the _Patterers_ (the two broadly-marked varieties of street tradesmen), the _Street Irish_, the _Female Street-Sellers_, and the _Children Street-Sellers_ of the metropolis. My earnest hope is that the book may serve to give the rich a more intimate knowledge of the sufferings, and the frequent heroism under those sufferings, of the poor--that it may teach those who are beyond temptation to look with charity on the frailties of their less fortunate brethren--and cause those who are in “high places,” and those of whom much is expected, to bestir themselves to improve the condition of a class of people whose misery, ignorance, and vice, amidst all the immense wealth and great knowledge of “the first city in the world,” is, to say the very least, a national disgrace to us. LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. THE STREET-FOLK. OF WANDERING TRIBES IN GENERAL. Of the thousand millions of human beings that are said to constitute the population of the entire globe, there are--socially, morally, and perhaps even physically considered--but two distinct and broadly marked races, viz., the wanderers and the settlers--the vagabond and the citizen--the nomadic and the civilized tribes. Between these two extremes, however, ethnologists recognize a mediate variety, partaking of the attributes of both. There is not only the race of hunters and manufacturers--those who live by shooting and fishing, and those who live by producing--but, say they, there are also the herdsmen, or those who live by tending and feeding, what they consume. Each of these classes has its peculiar and distinctive physical as well as moral characteristics. “There are in mankind,” says Dr. Pritchard, “three principal varieties in the form of the head and other physical characters. Among the rudest tribes of men--the hunters and savage inhabitants of forests, dependent for their supply of food on the accidental produce of the soil and the chase--a form of head is prevalent which is mostly distinguished by the term “_prognathous_,” indicating a prolongation or extension forward of the jaws. A second shape of the head belongs principally to such races as wander with their herds and flocks over vast plains; these nations have broad lozenge-shaped faces (owing to the great development of the cheek bones), and pyramidal skulls. The most civilized races, on the other hand--those who live by the arts of cultivated life,--have a shape of the head which differs from both of those above mentioned. The characteristic form of the skull among these nations may be termed oval or elliptical.” These three forms of head, however, clearly admit of being reduced to two broadly-marked varieties, according as the bones of the face or those of the skull are more highly developed. A greater relative development of the jaws and cheek bones, says the author of the “Natural History of Man,” indicates a more ample extension of the organs subservient to sensation and the animal faculties. Such a configuration is adapted to the wandering tribes; whereas, the greater relative development of the bones of the skull--indicating as it does a greater expansion of the brain, and consequently of the intellectual faculties--is especially adapted to the civilized races or settlers, who depend mainly on their knowledge of the powers and properties of things for the necessaries and comforts of life. Moreover it would appear, that not only are all races divisible into wanderers and settlers, but that each civilized or settled tribe has generally some wandering horde intermingled with, and in a measure preying upon, it. According to Dr. Andrew Smith, who has recently made extensive observations in South Africa, almost every tribe of people who have submitted themselves to social laws, recognizing the rights of property and reciprocal social duties, and thus acquiring wealth and forming themselves into a respectable caste, are surrounded by hordes of vagabonds and outcasts from their own community. Such are the Bushmen and _Sonquas_ of the Hottentot race--the term “_sonqua_” meaning literally _pauper_. But a similar condition in society produces similar results in regard to other races; and the <DW5>s have their Bushmen as well as the Hottentots--these are called _Fingoes_--a word signifying wanderers, beggars, or outcasts. The Lappes seem to have borne a somewhat similar relation to the Finns; that is to say, they appear to have been a wild and predatory tribe who sought the desert like the Arabian Bedouins, while the Finns cultivated the soil like the industrious Fellahs. But a phenomenon still more deserving of notice, is the difference of speech between the Bushmen and the Hottentots. The people of some hordes, Dr. Andrew Smith assures us, vary their speech designedly, and adopt new words, with the intent of rendering their ideas unintelligible to all but the members of their own community. For this last custom a peculiar name exists, which is called “_cuze-cat_.” This is considered as greatly advantageous in assisting concealment of their designs. Here, then, we have a series of facts of the utmost social importance. (1) There are two distinct races of men, viz.:--the wandering and the civilized tribes; (2) to each of these tribes a different form of head is peculiar, the wandering races being remarkable for the development of the bones of the face, as the jaws, cheek-bones, &c., and the civilized for the development of those of the head; (3) to each civilized tribe there is generally a wandering horde attached; (4) such wandering hordes have frequently a different language from the more civilized portion of the community, and that adopted with the intent of concealing their designs and exploits from them. It is curious that no one has as yet applied the above facts to the explanation of certain anomalies in the present state of society among ourselves. That we, like the <DW5>s, Fellahs, and Finns, are surrounded by wandering hordes--the “Sonquas” and the “Fingoes” of this country--paupers, beggars, and outcasts, possessing nothing but what they acquire by depredation from the industrious, provident, and civilized portion of the community;--that the heads of these nomades are remarkable for the greater development of the jaws and cheekbones rather than those of the head;--and that they have a secret language of their own--an English “_cuze-cat_” or “slang” as it is called--for the concealment of their designs: these are points of coincidence so striking that, when placed before the mind, make us marvel that the analogy should have remained thus long unnoticed. The resemblance once discovered, however, becomes of great service in enabling us to use the moral characteristics of the nomade races of other countries, as a means of comprehending the more readily those of the vagabonds and outcasts of our own. Let us therefore, before entering upon the subject in hand, briefly run over the distinctive, moral, and intellectual features of the wandering tribes in general. The nomad then is distinguished from the civilized man by his repugnance to regular and continuous labour--by his want of providence in laying up a store for the future--by his inability to perceive consequences ever so slightly removed from immediate apprehension--by his passion for stupefying herbs and roots, and, when possible, for intoxicating fermented liquors--by his extraordinary powers of enduring privation--by his comparative insensibility to pain--by an immoderate love of gaming, frequently risking his own personal liberty upon a single cast--by his love of libidinous dances--by the pleasure he experiences in witnessing the suffering of sentient creatures--by his delight in warfare and all perilous sports--by his desire for vengeance--by the looseness of his notions as to property--by the absence of chastity among his women, and his disregard of female honour--and lastly, by his vague sense of religion--his rude idea of a Creator, and utter absence of all appreciation of the mercy of the Divine Spirit. Strange to say, despite its privations, its dangers, and its hardships, those who have once adopted the savage and wandering mode of life, rarely abandon it. There are countless examples of white men adopting all the usages of the Indian hunter, but there is scarcely one example of the Indian hunter or trapper adopting the steady and regular habits of civilized life; indeed, the various missionaries who have visited nomade races have found their labours utterly unavailing, so long as a wandering life continued, and have succeeded in bestowing the elements of civilization, only on those compelled by circumstances to adopt a settled habitation. OF THE WANDERING TRIBES OF THIS COUNTRY. The nomadic races of England are of many distinct kinds--from the habitual vagrant--half-beggar, half-thief--sleeping in barns, tents, and casual wards--to the mechanic on tramp, obtaining his bed and supper from the trade societies in the different towns, on his way to seek work. Between these two extremes there are several mediate varieties--consisting of pedlars, showmen, harvest-men, and all that large class who live by either selling, showing, or doing something through the country. These are, so to speak, the rural nomads	1,971.204458
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1855450	4,769	102	Produced by David Widger SHIP'S COMPANY By W.W. Jacobs DUAL CONTROL "Never say 'die,' Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, kindly; "I like you, and so do most other people who know what's good for 'em; and if Florrie don't like you she can keep single till she does." Mr. Albert Sharp thanked him. "Come in more oftener," said Mr. Culpepper. "If she don't know a steady young man when she sees him, it's her mistake." "Nobody could be steadier than what I am," sighed Mr. Sharp. Mr. Culpepper nodded. "The worst of it is, girls don't like steady young men," he said, rumpling his thin grey hair; "that's the silly part of it." "But you was always steady, and Mrs. Culpepper married you," said the young man. Mr. Culpepper nodded again. "She thought I was, and that came to the same thing," he said, composedly. "And it ain't for me to say, but she had an idea that I was very good-looking in them days. I had chestnutty hair. She burnt a piece of it only the other day she'd kept for thirty years." [Illustration: A very faint squeeze in return decided him] "Burnt it? What for?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Words," said the other, lowering his voice. "When I want one thing nowadays she generally wants another; and the things she wants ain't the things I want." Mr. Sharp shook his head and sighed again. "You ain't talkative enough for Florrie, you know," said Mr. Culpepper, regarding him. "I can talk all right as a rule," retorted Mr. Sharp. "You ought to hear me at the debating society; but you can't talk to a girl who doesn't talk back." "You're far too humble," continued the other. "You should cheek her a bit now and then. Let 'er see you've got some spirit. Chaff 'er." "That's no good," said the young man, restlessly. "I've tried it. Only the other day I called her 'a saucy little kipper,' and the way she went on, anybody would have thought I'd insulted her. Can't see a joke, I s'pose. Where is she now?" "Upstairs," was the reply. "That's because I'm here," said Mr. Sharp. "If it had been Jack Butler she'd have been down fast enough." "It couldn't be him," said Mr. Culpepper, "because I won't have 'im in the house. I've told him so; I've told her so, and I've told 'er aunt so. And if she marries without my leave afore she's thirty she loses the seven hundred pounds 'er father left her. You've got plenty of time--ten years." Mr. Sharp, sitting with his hands between his knees, gazed despondently at the floor. "There's a lot o' girls would jump at me," he remarked. "I've only got to hold up my little finger and they'd jump." "That's because they've got sense," said Mr. Culpepper. "They've got the sense to prefer steadiness and humdrumness to good looks and dash. A young fellow like you earning thirty-two-and-six a week can do without good looks, and if I've told Florrie so once I have told her fifty times." "Looks are a matter of taste," said Mr. Sharp, morosely. "Some of them girls I was speaking about just now--" "Yes, yes," said Mr. Culpepper, hastily. "Now, look here; you go on a different tack. Take a glass of ale like a man or a couple o' glasses; smoke a cigarette or a pipe. Be like other young men. Cut a dash, and don't be a namby-pamby. After you're married you can be as miserable as you like." Mr. Sharp, after a somewhat lengthy interval, thanked him. "It's my birthday next Wednesday," continued Mr. Culpepper, regarding him benevolently; "come round about seven, and I'll ask you to stay to supper. That'll give you a chance. Anybody's allowed to step a bit over the mark on birthdays, and you might take a glass or two and make a speech, and be so happy and bright that they'd 'ardly know you. If you want an excuse for calling, you could bring me a box of cigars for my birthday." "Or come in to wish you 'Many Happy Returns of the Day,'" said the thrifty Mr. Sharp. "And don't forget to get above yourself," said Mr. Culpepper, regarding him sternly; "in a gentlemanly way, of course. Have as many glasses as you like--there's no stint about me." "If it ever comes off," said Mr. Sharp, rising--"if I get her through you, you shan't have reason to repent it. I'll look after that." Mr. Culpepper, whose feelings were a trifle ruffled, said that he would "look after it too." He had a faint idea that, even from his own point of view, he might have made a better selection for his niece's hand. Mr. Sharp smoked his first cigarette the following morning, and, encouraged by the entire absence of any after-effects, purchased a pipe, which was taken up by a policeman the same evening for obstructing the public footpath in company with a metal tobacco-box three parts full. In the matter of ale he found less difficulty. Certainly the taste was unpleasant, but, treated as medicine and gulped down quickly, it was endurable. After a day or two he even began to be critical, and on Monday evening went so far as to complain of its flatness to the wide- eyed landlord of the "Royal George." "Too much cellar-work," he said, as he finished his glass and made for the door. "Too much! 'Ere, come 'ere," said the landlord, thickly. "I want to speak to you." The expert shook his head, and, passing out into, the street, changed colour as he saw Miss Garland approaching. In a blundering fashion he clutched at his hat and stammered out a "Good evening." Miss Garland returned the greeting and, instead of passing on, stopped and, with a friendly smile, held out her hand. Mr. Sharp shook it convulsively. "You are just the man I want to see," she exclaimed. "Aunt and I have been talking about you all the afternoon." Mr. Sharp said "Really!" "But I don't want uncle to see us," pursued Miss Garland, in the low tones of confidence. "Which way shall we go?" Mr. Sharp's brain reeled. All ways were alike to him in such company. He walked beside her like a man in a dream. "We want to give him a lesson," said the girl, presently. "A lesson that he will remember." "Him?" said the young man. "Uncle," explained the girl. "It's a shocking thing, a wicked thing, to try and upset a steady young man like you. Aunt is quite put out about it, and I feel the same as she does." "But," gasped the astonished Mr. Sharp, "how did you?" "Aunt heard him," said Miss Garland. "She was just going into the room when she caught a word or two, and she stayed outside and listened. You don't know what a lot she thinks of you." Mr. Sharp's eyes opened wider than ever. "I thought she didn't like me," he said, slowly. "Good gracious!" said Miss Garland. "Whatever could have put such an idea as that into your head? Of course, aunt isn't always going to let uncle see that she agrees with him. Still, as if anybody could help--" she murmured to herself. "Eh?" said the young man, in a trembling voice. "Nothing." Miss Garland walked along with averted face; Mr. Sharp, his pulses bounding, trod on air beside her. "I thought," he said, at last "I thought that Jack Butler was a favourite of hers?" "Jack Butler!" said the girl, in tones of scornful surprise. "The idea! How blind men are; you're all alike, I think. You can't see two inches in front of you. She's as pleased as possible that you are coming on Wednesday; and so am--" Mr. Sharp caught his breath. "Yes?" he murmured. "Let's go down here," said Miss Garland quickly; "down by the river. And I'll tell you what we want you to do." She placed her hand lightly on his arm, and Mr. Sharp, with a tremulous smile, obeyed. The smile faded gradually as he listened, and an expression of anxious astonishment took its place. He shook his head as she proceeded, and twice ventured a faint suggestion that she was only speaking in jest. Convinced at last, against his will, he walked on in silent consternation. "But," he said at last, as Miss Garland paused for breath, "your uncle would never forgive me. He'd never let me come near the house again." "Aunt will see to that," said the girl, confidently. "But, of course, if you don't wish to please me--" She turned away, and Mr. Sharp, plucking up spirit, ventured to take her hand and squeeze it. A faint, a very faint, squeeze in return decided him. "It will come all right afterwards," said Miss Garland, "especially with the hold it will give aunt over him." "I hope so," said the young man. "If not, I shall be far--farther off than ever." Miss Garland blushed and, turning her head, gazed steadily at the river. "Trust me," she said at last. "Me and auntie." Mr. Sharp said that so long as he pleased her nothing else mattered, and, in the seventh heaven of delight, paced slowly along the towpath by her side. "And you mustn't mind what auntie and I say to you," said the girl, continuing her instructions. "We must keep up appearances, you know; and if we seem to be angry, you must remember we are only pretending." Mr. Sharp, with a tender smile, said that he understood perfectly. "And now I had better go," said Florrie, returning the smile. "Uncle might see us together, or somebody else might see us and tell him. Good-bye." She shook hands and went off, stopping three times to turn and wave her hand. In a state of bewildered delight Mr. Sharp continued his stroll, rehearsing, as he went, the somewhat complicated and voluminous instructions she had given him. By Wednesday evening he was part-perfect, and, in a state of mind divided between nervousness and exaltation, set out for Mr. Culpepper's. He found that gentleman, dressed in his best, sitting in an easy-chair with his hands folded over a fancy waistcoat of startling design, and, placing a small box of small cigars on his knees, wished him the usual "Happy Returns." The entrance of the ladies, who seemed as though they had just come off the ice, interrupted Mr. Culpepper's thanks. "Getting spoiled, that's what I am," he remarked, playfully. "See this waistcoat? My old Aunt Elizabeth sent it this morning." He leaned back in his chair and glanced down in warm approval. "The missis gave me a pipe, and Florrie gave me half a pound of tobacco. And I bought a bottle of port wine myself, for all of us." He pointed to a bottle that stood on the supper-table, and, the ladies retiring to the kitchen to bring in the supper, rose and placed chairs. A piece of roast beef was placed before him, and, motioning Mr. Sharp to a seat opposite Florrie, he began to carve. "Just a nice comfortable party," he said, genially, as he finished. "Help yourself to the ale, Bert." Mr. Sharp, ignoring the surprise on the faces of the ladies, complied, and passed the bottle to Mr. Culpepper. They drank to each other, and again a flicker of surprise appeared on the faces of Mrs. Culpepper and her niece. Mr. Culpepper, noticing it, shook his head waggishly at Mr. Sharp. "He drinks it as if he likes it," he remarked. "I do," asserted Mr. Sharp, and, raising his glass, emptied it, and resumed the attack on his plate. Mr. Culpepper unscrewed the top of another bottle, and the reckless Mr. Sharp, after helping himself, made a short and feeling speech, in which he wished Mr. Culpepper long life and happiness. "If you ain't happy with Mrs. Culpepper," he concluded, gallantly, "you ought to be." Mr. Culpepper nodded and went on eating in silence until, the keen edge of his appetite having been taken off, he put down his knife and fork and waxed sentimental. "Been married over thirty years," he said, slowly, with a glance at his wife, "and never regretted it." "Who hasn't?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Why, me," returned the surprised Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp, who had just raised his glass, put it down again and smiled. It was a faint smile, but it seemed to affect his host unfavourably. "What are you smiling at?" he demanded. "Thoughts," said Mr. Sharp, exchanging a covert glance with Florrie. "Something you told me the other day." Mr. Culpepper looked bewildered. "I'll give you a penny for them thoughts," he said, with an air of jocosity. Mr. Sharp shook his head. "Money couldn't buy 'em," he said, with owlish solemnity, "espec--especially after the good supper you're giving me." "Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, uneasily, as his wife sat somewhat erect "Bert, it's my birthday, and I don't grudge nothing to nobody; but go easy with the beer. You ain't used to it, you know." "What's the matter with the beer?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "It tastes all right--what there is of it." "It ain't the beer; it's you," explained Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp stared at him. "Have I said anything I oughtn't to?" he inquired. Mr. Culpepper shook his head, and, taking up a fork and spoon, began to serve a plum-pudding that Miss Garland had just placed on the table. "What was it you said I was to be sure and not tell Mrs. Culpepper?" inquired Mr. Sharp, dreamily. "I haven't said that, have I?" "No!" snapped the harassed Mr. Culpepper, laying down the fork and spoon and regarding him ferociously. "I mean, there wasn't anything. I mean, I didn't say so. You're raving." "If I did say it, I'm sorry," persisted Mr. Sharp. "I can't say fairer than that, can I?" "You're all right," said Mr. Culpepper, trying, but in vain, to exchange a waggish glance with his wife. "I didn't say it?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "No," said Mr. Culpepper, still smiling in a wooden fashion. "I mean the other thing?" said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper. "Look here," exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; "why not eat your pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you." "Speak for yourself," said his wife, tartly. "I like to hear Mr. Sharp talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?" Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. "I--I can't tell you," he said, slowly. "Why not?" asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly. "Because it--it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious Mr. Sharp. "Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply. "He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon, "and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?" Mr. Culpepper, shivering with wrath and dread, struggled for speech. "You'd better get home, Bert," he said at last. "You're not yourself. There's nobody kicking you under the table. You don't know what you are saying. You've been dreaming things. I never said anything of the kind." "Memory's gone," said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him. "Clean gone. Don't you remember--" "NO!" roared Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his direction. He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an incentive to further efforts. In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs. Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the sideboard, placed it upon the table. "Help yourself, Mr. Sharp," she said, pushing the bottle of port towards him. Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper. Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and announced his intention of making a speech. "But you've made one," said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation. "That--that was las' night," said Mr. Sharp. "This is to-night--your birthday." "Well, we don't want any more," said Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp hesitated. "It's only his fun," he said, looking round and raising his glass. "He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him up. Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best. We all have our--faults, and he has his--has his. Where was I?" "Sit down," growled Mr. Culpepper. "Talking about my husband's faults," said his wife. "So I was," said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow. "Don't be alarm'," he continued, turning to his host; "nothing to be alarm' about. I'm not going to talk about 'em. Not so silly as that, I hope. I don't want spoil your life." "Sit down," repeated Mr. Culpepper. "You're very anxious he should sit down," said his wife, sharply. "No, I'm not," said Mr. Culpepper; "only he's talking nonsense." Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation, looked for encouragement to Miss Garland. "He's a man we all look up to and respect," he continued. "If he does go off to London every now and then on business, that's his lookout. My idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him. "He'd have pleasure of her company and, same time, he'd be money in pocket by it. And why shouldn't she go to music-halls sometimes? Why shouldn't she--" "You get off home," said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering the table with his fist. "Get off home; and if you so much as show your face inside this 'ouse again there'll be trouble. Go on. Out you go!" "Home?" repeated Mr. Sharp, sitting down suddenly. "Won't go home till morning." "Oh, we'll soon see about that," said Mr. Culpepper, taking him by the shoulders. "Come on, now." Mr. Sharp subsided lumpishly into his chair, and Mr. Culpepper, despite his utmost efforts, failed to move him. The two ladies exchanged a glance, and then, with their heads in the air, sailed out of the room, the younger pausing at the door to bestow a mirthful glance upon Mr. Sharp ere she disappeared. "Come--out," said Mr. Culpepper, panting. "You trying to tickle me?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "You get off home," said the other. "You've been doing nothing but make mischief ever since you came in. What put such things into your silly head I don't know. I shall never hear the end of 'em as long as I live." "Silly head?" repeated Mr. Sharp, with an alarming change of manner. "Say it again." Mr. Cul	1,971.205585
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1865210	2,738	29	Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: SLEDDING UP THE CHILKAT VALLEY] GOLD-SEEKING ON THE DALTON TRAIL _BEING THE ADVENTURES OF TWO NEW ENGLAND BOYS IN ALASKA AND THE NORTHWEST TERRITORY_ BY ARTHUR R. THOMPSON Illustrated BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1900 _Copyright, 1900_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY _All rights reserved_ UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON AND SON. CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TO My Comrade of Many Camp-Fires DEXTER WADLEIGH LEWIS PREFACE Among my first passions was that for exploration. The Unknown--that region of mysteries lying upon the outskirts of commonplace environment--drew me with a mighty attraction. My earliest recollections are of wanderings into the domains of the neighbors, and of excursions--not infrequently in direct contravention to parental warnings--over fences, stone-walls, and roofs, and into cobwebbed attics, fragrant hay-lofts, and swaying tree-tops. Of my favorite tree, a sugar maple, I remember that, so thoroughly did I come to know every one of its branches, I could climb up or down unhesitatingly with eyes shut. At that advanced stage of acquaintance, however, it followed naturally that the mysteriousness, and hence the subtle attractiveness, of my friend the maple was considerably lessened. By degrees the boundary line of the unknown was pushed back into surrounding fields. Wonderful caves were hollowed in sandy banks. Small pools, to the imaginative eyes of the six-year-old, became lakes abounding with delightful adventures. The wintry alternations of freezing and thawing were processes to be observed with closest attention and never-failing interest. Nature displayed some new charm with every mood. There came a day when I looked beyond the fields, when even the river, sluggish and muddy in summer, a broad, clear torrent in spring, was known from end to end. Then it was that the range of low mountains--to me sublime in loftiness--at the western horizon held my fascinated gaze. To journey thither on foot became ambition's end and aim. This feat, at first regarded as undoubtedly beyond the powers of man unaided by horse and carry-all (the thing had once been done in that manner on the occasion of a picnic), was at length proved possible. What next? Like Alexander, I sought new worlds. Nothing less than real camping out could satisfy that hitherto unappeasable longing. This dream was realized in due season among the mountains of New Hampshire; but the craving, far from losing its keenness, was whetted. Of late it has been fed, but never satiated, by wider rovings on land and sea. Perhaps it is in the blood and can never be eliminated. Believing that this restlessness, accompanied by the love of adventure and out-of-door life, is natural to every boy, I have had in mind particularly in the writing of this narrative those thousands of boys in our cities who are bound within a restricted, and it may be unromantic, sphere of activity. To them I have wished to give a glimpse of trail life, not with a view to increasing their restlessness,--for I have not veiled discomforts and discouragements in relating enjoyments,--but to enlarge their horizon,--to give them, in imagination at least, mountain air and appetites, journeys by lake and river, and an acquaintance with men and conditions as they now exist in the great Northwest. The Dalton trail, last year but little known, may soon become a much travelled highway. With a United States garrison at Pyramid, and the village of Klukwan a bone of contention between the governments of this country and Canada, the region which it traverses is coming more and more into notice. I would only add that natural features, scenery, and people, have been described faithfully, however inadequately, and the story throughout is based upon real happenings. Should any of my young readers pass over the trail to-day in the footsteps of David and Roly, they would find, save for possible vandalism of Indians or whites, the cabins on the North Alsek and in the Kah Sha gorge just as they are pictured, and they could be sure of a welcome from Lucky, Long Peter, and Coffee Jack. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A LETTER FROM ALASKA 1 II. BUYING AN OUTFIT 7 III. FROM SEATTLE TO PYRAMID HARBOR 18 IV. THE FIRST CAMP 28 V. THE GREAT NUGGET, AND HOW UNCLE WILL HEARD OF IT 38 VI. ROLY IS HURT 47 VII. CAMP AT THE CAVE 54 VIII. SLEDDING 60 IX. KLUKWAN AND THE FORDS 69 X. A PORCUPINE-HUNT AT PLEASANT CAMP 77 XI. THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX 88 XII. THE SUMMIT OF CHILKAT PASS 101 XIII. DALTON'S POST 112 XIV. FROM THE STIK VILLAGE TO LAKE DASAR-DEE-ASH 120 XV. STAKING CLAIMS 127 XVI. A CONFLAGRATION 135 XVII. THROUGH THE ICE 142 XVIII. BUILDING THE CABIN 149 XIX. THE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLE 157 XX. ROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTING 166 XXI. LAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POST 175 XXII. A HARD JOURNEY 182 XXIII. THE LAKE AFFORDS TWO MEALS AND A PERILOUS CROSSING 192 XXIV. DAVID GETS HIS BEAR-SKIN 201 XXV. MORAN'S CAMP 210 XXVI. HOW THE GREAT NUGGET NEARLY COST THE BRADFORDS DEAR 216 XXVII. AN INDIAN CREMATION 223 XXVIII. THE PLAGUE OF MOSQUITOES 231 XXIX. LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS 238 XXX. WASHING OUT THE GOLD 248 XXXI. DAVID MAKES A BOAT-JOURNEY 256 XXXII. CHAMPLAIN'S LANDING 264 XXXIII. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 272 XXXIV. RAIDED BY A WOLF 279 XXXV. A LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF IT 289 XXXVI. HOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM SPEAKING HIS MIND 297 XXXVII. HOMEWARD BOUND 306 XXXVIII. A CARIBOU, AND HOW IT WAS KILLED 314 XXXIX. DANGERS OF THE SUMMER FORDS 321 XL. SUNDAY IN KLUKWAN 331 XLI. THE ROBBERS AT LAST 339 XLII. PYRAMID, SKAGWAY, AND DYEA.--CONCLUSION 348 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE SLEDDING UP THE CHILKAT VALLEY _Frontispiece_ PYRAMID HARBOR, PYRAMID MOUNTAIN IN THE DISTANCE 26 MAP OF THE DALTON TRAIL 28 A CURIOUS PHENOMENON BESIDE THE TRAIL 89 THE CAMP OF THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX 93 "PRESENTLY SOME LITTLE YELLOW SPECKS WERE UNCOVERED" 131 CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 192 RAFTING DOWN THE NORTH ALSEK 265 A HERD OF CATTLE.--YUKON DIVIDE IN THE DISTANCE 267 FORDING THE KLAHEENA 325 "SALMON BY THE THOUSAND" 349 GOLD-SEEKING ON THE DALTON TRAIL CHAPTER I A LETTER FROM ALASKA In a large, old-fashioned dwelling which overlooked from its hillside perch a beautiful city of Connecticut, the Bradford family was assembled for the evening meal. It was early in February, and the wind, which now and then whirled the snowflakes against the window-panes, made the pretty dining-room seem doubly cozy. But Mrs. Bradford shivered as she poured the tea. "Just think of poor Will," she said, "away off in that frozen wilderness! Oh, if we could only know that he is safe and well!" and the gentle lady's brown eyes sought her husband's face as if for reassurance. Mr. Bradford was a tall, strongly built man of forty-five, with light-brown hair and mustache, and features that betrayed much care and responsibility. Upon him as treasurer had fallen a great share of the burden of bringing a large manufacturing establishment through two years of financial depression, and his admirable constitution had weakened under the strain. But now a twinkle came into his gray eyes as he said, "My dear, I hardly think Will is suffering. At least he wasn't a month ago." "Why, how do you know?" asked Mrs. Bradford. "Has he written at last?" For answer Mr. Bradford drew from the depths of an inside pocket a number of letters, from which he selected one whose envelope was torn and travel-stained. It bore a Canadian and an American postage stamp, as if the sender had been uncertain in which country it would be mailed, and wished to prepare it against either contingency. At sight of the foreign stamp Ralph,--or "Roly," as he had been known ever since a certain playmate had called him "Roly-poly" because of his plumpness,--aged fifteen, was awake in an instant. Up to that moment his energies had been entirely absorbed in the laudable business of dulling a very keen appetite, but it quickly became evident that his instincts as a stamp collector were even keener. He had paused in the act of raising a bit of bread to his mouth, and made such a comical figure with his lips expectantly wide apart that his younger sister Helen, a little maid of nine, was betrayed into a sudden and violent fit of laughter, in which, in spite of the superior dignity of eighteen years, their brother David was compelled to join. "Yes," said Mr. Bradford, "I received a letter from Will this afternoon. Suppose I read it aloud." Absolute quiet being magically restored, he proceeded as follows:-- RAINY HOLLOW, CHILKAT PASS, Jan. 9, 1898. DEAR BROTHER CHARLES,--I am storm-bound at this place, and waiting for an opportunity to cross the summit, so what better can I do than write the letter so long deferred? I have been as far west as the Cook Inlet region, and have acquired some good coal properties. While there I heard from excellent authorities that rich gold placers have been discovered on the Dalton trail, which leads from Pyramid Harbor to Dawson City, at a point about two hundred miles inland. I thought it best to investigate the truth of this rumor, and am now on the way to the designated locality, with an Indian guide and dog-team. Now, as you know, I was able to take claims for you as well as for myself in the Cook Inlet country, by the powers of attorney which you sent me, but in the Canadian territory to which I am going the law does not allow this, and you can only secure a claim by purchase, or by being	1,971.206561
2023-11-16 18:49:55.1895350	95	16	Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, David Garcia, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. [Illustration: THE POOR HOME.] _Alfred Crowquill's Fairy Tales._ * * * * * THE GIANT HANDS: OR, THE REWARD OF INDUSTRY. * * * * * LONDON: G. ROUT	1,971.209575
2023-11-16 18:49:55.2774480	197	7	Produced by K Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy 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.) THE JOB AN AMERICAN NOVEL BY SINCLAIR LEWIS AUTHOR OF MAIN STREET, BABBITT, ETC. GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published February, 1917 TO MY WIFE WHO HAS MADE "THE JOB" POSSIBLE AND LIFE ITSELF QUITE BEAUTIFULLY IMPROBABLE CONTENTS Page Part I 3 THE CITY Part	1,971.297488
2023-11-16 18:49:55.2775300	841	18	Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A LITTLE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS [Illustration: "What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near. FRONTISPIECE. _See page_ 69.] A LITTLE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1912 _Copyright, 1912_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. _All rights reserved_ Published, September, 1912 THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. CONTENTS PAGE THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON 5 THE CHILD WHO HAD EVERYTHING BUT-- 47 SANTA CLAUS AND LITTLE BILLEE 87 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN SANTAS 129 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near _Frontispiece_ She stood with her eyes popping out of her head PAGE 39 He thought it very strange that Santa Claus' hand should be so red and cold and rough 91 One by one the prisoners of the night dropped in surreptitiously 155 A TOAST TO SANTA CLAUS Whene'er I find a man who don't Believe in Santa Claus, And spite of all remonstrance won't Yield up to logic's laws, And see in things that lie about The proof by no means dim, I straightway cut that fellow out, And don't believe in him. The good old Saint is everywhere Along life's busy way. We find him in the very air We breathe day after day-- Where courtesy and kindliness And love are joined together, To give to sorrow and distress A touch of sunny weather. We find him in the maiden's eyes Beneath the mistletoe, A-sparkling as the star-lit skies All golden in their glow. We find him in the pressure of The hand of sympathy, And where there's any thought of love He's mighty sure to be. So here's to good old Kindliheart! The best bet of them all, Who never fails to do his part In life's high festival; The worthy bearer of the crown With which we top the Saint. A bumper to his health, and down With them that say he ain't! THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON I Hetherington wasn't half a bad sort of a fellow, but he had his peculiarities, most of which were the natural defects of a lack of imagination. He didn't believe in ghosts, or Santa Claus, or any of the thousands of other things that he hadn't seen with his own eyes, and as he walked home that rather chilly afternoon just before Christmas and found nearly every corner of the highway decorated with bogus Saints, wearing the shoddy regalia of Kris-Kringle, the sight made him a trifle irritable. He had had a fairly good luncheon that day, one indeed that ought to have mellowed his disposition materially, but which somehow or other had not so resulted. In fact, Hetherington was in a state of raspy petulance that boded ill for his digestion, and when he had reached the corner of Forty-second	1,971.29757

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Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |DISCLAIMER | | | |The articles published in the Annual Reports of the Northern Nut Growers| |Association are the findings and thoughts solely of the authors and are | |not to be construed as an endorsement by the Northern Nut Growers | |Association, its board of directors, or its members. No endorsement is | |intended for products mentioned, nor is criticism meant for products not| |mentioned. The laws and recommendations for pesticide application may | |have changed since the articles were written. It is always the pesticide| |applicator's responsibility, by law, to read and follow all current | |label directions for the specific pesticide being used. The discussion | |of specific nut tree cultivars and of specific techniques to grow nut | |trees that might have been successful in one area and at a particular | |time is not a guarantee that similar results will occur elsewhere. | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION REPORT OF THE PROCEEDINGS AT THE SEVENTH ANNUAL MEETING WASHINGTON, D. C. SEPTEMBER 8 AND 9, 1916. PRESS OF The Advertiser-republican, ANNAPOLIS, MD. CONTENTS PAGE Officers and Committees of the Association 4 Members of the Association 5 Constitution and By-Laws 10 Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Meeting 13 Report of the Secretary-Treasurer 14 Notes on the Chinquapins, Dr. Robert T. Morris, New York 15 The Black Walnut, T. P. Littlepage, Washington, D. C. 25 Discussion on the Almond 33 Discussion on the Hazel 37 The Chestnut Bark Disease, Dr. Haven Metcalf, Washington, D. C. 41 Discussion on Quarantine for Chestnut Nursery Stock 49 Hybrids and Other New Chestnuts for Blight Districts, Dr. Walter Van Fleet, Washington, D. C. 54 President's Address, Dr. J. Russell Smith, Roundhill, Va. 58 Diseases of the Persian Walnut, S. M. McMurran, Washington, D. C. 67 Discussion on Winter Killing 72 Address of Col. C. A. Van Duzee, Cairo, Georgia 75 Resolutions on Chestnut Blight Quarantine 80 Resolution on Investigations in Nut Tree Propagation 84 Discussion on the Growth and Fruiting of Pecans in the North 86 Top Working Pecans on Other Hickories 91 Appendix: Letter from W. C. Reed, Vice-President 98 The Food Value of Nuts, Dr. J. H. Kellogg, Battle Creek, Mich. 101 Letter from J. C. Cooper, McMinnville, Oregon 114 List of those present at the meeting 117 OFFICERS OF THE ASSOCIATION _President_ W. C. REED Vincennes, Indiana _Vice-President_ W. N. HUTT Raleigh, North Carolina _Secretary and Treasurer_ W. C. DEMING Georgetown, Connecticut COMMITTEES _Auditing_--C. P. CLOSE, C. A. REED _Executive_--T. P. LITTLEPAGE, J. RUSSELL SMITH AND THE OFFICERS _Finance_--T. P. LITTLEPAGE, WILLARD G. BIXBY, W. C. DEMING _Hybrids_--R. T. MORRIS, C. P. CLOSE, W. C. DEMING, J. G. RUSH _Membership_--HARRY R. WEBER, R. T. OLCOTT, F. N. FAGAN, W. O. POTTER, W. C. DEMING, WENDELL P. WILLIAMS, J. RUSSELL SMITH _Nomenclature_--C. A. REED, R. T. MORRIS, R. L. MCCOY, J. F. JONES _Press and Publication_--RALPH T. OLCOTT, J. RUSSELL SMITH, W. C. DEMING _Programme_--W. C. DEMING, J. RUSSELL SMITH, C. A. REED, W. N. HUTT, R. T. MORRIS _Promising Seedlings_--C. A. REED, J. F. JONES, PAUL WHITE STATE VICE-PRESIDENTS California T. C. Tucker 311 California St., San Francisco Canada G. H. Corsan 63 Avenue Road, Toronto Connecticut Charles H. Plump West Redding Delaware E. R. Angst 527 Dupont Building, Wilmington Georgia J. B. Wight Cairo Illinois H. A. Riehl Alton Indiana J. F. Wilkinson Rockport Iowa Wendell P. Williams Danville Kentucky A. L. Moseley Calhoun Maryland C. P. Close College Park Massachusetts James II. Bowditch 903 Tremont Building, Boston Michigan. Miss Maude M. Jessup 440 Thomas St., Grand Rapids Minnesota L. L. Powers 1018 Hudson Ave., St. Paul Missouri P. C. Stark Louisiana New Jersey C. S. Ridgway Lumberton New York M. E. Wile 37 Calumet St., Rochester North Carolina W. N. Hutt Raleigh Ohio Harry R. Weber 601 Gerke Building, Cincinnati Pennsylvania J. G. Rush West Willow Texas R. S. Trumbull M. S. R. R. Co., El Paso Virginia John S. Parish Eastham Washington A. E. Baldwin Kettle Falls West Virginia B. F. Hartzell Shepherdstown MEMBERS OF THE NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION CALIFORNIA Dawson, L. H., Llano Johnson, Chet, R. D. 1, Biggs Tucker, T. C., Manager California Almond Growers' Exchange, 311 California St., San Francisco CANADA Corsan, G. H., University of Toronto Dufresne, Dr. A. A., 1872 Cartier St., Montreal Sager, Dr. D. S., Brantford CONNECTICUT Barnes, John R., Yalesville Deming, Dr. W. C., Georgetown Deming, Mrs. W. C., Georgetown. Goodwin, James L., Box 447, Hartford Hungerford, Newman, Torrington, R. 2, Box 76, for circulars, Box 1082, Hartford, for letters Ives, Ernest M., Sterling Orchards, Meriden Lay, Charles Downing, Wellesmere, Stratford Lewis, Henry Leroy, Stratford Mikkelsen, Mrs. M. A., Georgetown *Morris, Dr. Robert T., Cos Cob, R. 28, Box 95 Plump, Charles II., West Redding Sessions, Albert L., Bristol Staunton, Gray, R. D. 30, Stamford White, Gerrard, North Granby Williams, W. W., Milldale DELAWARE Augst, E. R., 527 DuPont Building, Wilmington, Del. Lord, George Frank, care of DuPont Powder Company, Wilmington DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA Close, Prof. C. P., Pomologist, Department of Agriculture, Washington Goddard, R. H., States' Relations Service, Washington *Littlepage, T. P., Union Trust Building, Washington Reed, C. A., Nut Culturist, Department of Agriculture, Washington GEORGIA Bullard, Wm. P., Albany Van Duzee, C. A., Judson Orchard Farm, Cairo Wight, J. B., Cairo ILLINOIS Casper, O. II., Anna Poll, Carl J, 1009 Maple St., Danville Potter, Hon. W. O., Marion Riehl, E. A., Alton INDIANA Hutchings, Miss Lida G., 118 Third St., Madison Lukens, Mrs. B., Anderson Reed, M. P., Vincennes Reed, W. C, Vincennes Wilkinson, J. F., Rockport Woolbright, Clarence, R. D. 3, Elnora IOWA Snyder, D. C., Center Point Williams, Wendell P., Danville KENTUCKY Matthews, Prof. C. W., Horticulturist, State Agricultural Station, Lexington Moseley, A. L., Bank of Calhoun, Calhoun MARYLAND Campbell, George D., Lonaconing Darby, R. U., Suite 804, Continental Building, Baltimore Hayden, Chas. S., 200 E. Lexington St., Baltimore Keenan, Dr. John N., Brentwood King, W. J., 232 Prince George St., Annapolis Kyner, James H., Bladensburg Littlepage, Miss Louise, Bowie Murray, Miss Annie C., Cumberstone Stabler, Henry, Hancock White, Paul, Bowie MASSACHUSETTS *Bowditch, James II., 903 Tremont Building, Boston Cleaver, C. Leroy, Hingham Center Cole, Mrs. George B., 15 Mystic Ave., Winchester Hoffman, Bernhard, Overbrook Orchard, Stockbridge Smith, Fred A., 39 Pine St., Danvers Vaughan, Horace A., Peacehaven, Assonet White, Warren, Holliston MICHIGAN Copland, Alexander W., Strawberry Hill Farm, Birmingham Jessup, Miss Maud M., 440 Thomas St., Grand Rapids Johnson, Franklin, Munising Kellogg, J. H., Battle Creek Staunton, Gray, Muskegon, Box 233 MINNESOTA Powers, L. L., 1018 Hudson Ave., St. Paul MISSOURI Bauman, X. C., Ste. Genevieve Darche, J. H., Parkville Funston, E. S., 1521 Morgan St., St. Louis Phelps, Howe, Pine Hurst Dairy, Carthage Stark, P. C., Louisiana (Mo.) NEBRASKA Kurtz, John W., 5304 Bedford St., Omaha NEW JERSEY Black, Walter C., of Jos. H. Black, Son & Co., Hightstown Childs, Fred., Morristown, R. D. 2 Jaques, Lee W., 74 Waverly St., Jersey City Heights Lovett, J. T., Little Silver Marston, Edwin S., Florham Park, Box 72 Mechling, Edward A., Wonderland Farm, Moorestown Ridgeway, C. S. Floralia, Lumberton, N. J. Roberts, Horace, Moorestown Young, Frederick C., Palmyra, Box 335 NEW YORK Abbott, Frederick B., 419 Ninth St., Brooklyn Atwater, C. G., The Barrett Co., 17 Battery Place, New York City Baker, Dr. Hugh P., Dean of State College of Forestry, Syracuse Baker, Prof. J. Fred, Director of Forest Investigations, State College of Forestry, Syracuse Baker, Wm. A., North Rose Bixby, Willard G., 46th St. and 2nd Ave., Brooklyn Brown, Ronald J., 320 Broadway, New York City Ellwanger, Mrs. W. D., 510 East Ave., Rochester Fullerton, H. B., Director Long Island Railroad Experiment Station, Medford, L. I. Haywood, Albert, Flushing Hickox, Ralph, 3832 White Plains Ave., New York City Holden, E. B., Hilton *Huntington, A. M., 15 W. 81st St., New York City Jackson, Dr. James H., Dansville Loomis, C. B., East Greenbush Miller, Milton R., Batavia, Box 394 Morse, Geo. A., Fruit Acres, Williamson, N. Y. Nelson, Dr. James Robert, 23 Main St., Kingston-on-Hudson Olcott, Ralph T., Ellwanger & Barry Building, Rochester Palmer, A. C., New York Military Academy, Cornwall-on-Hudson Pannell, W. B., Pittsford Pomeroy, A. C., Lockport Rice, Mrs. Lillian McKee, Adelano, Pawling Simmons, A. L., State Highway Department, Albany Stuart, C. W., Newark Teele, A. W., 30 Broad St., New York City Teter, Walter C., 10 Wall St., New York City Thomson, Adelbert, East Avon Tuckerman, Bayard, 118 E. 37th St., New York City Ulman, Dr. Ira, 213 W. 147th St., New York City Wile, M. E., 37 Calumet St., Rochester Williams, Dr. Charles Mallory, 48 E. 49th St., New York City *Wissman, Mrs. F. de R., Westchester, New York City NORTH CAROLINA Glover, J. Wheeler, Morehead City Hutt, Prof. W. N., State Horticulturist, Raleigh Van Lindley, J., J. Van Lindley Nursery Company, Pomona Whitfield, Dr. Wm. Cobb, Grifton OHIO Dayton, J. H., Storrs & Harrison Company, Painesville Evans, Miss Myrta L., Briallen Farm, Oak Hill, Jackson County Miller, H. A., Gypsum Thorne, Charles E., Wooster, Agric. Exp. Sta. Weber, Harry E., 601 Gerke Building, Cincinnati Yunck, E. G., 710 Central Ave., Sandusky PENNSYLVANIA Druckemiller, W. C., Sunbury Fagan, Prof. P. N., Department of Horticulture, State College Grubbs, H. L., Fairview, R. 1 Hall, Robt. W., 133 Church St., Bethlehem Harshman, U. W., Waynesboro Heffner, H., Highland Chestnut Grove, Leeper Hile, Anthony, Curwensville National Bank, Curwensville Hoopes, Wilmer W., Hoopes Brothers and Thomas Company, Westchester Hutchinson, Mahlon, Ashwood Farm, Devon, Chester County Jenkins, Charles Francis, Farm Journal, Philadelphia *Jones, J. P., Lancaster, Box 527 Kaufman, M. M., Clarion Leas, F. C., 882 Drexel Building, Philadelphia, Mountain Brook Orchard Company, Salem, Va. Middleton, Fenton H., 1118 Chestnut St., Philadelphia Murphy, P. J., Vice-President L. & W. R. R. R. Company, Scranton O'Neill, Wm. C., 1328 Walnut St., Philadelphia Rheam, J. F., 45 N. Walnut St., Lewistown Rick, John, 438 Pennsylvania Sq., Reading Rife, Jacob A., Camp Hill Rush, J. G., West Willow *Sober, Col. C. K., Lewisburg Thomas, Joseph W., Jos. W. Thomas & Sons, King of Prussia P. O. Weaver, Wm. S., McCungie Webster, Mrs. Edmund, 1324 S. Broad St., Philadelphia *Wister, John C, Wister St. and Clarkson Ave., Germantown Wright, R. P., 235 W. 6th St., Erie SOUTH CAROLINA Shanklin, Prof. A. G., Clemson College TENNESSEE Marr, Thomas S., 701 Stahlman Building, Nashville TEXAS Burkett, J. H., Nut Specialist, State Dept, of Agric., Clyde Trumbull, R. S., Agricultural Agent, El Paso & S. W. System, Morenci Southern Railroad Company, El Paso VIRGINIA Crockett, E. B., Monroe Engleby, Thos. L., 1002 Patterson Ave., Roanoke Lee, Lawrence R., Leesburg Miller, L. O., Miller & Rhodes, Richmond Parish, John S., Eastham, Albemarle County Shackford, Theodore B., care of Adams Brothers-Paynes Company, Lynchburg Smith, Dr. J. Russell, Roundhill WASHINGTON Baldwin, Dr. A. E., Kettle Falls Rogers, Dr. Albert, Okanogan WEST VIRGINIA Hartzell, B. F., Shepherdstown * Life member. CONSTITUTION ARTICLE I _Name._ This society shall be known as the NORTHERN NUT GROWERS ASSOCIATION. ARTICLE II _Object._ Its object shall be the promotion of interest in nut-bearing plants, their products and their culture. ARTICLE III _Membership._ Membership in the society shall be open to all persons who desire to further nut culture, without reference to place of residence or nationality, subject to the rules and regulations of the committee on membership. ARTICLE IV _Officers._ There shall be a president, a vice-president and a secretary-treasurer, who shall be elected by ballot at the annual meeting; and an executive committee of five persons, of which the president, two last retiring presidents, vice-president and secretary-treasurer shall be members. There shall be a state vice-president from each state, dependency or country represented in the membership of the association, who shall be appointed by the president. ARTICLE V _Election of Officers._ A committee of five members shall be elected at the annual meeting for the purpose of nominating officers for the following year. ARTICLE VI _Meetings._ The place and time of the annual meeting shall be selected by the membership in session or, in the event of no selection being made at this time, the executive committee shall choose the place and time for the holding of the annual convention. Such other meetings as may seem desirable may be called by the president and executive committee. ARTICLE VII _Quorum._ Ten members of the association shall constitute a quorum, but must include a majority of the executive committee or two of the three elected officers. ARTICLE VIII _Amendments._ This constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote of the members present at any annual meeting, notice of such amendment having been read at the previous annual meeting, or a copy of the proposed amendment having been mailed by any member to each member thirty days before the date of the annual meeting. BY-LAWS ARTICLE I _Committees._ The association shall appoint standing committees as follows: On membership, on finance, on programme, on press and publication, on nomenclature, on promising seedlings, on hybrids, and an auditing committee. The committee on membership may make recommendations to the association as to the discipline or expulsion of any member. ARTICLE II _Fees._ The fees shall be of two kinds, annual and life. The former shall be two dollars, the latter twenty dollars. ARTICLE III _Membership._ All annual memberships shall begin with the first day of the calendar quarter following the date of joining the association. ARTICLE IV _Amendments._ By-laws may be amended by a two-thirds vote of members present at any annual meeting. Northern Nut Growers Association SEVENTH ANNUAL MEETING SEPTEMBER 8 AND 9, 1916 WASHINGTON, D. C. The seventh annual meeting of the Northern Nut Growers Association was called to order in rooms 42-43 of the new building of the National Museum at Washington, D. C., on Friday, September 8th, at 10 a. m., the president, Dr. J. Russell Smith, presiding. THE PRESIDENT: It is often customary to start meetings of this sort with a considerable amount of eloquence, such as an address of welcome by some high city or state official, a response to the address of welcome by some one else high in authority, and so on, during which the visitors are told of the many privileges they may enjoy, "the keys of the town" are handed over to them, and a good deal of high-flown oratory is indulged in. We suppose that the people in attendance at this meeting are so well acquainted with Washington that those preliminaries are unnecessary, and I have been informed by the members of the local committee that we can dispense with the frills in this case and proceed with the business of the meeting, which we think is going to rather crowd our time if we get said all that we want to say. We are going to devote this morning's programme first to a paper by Dr. Robert T. Morris on the chinquapin, and then to the discussion of a comparatively newly considered member of our nut family, namely, the American black walnut. We have been heretofore much interested in sundry exotics and talking far too little about this great tree nearer home. Before taking up the technical programme we have a few matters of business to put through. First, we will have the report of the secretary and treasurer. REPORT OF THE SECRETARY-TREASURER Balance on hand date of last report $ 140.24 Receipts: Dues 292.75 Advertisements 21.00 Contributions 5.50 Sale of report 34.75 Contributions for prizes 10.00 Miscellaneous .65 ------- $504.89 Expenses: Printing report $ 142.56 Envelopes for report 9.00 Miscellaneous printing 32.50 Postage and stationery 49.26 Stenographer 26.35 Express and freight 2.77 Prizes 18.00 Checks, J. R. S. expenses and circulars 180.00 Lantern operator 3.00 Litchfield Savings Society 20.00 ------- $483.44 ------- Balance on hand $21.45 Receipts from all sources, except sale of reports, have fallen off markedly, as have new members, 31 less than last year, though we have now 154 paid up members, one more than last year. 10 members have resigned and 42 have been dropped for non-payment of dues. We have lost one member by death, Herbert R. Orr, of Washington. The committees on membership and on finance should be more active. Our annual report constitutes the minutes of the last meeting. Our nut contest and other matters of interest have been reported through the columns of the American Nut Journal, our official organ. [Accepted.] THE PRESIDENT: Next in order of business is the first step toward the election of officers for the ensuing year. It is our custom to have a nominating committee elected at an early session. They deliberate and bring forward a slate which is voted on at a later session. This morning is a suitable time for the election of a committee, and tomorrow morning will be a suitable time for their report. Are there any nominations for the Nominating Committee? MR. M. P. REED: Mr. President, I move that Dr. Morris, Mr. C. P. Close, Mr. C. A. Reed, Prof. Stabler and Dr. Ira Ulman be appointed as the Nominating Committee. THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other nominations? MR. C. A. REED: Mr. President, I would like to ask that Mr. Littlepage's name replace my name on that committee. THE PRESIDENT: Will the nominating member accept that amendment? MR. M. P. REED: Yes, sir. THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other nominations? Do I hear a second to the nominations? A MEMBER: Second it. [Carried.] THE PRESIDENT: Are there any other committees to report at this time? THE SECRETARY: There is a Committee on Incorporation. MR. T. P. LITTLEPAGE: Mr. President, the Committee on Incorporation has done some investigating as to the desirability of incorporating the Association, and also, if desirable, under what laws, but that committee has not yet made any final report nor come to any final conclusion, and I would suggest, as a member of the committee, that the committee be continued and instructed to report the following year. THE PRESIDENT: I think that it is unnecessary to vote on the continuance of the committee, as it was appointed with indefinite tenure. We will proceed with the programme and first have the pleasure of listening to Dr. Morris. NOTES ON THE CHINQUAPINS. DR. ROBERT T. MORRIS, NEW YORK According to Sargent the chinquapin (_Castanea pumila_) occupies dry sandy ridges, rich hillsides and the borders of swamps from southern Pennsylvania to northern Florida and the valley of the Neches River in Texas. He states that this chestnut is usually shrubby in the region east of the Alleghany Mountains, and assuming the tree form west of the Mississippi River. Most abundant and of largest size in southern Arkansas and eastern Texas. Curiously enough there are chinquapins also in northeastern Asia which occur as understudies of the larger chestnuts, very much as they do in America. The indigenous range of the chinquapin in America is limited northward by a plan of nature for checking distribution of the species. This plan is manifested in a habit which the nuts have of sprouting immediately upon falling in the early autumn. They proceed busily to make a tap root which may become several inches in length before frost calls a halt. In the north where the warm season is not long enough to allow the autumn sprout to lignify sufficiently for bearing the rigors of winter it is killed. If we protect the small autumn plants, or if we transplant older seedlings from their natural habitat, they may be grown easily far north of their indigenous range. Thrifty chinquapins are happy in the Arnold Arboretum at Jamaica Plain in Massachusetts, and no one knows but they might be cultivated in Nova Scotia and Minnesota. The American chinquapin is one of the many beautiful and valuable plants which have not as yet been taken up by horticulturists for extensive development. It promises to become one of our important sources of food supply for tomorrow. If we were to develop all of our plant resources at once it would be an unkindness to the horticulturists of two thousand years from now, who would be left moping around with nothing to do. Chinquapin nuts borne in heavy profusion by the plants are delicious in quality, but usually too small to attract customers aside from the wood folk. The wood of the chinquapin of tree form (_C. pumila var. arboriformis_) is valuable for purposes to which wood of the common American chestnut is put, and some of the tree chinquapins acquire an earned increment of two or three feet diameter of trunk, and a height of more than fifty feet. The bush chinquapin on the other hand feels rather exclusive when attaining a height of as much as fifteen feet. I present for inspection a freshly cut branch from an ordinary bush chinquapin, loaded with burs, indicating the prolific nature of the variety. The nuts in this particular specimen are small. The next branch exhibited is from a similar bush, but with nuts quite as large as those of the average common chestnut. The horticulturist has only to graft or bud his ordinary run of chinquapin stocks from some one bush which bears large nuts, and he will then have a valuable graded market product. The larger the nut the less prolific the plant is a rule which holds good with the fruiting of almost any plant. Look at this branch from a tree chinquapin. It is not remarkable in any way, but the leaves seem to be a little larger than those of the bush chinquapin. My tree chinquapins came from Stark's nursery in Missouri. The first two which came into bearing had nuts quite as large as those of the common chestnut and I imagined that a discovery of value had been made, but other trees of this variety later bore very small nuts, and all of the tree chinquapin nuts, large and small, were much duller in color than those of the bush chinquapin. My final conclusion is that so far as nuts alone are concerned we may plant and cultivate either the tree variety or the bush variety of the species and then bud or graft any number of stocks from some one plant which bears the best product. DR. AUGUSTUS STABLER: Is it a somewhat finer grained wood than the ordinary chestnut? DR. MORRIS: I think it is. All the chestnuts have rather coarse wood. It is strong, hard, durable, and valuable. This chinquapin wood is somewhat coarse grained, but, for comparison with the American chestnut, I don't know. I imagine it is finer grained. DR. AUGUSTUS STABLER: I know that the chinquapin wood is very much tougher than the American chestnut. DR. MORRIS: Oh, yes. You cannot break the branches so easily. Here is a branch from a hybrid between a chinquapin and a common American chestnut (_Castanea dentata_). The leaves and bark, you will observe, are very much like those of the larger parent. The burs are borne singly or in small groups like those of the common chestnut, instead of being crowded in dense clusters like chinquapin burs. There are two or three nuts to the bur, while the chinquapin has normally, but one nut to the bur. This particular hybrid tree showed an interesting peculiarity. During the first two seasons of bearing it had but one nut to the bur, and this was of chinquapin character. In the third year its nuts were still borne singly, but they were lighter in color than before and oddly corrugated at the base. As the tree became older its chestnut parentage influence pre-dominated, and the tree began to bear two or three nuts to the bur, and more like chestnuts in character, becoming smooth again at the base. I have a number of hybrids between chinquapins and various species and varieties of other chestnuts, but none of these as yet has produced nuts of marked value. There seems to be a tendency for the coarseness of the larger nuts to prevail in the hybrids, a certain loss of gentility beneath a showy exterior. The next branch which I present for inspection is from a most beautiful member of the chestnut family, the alder-leaved chestnut (_Castanea alnifolia_). It is classed among the chinquapins in Georgia where the plant is nearly if not quite evergreen. At Stamford it is deciduous very late in the autumn, but sometimes a green leaf will be found in February, where snow or dead leaves on the ground have furnished a protecting covering. The notable value of this species is perhaps in its decorative character for lawns, although the nuts are first rate. The dark green brilliant leaves are striking in appearance, and the shrub is inclined toward a trailing habit, much like that of some of the junipers. This species is one of my pets at Merribrooke, and a perennial source of wonder that nurserymen have not as yet pounced upon it for purposes of exaggeration and misstatement in their annual catalogues. All of these specimens shown today are from my country place at Stam

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Produced by Cindy Horton, Brian Coe, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) THE JUDGEMENT OF VALHALLA BY GILBERT FRANKAU NEW YORK FEDERAL PRINTING COMPANY 1918 Copyright, 1918 GILBERT FRANKAU _All rights reserved_ The Judgement of Valhalla BY GILBERT FRANKAU _THE DESERTER_ “I’m sorry I done it, Major.” We bandaged the livid face; And led him out, ere the wan sun rose, To die his death of disgrace. The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge; The rifles steadied to rest, As cold stock nestled at colder cheek And foresight lined on the breast. “_Fire!_” called the Sergeant-Major. The muzzles flamed as he spoke: And the shameless soul of a nameless man Went up in the cordite-smoke. _THE EYE AND THE TRUTH_ Up from the fret of the earth-world, through the Seven Circles of Flame, With the seven holes in Its tunic for sign of the death-in-shame, To the little gate of Valhalla the coward-spirit came. Cold, It crouched in the man-strong wind that sweeps Valhalla’s floor; Weak, It pawed and scratched on the wood; and howled, like a dog, at the Door Which is shut to the souls who are sped in shame, for ever and evermore: For It snuffed the Meat of the Banquet-boards where the Threefold Killers sit, Where the Free Beer foams to the tankard-rim, and the Endless Smokes are lit.... And It saw the Nakéd Eye come out above the lintel-slit. And now It quailed at Nakéd Eye which judges the naked dead; And now It snarled at Nakéd Truth that broodeth overhead; And now It looked to the earth below where the gun-flames flickered red. It muttered words It had learned on earth, the words of a black-coat priest Who had bade It pray to a pulpit god--but ever Eye’s Wrath increased; And It knew that Its words were empty words, and It whined like a homeless beast: Till, black above the lintel-slit, the Nakéd Eye went out; Till, loud across the Killer-Feasts, It heard the Killer-Shout-- The three-fold song of them that slew, and died... and had no doubt. _THE SONG OF THE RED-EDGED STEEL_ _Below your black priest’s heaven, Above his tinselled hell, Beyond the Circles Seven, The Red-Steel Killers dwell-- The men who drave, to blade-ring home, behind the marching shell._ We knew not good nor evil, Save only right of blade; Yet neither god nor devil Could hold us from our trade, When once we watched the barrage lift, and splendidly afraid Came scrambling out of cover, And staggered up the hill.... The bullets whistled over; Our sudden dead lay still; And the mad machine-gun chatter drove us fighting-wild to kill. Then the death-light lit our faces, And the death-mist floated red O’er the crimson cratered places Where his outposts crouched in dread.... And we stabbed or clubbed them as they crouched; and shot them as they fled; And floundered, torn and bleeding, Over trenches, through the wire, With the shrapnel-barrage leading To the prey of our desire-- To the men who rose to meet us from the blood-soaked battle-mire; Met them; gave and asked no quarter; But, where we saw the Gray, Plunged the edged steel of slaughter, Stabbed home, and wrenched away.... Till red wrists tired of killing-work, and none were left to slay. Now--while his fresh battalions Moved up to the attack-- Screaming like angry stallions, His shells came charging back, And stamped the ground with thunder-hooves and pawed it spouting-black And breathed down poison-stenches Upon us, leaping past.... Panting, we turned his trenches; And heard--each time we cast From parapet to parados--the scything bullet-blast. Till the whistle told his coming; Till we flung away the pick, Heard our Lewis guns’ crazed drumming, Grabbed our rifles, sighted quick, Fired... and watched his wounded writhing back from where his dead lay thick. So we laboured--while we lasted: Soaked in rain or parched in sun; Bullet-riddled; fire-blasted; Poisoned: fodder for the gun: So we perished, and our bodies rotted in the ground they won. It heard the song of the First of the Dead, as It couched by the lintel-post; And the coward-soul would have given Its soul to be back with the Red-Steel host.... But Eye peered down; and It quailed at the Eye; and Nakéd Truth said: “Lost.” And Eye went out. But It might not move; for, droned in the dark, It heard The Second Song of the Killer-men--word upon awful word Cleaving the void with a shrill, keen sound like the wings of a pouncing bird. _THE SONG OF THE CRASHING WING_ _Higher than tinselled heaven, Lower than angels dare, Loop to the fray, swoop on their prey, The Killers of the Air._ We scorned the Galilean, We mocked at Kingdom-Come: The old gods knew our pæan-- Our dawn-loud engine-hum: The old red gods of slaughter, The gods before the Jew! We heard their cruel laughter, Shrill round us, as we flew: When, deaf to earth and pity, Blind to the guns beneath, We loosed upon the city Our downward-plunging death. The Sun-God watched our flighting; No Christian priest could tame Our deathly stuttered fighting:-- The whirled drum, spitting flame; The roar, of blades behind her; The banking plane up-tossed; The swerve that sought to blind her; Masked faces, glimpsed and lost; The joy-stick wrenched to guide her; The swift and saving zoom, What time the shape beside her Went spinning to its doom. No angel-wings might follow Where, poised behind the fray, We spied our Lord Apollo Stoop down to mark his prey-- The hidden counter-forces; The guns upon the road; The tethered transport-horses, Stampeding, as we showed-- Dun hawks of death, loud-roaring-- A moment to their eyes: And slew; and passed far-soaring; And dwindled up the skies. But e’en Apollo’s pinions Had faltered where we ran, Low through his veiled dominions, To lead the charging van! The tree-tops slathered under; The Red-Steel Killers knew, Hard overhead, the thunder And backwash of her screw; The blurred clouds raced above her; The blurred fields streaked below, Where waited, crouched to cover, The foremost of our foe; Banking, we saw his furrows Leap at us, open wide: Hell-raked the man-packed burrows; And crashed--and crashing, died. It heard the song of the Dead in Air, as It huddled against the gate; And once again the Eye peered down--red-rimmed with scorn and hate For the shameless soul of the nameless one who had neither foe nor mate. And Eye was shut. But Nakéd Truth bent down to mock the Thing:-- “Thou hast heard the Song of the Red-edged Steel, and the Song of the Crashing Wing: Shall the word of a black-coat priest avail at Valhalla’s harvesting? Shalt _thou_ pass free to the Seven Halls--whose life in shame was sped?” And Truth was dumb. But the brooding word still echoed overhead, As roaring down the void outburst the last loud song of the dead. _THE SONG OF THE GUNNER-DEAD_ _In Thor’s own red Valhalla, Which priest may not unbar; But only Nakéd Truth and Eye, Last arbiters of War; Feast, by stark right of courage, The Killers from Afar._ We put no trust in heaven, We had no fear of hell; But lined, and ranged, and timed to clock, Our barrage-curtains fell, When guns gave tongue and breech-blocks swung And palms rammed home the shell. The Red-Steel ranks edged forward, And vanished in our smoke; Back from his churning craters, The Gray Man reeled and broke; While, fast as sweat could lay and set, Our rocking muzzles spoke. We blew him from the village; We chased him through the wood: Till, tiny on the crest-line Where once his trenches stood, We watched the wag of sending flag That told our work was good: Till, red behind the branches, The death-sun sank to blood; And the Red-Steel Killers rested.... But we, by swamp and flood, Through mirk and night--his shells for light-- Blaspheming, choked with mud, Roped to the tilting axles, Man-handled up the crest; And wrenched our plunging gun-teams Foam-flecked from jowl to breast, Downwards, and on, where trench-lights shone-- For _we_, we might not rest! Shell-deafened; soaked and sleepless; Short-handed; under fire; Days upon nights unending, We wrought, and dared not tire-- With whip and bit from dump to pit, From pit to trench with wire. The Killers in the Open, The Killers down the Wind, They saw the Gray Man eye to eye-- But _we_, we fought him blind, Nor knew whence came the screaming flame That killed us, miles behind. Yet, when the triple rockets Flew skyward, blazed and paled, For sign the lines were broken; When the Red Steel naught availed; When, through the smoke, on shield and spoke His rifle bullets hailed; When we waited, dazed and hopeless, Till the layer’s eye could trace Helmets, bobbing just above us Like mad jockeys in a race.... Then--loaded, laid, and unafraid, We met him face to face; Jerked the trigger; felt the trunnions Rock and quiver; saw the flail Of our zero-fuses blast him; Saw his gapping ranks turn tail; Heard the charging-cheer behind us... And dropped dead across the trail. _VALHALLA’S VERDICT_ It heard the Song of the Gunner-Dead die out to a sullen roar: But Nakéd Truth said never a word; and Eye peered down no more. For Eye had seen; and Truth had judged... and It might not pass the Door! And now, like a dog in the dark, It shrank from the voice of a man It knew:-- “There are empty seats at the Banquet-board, but there’s never a seat for you; For they will not drink with a coward soul, the stark red men who slew. There’s meat and to spare, at the Killer-Feasts where Thor’s swung hammer twirls; There’s beer and enough, in the Free Canteen where the Endless Smoke upcurls; There are lips and lips, for the Killer-Men, in the Hall of the Dancing-Girls. There’s a place for any that passes clean--but for you there’s never a place: The Endless Smoke would blacken your lips, and the Girls would spit in your face; And the Beer and the Meat go sour on your guts--for you died the death of disgrace. We were pals on earth: but by God’s brave Son and the bomb that I reached too late, I damn the day and I blast the hour when first I called you mate; And I’d sell my soul for one of my feet, to hack you from the gate-- To hack you hence to the lukewarm hells that the priest-made ovens heat,

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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. Fourth Series CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. NO. 703. SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._] A HOLIDAY IN THE LAKE-COUNTRY. Let those who have not as yet made up their minds how or where to spend their summer holiday, turn their steps towards Lakeland. There, beauty ever changing and ever charming in all her multiform varieties, lies in wait for them at every turn. Life too among the hills has a free hearty zest, born of the invigorating mountain breezes, which you search for in vain elsewhere. The wind, as it sweeps along the hill-side, recalls, as it fans the weary brow, the quick glad feeling of existence, the exuberance of gay animal spirits, which were natural and unprized in careless boyhood, but which are too often extinguished by the cares assumed with advancing years. The steep roads, the green hill-<DW72>s, the peaceful mossy boulders, the picturesque nooks, in which nestle quaint little homesteads, and the broad calm lake stretching out like a great embossed silver shield at your feet, with the deep shadows of the hills shading into purple gloom in its shining ripples--who that has once seen such a picture, particularly in sunshine, can ever forget it? In winter evenings, when the curtains are snugly drawn, and the howling storm shut out, and the firelight tinges all around with its warm ruddy glow, pleasant visions of the breezy fells, and the great hills with their changeful lights and shadows, and the leafy copses running down to the edge of the water, recur to the memory. You are again in the swiftly gliding boat; you lean over to gather the water-lilies, or to gaze into the clear pebbly-bottomed abysses of that softly yielding flood. Again you see mirrored in its crystal depths the straggling rifts of vapour, or the long rippling beaches of cloud. The sweet do-nothingness of the hour, its gay insouciance, or its vanished romance, are with you once more, and charm you as of old. It is with a feeling of half-sad tenderness that you turn away from the mental photograph, and leaving it safe in memory's keeping, go back to your busy commonplace world. Mr Payn, in his beautiful volume entitled _The Lakes in Sunshine_ (Windermere: J. Garnett), gives us a sparkling description of Lakeland. He begins with Windermere, because, as he says, 'the scenery of the northern lakes is unquestionably grander and wilder, and they should therefore be seen after their southern sisters.' Almost every one has seen Windermere, the queen of English lakes. Many have seen it as Mr Payn says it is best seen--by a Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league Alone. To such, a magic charm clings ever afterwards to each tree and shrub, investing those never-to-be-forgotten days of delicious idling on its pleasant shores with a glory peculiarly their own. Among the distinguished people who have done Windermere and climbed Orrest Head, to gaze from thence upon the panorama of lake and mountain and wooded hill and sea which stretch around, was Beau Brummel, who was, however, much too fine a gentleman to get up any unfashionable enthusiasm upon the subject. 'Charles,' he would drawl out to his valet, when he was asked which of the lakes was his favourite--'Charles, which lake was it we liked best?' Immediately beneath the tourist, as he stands on Orrest Head, is Elleray, where 'Christopher North' spent so much of his time. He loved the mountains around, and might be met upon them in all weathers, in shine or shower; the shower of course, as is the case all throughout Lakeland, predominating greatly. As a rule the weather is moist and often wet, although the dalesmen do not like to have it called so, or to have any exceptions taken to the lack of sunshine. They are as irritable upon the subject as a certain Parsee grandee was, who when his venerable ecclesiastical host, finding a dearth of topics of conversation, fell back upon that standing British theme the weather, and blandly observed: 'We have not seen the sun, Sir Jamsetjee, for many a day,' shut him up abruptly with a stern: 'And what is that to you, sir? The sun is my god.' In like manner mist and rain, the tutelary genii of Lakeland, are under the special protection of the aborigines. There are a number of pretty houses in the vicinity of Windermere, and land for building purposes is in great demand, and very difficult to be had; for a dalesman, although seldom caring a straw about the beauty of the scenery, is passionately attached to the little bit of land he has inherited from his father, and tenaciously determined, as he will tell you, 'to hand it forat,' that his son may be no worse off than he was himself. Unfortunately, he has no ambition to make him better; and the authoress of the _Cottagers of Glenburnie_, could she revisit the earth, might find work enough and to spare amid the untidy and half-ruinous homesteads of the Lake country. Towards the southern end of the lake is Storrs Hall, where once upon a time a brilliant company were wont to assemble, Canning, Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and Christopher North. Intellectual Titans! All that of yore awoke your admiration is here, but not one of your number lingers to admire! There still are the wooded coombs and knolls rich in myriad shifting lights of beauty, the might of the silent hills, the placid loveliness of the romantic lake; but ye have gone, and the place that knows you no more preaches to the musing stranger an eloquent homily upon the transitoriness of life, and even of that fame which we fondly call immortal. There is not in all Lakeland a more picturesque town than Ambleside. Here, as most people know, is the Knoll, the pretty little villa in which Miss Martineau spent the long tranquil autumn of her life. She built it for herself, and was commended for the wisdom of her choice by Wordsworth, who did not break into any poetic raptures over the lovely scenery; but taking a commonplace view of the case, said shrewdly: 'You have made a capital investment; it will double its value in ten years.' He also gave her a piece of advice about her housekeeping, which had more of calculating frugality in it than a superficial observer would have expected from the poetic temperament. 'You will have many visitors,' quoth the prudent bard of Lakeland. 'You must do as we do. You must say to them: "If you will have some tea with us, you are welcome; but if you want any meat along with it, you must pay for it as boarders do."' Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's home, is in the close vicinity of Ambleside, a sanctuary which Mr Payn would have closed against all pilgrims except those who can understand Wordsworth's works as well as quote them--a too severe ordeal, which would well nigh make a solitude of this classic spot. 'This intellectual winnowing-machine,' he says, 'would exclude about ninety out of a hundred of the well-meaning but really inexcusable folks who now request admittance at that sacred gate.' Opposite the principal hotel at Grasmere, upon the roadside that leads to the Wishing Gate, is the white cottage in which Wordsworth spent his early married life, and where De Quincey lived after him, and filled the little drawing-room with his library of five thousand books. Here, invigorated by the mountain breezes, or absorbed in his books and the beautiful scenery, the far-famed Opium-eater made a sudden descent from three hundred and twenty grains (eight thousand drops) per diem of his favourite drug to forty grains, and found himself, Mr Payn says, in the novel position of a man with opium to give away. One day when he was lounging among the June roses, a tawny stranger beturbaned and travel-stained asked an alms of him in the Malay tongue. Of this half-barbarous vernacular De Quincey was profoundly ignorant, as indeed he was of all Eastern languages, the only two Asiatic words he knew being the Arabic word for barley, and the Turkish name for opium. So he tried the dusky suppliant with Greek, which he replied to glibly in Malay. The end of the strange colloquy being that De Quincey, divining from the stranger's aspect that he also was an opium-eater, bestowed upon him a large cake of the precious drug; enough, he calculated, to serve him a fortnight. The Malay took it, and without more ado, swallowed it outright, leaving his benefactor transfixed with horror, staring dumbly after him as he went upon his way. For some days afterwards De Quincey was not unnaturally much exercised in mind, and very curious to learn from all passers-by if a man with a turban had been

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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Rick Morris and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS BY ROBERT SHALER NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Sterling Boy Scout Books _Bound in cloth_ _Ten titles_ 1 Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps. 2 Boy Scouts of Pioneer Camp. 3 Boy Scouts of the Geological Survey. 4 Boy Scouts of the Life Saving Crew. 5 Boy Scouts on Picket Duty. 6 Boy Scouts of the Flying Squadron. 7 Boy Scouts and the Prize Pennant. 8 Boy Scouts of the Naval Reserve. 9 Boy Scouts in the Saddle. 10 Boy Scouts for City Improvement. _You can purchase any of the above books at the price you paid for this one, or the publishers will send any book, postpaid, upon receipt of 25c._ HURST & CO., Publishers 432 Fourth Avenue, New York Copyright, 1914, by Hurst & Company. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Great Expectations 5 II. Forming the Signal Corps 21 III. A Perilous Encounter 35 IV. A Fire in Camp 48 V. Reveille 65 VI. The Chosen Few 81 VII. The End of the Hike 97 VIII. An Unexpected Reproof 113 IX. The Sham Battle 128 X. Around the Council-Fire 140 XI. A Mountain Adventure 152 The Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps CHAPTER I. GREAT EXPECTATIONS. "Hi! you, Billy Worth!" cried the leader of the Wolf patrol, a tall youth of seventeen named Hugh Hardin, addressing his assistant. "Scramble out of that bunky, my boy, in two wags of a Wolf's tail, or I'll have scout's law on you!" "All right, chief! Coming!" was the prompt response, as Billy, thus adjured, turned over in his bunk and thrust one long leg over the edge. His bare brown foot, dangling perilously near the head of another boy whose bunk was beneath Billy's, proved too great a temptation for the lad. Pulling a whisp of straw from his mattress, he proceeded to tickle the sole of that foot, thereby causing Billy to elevate it hastily with a loud squeal. As he did so, Hugh made a dexterous sweep of his arms, and, grasping Billy around the knees, almost flung him over one broad shoulder and deposited him none too gently on the floor. "Ouch!" whooped Billy. His shout and the dull thump of his fall aroused other inmates of the cabin who had not already wakened in time to witness the onslaught. "Help! Murder!" yelled a scout of the patrol. "Shut up!" another boy said, laughing, as he sprang from his bunk. "What's going on here, anyway?" "Not hurt, are you, old man?" inquired Hugh, a trifle anxiously, for he seldom cared to perpetrate practical jokes. "I didn't mean to----" No response from Billy. He lay where he had fallen, with one arm outstretched, the other pillowing his head. His face was covered by a limp hand, but between his fingers he slyly peeped out, and his twinkling eyes sought the serious face of Hugh, who was bending over him. "Billy's done for!" said the lad who had tickled him. "Let's put him to bed, chief, for he will be happier there." Ignoring this facetious suggestion, Hugh bent still lower; he even dropped upon one knee, and put his hands on Billy's shoulder. "Wake up, son!" he urged, smiling and giving his chum a gentle shake. "First round is over, and in ten seconds you will be counted out." This was the chance for which Billy had been waiting. Now he saw that Hugh was completely off his guard. Suddenly his free hand shot out, grasped Hugh's ankle from behind, gave it a strong push--and the next instant Hugh measured his length on the floor. Before Hugh could fully realize what had happened to upset his equilibrium, Billy gathered up his own sprawling limbs, and hurled himself upon his fallen leader. "Down and out, am I?" he gurgled. "Who said so? Come on, we'll----" "Sure! We'll see!" As he spoke, Hugh struggled free from the other's hold, and met the reprisal with his usual jolly laugh. "Good for you, Billy! Good one on me! O-ho!"--he dodged nimbly a "half-Nelson" which Billy had vainly attempted--"none of your famous strangle-holds, now!" Then ensued a rough-and-tumble match, the outcome of which was awaited in joyous suspense by every scout in the cabin. They all gathered in a wide circle around the wrestlers, showering liberal encouragement. Had the match been between Hugh or Billy and a member of the other patrol, however friendly, it might not have been greeted with the same impartiality. The circle soon narrowed, for not more than three minutes elapsed before both contestants were down on their sides, facing each other. Hugh, being quicker and less stockily built than his chum, was the first to make a final overthrow. In a trice, he pulled Billy under him; and, though Billy put up a good fight, he crumpled flat under Hugh's weight. "You win!" he gasped. "Get off my arm,--it hurts!" "Sorry, son," said Hugh, when murmurs of applause had died away. "Shall I put you back to bed now?" "No, thank you; I----" Laughter greeted Hugh's query, for Billy Worth bore an undeserved reputation of being a sluggard. On his part, he took the laugh good-humoredly. "Is that what you call doing a daily good turn?" he inquired of Hardin, with a grin. "You've begun the day nicely, I must say!" "_You_ did the good turn, old scout!" called Walter Osborne, of the Hawk patrol, from across the room. "I never saw a neater tumble!" "I'll take a fall out of you for that, Walt!" threatened Billy, cheerfully. "If we have archery practice to-day, you'll miss a feather from your wing!" "Hear! Hear!" came a chorus of voices. "Fly at him, Walt!" urged one of young Osborne's patrol. "Go to it, beak and claws," added another. "Billy the Wolf'll catch you if you don't watch out!" chanted a third, in a sing-song voice, thumping his pillow as if to beat time to the words. Neither Billy nor Hugh made any response to this friendly taunt. Hugh turned aside and, going to the rear of the room where a tier of lockers stood, numbered to correspond with the bunks, he drew out a pair of bathing trunks. "Going for a swim before breakfast?" asked Billy, turning to a young fellow who appeared in the doorway of the cabin and paused on the threshold outside. "Are you?" came the evasive answer. "You bet! The Lieutenant gave us permission yesterday, and we're off to the lake, bright and early." "I see," remarked the outsider, glancing around the cabin, which was filled with boys in various stages of undress. Something in the tone of his voice, a note of wistful bitterness, struck the ears of Hugh Hardin, who was standing near enough to overhear this brief colloquy. He looked up from the process of tying the strings of his shorts tight, and was on the point of making some remark, when, recognizing the visitor, he kept silence. Billy Worth was not so tactful. "Come along, Alec," he urged. "The water's fine!" "Can't." "Why not?" "I'm on police duty, as punishment." "Punishment? For what?" "Carelessness," was Alec's truthful, albeit sulky, reply. "Yesterday I dumped 'Buck' Winter out of a canoe,--though it wasn't all my fault. The kid wouldn't keep still, and he told me he could swim like a fish,--and he was nearly drowned." "Gee! That little piker! Why, he _can_ swim! Didn't he capture two points from us last week, in the hundred yards?" "Wrong again, Billy! It was his brother, who is the star swimmer of our patrol." "Well, your Otters put it all over us, Alec, in those water games." "That is why we are so glad to have morning practice," added Hugh, in a tone which he honestly intended to be kind. "We Wolves want time to find out what we can do." "Buck must have lost his head," remarked Walter Osborne, who had drawn near. "He did," said Alec, emphatically, "and he gave Chief Hardin a chance to qualify in first-aid--at my expense." There was no mistaking the resentment that underlay those words. Walt and Billy glanced uneasily at Hugh. A flush stained Hugh's bronzed cheeks and brow at the retort, and he turned away scornfully, biting his under lip. It was hard to keep his temper in control, as a scout should; but he managed to do so, and the next moment he was outside the cabin, filling his lungs with deep draughts of the pine-scented air and watching the mists roll up the side of the opposite mountain. With the coming of the sun, he was able to take fresh note of his surroundings, and his eager dark eyes dwelt fondly upon the familiar scene in the first light of a new day. Indeed, it was a scene to stir any red-blooded boy. As far as Hugh could see through the lifting vapor lay the lake, a great silvery mirror reflecting the heavily wooded shores so clearly that the inverted forest appeared no less real than the original. From the shores of the lake, in every direction, hills sloped ruggedly up into mountains, for the most part clothed to their summits with the variegated green of a mighty woodland. The side of one of the nearer mountains was scarred by exposed ledges of bare rock, which, as Lieutenant Denmead, the Scout Master, had said, would make fine strategic points for the Signalers' Game. "We'll try it some day this week," he had told Hugh on the previous evening, as he sat with his assistant scout master, Rawson, and the leaders of the four patrols around the camp-fire. Hugh recalled that vague promise now, as his gaze wandered from those rocky ledges to the deeper hollows not yet penetrated by the sun's rays. How dim and mysterious they looked! How Hugh longed to explore them and to discover, by means of such woodcraft as he had already learned, the treasures hidden in those shadowy nooks and ravines! Several boys of his patrol followed him from the cabin. They saw that something had vexed him, but they made no comments, even among themselves. Presently they dashed away, down to the shore of the lake, where most of the boys from the other cabins were gathered. These boys belonged to the Otter and the Fox patrols. Left alone for the moment, Hugh waited for Billy and Walter, to whom he had decided to make an explanation of Alec's thrust. As they walked down to the lake together,--Alec having departed on his rounds to the chip-basket,--he told them how he had happened to be on hand to give assistance at the canoe accident. "I didn't help very much, really," he finished, "and I don't see why Alec should be so sore." "Oh, never mind him, Hugh; he'll get over his grouch after a while," declared Billy. "He is jealous of you because you qualified as a first-class scout before he did, and because you are in line for a merit badge as chief scout woodsman." "Hello, son!" exclaimed Walter, turning to greet an eager-faced boy, Number 8 of his patrol, who had trotted up behind them. "What's eating you now?" "Do-do you know why the Big Chief has called a m-m-meeting of the patrols this morning?" panted the boy. "No, I don't," admitted Walter. "But we will find out after breakfast. Run along now, son, and mind: not more than ten minutes in the water!" "All right, I'll remember," promised the younger boy, and he raced ahead several yards. Suddenly he stopped short, turned around, and waited for the trio to come up. "I-I say, Hugh, will you--will you do me a favor?" he inquired hesitatingly. "Will you coach me on the crawl?" "Surest thing you know! That's what I'm here for," Hugh responded heartily. A few more strides brought them to the shore of the lake, where they stood for a moment, watching a group of boys swimming out to the raft. Then, with a quick "Come on, now! Watch me!" Hugh leaped forward into the water, followed by Walter and Billy. The boy whom he was coaching stood knee-deep in the water, gazing with admiration not unmixed with envy at the powerful yet easy overhand strokes that sent the swimmer through the ripples without apparent exertion, yet at a speed that made his own best efforts seem hopeless. In another moment he, too, was breasting the lake, and soon he gained the raft and climbed upon it. "That's much better," was Hugh's brief comment, at which his admirer glowed with pleasure. Praise from Hugh, who was usually so reserved, was rare indeed! Just as they were practicing swift dives, a bugle call rang clear and full across the water. "The'recall'," gasped Billy. "Wonder what's doing?" "That means everybody report at once," said Don Miller, leader of the Fox patrol. "Back to shore, fellows." "Hit her up, son!" added Walter, and, suiting his action to his words, he slid rapidly through the clear water, leaving a wake of swirling ripples. As soon as the swimmers reached shore, they hurried to their respective cabins, dressed, attended to their beds, and then repaired to the larger log-house, where a bountiful breakfast was served. During the meal the talk was all of the eagerly anticipated meeting of the patrols, and everyone wondered why it had been called. Mess over, Don Miller and Walter Osborne took their stand at either side of the cabin door, and as each boy passed out he saluted the two chiefs with the scout's salute, and was saluted in return. This was a point of etiquette upon which Lieutenant Denmead, who was a retired officer of the United States Army, always insisted, believing that it did much to maintain discipline and to instill the scout virtues of courtesy and of respect for superior officers. CHAPTER II. FORMING THE SIGNAL CORPS. A cheer, heartier and more informal than military, rose from forty throats, as Lieutenant Denmead and Assistant Scout Master Rawson came forth from their quarters to break the news to the assembled boys. "Scouts of Pioneer Camp," began the lieutenant, smiling, when silence had been restored, "I have called this meeting in order to lay before you a plan which I think will merit your approval. "Most of you have heard that in two weeks there are to be National Guard maneuvers over in Oakvale and the adjoining meadows, not far from here?" A murmur of assent greeted this question, and the Scout Master continued: "Part of these maneuvers will be the work of a carefully trained and efficient signal corps, and you boys will undoubtedly be interested in seeing that, among the other events. To understand it thoroughly, you should have some practical knowledge of the system of signaling; that is, the semaphore signal code, the wig-wag or Myer code, and the sound codes. You should know how to send and receive messages by each and all of these three methods. Such knowledge may be of great use and benefit to you or

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Iris Schroeder-Gehring and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net HOW TO GET STRONG AND HOW TO STAY SO BY WILLIAM BLAIKIE [Illustration: Decoration] NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS FRANKLIN SQUARE 1883. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. TO ARCHIBALD MACLAREN _WHO HAS PROBABLY DONE MORE THAN ANY ONE ELSE NOW LIVING TO POINT OUT THE BENEFITS RESULTING FROM RATIONAL PHYSICAL EXERCISE, AND HOW TO ATTAIN THOSE BENEFITS_ THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY Dedicated PREFACE. Millions of our people pass their lives in cities and towns, and at work which keeps them nearly all day in-doors. Many hours are devoted for days and years, under careful teachers, and many millions of dollars are spent annually, in educating the mind and the moral nature. But the body is allowed to grow up all uneducated; indeed, often such a weak, shaky affair that it gets easily out of order, especially in middle and later life, and its owner is wholly unequal to tasks which would have proved easy to him, had he given it even a tithe of the education bestowed so generously in other directions. Not a few, to be sure, have the advantage in youth of years of active out-door life on a farm, and so lay up a store of vigor which stands them in good stead throughout a lifetime. But many, and especially those born and reared in towns and cities, have had no such training, or any equivalent, and so never have the developed lungs and muscles, the strong heart and vigorous digestion--in short, the improved tone and strength in all their vital organs--which any sensible plan of body-culture, followed up daily, would have secured. It does not matter so much whether we get vigor on the farm, the deck, the tow-path, or in the gymnasium, if we only get it. Fortunately, if not gotten in youth, when we are plastic and easily shaped, it may still be had, even far on in middle life, by judicious and systematic exercise, aimed first to bring up the weak and unused parts, and then by general work daily which shall maintain the equal development of the whole. The aim here has been, not to write a profound treatise on gymnastics, and point out how to eventually reach great performance in this art, but rather in a way so plain and untechnical that even any intelligent boy or girl can readily understand it, to first give the reader a nudge to take better care of his body, and so of his health, and then to point out one way to do it. That there are a hundred other ways is cheerfully conceded. If anything said here should stir up some to vigorously take hold of, and faithfully follow up, either the plan here indicated or any one of these others, it cannot fail to bring them marked benefit, and so to gratify THE AUTHOR. _New York, July, 1883._ CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. DO WE INHERIT SHAPELY BODIES? 9 II. HALF-BUILT BOYS 23 III. WILL DAILY PHYSICAL EXERCISE FOR GIRLS PAY? 42 IV. IS IT TOO LATE FOR WOMEN TO BEGIN? 57 V. WHY MEN SHOULD EXERCISE DAILY 74 VI. HOME GYMNASIUMS 91 VII. THE SCHOOL THE TRUE PLACE FOR CHILDREN'S PHYSICAL CULTURE 104 VIII. WHAT A GYMNASIUM MIGHT BE AND DO 117 IX. SOME RESULTS OF BRIEF SYSTEMATIC EXERCISE 138 X. WORK FOR THE FLESHY, THE THIN, THE OLD 154 XI. HALF-TRAINED FIREMEN AND POLICE 177 XII. SPECIAL EXERCISE FOR ANY GIVEN MUSCLES 199 _a._ To Develop the Leg below the Knee 200 _b._ Work for the Front of the Thigh 208 _c._ To Enlarge the Under Thigh 214 _d._ To Strengthen the Sides of the Waist 215 _e._ The Abdominal Muscles 218 _f._ Counterwork for the Abdominal Muscles 224 _g._ To Enlarge and give Power to the Loins 227 _h._ Development above the Waist 228 _i._ Filling out the Shoulders and Upper Back 230 _j._ To obtain a good Biceps 233 _k._ To bring up the Muscles on the Front and Side of the Shoulder 236 _l._ Forearm Work 237 _m._ Exercises for the Triceps Muscles 238 _n._ To Strengthen and Develop the Hand 241 _o._ To Enlarge and Strengthen the Front of the Chest 243 _p._ To Broaden and Deepen the Chest itself 245 XIII. WHAT EXERCISE TO TAKE DAILY 252 _a._ Daily Work for Children 253 _b._ Daily Exercise for Young Men 273 _c._ Daily Exercise for Women 276 _d._ Daily Exercise for Business Men 278 _e._ Daily Exercise for Consumptives 283 APPENDIX I. 291 " II. 291 " III. 292 " IV. 292 " V. 293 " VI. 294 " VII. 295 CONCLUSION 295 TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Fig. 1. A warped University Oarsman, imperfectly developed in Muscles not used in Rowing 36 " 2. A warped Professional Sculler, imperfectly developed in Muscles not used in Rowing 37 " 3. Horizontal Bar and Chest-bars, for Home Use 92 " 4. Noiseless Pulley-weights 94 " 5. Appliance for developing the Sides of the Waist 217 " 6. A Correct Position for Fast Walking 220 " 7. Device for developing the Abdominal Muscles 225 " 8. A Chest-widener 248 " 9. A Chest-deepener 250 HOW TO GET STRONG, AND HOW TO STAY SO. CHAPTER I. DO WE INHERIT SHAPELY BODIES? Probably more men walk past the corner of Broadway and Fulton Street, in New York city, in the course of one year, than any other point in America--men of all nations and ages, heights and weights. Look at them carefully as they pass, and you will see that scarcely one in ten is either erect or thoroughly well-built. Some slouch their shoulders and double in at the waist; some overstep; others cant to one side; this one has one shoulder higher than the other, and that one both too high; some have heavy bodies and light legs, others the reverse; and so on, each with his own peculiarities. A thoroughly erect, well-proportioned man, easy and graceful in his movements, is far from a frequent sight. Any one accustomed to athletic work, and knowing what it can do for the body, must at times have wondered why most men allowed themselves to go along for years, perhaps through life, so carrying themselves as not only to lack the outward grace and ease they might possess, and which they occasionally see in others, but so as to directly cramp and impede one or more of the vital organs. Nor is it always the man's fault that he is ill-proportioned. In most cases it comes down from his progenitors. The father's walk and physical peculiarities appear in the son, often so plainly that the former's calling might almost be told from a look at the latter. A very great majority of Americans are the sons either of farmers or merchants, mechanics or laborers. The work of each class soon develops peculiar characteristics. No one of the four classes has ordinarily had any training at all aimed to make him equally strong all over. Broad as is the variety of the farmer's work, far the greater, and certainly the

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Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive BILL NYE AND BOOMERANG; Or, The Tale Of A Meek-Eyed Mule, And Some Other Literary Gems By Bill Nye Chicago, New York And San Francisco: Bedford, Clarke & Co. 1883= ```"And now, kind friends, what I have wrote ```I hope you will pass o'er, ```And not criticise as some has done, ```Hitherto, herebefore." `````Sweet Singer of Michigan. [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0007] MY MULE BOOMERANG, |Whose bright smile haunts me still, and whose low, mellow notes are ever sounding in my ears, to whom I owe all that I am as a great man, and whose presence has inspired me ever and anon throughout the years that are gone. THIS VOLUME, this coronet of sparkling literary gems as it were, this wreath of fragrant forget-me-nots and meek-eyed johnny-jump-ups, with all its wealth of rare tropical blossoms and high-priced exotics, is cheerfully and even hilariously dedicated By the Author. THE APOLOGY. {In my Boudoir, {Nov. 17,1880. Belford, Clarke & Co.: Gentlemen:--In reply to your favor of the 22d ult., I herewith transmit the material necessary for a medium size volume of my chaste and unique writings. The matter has been arranged rather hurriedly, and no doubt in classifying this rectangular mass of soul, I have selected some little epics and ethereal flights of fancy which are not as good as others that I have left out, but my only excuse is this: the literary world has been compelled to yield up first one well known historical or scientific work and then another, careful investigation having shown that they were unreliable. This left suffering humanity almost destitute of a reliable work to which it could turn in its hour of great need. So I have been compelled to hurry more than I wanted to. It affords me great pleasure, however, to know what a feeling of blessed rest and childlike confidence and assurance-and some more things of that nature-will follow the publication of this work. Print the book in large coarse type, so that the old people can get a chance at it. It will reconcile them to death, perhaps. Then sell it at a moderate price. It is really priceless in value, but put it within the reach of all, and then turn it loose without a word of warning. The Author. Laramie City, Wyoming. OSTROPHE TO AN ORPHAN MULE. ```Oh! lonely, gentle, unobtrusive mule! ```Thou standest idly 'gainst the azure sky,` ``And sweetly, sadly singeth like a hired man.= `````Who taught thee thus to warble` ``In the noontide heat and wrestle with` ``Thy ceep, corroding grief and joyless woe?` ``Who taught thy simple heart ```Its pent-up, wildly-warring waste` ``Of wanton woe to carol forth upon` ````The silent air?= ```I chide thee not, because thy` ``Song is fraught with grief-embittered` ``Monotone and joyless minor chords` ``Of wild, imported melody, for thou` ``Art restless, woe begirt and` ``Compassed round about with gloom, `````Thou timid, trusting, orphan mule! `````Few joys indeed, are thine,` ``Thou thrice-bestricken, madly` ``Mournful, melancholy mule. ```And he alone who strews ```Thy pathway with his cold remains ```Can give thee recompense `````Of lemoncholy woe.= ```He who hath sought to steer` ``Thy limber, yielding tail` ``Ferninst thy crupper-band ```Hath given thee joy, and he alone. ```'Tip true, he may have shot` ``Athwart the Zodiac, and, looking` ``O'er the outer walls upon `````The New Jerusalem, ```Have uttered vain regrets.= ```Thou reckest not, O orphan mule, ```For it hath given thee joy, and` ``Bound about thy bursting heart, ```And held thy tottering reason` ````To its throne.= ```Sing on, O mule, and warble` ``In the twilight gray, ```Unchidden by the heartless throng. ```Sing of thy parents on thy father's side.` ``Yearn for the days now past and gone: ```For he who pens these halting, ```Limping lines to thee ```Doth bid thee yearn, and yearn, and yearn. A MINERS' MEETING--MY MINE--A MIRAGE ON E PLAINS. Camp on the New Jerusalem Mine, May 28, 1880. |I write this letter in great haste, as I have just returned from the new carbonate discoveries, and haven't any surplus time left. While I was there a driving snow storm raged on the mountains, and slowly melting made the yellow ochre into tough plastic clay which adhered to my boots to such an extent that before I knew it my delicately arched feet were as large as a bale of hay with about the same symmetrical outlines. A miners' meeting was held there Wednesday evening, and a district to be called Mill Creek District, was formed, being fifteen miles each way. The Nellis cabin or ranch is situated in the center of the district. I presided over the meeting to give it an air of terror and gloom. It was very impressive. There was hardly a dry eye in the house as I was led to the chair by two old miners. I seated myself behind the flour barrel, and pounding on the head of the barrel with a pick handle, I called the august assemblage to order. Snuffing the candle with my fingers in a graceful and pleasing style, and wiping the black off on my pants, I said: "Gentlemen of the Convention: In your selection of a chairman I detect at once your mental acumen and intelligent foresight. While you feel confident that, in the rose- future, prosperity is in store for you, you still remember that now you look to capital for the immediate development of your district. "I am free to state that, although I have been but a few hours in your locality, I am highly gratified with your appearance, and I cheerfully assure you that the coffers which I command are at your disposal. In me you behold a capitalist who proposes to develop the country, regardless of expense. "I also recognize your good sense in selecting an old miner and mineral expert to preside over your meeting. Although it may require something of a mental strain for your chairman to detect the difference between porphyry and perdition, yet in the actual practical workings of a mining camp he feels that he is equal to any emergency. "After the band plays something soothing and the chaplain has drawn up a short petition to the throne of grace, I shall be glad to know the pleasure of the meeting." Round after round of applause greeted this little gem of oratory. A small boy gathered up the bouquets and filed them with the secretary, when the meeting proceeded with its work. Most of the delegates came instructed, and therefore the business was soon transacted. I located a claim called the Boomerang. I named it after my favorite mule. I call my mule Boomerang because he has such an eccentric orbit and no one can tell just when he will clash with some other heavenly body. He has a sigh like the long drawn breath of a fog-horn. He likes to come to my tent in the morning about daylight and sigh in my ear before I am awake. He is a highly amusing little cuss, and it tickles him a good deal to pour about 13 1/2 gallons of his melody into my car while I am dreaming, sweetly dreaming. He enjoys my look of pleasant surprise when I wake up. He would cheerfully pour more than 13 1/2 gallons of sigh into my ear, but that is all my ear will hold. There is nothing small about Boomerang. He is generous to a fault and lavishes his low, sad, tremulous wail on every one who has time to listen to it. Those who have never been wakened from a sweet, sweet dream by the low sad wail of a narrow-gauge mule, so close to the ear that the warm breath of the songster can be felt on the cheek, do not know what it is to be loved by a patient, faithful, dumb animal. The first time he rendered this voluntary for my benefit, I rose in my wrath and some other clothes, and went out and shot him. I discharged every chamber of my revolver into his carcass, and went back to bed to wait till it got lighter. In a couple of hours I arose and went out to bury Boomerang. The remains were off about twenty yards eating bunch grass. In the gloom and uncertainty of night, I had shot six shots into an old windlass near a deserted shaft. Boomerang and I get along first-rate together. When I am lonesome I shoot at him, and when he is lonesome he comes up and lays his head across my shoulder, and looks at me with great soulful eyes and sings to me. On our way in from the mines we saw one of those beautiful sights so common in this high altitude and clear atmosphere. It was a mirage. In the party were a lawyer, a United States official, a banker and myself. The other three members of the quartet, aside from myself are very modest men and do not wish to have their names mentioned. They were very particular about it and I have respected their wishes. Whatever Messrs. Blake, Snow or Ivinson ask me to do I will always do cheerfully. But we were speaking about the mirage. Across to the northeast our attention was at first attracted by a rank of gray towers growing taller and taller till their heads were lifted into the sky above, while at their feet there soon appeared a glassy lake in which was reflected the outlines of the massive gray walls above. It was a beautiful sight. The picture was as still and lovely to look upon as a school ma'am. We all went into raptures. It looked like some beautiful scene in Palestine. At least Snow said so, and he has read a book about Palestine, and ought to know. There was a silence in the air which seemed to indicate the deserted sepulchre of other days, and the grim ruins towering above the depths of clear waters on whose surface was mirrored the visage of the rocks and towers on their banks, all spoke of repose and decay and the silent, stately tread of relentless years. By and by, from out the grey background of the picture, there stole the wild, tremulous, heart-broken wail of a mule. It seemed to jar upon the surroundings and clash harshly against our sensitive natures. Some one of the party swore a little. Then another one came to the front, and took the job off his hands. We all joined, in a gentlemanly kind of way, in condemning the mule for his lack of tact, to say the least. All at once the line of magnificent ruins shortened and became reduced in height. They changed their positions and moved off to the left, and our dream had melted into the matter of fact scene of twenty-two immigrant wagons drawn by rat-tail mules and driven by long-haired Mormons, with the dirt and bacon rinds of prehistoric times adhering to them everywhere. What a vale of tears this is anyway! We are only marching toward the tomb, after all. We should learn a valuable lesson from this and never tell a lie. THE TRUE STORY OF DAMON AND PYTHIAS. CHAPTER I. |The romantic story of Damon and Pythias, which has been celebrated in verse and song, for over two thousand years, is supposed to have originated during the reign of Dionysius I., or Dionysius the Elder as he was also called, who resigned about 350 years B.C. He must have been called "The Elder," more for a joke than anything else, as he was by inclination a Unitarian, although he was never a member of any church whatever, and was in fact the wickedest man in all Syracuse. Dionysius arose to the throne from the ranks, and used to call himself

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Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: OSLER’S GLASS FOUNTAIN AND THE TRANSEPT. THE GREAT EXHIBITION. _Frontispiece._ ] HYDE PARK FROM _DOMESDAY-BOOK TO DATE_ BY JOHN ASHTON AUTHOR OF “SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE,” ETC., ETC. _ONE MAP AND TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS_ London DOWNEY & CO. YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON 1896 [_All rights reserved_] LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. JOHN’S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL ROAD, E.C. PREFACE. The only History of Hyde Park, at all worthy of the name, is Vol. I. of “The Story of the London Parks,” by Jacob Larwood. But, its author says, definitely, “What happened in Hyde Park subsequently to 1825, approaches too near to contemporary history to be told in these pages.” This (for Hyde Park has a history since then), added to the inaccuracies and imperfections of the book, has induced me to write a History of Hyde Park from Domesday Book to Date. JOHN ASHTON. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE The forests round London--The Manor of Eia in Domesday Book--Its subdivision--The Manor of Hyde--The Manor of Ebury--The Manor of Neate--The Neat houses--Henry VIII. and Hyde Park--Queen Elizabeth and Hyde Park--James I.--The deer in the Park--Last shooting therein--Foxes--The badger 1 CHAPTER II. Hyde Park in the early Commonwealth--Its sale--Toll on horses and carriages--A hurling match--Cromwell’s accident--Attempts to shoot him in the Park--Notices against trespassers--The Park at the Restoration 14 CHAPTER III. The camp in Hyde Park during the Plague of 1665--Boscobel Oaks in the Park--When first opened to the public--What it was then like--The Cheesecake House--Its homely refections--Orange girls 24 CHAPTER IV. Foot and horse racing in the Park--Prize fighting--Duelling--The duel between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton 32 CHAPTER V. Duelling in Hyde Park 39 CHAPTER VI. Skating on the ponds and Serpentine--The Ring--Many notices thereof--Fireworks in the Park--Bad roads therein, and accidents caused thereby--Regulations in the time of Queen Anne--Making the drive--Riding in the Park 49 CHAPTER VII. Rotten Row, the King’s Old Road--The New King’s Road made and lighted--The Allied Sovereigns in the Park--The Park after the Peninsular War--The Duke of Wellington in the Park--The Queen and Royal Family in the Park 61 CHAPTER VIII. The springs in Hyde Park--Used as water supply for Westminster--Horses in the Park--The Westbourne--Making the Serpentine--The “Naumachia” thereon--Satires about it--The Jubilee Fair 65 CHAPTER IX. Coronation of George IV.--Boat-racing on the Serpentine--Illumination of the Park--Fireworks--Coronation of Queen Victoria--Fair in the Park--Fireworks in Hyde Park, at “Peace rejoicing,” May, 1856 75 CHAPTER X. The Great Exhibition of 1851 94 CHAPTER XI. Royal Humane Society’s Receiving House--Boats and bathing--The Dell--Chelsea Water Works reservoir--Walnut-trees--Flower-walk--Military executions--The Magazine, Whip, Four-in-hand and Coaching Clubs--Their dress--Satire on Coaching--The Park as a military centre--The first review--Fort at Hyde Park Corner--Guard-house--Camp in Hyde Park--Insubordinate troops 120 CHAPTER XII. Grand Reviews in 1660-1661-1668, 1682-1695-1699--Camps in 1715-1716-1722--Poem on the latter--Reviews in 1755-1759-1760 132 CHAPTER XIII. Reviews in 1763-1764--Shooting-butts in 1778--Camp in 1780--Severe sentence of a Court-martial--Volunteer Reviews, 1799-1800--The rain at the latter 142 CHAPTER XIV. Volunteer Reviews of 1803--Review in honour of the Allied Sovereigns, 1814--Popularity of Blücher--Review by the Queen in 1838--Volunteer Review, 1860 152 CHAPTER XV. Volunteer Reviews, 1864, 1876--Mobs in the Park--Funeral of Queen Caroline 163 CHAPTER XVI. Commencement of the reign of King Mob--Sunday Trading Bill, 1855--Riots--Withdrawal of the Bill--Meetings about high price of food, 1855--Rough play and window smashing 177 CHAPTER XVII. Sympathy with Italy, 1859--Garibaldi riots, 1862--Reform League Meeting, 23rd July, 1866--Police proclamation against it--Attempt to hold it--Hyde Park railings destroyed 187 CHAPTER XVIII. Reform League Meeting of 25th July, 1866--Burning a tree--Stone-throwing--Temporizing policy of the Government--Special constables sworn in--Meeting abandoned--Return of police injured--Meeting of “Working Men’s Rights Association,” 1867--Reform League Meeting of 6th May, 1867--Police warning--Legal opinions--Meeting held--Meeting on 5th August, 1867 200 CHAPTER XIX. Demonstrations against the Irish Church, 1868--In favour of Fenians, 1869--Regulations made by Commissioners of Works--Fenian Demonstration, 1872--A speaker sentenced--Meeting about the Eastern Question, 1878--Fight--Preaching in the Park--Modern instances--May-Day and May 6, 1894--Against the House of Lords, Aug. 26, 1894 212 CHAPTER XX. The Children’s Fête in Hyde Park, 1887 224 CHAPTER XXI. List of Rangers--A horse jumping the wall--Highwaymen--Horace Walpole robbed--Other robberies--Assaults, offences, etc., in the present reign--A very recent case 235 CHAPTER XXII. The Gates--That into Kensington Gardens--Improvements in the Park--Encroachments--The case of Ann Hicks and the other fruit-sellers--Seats in the Park--New house in ditto 253 CHAPTER XXIII. Works of art in the Park--Drinking fountain--Marble Arch--Hyde Park Corner--Achilles statue--Walk round the park--Cemetery of St. George’s, Hanover Square--Sterne’s tomb and burial--Tyburn tree--The Tybourne--People executed--Henrietta Maria’s penance--Locality of the gallows--Princess Charlotte--Gloucester House--Dorchester House--Londonderry House--Apsley House--Allen’s apple stall--The Wellington Arch--Statues of the Duke--St. George’s Hospital, Knightsbridge--A fight on the bridge--Albert Gate and George Hudson--Knightsbridge Barracks 265 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Exhibition of 1851: Osier’s Glass Fountain and the Transept _Frontispiece_ Boscobel Oaks, 1804 27 Cheesecake House, 1826 30 Duel between Lord Mohun and the Duke of Hamilton 37 Duel between George Garrick and Mr. Baddeley, 1770 42 Winter Amusement, 1787 50 The Row, 1793 62 “ “ 1814. The Allied Sovereigns 62 “ “ 1834 62 The Duke of Wellington 64 A Spring in the Park, 1794 65 Houses in the Park, 1794 66 A Man of War, 1814 73 “Albert, spare those trees!” 103 Tailpiece: Col. Sibthorpe and Exhibition of 1851 119 Map of Hyde Park from “Roque’s Survey,” 1741-1745 120 Volunteer Review by George III., 1799 143 The Soldiers’ Toilet, 1780 145 Returning from the Review, 1800 150 Popularity of Blücher, 1814 157 The Broken Windows at Apsley House, 1831 280 [Illustration: decorative bar] HYDE PARK. CHAPTER I. The forests round London--The manor of Eia in Domesday Book--Its subdivision--The Manor of Hyde--The Manor of Ebury--The Manor of Neate--The Neat houses--Henry VIII. and Hyde Park--Queen Elizabeth and Hyde Park--James I.--The deer in the park--Last shooting therein--Foxes--The badger. In old times London was surrounded by forests, of which the only traces now remaining are at Bishop’s Wood, between Hampstead and Highgate, and the Chase at Enfield. FitzStephen, who lived in the reign of Henry II., tells us, in his Description of London, that beyond the fields to the north of London was an immense forest, beautified with woods and groves--or in other words, park land--full of the lairs and

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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) GLIMPSES OF THE SUPERNATURAL. The Other World; OR, GLIMPSES OF THE SUPERNATURAL. BEING FACTS, RECORDS, AND TRADITIONS RELATING TO DREAMS, OMENS, MIRACULOUS OCCURRENCES, APPARITIONS, WRAITHS, WARNINGS, SECOND-SIGHT, WITCHCRAFT, NECROMANCY, ETC. EDITED BY THE REV. FREDERICK GEORGE LEE, D.C.L. _Vicar of All Saints', Lambeth._ IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. HENRY S. KING AND CO., LONDON. 1875. (_All rights reserved._) TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AUGUSTA, COUNTESS OF STRADBROKE, OF HENHAM HALL, IN THE COUNTY OF SUFFOLK, THESE VOLUMES ARE, BY HER LADYSHIP'S KIND PERMISSION, VERY RESPECTFULLY Dedicated. "It is often asked--Do you believe in Prophecies and Miracles? Yes and no, one may answer; that depends. In general, yes; doubtless we believe in them, and are not of the number of those who 'pique themselves,' as Fenelon said, 'on rejecting as fables, without examination, all the wonders that God works.' But if you come to the particular, and say--Do you believe in such a revelation, such an apparition, such a cure?--here it is that it behoves us not to forget the rules of Christian prudence, nor the warnings of Holy Writ, nor the teaching of Theologians and Saints, nor, finally, the decrees of Councils, and the motives of those decrees. Has the proper Authority spoken? If it has spoken, let us bow with all the respect due to grave and mature ecclesiastical judgments, even where they are not clothed with infallible authority; if it has not spoken, let us not be of those who reject everything in a partizan spirit, and want to impose this unbelief upon everybody; nor of those who admit everything lightly, and want alike to impose their belief; let us be careful in discussing a particular fact, not to reject the very principle of the Supernatural, but neither let us shut our eyes to the evidence of testimony; let us be prudent, even to the most careful scrutiny--the subject-matter requires it, the Scriptures recommend it--but let us not be sceptics; let us be sincere, but not fanatical: that is the true mean. And let us not forget that most often the safest way in these matters is not to hurry one's judgment, not to decide sharply and affirm absolutely--in a word, not to anticipate, in one sense or the other, the judgment of those whose place and mission it is to examine herein; but to await, in the simplicity of faith and of Christian wisdom, a decision which marks out a wise rule, although not always with absolute certainty."--Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, "On Contemporary Prophecies." PREFACE. These volumes have been compiled from the standing-point of a hearty and reverent believer in Historical Christianity. No one can be more fully aware of their imperfections and incompleteness than the Editor; for the subjects under consideration occupy such a broad field, that their treatment at greater length would have largely increased the bulk of the volumes, and indefinitely postponed their publication. The facts and records set forth (and throughout, the Editor has dealt with facts, rather than with theories) have been gathered from time to time during the past twenty years, as well from ordinary historical narrations as from the personal information of several friends and acquaintances interested in the subject-matter of the book. The materials thus brought together from so many quarters have been carefully sifted, and those only made use of as would best assist in the arranged method of the volume, and suffice for its suitable illustration. The Editor regrets that, in the publication of so many recent examples of the Supernatural (about fifty), set forth for the first time in the following pages, the names of the persons to whom those examples occurred, and

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Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Distributed Proofreaders Team [Illustration] SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 401 NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 8, 1883 Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVI, No. 401. Scientific American established 1845 Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year. Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year. * * * * * TABLE OF CONTENTS. I. CHEMISTRY.--On the Different Modifications of Silver Bromide and Silver Chloride. Analysis of New Zealand Coal. On the Determination of Manganese in Steel, Cast Iron, Ferro-manganese, etc. Manganese and its Uses. Ozokerite or Earth-wax. By WILLIAM L. LAY. A valuable and instructive paper read before the New York Academy of Sciences.--Showing the nature, sources, and applications of this remarkable product. On the Constitution of the Natural Fats. II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Improved Spring wheel Traction Engine.--With two engravings. An Improved Iron Frame Gang Saw Mill.--With one large engraving. The Heat Regenerative System of Firing Gas Retorts.--Siemens' principle.--As operated at the Glasgow Corporation Works.--With two engravings. A New Gas Heated Baker's Oven. III. TECHNOLOGY.--How to Produce Permanent Photographic Pictures on Terra Cotta, Glass, etc.--With recipes and full directions. How to Make Paper Photo Negatives.--Full directions. Some of the Uses of Common Alum. An Improved Cloth Stretching Machine.--With an engraving. Purification of Woolen Fabrics by Hydrochloric Acid Gas. Apparatus for Preventing the Loss of Carbonic Acid in Racking Beer.--With an engraving. IV. ELECTRICITY.--Application of Electricity to the Bleaching of Vetable Textile Materials.--With figure of apparatus. Table Showing the Relative Dimensions, Lengths, Electrical Resistances, and Weights of Pure Copper Wires. V. ASTRONOMY.--The Solar Eclipse of 1883.--An interesting abstract from a report of C. S. HASTINGS (Johns Hopkins University), of the American Astronomical Exhibition to the Caroline Islands. VI. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.--Recent Experiments Affecting the Received Theory of Music.--An interesting paper descriptive of certain experiments by President Morton, of Stevens Institute. The Motions of Camphor upon Water.--With an engraving. VII. ARCHITECTURE.--Suggestions in Village Architecture.-- Semidetached villas.--Bloomfield crescent.--With an engraving. Specimens of Old Knocking Devices for Doors.--Several figures. VIII. ARCHAEOLOGY.--A Buried City of the Exodus.--Being an account of the recent excavations and discoveries of Pithom Succoth, in Egypt.--With an engraving. The Moabite Manuscripts. IX. AGRICULTURE. HORTICULTURE, ETC.--The Queen Victoria Century Plant.--With an engraving. Charred Clover. A New Weathercock.--With one figure. X. MISCELLANEOUS.--New Monumental Statue and Landing Place in Honor of Christopher Columbus at Barcelona, Spain.--With an engraving. Scenery on the Utah Line of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway. Captain Matthew Webb.--Biographical sketch.--With portrait. The Dwellings of the Poor In Paris. Shipment of Ostriches from Cape Town, South Africa.--With one page of engravings. * * * * * MONUMENT TO CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN. The cultivated and patriotic city of Barcelona is about to erect a magnificent monument in honor of Columbus, the personage most distinguished in the historic annals of all nations and all epochs. The City of Earls does not forget that here the discoverer of America disembarked on the 3d of April, 1493, to present to the Catholic monarchs the evidences of the happy termination of his enterprise. In honoring Columbus they honor and exalt the sons of Catalonia, who also took part in the discovery and civilization of the New World, among whom may be named the Treasurer Santangel, Captain Margarit, Friar Benardo Boyl, first patriarch of the Indies, and the twelve missionaries of Monserrat, who accompanied the illustrious admiral on his second voyage. In September, 1881, a national competition was opened by the central executive committee for the monument, and by the unanimous voice of the committee the premium plans of the architect, Don Cayetano Buigas Monraba, were adopted. From these plans, which we find in _La Ilustracion Espanola_, we give an engraving. Richness, grandeur, and expression, worthily combined, are the characteristics of these plans. The landing structure is divided into three parts, a central and two laterals, each of which extends forward, after the manner of a cutwater, in the form of the bow of a vessel of the fifteenth century, bringing to mind the two caravels, the Pinta and Nina; two great lights occupy the advance points on each side; a rich balustrade and four statues of celebrated persons complete the magnificent frontage. A noble monument, surmounted by a statue of the discoverer, is seen on the esplanade. [Illustration: MONUMENTAL LANDING AND STATUE TO COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN.] * * * * * The commission appointed in France to consider the phylloxera has not awarded to anybody the prize of three hundred thousand francs that was offered to the discoverer of a trustworthy remedy or preventive for the fatal grape disease. There were not less than 182 competitors for the prize; but none had made a discovery that filled the bill. It is said, however, that a Strasbourg physician has found in naphthaline an absolutely trustworthy remedy. This liquid is poured upon the ground about the root of the vine, and it is said that it kills the parasites without hurting the grape. * * * * * SCENERY ON THE UTAH LINE OF THE DENVER AND RIO GRANDE. Mr. R.W. Raymond gives the following interesting account of the remarkable scenery on this recently opened route from Denver to Salt Lake: Having just made the trip from Salt Lake City to this place on the Denver & Rio Grande line, I cannot write you on any other subject at present. There is not in the world a railroad journey of thirty hours so filled with grand and beautiful views. I should perhaps qualify this statement by deducting the hours of darkness; yet this is really a fortunate enhancement of the traveler's enjoyment; it seems providential that there is one part of the way just long enough and uninteresting enough to permit one to go to sleep without the fear of missing anything sublime. Leaving Salt Lake City at noon, we sped through the fertile and populous Jordan Valley, past the fresh and lovely Utah Lake, and up the Valley of Spanish Fork. All the way the superb granite walls and summits of the Wahsatch accompanied us on the east, while westward, across the wide valley, were the blue outlines of the Oquirrh range. One after another of the magnificent canyons of the Wahsatch we passed, their mouths seeming mere gashes in the massive rock, but promising wild and rugged variety to him who enters--a promise which I have abundantly tested in other days. Parley's Canyon, the Big and Little Cottonwood, and most wonderful of all, the canyon of the American Fork, form a series not inferior to those of Boulder, Clear Creek, the Platte, and the Arkansas, in the front range of the Rockies. Following Spanish Fork eastward so far as it served our purpose, we crossed the divide to the head waters of the South Fork of Price River, a tributary of Green River. It was a regret to me, in choosing this route, that I should miss the familiar and beloved scenery of Weber and Echo canyons--the only part of the Union Pacific road which tempts one to look out of a car window, unless one may be tempted by the boundless monotony of the plains or the chance of a prairie dog. Great was my satisfaction, therefore, to find that this part of the new road, parallel with the Union Pacific, but a hundred miles farther south, traverses the same belt of rocks, and exhibits them in forms not less picturesque. Castle Canyon, on the South Fork of the Price, is the equivalent of Echo Canyon, and is equal or superior in everything except color. The brilliant red of the Echo cliffs is wanting. The towers and walls of Castle Canyon are yellowish-gray. But their forms are incomparably various and grotesque--in some instances sublime. The valley of Green River at this point is a cheerless sage-brush desert, as it is further north. To be sure, this uninviting stream, a couple of hundred miles further south, having united with the Grande, and formed the Rio Colorado, does indeed, by dint of burrowing deeper and deeper into the sunless chasms, become at last sublime. But here it gives no hint of its future somber glory. I remained awake till we had crossed Green River, to make sure that no striking scenery should be missed by sleep. But I got nothing for my pains except the moonlight on the muddy water; and next time I shall go to bed comfortably, proving to the conductor that I am a veteran and not a tender-foot. In the morning, we breakfasted at Cimarron, having in the interval passed the foot-hills of the Roan Mountains, crossed the Grande, and ascended for some distance the Gunnison, a tributary of the Grande, the Uncompahgre, a tributary of the Gunnison, and finally a branch, flowing westward, of the Uncompahgre. A high divide at the head of the latter was laboriously surmounted; and then, one of our two engines shooting ahead and piloting us, we slid speedily down to Cimarron. It is in such descents that the unaccustomed traveler usually feels alarmed. But the experience of the Rio Grande Railroad people is, that derailment is likely to occur on up-grades, and almost never in going down. From this point, comparison with the Union Pacific line in the matter of scenery ceases. As everybody knows, that road crosses the Rocky Mountains proper in a pass so wide and of such gradual ascent that the high summits are quite out of sight. If it were not for the monument to the Ameses, there would be nothing to mark the highest point. For all the wonderful scenery on the Rio Grande road, between Cimarron and Pueblo, the Union Pacific in the same longitudes has nothing to show. From an artistic stand-point, one

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Produced by Anna Hall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS._ THE BLUE LAGOON. By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE. EVE'S APPLE. By ALPHONSE COURLANDER. PARADISE COURT. By J. S. FLETCHER. THE TRAITOR'S WIFE. By W. H. WILLIAMSON. MAROZIA. By A. G. HALES. LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN. THE WOMAN WHO VOWED (THE DEMETRIAN) BY ELLISON HARDING [Illustration] LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE MCMVIII CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A Goddess and a Comic Song 7 II. Harvesting and Harmony 21 III. The Cult of Demeter 37 IV. Anna of Ann 53 V. Irene 63 VI. Neaera 77 VII. A Tragic Denouement 94 VIII. How the Cult was Founded 101 IX. How It Might be Undermined 119 X. An Unexpected Solution 127 XI. The Plot Thickens 135 XII. Neaera's Idea of Diplomacy 144 XIII. Neaera Makes New Arrangements 150 XIV. "I Consented" 162 XV. The High Priest of Demeter 171 XVI. Anna's Secret 183 XVII. Designs on Anna of Ann 190 XVIII. A Dream 200 XIX. The Legislature Meets 207 XX. On Flavors and Finance 219 XXI. The Investigating Committee 226 XXII. "Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils" 238 XXIII. A Libel 249 XXIV. Neaera Again 259 XXV. The Libel Investigated 266 XXVI. The Election 285 XXVII. The Joint Session 293 XXVIII. Lydia to the Rescue 302 Conclusion 315 THE DEMETRIAN CHAPTER I A GODDESS AND A COMIC SONG I remember awakening with a start, conscious of a face bending over me that was beautiful and strange. I was quite unable to account for myself, and my surprise was heightened by the singular dress of the woman I saw. It was Greek--not of modern but of ancient Greece. What had happened? Had I been acting in a Greek play and been stunned by an accident to the scenery? No; the grass upon which I was lying was damp, and a sharp twinge between the shoulders told me I had been there already too long. What, then, was the meaning of this classic dress? I raised myself on one arm; and the young woman who had been kneeling beside me arose also. I was dazed, and shaded my eyes from the sun on the horizon--whether setting or rising I could not tell. I fixed my eyes upon the feet of my companion; they were curiously shod in soft leather, for cleanliness rather than for protection; tightly laced from the toe to the ankle and half way up the leg--half-moccasin and half-cothurnus. I fixed my eyes upon them and slowly became quite sure that I was alive and awake, but seemed still dazed and unwilling to look up. Presently she spoke. "Are you ill?" she asked. "I don't think so," answered I, as I lifted my eyes to hers. When our eyes met I jumped to my feet with an alertness so fresh and fruitful that I seemed to myself to have risen anew from the Fountain of Youth. A miracle had happened. I was dead and had come to life again--and apparently this time in the Olympian world. "Here!" I exclaimed; "or Athene! Cytherea, or Artemis!" Then quickly the look of sympathetic concern that I had just seen in her eyes vanished. A ripple of laughter passed over her face like the first touch of a breeze on a becalmed sea; for a moment she seemed to restrain it, but her merriment awakened mine, and on perceiving it she abandoned all restraint and burst into a laugh that was musical, bewitching, and contagious. We stood there a full minute, both of us laughing, though I did not understand why. She soon explained. "Where on earth do you come from, Xenos, and where--_where_ did you get _those_ things?" She pointed to my pantaloons as she spoke. Then I discovered how ridiculous I appeared. "And why have they cut all the hair off your face and left that ugly little stubble?" I put my hand to my chin and felt there a beard of several days' growth. "It must prick dreadfully," she said; and coming up to me she daintily passed a soft, rosy finger over my cheek. I caught her hand and kissed it. She jumped away from me like a fawn. "Take care, young man," she said, reprovingly but not reproachfully; "though I don't suppose you are very young, for I see some gray in your hair." I don't suppose I liked being reminded of my years, but I was altogether too much absorbed in the richness of her beauty and health to be concerned about myself. And the subtle combination of freedom and reserve in her manner conveyed to me an indescribable charm. At one moment it tempted me to trespass, but at the next I became aware that such an attempt would meet with humiliating resistance; for she was tall and strong. Her one rapid movement away from me proved her agility. She was perfectly able to take care of herself. Her consciousness of this had enabled her to meet my first advance with unruffled good humor, but I felt sure that persistence on my part would elicit repulsion and perhaps scorn. We stood a moment smiling at each other; then she said: "Come, you must take off those dreadful things; why, you are wet through"--and she passed her hand over my back--"and you must tell me what you are and where you come from. But you are chilled now and need something warm, so come to the Hall and you can tell me as we go." As she spoke she swung to her head a basket I had not before observed; it was heavy, for she straightened herself to support it; and the weight, until she balanced it, brought out the muscles of her neck. She put her arms akimbo and showed the way. "Well," she said, as we walked together side by side, "when are you going to begin?" "How and where shall I begin?" answered I. "You forget that I too have questions to ask; I am bewildered. Who and what are you? In what country am I? Where did you get that beautiful dress?" I stepped a little away from her to observe the beauty of her form

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E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 41730-h.htm or 41730-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h/41730-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://archive.org/details/dixieafterwarexp00avar DIXIE AFTER THE WAR [Illustration: JEFFERSON DAVIS After his prison life Copyright 1867, by Anderson] DIXIE AFTER THE WAR An Exposition of Social Conditions Existing in the South, During the Twelve Years Succeeding the Fall of Richmond. by MYRTA LOCKETT AVARY Author of "A Virginia Girl in the Civil War" With an Introduction by General Clement A. Evans Illustrated from old paintings, daguerreotypes and rare photographs New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1906 Copyright, 1906, by Doubleday, Page & Company Published September, 1906 All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian To THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, PHILIP LOCKETT, (_First Lieutenant, Company G, 14th Virginia Infantry, Armistead's Brigade, Pickett's Division, C. S. A._) _Entering the Confederate Army, when hardly more than a lad, he followed General Robert E. Lee for four years, surrendering at Appomattox. He was in Pickett's immortal charge at Gettysburg, and with Armistead when Armistead fell on Cemetery Hill._ The faces I see before me are those of young men. Had you not been this I would not have appeared alone as the defender of my southland, but for love of her I break my silence and speak to you. Before you lies the future--a future full of golden promise, full of recompense for noble endeavor, full of national glory before which the world will stand amazed. Let me beseech you to lay aside all rancor, and all bitter sectional feeling, and take your place in the rank of those who will bring about a conciliation out of which will issue a reunited country.--_From an address by Jefferson Davis in his last years, to the young men of the South_ INTRODUCTION This book may be called a revelation. It seems to me a body of discoveries that should not be kept from the public--discoveries which have origin in many sources but are here brought together in one book for the first time. No book hitherto published portrays so fully and graphically the social conditions existing in the South for the twelve years following the fall of Richmond, none so vividly presents race problems. It is the kind of history a witness gives. The author received from observers and participants the larger part of the incidents and anecdotes which she employs. Those who lived during reconstruction are passing away so rapidly that data, unless gathered now, can never be had thus at first hand; every year increases the difficulty. Mrs. Avary's experience as author, editor and journalist, her command of shorthand and her social connections have opened up opportunities not usually accessible to one person; added to this is the balance of sympathy which she is able to strike as a Southern woman who has sojourned much at the North. In these pages she renders a public service. She aids the American to better understanding of his country's past and clearer concept of its present. In connection with the book's genesis, it may be said that the author grew up after the war on a large Virginia plantation where her parents kept open house in the true Southern fashion. Two public roads which united at their gates, were thoroughfares linking county-towns in Virginia and North Carolina, and were much traveled by jurists, lawyers and politicians on their way to and from various court sittings; these gentlemen often found it both convenient and pleasant to stop for supper and over night at Lombardy Grove, particularly as a son of the house was of their guild. Perhaps few of the company thus gathered realised what an earnest listener they had in the little girl, Myrta, who sat intent at her father's or brother's knee, drinking in eagerly the discussions and stories. To impressions and information so acquired much was added through family correspondence with relatives and friends in Petersburg, Richmond, Atlanta, the Carolinas; also, in experiences related by these friends and relatives when hospitalities were exchanged; interesting and eventful diaries, too, were at the author's disposal. Such was her unconscious preparation for the writing of this book. Her conscious preparation was a tour of several Southern States recently undertaken for the purpose of collecting fresh data and substantiating information already possessed. While engaged, for a season, in journalism in New York, she put out her first Southern book, "A Virginia Girl in the Civil War" (1903). This met with such warm welcome that she was promptly called upon for a second dealing with post-bellum life from a woman's viewpoint. The result was the Southern journey mentioned, the accidental discovery and presentment (1905) of the war journal of Mrs. James Chestnut ("A Diary From Dixie"), and the writing of the present volume which, I think, exceeds her commission, inasmuch as it is not only what is known as a "woman's book" but is a "man's book" also, exhibiting a masculine grasp, explained by its origin, of political situations, and an intimate personal tone in dealing with the lighter social side of things, possible only to a woman's pen. It is a very unusual book. All readers may not accept the author's conclusions, but I think that all must be interested in what she says and impressed with her spirit of fairness and her painstaking effort to present a truthful picture of an extraordinary social and political period in our national life. Her work stimulates interest in Southern history. A safe prophecy is that this book will be the precursor of as many post-bellum memoirs of feminine authorship as was "A Virginia Girl" of memoirs of war-time. No successor can be more comprehensive, as a glance at the table of contents will show. The tragedy, pathos, corruption, humour, and absurdities of the military dictatorship and of reconstruction, the topsy-turvy conditions generally, domestic upheaval, <DW64>s voting, Black and Tan Conventions and Legislatures, disorder on plantations, Loyal Leagues and Freedmen's Bureaus, Ku Klux and Red Shirts, are presented with a vividness akin to the camera's. A wide interest is appealed to in the earlier chapters narrating incidents connected with Mr. Lincoln's visit to Richmond, Mr. Davis' journeyings, capture and imprisonment, the arrest of Vice-President Stephens and the effort to capture General Toombs. Those which deal with the Federal occupation of Columbia and Richmond at once rivet attention. The most full and graphic description of the situation in the latter city just after the war, that has yet been produced, is given, and I think the interpretation of Mr. Davis' course in leaving Richmond instead of remaining and trying to enter into peace negotiations, is a point not hitherto so clearly taken. As a bird's-eye view of the South after the war, the book is expositive of its title, every salient feature of the time and territory being brought under observation. The States upon which attention is chiefly focussed, however, are Virginia and South Carolina, two showing reconstruction at its best and worst. The reader does not need assurance that this volume cost the author years of well-directed labour; hasty effort could not have produced a work of such depth, breadth and variety. It will meet with prompt welcome, I am sure, and its value will not diminish with years. CLEMENT A. EVANS. _Atlanta, Ga._ CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I. THE FALLING CROSS 3 CHAPTER II. "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" 9 CHAPTER III. THE ARMY OF THE UNION: THE CHILDREN AND THE FLAG 15 CHAPTER IV. THE COMING OF LINCOLN 29 CHAPTER V. THE LAST CAPITAL OF THE CONFEDERACY 47 CHAPTER VI. THE COUNSEL OF LEE 67 CHAPTER VII. "THE SADDEST GOOD FRIDAY" 77 CHAPTER VIII. THE WRATH OF THE NORTH 89 CHAPTER IX. THE CHAINING OF JEFFERSON DAVIS 101 CHAPTER X. OUR FRIENDS, THE ENEMY 107 CHAPTER XI. BUTTONS, LOVERS, OATHS, WAR LORDS, AND PRAYERS FOR PRESIDENTS 123 CHAPTER XII. CLUBBED TO HIS KNEES 139 CHAPTER XIII. NEW FASHIONS: A LITTLE BONNET AND AN ALPACA SKIRT 147 CHAPTER XIV. THE GENERAL IN THE CORNFIELD 155 CHAPTER XV. TOURNAMENTS AND STARVATION PARTIES 167 CHAPTER XVI. THE BONDAGE OF THE FREE 179 CHAPTER XVII. BACK TO VOODOOISM 201 CHAPTER XVIII. THE FREEDMEN'S BUREAU 209 CHAPTER XIX. THE PRISONER OF FORTRESS MONROE 219 CHAPTER XX. RECONSTRUCTION ORATORY 229 CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONER FREE 237 CHAPTER XXII. A LITTLE PLAIN HISTORY 247 CHAPTER XXIII. THE BLACK AND TAN CONVENTION: THE "MIDNIGHT CONSTITUTION" 253 CHAPTER XXIV. SECRET SOCIETIES: LOYAL LEAGUE, WHITE CAMELIAS, WHITE BROTHERHOOD, PALE FACES, KU KLUX 263 CHAPTER XXV. THE SOUTHERN BALLOT-BOX 281 CHAPTER XXVI. THE WHITE CHILD 297 CHAPTER XXVII. SCHOOLMARMS AND OTHER NEWCOMERS 311 CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CARPET-BAGGER 325 CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEVIL ON THE SANTEE (A RICE-PLANTER'S STORY) 341 CHAPTER XXX. BATTLE FOR THE STATE-HOUSE 353 CHAPTER XXXI. CRIME AGAINST WOMANHOOD 377 CHAPTER XXXII. RACE PREJUDICE 391 CHAPTER XXXIII. MEMORIAL DAY AND DECORATION DAY. CONFEDERATE SOCIETIES 405 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS JEFFERSON DAVIS _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE THE RUINS OF MILLWOOD 6 MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS 10 THE WHITE HOUSE 32 THE GOVERNOR'S MANSION, Richmond 36 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH 48 THE LAST CAPITOL OF THE CONFEDERACY 52 THE OLD BANK, Washington, Ga. 56 GENERAL AND MRS. JOHN H. MORGAN 62 THE LEE RESIDENCE, Richmond 68 MRS. ROBERT E. LEE 72 MRS. JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON 80 LIBBY PRISON 92 MRS. DAVID L. YULEE 110 MISS MARY MEADE 120 MRS. HENRY L. POPE 128 MRS. WILLIAM HOWELL 134 MRS. ANDREW GRAY 134 MISS ADDIE PRESCOTT 168 MRS. DAVID URQUHART 174 MRS. LEONIDAS POLK 180 MRS. ANDREW PICKENS CALHOUN 196 FORTRESS MONROE 222 HISTORICAL PETIT JURY 238 MRS. AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 248 MME. OCTAVIA WALTON LE VERT 248 MRS. DAVID R. WILLIAMS 268 MISS EMILY V. MASON 304 MRS. WADE HAMPTON 346 RADICAL MEMBERS OF THE LEGISLATURE OF SOUTH CAROLINA 354 THE SOUTHERN CROSS 364 MRS. REBECCA CALHOUN PICKENS BACON 406 MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR 412 WINNIE DAVIS, the Daughter of the Confederacy 416 THE FALLING CROSS CHAPTER I THE FALLING CROSS "The Southern Cross" and a cross that fell during the burning of Columbia occur to my mind in unison. With the Confederate Army gone and Richmond open to the Federal Army, her people remembered New Orleans, Atlanta, Columbia. New Orleans, where "Beast Butler" issued orders giving his soldiers license to treat ladies offending them as "women of the town." Atlanta, whose citizens were ordered to leave; General Hood had protested and Mayor Calhoun had plead the cause of the old and feeble, of women that were with child; and of them that turned out of their houses had nowhere to go, and without money, food, or shelter, must perish in woods and waysides. General Sherman had replied: "I give full credit to your statements of the distress that will be occasioned, yet shall not revoke my orders, because they were not designed to meet the humanities of the case. You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will. War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it." "The order to depopulate Atlanta was obeyed amid agonies and sorrows indescribable," Colonel J. H. Keatley, U. S. A., has affirmed. There are some who hold with General Sherman that the most merciful way to conduct war is to make it as merciless and horrible as possible, and so end it the quicker. One objection to this is that it creates in a subjugated people such hatred and distrust of the conquering army and government that a generation or two must die out before this passes away; and therefore, in a very real sense, the method does not make quick end of conflict. Richmond remembered how Mayor Goodwin went to meet General Sherman and surrendered Columbia, praying for it his pity and protection. General Sherman had said: "Go home and sleep in peace, Mr. Mayor. Your city shall be safe." Mayor Goodwin returned, praising General Sherman. By next morning, the City of Gardens was almost swept from the face of the earth. The rabble ("my <DW15>s," General Sherman laughingly called his men set apart for such work), pouring into the town, had invaded and sacked homes, driving inmates--among these mothers with new-born babes--into the streets; they had demolished furniture, fired dwellings. Houses of worship were not spared. The Methodist Church, at whose altar the Sabbath before Rev. William Martin had administered the Sacrament to over four hundred <DW64>s, was burned. So was the Ursuline Convent. This institution was a branch of the order in Ohio; it sheltered nuns and students of both sections; Protestant and Catholic alike were there in sanctuary. One Northern Sister had lost two brothers in the Federal Army. Another was joyously hoping to find in Sherman's ranks one or more of her five Yankee brothers. The shock of that night killed her. A Western girl was "hoping yet fearing" to see her kinsmen. Guards, appointed for protection, aided in destruction. Rooms were invaded, trunks rifled. Drunken soldiers blew smoke in nuns' faces, saying: "Holy! holy! O yes, we are holy as you!" And: "What do you think of God now? Is not Sherman greater?" Because of the sacred character of the establishment, because General Sherman was a Catholic, and because he had sent assurances of protection to the Mother Superior, they had felt safe. But they had to go. "I marched in the procession through the blazing streets," wrote the Western girl, "venerable Father O'Connell at the head holding high the crucifix, the black-robed Mother Superior and the _religieuses_ following with their charges, the white-faced, frightened girls and children, all in line and in perfect order. They sought the Catholic church for safety, and the Sisters put the little ones to sleep on the cushioned pews; then the children, driven out by roystering soldiers, ran stumbling and terror-stricken into the graveyard and crouched behind gravestones." One soldier said he was sorry for the women and children of South Carolina, but the hotbed of secession must be destroyed. "But I am not a South Carolinian," retorted the Western girl, "I am from Ohio. Our Mother Superior was in the same Convent in Ohio with General Sherman's sister and daughter." "The General ought to know that," he responded quickly. "If you are from Ohio--that's my state--I'll help you." For answer, she pointed to the Convent; the cross above it was falling. They recur to my mind in unison--that cross, sacred alike to North and South, falling above a burning city, and the falling Southern Cross, Dixie's beautiful battle-flag. Two nuns, conferring apart if it would not be well to take the children into the woods, heard a deep, sad voice saying: "Your position distresses me greatly!" Startled, they turned to perceive a Federal officer beside a tombstone just behind them. "Are you a Catholic," they asked, "that you pity us?" "No; simply a man and a soldier." Dawn came, and with it some Irish soldiers to early Mass. Appalled, they cried: "O, this will never do! Send for the General! The General would never permit it!" At reveille all arson, looting and violence had ceased as by magic, even as conflagration had started as by magic in the early hours of the night when four signal rockets went up from as many corners of the town. But the look of the desolated city in the glare of daylight was indescribable. Around the church were broken and empty trunks and boxes; in the entrance stood a harp with broken strings. General Sherman came riding by; the Mother Superior summoned him; calmly facing the Attila of his day, she said in her clear, sweet voice: "General, this is how you keep your promise to me, a cloistered nun, and these my sacred charges." General Sherman answered: "Madame, it is all the fault of your <DW64>s, who gave my soldiers liquor to drink." General Sherman, in official report, charged the burning of Columbia to General Hampton, and in his "Memoirs" gives his reason: "I confess that I did so to shake the faith of his people in him"; and asserts that his "right wing," "having utterly ruined Columbia," passed on to Winnsboro. Living witnesses tell how that firing was done. A party of soldiers would enter a dwelling, search and rifle; and in departing throw wads of burning paper into closets, corners, under beds, into cellars. Another party would repeat the process. Family and servants would follow after, removing wads and extinguishing flames until ready to drop. Devastation for secession, that was what was made plain in South Carolina; if the hotbed of "heresy" had to be destroyed for her sins, what of the Confederate Capital, Richmond, the long-desired, the "heart of the Rebellion"? [Illustration: THE RUINS OF MILLWOOD Millwood was the ancestral home of General Hampton, and was burned by Sherman's orders. The property is now owned by General Hampton's sisters.] "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" CHAPTER II "WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER" "When this cruel war is over" was the name of one of our war songs. So many things we planned to do when the war should be over. With the fall of the Southern Capital the war was over, though we did not know it at once. Again and again has the story been told of Sunday, April 2, in Richmond. The message brought into St. Paul's Church from Lee to Davis, saying Richmond could no longer be defended; the quiet departure of the President; the noble bearing of the beloved rector, Rev. Dr. Minnegerode; the self-control of the troubled people remaining; the solemn Communion Service; these are all a part now of American history of that sad time when brother strove with brother; a time whose memories should never be revived for the purpose of keeping rancor alive, but that should be unfalteringly remembered, and every phase of it diligently studied, that our common country may in no wise lose the lesson for which we of the North and South paid so tremendous a price. Into Dr. Hoge's church a hurried messenger came. The pastor read the note handed up to him, bowed his head in silent prayer, and then said: "Brethren, trying scenes are before us; General Lee has suffered reverses. But remember that God is with us in the storm as well as in the calm. Go quietly to your homes, and whatever may be in store for us, let us not forget that we are Christian men and women. The blessing of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost be with us all. Amen." So other pastors commended their people. None who lived through that Sabbath could forget it. Our Government, our soldiers, hurrying off; women saying goodbye to husband, lover, brother, or friend, and urging haste; everybody who could go, going, when means of transportation were insufficient for Government uses, and "a kingdom for a horse" could not buy one--horses brought that day $1,000 apiece in gold; handsome houses full of beautiful furniture left open and deserted; people of all sexes, colors and classes running hither and yon; boxes and barrels dragged about the streets from open commissary stores; explosions as of earthquakes; houses aflame; the sick and dying brought out; streets running liquid fire where liquor had been emptied into gutters, that it might not be available for invading troops; bibulous wretches in the midst of the terror, brooding over such waste; drunken roughs and looters, white and black, abroad; the penitentiary disgorging striped hordes; the ribald songs, the anguish, the fears, the tumult; the noble calm of brave souls, the patient endurance of sweet women and gentle children--these are all a part of American history, making thereon a page blistered with tears for some; and for others, illumined with symbols of triumph and glory. And yet, we are of one blood, and the triumph and glory of one is the triumph and glory of the other; the anguish and tears of one the anguish and tears of the other; and the shame of one is the shame of both. The fire was largely due to accident. In obedience to law, Confederate forces, in evacuating the city, fired tobacco warehouses, ordnance and other Government stores, gunboats in the James and bridges spanning the river. A wind, it is said, carried sparks towards the town, igniting first one building and then another; incendiarism lent aid that pilfering might go on in greater security through public disorder and distress. [Illustration: MRS. JEFFERSON DAVIS] During the night detonations of exploding gunboats could be heard for miles, the noise and shock and lurid lights adding to the wretchedness of those within the city, and the anxieties of those who beheld its burnings from afar; among these, the advancing enemy, who was not without uneasy speculations lest he find Richmond, as Napoleon found Moscow, in ashes. General Shepley, U. S. A., has described the scene witnessed from his position near Petersburg, as a most beautiful and awful display of fireworks, the heavens at three o'clock being suddenly filled with bursting shells, red lights, Roman candles, fiery serpents, golden fountains, falling stars. Nearly all the young men were gone; the fire department, without a full force of operatives, without horses, without hose, was unable to cope with the situation. Old men, women and children, and <DW64> servants fought the flames as well as they could. Friends and relatives who were living in Richmond then have told me about their experiences until I seem to have shared them. One who appears in these pages as Matoaca, gives me this little word-picture of the morning after the evacuation: "I went early to the War Department, where I had been employed, to get letters out of my desk. The desk was open. Everything was open. Our President, our Government, our soldiers were gone. The papers were found and I started homeward. We saw rolls of smoke ahead, and trod carefully the fiery streets. Suddenly my companion caught my arm, crying: 'Is not that the sound of cavalry?' We hurried, almost running. Soon after we entered the house, some one exclaimed: "'God help us! The United States flag is flying over our Capitol!' "I laid my head on Uncle Randolph's knee and shivered. He placed his hand lightly on my head and said: 'Trust in God, my child. They can not be cruel to us. We are defenseless.' He had fought for that flag in Mexico. He had stood by Virginia, but he had always been a Unionist. I thought of New Orleans, Atlanta, Columbia." An impression obtained that to <DW64> troops was assigned the honor of first entering Richmond, hauling down the Southern Cross and hoisting in its place the Stars and Stripes. "Harper's Weekly" said: "It was fitting that the old flag should be restored by soldiers of the race to secure whose eternal degradation that flag had been pulled down." Whether the assignment was made or not, I am unable to say; if it was, it was not very graceful or wise on the part of our conquerors, and had it been carried out, would have been prophetic of what came after--the subversion. White troops first entered Richmond, and a white man ran up the flag of the Union over our Capitol. General Shepley says that to his aide, Lieutenant de Peyster, he accorded the privilege as a reward for caring for his old flag that had floated over City Hall in New Orleans. On the other hand, it is asserted that Major Stevens performed the historic office, running up the two small guidons of the Fourth Massachusetts Cavalry, which were presently displaced by the large flag Lieutenant de Peyster had been carrying in the holster at his saddle-bow for many a day, that it might be in readiness for the use to which he now put it. THE ARMY OF THE UNION CHAPTER III THE ARMY OF THE UNION: THE CHILDREN AND THE FLAG The Army of the Union entered Richmond with almost the solemnity of a processional entering church. It was occasion for solemn procession, that entrance into our burning city where a stricken people, flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone, watched in terror for their coming. Our broken-hearted people closed their windows and doors and shut out as far as they could all sights and sounds. Yet through closed lattice there came that night to those living near Military Headquarters echoes of rejoicings. Early that fateful morning, Mayor Mayo, Judge Meredith and Judge Lyons went out to meet the incoming foe and deliver up the keys of the city. Their coach of state was a dilapidated equipage, the horses being but raw-boned shadows of better days when there were corn and oats in the land. They carried a piece of wallpaper, on the unflowered side of which articles of surrender were inscribed in dignified terms setting forth that "it is proper to formally surrender the City of Richmond, hitherto Capital of the Confederate States of America." Had the words been engraved on satin in letters of gold, Judge Lyons (who had once represented the United States at the Court of St. James) could not have performed the honours of introduction between the municipal party and the Federal officers with statelier grace, nor could the latter have received the instrument of submission with profounder courtesy. "We went out not knowing what we would encounter," Mayor Mayo reported, "and we met a group of Chesterfields." Major Atherton H. Stevens, of General Weitzel's staff, was the immediate recipient of the wallpaper document. General Weitzel and his associates were merciful to the stricken city; they aided her people in extinguishing the flames; restored order and gave protection. Guards were posted wherever needed, with instructions to repress lawlessness, and they did it. To this day, Richmond people rise up in the gates and praise that Army of the Occupation as Columbia's people can never praise General Sherman's. Good effect on popular sentiment was immediate. Among many similar incidents of the times is this, as related by a prominent physician: "When I returned from my rounds at Chimborazo I found a Yankee soldier sitting on my stoop with my little boy, Walter, playing with the tassels and buttons on his uniform. He arose and saluted courteously, and told me he was there to guard my property. 'I am under orders,' he said, 'to comply with any wish you may express.'" Dr. Gildersleeve, in an address (June, 1904) before the Association of Medical Officers of the Army and Navy, C. S. A., referred to Chimborazo Hospital as "the most noted and largest military hospital in the annals of history, ancient or modern." With its many white buildings and tents on Chimborazo Hill, it looked like a town and a military post, which latter it was, with Dr. James B. McCaw for Commandant. General Weitzel and his staff visited the hospital promptly. Dr. McCaw and his corps in full uniform received them. Dr. Mott, General Weitzel's Chief Medical Director, exclaimed: "Ain't that old Jim McCaw?" "Yes," said "Jim McCaw," "and don't you want a drink?" "Invite the General, too," answered Dr. Mott. General Weitzel issued passes to Dr. McCaw and his corps, and gave verbal orders that Chimborazo Confederates should be taken care of under all circumstances. He proposed to take Dr. McCaw and his corps into the Federal service, thus arming him with power to make requisition for supplies, medicines, etc., which offer the doctor, as a loyal Confederate, was unable to accept. Others of our physicians and surgeons found friends in Federal ranks. To how many poor Boys in Blue, longing for home and kindred, had not they and our women ministered! The orders of the Confederate Government were that the sick and wounded of both armies should be treated alike. True, nobody had the best of fare, for we had it not to give. We were without medicines; it was almost impossible to get morphia, quinine, and other remedies. Quinine was $400 an ounce, when it could be bought at all, even in the earlier years of the war. Our women became experts in manufacturing substitutes out of native herbs and roots. We ran wofully short of dressings and bandages, and bundles of old rags became treasures priceless. But the most cruel shortage was in food. Bitter words in Northern papers and by Northern speakers--after our defeat intensified, multiplied, and illustrated--about our treatment of prisoners exasperated us. "Will they never learn," we asked, "that on such rations as we gave our prisoners, our men were fighting in the field? We had not food for ourselves; the North blockaded us so we could not bring food from outside, and refused to exchange prisoners with us. What could we do?" I wonder how many men now living remember certain loaves of wheaten bread which the women of Richmond collected with difficulty in the last days of the war and sent to Miss Emily V. Mason, our "Florence Nightingale," for our own boys. "Boys," Miss Emily announced--sick soldiers, if graybeards, were "boys" to "Cap'n," as they all called Miss Emily--"I have some flour-bread which the ladies of Richmond have sent you." Cheers, and other expressions of thankfulness. "The poor, sick Yankees," Miss Emily went on falteringly--uneasy countenances in the ward--"_can't_ eat corn-bread--" "Give the flour-bread to the poor, sick Yankees, Cap'n!" came in cheerful, if quavering chorus from the cots. "_We_ can eat corn-bread. Gruel is good

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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive) MADONNA MARY. A Novel. BY MRS. OLIPHANT, AUTHOR OF "LAST OF THE MORTIMERS," "IN THE DAYS OF MY LIFE," "SQUIRE ARDEN," "OMBRA," "MAY," ETC., ETC. _NEW EDITION._ LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1875. [_All rights reserved._] LONDON: SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C. MADONNA MARY. CHAPTER I. Major Ochterlony had been very fidgety after the coming in of the mail. He was very often so, as all his friends were aware, and nobody so much as Mary, his wife, who was herself, on ordinary occasions, of an admirable composure. But the arrival of the mail, which is so welcome an event at an Indian station, and which generally affected the Major very mildly, had produced a singular impression upon him on this special occasion. He was not a man who possessed a large correspondence in his own person; he had reached middle life, and had nobody particular belonging to him, except his wife and his little children, who were as yet too young to have been sent "home;" and consequently there was nobody to receive letters from, except a few married brothers and sisters, who don't count, as everybody knows. That kind of formally affectionate correspondence is not generally exciting, and even Major Ochterlony supported it with composure. But as for the mail which arrived on the 15th of April, 1838, its effect was different. He went out and in so often, that Mary got very little good of her letters, which were from her young sister and her old aunt, and were naturally overflowing with all kinds of pleasant gossip and domestic information. The present writer has so imperfect an idea of what an Indian bungalow is like, that it would be impossible for her to convey a clear idea to the reader, who probably knows much better about it. But yet it was in an Indian bungalow that Mrs. Ochterlony was seated--in the dim hot atmosphere, out of which the sun was carefully excluded, but in which, nevertheless, the inmates simmered softly with the patience of people who cannot help it, and who are used to their martyrdom. She sat still, and did her best to make out the pleasant babble in the letters, which seemed to take sound to itself as she read, and to break into a sweet confusion of kind voices, and rustling leaves, and running water, such as, she knew, had filled the little rustic drawing-room in which the letters were written. The sister was very young, and the aunt was old, and all the experience of the world possessed by the two together, might have gone into Mary's thimble, which she kept playing with upon her finger as she read. But though she knew twenty times better than they did, the soft old lady's gentle counsel, and the audacious girl's advice and censure, were sweet to Mary, who smiled many a time at their simplicity, and yet took the good of it in a way that was peculiar to her. She read, and she smiled in her reading, and felt the fresh English air blow about her, and the leaves rustling--if it had not been for the Major, who went and came like a ghost, and let everything fall that he touched, and hunted every innocent beetle or lizard that had come in to see how things were going on; for he was one of those men who have a great, almost womanish objection to reptiles and insects, which is a sentiment much misplaced in India. He fidgeted so much, indeed, as to disturb even his wife's accustomed nerves at last. "Is there anything wrong--has anything happened?" she asked, folding up her letter, and laying it down in her open work-basket. Her anxiety was not profound, for she was accustomed to the Major's "ways," but still she saw it was necessary for his comfort to utter what was on his mind. "When you have read your letters I want to speak to you," he said. "What do your people mean by sending you such heaps of letters? I thought you would never be done. Well, Mary, this is what it is--there's nothing wrong with the children, or anybody belonging to us, thank God; but it's very nearly as bad, and, I am at my wit's end. Old Sommerville's dead." "Old Sommerville!" said Mrs. Ochterlony. This time she was utterly perplexed and at a loss. She could read easily enough the anxiety which filled her husband's handsome, restless face; but, then, so small a matter put _him_ out of his ordinary! And she could not for her life remember who old Sommerville was. "I daresay _you_ don't recollect him," said the Major, in an aggrieved tone. "It is very odd how everything has gone wrong with us since that false start. It is an awful shame, when a set of old fogies put young people in such a position--all for nothing, too," Major Ochterlony added: "for after we were actually married, everybody came round. It is an awful shame!" "If I was a suspicious woman," said Mary, with a smile, "I should think it was our marriage that you called a false start and an awful shame." "And so it is, my love: so it is," said the innocent soldier, his face growing more and more cloudy. As for his wife being a suspicious woman, or the possible existence of any delicacy on her part about his words, the Major knew better than that. The truth was that he might have given utterance to sentiments of the most atrocious description on that point, sentiments which would have broken the heart and blighted the existence, so to speak, of any sensitive young woman, without producing the slightest effect upon Mary, or upon himself, to whom Mary was so utterly and absolutely necessary, that the idea of existing without her never once entered his restless but honest brain. "That is just what it is," he said; "it is a horrid business for me, and I don't know what to do about it. They must have been out of their senses to drive us to marry as we did; and we were a couple of awful fools," said the Major, with the gravest and most care-worn countenance. Mrs. Ochterlony was still a young woman, handsome and admired, and she might very well have taken offence at such words; but, oddly enough, there was something in his gravely-disturbed face and pathetic tone which touched another chord in Mary's breast. She laughed, which was unkind, considering all the circumstances, and took up her work, and fixed a pair of smiling eyes upon her perplexed husband's face. "I daresay it is not so bad as you think," she said, with the manner of a woman who was used to this kind

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Produced by Julia Miller, Thiers Halliwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's notes: In this plain text version, bold script is denoted by =equals signs= and italic script by _underscores_. Text that was originally rendered in small capitals now appears in full capitals. No attempt has been made to standardise the numerous inconsistencies throughout the text with respect to punctuation, [e.g. (No. 490,)/(No. 490.)/(No. 490)/(No. 490).], spelling, case and hyphenation [e.g. P. 36/p. 88, DR. MOFFETT/Dr. MUFFETT, Colton/Coulton, toothach/toothache, Head-Ach/Head-ach/Head-ache, nightmare/Night-Mare/night-mare, mouthsful/mouthfuls, scum/skum, table-spoonful/tablespooonful, Curacoa/Curacoa, and others]. These and various archaic spellings all remain as in the original. The transcription also replicates the original text in its use of upper case, lower case, small capitals, and italics. On the other hand, several errors, omissions and uncertainties were corrected after referring to the subsequent edition (3rd) of the book for clarification: for example, missing characters resulting from incomplete scan images; missing quotation marks; a missing value for 'Port' in the table on page 138; and a three-paragraph apparent 'blockquote' on page 141 (actually a partial footnote that had become separated from its preceding paragraphs on page 139), is now reunited with the rest of the footnote. A few incorrect page references have been rectified. The incorrect sequencing of the index replicates that in the original publication. In that era the letters i and j were interchangeable, and words beginning with these letters are grouped together in the index. The words and abbreviations Ditto, ditto, Do., do., are used inconsistently in the index. Numbered items (sometimes asterisked) of the style (No. 463*) are references to the 3rd edition of "The Cook's Oracle" as mentioned at the top of the page that follows the Contents list. The footnotes, which are numerous and sometimes lengthy, have been relocated to the end of the e-book. A few of the original cross-references pointed to the _page_ on which the relevant footnote was located rather than to the footnote itself. As the footnotes are no longer on those pages, readers of this plain text version might have difficulty following such cross-references. On page 17, reference to a footnote that simply stated'see Index' has been changed to an in-line reference (as used elsewhere in the text). In this (Latin-1) version of the book, the apothecary's symbol meaning 'Prescription take' (Unicode letterlike symbol Dec 8478 Hex 211E) on pages 232 and 285 has been replaced by 'Rx', and in Footnote 104 the symbol for'scruple' (a measure of weight - Unicode letterlike symbol Dec 8456 Hex 2108) has been spelled out in full. THE ART OF INVIGORATING AND PROLONGING LIFE, BY FOOD, CLOTHES, AIR, EXERCISE, WINE, SLEEP, &c. AND PEPTIC PRECEPTS, POINTING OUT _AGREEABLE AND EFFECTUAL METHODS_ TO PREVENT AND RELIEVE INDIGESTION, AND TO _REGULATE AND STRENGTHEN THE ACTION_ OF THE STOMACH AND BOWELS. Suaviter in modo, sed fortiter in re. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE COOK'S ORACLE," &c. &c. &c. _SECOND EDITION._ LONDON: PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. 1821. TO THE NERVOUS AND BILIOUS, THE FOLLOWING TREATISE, ON THE ART OF MANAGING THOSE TEMPERAMENTS, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. PAGE ART OF INVIGORATING LIFE 1 Reducing Corpulence 50 Sleep 65 Siesta 94 Clothes 103 Fire 113 Air 119 Exercise 122 Wine 127 Peptic Precepts 156 Index 267 THE NUMBERS _affixed to the various Articles of Food, &c. are those referred to in the_ THIRD EDITION _of_ THE COOK'S ORACLE: CONTAINING RECEIPTS FOR PLAIN COOKERY ON THE MOST ECONOMICAL PLAN FOR PRIVATE FAMILIES: ALSO THE ART OF COMPOSING THE MOST SIMPLE, AND MOST HIGHLY FINISHED Broths, Gravies, Soups, Sauces, Store Sauces, AND FLAVOURING ESSENCES: _The Quantity of each Article is_ ACCURATELY STATED BY WEIGHT AND MEASURE; _THE WHOLE BEING THE RESULT OF_ Actual Experiments INSTITUTED IN THE KITCHEN OF A PHYSICIAN. "Miscuit utile dulce." THE THIRD EDITION, WHICH IS ALMOST ENTIRELY RE-WRITTEN. LONDON: PRINTED FOR A. CONSTABLE & Co. EDINBURGH; AND HURST, ROBINSON, & Co. CHEAPSIDE. _And sold also by all Booksellers in Town and Country._ 1821. THE ART OF INVIGORATING AND PROLONGING LIFE BY Diet and Regimen. "The choice and measure of the materials of which our Body is composed,--and what we take daily by POUNDS,--is at least of as much importance as what we take seldom, and only by _Grains_ and _Spoonsful_."--DR. ARBUTHNOT on _Aliment_, pref. p. iii. The Editor of the following pages had originally an extremely Delicate Constitution;--and at an early period devoted himself to the study of Physic, with the hope--of learning how to make the most of his small stock of Health. The System he adopted, succeeded, and he is arrived at his forty-third year, in tolerable good Health; and this without any uncomfortable abstinence:--his maxim has ever been, "_dum Vivimus, Vivamus_." He does not mean the Aguish existence of the votary of Fashion--whose Body is burning from voluptuous intemperance to-day, and freezing in miserable collapse to-morrow--not extravagantly consuming in a Day, the animal spirits which Nature intended for the animation of a Week--but keeping the expense of the machinery of Life within the income of Health

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Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.) IN BLUE CREEK CANON BY ANNA CHAPIN RAY AUTHOR OF "HALF A DOZEN BOYS," "HALF A DOZEN GIRLS," ETC. NEW YORK: 46 EAST 14TH STREET THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. BOSTON: 100 PURCHASE STREET COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. _Printed and Electrotyped by_ ALFRED MUDGE & SON, BOSTON. [Illustration: "A quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates."] If you've wronged him, speak him fair. Say you're sorry and make it square; If he's wronged you, wink so tight None of you see what's plain in sight. When the world goes hard and wrong, Lend a hand to help him along; When his stockings have holes to darn, Don't you grudge him your ball of yarn. * * * * * Stick to each other through thick and thin; All the closer as age leaks in; Squalls will blow, and clouds will frown, But stay by your ship till you all go down! OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. CONTENTS. I. A COUNCIL ON SKATES II. TO WELCOME THE COMING GUEST III. THE EVERETT HOUSEHOLD IV. ON THE CROSS-HEAD V. THE MEETING IN THE WATERS VI. MARJORIE'S PARTY VII. JANEY'S PROPHECY VIII. IN THE DARK IX. CAMPING ON THE BEAVERHEAD X. UP THE GULCH XI. "SWEET CHARITY'S SAKE" XII. HOME WITHOUT A MOTHER XIII. AT THE NINE-HUNDRED LEVEL XIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE OLD STORY XV. MR. ATHERDEN XVI. THE COMPLETED STORY XVII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE UNEXPECTED XVIII. UNDER ORDERS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "A quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates." "He cautiously moved away a few inches along the beam." "His lamp extended in one hand, while with his other he held his cane, which he was poking about in the soft, sticky mud." IN BLUE CREEK CANON. CHAPTER I. A COUNCIL ON SKATES. A strong southeast wind was blowing up the canon and driving before it the dense yellow smoke which rolled up from the great red chimneys of the smelter. To the east and west of the town, the mountains rose abruptly, their steep sides bare or covered with patches of yellow pine. At the north, the canon closed in to form a narrow gorge between the mountains; but towards the south it opened out into a broad valley, through which the swiftly rushing creek twisted and turned along its willow-bordered bed. A half mile below the town the creek suddenly broadened into a little lake that was now frozen over, forming a sheet of dazzling ice, upon which a quartette of boys and girls were darting about on skates. "Ugh!" gasped one of the boys, as a sudden gust of wind, coming straight from the east, brought the stifling cloud in their direction; "I'm glad I'm not up in town this afternoon. It's getting ready for a storm, I think, from the way the smoke comes down; and they must be catching it all, up there." "Oh, dear!" sighed the girl with whom he was skating; "if it storms 'twill be sure to be more snow, and spoil the ice. It's too bad, for we get so little skating out here, and it's almost time to go home now. Just see how low the sun is getting!" "Never mind, Marjorie," said the boy, as he paused to breathe on his cold fingers; then held out his hand to her once more. "We'll have one more go across the pond, anyway, for there's no knowing when we'll have another chance. You take Allie, Ned, and we'll race you, two and two, over to that largest stump. Come on, and get into line. One! two! _three!_" Away they flew, the bright blades of their skates flashing in the long slanting rays of the late afternoon sun, and their eyes and cheeks glowing with the cold air and rapid exercise. Marjorie and her attendant knight were the first to reach the goal, and turned, panting, to face the others as they came up to them. "That was just fine!" exclaimed Allie's companion, as he dropped her hand and spun around in a narrow circle which sent the chips of ice flying from under his heel. "Don't let's go home just yet, 't won't be dark for an hour anyway, and we can go up in fifteen minutes. I'll race you over to the other side and back again, Howard, while the girls are getting their breath." "You don't mind being left, Allie?" And the taller boy glanced at the girls. "All right, just for once," said Allie; "then we really ought to go up, Howard; mamma wants us to be home in good season to-night, for dinner is going to be early, so papa can get the train down." "Is your father going away again?" asked Marjorie, as the girls skated idly to and fro, waiting for the boys to join them. "I thought he came in from camp only this morning." "So he did," answered her friend, burying her small nose in her muff for a moment, as she faced the cutting wind. "He's only going down to Pocatello to-night, and out on the main line a little ways, to meet Charlie MacGregor, our cousin that's coming." "Yes," nodded Marjorie, in acquiescence; "I remember now; I'd forgotten he was coming so soon. What fun you'll have with him, Allie! I wish I had a brother, or cousin, or something." "Perhaps I shall wish I didn't have both," said Allie, laughing. "I don't know how he and Howard will get on. I think Howard doesn't want him much; but I'd just as soon he'd be here." "What's he like?" queried Marjorie curiously. "I haven't much idea; I've never seen him," said Allie. "Papa saw him when he was east last summer, and we have a picture of him taken ever so long ago." "Who's that--Charlie MacGregor?" asked Howard, skating up to them at that moment. "He's not much to look at, Marjorie, if his picture's any good. He has a pug nose and wears giglamps, and I've a suspicion that he's a fearful dude. He'll be a tenderfoot, of course, but he'll get over that; but if he's a dude, we boys will make it lively for him." "Howard, you sha'n't!" remonstrated his sister, loyally coming to the defence of their unknown cousin. "It must be horrid for him to lose all his friends and have to be sent out here to relations he doesn't know nor care anything about, just like a barrel of flour." Allie's metaphors were becoming mixed; but she never heeded that, as she went on proudly: "And besides, we're MacGregors as much as he is, and mamma says that no MacGregor was ever rude to a cousin, or to anybody in trouble." "Good for you, Allie!" shouted the younger boy, as he stopped in the middle of a figure eight to applaud her words. "You're in the right of it; but you needn't think you'll ever keep Howard in order. How old is this lad, anyhow?" "Half way between Howard and me," replied Allie, as they started to skate slowly up the creek towards home, and Howard and Marjorie dropped a little in the rear. "He was thirteen last summer, and papa says he's a real, true musician. He'll bring his own piano with him; but I don't know where he'll find room to put it, for our house is full as can be, now. Then he sings, too,--at least, he used to,--in a boy choir. Haven't you seen his picture, Ned? It's homely, but it looks as if he might not be so bad." "Where's he coming from?" asked Ned. "New York. He's lived there always; but, you know, his father died two years ago, and his mother last month. He hasn't any relations but just us, so he is to live here for a while. You and Howard will stand by him, won't you, Ned?" she added persuasively, laying her mittened hand on his. "I'm afraid the other boys will run on him and make fun of him. Don't tell Howard I said so, but I don't expect to like him much myself, only I'm sort of sorry for him; and then he's our cousin, so I suppose we must make sure he has a good time." "I won't be hard on him, Allie," her companion answered her, laughing a little at the unwonted seriousness of her tone; "as long as he doesn't put on airs and talk big about New York and 'the way _we_ do East,' and all that poppycock, I'll stand by him. But if he's coming out here to show us how to do it, the sooner it's taken out of him the better." "Wait till the train comes in, day after to-morrow morning, Ned," said Howard, as, with a few quick strokes, he and Marjorie overtook them once more. "We'll take a look at him and see what he's like, before we make too many promises. Now, then, ma'am," he added, as he and Marjorie paused at a great stone on the bank of the creek; "if you'll be good enough to sit down, I'll have your skates off instanter." Marjorie laughed, as she dropped down on the stone and put one little foot on Howard's knee, while Ned performed a similar service for Allie. "I'm crazy to see your cousin, Allie," she said. "I know he's going to be great fun, only I'm afraid he'll think we are hopeless tomboys. Probably he's been used to girls that sit in the parlor and sew embroidery, instead of skating and riding bronchos bareback, and playing hare and hounds with the boys." "Don't care if he has!" And Allie made a little grimace of defiance as she scrambled to her feet. "I'm not going to give up all my good times and take to fancy work, when it's as much as I can do to sew on my own buttons. He can stay in the house, and sing songs and sew patchwork all day long, if he wants to, but I'm not going to give up all my frolics; need I, boys?" she concluded, in a mutinous outburst, quite at variance with her recent plea for their expected guest. Howard laughed teasingly. "Catch Allie turning the fine young lady! If you shut her up in a parlor, she'd jump over the chairs and play tag with herself around the table; and Marjorie is about as bad." "Perhaps I am," she assented placidly; "but you boys could never get along without us. I've heard you say, over and over again, that we can catch a ball as well as half the boys in town, and I can outrun you any day. Want to try?" "Not much," returned Howard, laughing, though there rankled in his mind the memory of recent races in which he had not been the winner. "You only beat me because you've been used to this air longer than I have. Besides, it would hurry us home too much, and I've an idea that this may be the last time that we four chums will be off together, for one while. I shall have to trot round with that fellow, for the next week, and show him the ways of the country, so he won't make too great a jay of himself. But, I say, if it doesn't storm to-morrow, we'll come down here again in the afternoon, and have an hour or two on the ice before it's spoiled." With their skates strapped together and slung over their shoulders, their collars turned up around their ears, and their hands plunged deep into pockets and muffs, they turned northward along the bank of the creek for a short distance, and then struck off across the level, open ground till they came into one of the streets of the little town, which they followed until they reached the main business street. There they parted, Ned and Marj

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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Douglas L. Alley, III, Bill Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY OR THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS BY ANGELO DE GUBERNATIS PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT AND COMPARATIVE LITERATURE IN THE ISTITUTO DI STUDII SUPERIORI E DI PERFEZIONAMENTO, AT FLORENCE FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTE OF PHILOLOGY AND ETHNOGRAPHY OF THE DUTCH INDIES _IN TWO VOLUMES_ VOL. I. LONDON TRUeBNER & CO., 60 PATERNOSTER ROW 1872 [_All rights reserved_] PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY EDINBURGH AND LONDON TO MICHELE AMARI AND MICHELE COPPINO This Work IS DEDICATED AS A TRIBUTE OF LIVELY GRATITUDE AND PROFOUND ESTEEM BY THE AUTHOR. ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY; OR THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS. First Part. THE ANIMALS OF THE EARTH. CHAPTER I. THE COW AND THE BULL. SECTION I.--THE COW AND THE BULL IN THE VEDIC HYMNS. SUMMARY. Prelude.--The vault of Heaven as a luminous cow.--The gods and goddesses, sons and daughters of this cow.--The vault of Heaven as a spotted cow.--The sons and daughters of this cow, _i.e._ the winds, Marutas, and the clouds, Pricnayas.--The wind-bulls subdue the cloud-cows.--Indras, the rain-sending, thundering, lightening, radiant sun, who makes the rain fall and the light return, called the bull of bulls.--The bull Indras drinks the water of strength.--Hunger and thirst of the heroes of mythology.--The cloud-barrel.--The horns of the bull and of the cow are sharpened.--The thunderbolt-horns.--The cloud as a cow, and even as a stable or hiding-place for cows.--Cavern where the cows are shut up, of which cavern the bull Indras and the bulls Marutas remove the stone, and force the entrance, to reconquer the cows, delivering them from the monster; the male Indras finds himself again with his wife.--The cloud-fortress, which Indras destroys and Agnis sets on fire.--The cloud-forest, which the gods destroy.--The cloud-cow; the cow-bow; the bird-thunderbolts; the birds come out of the cow.--The monstrous cloud-cow, the wife of the monster.--Some phenomena of the cloudy sky are analogous to those of the gloomy sky of night and of winter.--The moment most fit for an epic poem is the meeting of such phenomena in a nocturnal tempest.--The stars, cows put to flight by the sun.--The moon, a milk-yielding cow.--The ambrosial moon fished up in the fountain, gives nourishment to Indras.--The moon as a male, or bull, discomfits, with the bull Indras, the monster.--The two bulls, or the two stallions, the two horsemen, the twins.--The bull chases the wolf from the waters.--The cow tied.--The aurora, or ambrosial cow, formed out of the skin of another cow by the Ribhavas.--The Ribhavas, bulls and wise birds.--The three Ribhavas reproduce the triple Indras and the triple Vishnus; their three relationships; the three brothers, eldest, middle, youngest; the three brother workmen; the youngest brother is the most intelligent, although at first thought stupid; the reason why.--The three brothers guests of a king.--The third of the Ribhavas, the third and youngest son becomes Tritas the third, in the heroic form of Indras, who kills the monster; Tritas, the third brother, after having accomplished the great heroic undertaking, is abandoned by his envious brothers in the well; the second brother is the son of the cow.--Indras a cowherd, parent of the sun and the aurora, the cow of abundance, milk-yielding and luminous.--The cow Sita.--Relationship of the sun to the aurora.--The aurora as cow-nurse of the sun, mother of the cows; the aurora cowherd; the sun hostler and cowherd.--The riddle of the wonderful cowherd; the sun solves the riddle proposed by the aurora.--The aurora wins the race, being the first to arrive at the barrier, without making use of her feet.--The chariot of the aurora.--She who has no feet, who leaves no footsteps; she who is without footsteps of the measure of the feet; she who has no slipper (which is the measure of the foot).--The sun who never puts his foot down, the sun without feet, the sun lame, who, during the night, becomes blind; the blind and the lame who help each other, whom Indra helps, whom the ambrosia of the aurora enables to walk and to see.--The aurora of evening, witch who blinds the sun; the sun Indras, in the morning, chases the aurora away; Indras subdues and destroys the witch aurora.--The brother sun follows, as a seducer, the aurora his sister, and wishes to burn her.--The sun follows his daughter the aurora.--The aurora, a beautiful young girl, deliverer of the sun, rich in treasure, awakener of the sleepers, saviour of mankind, foreseeing; from small becomes large, from dark becomes brilliant, from infirm, whole, from blind, seeing and protectress of sight.--Night and aurora, now mother and daughter, now sisters.--The luminous night a good sister; the gloomy night gives place to the aurora, her elder or better sister, working, purifying, cleansing.--The aurora shines only when near the sun her husband, before whom she dances splendidly dressed; the aurora Urvaci.--The wife of the sun followed by the monster.--The husband of the aurora subject to the same persecution. We are on the vast table-land of Central Asia; gigantic mountains send forth on every side their thousand rivers; immense pasture-lands and forests cover it; migratory tribes of pastoral nations traverse it; the _gopatis_, the shepherd or lord of the cows, is the king; the gopatis who has most herds is the most powerful. The story begins with a graceful pastoral idyll. To increase the number of the cows, to render them fruitful in milk and prolific in calves, to have them well looked after, is the dream, the ideal of the ancient Aryan. The bull, the _foecundator_, is the type of every male perfection, and the symbol of regal strength. Hence, it is only natural that the two most prominent animal figures in the mythical heaven should be the cow and the bull. The cow is the ready, loving, faithful, fruitful Providence of the shepherd. The worst enemy of the Aryan, therefore, is he who carries off the cow; the best, the most illustrious, of his friends, he who is able to recover it from the hands of the robber. The same idea is hence transferred to heaven; in heaven there is a beneficent, fruitful power, which is called the cow, and a beneficent _foecundator_ of this same power, which is called the bull. The dewy moon, the dewy aurora, the watery cloud, the entire vault of heaven, that giver of the quickening and benignant rain, that benefactress of mankind,--are each, with special predilection, represented as the beneficent cow of abundance. The lord of this multiform cow of heaven, he who makes it pregnant and fruitful and milk-yielding, the spring or morning sun, the rain-giving sun (or moon) is often represented as a bull. Now, to apprehend all this clearly, we ought to go back, as nearly as possible, to that epoch in which such conceptions would arise spontaneously; but as the imagination so indulged is apt to betray us into mere fantastical conceits, into an _a priori_ system, we shall begin by excluding it entirely from these preliminary researches, as being hazardous and misleading, and content ourselves with the humbler office of collecting the testimonies of the poets themselves who assisted in the creation of the mythology in question. I do not mean to say anything of the Vedic myths that is not taken from one or other of the hymns contained in the greatest of the Vedas, but only to arrange and connect together the links of the chain as they certainly existed in the imagination of the ancient Aryan people, and which the _Rigvedas_, the work of a hundred poets and of several centuries, presents to us as a whole, continuous and artistic. I shall indeed suppose myself in the valley of Kacmira, or on the banks of the Sindhus, under that sky, at the foot of these mountains, among these rivers; but I shall search in the sky for that which I find in the hymns, and not in the hymns for that which I may imagine I see in the sky. I shall begin my voyage with a trusty chart, and shall consult it with all the diligence in my power, in order not to lose any of the advantages that a voyage so full of surprises has to offer. Hence the notes will all, or nearly all, consist of quotations from my guide, in order that the learned reader may be able to verify for himself every separate assertion. And as to the frequent stoppages we shall have to make by the way, let me ask the reader not to ascribe these to anything arbitrary on my part, but rather to the necessities of a voyage, made, as it is, step by step, in a region but little known, and by the help of a guide, where nearly everything indeed is to be found, but where, as in a rich inventory, it is easier to lose one's way than to find it again. The immense vault of heaven which over-arches the earth, as the eternal storehouse of light and rain, as the power which causes the grass to grow, and therefore the animals which pasture upon it, assumes in the Vedic literature the name of Aditis, or the infinite, the inexhaustible, the fountain of ambrosia (_amritasya nabhis_). Thus far, however, we have no personification, as yet we have no myth. The _amritas_ is simply the immortal, and only poetically represents the rain, the dew, the luminous wave. But the inexhaustible soon comes to mean that which can be milked without end--and hence also, a celestial cow, an inoffensive cow, which we must not offend, which must remain intact.[1] The whole heavens being thus represented as an infinite cow, it was natural that the principal and most visible phenomena of the sky should become, in their turn, children of the cow, or themselves cows or bulls, and that the _foecundator_ of the great mother should also be called a bull. Hence we read that the wind (_Vayus_ or _Rudras_) gave birth, from the womb of the celestial cow, to the winds that howl in the tempest (_Marutas_ and _Rudras_), called for this reason children of the cow.[2] But, since this great celestial cow produces the tempestuous, noisy winds, she represents not only the serene, tranquil vault of the shining sky, but also the cloudy and tenebrous mother of storms. This great cow, this immense cloud, that occupies all the vault of heaven and unchains the winds, is a brown, dark, spotted (_pricnis_) cow; and so the winds, or Marutas, her sons, are called the children of the spotted one.[3] The singular has thus become a plural; the male sons of the cloud, the winds, are 21; the daughters, the clouds themselves, called the spotted ones (_pricnayas_) are also three times seven, or 21: 3 and 7 are sacred numbers in the Aryan faith; and the number 21 is only a multiple of these two great legendary numbers, by which either the strength of a god or that of a monster is often symbolised. If _pricnis_, or the variegated cow, therefore, is the mother of the Marutas, the winds, and of the variegated ones (_pricnayas_), the clouds, we may say that the clouds are the sisters of the winds. We often have three or seven sisters, three or seven brothers in the legends. Now, that 21, in the _Rigvedas_ itself, involves a reference to 3, is evident, if we only observe how one hymn speaks of the 3 times 7 spotted cows who bring to the god the divine drink, while another speaks of the spotted ones (the number not being specified) who give him three lakes to drink.[4] Evidently here the 3, or 7, or 21 sister cows that yield to the god of the eastern heavens their own nutritious milk, and amidst whose milky humours the winds, now become invulnerable, increase,[5] fulfil the pious duties of benevolent guardian fates. But if the winds are sons of a cow, and the cows are their nurses, the winds, or Marutas, must, as masculine, be necessarily represented as bulls. In reality the Wind (_Vayus_), their father, is borne by bulls--that is, by the winds themselves, who hurry, who grow, are movable as the rays of the sun, very strong, and indomitable;[6] the strength of the wind is compared to that of the bull or the bear;[7] the winds, as lusty as bulls, overcome and subdue the dark ones.[8] Here, therefore, the clouds are no longer represented as the cows that nurse, but with the gloomy aspect of a monster. The Marutas, the winds that howl in the tempest, are as swift as lightning, and surround themselves with lightning. Hence they are celebrated for their luminous vestments; and hence it is said that the reddish winds are resplendent with gems, as some bulls with stars.[9] As such--that is, as subduers of the clouds, and as they who run impetuously through them--these winds, these bulls, are the best friends, the most powerful helpers, of the great bellowing bull; of the god of thunder and rain; of the sun, the dispeller of clouds and darkness; of the supreme Vedic god, Indras, the friend of light and ambrosia--of Indras, who brings with him daylight and fine weather, who sends us the beneficent dew and the fertilising rain. Like the winds his companions, the sun Indras--the sun (and the luminous sky) hidden in the dark, who strives to dissipate the shadows, the sun hidden in the cloud that thunders and lightens, to dissolve it in rain--is represented as a powerful bull, as the bull of bulls, invincible son of the cow, that bellows like the Marutas.[10] But in order to become a bull, in order to grow, to develop the strength necessary to kill the serpent, Indras must drink; and he drinks the water of strength, the _somas_.[11] "Drink and grow,"[12] one of the poets says to him, while offering the symbolical libation of the cup of sacrifice, which is a type of the cup of heaven, now the heavenly vault, now the cloud, now the sun, and now the moon. From the sweet food of the celestial cow, Indras acquires a swiftness which resembles that of the horse;[13] and he eats and drinks at one time enough to enable him to attain maturity at once. The gods give him three hundred oxen to eat, and three lakes of ambrosial liquor[14] to drink, in order that he may be able to kill the monster serpent. The hunger and thirst of the heroes is always proportioned to the miracle they are called upon to perform; and for this reason the hymns of the _Rigvedas_ and of the _Atharvavedas_ often represent the cloud as an immense great-bellied barrel (_Kabandhas_), which is carried by the divine _bull_.[15] But when and how does the hero-bull display his extraordinary strength? The terrible bull bellows, and shows his strength, as he sharpens his horns:[16] the splendid bull, with sharpened horns, who is able of himself to overthrow all peoples.[17] But what are the horns of the bull Indras, the god of thunder? Evidently the thunderbolts; Indras is, in fact, said to sharpen the thunderbolts as a bull sharpens his horns;[18] the thunderbolt of Indras is said to be thousand-pointed;[19] the bull Indras is called the bull with the thousand horns, who rises from the sea[20] (or from the cloudy ocean as a thunder-dealing sun, from the gloomy ocean as a radiant sun--the thunderbolt being supposed to be rays from the solar disc). Sometimes the thunderbolt of Indras is itself called a bull,[21] and is sharpened by its beloved refulgent cows,[22] being used, now to withdraw the cows from the darkness, now to deliver them from the monster of darkness that envelops them,[23] and now to destroy the monster of clouds and darkness itself. Besides the name of Indras, this exceedingly powerful horned bull, who sharpens his horns to plunge them into the monster, assumes also, as the fire which sends forth lightning, as that which sends forth rays of light from the clouds and the darkness, the name of Agnis; and, as such, has two heads, four horns, three feet, seven hands, teeth of fire, and wings; he is borne on the wind, and blows.[24] Thus far, then, we have heavenly cows which nurture heavenly bulls, and heavenly bulls and cows which use their horns for a battle that is fought in heaven. Let us now suppose ourselves on the field of battle, and let us visit both the hostile camps. In one we find the sun (and sometimes the moon), the bull of bulls Indras, with the winds, Marutas, the radiant and bellowing bulls; in the other, a multiform monster, in the shape of wolves, serpents, wild boars, owls, mice, and such like. The bull Indras has cows with him, who help him; the monster has also cows, either such as he has carried off from Indras, and which he imprisons and secretes in gloomy caverns, towers, or fortresses, or those which he caresses as his own wives. In the one case, the cows consider the bull Indras as their friend and liberating hero; in the other, those with the monster are themselves monsters and enemies of Indras, who fights against them. The clouds, in a word, are regarded at one time as the friends of the rain-giving sun, who delivers them from the monster that keeps back the rain, and at another as attacked by the sun, as they who wickedly envelop him, and endeavour to destroy him. Let us now go on to search, in the _Rigvedas_, the proofs of this double battle. To begin with the first phase of the conflict, where in the sky does Indras fight the most celebrated of all his battles? The clouds generally assume the aspect of mountains; the words _adris_ and _parvatas_, in the Vedic language, expressing the several ideas of stone, mountain, and cloud.[25] The cloud being compared to a stone, a rock, or a mountain, it was natural,--1st, To imagine in the rock or mountain dens or caverns, which, as they imprisoned cows, might be likened to stables;[26] 2d, To pass from the idea of a rock to that of citadel, fortress, fortified city, tower; 3d, To pass from the idea of a mountain, which is immovable, to that of a tree which, though it cannot move from its place, yet rears itself and expands in the air; and from the idea of the tree of the forest to the shadowy and awe-inspiring grove. Hence the bull, or hero, or god Indras, or the sun of thunder, lightning, and rain, now does battle within a cavern, now carries a fortified town by assault, and now draws forth the cow from the forest, or unbinds it from the tree, destroying the _rakshas_, or monster, that enchained it. The Vedic poetry celebrates, in particular, the exploit of Indras against the cavern, enclosure, or mountain in which the monster (called by different names and especially by those of Valas, Vritras, Cushnas, of enemy, black one, thief, serpent, wolf, or wild boar) conceals the herds of the celestial heroes, or slaughters them. The black bull bellows; the thunderbolt bellows, that is, the thunder follows the lightning, as the cow follows its calf;[27] the Marutas bulls ascend the rock--now, by their own efforts, moving and making the sonorous stone, the rock mountain, fall;[28] now, with the iron edge of their rolling chariots violently splitting the mountain;[29] the valiant hero, beloved by the gods, moves the stone;[30] Indras hears the cows: by the aid of the wind-bulls he finds the cows hidden in the cavern; he himself, furnished with an arm of stone, opens the grotto of Valas, who keeps the cows; or, opens the cavern to the cows; he vanquishes, kills, and pursues the thieves in battle; the bulls bellow; the cows move forward to meet them; the bull, Indras, bellows and leaves his seed in the herd; the thunder-dealing male, Indras, and his spouse are glad and rejoice.[31] In this fabled enterprise, three moments must be noted: 1st, The effort to raise the stone; 2d, The struggle with the monster who carried off the cows; 3d, The liberation of the prisoners. It is an entire epic poem. The second form of the enterprise of Indras in the cloudy heavens is that which has for its object the destruction of the celestial fortresses, of the ninety, or ninety-nine, or hundred cities of Cambaras, of the cities which were the wives of the demons; and from this undertaking Indras acquired the surname of _puramdaras_ (explained as destroyer of cities); although he had in it a most valuable companion-in-arms, Agnis, that is, Fire, which naturally suggests to our thoughts the notion of destruction by fire.[32] In a hymn to Indras, the gods arrive at last, bring their axes, and with their edges destroy the woods, and burn the monsters who restrain the milk in the breasts of the cows.[33] The clouded sky here figures in the imagination as a great forest inhabited by _rakshasas_, or monsters, which render it unfruitful--that

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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE NEW DETECTIVE STORY. THE DIAMOND COTERIE BY LAWRENCE L. LYNCH AUTHOR OF "SHADOWED BY THREE" "MADELINE PAYNE," ETC. CHICAGO: HENRY A. SUMNER AND COMPANY. 1884. Copyright, 1882, by DONNELLEY, LOYD & CO., CHICAGO. Copyright, 1884, by R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS, CHICAGO. R. R. Donnelley & Sons, The Lakeside Press, Chicago. [Illustration: "Really this is a sad affair."] CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Two Shocks for W---- CHAPTER II. W---- Investigates CHAPTER III. A Sample of the Lamotte Blood CHAPTER IV. Sybil's Letter CHAPTER V. The Deductions of a Detective CHAPTER VI. Doctor Heath at Home CHAPTER VII. A Falling Out CHAPTER VIII. One Detective too Many CHAPTER IX. The Deductions of Detective Number Two CHAPTER X. Evan CHAPTER XI. The End of the Beginning CHAPTER XII. The Beginning of the End CHAPTER XIII. Constance's Diplomacy CHAPTER XIV. John Burrill, Aristocrat CHAPTER XV. Diamonds CHAPTER XVI. In Open Mutiny CHAPTER XVII. The Play Goes On CHAPTER XVIII. John Burrill, Plebeian CHAPTER XIX. Nance Burrill's Warning CHAPTER XX. Constance at Bay CHAPTER XXI. Appointing a Watch Dog CHAPTER XXII. The Watch Dog Discharged CHAPTER XXIII. Father and Son CHAPTER XXIV. A Day of Gloom CHAPTER XXV. That Night CHAPTER XXVI. Prince's Prey CHAPTER XXVII. A Turn in the Game CHAPTER XXVIII. Introducing Mr. Smith CHAPTER XXIX. Openly Accused CHAPTER XXX. An Obstinate Client CHAPTER XXXI. Beginning the Investigation CHAPTER XXXII. An Appeal to the Wardour Honor CHAPTER XXXIII. "I Can Save Him if I Will" CHAPTER XXXIV. A Last Resort CHAPTER XXXV. A Strange Interview CHAPTER XXXVI. Two Passengers West CHAPTER XXXVII. Some Excellent Advice CHAPTER XXXVIII. Belknap Outwitted CHAPTER XXXIX. "Will Love Outweigh Honor?" CHAPTER XL. "Too Young to Die" CHAPTER XLI. Sir Clifford Heathercliffe CHAPTER XLII. A Tortured Witness CHAPTER XLIII. Justice, Sacrifice, Death CHAPTER XLIV. A Spartan Mother CHAPTER XLV. Told by a Detective CHAPTER XLVI. The Story of Lucky Jim CHAPTER XLVII. After the Drama Ended LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. "Really, this is a sad affair." "I have a clue." "I am ready to do that at any and all times." "John Burrill! Why, he is a brute!" So he dines at Wardour Place "Who are you?" "Ah! This phial is one of a set." "Are we alone?" The tramp turned and looked back "Doctor Heath flatters himself." "Here is this man again." "Poor Frank! don't let this overcome you so." "Why, Evan, you look ghostly." "You must not have a third attack." "Conny, it has come." "I am happy to know you." "I have never once been tempted to self destruction." Only a moment did Sybil listen Evan saw Sybil and Frank canter away "It is not in his power or yours to alter my decision." "Then take that, and that." "It's the other one," he muttered "Stay a moment, sir." "I'll be hanged if I can understand it." "I hope you will excuse me." "Well, Roake, are you ready for business?" "If you ever see me again, you'll see me sober." "You promise never to marry Francis LaMotte?" The cottage stands quite by itself "Prince, come away, sir!" "Why, boy, bless me." "Any of the stiff's friends in this gang?" "Did you ever see that knife before?" They find Corliss at the Sheriff's desk "Softly, sir; reflect a little." "Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium." "Constance Wardour, you love Clifford Heath." "Another, Miss Wardour, is--yourself." "Mr. Belknap, it is I." "Cap'n, you're a good fellow." "My friend, come down off that." "That hope is ended now." "Prisoner at the Bar, are you guilty or not guilty?" "It was found close beside the body of John Burrill." They come slowly forward "There is a flash--a loud report." Bathurst telling the story THE DIAMOND COTERIE. CHAPTER I. TWO SHOCKS FOR W----. On a certain Saturday in June, year of our Lord 1880, between the hours of sunrise and sunset, the town of W----, in a State which shall be nameless, received two shocks. Small affairs, concerning small people, could never have thrown W---- into such a state of excitement, for she was a large and wealthy town, and understood what was due to herself. She possessed many factories, and sometimes a man came to his death among the ponderous machinery. Not long since one "hand" had stabbed another, fatally; and, still later, a factory girl had committed suicide. These things created a ripple, nothing more. It would ill become a town, boasting its aristocracy and "style," to grow frenzied over the woes of such common people. But W---- possessed a goodly number of wealthy families, and some blue blood. These were worthy of consideration, and upon these calamity had fallen. Let us read an extract or two from the W---- _Argus_, a newspaper of much enterprise and exceeding veracity: MONSTROUS DIAMOND ROBBERY--BOLD BURGLARY. This day we are startled by the news of a robbery in our midst, the like of which it has never been our fate to chronicle. When the servants at Wardour Place arose this morning, they found confusion reigning in the library, desks forced open, papers strewn about, and furniture disarranged. One of the long windows had been opened by forcing the shutters, and then cutting out a pane of glass, after which the bolts were easily drawn. Miss Wardour was at once aroused, and further examination disclosed the fact that her dressing room had been invaded, and every box, trunk and drawer searched. The beautiful little affair, which has the appearance of a miniature combined desk and bookcase, but which contains a small safe, that Miss Wardour believed burglar proof, had been forced, and the jewels so widely known as the "Wardour diamonds," stolen. Quite a large sum of money, and some papers of value, were also taken. Most of our readers are familiar with the history of the Wardour diamonds, and know that they represented a fortune. The burglary was effected without noise, not a sound disturbing Miss Wardour, or any of her servants, some of whom are light sleepers, and they have not a single clue by which to trace the robbers. Miss Wardour bears the loss with great calmness. Of course every effort will be made to recover the jewels, and capture the thieves. It is rumored that Mr. Jasper Lamotte, in behalf of Miss Wardour, will visit the city at once and set the detectives at work. This was shock number one for the public of W----. Miss Constance Wardour, of Wardour Place, was a lady of distinction. She possessed the oldest name, the bluest blood, the fairest face, and the longest purse, to be found in W----; and, the _Argus_ had said truly, the Wardour diamonds represented a fortune, and not a small one. Emmeline Wardour, the great grandmother of Miss Constance, was a belle and heiress. Her fondness for rare jewels amounted to a mania, and she spent enormous sums in collecting rare gems. At her death she bequeathed to her daughter a collection such as is owned by few ladies in private life. She also bequeathed to her daughter her mania. This daughter, after whom Constance was named, added to her mother's store of precious stones, from time to time, and when, one fine day, a bank, in which she had deposited some thousands of her dollars, failed, and she found herself a loser, she brought her craze to a climax, by converting all her money into diamonds, set and unset. At her death, her granddaughter, Constance, inherited these treasures, in addition to a handsome fortune from her mother; and, although the original collection made by Emmeline Wardour contained a variety of rare stones, opals, amethysts, pearls, cameos, etc., besides the many fine diamonds, they all came to be classed under the head of the "Wardour diamonds." It is small wonder that W---- stood aghast at the thought of such a robbery, and it is impossible to say when the talk, the wonderment, the conjectures, suggestions, theories, and general indignation would have ended, had not the second shock overborne the first. Once more let the _Argus_ speak: A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Yesterday afternoon, while the town was filled with the excitement caused by the Wardour robbery, Miss Sybil Lamotte, the beautiful daughter of our wealthy and highly respected citizen, Jasper Lamotte, Esq., eloped with John Burrill, who was, for a time, foreman in one of her father's mills. Burrill is known to be a divorced man, having a former wife and a child, living in W----; and his elopement with one of the aristocracy has filled the town with consternation. Mr. Lamotte, the father of the young lady, had not been from home two hours, in company with his wife, when his daughter fled. He was _en route_ for the city, to procure the services of detectives, in the hope of recovering the Wardour diamonds; both his sons were absent from home as well. Mr. Lamotte has not yet returned, and is still ignorant of his daughter's flight. Thus abruptly and reluctantly ends the second _Argus_ bombshell, and this same last bombshell had been a very different thing to handle. It might have been made far more sensational, and the editor had sighed as he penned the cautiously worded lines: "It was a monstrous _mesalliance_, and a great deal could be said in disparagement of Mr. John Burrill;" but Mr. Lamotte was absent; the brothers Lamotte were absent; and until he was certain what steps they would take in this matter, it were wise to err on the safe side. Sybil was an only daughter. Parents are sometimes prone to forgive much; it might be best to "let Mr. Burrill off easy." Thus to himself reasoned the editor, and, having bridled his pen, much against his will, he set free his tongue, and in the bosom of his family discoursed very freely of Mr. John Burrill. "My dear, it's unendurable," he announced to the little woman opposite, with the nod of a Solomon. "It's perfectly _incomprehensible_, how such a girl could do it. Why, he's a braggart and a bully. He drinks in our public saloons, and handles a woman's name as he does his beer glass. The factory men say that he has boasted openly that he meant to marry Miss Lamotte, _or_ Miss Wardour, he couldn't decide which. By the by, it's rather odd that those two young ladies should meet with such dissimilar misfortunes on the same day." Mrs. Editor,

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Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Sania Ali Mirza, Jane Robins and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration] SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET EDITED, WITH NOTES BY WILLIAM J. ROLFE, LITT.D. FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL CAMBRIDGE, MASS. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1879 AND 1898, BY HARPER & BROTHERS. COPYRIGHT, 1904 AND 1907, BY WILLIAM J. ROLFE. ROMEO AND JULIET. W.P. 8 PREFACE This edition of _Romeo and Juliet_, first published in 1879, is now thoroughly revised on the same general plan

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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Little Folks' Handy Book BOOKS BY LINA BEARD AND ADELIA B. BEARD _Illustrated by the Authors_ ON THE TRAIL THINGS WORTH DOING AND HOW TO DO THEM RECREATIONS FOR GIRLS--INDOOR AND OUTDOOR WHAT A GIRL CAN MAKE AND DO, AND NEW IDEAS FOR WORK AND PLAY THE AMERICAN GIRL'S HANDY BOOK; or, HOW TO AMUSE YOURSELF AND OTHERS LITTLE FOLKS' HANDY BOOK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Little Folks' Handy Book By LINA BEARD AND ADELIA B. BEARD With Many Illustrations by the Authors Charles Scribner's Sons NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Printed in the United States of America J SPECIAL NOTICE All the material in this book, both text and cuts, is original with the authors and invented by them; and warning is hereby given that the unauthorized printing of any portion of the text and the reproduction of any of the illustrations or diagrams are expressly forbidden. [Illustration] PREFACE "LET _me_ do it. Let _me_ make it," is the cry when a child sees an older person putting together the different parts of an interesting piece of work; and it is this desire to do things himself, this impulse toward self-expression, that, when properly directed, forms so great a factor in his all-around development and education. Using the hands and brain together stimulates interest and quickens observation and intelligence, and, as the object takes form beneath the little fingers, the act of making, of creating, brings with it a delight and satisfaction which the mere possession of the same thing made by another can not give. "Look! See what _I_ have made," comes with a ring of triumph as the childish hands gleefully hold up the finished article for inspection. In this book we have endeavored to open a new and large field of simple handicrafts for little folk, giving them an original line of toys and a new line of materials with which to make them. We hope in these pages to bring to children the joy of making creditable and instructive toys of such ordinary things as empty spools, sticks of kindling wood, wooden clothespins, natural twigs, old envelopes and newspapers, and in this way to encourage resourcefulness, originality, inventiveness, and the power to do with supplies at hand. Everything described in the book has been actually made by the authors, and made by such practical and simple methods that a child's mind can grasp them, and a child's hands be easily trained to manufacture the articles. It is, therefore, our hope that the "Little Folks' Handy Book" will be found useful both in Kindergarten and Primary grades of the schools and in the home nursery; a helpful friend to teachers and to mothers. LINA BEARD. ADELIA B. BEARD. FLUSHING, N. Y., _February 10, 1910._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. PAPER BUILDING CARDS 1 II. TOYS MADE OF COMMON WOODEN BERRY-BASKETS 5 III. STRAW AND PAPER FURNITURE 9 IV. A NEWSPAPER BOAT WHICH WILL SAIL ON REAL WATER 15 V. PAPER JEWELRY 19 VI. WHAT TO MAKE OF EMPTY SPOOLS 28 VII. OLD ENVELOPE TOYS AND HOW TO MAKE THEM 47 VIII. TOYS OF CLOTHESPINS 55 IX. SCRAP-BOOKS 64 X. TOYS MADE OF COMMON KINDLING WOOD 70 XI. LITTLE TWIG PEOPLE 79 XII. VISITING-CARD HOUSES 90 XIII. PLAYING INDIANS WITH COSTUMES MADE OF NEWSPAPERS 98 XIV. CHRISTMAS-TREE DECORATIONS 106 XV. A HOME-MADE SANTA CLAUS 124 XVI. NATURE STUDY WITH TISSUE-PAPER 130 LITTLE FOLKS' HANDY BOOK CHAPTER I PAPER BUILDING CARDS MAKE your building cards of ordinary writing-paper. You may have as many cards as you like, though twelve are all that are used to make the things shown in our photographs. [Illustration: FIG. 1--Cut an oblong out like this.] [Illustration: FIG. 2--This is the building card.] For each card cut an oblong of paper five inches long and two and a half inches wide. This is a very good size, but you can make them a little larger or smaller. Always remember, however, to have them just twice as long as they are wide, and all of one size. When you have cut out the oblong (Fig. 1) fold it through the middle, bringing the two short edges evenly together. The dotted line in Fig. 1 shows where it is to be folded. Now open the oblong half-way and you will have the building card (Fig. 2). They are very simple and easy to make, aren't they? But wonderful and delightful things can be built with these pieces of paper. You can have a whole camp of little tents by standing the cards with the folded edge up; and to make =A Camp Chair= all you need do is to push two of your tents close together, then on top of their folded edges lay another card with one flat side down to form the seat and the other side up for the back. [Illustration: FIG. 3--You can make a little camp chair.] The second illustration (Fig. 3) shows just how to do this. Use the tents again for =The Pyramid= in Fig. 4. Stand three tents in a row close together. On top of these make a floor by laying two cards across with one side of each card extending down at the back of the tents. Then build a second story--two tents this time, with a floor on top. [Illustration: FIG. 4--Use the tents to make this pyramid.] The third and top story will be one tent, which forms the peak of the pyramid. Of course you can make your pyramid very much larger by adding more tents to the first row and then building it up higher. =The Stable= is very cunning with its four little stalls. To build it you must stand the cards on their side edges as in Fig. 2. One side forms the back wall of the stall, the other the side wall. When you have reached the end of the row you will find the last stall lacks a side wall, but all you have to do is to slide another back wall behind the last and there you have the needed side wall. Put a roof over the stalls just as you made the floors for your pyramid, and then stand a tent on top for the cupola. Place a card at each end of the stalls, as shown in the illustration, and your stable is ready for its tiny horses. [Illustration: FIG. 5--A little stable with four little stalls.] Build =The Garden Wall= (Fig. 6) by standing the cards on their side edges. You can make the garden any size or shape you like, but always have the gateway just wide enough to hold the tent roof on top. See how the cards stand with edges in on either side of the opening. This will support the tent-shaped roof. Perhaps the children will want a house in the garden. You can build one if you try. Then see how many more things can be made of the paper cards, for I have not told you half of them. [Illustration: FIG. 6--A garden wall and gateway.] CHAPTER II TOYS MADE OF COMMON WOODEN BERRY-BASKETS USE a one-quart wooden berry-box for the china closet (Fig. 7). Turn the empty box facing you, and slide the prongs of a clothespin up through the open crack at the lower right hand of the box. Allow one prong of the clothespin to come on the outside and the other prong on the inside of the thin wooden side of the box; adjust the clothespin well to the front edge of the box, and it will form the right-hand front leg of the china closet. Add another leg in like manner on the same side of the box for the back leg; then slide two more clothespins up on the opposite side of the box to form the remaining two legs (Fig. 8). [Illustration: FIG. 7--The berry-basket china closet.] [Illustration: FIG. 8--Slide clothespins on the basket for legs.] The prongs of the clothespins do not reach up to the top of the inside of the box, but leave sufficient space for a shelf. Make the shelf by laying a clothespin across from side to side, supported by the prongs of the back legs, and another across, supported by the prongs of the front legs (Fig. 8). The clothespin used for the front of the shelf will probably have to be a trifle longer than that for the back, as the box is wider in front than at the back. Set some toy dishes on the top, the shelf, and the inside bottom of the china closet, as in Fig. 7. With another quart berry-box and four more clothespins make the =Doll's Table= Slide the prongs of a clothespin down on either side of the box at the four corners (Fig. 9), then turn the table right side up, placing it on its feet. Set the table with toy dishes, and dinner will be ready (Fig. 10). [Illustration: FIG. 9--Slide the prongs of the clothespins down on the sides of the box.] [Illustration: FIG. 10--Make the doll's table.] The table can be turned into a dressing-case by standing two clothespins on their heads at each side of the back of the top of the table, and sliding a piece of stiff paper across from clothespin to clothespin between the prongs for a mirror (Fig. 11). Of course, the addition of a fringed white paper, or cloth scarf, over the top of the dressing-case would enhance its appearance, as would also a table-cloth over the top of the dinner table, but the covers were purposely omitted in the photographs that one may see exactly how the articles were made. [Illustration: FIG. 11--The table can be turned into a dressing-case.] Make a =Dolly's Bassinet= (Fig. 12) of a small oblong berry-basket with four clothespin legs slanting outward at the bottom and the prongs of the legs on each side brought together at the top (Fig. 13). On the centre of one end of the

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: PAUL REVERE AROUSING THE INHABITANTS ALONG THE ROAD TO LEXINGTON.] AMERICAN LEADERS AND HEROES A PRELIMINARY TEXT-BOOK IN UNITED STATES HISTORY BY WILBUR F. GORDY PRINCIPAL OF THE NORTH SCHOOL, HARTFORD, CONN.; AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES FOR SCHOOLS"; AND CO-AUTHOR OF "A PATHFINDER IN AMERICAN HISTORY" _WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS_ NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1907 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS [Illustration] PREFACE In teaching history to boys and girls from ten to twelve years old simple material should be used. Children of that age like action. They crave the dramatic, the picturesque, the concrete, the personal. When they read about Daniel Boone or Abraham Lincoln they do far more than admire their hero. By a mysterious, sympathetic process they so identify themselves with him as to feel that what they see in him is possible for them. Herein is suggested the ethical value of history. But such ethical stimulus, be it noted, can come only in so far as actions are translated into the thoughts and feelings embodied in the actions. In this process of passing from deeds to the hearts and heads of the doers the image-forming power plays a leading part. Therefore a special effort should be made to train the sensuous imagination by furnishing picturesque and dramatic incidents, and then so skilfully presenting them that the children may get living pictures. This I have endeavored to do in the preparation of this historical reader, by making prominent the personal traits of the heroes and leaders, as they are seen, in boyhood and manhood alike, in the environment of their every-day home and social life. With the purpose of quickening the imagination, questions "To the Pupil" are introduced at intervals throughout the book, and on almost every page additional questions of the same kind might be supplied to advantage. "What picture do you get in that paragraph?" may well be asked over and over again, as children read the book. If they get clear and definite pictures, they will be likely to see the past as a living present, and thus will experience anew the thoughts and feelings of those who now live only in their words and deeds. The steps in this vital process are imagination, sympathy, and assimilation. To the same end the excellent maps and illustrations contribute a prominent and valuable feature of the book. If, in the elementary stages of historical reading, the image-forming power is developed, when the later work in the study of organized history is reached the imagination can hold the outward event before the mind for the judgment to determine its inner significance. For historical interpretation is based upon the inner life quite as much as upon the outward expression of that life in action. Attention is called to the fact that while the biographical element predominates, around the heroes and leaders are clustered typical and significant events in such a way as to give the basal facts of American history. It is hoped, therefore, that this little volume will furnish the young mind some conception of what our history is, and at the same time stimulate an abiding interest in historical and biographical reading. Perhaps it is needless to say that the "Review Outline" may be used in many ways. It certainly will furnish excellent material for language work, oral or written. In so using it pupils may well be encouraged to enlarge the number of topics. I wish to acknowledge my obligations to Professor William E. Mead, of Wesleyan University, who has read the manuscript and made invaluable suggestions; also to my wife, whose interest and assistance have done much to give the book whatever of merit it may possess. WILBUR F. GORDY. HARTFORD, CONN., May 1, 1901. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA, 1 II. HERNANDO DE SOTO AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 22 III. SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND THE FIRST ENGLISH ATTEMPTS TO COLONIZE AMERICA, 31 IV. JOHN SMITH AND THE SETTLEMENT OF JAMESTOWN, 42 V. NATHANIEL BACON AND THE UPRISING OF THE PEOPLE IN VIRGINIA IN 1676, 55 VI. MILES STANDISH AND THE PILGRIMS, 64 VII. ROGER WILLIAMS AND THE PURITANS, 81 VIII. WILLIAM PENN AND THE SETTLEMENT OF PENNSYLVANIA, 92 IX. CAVELIER DE LA SALLE AND THE FRENCH IN THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY, 103 X. GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE BOY SURVEYOR AND YOUNG SOLDIER, 116 XI. JAMES WOLFE, THE HERO OF QUEBEC, 136 XII. PATRICK HENRY AND THE STAMP ACT, 146 XIII. SAMUEL ADAMS AND THE BOSTON TEA PARTY, 156 XIV. PAUL REVERE AND THE BATTLE OF CONCORD AND LEXINGTON, 165 XV. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND AID FROM FRANCE, 175 XVI. GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE VIRGINIA PLANTER AND THE REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIER, 189 XVII. NATHANIEL GREENE, THE HERO OF THE SOUTH, AND FRANCIS MARION, THE "SWAMP FOX," 211 XVIII. DANIEL BOONE, THE KENTUCKY PIONEER, 222 XIX. THOMAS JEFFERSON AND THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE, 234 XX. ROBERT FULTON AND THE STEAMBOAT, 246 XXI. ANDREW JACKSON, THE UPHOLDER OF THE UNION, 253 XXII. DANIEL WEBSTER, THE DEFENDER AND EXPOUNDER OF THE CONSTITUTION, 264 XXIII. SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE AND THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH, 273 XXIV. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, THE LIBERATOR OF THE SLAVES, 282 XXV. ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT AND THE CIVIL WAR, 302 XXVI. SOME LEADERS AND HEROES IN THE WAR WITH SPAIN, 314 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Christopher Columbus, 1 The Santa Maria, 7 The Nina, 8 The Pinta, 9 The Triumphal Return of Columbus to Spain, 13 An Indian Stone Maul, 20 Hernando De Soto, 22 De Soto Discovering the Mississippi, 25 Sir Walter Raleigh, 31 Queen Elizabeth, 35 Entrance to Raleigh's Cell in the Tower, 38 Tower of London, 39 An Indian Pipe, 40 John Smith, 42 John Smith and the Indians, 45 Indian Weapons, 46 Ruins of Jamestown, 47 Apache's War-club, 50 Sioux Indian Bow and Arrow with Stone Point, 50 Navajo Sling, 51 A Pappoose Case, 51 Tobacco Plant, 56 Loading Tobacco, 57 The Burning of Jamestown, 61 Miles Standish, 64 The Mayflower, 70 A Matchlock Gun, 74 A Group of Pilgrim Relics, 75 Pilgrims Returning from Church, 77 Brewster's and Standish's Swords, 79 Roger Williams on his Way to Visit the Chief of the Narragansett Indians, 83 A Block House, 84 Roger Williams's Meeting-House, 85 A Puritan Fireplace, 87 William Penn, 92 William Penn's Famous Treaty with the Indians, 95 Penn's Slate-roof House, Philadelphia, 98 A Belt of Wampum Given to Penn by the Indians, 99 Cavelier De La Salle, 103 Long House of the Iroquois, 104 The Murder of La Salle by his Followers, 113 George Washington, 116 Washington's Birthplace, 117 Washington Crossing the Alleghany River, 119 The Death of Braddock, 129 James Wolfe, 136 General Montcalm, 139 The Death of Wolfe, 141 Patrick Henry, 146 George III., 149 St. John's Church, Richmond, 152 Samuel Adams, 156 Faneuil Hall, Boston, 160 The Old South Church, Boston, 161 The "Boston Tea Party," 163 Paul Revere, 165 The Old North Church, 168 Stone in Front of the Harrington House, Lexington, Marking the Line of the Minute-Men, 170 The Retreat of the British from Concord, 172 Benjamin Franklin, 175 Franklin in the Streets of Philadelphia, 180 Franklin Experimenting with Electricity, 184 Lafayette Offering His Services to Franklin, 186 George Washington, 189 Washington's Coach, 190 A Stage Coach of the Eighteenth Century, 191 Washington's Retreat through New Jersey, 199 Winter at Valley Forge, 204 Washington's Home--Mount Vernon, 208 Nathaniel Greene, 211 Lord Cornwallis, 215 General Francis Marion, 218 Marion and His Men Swooping Down on a British Camp, 219 Daniel Boone, 222 Indian Costume (Female), 224 Indian Costume (Male), 225 Daniel Boone in his Cabin, 228 A Hand Corn Mill, 229 A Wigwam, 231 Indian Implements, 232 Thomas Jefferson, 234 Monticello, 237 Thomas Jefferson at Work upon the First Draft of the Declaration of Independence, 238 Robert Fulton, 246 A Pack Horse, 247 A Flat Boat, 248 The Clermont, 251 Andrew Jackson, 253 Andrew Jackson's Cradle, 254 A Spinning Wheel, 255 Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans, 261 Daniel Webster, 264 Marshfield--Home of Daniel Webster, 271 S. F. B. Morse, 273 Telegraph and Railroad, 280 Abraham Lincoln, 282 Lincoln's Birthplace, 283 Lincoln Studying, 287 Slaves on a Cotton Plantation, 299 Ulysses S. Grant, 302 The Meeting of Generals Grant and Lee at Appomattox, 310 The McLean House, 311 General R. E. Lee, 312 The Wreck of the Maine, 316 Admiral Dewey, 318 President MCKinley, 319 "Escolta," Manila's Main Street, 320 LIST OF MAPS PAGE Places of Interest in Connection with Columbus's Earlier Life, 3 The First Voyage of Columbus, and Places of Interest in Connection with his Later Voyages, 11 Routes Traversed by De Soto and De Leon, 27 Cabot's Route. Land Discovered by him Darkened, 33 Section where Raleigh's various Colonies were Located, 37 Jamestown and the Surrounding Country, 48 The Pilgrims in England and Holland, 67 The Pilgrim Settlement, 72 The Rhode Island Settlement, 88 The Pennsylvania Settlement, 97 Map Showing Routes of Cartier, Champlain, and La Salle, also French and English Possessions at the Time of the Last French War, 107 The English Colonies and the French Claims in 1754, 121 The French in the Ohio Valley, 123 Quebec and Surroundings, 138 Paul Revere's Ride, 167 Franklin's Journey from New York to Philadelphia, 178 Map Illustrating the Battle of Long Island, 196 Map Illustrating the Struggle for the Hudson River and the Middle States, 201 Map Showing the War in the South, 213 The Kentucky Settlement, 223 Map of Louisiana Purchase: also United States in 1803, 242 Map Illustrating Two of Andrew Jackson's Campaigns, 258 Map of the United States showing the Southern Confederacy, the Slave States that did not Secede, and the Territories, 297 Map Illustrating Campaigns in the West in 1862-63, 307 The United States Coast and the West Indies, 315 Portion of the Coast of China and the Philippine Islands, 325 CHAPTER I Christopher Columbus and the Discovery of America [1436-1506] [Illustration: Christopher Columbus.] From very early times there existed overland routes of trade between Europe and Asia. During the Middle Ages traffic over these routes greatly increased, so that by the fifteenth century a large and profitable trade was carried on between the West and the East. Merchants in Western Europe grew rich through trade in the silks, spices, and precious stones that were brought by caravan and ship from India, China, and Japan. But in 1453 the Turks conquered Constantinople, and by frequent attacks upon Christian vessels in the Mediterranean made the old routes unsafe. A more practicable one became necessary. Already in the early part of the fifteenth century Portuguese sea-captains had skirted the western coast of Africa, and by the close of the century others of their number had rounded the Cape of Good Hope, in their search for a water route to the Indies. But Spain, at that time the most powerful nation of Europe, adopted a plan quite different from that of the Portuguese. What this plan was and how it was carried out, we can best understand by an acquaintance with the life and work of the great sea-captain and navigator, Christopher Columbus. More than four hundred and fifty years ago there lived in the city of Genoa a poor workingman, who made his living by preparing wool for the spinners. Of his four sons, the eldest was Christopher, born in 1436. Young Christopher was not, so far as we know, very different from most other boys in Genoa. He doubtless joined in their every-day sports, going with them to see the many vessels that sailed in and out of that famous sea-port, and listening for hours to the stories of sailors about distant lands. But he did not spend all his time in playing and visiting the wharves, for we know that he learned his father's trade, and in school studied, among other things, reading, arithmetic, grammar, geography, and map-drawing. We can easily believe that he liked geography best of all, since it would carry his imagination far out over the

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SKIN*** E-text prepared by Kevin Handy, Ronnie Sahlberg, cbott, John Hagerson, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 25944-h.htm or 25944-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/4/25944/25944-h/25944-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/4/25944/25944-h.zip) Transcriber's note: This book contains many characters not displayed by ASCII or iso-8859-1 (Latin1) character sets. In the text file these characters have been denoted by enclosing explanatory text within square brackets. Two of the more commonly occurring such characters are the oe-ligature (denoted by [oe] or [OE]) and a-macron (denoted by [=a]. Some, but not all, of the other such characters display properly in the html version. Text enclosed between pound signs was in bold face in the original (#bold face#). A detailed transcriber's note is at the end of the e-text. ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN Including the Syphilodermata Arranged in the Form of Questions and Answers Prepared Especially for Students of Medicine by HENRY W. STELWAGON, M.D., PH.D. * * * * * Get the Best The New Standard DORLAND'S AMERICAN ILLUSTRATED MEDICAL DICTIONARY For Students and Practitioners A New and Complete Dictionary of the terms used in Medicine, Surgery, Dentistry, Pharmacy, Chemistry, and kindred branches; together with new and elaborate Tables of Arteries, Muscles, Nerves, Veins, etc.; of Bacilli, Bacteria, Micrococci, etc.; Eponymic Tables of Diseases, Operations, Signs and Symptoms, Stains, Tests, Methods of Treatment, etc. By W.A.N. Dorland, M.D., Editor of the American Pocket Medical Dictionary. Large octavo, nearly 800 pages, bound in full flexible leather. Price, $4.50 net; with thumb index, $5.00 net. JUST ISSUED--NEW (4) REVISED EDITION--2000 NEW WORDS _It contains a maximum amount of matter in a minimum space and at the lowest possible cost._ This book contains #double the material in the ordinary students' dictionary#, and yet, by the use of a clear, condensed type and thin paper of the finest quality, is only 1-3/4 inches in thickness. It is bound in full flexible leather, and is just the kind of a book that a man will want to keep on his desk for constant reference. The book makes a special feature of #the newer words#, and defines hundreds of important terms not to be found in any other dictionary. It is especially #full in the matter of tables#, containing more than a hundred of great practical value, including new tables of Tests, Stains and Staining Methods. A new feature is the inclusion of numerous handsome illustrations, many of them in colors, drawn and engraved specially for this book. "I must acknowledge my astonishment at seeing how much he has condensed within relatively small space. I find nothing to criticise, very much to commend, and was interested in finding some of the new words which are not in other recent dictionaries."--Roswell Park, _Professor of Principles and Practice of Surgery and Clinical Surgery, University of Buffalo_. "Dr. Dorland's Dictionary is admirable. It is so well gotten up and of such convenient size. No errors have been found in my use of it."--Howard A. Kelly, _Professor of Gynecology, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore_. W. B. SAUNDERS COMPANY, 925 Walnut St., Phila. London: 9, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden Fifth Edition, Just Ready With Complete Vocabulary THE AMERICAN POCKET MEDICAL DICTIONARY EDITED BY W.A. NEWMAN DORLAND, A.M., M.D., Assistant Demonstrator of Obstetrics, University of Pennsylvania. HUNDREDS OF NEW TERMS Bound in Full Leather, Limp, with Gold Edges. Price, $1.00 net; with Patent Thumb Index, $1.25 net. The book is an #absolutely new one#. It is not a revision of any old work, but it has been written entirely anew and is constructed on lines that experience has shown to be the most practical for a work of this kind. It aims to be #complete#, and to that end contains practically all the terms of modern medicine. This makes an unusually large vocabulary. Besides the ordinary dictionary terms the book contains a wealth of #anatomical and other tables#. This matter is of particular value to students for memorizing in preparation for examination. "I am struck at once with admiration at the compact size and attractive exterior. I can recommend it to our students without reserve."--James W. Holland, M.D., _of Jefferson Medical College_. "This is a handy pocket dictionary, which is so full and complete that it puts to shame some of the more pretentious volumes."--_Journal of the American Medical Association._ "We have consulted it for the meaning of many new and rare terms, and have not met with a disappointment. The definitions are exquisitely clear and concise. We have never found so much information in so small a space."--_Dublin Journal of Medical Science._ "This is a handy little volume that, upon examination, seems fairly to fulfil the promise of its title, and to contain a vast amount of information in a very small space.... It is somewhat surprising that it contains so many of the rarer terms used in medicine."--_Bulletin Johns Hopkins Hospital_, Baltimore. W. B. SAUNDERS COMPANY, 925 Walnut St., Phila. London: 9, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden * * * * * ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN. Since the issue of the first volume of the #Saunders Question-Compends#, OVER 290,000 COPIES of these unrivalled publications have been sold. This enormous sale is indisputable evidence of the value of these self-helps to students and physicians. Saunders' Question-Compends. No. 11. ESSENTIALS OF DISEASES OF THE SKIN Including the Syphilodermata Arranged in the Form of Questions and Answers Prepared Especially for Students of Medicine by HENRY W. STELWAGON, M.D., PH.D. Professor of Dermatology in the Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia; Dermatologist to the Howard and Philadelphia Hospitals, etc. Seventh Edition, Thoroughly Revised Illustrated Philadelphia and London W. B. Saunders Company 1909 Set up, electrotyped, printed, 1890. Reprinted July, 1891. Revised, reprinted, June, 1894. Reprinted March, 1897. Revised, reprinted, August, 1899. Reprinted September, 1901, May, 1902, September, 1903. Revised, reprinted January, 1905. Reprinted March, 1906. Revised, reprinted March, 1909. Printed in America Press of W. B. Saunders Company Philadelphia PREFACE TO SEVENTH EDITION. In the present--seventh--edition the subject matter, especially as regards the practical part, has been gone over carefully and the necessary corrections and additions made. Nineteen new illustrations have been added, a few of the old ones being eliminated. It is hoped that the continued demand for this compend means a widening interest in the study of diseases of the skin, sufficiently keen as to lead to the desire for a still greater knowledge. H.W.S. PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. Much of the present volume is, in a measure, the outcome of a thorough revision, remodelling and simplification of the various articles contributed by the author to Pepper's System of Medicine, Buck's Reference Handbook of the Medical Sciences, and Keating's Cyclopaedia of the Diseases of Children. Moreover, in the endeavor to present the subject as tersely and briefly as compatible with clear understanding, the several standard treatises on diseases of the skin by Tilbury Fox, Duhring, Hyde, Robinson, Anderson, and Crocker, have been freely consulted, that of the last-named author suggesting the pictorial presentation of the "Anatomy of the Skin." The space allotted to each disease has been based upon relative importance. As to treatment, the best and approved methods only--those which are founded upon the aggregate experience of dermatologists--are referred to. For general information a statistical table from the Transactions of the American Dermatological Association is appended. H.W.S. CONTENTS. PAGE ANATOMY OF THE SKIN 17 The Epidermis 18 The Blood-vessels 19 The Nervous and Vascular Papillae 20 The Hair and Hair-follicle 21 SYMPTOMATOLOGY 22 Primary Lesions 22 Secondary Lesions 23 Distribution and Configuration 24 Relative Frequency 26 Contagiousness 27 Rapidity of Cure 27 Ointment Bases 27 CLASS I.--DISORDERS OF THE GLANDS 28 Hyperidrosis 28 Sudamen 30 Hydrocystoma 31 Anidrosis 31 Bromidrosis 32 Chromidrosis 32 Uridrosis 33 Phosphoridrosis 33 Seborrh[oe]a (Eczema Seborrhoicum) 33 Comedo 38 Milium 42 Steatoma 43 CLASS II.--INFLAMMATIONS 44 Erythema Simplex 44 Erythema Intertrigo 45 Erythema Multiforme 46 Erythema Nodosum 50 Erythema Induratum 51 Urticaria 52 Urticaria Pigmentosa 56 Dermatitis 58 Dermatitis Medicamentosa 60 X-Ray Dermatitis 63 Dermatitis Factitia 64 Dermatitis Gangraenosa 65 Erysipelas 66 Phlegmona Diffusa 68 Furunculus 68 Carbunculus 70 Pustula Maligna 72 Post-mortem Pustule 73 Framb[oe]sia 73 Verruga Peruana 73 Equinia 74 Miliaria 74 Pompholyx 76 Herpes Simplex 78 Hydroa Vacciniforme 80 Epidermolysis Bullosa 80 Dermatitis Repens 81 Herpes Zoster 81 Dermatitis Herpetiformis 83 Psoriasis 86 Pityriasis Rosea 95 Dermatitis Exfoliativa 96 Lichen Planus 98 Pityriasis Rubra Pilaris 99 Lichen Scrofulosus 100 Eczema 100 Prurigo 118 Acne 119 Acne Rosacea 126 Sycosis 130 Dermatitis Papillaris Capillitii 135 Impetigo Contagiosa 136 Impetigo Herpetiformis 138 Ecthyma 138 Pemphigus 140 CLASS III.--HEMORRHAGES 144 Purpura 144 Scorbutus 146 CLASS IV.--HYPERTROPHIES 148 Lentigo 148 Chloasma 149 Keratosis Pilaris 151 Keratosis Follicularis 153 Molluscum Epitheliale 153 Callositas 155 Clavus 156 Cornu Cutaneum 158 Verruca 160 Naevus Pigmentosus 162 Ichthyosis 165 Onychauxis 167 Hypertrichosis 168 [OE]dema Neonatorum 170 Sclerema Neonatorum 171 Scleroderma 172 Elephantiasis 174 Dermatolysis 176 CLASS V.--ATROPHIES 177 Albinismus 177 Vitiligo 178 Canities 180 Alopecia 181 Alopecia Areata 183 Atrophia Pilorum Propria 187 Atrophia Unguis 188 Atrophia Cutis 189 CLASS VI.--NEW GROWTHS 191 Keloid 191 Fibroma 192 Neuroma 194 Xanthoma 195 Myoma 196 Angioma 196 Telangiectasis 197 Lymphangioma 198 Rhinoscleroma 198 Lupus Erythematosus 199 Lupus Vulgaris 203 Tuberculosis Cutis 209 Ainhum 212 Mycetoma 212 Perforating Ulcer of the Foot 213 Syphilis Cutanea 213 Lepra 231 Pellagra 235 Epithelioma 236 Paget's Disease of the Nipple 240 Sarcoma 241 Granuloma Fungoides 242 CLASS VII.--NEUROSES 244 Hyperaesthesia 244 Dermatalgia 244 Anaesthesia 244 Pruritus 244 CLASS VIII.--PARASITIC AFFECTIONS 247 Tinea Favosa 247 Tinea Trichophytina 251 Tinea Imbricata 261 Tinea Versicolor 262 Erythrasma 265 Actinomycosis 266 Blastomycetic Dermatitis 266 Scabies 267 Pediculosis 271 Pediculosis Capitis 272 Pediculosis Corporis 274 Pediculosis Pubis 275 Cysticercus Cellulosae 276 Filaria Medinensis 277 Ixodes 277 Leptus 277 [OE]strus 278 Pulex Penetrans 278 Cimex Lectularius 278 Culex 279 Pulex Irritans 279 TABLE showing Relative Frequency of the Various Diseases of the Skin 280 DISEASES OF THE SKIN. #ANATOMY OF THE SKIN.# [Illustration: Fig. I. Vertical section of the skin--Diagrammatic. (_After Heitsmann._)] #The Epidermis.# [Illustration: Fig. 2. _c_, corneous (horny) layer; _g_, granular layer; _m_, mucous layer (rete Malpighii). The stratum lucidum is the layer just above the granular layer. Nerve terminations--_n_, afferent nerve; _b_, terminal nerve bulbs; _l_, cell of Langerhans. (_After Ranvier._)] #The Blood-vessels.# [Illustration: Fig. 3. _C_, epidermis; _D_, corium; _P_, papillae; _S_, sweat-gland duct. _v_, arterial and venous capillaries (superficial, or papillary plexus) of the papillae. Deep plexus is partly shown at lower margin of the diagram; _vs_--an intermediate plexus, an outgrowth from the deep plexus, supplying sweat-glands, and giving a loop to hair papilla. (_After Ranvier._)] #The Nervous and Vascular Papillae.# [Illustration: Fig. 4. _a_, a vascular papilla; _b_, a nervous papilla; _c_, a blood-vessel; _d_, a nerve fibre; _e_, a tactile corpuscle. (_After Biesiadecki._)] #The Hair and Hair-Follicle.# [Illustration: Fig. 5. _A_, shaft of the hair; _B_, root of the hair; _C_, cuticle of the hair; _D_, medullary substance of the hair. _E_, external layer of the hair-follicle; _F_, middle layer of the hair-follicle; _G_, internal layer of the hair-follicle; _H_, papilla of the hair; _I_, external root-sheath; _J_, outer layer of the internal root-sheath; _K_, internal layer of the internal root-sheath. (_After Duhring._)] #SYMPTOMATOLOGY.# The symptoms of cutaneous disease may be objective, subjective or both; and in some diseases, also, there may be systemic disturbance. #What do you mean by objective symptoms?# Those symptoms visible to the eye or touch. #What do you understand by subjective symptoms?# Those which relate to sensation, such as itching, tingling, burning, pain, tenderness, heat, anaesthesia, and hyperaesthesia. #What do you mean by systemic symptoms?# Those general symptoms, slight or profound, which are sometimes associated, primarily or secondarily, with the cutaneous disease, as, for example, the systemic disturbance in leprosy, pemphigus, and purpura hemorrhagica. #Into what two classes of lesions are the objective symptoms commonly divided?# Primary (or elementary), and Secondary (or consecutive). #Primary Lesions.# #What are primary lesions?# Those objective lesions with which cutaneous diseases begin. They may continue as such or may undergo modification, passing into the secondary or consecutive lesions. #Enumerate the primary lesions.# Macules, papules, tubercles, wheals, tumors, vesicles, blebs and pustules. #What are macules (maculae)?# Variously-sized, shaped and tinted spots and discolorations, without elevation or depression; as, for example, freckles, spots of purpura, macules of cutaneous syphilis. #What are papules (papulae)?# Small, circumscribed, solid elevations, rarely exceeding the size of a split-pea, and usually superficially seated; as, for example, the papules of eczema, of acne, and of cutaneous syphilis. #What are tubercles (tubercula)?# Circumscribed, solid elevations, commonly pea-sized and usually deep-seated; as, for example, the tubercles of syphilis, of leprosy, and of lupus. #What are wheals (pomphi)?# Variously-sized and shaped, whitish, pinkish or reddish elevations, of an evanescent character; as, for example, the lesions of urticaria, the lesions produced by the bite of a mosquito or by the sting of a nettle. #What are tumors (tumores)?# Soft or firm elevations, usually large and prominent, and having their seat in the corium and subcutaneous tissue; as, for example, sebaceous tumors, gummata, and the lesions of fibroma. #What are vesicles (vesiculae)?# Pin-head to pea-sized, circumscribed epidermal elevations, containing serous fluid; as, for example, the so-called fever-blisters, the lesions of herpes zoster, and of vesicular eczema. #What are blebs (bullae)?# Rounded or irregularly-shaped, pea to egg-sized epidermic elevations, with fluid contents; in short, they are essentially the same as vesicles and pustules except as to size; as, for example, the blebs of pemphigus, rhus poisoning, and syphilis. #What are pustules (pustulae)?# Circumscribed epidermic elevations containing pus; as, for example, the pustules of acne, of impetigo, and of sycosis. #Secondary Lesions.# #What are secondary lesions?# Those lesions resulting from accidental or natural change, modification or termination of the primary lesions. #Enumerate the secondary lesions.# Scales, crusts, excoriations, fissures, ulcers, scars and stains. #What are scales (squamae)?# Dry, laminated, epidermal exfoliations; as, for example, the scales of psoriasis, ichthyosis, and eczema. #What are crusts (crustae)?# Dried effete masses of exudation; as, for example, the crusts of impetigo, of eczema, and of the pustular and ulcerating syphilodermata. #What are excoriations (excoriationes)?# Superficial, usually epidermal, linear or punctate loss of tissue; as, for example, ordinary scratch-marks. #What are fissures (rhagades)?# Linear cracks or wounds, involving the epidermis, or epidermis and corium; as, for example, the cracks which often occur in eczema when seated about the joints, the cracks of chapped lips and hands. #What are ulcers (ulcera)?# Rounded or irregularly-shaped and sized loss of skin and subcutaneous tissue resulting from disease; as, for example, the ulcers of syphilis and of cancer. #What are scars (cicatrices)?# Connective-tissue new formations replacing loss of substance. #What are stains?# Discolorations left by cutaneous disease, which stains may be transitory or permanent. #Distribution and Configuration.# #What do you mean by a patch of eruption?# A single group or aggregation of lesions or an area of disease. #When is an eruption said to be limited or localized?# When it is confined to one part or region. #When is an eruption said to be general or generalized?# When it is scattered, uniformly or irregularly, over the entire surface. #When is an eruption universal?# When the whole integument is involved, without any intervening healthy skin. #When is an eruption said to be discrete?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are isolated, having more or less intervening normal skin. #When is an eruption confluent?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are so closely crowded that a solid sheet results. #When is an eruption uniform?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are all of one type or character. #When is an eruption multiform?# When the lesions constituting the eruption are of two or more types or characters. #When are lesions said to be aggregated?# When they tend to form groups or closely-crowded patches. #When are lesions disseminated?# When they are irregularly scattered, with no tendency to form groups or patches. #When is a patch of eruption said to be circinate?# When it presents a rounded form, and usually tending to clear in the centre; as, for example, a patch of ringworm. #When is a patch of eruption said to be annular?# When it is ring-shaped, the central portion being clear; as, for example, in erythema annulare. #What meaning is conveyed by the term "iris"?# The patch of eruption is made up of several concentric rings. Difference of duration of the individual rings, usually slight, tends to give the patch variegated coloration; as, for example, in erythema iris and herpes iris. #What meaning is conveyed by the term "marginate"?# The sheet of eruption is sharply defined against the healthy skin; as, for example, in erythema marginatum, eczema marginatum. #What meaning is conveyed by the qualifying term "circumscribed"?# The term is applied to small, usually more or less rounded, patches, when sharply defined; as, for example, the typical patches of psoriasis. #When is the qualifying term "gyrate" employed?# When the patches arrange themselves in an irregular winding or festoon-like manner; as, for instance, in some cases of psoriasis. It results, usually, from the coalescence of several rings, the eruption disappearing at the points of contact. #When is an eruption said to be serpiginous?# When the eruption spreads at the border, clearing up at the older part; as, for instance, in the serpiginous syphiloderm. #RELATIVE FREQUENCY.# #Name the more common cutaneous diseases and state approximately their frequency.# Eczema, 30.4%; syphilis cutanea, 11.2%; acne, 7.3%; pediculosis, 4%; psoriasis, 3.3%; ringworm, 3.2%; dermatitis, 2.6%; scabies, 2.6%; urticaria, 2.5%; pruritus, 2.1%; seborrh[oe]a, 2.1%; herpes simplex, 1.7%; favus, 1.7%; impetigo, 1.4%; herpes zoster, 1.2%; verruca, 1.1%; tinea versicolor, 1%. Total: eighteen diseases, representing 81 per cent. of all cases met with. (These percentages are based upon statistics, public and private, of the American Dermatological Association, covering a period of ten years. In private practice the proportion of cases of pediculosis, scabies, favus, and impetigo is much smaller, while acne, acne rosacea, seborrh[oe]a, epithelioma, and lupus are relatively more frequent.) #CONTAGIOUSNESS.# #Name the more actively contagious skin diseases.# Impetigo contagiosa, ringworm, favus, scabies and pediculosis; excluding the exanthemata, erysipelas, syphilis and certain rare and doubtful diseases. [At the present time when most diseases are presumed to be due to bacteria or parasites the belief in contagiousness, under certain conditions, has considerably broadened.] #RAPIDITY OF CURE.# #Is the rapid cure of a skin disease fraught with any danger to the patient?# No. It was formerly so considered, especially by the public and general profession, and the impression still holds to some extent, but it is not in accord with dermatological experience. #OINTMENT BASES.# #Name the several fats in common use for ointment bases.# Lard, petrolatum (or cosmoline or vaseline), cold cream and lanolin. #State the relative advantages of these several bases.# _Lard_ is the best all-around base, possessing penetrating properties scarcely exceeded by any other fat. _Petrolatum_ is also valuable, having little, if any, tendency to change; it is useful as a protective, but is lacking in its power of penetration. _Cold Cream_ (ungt. aquae rosae) is soothing and cooling, and may often be used when other fatty applications disagree. _Lanolin_ is said to surpass in its power of penetration all other bases, but this is not borne out by experience. It is an unsatisfactory base when used alone. It should be mixed with another base in about the proportion of 25% to 50%. These several bases may, and often with advantage, be variously combined. #What is to be added to these several bases if a stiffer ointment is required?# Simple cerate, wax, spermaceti, or suet; or in some instances, a pulverulent substance, such as starch, boric acid, and zinc oxide. #CLASS I.--DISORDERS OF THE GLANDS.# #Hyperidrosis.# [Illustration: Fig. 6. A normal sweat-gland, highly magnified. (_After Neumann._) _a_, Sweat-coil: _b_, sweat-duct; _c_, lumen of duct; _d_, connective-tissue capsule; _e_ and _f_, arterial trunk and capillaries.] #What is hyperidrosis?# Hyperidrosis is a functional disturbance of the sweat-glands, characterized by an increased production of sweat. This increase may be slight or excessive, local or general. #As a local affection, what parts are most commonly involved?# The hands, feet, especially the palmar and plantar surfaces, the axillae and the genitalia. #Describe the symptoms of the local forms of hyperidrosis.# The essential, and frequently the sole symptom, is more or less profuse sweating. If the hands are the parts involved, they are noted to be wet, clammy and sometimes cold. If involving the soles, the skin often becomes more or less macerated and sodden in appearance, and as a result of this maceration and continued irritation they may become inflamed, especially about the borders of the affected parts, and present a pinkish or pinkish-red color, having a violaceous tinge. The sweat undergoes change and becomes offensive. #Is hyperidrosis acute or chronic?# Usually chronic, although it may also occur as an acute affection. #What is the etiology of hyperidrosis?# Debility is commonly the cause in general hyperidrosis; the local forms are probably neurotic in origin. #What is the prognosis?# The disease is usually persistent and often rebellious to treatment; in many instances a permanent cure is possible, in others palliation. Relapses are not uncommon. #What systemic remedies are employed in hyperidrosis?# Ergot, belladonna, gallic acid, mineral acids, and tonics. Constitutional treatment is rarely of benefit in the local forms of hyperidrosis, and external applications are seldom of service in general hyperidrosis. Precipitated sulphur, a teaspoonful twice daily, is also well spoken of, combined, if necessary, with an astringent. #What external remedies are employed in the local forms?# Astringent lotions of zinc sulphate, tannin and alum, applied several times daily, with or without the supplementary use of dusting-powders. Weak solutions of formaldehyde, one to one hundred, are sometimes of value. Dusting-powders of boric acid and zinc oxide, to which may be added from ten to thirty grains of salicylic acid to the ounce, to be used freely and often:-- [Rx] Pulv. ac. salicylici................. gr. x-xxx. Pulv. ac. borici..................... [dram]v. Pulv. zinci oxidi.................... [dram]iij M. Diachylon ointment, and an ointment containing a drachm of tannin to the ounce; more especially applicable in hyperidrosis of the feet. The parts are first thoroughly washed, rubbed dry with towels and dusting-powder, and the ointment applied on strips of muslin or lint and bound on; the dressing is renewed twice daily, the parts each time being rubbed dry with soft towels and dusting-powder, and the treatment continued for ten days to two weeks, after which the dusting-powder is to be used alone for several weeks. No water is to be used after the first washing until the ointment is discontinued. One such course will occasionally suffice, but not infrequently a repetition is necessary. Faradization and galvanization are sometimes serviceable. Repeated mild exposures to the Roentgen rays have a favorable influence in some instances. #Sudamen.# (_Synonym:_

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Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy 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.) PETER PRY'S PUPPET SHOW. _Part the II._ "There is a time for all things, A time to work, and a time to play." PHILADELPHIA: _Published and sold

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Shireen and her Friends Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat By Gordon Stables Illustrations by Harrison Weir Published by Jarrold and Sons, 10 and 11 Warwick Lane, London EC. Shireen and her Friends, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ SHIREEN AND HER FRIENDS, BY GORDON STABLES. PREFACE. DEDICATED TO THE REVIEWER. Yes, this little preface is written for the Reviewer and nobody else. Indeed, the public seldom bother to read prefaces, and small blame to them. Reading the preface to a book is just like being button-holed by some loquacious fellow, as you are entering the theatre, who wants to tell you all about the play you are just going to see. So sure am I of this, that I had at first thought of writing my preface in ancient Greek. Of course every reviewer is as well-versed in that beautiful language as Professor Geddes, or John Stuart Blackie himself. I was

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Produced by Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) LUMEN _The One Hundred and Forty-first of the Minor Planets, situated between Mars and Jupiter, which was discovered at the Paris Observatory by M. Paul Henry, on the 13th of January 1875, received the name of LUMEN in honour of the Author of this Work._ LUMEN

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Produced by Richard Tonsing, deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _Advertisement._ There is now Engraving, and will speedily be Publish'd, _A New Pair of_ GLOBES, sixteen Inches Diameter; the _Terrestrial_ has on it all the New Discoveries that have been lately made, together with an useful View of the General and Coasting Trade-Winds, Moonsoons, _&c._ The _Cœlestial_ has the Stars laid down from the Correctest Tables of the best Astronomers of our Age, with eighteen Constellations never Engraven upon any Globe. All those Gentlemen that are willing to Furnish themselves with them, are desired speedily to inform the Undertakers _J. Senex_ and _C. Price_, next the _Fleece_-Tavern in _Cornhill_; They intending to fit up no more than what are Subscrib'd for. _Miscellanea Curiosa._ Containing a COLLECTION OF Curious Travels, VOYAGES, AND _Natural Histories_ OF COUNTRIES, As they have been Delivered in to the ROYAL SOCIETY. VOL. III. _LONDON_: Printed by _J. B._ for _Jeffery Wale_ at the _Angel_ in St. _Paul_'s Church-yard; _J. Senex _&_ C. Price_ next the _Fleece_ Tavern in _Cornhill_, 1707. THE CONTENTS. _A Journal of a Voyage from _England_ to _Constantinople_, made in the Year, 1668. by _T. Smith_, D. D. and F. R. S._ 1 _Historical Observations relating to _Constantinople_. By the Reverend and Learned _Tho. Smith_, D. D. Fellow of _Magd. Coll. Oxon._ and of the _Royal Society_._ 32 _An account of the City of _Prusa_ in _Bythynia_, and a continuation of the Historical Observations relating to _Constantinople_, by the Reverend and learned _Thomas Smith_ D. D. Fellow of _Magd. Coll. Oxon._ and of the _Royal Society_._ 49 _A Relation of a Voyage from _Aleppo_ to _Palmyra_ in _Syria_; sent by the Reverend Mr. _William Hallifax_ to Dr. _Edward Bernard_ (late) _Savilian_ Professor of Astronomy in _Oxford_, and by him communicated to Dr. _Thomas Smith_, _Reg. Soc. S.__ 84 _An Extract of the Journals of two several Voyages of the _English Merchants_ of the Factory of _Aleppo_, to _Tadmor_, anciently call'd _Palmyra_._ 120 _Some Account of the Ancient State of the City of _Palmyra_, with short Remarks upon the Inscriptions found there. By _E. Halley_._ 160 _A Voyage of the Emperour of _China_ into the Eastern _Tartary_, Anno. 1682._ 179 _The Distances of the Places thro' which we passed in the _Eastern_ Tartary._ 195 _A Voyage of the Emperor of _China_, into the Western _Tartary_ in the Year, 1683._ 196 _An Explanation, necessary to justify the _Geography_ supposed in these Letters._ 210 _Some Observations and Conjectures concerning the _Chinese_ Characters. Made by _R. H._ R. S. S._ 212 _A Letter from _F. A._ Esq; R. S. S. to the Publisher, with a Paper of Mr. _S. Flowers_, containing the Exact Draughts of several unknown Characters, taken from the Ruins at _Persepolis_._ 233 _A Letter from Monsieur _N. Witsen_ to Dr. _Martin Lister_, with two Draughts of the Famous _Persepolis_._ 236 _A Description of the Diamond-mines, as it was presented by the Right Honourable the Earl Marshal of _England_, to the _R. Society_._ 238 _A Letter from the _East Indies_, of Mr. _John Marshal_ to Dr. _Coga_, giving an Account of the Religion, Rites, Notions, Customs, Manners of the Heathen Priests commonly called _Bramines_. Communicated by the Reverend Mr. _Abraham de la Pryme_._ 256 _Part of two Letters to the Publisher from Mr. _James Cunningham_, F. R. S. and Physician to the _English_ at _Chusan_ in _China_, giving an account of his Voyage thither, of the Island of _Chusan_, of the several sorts of Tea, of the Fishing, Agriculture of the _Chinese_, _&c._ with several Observations not hitherto taken notice of._ 269 _A Letter from Mr. _John Clayton_ Rector of _Crofton_ at _Wakefield_ in _Yorkshire_, to the Royal Society, _May 12 1688._ giving an account of several Observables in _Virginia_, and in his Voyage thither, more particularly concerning the Air._ 281 _Mr. _Clayton_'s second Letter, containing his farther Observations on _Virginia_._ 293 _A Continuation of Mr. _John Clayton_'s Account of _Virginia_._ 301 _Mr. _John Clayton_, Rector of _Crofton_ at _Wakefield_, his Letter to the _Royal Society_, giving a farther Account of the Soil, and other Observables of _Virginia_._ 312 _A Continuation of Mr. _Clayton_'s Account of _Virginia_._ 337 _Part of Two Letters from Mr. _J. Hillier_, dated _Cape Corse_, _Jan. 3. 1687/8._ and _Apr. 25. 1688._ Wrote to the Reverend Dr. _Bathurst_, President of _Trinity Colledge, Oxon_; giving an Account of the Customs of the Inhabitants, the Air, _&c._ of that Place, together with an Account of the Weather there from _Nov. 24. 1686._ to the same Day 1687._ 356 _An Account of the _Moorish_ Way of Dressing their Meat (with other Remarks) in _West-Barbary_, from Cape _Spartel_ to Cape _de Geer_. By Mr. _Jezreel Jones_._ 381 _A Letter from Mr. _John Monro_ to the Publisher, concerning the Catacombs of _Rome_ and _Naples_._ 394 _An accurate Description of the _Lake of Geneva_, not long since made by a Person that had visited it divers times in the pleasantest season of the Year; and communicated to the Publisher by one of his Parisian Correspondents: English'd as followeth._ 404 _Part of a Journal kept from _Scotland_ to _New Caledonia_ in _Darien_, with a short Account of that Country. Communicated by Dr. _Wallace_, F. R. S._ 413 _A Discourse tending to prove at what Time and Place _Julius Cæsar_ made his first Descent upon _Britain_: Read before the _Royal Society_ by _E. Halley_._ 422 _Miscellanea Curiosa._ VOL. III. _A Journal of a Voyage from _England_ to _Constantinople_, made in the Year, 1668. by _T. Smith_, D. D. and F. R. S._ On _Monday_ Evening _August 3, 1668._ we took Barge at _Tower-Wharf_, and at _Greenwich_ went on Board the _Bezant_ Yacht for the _Downs_, where we arrived the next day in the Afternoon, and went on Board the _Leopard_ Frigat, a Ship of 56 Guns mounted, Captain _O Bryen_ Commander, appointed to carry Sir _Daniel Harvey_, his Majesty's Ambassador to the Port of the _Ottoman_ Emperor at _Constantinople_. Here, upon his first Arrival, the Ambassador was Complemented by Sir _Jeremy Smith_, then riding Admiral, Sir _Edward Spragg_, and several other Commanders of the Men of War, and afterwards Saluted with Fifteen Pieces of Ordinance by the Admiral, to whom we returned as many; then by the Vice-Admiral, and several other Ships. All which were answered together at the same time with 21 in the whole. Here we were forced to Ride for several days, the Winds being contrary. In the _Offing_ between the _North Foreland_ and _South Foreland_ it runs Tide and half Tide, that is, it is either ebbing Water or Flood upon the Shore, in that part of the _Downs_, three hours, which is grossly speaking the time of half a Tide, before it is so, off at Sea. (For the flux and reflux of the Sea is not made exactly twice in 24 hours, but, as it appears by accurate observation, it requires an overplus of almost 50 minutes.) The reason of this diversity of Tides, I take to be from the meeting of the two Seas in that narrow Streight. Oftentimes when the Wind has blown hard at N. E. or at W. or W. and by S. there has hapn'd an alteration of the Tides in the River of _Thames_, which ignorant People have mistakenly lookt upon as a Prodigy. It is a most certain Observation, that where it flows Tide and half Tide, tho' the Tide of Flood runs aloft, yet the Tide of Ebb runs under foot, that is, close by the _ground_; and so at the Tide of Ebb, it will flow under foot, as that great and experienc'd Sea-Commander, Sir _H. Manwaring_, words it. _August 9._ We sailed from the _Downs_, but were soon forced back by distress of Weather, and came to an Anchor S. W. of the _South Foreland_. 10. The Wind blew at S. S.

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Produced by Roger Frank, David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: OCCASIONALLY A DARTING AIRPLANE ATTRACTED HER TO THE WINDOW.] Ruth Fielding In the Red Cross OR DOING HER BEST FOR UNCLE SAM BY ALICE B. EMERSON Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "Ruth Fielding in the Saddle," Etc. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY PUBLISHERS Books for Girls BY ALICE B. EMERSON RUTH FIELDING SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 50 cents, postpaid. RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York. Copyright, 1918, by Cupples & Leon Company Ruth Fielding in the Red Cross Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Uncle Jabez Is Excited 1 II. The Call of the Drum 9 III. The Woman in Black 17 IV. "Can a Poilu Love a Fat Girl?" 25 V. "The Boys of the Draft" 34 VI. The Patriotism of the Purse 39 VII. On the Way 49 VIII. The Nearest Duty 56 IX. Tom Sails, and Something Else Happens 64 X. Suspicions 75 XI. Said in German 81 XII. Through Dangerous Waters 90 XIII. The New Chief 99 XIV. A Change of Base 107 XV. New Work 118 XVI. The Days Roll By 127 XVII. At the Gateway of the Chateau 133 XVIII. Shocking News 141 XIX. At the Wayside Cross 149 XX. Many Things Happen 156 XXI. Again the Werwolf 165 XXII. The Countess and Her Dog 175 XXIII. Ruth Does Her Duty 180 XXIV. A Partial Exposure 191 XXV. Quite Satisfactory 197 RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS CHAPTER I--UNCLE JABEZ IS EXCITED "Oh! Not _Tom_?" Ruth Fielding looked up from the box she was packing for the local Red Cross chapter, and, almost horrified, gazed into the black eyes of the girl who confronted her. Helen Cameron's face was tragic in its expression. She had been crying. The closely written sheets of the letter in her hand were shaken, as were her shoulders, with the sobs she tried to suppress. "It--it's written to father," Helen said. "He gave it to me to read. I wish Tom had never gone to Harvard. Those boys there are completely crazy! To think--at the end of his freshman year--to throw it all up and go to a training camp!" "I guess Harvard isn't to blame," said Ruth practically. If she was deeply moved by what her chum had told her, she quickly recovered her self-control. "The boys are going from other colleges all over the land. Is Tom going to try for a commission?" "Yes." "What does your father say?" "Why," cried the other girl as though that, too, had surprised and hurt her, "father cried 'Bully for Tom!' and then wiped his eyes on his handkerchief. What can men be made of, Ruth? He knows Tom may be killed, and yet he cheers for him." Ruth Fielding smiled and suddenly hugged Helen. Ruth's smile was somewhat tremulous, but her chum did not observe this fact. "I understand how your father feels, dear. Tom does not want to be drafted----" "He wouldn't be drafted. He is not old enough. And even if they automatically draft the boys as they become of age, it would be months before they reached Tom, and the war will be over by that time. But here he is throwing himself away----" "Oh, Helen! Not that!" cried Ruth. "Our soldiers will fight for us--for their country--for honor. And a man's life lost in such a cause is not thrown away." "That's the way I feel," said Helen, more steadily. "Tom is my twin. You don't know what it means to have a twin brother, Ruth Fielding." "That is true," sighed Ruth. "But I can imagine how you feel, dear. If you have hopes of the war's being over so quickly, then I should expect Tom back from training camp safe and sound, and with no chance of ever facing the enemy. Has he really gone?" "Oh, yes," Helen told her despondently. "And lots of the boys who used to go to school with Tom at Seven Oaks. You know, all those jolly fellows who were at Snow Camp with us, and at Lighthouse Point, and on Cliff Island, and out West on Silver Ranch--and--and everywhere. Just to think! We may never see them again." "Dear me, Helen," Ruth urged, "don't look upon the blackest side of the cloud. It's a long time before they go over there." "We don't know how soon they will be in the trenches," said her friend hopelessly. "These boys going to war----" "And I wish I was young enough to go with 'em!" ejaculated a harsh voice, as the door of the back kitchen opened and the speaker stamped into the room. "Got that box ready to nail up, Niece Ruth? Ben's hitching up the mules, and I want to get to Cheslow before dark." "Oh! Almost ready, Uncle Jabez," cried the girl of the Red Mill, as the gray old man approached. He was lean and wiry and the dust of his mill seemed to have been so ground into his very skin that he was a regular "dusty miller." His features were as harsh as his voice, and he was seldom as excited as he seemed to be now. "Who's going to war now?" he asked, turning to Helen. "Poor--poor Tom!" burst out the black-eyed girl, and began to dabble her eyes again. "What's the matter o' him?" demanded the old miller. "He'll--he'll be shot--I know he'll be killed, and mangled horribly!" "Fiddle-de-dee!" grunted Uncle Jabez, but his tone of voice was not as harsh as his words sounded. "I never got shot, nor mangled none to speak of, and I was fightin' and marchin' three endurin' years." "_You_, Uncle Jabez?" cried Ruth. "Yep. And I wish they'd take me again. I can go a-soldierin' as good as the next one. I'm tough and I'm wiry. They talk about this war bein' a dreadful war. Shucks! All wars air dreadful. They won't never have a battle over there that'll be as bad as the Wilderness--believe me! They may have more battles, but I went through some of the wust a man could ever experience." "And--and you weren't shot?" gasped Helen. "Not a bit. Three years of campaigning and never was scratched. Don't you look for Tom Cameron to be killed fust thing just because he's going to the wars. If more men didn't come back from the wars than git killed in 'em how d'ye s'pose this old world would have gone on rolling? Shucks!" "I never knew you were a soldier, Uncle Jabez," Ruth Fielding said. "Wal, I was. Shucks! I was something of a sharpshooter, too. And we old fellers--course I was nothin' but a boy, _then_--we could shoot. We'd l'arn't to shoot on the farm. Powder an' shot was hard to git and we l'arn't to make every bullet count. My old Betsey--didn't ye ever see my Civil War rifle?" he demanded of Ruth. "You mean the old brown gun that hangs over your bed and that Aunt Alvirah is so much afraid of?" "That's old Betsey. Sharpe's rifle. In them days it was jest about the last thing in weepons. I brung it home after the Grand Army of the Potomac was disbanded. Know how I did it? Government claimed all the guns; but I took old Betsey apart and me an' my mates hid the pieces away in our clothes, and so got her home. Then I assembled her again," and Uncle Jabez broke into a chuckle that was actually almost startling to the girls, for the miller seldom laughed. "Say!" he exclaimed, in his strange excitement. "I'll show her to ye." He hurried out of the room, evidently in search of "Old Betsey." Helen said to the miller's niece: "Goodness, Ruth! what has happened to your Uncle Jabez?" "Just what has happened to Tom--and your father," returned the girl of the Red Mill. "I've seen it coming on. Uncle Jabez has been getting more and more excited ever since war was declared. You know, when we came home from college a month ago and decided to remain here and help in the Red Cross work instead of finishing our sophomore year at Ardmore, my decision was really the first one I ever made that Uncle Jabez seemed to approve of immediately. "He is thoroughly patriotic. When I told him I could study later--when the war was over--but that I must work for the soldiers now, he said I was a good girl. What do you think of _that_?" "Cheslow is not doing its share," Helen said thoughtfully, her mind switched by Ruth's last words to the matter that had completely filled her own and her chum's thoughts for weeks. "The people are not awake. They do not know we are at war yet. They have not done half for the Red Cross that they should do." "We'll make 'em!" declared Ruth Fielding. "We must get the women and girls to pull together." "Say, Ruth! what do you think of that woman in black--you know, the widow, or whoever she is? Dresses in black altogether; but maybe it's because she thinks black becomes her," added Helen rather scornfully. "Mrs. Mantel?" asked Ruth slowly. "I don't know what to think of her. She seems to be very anxious to help. Yet she does nothing really helpful--only talks." "And some of her talk I'd rather not hear," said Helen sharply. "I know what you mean," Ruth rejoined, nodding. "But so many people talk so doubtfully. They are unfamiliar with the history of the Red Cross and what it has done. Perhaps Mrs. Mantel means no harm." At that moment Uncle Jabez reappeared with the heavy rifle in his hands. He was still chuckling. "Calc'late I ain't heard Aunt Alvirah talk about this gun much of

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Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive [Illustration: 006] [Illustration: 007] THE BOOK OF ROSES By Francis Parkman Boston J. E. Tilton And Company. 1871. INTRODUCTION |IT IS needless to eulogize the Rose. Poets from Anacreon and Sappho, and earlier than they, down to our own times, have sung its praises; and yet the rose of Grecian and of Persian song, the rose of troubadours and minstrels, had no beauties so resplendent as those with which its offspring of the present day embellish our gardens. The "thirty sorts of rose," of which John Parkinson speaks in 1629, have multiplied to thousands. New races have been introduced from China, Persia, Hindostan, and our own country; and these, amalgamated with the older families by the art of the hybridist, have produced still other forms of surpassing variety and beauty. This multiplication and improvement are still in progress. The last two or three years have been prolific beyond precedent in new roses; and, with all regard for old favorites, it cannot be denied, that, while a few of the roses of our forefathers still hold their ground, the greater part are cast into the shade by the brilliant products of this generation. In the production of new roses, France takes the lead. A host of cultivators great and small--Laffay, Vibert, Verdier, Margottin, Trouillard, Portemer, and numberless others--have devoted themselves to the pleasant art of intermarrying the various families and individual varieties of the rose, and raising from them seedlings whose numbers every year may be counted by hundreds of thousands. Of these, a very few only are held worthy of preservation; and all the rest are consigned to the rubbish heap. The English, too, have of late done much in raising new varieties; though their climate is less favorable than that of France, and their cultivators less active and zealous in the work. Some excellent roses, too, have been produced in America. Our climate is very favorable to the raising of seedlings, and far more might easily be accomplished here. In France and England, the present rage for roses is intense. It is stimulated by exhibitions, where nurserymen, gardeners, landed gentlemen, and reverend clergymen of the Established Church, meet in friendly competition for the prize. While the French excel all others in the production of new varieties, the English are unsurpassed in the cultivation of varieties already known; and nothing can exceed the beauty and perfection of some of the specimens exhibited at their innumerable rose-shows. If the severity of our climate has its disadvantages, the clearness of our air and the warmth of our summer sun more than counterbalance them; and it is certain that roses can be raised here in as high perfection, to say the very least, as in any part of Europe. The object of this book is to convey information. The earlier portion will describe the various processes of culture, training, and propagation, both in the open ground and in pots; and this will be followed by an account of the various families and groups of the rose, with descriptions of the best varieties belonging to each. A descriptive list will be added of all the varieties, both of old roses and those most recently introduced, which are held in esteem by the experienced cultivators of the present day. The chapter relating to the classification of roses, their family relations, and the manner in which new races have arisen by combinations of two or more old ones, was suggested by the difficulties of the writer himself at an early period of his rose studies. The want of such explanations, in previous treatises, has left their readers in a state of lamentable perplexity on a subject which might easily have been made sufficiently clear. Books on the rose, written for the climates of France or England, will, in general, greatly mislead the cultivators here. Extracts will, however, be given from the writings of the best foreign cultivators, in cases where experience has shown that their directions are applicable to the climate of the Northern and Middle States. The writer having been for many years a cultivator of the rose, and having carefully put in practice the methods found successful abroad, is enabled to judge with some confidence of the extent to which they are applicable here, and to point out exceptions and modifications demanded by the nature of our climate. Among English writers on the rose, the best are Paul, Rivers, and more recently Cranston, together with the vivacious Mr. Radclyffe, a clergyman, a horticulturist, an excellent amateur of the rose, and a very amusing contributor to the "Florist." In France, Deslongchamps and several able contributors to the "Revue Horticole" are the most prominent. From these sources the writer of this book drew the instructions and hints which at first formed the basis of his practice; but he soon found that he must greatly modify it in accordance with American necessities. There was much to be added, much to be discarded, and much to be changed; and the results to which he arrived are given, as compactly as possible, in the following pages. Jan. 1,1866. [Illustration: 0018] [Illustration: 0019] CHAPTER I. OPEN AIR CULTURE [Illustration: 0021] |THE ROSE requires high culture. This belle of the parterre, this "queen of flowers," is a lover of rich fare, and refuses to put forth all her beauties on a meagre diet. Roses, indeed, will grow and bloom in any soil; but deficient nourishment will reduce the size of the flowers, and impair the perfection of their form. Of all soils, one of a sandy or gravelly nature is the worst; while, on the other hand, a wet and dense clay is scarcely better. A rich, strong, and somewhat heavy garden loam, abundantly manured, is the soil best adapted to all the strong-growing roses; while those of more delicate growth prefer one pro-portionably lighter. Yet roses may be grown to perfection in any soil, if the needful pains are taken. We will suppose an extreme case: The grower wishes to plant a bed of roses on a spot where the soil is very poor and sandy. Let him mark out his bed, dig the soil to the depth of eighteen inches? throw out the worst portion of it, and substitute in its place a quantity of strong, heavy loam: rotted sods, if they can be had, will be an excellent addition; and so, also, will decayed leaves. Then add a liberal dressing of old stable manure: that taken from a last year's hot-bod will do admirably. It is scarcely possible to enrich too highly. One-fourth manure to three-fourths soil is not an excessive proportion. Now incorporate the whole thoroughly with a spade, level the top, and your bed is ready. Again: we will suppose a case, equally bad, but of the opposite character. Here the soil is very wet, cold, and heavy. The first step is to drain it. This may be done thoroughly with tiles, after the approved methods; or, if this is too troublesome or expensive, simpler means may be used, which will, in most situations, prove as effectual. Dig a hole about five feet deep and four feet wide at the lower side of your intended bed of roses: in this hole place an inverted barrel, with the head knocked out; or, what is better, an old oil cask. In the latter case, a hole

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Judith Wirawan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +----------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Notes: | | | | Words surrounded by _ are italicized. | | Words surrounded by = are bold. | | Words surrounded by { } are superscript. | | | | A number of obvious errors have been corrected in this text. | | For a complete list, please see the bottom of this document. | | | +----------------------------------------------------------------+ THE STANDARD GALLERIES HOLLAND [Illustration: JAN VERMEER View of Delft] THE STANDARD GALLERIES HOLLAND BY ESTHER SINGLETON _Author of "Dutch and Flemish Furniture," "Great Pictures Described by Great Writers," etc., etc._ WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS [Illustration: A. C. McClurg & Co Logo] CHICAGO A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 1908 COPYRIGHT A. C. MCCLURG & CO. 1908 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England _All rights reserved_ Published October 10, 1908 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. _Preface_ When a tourist who, having mapped out his itinerary in accordance with the time at his disposal for a European trip, arrives at a city for seeing which he has allowed two or three days at the utmost, the first question he puts to a fellow traveller, the hotel clerk, or his Baedeker is, "What must I see?" First, there is the city itself: its streets, bridges, canals, parks, and drives. Then there are famous churches, city halls, and other ancient buildings, including city gates and castles in the immediate neighborhood. Perhaps there is a palace, and most certainly one or more museums of art and antiquities. The tourist gazes his fill on architecture, stone and wood carving, exterior and interior; but above all he feels that he must make the best use of his opportunities of seeing the pictures, the fame of which has spread into all civilized countries. His time is short. He is therefore grateful for a guide that will direct him to the beauties and celebrities of the famous local picture-gallery, and point out to him the qualities of the paintings as well as tell him something of the art of the masters and of the school to which they belong. It is important first for him to know what he should see, and secondly what he should see in it beyond the bare facts he can gather from the catalogue. On returning home with a few photographs of the canvases that have struck his fancy, he is also pleased to renew his acquaintance with the gallery in the pages of a modest work that does not go too deeply into art questions beyond the grasp of the ordinary layman. Such a guide and companion this book aims to be; it leads the tourist rapidly through the most important picture-galleries of Holland, and points out the pictures that all the world talks about; and gives some account of the Dutch masters, their qualities and characteristics as exemplified in their works, there and elsewhere. It does not pretend to be exhaustive, and confines itself almost exclusively to the consideration of the examples of native schools. On going through a gallery the visitor, in accordance with his individual tastes, will frequently be halted by a picture whose fame has not reached him, but whose beauty appeals to him quite as much as the celebrities with which he is familiar from numberless reproductions, such as Potter's Bull, Rembrandt's Night Watch, or Snyder's Boar Hunt. The traveller is tempted to linger over the little pictures of the Little Masters, the charming interiors, marines, landscapes, and still life of the galaxy of painters of the seventeenth century. It is for this reason, therefore, that for illustrating the following pages I have selected many of the less familiar examples of the art of that period. Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was a sound art critic as well as a great painter--an unusual combination of qualities--described with fine appreciation the pleasure derived from the contemplation of the works of the Dutch school. He says: "The most considerable of the Dutch school are Rembrandt, Teniers, Jan Steen, Ostade, Brouwer, Gerard Dow, Mieris, Metsu, and Terburg,--these excel in small conversations. For landscapes and cattle, Wouvermans, P. Potter, Berchem, and Ruysdael; and for buildings, Venderheyden. For sea-views, W. Vandervelde, jun., and Backhuysen. For dead game, Weenix and Hondekoeter. For flowers, De Heem, Vanhuysum, Rachael Roos, and Brueghel. These make the bulk of the Dutch school. "I consider those painters as belonging to this school, who painted only small conversations, landscapes, etc. Though some of these were born in Flanders, their works are principally found in Holland--and to separate them from the Flemish school, which generally painted figures large as life, it appears to me more reasonable to class them with the Dutch painters, and to distinguish those two schools rather by their style and manner, than by the place where the artist happened to be born. "Rembrandt may be considered as belonging to both or either, as he painted both large and small pictures. "A clearness and brilliancy of coloring may be learned by examining the flower-pieces of De Heem, Huysum, and Mignon; and a short time employed in painting flowers would make no improper part of a painter's study. Rubens's pictures strongly remind one of a nosegay of flowers, where all the colors are bright, clear, and transparent. "A market woman with a hare in her hand, a man blowing a trumpet, or a boy blowing bubbles, a view of the inside or outside of a church, are the subjects of some of their most valuable pictures; but there is still entertainment, even in such pictures--however uninteresting their subjects, there is some pleasure in the contemplation of the imitation. But to a painter they afford likewise instruction in his profession; here he may learn the art of coloring and composition, a skilful management of light and shade, and indeed all the mechanical parts of the art, as well as in any other school whatever. "The same skill which is practised by Rubens and Titian in their large works, is here exhibited, though on a smaller scale. Painters should go to the Dutch school to learn the art of painting as they would go to a grammar school to learn languages. They must go to Italy to learn the higher branches of knowledge." In attempting to be of some service to the art lover who has no leisure for extended and independent study, I have by no means relied entirely upon my own impressions and observation. In describing the pictures, I have drawn largely on the writings of the best English, French, German, and Dutch art critics and historians,--Crowe, Reynolds, Blanc, Burger, Havard, Fromentin, Michel, Mainz, Wurtz, Bode, Bredius, and many others. When so many authorities disagree with one another in the spelling of the names of the Dutch artists, I have endeavored to avoid all criticism by adopting the spelling used in the official catalogues of The Hague, Amsterdam, and Rotterdam galleries; and in a few instances these are not agreed. For valuable aid in compiling this work, my thanks are due to Mr. Arthur Shadwell Martin. E. S. NEW YORK, August 1, 1908. _Galleries Included_ PAGE THE HAGUE GALLERY 1 THE RIJKS MUSEUM 109 THE STEDELIJK MUSEUM 193 THE TOWN HALL, HAARLEM 211 THE BOIJMANS MUSEUM, ROTTERDAM 217 _Illustrations_ THE HAGUE GALLERY PAGE Vermeer, View of Delft _Frontispiece_ Paul Potter, _Vache qui se mire_ 10 Rembrandt, Portrait of Himself as Officer 14 Rembrandt, Homer 16 F. Bol, Admiral de Ruyter 24 Moeyaert, The Visit of Antiochus to the Augur 32 Ruisdael, Distant View of Haarlem 40 A. van de Velde, A Dutch Roadstead 48 P. Wouwermans, The Hay Wain 50 P. Wouwermans, The Arrival at the Inn 52 Dou, The Good Housekeeper 60 Ostade, The Fiddler 66 Ter Borch, The Despatch 70 Metsu, The Amateur Musicians 74 Rubens, Helena Fourment 100 THE RIJKS MUSEUM Moreelse, The Little Princess 118 Mierevelt, Prince Maurits of Nassau 120 Van der Helst, Company of Captain R. Bicker 126 Hobbema, The Water Mill 130 Hackaert, Avenue of Ash-trees 132 Maes, The Spinner 136 Cuijp, Fight between a Turkey and a Cock 140 Cuijp, Shepherds with their Flocks 142 Jan van Goyen, View of Dordrecht 144 W. van de Velde, The Ij, or Y, at Amsterdam 150 F. Snyders, Dead Game and Vegetables 152 M. d'Hondecoeter, The Floating Feather 154 Asselijn, The Swan 156 A. de Vois, Lady and Parrot 164 F. van Mieris, The Grocer's Shop 172 P. de Hooch, The Country House 176 Jan Steen, The Parrot Cage 178 Jan Steen, The Happy Family 180 Jan Steen, Eve of St. Nicholas 182 THE STEDELIJK MUSEUM, THE TOWN HALL, HAARLEM AND THE BOIJMANS MUSEUM Mauve, Sheep on the Dunes 196 Israels, Fisherman's Children 198 Roelofs, Marshy Landscape 200 A. Neuhuys, By the Cradle 202 Mesdag, Sunrise on the Dutch Coast 204 Israels, Old Jewish Peddler 206 J. Maris, Two Windmills 208 Frans Hals, Reunion of the Arquebusiers

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Produced by Mike Lough THE STORY OF A PIONEER By Anna Howard Shaw, D.D., M.D. With The Collaboration Of Elizabeth Jordan TO THE WOMEN PIONEERS OF AMERICA They cut a path through tangled underwood Of old traditions, out to broader ways. They lived to here their work called brave and good, But oh! the thorns before the crown of bays. The world gives lashes to its Pioneers Until the goal is reached--then deafening cheers. Adapted by ANNA HOWARD SHAW. CONTENTS I. FIRST MEMORIES II. IN THE WILDERNESS III. HIGH-SCHOOL AND COLLEGE DAYS IV. THE WOLF AT THE DOOR V. SHEPHERD OF A DIVIDED FLOCK VI. CAPE COD MEMORIES VII. THE GREAT CAUSE VIII. DRAMA IN THE LECTURE FIELD IX. "AUNT SUSAN" X. THE PASSING OF "AUNT SUSAN" XI. THE WIDENING SUFFRAGE STREAM XII. BUILDING A HOME XIII. PRESIDENT OF "THE NATIONAL" XIV. RECENT CAMPAIGNS XV. CONVENTION INCIDENTS XVI. COUNCIL EPISODES XVII. VALE! ILLUSTRATIONS REVEREND ANNA HOWARD SHAW IN HER PULPIT ROBES LOCH-AN-EILAN CASTLE DR SHAW'S MOTHER, NICOLAS SHAW, AT SEVENTEEN ALNWICK CASTLE DR. SHAW AT THIRTY-TWO DR. SHAW AT FIFTY DR. SHAW AND "HER BABY"--THE DAUGHTER OF RACHEL FOSTER AVERY DR. SHAW'S MOTHER AT EIGHTY DR. SHAW'S FATHER AT EIGHTY DR. SHAW'S SISTER MARY, WHO DIED IN 1883 LUCY E. ANTHONY, DR. SHAW S FRIEND AND "AUNT SUSAN'S" FAVORITE NIECE THE WOOD ROAD NEAR DR. SHAW'S CAPE COD HOME, THE HAVEN DR. SHAW'S COTTAGE, THE HAVEN, AT WIANNO, CAPE COD--THE FIRST HOME SHE BUILT GATE ENTRANCE TO DR. SHAW'S HOME AT MOYLAN THE SECOND HOUSE THAT DR. SHAW BUILT SUSAN B. ANTHONY MISS MARY GARRETT, THE LIFE-LONG FRIEND OF MISS THOMAS MISS M. CAREY THOMAS, PRESIDENT OF BRYN MAWR COLLEGE ELIZABETH CADY STANTON CARRIE CHAPMAN CATT LUCY STONE MARY A. LIVERMORE FOUR PIONEERS IN THE SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT FIREPLACE IN THE LIVING-ROOM, SHOWING AUNT SUSAN'S" CHAIR HALLWAY IN DR. SHAW'S HOME AT MOYLAN DR. SHAW'S HOME (ALNWICK LODGE) AND HER TWO OAKS THE VERANDA AT ALNWICK LODGE SACCAWAGEA ALNWICK LODGE, DR. SHAW'S HOME THE ROCK-BORDERED BROOK WHICH DR. SHAW LOVES THE STORY OF A PIONEER I. FIRST MEMORIES My father's ancestors were the Shaws of Rothiemurchus, in Scotland, and the ruins of their castle may still be seen on the island of Loch-an-Eilan, in the northern Highlands. It was never the picturesque castle of song and story, this home of the fighting Shaws, but an austere fortress, probably built in Roman times; and even to-day the crumbling walls which alone are left of it show traces of the relentless assaults upon them. Of these the last and the most successful were made in the seventeenth century by the Grants and Rob Roy; and it was into the hands of the Grants that the Shaw fortress finally fell, about 1700, after almost a hundred years of ceaseless warfare. It gives me no pleasure to read the grisly details of their struggles, but I confess to a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that my ancestors made a good showing in the defense of what was theirs. Beyond doubt they were brave fighters and strong men. There were other sides to their natures, however, which the high lights of history throw up less appealingly. As an instance, we have in the family chronicles the blood-stained page of Allen Shaw, the oldest son of the last Lady Shaw who lived in the fortress. It appears that when the father of this young man died, about 1560, his mother married again, to the intense disapproval of her son. For some time after the marriage he made no open revolt against the new-comer in the domestic circle; but finally, on the pretext that his dog had been attacked by his stepfather, he forced a quarrel with the older man and the two fought a duel with swords, after which the victorious Allen showed a sad lack of chivalry. He not only killed his stepfather, but he cut off that gentleman's head and bore it to his mother in her bedchamber--an action which was considered, even in that tolerant age, to be carrying filial resentment too far. Probably Allen regretted it. Certainly he paid a high penalty for it, and his clan suffered with him. He was outlawed and fled, only to be hunted down for months, and finally captured and executed by one of the Grants, who, in further virtuous disapproval of Allen's act, seized and held the Shaw stronghold. The other Shaws of the clan fought long and ably for its recovery, but though they were helped by their kinsmen, the Mackintoshes, and though good Scotch blood dyed the gray walls of the fortress for many generations, the castle never again came into the hands of the Shaws. It still entails certain obligations for the Grants, however, and one of these is to give the King of England a snowball whenever he visits Loch-an-Eilan! As the years passed the Shaw clan scattered. Many Shaws are still to be found in the Mackintosh country and throughout southern Scotland. Others went to England, and it was from this latter branch that my father sprang. His name was Thomas Shaw, and he was the younger son of a gentleman--a word which in those days seemed to define a man who devoted his time largely to gambling and horse-racing. My grandfather, like his father before him, was true to the traditions of his time and class. Quite naturally and simply he squandered all he had, and died abruptly, leaving his wife and two sons penniless. They were not, however, a helpless band. They, too, had their traditions, handed down by the fighting Shaws. Peter, the older son, became a soldier, and died bravely in the Crimean War. My father, through some outside influence, turned his attention to trade, learning to stain and emboss wallpaper by hand, and developing this work until he became the recognized expert in his field. Indeed, he progressed until he himself checked his rise by inventing a machine that made his handwork unnecessary. His employer at once claimed and utilized this invention, to which, by the laws of those days, he was entitled, and thus the cornerstone on which my father had expected to build a fortune proved the rock on which his career was wrecked. But that was years later, in America, and many other things had happened first. For one, he had temporarily dropped his trade and gone into the flour-and-grain business; and, for another, he had married my mother. She was the daughter of a Scotch couple who had come to England and settled in Alnwick, in Northumberland County. Her father, James Stott, was the driver of the royal-mail stage between Alnwick and Newcastle, and his accidental death while he was still a young man left my grandmother and her eight children almost destitute. She was immediately given a position in the castle of the Duke of Northumberland, and her sons were educated in the duke's school, while her daughters were entered in the school of the duchess. My thoughts dwell lovingly on this grandmother, Nicolas Grant Stott, for she was a remarkable woman, with a dauntless soul and progressive ideas far in advance of her time. She was one of the first Unitarians in England, and years before any thought of woman suffrage entered the minds of her country-women she refused to pay tithes to the support of the Church of England--an action which precipitated a long-drawn-out conflict between her and the law. In those days it was customary to assess tithes on every pane of glass in a window, and a portion of the money thus collected went to the support of the Church. Year after year my intrepid grandmother refused to pay these assessments, and year after year she sat pensively upon her door-step, watching articles of her furniture being sold for money to pay her tithes. It must have been an impressive picture, and it was one with which the community became thoroughly familiar, as the determined old lady never won her fight and never abandoned it. She had at least the comfort of public sympathy, for she was by far the most popular woman in the countryside. Her neighbors admired her courage; perhaps they appreciated still more what she did for them, for she spent all her leisure in the homes of the very poor, mending their clothing and teaching them to sew. Also, she left behind her a path of cleanliness as definite as the line of foam that follows a ship; for it soon became known among her protegees that Nicolas Stott was as much opposed to dirt as she was to the payment of tithes. She kept her children in the schools of the duke and duchess until they had completed the entire course open to them. A hundred times, and among many new scenes and strange people, I have heard my mother describe her own experiences as a pupil. All the children of the dependents of the castle were expected to leave school at fourteen years of age. During their course they were not allowed to study geography, because, in the sage opinion of their elders, knowledge of foreign lands might make them discontented and inclined to wander. Neither was composition encouraged--that might lead to the writing of love-notes! But they were permitted to absorb all the reading and arithmetic their little brains could hold, while the art of sewing was not only encouraged, but proficiency in it was stimulated by the award of prizes. My mother, being a rather precocious young person, graduated at thirteen and carried off the first prize. The garment she made was a linen chemise for the duchess, and the little needlewoman had embroidered on it, with her own hair, the august lady's coat of arms. The offering must have been appreciated, for my mother's story always ended with the same words, uttered with the same air of gentle pride, "And the duchess gave me with her own hands my Bible and my mug of beer!" She never saw anything amusing in this association of gifts, and I always stood behind her when she told the incident, that she might not see the disrespectful mirth it aroused in me. My father and mother met in Alnwick, and were married in February, 1835. Ten years after his marriage father was forced into bankruptcy by the passage of the corn law, and to meet the obligations attending his failure he and my mother sold practically everything they possessed--their home, even their furniture. Their little sons, who were away at school, were brought home, and the family expenses were cut down to the barest margin; but all these sacrifices paid only part of the debts. My mother, finding that her early gift had a market value, took in sewing. Father went to work on a small salary, and both my parents saved every penny they could lay aside, with the desperate determination to pay their remaining debts. It was a long struggle and a painful one, but they finally won it. Before they had done so, however, and during their bleakest days, their baby died, and my mother, like her mother before her, paid the penalty of being outside

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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS BOOKS FOR COLLECTORS _With Frontispieces and many Illustrations Large Crown 8vo, cloth._ CHATS ON ENGLISH CHINA. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD FURNITURE By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD PRINTS. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON COSTUME. By G. Woolliscroft Rhead. CHATS ON OLD LACE AND NEEDLEWORK. By E. L. Lowes. CHATS ON ORIENTAL CHINA. By J. F. Blacker. CHATS ON OLD MINIATURES. By J. J. Foster, F.S.A. CHATS ON ENGLISH EARTHENWARE. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON AUTOGRAPHS. By A. M. Broadley. CHATS ON PEWTER. By H. J. L. J. Masse, M.A. CHATS ON POSTAGE STAMPS. By Fred. J. Melville. CHATS ON OLD JEWELLERY AND TRINKETS. By MacIver Percival. CHATS ON COTTAGE AND FARMHOUSE FURNITURE. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD COINS. By Fred. W. Burgess. CHATS ON OLD COPPER AND BRASS. By Fred. W. Burgess. CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS. By Fred. W. Burgess. _In Preparation._ CHATS ON BARGAINS. By Charles E. Jerningham. CHATS ON JAPANESE PRINTS. By Arthur Davison Ficke. CHATS ON OLD CLOCKS AND WATCHES. By Arthur Hayden. CHATS ON OLD SILVER. By Arthur Hayden. LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN. NEW YORK: F. A. STOKES COMPANY. * * * * * [Illustration: FIG. 1.--OLD FIREPLACE, SHOWING SUSSEX BACK, ANDIRONS, AND TRIVET. Frontispiece.] * * * * * CHATS ON HOUSEHOLD CURIOS BY FRED. W. BURGESS AUTHOR OF "CHATS ON OLD COINS," "CHATS ON OLD COPPER AND BRASS," ETC. WITH 94 ILLU

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E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 34134-h.htm or 34134-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34134/34134-h/34134-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34134/34134-h.zip) THE GREAT MOGUL by LOUIS TRACY Author of "The Wings of the Morning" and "The Pillar of Light" Illustrations by J. C. Chase New York Edward J. Clode 156 Fifth Avenue 1905 Copyright, 1905 By Edward J. Clode The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. [Illustration: As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees.] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees _Frontispiece_ In a minute or less they were free 83 And that is the manner in which Nur Mahal, on her wedding night, came back to the Garden of Heart's Delight 135 "If we go to Burdwan, are you content to remain there?" 207 "Out of my path, swine!" 284 Instantly the man was put to the test 294 _The Great Mogul_ CHAPTER I "And is there care in Heaven?" _Spenser's Faerie Queene._ "Allah remembers us not. It is the divine decree. We can but die with His praises on our lips; perchance He may greet us at the gates of Paradise!" Overwhelmed with misery, the man drooped his head. The stout staff he held fell to his feet.

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E-text prepared by Brian Coe, Chris Pinfield, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (

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Produced by Al Haines [Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND. _See page 136_] ROGER DAVIS LOYALIST BY FRANK BAIRD WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS Toronto THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE OUTBREAK II. AMONG ENEMIES III. MADE PRISONER IV. PRISON EXPERIENCES V. THE TRIAL AND ESCAPE VI. KING OR PEOPLE? VII. THE DIE CAST VIII. OFF TO NOVA SCOTIA IX. IN THE 'TRUE NORTH' X. THE TREATY XI. HOME-MAKING BEGUN XII. FACING THE FUTURE XIII. THE GOVERNOR'S PERIL XIV. VICTORY AND REWARD LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND......... _Frontispiece_ SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR 'THAT MAN,' I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,' WHO SAT PALE AND SHIVERING 'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA,' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP Roger Davis, Loyalist Chapter I The Outbreak It was Duncan Hale, the schoolmaster, who first brought us the news. When he was half-way from the gate to the house, my mother met him. He bowed very low to her, and then, standing with his head uncovered--from my position in the hall--I heard him distinctly say, 'Your husband, madam, has been killed, and the British who went out to Lexington under Lord Percy have been forced to retreat into Boston, with a loss of two hundred and seventy-three officers and men.' The schoolmaster bowed again, one of those fine, sweeping, old-world bows which he had lately been teaching me with some impatience, I thought; then without further speech he moved toward the little gate. But I had caught a look of keen anxiety on his face as he addressed my mother. Once outside the garden, he stooped forward, and, breaking into a run, crouching as he went as though afraid of being seen, he soon disappeared around a turn in the road. My mother stood without speaking or moving for some moments. The birds in the blossom-shrouded trees of the garden were shrieking and chattering in the flood of April sunlight; I felt a draught of perfumed air draw into the hall. Then a mist that had been heavy all the morning on the Charles River, suddenly faded into the blue, and I could see clearly over to Boston, three miles away. I shall not soon forget the look on my mother's face as she turned and came toward me. I have wondered since if it were not born of a high resolve then made, to be put into effect later. She was not in tears as I thought she would be. There were no signs of grief on her face, but instead her whole countenance seemed illuminated with a strangely noble look. I was puzzled at this; but when I remembered that my mother was the daughter of an English officer who was killed while serving under Wolfe at Quebec, I understood. In a firm voice she repeated to me the words I had already heard, then she passed up the stairs. In a few moments I heard her telling my two sisters Caroline and Elizabeth--they were both younger than myself--that it was time to get up. After that I heard my mother go to her own room and shut the door. In the silence that followed this I fell to thinking. Was my father really dead? Could it be that the British had been repulsed? Duncan Hale had been telling me for weeks that war was coming, but I had not thought his prophecy would be fulfilled. Now I understood why he had come so often to visit my father; and why, during the past month, he had seemed so absent-minded in school. My preparation for going to Oxford in the autumn, over which he had been so enthusiastic, appeared to have been completely pushed out of his mind. I had once overheard my father caution him to keep his visits to Lord Percy strictly secret. I was wondering if the part he had played might have any ill consequences for him and for us, when my mother's footsteps sounded on the stairs. She came at once to where I had been standing for some moments, caught me in her arms, and, without speaking, held me close for a moment, and then pressed a kiss on my forehead. 'Go, Roger,' she said, 'and find Peter and Dora. Bring them to the library, and wait there till I come with your sisters.' I was turning to obey, when I caught a glimpse through the hall doorway of two rebel soldiers galloping up. They had evidently come from Boston. At sight of my mother, one of them addressed her with an unmannerly shout that sent the blood pulsing up to my cheeks in anger. What my mother had been thinking I did not know; but from that moment a great passion seized me. That shout which almost maddened me, had, I can see in looking back over it all, much to do in making me a Loyalist, and in sending me to Canada. The soldiers looked in somewhat critically, but passed. They were rough looking men, poorly mounted and badly dressed. My mother withdrew from the doorway and went upstairs, as I proceeded to seek out our two faithful <DW52> servants. I delivered to each the bare message given me by my mother, and returned at once to the library. Everything in the room suggested my father. On his desk lay an unfinished letter to my brother, who had enlisted in the King's forces some six months before. I had read but a few lines of this when the door opened, and my mother entered with Caroline and Elizabeth. In a moment I saw that the spirit of my mother had passed on to my sisters. I was sure they knew the worst; and although I could see Caroline struggle with her feelings, both girls maintained a brave and sensible silence. A moment later Peter and Dora entered, each wide-eyed and apprehensive, but still ignorant of the great calamity that had now befallen our recently happy household. The east window of the library looked toward Boston. To this my mother went, and stood looking out for some time; then she turned and began to speak. 'Your master,' she said, addressing Peter and Dora, 'has been killed. We are here to make plans for the future.' Dora threw up both hands, giving a little shriek as she did so. Peter lifted his great eyes to the ceiling, and slid to his knees; a little later he pressed his hands hard over his heart as though to prevent it from beating its way through. He found relief in swaying backward and forward, and uttering a long, low moan, which finally shaped into, 'Poor Massa killed.' He kept repeating this, until we were all on the point of giving way to our smothered emotion. But my mother's voice recalled us. 'What are we to do, Roger?' she said. Instantly the thought of a new and great responsibility flashed upon me. Was my mother to relinquish the leadership? Did her question mean that I was to step at once into the place of my fallen father? Had she forgotten that I was but sixteen? I glanced at my sisters, but I found I could not look long upon them in their helplessness, and retain my self-control. With a hurried glance at the servants, who now sobbed audibly in spite of all efforts at suppression of grief, my eyes came again to the face of my mother. The look of noble fortitude had gone, and I saw that I must no longer delay in coming to her assistance. She motioned me to my father's empty chair; I took it at once, and, though I felt all eyes in the room turn upon me, prompted by a rush of heroic feeling, I neither flinched nor blushed under their gaze. But in spite of my pretended composure nature had her way. My sister Elizabeth, breaking into a flood of tears, rushed across the floor to my mother's arms, and soon all were weeping uncontrollably. Mastering my rising feelings, I began thinking what was best to be done. [Illustration: SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR.] I knew the King's cause had many sympathisers on the farms that lay about us. What effect the real shedding of blood and the defeat of the British would have I could not determine, but, while I knew that the country would soon be swarming with rebels, I was equally sure that we would not be absolutely alone, if we resolved to declare ourselves in favour of the King and his government in the colony. At first, it occurred to me to advise fleeing at once inside the protected limits of Boston. But the thought of the value of my father's property turned me from this course. That we were in danger, I was certain. My father, owing to his trade relations with the colonists of all types, had not openly espoused the royal cause; on many occasions rebels had claimed him as a sympathiser; but I knew that now all would be revealed. The jeer of the soldiers half convinced me that all was known already. Had these simply gone by that they might return with others to carry us off prisoners? At that moment, on glancing through the window, I was startled to see several buildings on fire away toward Boston. The rebels had evidently begun the work of destruction; but the thought that it had suddenly come to this, that our quiet, happy, and thriving country-side was to be devastated by fire and sword as during old wars of which I had read in history, made me, for a moment, wonder if it were not all a horrible dream. Recalling myself, however, to the situation in which I was placed, as the defender of my mother and sisters, I turned from the window, and, when a silence fell in the sobbing, said, 'I shall see Duncan Hale; he will help us.' The painful day wore slowly on. It was evident that the whole country was deeply stirred. Not a single soldier of the King could be seen, but rebels were everywhere. On horseback and on foot; in rough carriages and farm wagons; armed and unarmed; singly and in crowds; cheering, shouting, swearing, threatening--all day long these rough, leaderless, untrained farmer soldiers kept passing and re-passing, in what seemed to be wild, purposeless confusion. Now and then the sound of distant firing came from the direction of Boston; occasionally a column of smoke arose from the country round, telling its own story of destruction. I wondered if a similar fate awaited our fine old house, with its fluted Corinthian corners, and its air of English solidity. I recalled the peculiar pride with which my father had shown visitors through and around it. The big hallway running from front to back, and on either side the lofty square rooms; the high wainscotting, the deeply recessed window seats, and queer, old-fashioned mouldings that bordered the ceilings; the wide fire-places with their curiously-wrought andirons; the two magnificent lindens before the door, planted by my grandmother when a bride some sixty years ago; the wide garden with shaded walks, and the hundred acres of rich, valuable land, all took on a new interest to me that day. It came to me that these things could not be given up without a pang. The day--it was the twentieth of April, 1775--proved gloriously fine until the end; this, with the unusual gaiety of the birds in the lindens, the bursting of the buds in the gardens, and other assurances of spring, were in striking contrast with all that had been taking place in the world of men. But the consequences of the events that had preceded that day were to be infinitely greater than any contrast could be. I can see now, as I did not then, that rightly looked at, the skirmish at Lexington where my father fell, had within it the beginnings of two nations--and one of them was Canada. But of this, later in the story. That night I was again in the library in consultation with my mother and sisters, regarding the possible recovery of my father's body, when a low knocking at the door startled us. A few moments later Duncan Hale and Doctor Canfield, minister of the parish, were seated among us. In a few softly spoken words the good clergyman expressed his sincere sympathy for us in our sudden affliction. Doctor Canfield was one of Harvard's most brilliant sons; he had travelled much; was directly descended from a noble English family; he was possessed of means; many of the foremost men of letters were his correspondents; he was tall and military in bearing; graceful and eloquent in speech; the soul of courtesy and honour; and withal, he was a master of the fine art of manners. It was Doctor Canfield and others like him who made separation from England difficult, standing, as they did, for the only refinement that the provinces knew, peopled as these were mainly with rough, plain tradespeople and farmers. As he talked with my mother, I could not help setting his fineness over against the coarseness of the many men I had seen through the day. Duncan Hale sat silent

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Produced by Charles Keller A HISTORY OF SCIENCE BY HENRY SMITH WILLIAMS, M.D., LL.D. ASSISTED BY EDWARD H. WILLIAMS, M.D. IN FIVE VOLUMES VOLUME I. THE BEGINNINGS OF SCIENCE BOOK I. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PREHISTORIC SCIENCE CHAPTER II. EGYPTIAN SCIENCE CHAPTER III. SCIENCE OF BABYLONIA AND ASSYRIA CHAPTER IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ALPHABET CHAPTER V. THE BEGINNINGS OF GREEK SCIENCE CHAPTER VI. THE EARLY GREEK PHILOSOPHERS IN ITALY CHAPTER VII. GREEK SCIENCE IN THE EARLY ATTIC PERIOD CHAPTER VIII. POST-SOCRATIC SCIENCE AT ATHENS CHAPTER IX. GREEK SCIENCE OF THE ALEXANDRIAN OR HELLENISTIC PERIOD CHAPTER X. SCIENCE OF THE ROMAN PERIOD CHAPTER XI. A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE AT CLASSICAL SCIENCE APPENDIX A HISTORY OF SCIENCE BOOK I Should the story that is about to be unfolded be found to lack interest, the writers must stand convicted of unpardonable lack of art. Nothing but dulness in the telling could mar the story, for in itself it is the record of the growth of those ideas that have made our race and its civilization what they are; of ideas instinct with human interest, vital with meaning for our race; fundamental in their influence on human development; part and parcel of the mechanism of human thought on the one hand, and of practical civilization on the other. Such a phrase as "fundamental principles" may seem at first thought a hard saying, but the idea it implies is less repellent than the phrase itself, for the fundamental principles in question are so closely linked with the present interests of every one of us that they lie within the grasp of every average man and woman--nay, of every well-developed boy and girl. These principles are not merely the stepping-stones to culture, the prerequisites of knowledge--they are, in themselves, an essential part of the knowledge of every cultivated person. It is our task, not merely to show what these principles are, but to point out how they have been discovered by our predecessors. We shall trace the growth of these ideas from their first vague beginnings. We shall see how vagueness of thought gave way to precision; how a general truth, once grasped and formulated, was found to be a stepping-stone to other truths. We shall see that there are no isolated facts, no isolated principles, in nature; that each part of our story is linked by indissoluble bands with that which goes before, and with that which comes after. For the most part the discovery of this principle or that in a given sequence is no accident. Galileo and Keppler must precede Newton. Cuvier and Lyall must come before Darwin;--Which, after all, is no more than saying that in our Temple of Science, as in any other piece of architecture, the foundation must precede the superstructure. We shall best understand our story of the growth of science if we think of each new principle as a stepping-stone which must fit into its own particular niche; and if we reflect that the entire structure of modern civilization would be different from what it is, and less perfect than it is, had not that particular stepping-stone been found and shaped and placed in position. Taken as a whole, our stepping-stones lead us up and up towards the alluring heights of an acropolis of knowledge, on which stands the Temple of Modern Science. The story of the building of this wonderful structure is in itself fascinating and beautiful. I. PREHISTORIC SCIENCE To speak of a prehistoric science may seem like a contradiction of terms. The word prehistoric seems to imply barbarism, while science, clearly enough, seems the outgrowth of civilization; but rightly considered, there is no contradiction. For, on the one hand, man had ceased to be a barbarian long before the beginning of what we call the historical period; and, on the other hand, science, of a kind, is no less a precursor and a cause of civilization than it is a consequent. To get this clearly in mind, we must ask ourselves: What, then, is science? The word runs glibly enough upon the tongue of our every-day speech, but it is not often, perhaps, that they who use it habitually ask themselves just what it means. Yet the answer is not difficult. A little attention will show that science, as the word is commonly used, implies these things: first, the gathering of knowledge through observation; second, the classification of such knowledge, and through this classification, the elaboration of general ideas or principles. In the familiar definition of Herbert Spencer, science is organized knowledge. Now it is patent enough, at first glance, that the veriest savage must have been an observer of the phenomena of nature. But it may not be so obvious that he must also have been a classifier of his observations--an organizer of knowledge. Yet the more we consider the case, the more clear it will become that the two methods are too closely linked together to be dissevered. To observe outside phenomena is not more inherent in the nature of the mind than to draw inferences from these phenomena. A deer passing through the forest scents the ground and detects a certain odor. A sequence of ideas is generated in the mind of the deer. Nothing in the deer's experience can produce that odor but a wolf; therefore the scientific inference is drawn that wolves have passed that way. But it is a part of the deer's scientific knowledge, based on previous experience, individual and racial; that wolves are dangerous beasts, and so, combining direct observation in the present with the application of a general principle based on past experience, the deer reaches the very logical conclusion that it may wisely turn about and run in another direction. All this implies, essentially, a comprehension and use of scientific principles; and, strange as it seems to speak of a deer as possessing scientific knowledge, yet there is really no absurdity in the statement. The deer does possess scientific knowledge; knowledge differing in degree only, not in kind, from the knowledge of a Newton. Nor is the animal, within the range of its intelligence, less logical, less scientific in the application of that knowledge, than is the man. The animal that could not make accurate scientific observations of its surroundings, and deduce accurate scientific conclusions from them, would soon pay the penalty of its lack of logic. What is true of man's precursors in the animal scale is, of course, true in a wider and fuller sense of man himself at the very lowest stage of his development. Ages before the time which the limitations of our knowledge force us to speak of as the dawn of history, man had reached a high stage of development. As a social being, he had developed all the elements of a primitive civilization. If, for convenience of classification, we speak of his state as savage, or barbaric, we use terms which, after all, are relative, and which do not shut off our primitive ancestors from a tolerably close association with our own ideals. We know that, even in the Stone Age, man had learned how to domesticate animals and make them useful to him, and that he had also learned to cultivate the soil. Later on, doubtless by slow and painful stages, he attained those wonderful elements of knowledge that enabled him to smelt metals and to produce implements of bronze, and then of iron. Even in the Stone Age he was a mechanic of marvellous skill, as any one of to-day may satisfy himself by attempting to duplicate such an implement as a chipped arrow-head. And a barbarian who could fashion an axe or a knife of bronze had certainly gone far in his knowledge of scientific principles and their practical application. The practical application was, doubtless, the only thought that our primitive ancestor had in mind; quite probably the question as to principles that might be involved troubled him not at all. Yet, in spite of himself, he knew certain rudimentary principles of science, even though he did not formulate them. Let us inquire what some of these principles are. Such an inquiry will, as it were, clear the ground for our structure of science. It will show the plane of knowledge on which historical investigation begins. Incidentally, perhaps, it will reveal to us unsuspected affinities between ourselves and our remote ancestor. Without attempting anything like a full analysis, we may note in passing, not merely what primitive man knew, but what he did not know; that at least a vague notion may be gained of the field for scientific research that lay open for historic man to cultivate. It must be understood that the knowledge of primitive man, as we are about to outline it, is inferential. We cannot trace the development of these principles, much less can we say who discovered them. Some of them, as already suggested, are man's heritage from non-human ancestors. Others can only have been grasped by him after he had reached a relatively high stage of human development. But all the principles here listed must surely have been parts of our primitive ancestor's knowledge before those earliest days of Egyptian and Babylonian civilization, the records of which constitute our first introduction to the so-called historical period. Taken somewhat in the order of their probable discovery, the scientific ideas of primitive man may be roughly listed as follows: 1. Primitive man must have conceived that the earth is flat and of limitless extent. By this it is not meant to imply that he had a distinct conception of infinity, but, for that matter, it cannot be said that any one to-day has a conception of infinity that could be called definite. But, reasoning from experience and the reports of travellers, there was nothing to suggest to early man the limit of the earth. He did, indeed, find in his wanderings, that changed climatic conditions barred him from farther progress; but beyond the farthest reaches of his migrations, the seemingly flat land-surfaces and water-surfaces

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Produced by Wayne Hammond, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 107. AUGUST 18, 1894. MORE ORNAMENTAL THAN USEFUL. (_A Legend of the Results of the School Board._) The Committee sat waiting patiently for candidates. Although the papers had been full of advertisements describing the appointments the _reclames_ had had no effect. There were certainly a number of persons in the waiting-room, but the usher had declared that they did not possess the elementary qualifications for the post that the Committee were seeking to fill with a suitable official. "Usher," cried the Chairman at length with some impatience; "I am sure you must be wrong. Let us see some of the occupants of the adjoining office." The usher bowed with a grace that had been acquired by several years study in deportment in the Board School, and replied that he fancied that most of the applicants were too highly educated for the coveted position. "Too highly educated!" exclaimed the representative of municipal progress. "It is impossible to be too highly educated! You don't know what you're talking about!" "Pardon me, Sir," returned the Usher, with another graceful inclination of the head, "but would not 'imperfectly acquainted with the subject of your discourse' be more polished? But, with your permission, I will obey you." And then the official returned to usher in an aged man wearing spectacles. The veteran immediately fell upon his knees and began to implore the Committee to appoint him to the vacant post. "I can assure you, Gentlemen, that, thanks to the School Board, I am a first-rate Latin and Greek scholar. I am intimately acquainted with the Hebrew language, and have the greatest possible respect for the Union Jack. I know all that can be known about mathematics, and can play several musical instruments. I am also an accomplished waltzer; I know the use of the globes, and can play the overture to _Zampa_ on the musical-glasses. I know the works of SHAKSPEARE backwards, and----" "Stop, stop!" interrupted the Chairman. "You may do all this, and more; but have you any knowledge of the _modus operandi_ of the labour required of you?" "Alas, no!" returned the applicant; "but if a man of education----" "Remove him, Usher!" cried the Chairman; and the veteran was removed in tears. A second, a third, and a fourth made their appearance, and disappeared, and none of them would do. They were all singularly accomplished. At length a rough man, who had been lounging down the street, walked into the Council-chamber. "What may you want, Sir?" asked the Chairman, indignantly. "What's that to you?" was the prompt reply. "I ain't a going to tell everyone my business--not me--you bet!" "Ungrammatical!" said Committee Man No. One. "Very promising." "Uncouth and vulgar!" murmured Committee Man No. Two. "Where were you educated?" queried the Chairman. "Nowheres in particular. I was brought up in the wilds of Canada. There's not much book learning over there," and the rough fellow indulged in a loud hoarse laugh. "Ah! that accounts for your not having enjoyed the great advantages of the School Board. Have you seen the circular--have you read the details of the proposed appointment?" "Me read!" cried the uncouth one; "oh, that is a game! Why I can't read nor yet write!" "Better and better," said Committee Man No. One. "First rate," murmured Committee Man No. Two. "I think we have at length found our ideal." Then the usher read the advertisement. "What! shake the hall mat!" cried the candidate. "Why I could do that little job on my head!" So there being no other applicant for the post, the backwoods' ignoramus was appointed office-sweeper at a couple of hundred pounds a year. "Rather high wages," said the Chairman to himself, as he went home on the top of an omnibus; "but what can one expect when we educate all the children at the cost of the rates. Last year there was an additional farthing; this year we have to pay five shillings, and goodness only knows how much it will be hereafter!" And as he thought this, the Chairman (in the names of the rest of the ratepayers) heartily cursed the School Board. * * * * * [Illustration: RETURNED EMPTY. _Old Mayfly_ (_who had dropped his Flask further down stream, and has just had it returned to him by Honest Rustic_). "DEAR ME! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!" (_Gives him a Shilling._) "DON'T KNOW WHAT I SHOULD HA' DONE WITHOUT IT!" (_Begins to unscrew top._) "MAY I OFFER YOU A

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Produced by Turgut Dincer, Lisa Reigel, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Transcriber’s Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded with _underscores_. In the main body of the text, words in mixed case and all cap small caps are in capital letters. A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber. Synopsis. Introduction. Plutarch on the Delay of the Divine Justice. Index. A complete list of corrections as well as other notes follows the text. PLUTARCH ON THE DELAY OF THE DIVINE JUSTICE. TRANSLATED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES. BY ANDREW P. PEABODY. BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 1885. _Copyright, 1885_, By Andrew P. Peabody. University Press: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. SYNOPSIS. § 1. The dialogue opens with comments on the cavils against the Divine Providence by a person who is supposed to have just departed. 2. The alleged encouragement to the guilty by the delay of punishment, while the sufferers by the guilt of others are disheartened by failing to see the wrong-doers duly punished. 3. The guilty themselves, it is said, do not recognize punishment when it comes late, but think it mere misfortune. 4. Plutarch answers the objections to the course of Providence. In the first place, man must not be too confident of his ability to pass judgment on things divine. There are many things in human legislation undoubtedly reasonable, yet with no obvious reason. How much more in the administration of the universe by the Supreme Being! 5. God by the delay of punishment gives man the example of forbearance, and rebukes his yielding to the first impulses of anger and of a vindictive temper. 6. God has reference, in the delay of punishment, to the possible reformation of the guilty, and to the services which, when reformed, they may render to their country or their race. Instances cited. 7. The wicked often have their punishment postponed till after they have rendered some important service in which they are essential agents, and sometimes that, before their own punishment, they may serve as executioners for other guilty persons or communities. 8. There is frequently a peculiar timeliness and appropriateness in delayed punishment. 9. Punishment is delayed only in appearance, but commences when the guilt is incurred, so that it seems slow because it is long. 10. Instances of punishment in visions, apprehensions, and inward wretchedness, while there was no outward infliction of penalty. 11. There is really no need that punishment be inflicted; guilt is in the consciousness of the guilty its own adequate punishment. 12. Objection is made by one of the interlocutors to the justice of punishing children or posterity for the guilt of fathers or ancestors, and he heaps up an incongruous collection of cases in which he mingles confusedly the action of the Divine Providence and that of human caprice or malignity. 13. In answer to the objection, Plutarch first adduces as a precisely parallel order of things, with which no one finds fault, that by which children or posterity derive enduring benefit and honor from a parent’s or ancestor’s virtues and services. 14. There are alike in outward and in human nature occult and subtle transmissions of qualities and properties, both in time and in space. Those in space are so familiar that they excite no wonder; those in time, though less liable to attract notice, are no more wonderful. 15. A city has a continuous life, a definite and permanent character, and an individual unity, so that its moral responsibility may long outlast the lives of those who first contracted a specific form of guilt. 16. The same is to be said of a family or a race; and, moreover, the punishment for inherited guilt may often have a curative, or even a preventive efficacy, so that children or posterity may refrain from guilt because the ancestral penalty falls upon them before they become guilty. 17. The immortality of the soul asserted, on the ground that God would not have deemed a race doomed to perish after a brief earthly life worth rewarding or punishing. 18. Punishments in a future state of being are out of sight, and are liable to be disbelieved. Therefore it is necessary, in order to deter men from guilt, that there should be visible punishments in this life. 19. The remedial efficacy of the penal consequences of parental or ancestral guilt reaffirmed, and illustrated by analogies in the treatment of disease. 20. God often punishes latent and potential vice, visible only to Omniscience. 21. If a child has no taint of a father’s vices, he remains unpunished. But moral qualities, equally with physical traits, often lapse in the first generation, and reappear in the second or third, and even later. 22. The story of Thespesius, who—apparently killed, but really in a trance, in consequence of a fall—went into the infernal regions, beheld the punishments there inflicted, and came back to the body and its life, converted from a profligate into a man of pre-eminent virtue and excellence. INTRODUCTION.[vii:1] Plutarch[vii:2] was born, about the middle of the first Christian century, at Cheroneia in Boeotia, where he spent the greater part of his life, and where he probably died. The precise dates of his birth and death are unknown; but he can hardly have been born earlier than A. D. 45, and he must have lived nearly or quite till A. D. 120, as some of his works contain references to events that cannot have taken place earlier than the second decade of the second century. We know little of him from other sources, much from his own writings. There may have been many such men in his time; but antiquity has transmitted to us no record like his. He reminds one of such men as were to be found half a century ago in many of our American country towns. Those potentially like them have now, for the most part, emigrated to the large cities, and have become very unlike their prototypes. Cheroneia, with its great memories, was a small and insignificant town, and Plutarch was a country gentleman, superior, as in culture so in serviceableness, to all his fellow citizens, holding the foremost place in municipal affairs, liberal, generous, chosen to all local offices of honor, and especially of trust and responsibility, associating on the most pleasant terms with the common people, always ready to give them his advice and aid, and evidently respected and beloved by all. He belonged to an old and distinguished family, and seems always to have possessed a competency for an affluent, though sober, domestic establishment and style of living, and for an unstinted hospitality. He was probably the richest man in his native city; for he assigns as a reason for not leaving it and living at some centre of intellectual activity, that Cheroneia could not afford to lose the property which he would take with him in case of his removal. He had what corresponds to our university education, at Athens, under the Peripatetic philosopher Ammonius. He also visited Alexandria, then a renowned seat of learning; but how long he stayed there, or whether he extended his Egyptian travel beyond that city, we have no means of knowing. There is no proof of his having been in Rome or in Italy more than once, and that was when he was about forty years of age. He went to Rome on public business, probably in behalf of his native city, and remained there long enough to become acquainted with some eminent men, to make himself known as a scholar and an ethical philosopher, and to deliver lectures that attracted no little public notice. This visit seems to have been the great event of his life, as a winter spent in Boston or New York used to be in the life of one of our country gentlemen before the time of railways. He had a wife, who appears to have been of a character kindred to his own; at least five children, of whom two sons, if not more, lived to be themselves substantial citizens and worthy members of society; and two brothers, who seem to have possessed his full confidence and warm affection. He was singularly happy in his relations to a large circle of friends, especially in Athens, for which he had the lifelong love that students in our time acquire for a university town. He was archon, or mayor, of Cheroneia, probably more than once,—the office having doubtless been annual and elective,—and in this capacity he entered, like a veritable country magistrate, into material details of the public service, superintending, as he says, the measuring of tiles and the delivery of stone and mortar for municipal uses. He officiated for many years as priest of Apollo at Delphi, and as such gave several sumptuous entertainments. Indeed, hospitality of this sort appears, so far as we can see, to have been the sole or chief duty of his priestly office. As an adopted citizen of one of the Athenian tribes, he was not infrequently a guest at civic banquets and semi-civic festivals. As regards Plutarch’s philosophy, it is easier to say to which of the great schools he did not belong than to determine by what name he would have preferred to be called. He probably would have termed himself a Platonist, but not, like Cicero, of the New Academy, which had incorporated Pyrrhonism with the provisional acceptance of the Platonic philosophy. At the same time, he was a closer follower and a more literal interpreter of Plato than were the Neo-Platonists of Alexandria, who had not yet become a distinctly recognized sect, and who in many respects were the precursors of the mysticism of the Reformation era. Plutarch, with Plato, recognized two eternities: that of the Divine Being, supremely good and purely spiritual; and that of matter, as, if not intrinsically evil, the cause, condition, and seat of all evil, and as at least opposing such obstacles to its own best ideal manipulation that the Divine Being could not embody his pure and perfect goodness, unalloyed by evil, in any material form. Herein the Platonists were at variance with both the Stoics and the Epicureans. The Stoics regarded matter as virtually an emanation from the Supreme Being, who is not only the universal soul and reason, but the creative fire, which, transformed into air and water,—part of the water becoming earth,—is the source of the material universe, which must at the end of a certain cosmical cycle be re-absorbed into the divine essence, whence will emanate in endless succession new universes to replace those that pass away. The Epicureans, on the other hand, believed in the existence of matter only, and regarded mind and soul as the ultimate product of material organization. In one respect Plutarch transcends Plato, and, so far as I know, all pre-Christian philosophers. Plato’s theism bears a close kindred to pantheism. His God, if I may be permitted the phrase, is only semi-detached. He becomes the creator rather by blending his essence with eternal matter, than by shaping that matter to his will. He is rather in all things than above all things, rather the Soul of the universe than its sovereign Lord. But in Plutarch’s writings the Supreme Being is regarded as existing independently of material things; they, as subject to his will, not as a part of his essence. Plutarch was, like Plato, a realist. He regarded the ideas or patterns of material things, that is, _genera_, or kinds of objects, as having an actual existence (where or how it is hard to say), as projected from the Divine Mind, floating somewhere in ethereal spaces between the Deity and the material universe,—the models by which all things in the universe are made. As to Plutarch’s theology, he was certainly a monotheist. He probably had some vague belief in inferior deities (_daemons_ he would have called them), as holding a place like that filled by angels and by evil spirits in the creed of most Christians; yet it is entirely conceivable that his occasional references to these deities are due merely to the conventional rhetoric of his age. His priesthood of the Delphian Apollo can hardly be said to have been a religious office. It was rather a post of dignity and honor, which a gentleman of respectable standing, courteous manners, and hospitable habits might creditably fill, even though he had no faith in Apollo. But that Plutarch had a serious, earnest, and efficient faith in the one Supreme God, in the wise and eternal Providence, and in the Divine wisdom, purity, and holiness, we have in his writings an absolute certainty. Nor can we find, even in Christian literature, the record of a firmer belief than his in human immortality, and in a righteous retribution beginning in this world and reaching on into the world beyond death. But Plutarch was, most of all, an ethical philosopher. Yet here again he cannot be classed as belonging to any school. For Epicureanism he has an intense abhorrence, and regards the doctrines of that sect as theoretically absurd and practically demoralizing. He maintains that the disciples of Epicurus, as such, utterly fail in the quest of pleasure, or what according to their master is still better, painlessness: for the condition of those who, as he says, “swill the mind with the pleasures of the body, as hogherds do their swine,” cannot entirely smother the sense of vacuity and need; nor is it possible by any appliances of luxury to cut off even sources of bodily disquietude, which are only the more fatal to the happiness of him who seeks bodily well-being alone; while the prospect of annihilation at death deprives those necessarily unhappy in this life of their only solace, and gives those who live happily here the discomfort of anticipating the speedy and entire loss of all that has ministered to their enjoyment. In Plutarch’s moderation, his avoidance of extreme views, and his just estimate of happiness as an end, though not the supreme end, of being, he is in harmony with the Peripatetics, among whom his Athenian preceptor was the shining light of his age; but his ethical system was much more strict and uncompromising than theirs, and I cannot find that he quotes them or refers to them as a distinct school of philosophy. In matters appertaining to physical science he indeed often cites Aristotle, but not, I think, in a single instance, as to any question in morals. As regards the Stoics, Plutarch writes against them, but chiefly against dogmas which in his time had become nearly obsolete,—namely, that all acts not in accordance with the absolute right are equally bad; that all virtuous acts are equally good; that there is no intermediate moral condition between that of the wise or perfectly good man and that of the utterly vicious; and that outward circumstances neither enhance nor diminish the happiness of the truly wise man. These extravagances do not appear in the writings of Seneca, nor in Epictetus as reported by Arrian, and Plutarch in reasoning against them is controverting Zeno rather than his later disciples. He is in full sympathy with the Stoics as to their elevated moral standard, though without the sternness and rigidness which had often characterized their professed beliefs and their public teaching, yet of which there remained few vestiges among his contemporaries. With the utmost mildness and gentleness, he manifests everywhere an inflexibility of principle and a settled conviction as to the rightfulness or wrongfulness of specific acts which might satisfy the most rigid Stoic, and in which he plants himself as firmly on the ground of the eternal Right as if his philosophy had been founded on a distinctively Christian basis. Indeed, Plutarch is so often decidedly Christian in spirit, and in many passages of his writings there is such an almost manifest transcript of the thought of the Divine Founder of our religion, that it has been frequently maintained that he drew from Christian sources. This, I must believe, is utterly false in the sense in which it is commonly asserted, yet in a more recondite sense true. If Plutarch had known anything about Christians or the Christian Scriptures, he could not have failed to refer to them; for he is constantly making references to contemporary persons and objects, sects and opinions. We know of no Christian church at Cheroneia in that age, and indeed it is exceedingly improbable that there should have been one in so small a town. The circulation of thought, and consequently the diffusion of a new religion from the great centres of population to outlying districts or villages, was infinitesimally slow. Our word _pagan_ is an enduring witness of this tardiness of transmission. It had its birth (in its present sense) after Christianity had become the legally established religion of the Empire, and had supplanted heathen temples and rites in the cities, while in the _pagi_, or villages, the old gods were still in the ascendant. There were indeed Christian churches in Athens and in Rome; but they would most probably have eluded the curiosity and escaped the knowledge of a temporary resident, especially as most of their chief members were either Jews or slaves. Yet I cannot doubt that an infusion of Christianity had somehow infiltrated itself into Plutarch’s ethical opinions and sentiments, as into those of Seneca, who has been represented as an acquaintance and correspondent of St. Paul, though it is historically almost impossible that the two men ever saw or heard of each other. In one respect, the metaphor by which we call the Author of our religion the Sun of Righteousness has a special aptness. The sun, unlike lesser luminaries, lights up sheltered groves and grottos that are completely dark under the full moon, and sends its rays through every chink and cranny of roof or wall. In like manner there seems to have been an indirect and tortuous transmission of Christian thought into regions where its source was wholly unknown. In the ethical writings of the post-Christian philosophers, of Plutarch, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, there may be traced a loftiness, precision, delicacy, tenderness, breadth of human sympathy, and recognition of holiness in the Divine Being as the archetype of human purity, transcending all that is most admirable in pre-Christian moralists. Thus, while I cannot but regard Cicero’s “De Officiis” as in many respects the world’s master-work in ethical philosophy, containing fewer unchristian sentences than I could number on the fingers of one hand, there is nothing in it that reminds me of the Gospels; while these others often shape their thoughts in what seem to be evangelic moulds. Now I think that we may account for the large diffusion of Christian thought and sentiment among persons who knew not Christianity even by name. The new religion was very extensively embraced among slaves in all parts of the Roman Empire, and _slave_ then meant something very different from what it means now. It is an open question whether there was not, at least out of Greece, more of learning, culture, and refinement in the slave than in the free population of the Empire. We must remember how many illustrious names in Greek and Roman literature—such names as those of Aesop, Terence, Epictetus—belonged to slaves. Tiro, Cicero’s slave, was not only one of his dearest friends, but foremost among his literary confidants and advisers. Most of the rich men who had any love of literature owned their librarians and their copyists, and the teachers of the children were generally the property of the father. Among Christian slaves there were undoubtedly many who felt no call to martyrdom, (which can have been incumbent on them only when the alternative was apostasy and denial of their faith,) who therefore made no open profession of their religion, while in precept, conversation, and life they were imbued with its spirit,—a spirit as subtile in its penetrating power as it is refining and purifying in its influence. From the lips of Christian slaves many children, no doubt, received in classic forms moral precepts redolent of the aroma breathed from the Sermon on the Mount. If the social medium which Plutarch represents is a fair specimen of the best rural society of the Empire in his time, there must have been a ready receptivity for the highest style of ethical teaching,—a genial soil for the germination of a truly evangelic righteousness of moral conception, maxim, and principle. Probably no book except the Bible has had more readers than Plutarch’s Lives. These biographies have been translated into every language of the civilized world; they have been among the earliest and most fascinating books for children and youth of many successive generations; and down to the present time, when fiction seems to have almost superseded history and biography, and to have destroyed the once universal appetency for them among young people, they have exercised to a marvellous degree a shaping power over character. They are, indeed, underrated by the exact historian, because modern research has discovered here and there some mistake in the details of events. But such mistakes were in that age inevitable. Historical criticism was then an unknown science. Documents and traditions covering the same ground were deemed of equal value when they were in harmony, and when they differed an author followed the one which best suited his taste, or his purpose for the time being. Thus Cicero, in one case, in the same treatise gives three different versions of the same story. Thus, too, there were several stories afloat about the fate of Regulus; but Roman writers took that which Niebuhr thinks farthest from the truth, yet which threw the greatest odium on the hated name of Carthage. Now I have no doubt that, whenever there were two or more versions of the same act or event, Plutarch chose that which would best point his moral. But it is only in few and unimportant particulars that he has been proved to be inaccurate. It has been also objected to Plutarch, that he attaches less importance to the achievements of his heroes in war and in civic life, than to traits and anecdotes illustrative of their characters. This seems to me a feature which adds not only to the charm of these Lives, but even more to their historical value. The events of history are at once the outcome and the procreant cradle of character, and we know nothing of any period or portion of history except as we know the men who made it and the men whom it made. Biography is the soul; history the body, which it tenants and animates, and which, when not thus tenanted, is a heap of very dry bones. The most thorough knowledge of the topography of Julius Caesar’s battles in Gaul, the minutest description of the campaign that terminated in Pharsalia, the official journal of the Senate during his dictatorship, would tell us very little about him and his time. But a vivid sketch of his character, with well-chosen characteristic anecdotes, would give us a very distinct and realizing conception of the antecedent condition of things that made a life like his possible, and of his actual influence for good and for evil on his country and his age. Nor is the value of such a biography affected in the least by any doubts that we may entertain as to the authenticity of incidents, trivial except as illustrative of character, which occupy a large space in Plutarch’s Lives. Indeed, the least authentic may be of the greatest historical value. An anecdote may be literally true, and yet some peculiar combination of circumstances may have led him of whom it is told to speak or act out of character. But a mythical anecdote of a man, coming down from his own time and people, must needs owe its origin and complexion to his known character. It is perfectly easy to see throughout these biographies the author’s didactic aim. If I may use sacred words, here by no means misapplied, his prime object was “reproof, correction, and instruction in righteousness.” He evidently felt and mourned the degeneracy of his age, was profoundly aware of the worth of teaching by example, and was solicitous to bring from the past such elements of ethical wisdom as the records of illustrious men could be made to render up. True to this purpose, he measures the moral character of such transactions as he relates by the highest standard of right which he knows, and there is not a person or deed that fails to bear the stamp, clear-cut, yet seldom obtrusive, of his approval or censure. The Lives, though the best known of Plutarch’s writings, are but a small part of them, and hardly half of those still extant. His other works are generally grouped under the title of “Moralia,”[xx:1] or Morals, though among them there are many treatises that belong to the department of history or biography, some to that of physics. Most of these works are short; a few, of considerable length. Some of them may have been lectures; some are letters of advice or of consolation; some are in a narrative form; many are in the form of dialogue, which, sanctioned by the prestige of Plato’s pre-eminence, was very largely employed by philosophers of later times, possessing, as it does, the great advantage of putting opposite and diverse opinions in the mouths of interlocutors, and thus giving to the treatise the vivacity and the dramatic interest of oral discussion. Some of these dialogues have a _symposium_, or supper party, for their scene, and introduce a numerous corps of speakers. In these Plutarch himself commonly sustains a prominent part, and the members of his family often have their share in the conversation, or are the subjects of kindly mention. In several instances the occasion, circumstances, and conversation are described so naturally as to make it almost certain that the author simply wrote out from memory what was actually said. At any rate, these festive dialogues present very clearly his idea of what a _symposium_ ought to be, and in its entire freedom from excess and extravagance of any kind it would bear the strictest ordeal with all modern moralists, the extreme ascetics alone excepted. Had not the Lives been written, I am inclined to believe that the Moralia alone would have given Plutarch as high a place as he now holds, not only in the esteem of scholars, but in the interest and delight of all readers of good books; and I am sure that there is no loving reader of the Lives who will not be thankful to have his attention drawn to the Moralia. They exhibit throughout the same moral traits which their author shows as a biographer. He treats, indeed, incidentally, of some subjects which a purer ethical taste in the public mind might have excluded. He recognizes the existence of immoralities, which, not discreditable in the best society of unevangelized Greece and Rome, have almost lost their place and name in Christendom. Some of his dialogues have among the interlocutors those with whom as good a man as he would in our time associate only in the hope of converting them. But his own opinion and feeling on all moral questions are uniformly and explicitly in behalf of all that is pure, and true, and right, and reverent. Many of these Moralia are on what are commonly, yet wrongly, called the minor morals, that is, on the evils that most of all infest and destroy the happiness of families and the peace of society, and on the opposite virtues,—on such subjects, for instance, as “Idle Talking,” “Curiosity,” “Self-Praise,” and the like. Others are on such grave topics as “The Benefits that a Man may derive from his Enemies,” and “The Best Means of Self-Knowledge.” There is in all these treatises a large amount of blended common sense and keen ethical insight; and so little does human nature change with its surroundings that the greater part of Plutarch’s cautions, counsels, and precepts are as closely applicable to our own time as if they had been written yesterday. One of the most remarkable writings in this collection is Plutarch’s letter to his wife on the death of a daughter two years old, during his absence from home. It not only expresses sweetly and lovingly the topics of consolation which would most readily occur to a Christian father; it gives us also a charming picture of a household united by ties of spiritual affinity, and living in a purer, higher medium than that of affluence and luxury. A few sentences may convey something of the tone and spirit of this epistle. “Since our little daughter afforded us the sweetest and most charming pleasure, so ought we to cherish her memory, which will conduce in many ways, or rather many fold, more to our joy than our grief.” “They who were present at the funeral report this with admiration, that you neither put on mourning, nor disfigured yourself or any of your maids, neither were there any costly preparations nor magnificent pomp; but all things were managed with silence and moderation, in the presence of our relatives alone.” “So long as she is gone to a place where she feels no pain, why should we grieve for her?” “This is the most troublesome thing in old age, that it makes the soul weak in its remembrance of divine things, and too earnest for things relating to the body.” “But that which is taken away in youth, being more soft and tractable, soon returns to its native vigor and beauty.” “It is good to pass the gates of death before too great a love of bodily and earthly things be engendered in the soul.” “It is an impious thing to lament for those whose souls pass immediately into a better and more divine state.” “Wherefore let us comply with custom in our outward and public behavior, and let our interior be more unpolluted, pure and holy.” Now, when I remember that in the pre-Christian Greek and Roman world the strongest utterances about immortality had been by Socrates, if Plato reported him aright, when he expressed strong hope of life beyond death, yet warned his friends not to be too confident about a matter so wrapped in uncertainty,—and by Cicero, who, when his daughter died, confessed that his reasonings had left no conviction in his own mind,—I cannot doubt that some Easter morning rays had pierced the dense Boeotian atmosphere, and that the risen Saviour had in that lovely Cheroneian household those whom he designates as “other sheep, not of this fold.” There is among the Moralia another letter of consolation, to Apollonius on the death of his son, longer, more elaborate, and evidently intended as a literary composition, to be preserved with the author’s other works, which breathes the same spirit of submission and trust. Another of the Moralia, which has a special interest as regards the author’s own family, is on the “Training of Children,”—a series of counsels—including the careful heed of the parents to their own moral condition and habits—to which the experience of these intervening centuries has little to add, while it could find nothing to take away. In one sense, the miscellanies brought together under the name of “Moralia” bear that title not inappropriately; for, as I have intimated, Plutarch could not but be didactic in whatever he wrote, and the ethical feeling, spirit, and purpose are perpetually, yet never ostentatiously or inappropriately, coming to the surface on all kinds of subjects. But there is a great deal in the collection not professedly or directly ethical. There are many scraps of history and biography, and a very large number and variety of characteristic anecdotes, both of well-known personages, and of others who are made known to us almost as vividly by a single trait, deed, or saying as if we had their entire life-record. There is an invaluable series of “Apophthegms”[xxv:1] of kings and great commanders,[xxv:2] and another of “Laconic [or Spartan] Apophthegms,” which are much more than their name implies, some of them being condensed memoirs. There are, also, several papers that give us more definite notions than can be found anywhere else of the science and natural history of the author’s

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Produced by Steven Gibbs, Woodie4 and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE COINAGES OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL B. LOWSLEY, ROYAL ENGINEERS (RETD.). Author of Contributions on "The Coins and Tokens of Ceylon" (_Numismatic Chronicle, Vol. XV._); "The XVIIth Century Tokens of Berkshire" (_Williamson's Edition of Boyne's XVIIth Century Tokens_); "Berkshire Dialect and Folk Lore, with Glossary" (_the Publication of the English Dialect Society_), &c., &c., &c. London: VICTORIA PRINTING WORKS, 118 STANSTEAD ROAD, FOREST HILL, AND 15 KIRKDALE, SYDENHAM. 1897. INDEX. PAGE GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON COINAGES FOR THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 1 THE EARLIEST COINS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 4 ROMAN COINS IN THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 7 ON EARLY IMPORTED COINS AND THEIR VALUES 9 THE COATS OF ARMS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 26 THE JERSEY SILVER TOKENS OF 1813 28 COPPER AND BRONZE COINAGES OF JERSEY FROM 1841 30 ON GUERNSEY COINS FROM THE MIDDLE AGES 33 COPPER AND BRONZE COINAGES OF GUERNSEY FROM 1830 37 SILVER COUNTERMARKED GUERNSEY CROWN 38 CHANNEL ISLANDS COPPER TOKENS 39 SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES 40 The Coinages of the Channel Islands. BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL B. LOWSLEY, (Retired) Royal Engineers. Author of Contributions on "The Coins and Tokens of Ceylon" (_Numismatic Chronicle_, _Vol. XV._); "The XVIIth Century Tokens of Berkshire" (Williamson's Edition of Boyne's XVIIth Century Tokens); "Berkshire Dialect and Folk Lore, with Glossary" (the Publications of the English Dialect Society), &c., &c., &c. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON COINAGES FOR THE CHANNEL ISLANDS. Before treating of the Channel Islands coinages in detail, it may be of interest briefly to notice in order the various changes and the influences which led to these. The earliest inhabitants of the islands of whom anything is known were contemporaneous with the ancient Britons of Druidical times. Jersey and Guernsey are still rich in Druidical remains. The Table-stone of the Cromlech at Gorey is 160 feet superficial, and the weight, as I have made it, after careful calculation, is about 23-3/4 tons. It rests on six upright stones, weighing, on an average, one ton each. In the very complete work recently edited by E. Toulmin Nicolle[A] is the following interesting note:-- "That traces of the old Northmen, which were once obscure, have now become clear and patent; that institutions, long deemed Roman, may be Scandinavian; that in blood and language there are many more foreign elements than were originally recognized, are the results of much well-applied learning and acumen. But no approximation to the proportion that these foreign elements bear to the remainder has been obtained; neither has the analysis of them gone much beyond the discovery of those which are referred to Scandinavia. Of the tribes on the mainland, those which in the time of Caesar and in the first four centuries of our era have the best claim to be considered as the remote ancestors of the early occupants of the islanders, are the Curiosilites, the Rhedones, the Osismii, the Lemovices, the Veneti, and the Unelli--all mentioned by Caesar himself, as well as by writers who came after him. A little later appear the names of the Abrincatui and the Bajucasses. All these are referable to some part of either Normandy or Brittany, and all seem to have been populations allied to each other in habits and politics. They all belonged to the tract which bore the name of Armorica, a word which in the Keltic means the same as Pomerania in Sclavonic--_i.e._, the country along the seaside." [A] "The Channel Islands." By the late David Thomas Ansted, M.A., and the late Robert Gordon Latham, M.A. Revised and Edited by E. Toulmin Nicolle. Published by W. H. Allen and Co., 13, Waterloo Place, London. All evidences that can be gathered would tend to prove that before the time of the Romans the Channel Islands were but thinly populated. There are no traces of decayed large towns nor records of pirate strongholds, and the conclusion is that the inhabitants were fishermen, and some living by hunting and crude tillage. The frequent Druidical remains show the religion which obtained. Any coins in use in those days would be Gaulish, of the types then circulated amongst the mainland tribes above named. The writer of the foregoing notes considers that the earliest history of the Channel Islands is as follows (page 284):-- "1. At first the occupants were Bretons--few in number--pagan, and probably poor fishermen. "2. Under the Romans a slight infusion of either Roman or Legionary blood may have taken place--more in Alderney than in Jersey--more in Jersey than in Sark. "3. When the Litus Saxonicum was established, there may have been thereon lighthouses for the honest sailor, or small piratical holdings for the corsair, as the case might be. There were, however, no emporia or places either rich through the arts of peace, or formidable for the mechanism of war. "4. When the Irish Church, under the school of St. Columbanus, was in its full missionary vigour, Irish missionaries preached the Gospel to the islanders, and amongst the missionaries and the islanders there may have been a few Saxons of the Litus. "5. In the sixth century some portion of that mixture of Saxons, Danes, Chattuarii, Leti, Goths, Bretons, and Romanized Gauls, whom the Frank kings drove to the coasts, may have betaken themselves to the islands opposite. "To summarise--the elements of the population nearest the Channel Islands were:--(1) original Keltic; (2) Roman; (3) Legionary; (4) Saxon; (5) Gothic; (6) Letic; (7) Frank; (8) Vandal--all earlier than the time of Rollo, and most of them German; to which we may add, as a possible element, the Alans of Brittany. "That the soldiers of the Roman garrison were not necessarily Roman is suggested by the word "Legionary." Some of them are particularly stated to have been foreign. There is indeed special mention of the troop of cavalry from Dalmatia--"Equites Dalmatae." The inference from the above, as regards coins current in the Channel Islands prior to the Norman conquest of England, would clearly be that, subsequent to the circulation of the first uninscribed Gaulish coins as imitated from the Phillippus types, there followed the well-struck Roman issues, which, in course of time, were superseded by the coinages used and introduced by later invaders and settlers. British-struck coins of the Saxon kings are rarely found in the Channel Islands, the coins used at the Saxon period of England being doubtless drawn by these islands from Normandy and Brittany. There have never, so far as is known, been regal or state mints established in the Channel Islands, with the exception of the strange venture by Colonel Smyth in the reign of King Charles I., which will be fully noted in turn hereafter. "Freluques" and "enseignes" also perhaps appear to have been struck in Guernsey, and a few copper tokens, as will be described, were introduced by banks and firms. But from the time of the Romans until the present century, French and other foreign money has been imported, and formed the recognized currency. THE EARLIEST COINS OF THE CHANNEL ISLANDS As referred to in the preceding general notes, the earliest coins known to have been in use in the Channel Islands are of the same types as used at the time on the near coast of France. They are styled Gaulish, and are generally of the following description:-- _O._ Sinister head in profile; nose, lips, eyes, and ears expressed by duplicate lines; tracery or ornamentation in front of the face, and profuse rolls of curling hair. _R._ Figure of a horse, extravagantly drawn and decorated, and with ornaments or gear of some kind above and below. Often the mane of the horse is arranged and curled, as if specially so dressed for parade or show, and almost suggests decorations as still sometimes adopted by American Indian or other barbarian chiefs. There are reins, too, in some instances, and these are sometimes held by a rough representation of an arm and hand. The legs of the horse always indicate gallopping. The symbols underneath it are usually either (1) the wild boar, as perhaps indicative of the most important local wild beast in the chase; (2) the chariot wheel, as representing that the horse would draw this vehicle, there not being room to show the whole on the coin fully and in rear of the horse; (3) the implement described by Sir John Evans[B] as a "lyre-shaped object." It would be most interesting to ascertain what this instrument--which is frequently delineated--may really be. It might be a musical production of the bagpipe character, or a head-dress, or a warlike weapon. An extensive museum or collection of very ancient implements should solve the problem. [B] "The Coins of the Ancient Britons." By Sir John Evans, K.C.B., F.S.A., F.G.S. Published by J. Russell Smith, 36, Soho Square, London. As regards the metal of which the coins are made, Sir John Evans, at page 128 of his work, states as follows:-- "These coins are formed of _billon_ or base silver, which appears to vary considerably in the amount of its alloy. From an analysis made by De Caylus (Donop. Medailles Gallo Gaeeliques, page 24) of two coins, their compositions were found to be as follows:-- A. B. Silver .0413 .1770 Copper .8414 .7954 Tin .1166 .0265 Iron .0005 .0009 Gold .0002 .0002 ------ ------ 1.0000 1.0000 "The weight of the larger pieces ranges from 80 to 105 grains, and that of the smaller coins is about 25 grains." It will be observed from the above analysis how considerably the proportions of the white metals, as silver and tin, vary in these coins, and this variation, as regards metallic composition, is so universal that amongst a large number in the same "find" you will even, on cleaning the coins, see some of them look as if made of silver, and the colour vary, until you reach some that appear hardly better than wholly of copper. It would be very interesting to know where the metal or ore for these coinages was procured from. There must have been a natural mixture of most of the metals. I have looked through a "find" of more than 200 Jersey Gaulish coins, which are in the possession of R. R. Lempriere, Esq. They were turned up by the plough on his manor of Rozel; and whatever covering had enclosed them had either gone to decay, or become broken up, as they were quite loose. He had cleaned a few of them. Even to the eye the metallic composition varied greatly--some being of the colour of silver, and some lowering to that of copper. In this lot there were but two of the smaller size of 25 grains, and I think that proportion may perhaps give some indication as to the relative rarity of the two coins; for at a rough estimate one seems to meet only about one in a hundred, which is of the smaller kind. The larger Gaulish coins are common; large "finds" of the types formerly used in the Channel Islands having been made on the adjacent mainland of Normandy and Brittany, and also on the south coast of England. Sir John Evans mentions (page 128) the hoard at Mount Batten, near Plymouth (_Numismatic Journal_, Vol. I., page 224), and that in the _Arch. Assoc. Journal_, Vol. III., page 62, is an account of a find of them at Avranches, written by Mr. C. Roach Smith; also in 1820 nearly 1,000 were discovered in Jersey; and previously, in 1787, there had been a find in that island. The manor of Rozel seems to have been most rich in furnishing specimens. In addition to the number in possession of the seigneur of Rozel, as before referred to, there are from that district of the island collections at the St. Helier Museum, and with Lady Marett, Wm. Nicolle, Esq., Dr. Le Cronier, E. C. Cable

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Produced by David Edwards, Demian Katz and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION NO. 10 MAY 1, 1909 FIVE CENTS MOTOR MATT'S HARD LUCK OR THE BALLOON HOUSE PLOT [Illustration: "This way, Dick" yelled Motor Matt as he struck down one of the ruffians.] STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MOTOR STORIES THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION _Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._ No. 10. NEW YORK, May 1, 1909. Price Five Cents. Motor Matt's Hard Luck OR, THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT. By the author of "MOTOR MATT." CONTENTS CHAPTER I. AN OLD FRIEND. CHAPTER II. A TRAP. CHAPTER III. OVERBOARD. CHAPTER IV. RESCUED. CHAPTER V. BUYING THE "HAWK." CHAPTER VI. MATT SCORES AGAINST JAMESON. CHAPTER VII. AT THE BALLOON HOUSE. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOT OF THE BRADY GANG. CHAPTER IX. CARL IS SURPRISED. CHAPTER X. HELEN BRADY'S CLUE. CHAPTER XI. JERROLD GIVES HIS AID. CHAPTER XII. GRAND HAVEN. CHAPTER XIII. THE LINE ON BRADY. CHAPTER XIV. THE WOODS BY THE RIVER. CHAPTER XV. BRADY A PRISONER. CHAPTER XVI. BACK IN SOUTH CHICAGO. THE RED SPIDER. PIGEON-WHISTLE CONCERTS. CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY. =Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of "Mile-a-minute Matt." =Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness. =Dick Ferral=, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. =Helen Brady=, Hector Brady's daughter, who helps Motor Matt. =Hector Brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from Hamilton Jerrold. His air ship is called the Hawk and is used for criminal purposes. Brady's attempt to secure Motor Matt's services as driver of the Hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang. =Hamilton Jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the Eagle. =Jameson=, a rich member of the Aëro Club, who thinks of buying the Hawk. =Whipple=, =Pete=, =Grove=, =Harper=, members of Brady's gang who carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of Hector Brady. =O

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*** Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover art] [Illustration: HE WILDLY TORE AT EVERYTHING AND HURLED IT DOWN ON HIS PURSUERS _Page_ 86 _Frontispiece_] Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day BY SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL T. T. JEANS, C.M.G., R.N. Author of "John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N." "A Naval Venture" &c. _Illustrated by Edward S. Hodgson_ BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW 1908 By Surgeon Rear-Admiral T. T. Jeans The Gun-runners. John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N. A Naval Venture. Gunboat and Gun-runner. Ford of H.M.S. "Vigilant". On Foreign Service. Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_ *Preface* In this story of the modern Royal Navy I have endeavoured, whilst narrating many adventures both ashore and afloat, to portray the habits of thought and speech of various types of officers and men of the Senior Service who live and serve under the White Ensign to-day. To do this the more graphically I have made some of the leading characters take up, from each other, the threads of the story and continue the description of incidents from their own points of view; the remainder of the tale is written in the third person as by an outside narrator. I hope that this method will be found to lend additional interest to the book. I have had great assistance from several Gunnery, Torpedo, and Engineer Lieutenants, who have read the manuscripts as they were written, corrected many errors of detail, and made many useful suggestions. The story may therefore claim to be technically correct. T. T. JEANS, SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL, ROYAL NAVY *Contents* CHAP. I. The Luck of Midshipman Glover II. Helston receives a Strange Letter III. The Fitting Out of a Squadron IV. The Pirates are not Idle V. The Squadron leaves hurriedly VI. The Voyage East VII. The Pursuit of the Patagonian VIII. Mr. Ping Sang is Outwitted IX. Captain Helston Wounded X. Destroyer "No. 1" Meets her Fate XI. The Action off Sin Ling XII. A Council of War XIII. The Avenging of Destroyer "No. 1" XIV. Night Operations XV. Mr. Midshipman Glover Tells how he was Wounded XVI. Captain Helston's Indecision XVII. Spying Out the Pirates XVIII. The Escape from the Island XIX. Cummins Captures One Gun Hill XX. The Fight for One Gun Hill XXI. On One Gun Hill XXII. The Final Attack on the Hill XXIII. The Attack on the Forts XXIV. The Capture of the Island XXV. The Fruits of Victory XXVI. Home Again *Illustrations* He wildly tore at everything and hurled it down on his pursuers... _Frontispiece_ I struck at him with my heavy malacca stick The sinking of the Pirate Torpedo-Boat The Commander and Jones overpower the Two Sentries Map Illustrating the Operations Against the Pirates [Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING THE OPERATIONS AGAINST THE PIRATES] *CHAPTER I* *The Luck of Midshipman Glover* Ordered Abroad. Hurrah! _Midshipman Glover explains how Luck came to him_ It all started absolutely unexpectedly whilst we were on leave and staying with Mellins in the country. When I say "we", I mean Tommy Toddles and myself. His real name was Foote, but nobody ever called him anything but "Toddles", and I do believe that he would almost have forgotten what his real name actually was if it had not been engraved on the brass plate on the lid of his sea chest, and if he had not been obliged to have it marked very plainly on his washing. We had passed out of the _Britannia_ a fortnight before--passed out as full-blown midshipmen, too, which was all due to luck--and were both staying with Christie at his pater's place in Somerset. It was Christie whom we called Mellins, because he was so tremendously fat; and though he did not mind us doing so in the least, it was rather awkward whilst we were staying in his house, for we could hardly help calling his pater "Colonel Mellins". You see, he was even fatter than Mellins himself, and the very first night we were there--we were both just a little nervous--Toddles did call him Colonel Mellins when we wished him "Good-night", and he glared at us so fiercely, that we slunk up to our room and really thought we'd better run away. We even opened the window and looked out, feeling very miserable, to see if it was possible to scramble down the ivy or the rusty old water-spout without waking everybody, when Mellins suddenly burst in with a pillow he had screwed up jolly hard, and nearly banged us out of the window. By the time we had driven him back to his room at the other end of the corridor, and flattened him out, we had forgotten all about it, and we crept back like mice, and went to sleep. It was just at this time that the papers came out with those extraordinary yarns about the increase of piracy on the Chinese coast, and how some Chinese merchants had clubbed together to buy ships in England and fit out an expedition to clear the sea again. You can imagine how interested we three were, especially as fifty years ago Toddles's father had taken part in a great number of scraps with the Cantonese pirates, and Toddles rattled off the most exciting yarns which his father had told him. We saw in the papers that the Admiralty was about to lend naval officers to take command, but it never struck us that we might possibly get a look in, till one morning a letter came for me from Cousin Milly, whose father is an old admiral and lives at Fareham, and isn't particularly pleasant when I go to see him. My aunt! weren't we excited! Why, she actually wrote that if I wanted to go she thought she could get me appointed to the squadron, as the captain who was going in charge was a great friend of hers. You can imagine what I wrote, and how I buttered her up and called her a brick, and said she was a "perfect ripper". I ended up by saying that "Mr. Arthur Bouchier Christie, midshipman, and Mr. Thomas Algernon Foote, midshipman, chums of mine, would like to go too". I was very careful to give their full names to prevent mistakes, and put "midshipman" after their names just to show that they had also passed out of the _Britannia_. near the top of the list, and so must be pretty good at chasing "X and Y", which, of course, is a great "leg up" in the navy. Two mornings after this Milly sent me a postcard: "Hope to manage it for the three of you". We were so excited after that, that we did nothing but wait about for the postman, and even went down to the village post-office and hung about there, almost expecting a telegram. Well, you would hardly believe it! The very next morning our appointments were in the papers. I have the list somewhere stowed away even now, and it began: "The under-mentioned officers of the Royal Navy have been placed on half-pay and lent to the Imperial Chinese Government for special services". Down at the bottom of the list was "Midshipmen", and we nearly tore Colonel Christie's paper in our excitement as we read, in very small print and among a lot of other names, Arthur B. Christie, Harold S. Glover (that was myself--hurrah!), and Thomas A. Foote. Well, I can't tell you much of what happened after that, for we were simply mad with delight; but I do remember that when I rushed off home my father and mother rather threw a damper over it all. And when my gear had been packed and driven down to the station, I felt rather a brute because everyone cried, and even my father was a little husky when I wished him good-bye. I think something must have got into my eye too, a fly, probably, but it wasn't there when the train ran into Portsmouth Harbour station, and Mellins and Toddles met me and dragged me to the end of the pier to get our first view of our new ship, which was lying at Spithead. Now you will have to read how all these things came about, or you will never properly understand them. *CHAPTER II* *Helston receives a Strange Letter* Helston's Bad Luck--Ping Sang tells of Pirates--Ping Sang makes an Offer--Helston Jubilant In the year 1896 two naval officers were living a somewhat humdrum, monotonous existence in the quiet little Hampshire village of Fareham, which nestles under the fort-crowned Portsdown Hills, and is almost within earshot of the ceaseless clatter of riveting and hammering in the mighty dockyards of Portsmouth. These two men had both served many years before in the small gun-boat _Porcupine_ out in China, and their many escapades and adventures had frequently drawn down on their heads the wrath of the Admiral commanding that station. Wherever the _Porcupine_ went, trouble of some sort or another was sure to follow. At one place an indignant Taotai[#] complained that all the guns--obsolete old muzzle-loaders--in his fort had been tumbled into the ditch one night; at another they only just escaped with their lives from an infuriated mob whilst actually carrying from the temple a highly grotesque, but still more highly revered, joss, at which desecration they had cajoled and bribed the local priests to wink. [#] Taotai = military magistrate. Comrades in every adventure, and mess-mates during these four exciting years, they had ultimately drifted together on half-pay, and, with their old marine servant Jenkins, a taciturn old man, to look after them, had settled down in this village. Both men were below the age of forty, though a more accurate estimate would have been difficult, for the shorter of the two bore himself with the vigour and alertness of thirty, yet his face was old with the lines and furrows of care and sadness, whilst the tall, gaunt figure of the second was not held so erect, nor were his actions so vigorous, yet the youthful fire in his eyes gave to his sea-tanned face and his thin, tight-drawn lips and prominent jaw the appearance of a man who had not yet reached the zenith of his manhood. The shorter man was named Fox, a doctor, who had left the service when he married, only to lose his wife a year later, and with her his whole joy of existence. Settling down in this village, near her grave, he had worked up a small practice, which occupied but little of his time, and lived a life from which his great grief seemed to have removed any trace of his former ambition. Not so the taller man, Helston, a commander, who had been invalided and placed on half-pay, suffering from the effects of fevers picked up whilst cruising off the West Coast of Africa, in China, and in the Mediterranean. Though his body was weakened by disease, he was for ever buoyant at the prospects of being restored to health and full-pay, and dreamed eagerly of the time when once more he could go afloat and eventually command his own ship. He, however, generally found a most unsympathetic audience in the Doctor, who listened, with ill-concealed boredom, to his rose- plans, and cynically would say, "Who goes to sea for enjoyment would go to jail for a pastime. Take my advice and get a snug billet in the coast-guard, and don't bother the sea any more. It's not done you much good." "It's all my bad luck, Doc, old chap," Helston would answer; "no fault of the sea. I played the idiot when I was a youngster, was always in disgrace up at the Admiralty, and now, with this rotten fever in me, they won't employ me again." But he would always finish with, "Well, I've waited patiently enough for the last three years, and luck must turn soon". On one such occasion, when the warmth and brightness of a May day had made Helston more than usually enthusiastic as to his chances of full-pay service, Dr. Fox, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, growled, "Next ship, indeed! You talk of nothing but ships and sea, sea and ships, when you ought to be buying a Bath chair to be wheeled about in." "Never mind, old chap, I'm not as bad as that, and I'll bet you that they give me a ship in less than six months!" "If they do, I will come with you," jeered the Doctor, as he stalked moodily to bed. "That's a bargain," shouted Helston cheerfully after him. Now one reason why Helston had settled down here with the Doctor, and the great source of his ambitious dreams, was a certain lady named Milly, who, with her father--his name is not necessary, for he was always spoken of as "the Admiral", or "Miss Milly's father"--lived close to the village. He had wooed her constantly for many years, and had known her since she was born, but the somewhat disdainful little lady had refused him many times, though not without giving him some slight hope of better success if ever he were promoted to the rank of captain. However, as Mistress Milly never personally enters this story, nothing more need be said of her than that she was one of the most bewitching little flirts who ever tyrannized over an old father, or played havoc with the heart of every man she met. A few weeks after this incident, and whilst the two were at breakfast, the old village postman stumbled up the path leading to their house, and Jenkins, a sombre, morose man of few words, brought in a big official envelope. "What did I say, old chap?" cried Helston excitedly, tearing it open. "Didn't I say my luck would change? Hullo! this isn't an ordinary appointment. Whatever is it?" A large number of papers fell on the table, and, the Doctor showing some signs of interest, the two men hurriedly examined them, Jenkins standing behind at attention in order to learn the news. The first one was from the Admiralty, informing Helston that the enclosures had been received through the Chinese Embassy, and ordering him to report himself at Whitehall immediately. These enclosures were lists of ships supposed to be wrecked on the Chinese coast during the last few years, lists of Chinese men-of-war supposed to have been destroyed during the Chino-Japanese war, and papers showing the gradual rise in insurance rates for the Chinese coasting trade. "Where's your appointment?" sneered the Doctor. "I'm off to see my patients." "I've got it, Doc; look here! Do you remember that old mandarin we got out of a scrape at Cheefoo once? Well, here's a letter from him. Listen!" Saying which, Helston sat on the table and read it aloud, whilst the Doctor filled his pipe impatiently:-- "DEAR COMMANDER HELSTON,--Perhaps you remember saving my life at Cheefoo many years ago? Now perhaps I can do you a good turn. "For the last three or four years there has been a very large number of steamers, ships, and junks employed on the coast trade which have left port under favourable circumstances and apparently in good condition, yet have never been heard of since. The number has rapidly become so great, that myself and several friends interested in the shipping trade have suspected that these disappearances were not due to natural causes. This year, for instance, three of our newest steamers have left Nagasaki full of valuable cargo, and, though none of them could have experienced bad weather, yet none have been heard of since. All three, strangely enough, carried a large quantity of military stores for Pekin, which had been transhipped from German steamers, and all three left within three weeks. The captains were Englishmen--very good men, too--and what adds to the peculiarity of their disappearance is, that the captain of the English mail-steamer which followed the last out of harbour, and should have passed her eight hours later if she had been on her proper course, never sighted her. We searched the coast ineffectually for any trace of wreckage, and it is only within the last two months that we have obtained a clue. "One of our large junks from Formosa, being short of water, made for an island, previously reported as being only occasionally inhabited by Korean fishermen. A few men went ashore to fill the casks, found the fishing-nets deserted and no water, so followed a path leading inland and winding up a hill. When nearly at the top they came across four dead Chinamen hanging from trees, and although very frightened, they still pushed on until they came in sight of the natural harbour on the other side of the island. They swear solemnly that, lying at anchor, they saw twenty or thirty steamers and several men-of-war, and that on shore there were many storehouses (go-downs) and huts, and a very large number of natives. They were just going down for water when one of these men, who fortunately had formerly been one of the crew of the _Tslai-ming_, our crack steamer, recognized her lying there. He is a cute fellow, and at once jumped to the conclusion that these were pirates (you remember how terribly frightened they are of 'pilons'?), and ran back with his fellows to their boat. "They brought this news to us. "Four years ago, when this island was last visited, it was reported as uninhabited. Personally I did not doubt the men's tale. In fact, they are so frightened, and have spread their story so freely, that it is difficult to get a crew together for any port south of Amoy. "I have made very careful enquiries to account for the presence of the men-of-war, and have discovered that many of the war-ships, and nearly all the torpedo-boats which were run ashore to escape capture during the late war, had disappeared. "The local mandarins and officials of course know nothing, but from the natives living near I find that large ships came and stayed near the stranded ships for some weeks, and finally towed them away. There is no doubt that two, if not three, cruisers in bad plight have been sold to a couple of Europeans, and have disappeared, where, no one knows. A couple of the Yangtze corvettes have also mysteriously vanished. "I memorialized the throne, but they would do nothing, and made fun of my report. The mandarins got hold of my informants, tortured them till they denied the truth of their story, and then of course laughed at me. "Trade was practically at a stand-still, so we decided to send one of our best captains, an Englishman, to see if the men's story was correct. He landed at night from a junk, disguised as a native, and spent a day on the island, running great risks of detection, and being taken off next night. He reports that there are certainly three cruisers and seven torpedo-boats anchored there, and at least twenty coasting steamers, among them being the three that disappeared when laden with military stores. Great numbers of coolies were working at the narrow entrance to the harbour, and, as far as he could see, they were mounting guns behind earthworks. He thought he could distinguish some Europeans, but is not certain. He brought a rough plan of the harbour, marking the positions of ships, buildings, and guns. "I decided to take him next day to some of the ministers whom I knew personally, thinking that they would pay more attention to the word of an Englishman. I must tell you that the three natives who first brought the news and were tortured to deny it, have disappeared, and as they were very honest, faithful men, I suspected some underhanded dealing, and, thinking to keep the Englishman safe made him sleep in my _yamen_ that night. Next morning he had disappeared, and his body was found two days later in a low quarter of the town, stripped of all valuables including the plan, which he had in his pocket-book, although this itself was not taken. The gatekeeper saw him go out, and there is no doubt his habits were unsteady, but for all that his death is very suspicious. "Naturally I had no proof good enough for the Government, but my friends and myself subscribed ten million dollars, and asked the Government for another five millions, to fit out an expedition and destroy these pirates, offering to hand over to them the men-of-war we intended buying, and also a percentage of our recaptures. They refused at first, but thinking money was to be made out of it, promised us four millions, the protection of the Imperial flag, and the use of their dockyards. "We had thought of applying to some European power to take the matter up; but you know the great tension of affairs out here at the present, and the acute international jealousies; we therefore came to the conclusion that it would take years to bring this about through the ordinary diplomatic channels, and as every year's trade is worth from L10,000,000 to L20,000,000 for us, we cannot afford to wait. "I, therefore, as President of the China Trading Defence Committee, am authorized to offer you the control of this money if you will accept the responsibility of organizing a small expedition with the greatest possible speed to rid us of this unbearable piracy which is destroying our trade. "You will get this letter and the enclosed lists and tables from our Ambassador in London, who will give you every facility for granting Imperial commissions for your ships and officers, and every information he can. "I know enough of your service to think that if you take command of this expedition you will advance your prospects, and the opportunity of doing this I have very great pleasure in giving you. "Wire me your decision and plans; don't worry about money--haste is the great thing.--Your sincere friend, "PING SANG. "TIENTSIN, _17th March._ "_P.S._--If you do not accept the command it will be offered to Lieutenant Albrecht of the Imperial German Navy. "I hope the Doctor with the broad shoulders and terrible fists is well. Give him my 'chin chin', and bring him with you if you can." Helston finished reading, and both men stared at each other in blank amazement, whilst Jenkins commenced stealthily to remove the breakfast things. "Well, of all the hare-brained, foolish schemes I ever heard of!" gasped the Doctor. "There's something in it, old chap. Ping Sang was one of the richest mandarins in China when we were out there many years ago. A splendid chap, as you remember, and practically an Englishman in his ideas--he went to Charterhouse when he was a boy--and besides, his Government has taken it up, and I have to report myself to the Admiralty; so they believe in it, evidently. Why, old man," continued Helston, "if this is all true I shall get promotion out of it, and that means--you know as well as I do--that means Milly." And he danced about the room as if he never had had fever in his rheumatic legs. "Stop that tomfoolery, and go off to London and find out whether it's all a mare's nest or not," said the Doctor. "Jenkins, go and get the Commander's things ready at once." "For China, sir?" "No. For London, you fool!" "Very good, sir," and off went Jenkins. "Well, good-bye, Helston, I'm off round the practice. Don't make an ass of yourself, and let me know the result." By the time the Doctor returned Helston had disappeared, and it was late that evening when a telegram brought news of him. The Doctor hurriedly opened it: "Job genuine--accepted command. Send all clothes--cannot return--too busy." Three days later he received a long letter. In it Helston wrote that he had been backwards and forwards from the Admiralty, the Foreign Office, and the Chinese Embassy the whole of the last few days settling preliminary details. "The Bank of England has one and a half million to my credit, on the advice of the Ambassador and Ping Sang, so the money is safe enough, and I am trying to get hold of any ship which will be ready in the next three months. Our Admiralty did not at first wish me to take command, and wanted to give me some captains, just as advisers, but I knew what that meant. They would get all the kudos; I should get none. So I told them that if I did not take command, absolutely and entirely, I would throw it up, and, of course, that meant that the Germans would get a look in. That stuck in their gizzards, so they piped down, and I am to be my own boss and have any officers I want, and a large proportion of men, from the navy. They have given me an office and a couple of clerks, and already I'm terribly busy. "From what I can gather, their idea seems to be that a couple of cruisers of the _Apollo_ type and two or three destroyers will be sufficient for my purpose and well within my means; that if I find myself unable to destroy the pirates, whose existence they still doubt, I shall at least be able to blockade the island till the present tension of political affairs is somewhat relaxed, when they hope to be able to detach some ships from our fleet to help me, more especially if I prove conclusively the existence of these pirates. You may bet your boots," Helston concluded, "if I can get away from England and past Hong-Kong without interference, I sha'n't wait for other help. My luck is at the top now, and if only it will remain there for eighteen months or so, I shall be a made man. Will it? that is the question." "Silly fool!" thought the Doctor; "he's always brooding on his ill-luck. If people would only look more on the bright side of things, we should hear less about this fatal ill-luck which they always fancy follows them." When he returned from the round of his very limited practice and opened the London paper waiting for him, he swore angrily when he saw that two columns were devoted to the proposed expedition. "Silly fool! giving himself away to these interviewers. It may make him notorious, but the Admiralty won't like it; and if there _are_ pirates, they will learn his schemes and plans almost as soon as he knows them himself." *CHAPTER III* *The Fitting Out of a Squadron* Helston Tricks the Doctor--Valuable Information--The Doctor makes a Bargain--The Squadron Assembles A month had passed by, during which time the Doctor saw by the papers that Helston had acquired a cruiser at Elswick, built on "spec", an armoured cruiser being built by Laird's, for a South American republic which had waived its claim to her, and three destroyers which were being completed at Yarrow's, Thorneycroft's, and Laird's works respectively. At the end of the month he ran up to London, in response to a telegram, and met Helston at Waterloo. "I should hardly have known you," he said, grasping his hand; "you look twice the man you did six weeks ago. What fool's errand have you brought me here for?" "Going to show you round my little fleet, old chap. How's Milly and her old father?" "She's all right. Asked after her Don Quixote the last time I saw her; but confound you, I'm hungry, I don't want to see your ships. I've seen enough in my lifetime; you ought to have known that." "Come along then, old chap, we'll have some grub and put you in a better temper," answered Helston, smiling, and took him to his hotel. They visited Yarrow's yard that afternoon, and next day went up the river to Chiswick, where Thorneycroft's destroyer lay almost ready for launching, with her engines and boilers on board. "Funny state of affairs, Doc, old boy," began Helston, as he patted her smooth sides, "for me to be buying ships. Fancy imagining six weeks ago that I should ever be signing cheques to the value of three-quarters of a million and thinking nothing of it!" "How much did this one cost you?" asked the Doctor grimly. "Just over L40,000--a mere fleabite," laughed Helston; "and she's to do her trials next week--a guaranteed thirty knots. That would shake up your wretched liver, Doc, rushing along at more than thirty-five miles an hour! It's a funny thing, but they have had several bids for her during the last few days, so I wrote out a cheque on the spot and got her. The others were a little doubtful about cash." "Some of these smaller republics always are," laughed the manager, who was standing near them. "It was Patagonia, too, of all others," continued Helston. "She tried to get all my ships, and, strangely enough, has never been in the market before, and doesn't possess such a thing as a ship." "I expect she wants to become as civilized as some of her neighbours, and get up a rebellion against the army," added the manager. After dinner that night Helston showed the Doctor a list of officers he had chosen, among whom there were several they had known in the old days. The Admiralty had put them all on half-pay and lent them to the Chinese Government for eighteen months directly Helston had made out their temporary commissions for the squadron he was fitting out. The Chinese ambassador had been empowered to sign their commissions, and the ships were to fly the Yellow Dragon. "I see you have no doctors yet," said the Doctor. "I suppose no one has been such a fool as to volunteer." Helston opened a drawer in his desk. "There you are, nearly five hundred of them, men in the navy, army, and from every corner of the world." "I didn't know there were so many fools on earth," growled the Doctor. "To whom are you going to give the opportunity of being drowned or blown up?" "Oh, I'm not going to select them. I leave that job to my principal medical officer." "What idiot have you managed to get hold of to do that?" "You, old chap," replied Helston, slapping him on the shoulder; "you were the very first to volunteer." "I!" said the Doctor angrily. "Why, I'd as soon think of volunteering for a trip to the moon!" "Can't help that, Doc; you told me that night at Fareham, when you were in such a bad temper, that you would come with me if I got a ship, and here's your commission made out--'all belong ploper, savez'. Come on, old fellow, don't leave me in the lurch; come and have another look at China. We will look in at our old places in Japan and fancy ourselves young again. I'll make you as comfortable as you possibly can be on board a ship." "Well, you have played a trick on me," answered the Doctor, after he had stamped and fumed about the room, "and if you were not steeped in fever and ague, I would see you at Jericho first; but I'll see you safely through this foolery--more for Milly's sake, though, than for yours, you sly brute." "I knew you'd come, Doc; you aren't doing yourself any good moping down at Fareham, and the practice can manage itself pretty well, can't it? You'll get fleet

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Vast Abyss, by George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ This is one of the very best books by GM Fenn. It has a good steady pace, yet one is constantly wondering how some dreadful situation is to be got out of. The hero is young Tom, whose father had been a doctor who had died in some recent epidemic, which had also carried off his mother. Tom has been taken into the house and law business of an uncle, but he does not seem to be getting on well there. Another uncle visits, and takes Tom back with him, giving him a much pleasanter and more interesting life. Together they convert an old windmill into an astronomical observatory, which means grinding the glass lenses and mirrors, as well as bringing the structure of the building up to the required standard. In this they are encouraged by the daily visits of the vicar, while the housekeeper, Mrs Fidler, and the old gardener, make various remarks on the sidelines. However, there is a boy in the village whose behaviour is not good at all, and many of the episodes in the story are concerned with him, his dog, and their deeds. Not wishing to spoil the story for you, we will simply say that there is another issue involving the legal uncle, and his rather nasty son. ________________________________________________________________________ THE VAST ABYSS, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. "I wish I wasn't such a fool!" Tom Blount said this to himself as he balanced that self upon a high stool at a desk in his uncle's office in Gray's Inn. There was a big book lying open, one which he had to study, but it did not interest him; and though he tried very hard to keep his attention fixed upon its learned words, invaluable to one who would some day bloom into a family solicitor, that book would keep on forming pictures that were not illustrations of legal practice in the courts of law. For there one moment was the big black pond on Elleston Common, where the water lay so still and deep under the huge elms, and the fat tench and eels every now and then sent up bubbles of air, dislodged as they disturbed the bottom. At another time it would be the cricket-field in summer, or the football on the common in winter, or the ringing ice on the winding river, with the skates flashing as they sent the white powder flying before the wind. Or again, as he stumbled through the opinions of the judge in "Coopendale _versus_ Drabb's Exors.," the old house and garden would stand out from the page like a miniature seen on the ground-glass of a camera; and Tom Blount sighed and his eyes grew dim as he thought of the old happy days in the pleasant home. For father and mother both had passed away to their rest; the house was occupied by another tenant; and he, Tom Blount, told himself that he ought to be very grateful to Uncle James for taking him into his office, to make a man of him by promising to have him articled if, during his year of probation, he proved himself worthy. "I wouldn't mind its being so dull," he thought, "or my aunt not liking me, or Sam being so disagreeable, if I could get on--but I can't. Uncle's right, I suppose, in what he says. He ought to know. I'm only a fool; and it doesn't seem to matter how I try, I can't get on." Just then a door opened, letting in a broad band of sunshine full of dancing motes, and at the same time Samuel Brandon, a lad of about the same age as Tom, but rather slighter of build, but all the same more manly of aspect. He was better dressed too, and wore a white flower in his button-hole, and a very glossy hat. One glove was off, displaying a signet-ring, and he brought with him into the dingy office a strong odour of scent, whose source was probably the white pocket-handkerchief prominently displayed outside his breast-pocket. "Hullo, bumpkin!" he cried. "How's Tidd getting on?" "Very slowly," said Tom. "I wish you'd try and explain what this bit means." "Likely! Think I'm going to find you in brains. Hurry on and peg away. Shovel it in, and think you are going to be Lord Chancellor some day. Guv'nor in his room?" "No; he has gone on down to the Court. Going out?" "Yes; up the river--Maidenhead. You heard at the breakfast, didn't you?" Tom shook his head. "I didn't hear," he said sadly. "You never hear anything or see anything. I never met such a dull, chuckle-headed chap as you are. Why don't you wake up?" "I don't know; I do try," said Tom sadly. "You don't know!--you don't know anything. I don't wonder at the governor grumbling at you. You'll have to pull up your boots if you expect to be articled here, and so I tell you. There, I'm off. I've got to meet the mater at Paddington at twelve. I say, got any money?" "No," said Tom sadly. "Tchah! you never have. There, pitch into Tidd. You've got your work cut out, young fellow. No letters for me?" "No. Yes, there is--one." "No!--yes! Well, you are a pretty sort of a fellow. Where is it?" "I laid it in uncle's room." "What! Didn't I tell you my letters were not to go into his room? Of all the--" Tom sighed, though he did not hear the last words, for his cousin hurried into the room on their right, came back with a letter, hurried out, and the door swung to again. "It's all through being such a fool, I suppose," muttered the boy. "Why am I not as clever and quick as Sam is? He's as sharp as uncle; but uncle doesn't seem a bit like poor mother was." Just then Tom Blount made an effort to drive away all thoughts of the past by planting his elbows on the desk, doubling his fists, and resting his puckered-up brow upon them, as he plunged once more into the study of the legal work. But the thoughts would come flitting by, full of sunshiny memories of the father who died a hero's death, fighting as a doctor the fell disease which devastated the country town; and of the mother who soon after followed her husband, after requesting her brother to do what he could to help and protect her son. Then the thought of his mother's last prayer came to him as it often did--that he should try his best to prove himself worthy of his uncle's kindness by studying hard. "And I do--I do--I do," he burst out aloud, passionately, "only it is so hard; and, as uncle says, I am such a fool." "You call me, Blount?" said a voice, and a young old-looking man came in from the next office. "I!--call? No, Pringle," said Tom, colouring up. "You said something out loud, sir, and I thought you called." "I--I--" "Oh, I see, sir; you was speaking a bit out of your book. Not a bad way to get it into your head. You see you think it and hear it too." "It's rather hard to me, I'm afraid," said Tom, with the puzzled look intensifying in his frank, pleasant face. "Hard, sir!" said the man, smiling, and wiping the pen he held on the tail of his coat, though it did not require it, and then he kept on holding it up to his eye as if there were a hair or bit of grit between the nibs. "Yes, I should just think it is hard. Nutshells is nothing to it. Just like bits of granite stones as they mend the roads with. They won't fit nowhere till you wear 'em and roll 'em down. The law is a hard road and no mistake." "And--and I don't think I'm very clever at it, Pringle." "Clever! You'd be a rum one, sir, if you was. Nobody ever masters it all. They pretend to, but it would take a thousand men boiled down and double distilled to get one as could regularly tackle it. It's an impossibility, sir." "What!" said Tom, with plenty of animation now. "Why, look at all the great lawyers!" "So I do, sir, and the judges too, and what do I see? Don't they all think different ways about things, and upset one another? Don't you get thinking you're not clever because you don't get on fast. As I said before, you'd be a rum one if you did." "But my cousin does," said Tom. "Him? Ck!" cried the clerk, with a derisive laugh. "Why, it's my belief that you know more law already than Mr Sam does, and what I say to you is--Look out! the guv'nor!" The warning came too late, for Mr James Brandon entered the outer office suddenly, and stopped short, to look sharply from one to the other--a keen-eyed, well-dressed man of five-and-forty; and as his brows contracted he said sharply-- "Then you've finished the deed, Pringle?" just as the clerk was in the act of passing through the door leading to the room where he should have been at work. "The deed, sir?--no, not quite, sir. Shan't be long, sir." "You shall be long--out of work, Mr Pringle, if you indulge in the bad habit of idling and gossiping as soon as my back's turned." Pringle shot back to his desk, the door swung to, and Mr James Brandon turned to his nephew, with his face looking double of aspect--that is to say, the frown was still upon his brow, while a peculiarly tight-looking smile appeared upon his lips, which seemed to grow thinner and longer, and as if a parenthesis mark appeared at each end to shut off the smile as something illegal. "I am glad you are mastering your work so well, Tom," he said softly. "Mastering it, uncle!" said Tom, with an uneasy feeling of doubt raised by his relative's look. "I--I'm afraid I am getting on very slowly." "But you can find time to idle and hinder my clerk." "He had only just come in, uncle, and--" "That will do, sir," said the lawyer, with the smile now gone. "I've told you more than once, sir, that you were a fool, and now I repeat it. You'll never make a lawyer. Your thick, dense brain has only one thought in it, and that is how you can idle and shirk the duty that I for your mother's sake have placed in your way. What do you expect, sir?--that I am going to let you loaf about my office, infecting those about you, and trying to teach your cousin your lazy ways? I don't know what I could have been thinking about to take charge of such a great idle, careless fellow." "Not careless, uncle," pleaded the lad. "I do try, but it is so hard." "Silence, sir! Try!--not you. I meant to do my duty by you, and in due time to impoverish myself by paying for your articles--nearly a hundred pounds, sir. But don't expect it. I'm not going to waste my hard-earned savings upon a worthless, idle fellow. Lawyer! Pish! You're about fit for a shoeblack, sir, or a carter. You'll grow into as great an idiot as your father was before you. What my poor sister could have seen in him I don't--" _Bang_! CHAPTER TWO. The loudly-closed door of the private office cut short Mr James Brandon's speech, and he had passed out without looking round, or he would have seen that his nephew looked anything but a fool as he sat there with his fists clenched and his eyes flashing. "How dare he call my dear dead father an idiot!" he said in a low fierce voice through his compressed teeth. "Oh, I can't bear it--I won't bear it. If I were not such a miserable coward I should go off and be a soldier, or a sailor, or anything so that I could be free, and not dependent on him. I'll go. I must go. I cannot bear it," he muttered; and then with a feeling of misery and despair rapidly increasing, he bent down over his book again, for a something within him seemed to whisper--"It would be far more cowardly to give up and go." Then came again the memory of his mother's words, and he drew his breath through his teeth as if he were in bodily as well as mental pain; and forcing himself to read, he went on studying the dreary law-book till, in his efforts to understand the author, his allusions, quotations, footnotes, and references, he grew giddy, and at last the words grew blurred, and he had to read sentences over and over again

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*** Produced by Al Haines. WHITE WINGS: A Yachting Romance. BY *WILLIAM BLACK,* AUTHOR OF "THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON," "GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY," ETC. _IN THREE VOLUMES_ VOL. II. London: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1880. _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._ LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR. BREAD STREET HILL. *CONTENTS.* CHAPTER I. VILLANY ABROAD CHAPTER II. AN ULTIMATUM CHAPTER III. THE NEW SUITOR CHAPTER IV. CHASING A THUNDERSTORM CHAPTER V. CHASING SEALS CHAPTER VI. "UNCERTAIN, COY, AND HARD TO PLEASE" CHAPTER VII. SECRET SCHEMES CHAPTER VIII. BEFORE BREAKFAST CHAPTER IX. A PROTECTOR CHAPTER X. "MARY, MARY!" CHAPTER XI. AN UNSPOKEN APPEAL CHAPTER XII. HIS LORDSHIP CHAPTER XIII. THE LAIRD'S PLANS CHAPTER XIV. A SUNDAY IN FAR SOLITUDES CHAPTER XV. HIDDEN SPRINGS *WHITE WINGS:* *A Yachting Romance.* *CHAPTER I.* *VILLANY ABROAD.* It is near mid-day; two late people are sitting at breakfast; the skylight overhead has been lifted, and the cool sea-air fills the saloon. "Dead calm again," says Angus Sutherland, for he can see the rose-red ensign hanging limp from the mizen-mast, a blaze of colour against the still blue. There is no doubt that the _White Dove_ is quite motionless; and that a perfect silence reigns around her. That is why we can hear so distinctly--through the open skylight--the gentle footsteps of two people who are pacing up and down the deck, and the soft voice of one of them as she speaks to her friend. What is all this wild enthusiasm about, then? "It is the noblest profession in the world!" we can hear so much as she passes the skylight. "One profession lives by fomenting quarrels; and another studies the art of killing in every form; but this one lives only to heal--only to relieve the suffering and help the miserable. That is the profession I should belong to, if I were a man!" Our young Doctor says nothing as the voice recedes; but he is obviously listening for the return walk along the deck. And here she comes again. "The patient drudgery of such a life is quite heroic--whether he is a man of science, working day and night to find out things for the good of the world, nobody thanking him or caring about him, or whether he is a physician in practice with not a minute that can be called his own--liable to be summoned at any hour----" The voice again becomes inaudible. It is remarked to this young man that Mary Avon seems to have a pretty high opinion of the medical profession. "She herself," he says hastily, with a touch of colour in his face, "has the patience and fortitude of a dozen doctors." Once more the light tread on deck comes near the skylight. "If I were the Government," says Mary Avon, warmly, "I should be ashamed to see so rich a country as England content to take her knowledge second-hand from the German Universities; while such men as Dr. Sutherland are harassed and hampered in their proper work by having to write articles and do ordinary doctor's visiting. I should be ashamed. If it is a want of money, why don't they pack off a dozen or two of the young noodles who pass the day whittling quills in the Foreign Office?----" Even when modified by the distance, and by the soft lapping of the water outside, this seems rather strong language for a young lady. Why should Miss Avon again insist in such a warm fashion on the necessity of endowing research? But Angus Sutherland's face is burning red. Listeners are said to hear ill of themselves. "However, Dr. Sutherland is not likely to complain," she says, proudly, as she comes by again. "No; he is too proud of his profession. He does his work; and leaves the appreciation of it to others. And when everybody knows that he will one day be among the most famous men in the country, is it not monstrous that he should be harassed by drudgery in the meantime? If I were the Government----" But Angus Sutherland cannot suffer this to go on. He leaves his breakfast unfinished, passes along the saloon, and ascends the companion. "Good morning!" he says. "Why, are you up already?" his hostess says. "We have been walking as lightly as we could, for we thought you were both asleep. And Mary has been heaping maledictions on the head of the Government because it doesn't subsidise all you microscope-men. The next thing she will want is a licence for the whole of you to be allowed to vivisect criminals." "I heard something of what Miss Avon said," he admitted. The girl, looking rather aghast, glanced at the open skylight. "We thought you were asleep," she stammered, and with her face somewhat flushed. "At least, I heard you say something about the Government," he said, kindly. "Well, all I ask from the Government is to give me a trip like this every summer." "What," says his hostess, "with a barometer that won't fall?" "I don't mind." "And seas like glass?" "I don't mind." "And the impossibility of getting back to land?" "So much the better," he says defiantly. "Why," she reminds him, laughing, "you were very anxious about getting back some days ago. What has made you change your wishes?" He hesitates for a moment, and then he says-- "I believe a sort of madness of idleness has got possession of me. I have dallied so long with that tempting invitation of yours to stay and see the _White Dove_ through the equinoctials that--that I think I really must give in----" "You cannot help yourself," his hostess says, promptly. "You have already promised. Mary is my witness." The witness seems anxious to avoid being brought into this matter; she turns to the Laird quickly, and asks him some question about Ru-na-Gaul light over there. Ru-na-Gaul light no doubt it is--shining white in the sun at the point of the great cliffs; and there is the entrance to Tobbermorry; and here is Mingary Castle--brown ruins amid the brilliant greens of those sloping shores--and there are the misty hills over Loch Sunart. For the rest, blue seas around us, glassy and still; and blue skies overhead, cloudless and pale. The barometer refuses to budge. But suddenly there is a brisk excitement. What though the breeze that is darkening the water there is coming on right ahead?--we shall be moving any way. And as the first puffs of it catch the sails, Angus Sutherland places Mary Avon in command; and she is now--by the permission of her travelling physician--allowed to stand as she guides the course of the vessel. She has become an experienced pilot: the occasional glance at the leach of the top-sail is all that is needed; she keeps as accurately "full and by" as the master of one of the famous cuptakers. "Now, Mary," says her hostess, "it all depends on you as to whether Angus will catch the steamer this evening." "Oh, does it?" she says, with apparent innocence. "Yes; we shall want very good steering to get within sight of Castle Osprey before the evening." "Very well, then," says this audacious person. At the same instant she deliberately puts the helm down. Of course the yacht directly runs up to the wind, her sails flapping helplessly. Everybody looks surprised; and John of Skye, thinking that the new skipper has only been a bit careless, calls out-- "Keep her full, mem, if you please." "What do you mean, Mary? What are you about?" cries Queen T. "I am not going to be responsible for sending Dr. Sutherland away," she says, in a matter-of-fact manner, "since he says he is in no hurry to go. If you wish to drive your guest away, I won't be a party to it. I mean to steer as badly as I can." "Then I depose you," says Dr. Sutherland promptly. "I cannot have a pilot who disobeys orders." "Very well," she says, "you may take the tiller yourself"--and she goes away, and sits down in high dudgeon, by the Laird. So once more we get the vessel under way; and the breeze is beginning to blow somewhat more briskly; and we notice with hopefulness that there is rougher water further down the Sound. But with this slow process of beating, how are we to get within sight of Castle Osprey before the great steamer comes up from the South? The Laird is puzzling over the Admiralty Sailing Directions. The young lady, deeply offended, who sits beside him, pays him great attention, and talks "at" the rest of the passengers with undisguised contempt. "It is all haphazard, the sailing of a yacht," she says to him, though we can all hear. "Anybody can do it. But they make a jargon about it to puzzle other people, and pretend it is a science, and all that." "Well," says the Laird, who is quite unaware of the fury that fills her brain, "there are some of the phrases in this book that are verra extraordinary. In navigating this same Sound of Mull, they say you are to keep the 'weather shore aboard.' How can ye keep the weather shore aboard?" "Indeed, if we don't get into a port soon," remarks our hostess and chief commissariat-officer, "it will be the only thing we shall have on board. How would you like it cooked, Mary?" "I won't speak to any of you," says the disgraced skipper, with much composure. "Will you sing to us, then?" "Will you behave properly if you are reinstated in command?" asks Angus Sutherland. "Yes, I will," she says, quite humbly; and forthwith she is allowed to have the tiller again. Brisker and brisker grows the breeze; it is veering to the south, too; the sea is rising, and with it the spirits of everybody on board. The ordinarily sedate and respectable _White Dove_ is showing herself a trifle frisky, moreover; an occasional clatter below of hairbrushes or candlesticks tells us that people accustomed to calms fall into the habit of leaving their cabins ill-arranged. "There will be more wind, sir," says John of Skye, coming aft; and he is looking at some long and streaky "mare's tails" in the south-western sky. "And if there wass a gale o' wind, I would let her have it!" Why that grim ferocity of look, Captain John? Is the poor old _White Dove_ responsible for the too fine weather, that you would like to see her driven, all wet and bedraggled, before a south-westerly gale? If you must quarrel with something, quarrel with the barometer; you may admonish it with a belaying-pin if you please. Brisker and brisker grows the breeze. Now we hear the first pistol-shots of the spray come rattling over the bows; and Hector of Moidart has from time to time to duck his head, or shake the water from his jersey. The _White Dove_ breasts these rushing waves and a foam of white water goes hissing away from either side of her. Speine Mor and Speine Beg we leave behind; in the distance we can

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE PERILS AND ADVENTURES OF HARRY SKIPWITH, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. MY FIRST ADVENTURE--PROGRAMME OF TRAVEL--OFF ACROSS THE ATLANTIC--THE MISSISSIPPI--HOW WE GOT SNAGGED--I SAVE PETER ROBERTS--THE CAYMAN'S COMPANY--THE ISLAND REFUGE. The love of travel was a family instinct, and was born with me. My maternal grandfather went to Central Africa--at least, he left us intending to do so, but never came back again. I had a great uncle who voyaged three times round the world, and one sailor uncle who, half a century ago, spent a winter at the North Pole along with Parry and Franklin. Then I had a cousin who was very ambitious of reaching the moon, and spent his life in studying its maps and making preparations for the journey, which, however, he never accomplished. When asked when he was going to start, he always replied that he had deferred his journey for six months--circumstances requiring his longer sojourn on this planet Tellus; but he never expressed the slightest doubt about his being able ultimately to accomplish his proposed journey. I held him in great respect (which was more than any of the rest of the family did); but as my ambition never soared beyond an expedition round this sublunary globe, I resolved as soon as possible to commence my travels in the hopes of having the start of him. My voluntary studies were of a character to feed my taste. The travels of the famed Baron Munchausen, "Gulliver's Travels," those of Sir John Mandeville and Marco Polo, were read by me over and over again. I procured others of a more modern date, and calculated to give more correct information regarding the present state of the world; but I stuck to my old friends, and pictured the globe to myself much in the condition in which they described it. Not having the patience to wait till I grew up, I resolved at the commencement of my summer holidays to start by myself, hoping to come back before their termination, having a full supply of adventures to narrate. I was some days maturing my plans and making preparations for my journey. I had denied myself such luxuries as had been brought to our school by the pieman, and had saved up my pocket-money--an exercise of self-denial which proved the earnestness of my resolve. I had had too several presents made to me by relations and friends who happened to be in the house. I paid a visit also to my cousin, Booby Skipwith, as he was called. I did not confide to him all my plans; but I hinted that I had one of great importance in hand, and, to my great delight, he presented me with a five-pound note, observing that he believed that such things were not current in the moon, and that, therefore, he could dispense with them. I hinted that if such was the case he might hand me out a few more, for that where I was going they would be greatly in demand; but it proved that this was the only one of which he was possessed. I had got a small portmanteau, into which I packed all my best clothes and valuables, with a few glass beads and knives which I had purchased to bestow on any savages I might encounter. I had a lance-head brought home by my great uncle. With this I purposed manufacturing a lance for my defence. I knew that, as England is an island, I must cross the water. My idea, when on the other side, whether north, south, east, or west I did not care, was to purchase two steeds--one for myself and another for my luggage and a squire, whom I intended to find. I was certain that he would turn up somewhere, and be very faithful and brave. The first, thing, however, was to get away from home. I wrote an affectionate letter to my father, telling him that I was going on my travels as my ancestor had done, and that I should be back, I hoped, by the end of the holidays; that if I was not, it could not much signify, as I should be gaining more information from my intercourse with the great world than I could possibly hope to reap from the instruction of Dr Bumpus. This done, one very fine morning I crept out of the house with my portmanteau on my shoulders, and getting over the park palings, so as not to be seen by the lodge-keeper, I stood ready for a coach that would pass by, I had ascertained, about that time. I waited anxiously, thinking that it must have already passed. At last I saw it coming along the road in a cloud of dust. I hailed it in a knowing way, handed up my portmanteau to be placed by the coachman in the boot under his feet, and climbing up behind in a twinkling before any questions were asked, away we bowled at a famous rate. "All right," I thought; "I am now fairly off on my travels." We had twenty miles to get to the railway station. Once in the train, I should be beyond pursuit. I had no fear of that, however. I should not be missed for some hours, and then no one would know in what direction I had gone. We approached the station near Burton. My heart throbbed with eagerness. In a few minutes the train would be starting. The coach stopped before the hotel. At that a moment a gentleman on horseback was passing. He saw me before I had time to hide my face. "Why, Harry, where are you going?" he exclaimed. It was my uncle, Roland Skipwith, the arctic voyager. He looked into the coach, expecting to see some one. "What, are you all alone? Where are you going, boy?" "On my travels, uncle," I answered, boldly, hoping that he might approve of my purpose, seeing that he was himself a great traveller. "You will not stop me, I know." "We'll see about that," he answered, in a tone I did not quite like. "Get down, youngster. I'll give you a little advice on the subject. You can't go by this train, that's certain." While I reluctantly obeyed, he inquired of Tomkins, the coachman, how he came to bring me away from home. Tomkins apologised--thought that I was going on a visit to my aunt, Miss Rebecca Skipwith, who lived at Burton, and finished by handing out my portmanteau, and receiving my fare to Burton in exchange. I was sold, that was clear enough. The portmanteau was deposited in the bar till the coach would return soon after noon. "Come along," said my uncle, who had given his horse to the hostler. "I have ridden over to breakfast with your Aunt Rebecca, so we'll hear what she has to say on the matter." I felt rather foolish as he took my hand and led me away. We soon reached Aunt Becky's neat trim mansion. My uncle had time to say a few words to her before she saw me. She received me with her usual cordiality, for I was somewhat of a pet of hers. I was desperately hungry, and was soon seated at a table well spread with all sorts of appetising luxuries. My uncle, after a little time, when I had taken the edge off my hunger, began to question me as to my proposed plans, to an account of which he and Aunt Becky listened with profound gravity. I began to hope that he was going to approve of them, till suddenly he burst out laughing heartily. Aunt Becky joined him. I found that they had been hoaxing me. I was sold again. This was the last attempt I made during that period of my existence to commence my travels. On arriving at manhood, and having just quitted college and had an independence left me, the desire once more came strongly on me to see the world--not the fashionable world, as an infinitesimal portion of the human race delight to call themselves, but the great big round globe, covered with our fellow-creatures of varied colours, languages, customs, and religions. "Good-bye, Aunt Becky! I really and truly am off this time," I exclaimed, as I rushed into my dear, good old aunt's drawing-room at Burton, she looking as neat and trim as ever, being the perfection of nice old-maidenism, not a whit older than when, some thirteen years before, I had been brought there a prisoner by my uncle. "Where are you going to, my dear?" asked Aunt Becky, lifting up her spectacles from her nose with a look of surprise. "Oh, only just across the Atlantic, to take a run up and down North and South America, as a kind of experiment before I attempt a tour, by land and water, to China and Japan, and home again by way of Australia, New Zealand, and Tahiti, by the Panama route, which I mean to do some of these days." "Well, well," said Aunt Becky, "you are a true Skipwith, and if that Captain Grant hadn't got the start of you, I suppose you would have discovered the source of the Nile and the snow mountains under the equator, and, like Hercules, in that gem on my finger, which I wear for the sake of an old friend, have come home with a lion's skin across your shoulder, or dressed up like an ape, as Monsieur de Chaillu did sometime ago. However, I shall wish, Harry, if you ever want an additional hundred pounds or so, draw on me; I have always some spare cash at the banker's. But you'll never came back if you attempt half you talk of doing. You'll be scalped by Indians, or roasted and eaten by other savages; or be tossed by buffaloes, or lost in the snow; or be blown up in one of those dreadful American steamers, which seem to do nothing else; or you'll catch a fever, or be cast away on a desolate island, and we shall never hear anything more of you; or something else dreadful will happen to you, I am certain." "Never mind, Aunt Becky; I shall be embalmed in your memory, at all events," I answered; "and besides, I am going to have a companion to look after me." "Who can he be who would venture to accompany such a harum-scarum fellow as you are, Harry?" said my aunt, looking more satisfied. "One who has ever proved faithful, aunt: his name is Ready." "Why, he's your dog, Harry!" she exclaimed, disappointed. "Could I have a more trustworthy and, at the same time, active and intelligent follower?" I asked. "I had thought of taking Bunbry," (he was my father's old butler, and remarkable for his obesity and laziness); "but you see, aunt, in the first place, my father could not spare him; and, in the second, he could not exactly keep up with me on a day's march of thirty or forty miles, and would certainly be nowhere when chasing wild buffaloes, or hunting panthers or grizzly bears. So I gave up the idea of having a servant at all; and as for a friend, I don't happen to be supplied with one ready to go, and I hope to find plenty on the way." Having at length consoled Aunt Becky, by assuring her that I would take very good care of myself, and promising to bring her home trophies from all the lands I should visit, I gave her a parting kiss, in return for her blessing, and a few days afterwards I found myself, with Liverpool astern, sailing down the Mersey on board the good ship _Liberty_, bound for New Orleans, which the people on board pronounced New Orle-e-ens. The striped and starry banner waved over our heads. "There, now, that's the flag of flags," said the skipper, pointing to it. "You Britishers talk of your flag which has `braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze,' but I guess that flag of ours will be flying proudly in every quarter of the globe when your old obsolete government will have come to a consummate smash." He looked so savage at me, that Ready would have flown at his leg, had I not held him back. I was determined not to be put out of temper, so I answered quietly-- "Now, captain, I should be very happy to suppose that your stars and stripes will fly to the end of the world; but I do not see why the banner of old England should not be allowed to wave as long. There's room for both of us, surely. It's my principle to live and let live." "Why, stranger, because you are not a nation of free men, you don't know what true liberty is," he replied, gnashing his teeth in a way which made Ready show his in return. "Our old obsolete government showed that it appreciated liberty when, at a vast cost, it knocked off the shackles from every slave owned by a Briton," I observed, calmly. "I guess you'd better not touch on that there subject, stranger, when you get to New Orle-e-ens, or Judge Lynch may have a word to say to you," croaked out the skipper, curling his nose, and giving a malicious wink at me while he squirted a stream of tobacco juice into the eye of poor Ready, who went howling round the deck with pain. I took the hint, and held my tongue on the dark subject. It's ill to talk of the gallows to a man whose father has been hung, and none but a Knight of La Mancha runs a tilt against windmills when travelling in foreign lands. Still, I say, do not do at Rome as Rome does, but protest, if not loudly, silently--by your conduct--against vice and immorality, and all the abominations you may meet with. We had a large number of emigrants on board, who were fully persuaded that they were going to enjoy not only the most perfect government under the sun, but every blessing this world can supply. Poor people! how different did they find the reality. We kept to the southward of that mighty stream which, coming out of the Gulf of Mexico, sweeps away north, across the Atlantic, and, with its well-heated waters, adds considerably to the warmth of our shores at home. We saw neither floating icebergs, whales, nor sea serpents, but had several births and deaths, and at last made the island of St. Thomas, which appeared floating like a blue cloud on the ocean. As we drew nearer, a vast mountain rose before us, seemingly, directly out of the water, having a sterile summit, sprinkled round with spots of refreshing verdure. The harbour is in the form of an amphitheatre, and the land round, with its glittering white town on three hills, its old fort advancing into the sea, its green valleys, groves of cocoa-nuts, and fields of sugar-cane, is a highly picturesque spot. We put in to get a supply of water, fruit, vegetables, and fresh provisions; but, as the yellow fever was at the time carrying off about twenty of the inhabitants a day, <DW64>s and mulattoes as well as white people, I was satisfied with admiring its beauties at a distance. Putting to sea again as fast as we could, we weathered the north-western point of Cuba, and entered the Gulf of Mexico, between that island and Florida. About a week afterwards vast numbers of logs of wood, floating in yellow water, indicated that we were at the mouths of the Mississippi, for, of course, a mighty stream a thousand miles long, would not be content with one mouth, like our poor little humble Thames. The scenery, consisting of mud-banks and swamps, as far as the eye can reach, is not very attractive. It is curious to look back after making numerous windings, and to observe the sea over the mud-banks, considerably lower than the water on which the ship is floating. With a fair wind stemming the stream for a hundred and thirty miles, we found ourselves amid a crowd of vessels of all nations off New Orleans, the capital of Louisiana. It is a large handsome looking city, but, as the ground on which it stands is lower than the surface of the river, I could not help feeling, while I was there, that some night I might find myself washed out of my bed by its muddy waters. Intending to return to New Orleans, I left my traps at my hotel, and embarked with Ready on board a huge steamer bound up the Mississippi. A cockney might describe her as like a Thames wherry with an omnibus on the top of it, and vast paddles outside all. I found that passengers could only ascend to the upper saloon, which ran the whole length of the vessel, the roof being of necessity sacred to the officers and crew. There were numerous galleries, however, on each side of the paddle-boxes, and forward and aft, whence I could observe the scenery. It was not very attractive, consisting chiefly of low swamps--the habitations of alligators and rattlesnakes. Here and there were more elevated spots, on which villages were perched, and patches where once the forest grew, but which were now covered with fields of sugar-cane, maize, and cotton bushes. We were dashing on at a prodigious rate--I fancy the engineer must have been sitting on the safety-valve--when, feeling a dreadful concussion, and being thrown forward with my nose on the deck, I heard those around me exclaim, "Snagged!" "We are sinking!" A snag is a log of timber stuck sloping in the mud. Against one of these snags we had run. Down, down sank the huge machine. "Aunt Becky forgot to mention this, among the other modes of losing my life which she enumerated," I thought to myself. "She forgot that Mississippi steamers could sink as well as blow up." However, I had no intention of going out of the world just then, if I could help it. The river was at that part very wide and shallow; but I observed an island not far off, and I hoped to reach it. If there were any boats round the vessel, there was no time to lower them. The awful plunge came. Some hundred human beings were hurled amid the turbid waters. Many were carried down with the vessel; others were shrieking piteously, and struggling for life. The weather was intensely

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Produced by David Widger BIBLE STUDIES ESSAYS ON PHALLIC WORSHIP AND OTHER CURIOUS RITES AND CUSTOMS By J. M. Wheeler "There is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth anything to be unclean, to him it is unclean." --Paul (Romans xiv. 14). 1892. Printed and Published By G. W. Foote PREFACE. My old friend Mr. Wheeler asks me to launch this little craft, and I do so with great pleasure. She is not a thunderous ironclad, nor a gigantic ocean liner; but she is stoutly built, well fitted, and calculated to weather all the storms of criticism. My only fear is that she will not encounter them. During the sixteen years of my friend's collaboration with me in many enterprises for the spread of Freethought and the destruction of Superstition, he has written a vast variety of articles, all possessing distinctive merit, and some extremely valuable. From these he and I have made the following selection. The articles included deal with the Bible from a special standpoint; the standpoint of an Evolutionist, who reads the Jewish Scriptures in the light of anthropology, and finds infinite illustrations in them of the savage origin of religion. Literary and scientific criticism of the Old Testament have their numerous votaries. Mr. Wheeler's mind is given to a different study of the older half of the Bible. He is bent on showing what it really contains; what religious ideas, rites, and customs prevailed among the ancient Jews and find expression in their Scriptures. This is a fruitful method, especially in _our_ country, if it be true, as Dr. Tylor observes, that "the English mind, not readily swayed by rhetoric, moves freely under the pressure of facts." Careful readers of this little book will find it full of precious information. Mr. Wheeler has a peculiarly wide acquaintance with the literature of these subjects. He has gathered from far and wide, like the summer bee, and what he yields is not an undigested mass of facts, but the pure honey of truth. Many readers will be astonished at what Mr. Wheeler tells them. We have read the Bible, they will say, and never saw these things. That is because they read it without knowledge, or without attention. Reading is not done with the eyes only, but also with the brain; and the same sentences will make various impressions, according as the brain is rich or poor in facts and principles. Even the great, strong mind of Darwin had to be plentifully stored with biological knowledge before he could see the meaning of certain simple facts, and discover the wonderful law of Natural Selection. Those who have studied the works of Spencer, Tylor, Lubbock, Frazer, and such authors, will _not_ be astonished at the contents of this volume. But they will probably find some points they had overlooked; some familiar points presented with new force; and some fresh views, whose novelty is not their only virtue: for Mr. Wheeler is not a slavish follower of even the greatest teachers, he thinks for himself, and shows others what he has seen with his own eyes. I hope this little volume will find many readers. Its doing so will please the author, for every writer wishes to be read; why else, indeed, should he write? Only less will be the pleasure of his friend who pens this Preface. I am sure the book will be instructive to most of those into whose hands it falls; to the rest, the few who really study and reflect, it will be stimulating and suggestive. Greater praise the author would not desire; so much praise cannot often be given with sincerity. G. W. Foote. PHALLIC WORSHIP AMONG THE JEWS. "The hatred of indecency, which appears to us so natural as to be thought innate, and which is so valuable an aid to chastity, is a modern virtue, appertaining exclusively, as Sir G. Staunton remarks, to civilised life. This is shown by the ancient religious rites of various nations, by the drawings on the walls of Pompeii, and by the practices of many savages."--C. Darwin, "Descent of Man" pt. 1, chap. iv., vol. i., p. 182; 1888. The study of religions is a department of anthropology, and nowhere is it more important to remember the maxim of the pagan Terence, _Homo sum, nihil humani a me alienum puto_. It is impossible to dive deep into any ancient faiths without coming across a deal of mud. Man has often been defined as a religious animal. He might as justly be termed a dirty and foolish animal. His religions have been growths of earth, not gifts from heaven, and they usually bear strong marks of their clayey origin.* * The Contemporary Review for June 1888, says (p. 804) "when Lord Dalhousie passed an Act intended to repress obscenity (in India), a special clause in it exempted all temples and religious emblems from its operation." I am not one of those who find in phallicism the key to all the mysteries of mythology. All the striking phenomena of nature--the alternations of light and darkness, sun and moon, the terrors of the thunderstorm, and of pain, disease and death, together with his own dreams and imaginations--contributed to evoke the wonder and superstition of early man. But investigation of early religion shows it often nucleated around the phenomena of generation. The first and final problem of religion concerns the production of things. Man's own body was always nearer to him than sun, moon, and stars; and early man, thinking not in words but in things, had to express the very idea of creation or production in terms of his own body. It was so in Egypt, where the symbol, from being the sign of production, became also the sign of life, and of regeneration and resurrection. It was so in Babylonia and Assyria, as in ancient Greece and Troy, and is so till this day in India. Montaigne says: "Fifty severall deities were in times past allotted to this office. And there hath beene a nation found which to allay and coole the lustful concupiscence of such as came for devotion, kept wenches of purpose in their temples to be used; for it was a point of religion to deale with them before one went to prayers. _Nimirum propter continentiam incontinentia neces-saria est, incendium ignibus extinguitur_: 'Belike we must be incontinent that we may be continent, burning is quenched by fire.' In most places of the world that part of our body was deified. In that same province some flead it to offer, and consecrated a peece thereof; others offered and consecrated their seed." It is in India that this early worship maybe best studied at the present day. The worshippers of Siva identify their great god, Maha Deva, with the linga, and wear on their left arm a bracelet containing the linga and yoni. The rival sect of followers of Vishnu have also a phallic significance in their symbolism. The linga yoni (fig. 1) is indeed one of the commonest of religious symbols in India. Its use extends from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. Major-General Forlong says the ordinary Maha Deva of Northern India is the simple arrangement shown in fig. 2, in which we see "what was I suspect the first Delphic tripod supporting a vase of water over the Linga in Yona. Such may be counted by scores in a day's march over Northern India, and especially at ghats or river ferries, or crossings of any streams or roads; for are they not Hermae?" The Linga Purana tells us that the linga was a pillar of fire in which Siva was present. This reminds one of Jahveh appearing as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. [Illustration: Fig. 1.--The Hindu Maha Deva, or Linga-Yoni] So astounded have been many writers at the phenomena presented by phallic worship that they have sought to explain it, not only by the story of the fall and the belief in original sin, but by the direct agency of devils.* Yet it may be wrong to associate the origin of phallic worship with obscenity. Early man was rather unmoral than immoral. Obliged to think in things, it was to him no perversion to mentally associate with his own person the awe of the mysterious power of production. The sense of pleasure and the desire for progeny of course contributed. The worship was indeed both natural and inevitable in the evolution of man from savagery. When, however, phallic worship was established, it naturally led to practices such as those which Herodotus, Diodorus, and Lucian tell us took place in the Egyptian, Babylonian, and Syrian religions. * See Gougenot des Mousseaux's curious work Dieu et les Dieux, Paris, 1854. When the Luxor monument was erected in Rome, Pope Sixtus V. deliberately exorcised the devils out of possession of it. [Illustration: Fig. 2.--Rural Hindu Lingam.] Hume's observation that polytheism invariably preceded monotheism has been confirmed by all subsequent investigation. The belief in one god or supreme spirit springs out of the belief in many gods or spirits. That this was so with the Jews there is sufficient evidence in the Bible, despite the fact that the documents so called have been frequently "redacted," that is corrected, and the evidence in large part erased. An instance of this falsification may be found in Judges xviii. 30 (see Revised Version), where "Manasseh" has been piously substituted for Moses, in order to conceal the fact that the direct descendants of Moses were image worshippers down till the time of the captivity. The Rabbis gave what Milton calls "this insulse rule out of their Talmud; 'That all words, which in the Law are written obscenely, must be changed to more civil words.' Fools who would teach men to read more decently than God thought good to write."* Instances of euphemisms may be traced in the case of the "feet" (Judges iii. 24, Song v. 3, Isaiah vii* 20); "thigh" (Num. v. 24); "heel" (Gen, iii. 15); "heels" (Jer. xiii. 22); and "hand" (Isaiah lvii. 7). This last verse is translated by Dr. Cheyne, "and behind the door and the post hast thou placed thy memorial, for apart from me thou hast uncovered and gone up; thou hast enlarged thy bed, and obtained a contract from them (?); thou hast loved their bed; thou hast beheld the phallus." In his note Dr. Cheyne gives the view of the Targum and Jerome "that'memorial' = idol (or rather idolatrous symbol--the phallus)." * "Apology for Smectymnus," Works, p.84. The priests, whose policy it was to keep the nation isolated, did their best to destroy the evidence that the Jews shared in the idolatrous beliefs and practices of the nations around them. In particular the cult of Baal and Asherah, which we shall see was a form of phallic worship, became obnoxious, and the evidence of its existence was sought to be obliterated. The worship, moreover, became an esoteric one, known only to the priestly caste, as it still is among Roman Catholic initiates, and the priestly caste were naturally desirous that the ordinary worshipper should not become "as one of us." It is unquestionable that in the earliest times the Hebrews worshipped Baal. In proof there is the direct assertion of Jahveh himself (Hosea ii. 16) that "thou shalt call me _Ishi_ [my husband] and shalt call me no more _Baali_." The evidence of names, too, is decisive. Gideon's other name, Jerubbaal (Jud. vi. 32, and 1 Sam. xii. 11), was evidently the true one, for in 2 Sam. xi. 21, the name Jerubbesheth is substituted. Eshbaal (1 Chron. viii. 33) is called Ishbosheth (2 Sam. ii. 8, 10). Meribbaal (1 Chron. viii. 34) is Mephibosheth (2 Sam. iv. 4).* Now _bosheth_ means v "shame," or "shameful thing," and as Dr. Donaldson points out, in especial, "sexual shame," as in Gen. ii. 25. In the Septuagint version of 1 Kings xviii. 25, the prophets of Baal are called "the prophets of that shame." Hosea ix. 10 says "they went to Baal-peor and consecrated themselves to Bosheth and became abominable like that they loved." Micah i. 11 "having thy Bosheth naked." Jeremiah xi. 5, "For according to the number of thy cities were thy gods, O Judah; and according to the number of the streets of Jerusalem have ye set up altars to Bosheth, altars to burn incense unto Baal." * So Baal

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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 25971-h.htm or 25971-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/7/25971/25971-h/25971-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/9/7/25971/25971-h.zip) Transcriber's note: [oe] represents the oe-ligature. THE CREATORS A Comedy by MAY SINCLAIR Author of "The Divine Fire," "The Helpmate," Etc. With Illustrations by Arthur I. Keller New York The Century Co. 1910 Copyright, 1909, 1910, by The Century Co. Published, October, 1910 [Illustration: "To the book!" she said. "To Nina Lempriere's book! You can drink now, George."] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "To the book!" she said. "To Nina Lempriere's book! You can drink now, George." "How any one can be unkind to dumb animals," said Rose, musing. "Why do you talk about my heart?" Jane started at this sudden voice of her own thought. "And he," she said, "has still a chance if I fail you?" She had wrung it from him, the thing that six days ago he had come to her to say. It was Jinny who lay there, Jinny, his wife. "Ah," she cried, "try not to hate me!" "George," she said... "I love you for defending him" She closed her eyes, "I'm quite happy" Jane stood in the doorway, quietly regarding them. THE CREATORS I Three times during dinner he had asked himself what, after all, was he there for? And at the end of it, as she rose, her eyes held him for the first time that evening, as if they said that he would see. She had put him as far from her as possible, at the foot of her table between two of the four preposterous celebrities whom she had asked him, George Tanqueray, to meet. Everything, except her eyes, had changed since he had last dined with Jane Holland, in the days when she was, if anything, more obscure than he. It was no longer she who presided at the feast, but her portrait by Gisborne, R.A. He had given most of his attention to the portrait. Gisborne, R.A., was a solemn egoist, and his picture represented, not Jane Holland, but Gisborne's limited idea of her. It was a sombre face, broadened and foreshortened by the heavy, leaning brows. A face with a straight-drawn mouth and eyes prophetic of tragedy, a face in which her genius brooded, downcast, flameless, and dumb. He had got all her features, her long black eyebrows, her large, deep-set eyes, flattened queerly by the level eyebrows, her nose, a trifle too long in the bridge, too wide in the nostril, and her mouth which could look straight enough when her will was dominant. He had got her hair, the darkness and the mass of it. Tanqueray, in his abominable way, had said that Gisborne had put his best work into that, and when Gisborne resented it he had told him that it was immortality enough for any one to have painted Jane Holland's hair. (This was in the days when Gisborne was celebrated and Tanqueray was not.) If Jane had had the face that Gisborne gave her she would never have had any charm for Tanqueray. For what Gisborne had tried to get was that oppressive effect of genius, heavily looming. Not a hint had he caught of her high levity, of her look when the bright devil of comedy possessed her, not a flash of her fiery quality, of her eyes' sudden gold, and the ways of her delicate, her brilliant mouth, its fine, deliberate sweep, its darting tilt, like wings lifted for flight. When Tanqueray wanted to annoy Jane he told her that she looked like her portrait by Gisborne, R.A. They were all going to the play together. But at the last moment, she, to Tanqueray's amazement, threw them over. She was too tired, she said, to go. The celebrities pressed round her, voluble in commiseration. Of course, if she wasn't going, they wouldn't go. They didn't want to. They would sacrifice a thousand plays, but not an evening with Jane Holland. They bowed before her in all the postures and ceremonies of their adoration. And Jane Holland looked at them curiously with her tired eyes; and Tanqueray looked at her.

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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter or number is superscripted (example: 15^b-18^a). [=e] represents "e" with a macon over it. HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT BY GEORGE FOOT MOORE, M.A., D.D., LL.D. LONDON WILLIAMS & NORGATE HENRY HOLT & Co., NEW YORK CANADA: WM. BRIGGS, TORONTO INDIA: R. & T. WASHBOURNE, LTD. [Illustration: HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE _Editors_: HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A., LL.D. PROF. GILBERT MURRAY, D.LITT., LL.D., F.B.A. PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A., LL.D. PROF. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A. (COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, U.S.A.) NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY] [Illustration: THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT BY GEORGE FOOT MOORE M.A., D.D., LL.D. Professor in Harvard University; Editor of the Harvard Theological Review; Author of "Commentary on Judges," etc. LONDON WILLIAMS AND NORGATE] The following volumes of kindred interest have already been published in the Home University Library:-- VOL. 56.--THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. By PROF. B. W. BACON, LL.D., D.D.Vol. VOL. 68.--COMPARATIVE RELIGION. By PRINCIPAL J. ESTLIN CARPENTER, D.Litt. VOL. 15.--MOHAMMEDANISM. By PROF. D. S. MARGOLIOUTH, M.A., D.Litt. VOL. 47.--BUDDHISM. By MRS. RHYS DAVIDS, M.A. VOL. 54.--ETHICS. By G. E. MOORE, M.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT 7 II THE OLD TESTAMENT AS A NATIONAL LITERATURE 25 III THE PENTATEUCH 29 IV CHARACTER OF THE SOURCES. GENESIS 33 V EXODUS, LEVITICUS, NUMBERS 47 VI DEUTERONOMY 58 VII AGE OF THE SOURCES. COMPOSITION OF THE PENTATEUCH 65 VIII JOSHUA 73 IX JUDGES 81 X SAMUEL 91 XI KINGS 100 XII CHRONICLES 118 XIII EZRA AND NEHEMIAH 128 XIV STORY BOOKS: ESTHER, RUTH, JONAH 134 XV THE PROPHETS 144 XVI ISAIAH 147 XVII JEREMIAH 164 XVIII EZEKIEL 174 XIX DANIEL 180 XX MINOR PROPHETS 190 XXI PSALMS. LAMENTATIONS 218 XXII PROVERBS 231 XXIII JOB 235 XXIV ECCLESIASTES. SONG OF SONGS 243 BIBLIOGRAPHY 251 INDEX 253 THE LITERATURE OF THE OLD TESTAMENT CHAPTER I THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT The early Christians received the Sacred Books of the Jews as inspired Scripture containing a divine revelation and clothed with divine authority, and till well on in the first century of the Christian era the name Scriptures was applied exclusively to these books. In time, as they came to attach the same authority to the Epistles and Gospels, and to call them, too, Scriptures (2 Pet. iii. 16), they distinguished the Christian writings as the Scriptures of the new dispensation, or, as they called it, the "new covenant," from the Scriptures of the "old covenant" (2 Cor. iii. 6, 14), the Bible of the Jews. The Greek word for covenant (_diatheke_) was rendered in the early Latin translation by _testamentum_, and the two bodies of Scripture themselves were called the Old Testament and the New Testament respectively. The Scriptures of the Jews were written in Hebrew, the older language of the people; but a few chapters in Ezra and Daniel are in Aramaic, which gradually replaced Hebrew as the vernacular of Palestine from the fifth century B.C. The Sacred Books comprise the Law, that is, the Five Books of Moses; the Prophets, under which name are included the older historical books (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings) as well as what we call the Prophets (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Twelve, i.e. Minor Prophets); a third group, of less homogeneous character, had no more distinctive name than the "Scriptures"; it included Ruth, Psalms, Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Lamentations, Daniel, Esther, Ezra-Nehemiah, and Chronicles. The Minor Prophets counted as one book; and the division of Samuel, Kings, Ezra-Nehemiah, and Chronicles each into two books was made later, and perhaps only in Christian copies of the Bible. There are, consequently, according to the Jewish enumeration twenty-four books in the Bible, while in the English Old Testament, by subdivision, we count the same books as thirty-nine. The order of the books in the Pentateuch and "Former Prophets" (Joshua-Kings) is fixed by the historical sequence, and therefore constant; among the "Latter Prophets" Jeremiah was sometimes put first, immediately following the end of Kings, with which it was so closely connected. In the third group there was no such obvious principle of arrangement, and consequently there were different opinions about the proper order; that which is given above follows the oldest deliverance on the subject, and puts them in what the rabbis doubtless supposed to be a chronological series. So long as the books were written on separate rolls of papyrus, the question of order was theoretical rather than practical; and even when manuscripts were written in codex form (on folded leaves stitched together like our books), no uniformity was attained. At the beginning of the Christian era, lessons from the Law were regularly read in the synagogues on the sabbath (the Pentateuch being so divided that it was read through consecutively once in three years), and a second lesson was chosen from the Prophets. The title of these books to be regarded as Sacred Scripture was thus established by long-standing liturgical use, and was, indeed, beyond question. Nor was there any question about the inspiration of most of the books in the third group, the "Scriptures." There was a controversy, however, over Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs; some teachers of the strictest school denied that either of them was inspired, while others accepted only one of them. The question was voted on in a council of rabbis held at Jamnia about the

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Produced by Annie McGuire THE SPECTACLE MAN Out of a song the story grew; Just how it happened nobody knew, But, song and story, it all came true. BOOKS BY MARY F. LEONARD. * * * * * =THE SPECTACLE MAN=. A STORY OF THE MISSING BRIDGE. 266 pages. Cloth. $1.00. =MR. PAT'S LITTLE GIRL=. A STORY OF THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 322 pages. Cloth. $1.50. =THE PLEASANT STREET PARTNERSHIP=. A NEIGHBORHOOD STORY. 269 pages. Cloth. $.75, _net_. [Illustration: "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case"] The Spectacle Man _A Story of the Missing Bridge_ * * * * * By Mary F. Leonard AUTHOR OF "THE BIG FRONT DOOR" _Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_ W. A. WILDE COMPANY BOSTON AND CHICAGO _Copyright, 1901,_ BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY. _All rights reserved_. _TO THE ONE Whose Love has been from Childhood An Unfailing Inspiration Whose Friendship has made Dark Paths Light This Little Book is Dedicated In Memory of "Remembered Hours"_ CONTENTS. CHAPTER FIRST. Page Frances meets the Spectacle Man 11 CHAPTER SECOND. A Certain Person 22 CHAPTER THIRD. Gladys 32 CHAPTER FOURTH. They look at a Flat 40 CHAPTER FIFTH. Some New Acquaintances 50 CHAPTER SIXTH. An Informal Affair 61 CHAPTER SEVENTH. A Portrait 77 CHAPTER EIGHTH. The Story of the Bridge 86 CHAPTER NINTH. Finding a Moral 106 CHAPTER TENTH. The Portrait Again 118 CHAPTER ELEVENTH. Mrs. Marvin is perplexed 128 CHAPTER TWELFTH. At Christmas Time 134 CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. One Sunday Afternoon 151 CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. Three of a Name 164 CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. A Confidence 177 CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. Hard Times 186 CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. At the Loan Exhibit 198 CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. The March Number of _The Young People's Journal_ 207 CHAPTER NINETEENTH. Surprises 215 CHAPTER TWENTIETH. Caroline's Story 231 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. Overheard by Peterkin 240 CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. The Little Girl in the Golden Doorway 249 CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. "The Ducks and the Geese they All swim over" 257 Illustrations. Page "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case" _Frontispiece_ 11 "'What is your name, baby?'" 54 "'Little girl, I wish I knew you'" 120 "She pointed out a picture, set in diamonds" 200 The Spectacle Man. * * * * * CHAPTER FIRST. FRANCES MEETS THE SPECTACLE MAN. "The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it, Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do--" sang the Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case, with his hands outspread, and the glasses between a thumb and finger, as he nodded merrily at Frances. Such an odd-looking person as he was! Instead of an ordinary coat he wore a velvet smoking-jacket; the top of his bald head was protected by a Scotch cap, and his fringe of hair, white like his pointed beard, was parted behind and brushed into a tuft over each ear, the ribbon ends of his cap hanging down between in the jauntiest way. It was really difficult to decide whether the back or front view of him was most cheerful. "Will it take long?" Frances asked, with dignity, although a certain dimple refused to be repressed. "Well, at least half an hour, if I am not interrupted; but as my clerk is out, I may have to stop to wait on a customer. Perhaps if you have other shopping to do you might call for them on your way home." If there was a twinkle in the eye of the Spectacle Man, nobody saw it except the gray cat who sat near by on the directory. "Thank you, I think I'd better wait," replied Frances, politely, much pleased to have it supposed she was out shopping. At this the optician hastened to give her a chair at the window, motioning her to it with a wave of the hand and a funny little bow; then he trotted into the next room and returned with a _St. Nicholas_, which he presented with another bow, and retired to his table in the corner. As he set to work he hummed his tune, glancing now and then over his shoulder in the direction of his small customer. Perched on the high-backed chair, in her scarlet coat and cap, her hands clasped over the book, her bright eyes fixed on the busy street, it was as if a stray red bird had fluttered in, bringing a touch of color to the gray-tinted room. From her waving brown locks to the tips of her toes she was a dainty little maid, and carried herself with the air of a person of some importance. If the Spectacle Man was interested in Frances, she was no less interested in him; neither the street nor the magazine attracted her half so much as the queer shop and its proprietor. It had once been the front parlor of the old dwelling which, with its veranda and grass-plat, still held its own in the midst of the tall business houses that closed it in on either side. Here were the show-cases, queer instruments, and cabalistic looking charts for trying the sight; over the high mantel hung a large clock, and in the grate below a coal fire nickered and purred in a lazy fashion; and through the half-open folding doors Francis had a glimpse into what seemed to be a study or library. At least a dozen questions were on the tip of her tongue, but didn't get any further. For instance, she longed to ask if those cunning little spectacles on the doll's head in the case near her, were for sale, and if the Spectacle Man had any children who read the _St. Nicholas_ and what the gray cat's name was, for that he had a name she didn't doubt, he was so evidently an important part of the establishment. He had descended from the directory, which was rather circumscribed for one of his size, and curled himself comfortably on the counter; but instead of going to sleep he gently fanned his nose with the tip of his tail, and kept his yellow eyes fixed on Frances as if he too felt some curiosity about her. She was thinking how much she would like to have him in her lap when the Spectacle Man looked around and said, "The next time your grandmother breaks these frames she will have to have some new ones." "They aren't my grandmother's, they are Mrs. Gray's. I haven't any grandmother," she answered. "You haven't? Why, that's a coincidence; neither have I!" Frances laughed but didn't think of anything else to say, so the conversation dropped, and the optician fell to humming:-- "The bridge is broke." They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain. "What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any umbrella." The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl was worried, he asked how far she had to go. "Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father were out when I left and won't know where I am." "Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a waterproof for you." This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar, he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot the storm. The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which, judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the Spectacle Man. "I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked. Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to have so many interesting things," she said. While she walked slowly around the room the optician sat down at the table and wrote rapidly. "How does this sound," he presently asked. "'WANTED: Occupants for a small, partially furnished flat. All conveniences; rent reasonable. Apply 432 Walnut Street.' You don't happen to know any one who wants a flat, I suppose?" Frances said she did not. "The lady who had my second story rooms was called away by her mother's death, and now she is not coming back. With Mark away at school it is really very important to have them rented." The Spectacle Man tapped the end of his nose with his pen and began to hum absent-mindedly:-- "The bridge is broke and I have to mend it." At this moment a boy with a dripping umbrella appeared at the door. He proved to be Dick, and was at once despatched to the Wentworth with instructions to ask for Mr. John Morrison, and let him know his daughter was safe and only waiting till the storm was over; and on his way back to stop at the newspaper office and leave the advertisement. "Dear me!" said Frances, after he had gone, "we might have sent Mrs. Gray's glasses; I am afraid she will be tired waiting for them. She can't see to do anything without them, and she is lame too." "Well, she is fortunate in having a friend to get them mended for her. And now I wonder if you wouldn't like to see old Toby," said the optician, taking down a funny looking jug in the shape of a very fat old gentleman. "When my grandfather died he left me this jug and the song about the bridge. Did you ever hear it before?" Frances said she never had. "Grandfather used to sing it to me when I was a little boy, and I find it still a very good song. When I get into a tight place and can't see how I am to get through, why--" here he waved his hands and nodded his head-- "'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,' "and I go to work and try. Sometimes it is for other people, sometimes for myself. Bridges are always getting broken,--'tisn't only spectacles." Frances smiled, for though she did not quite understand, it sounded interesting; but before she had time to ask any questions a tall young man entered. "Why, Wink! what in the world are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "Oh, daddy dear, I hope you haven't worried!" she cried, running to him; "Mrs. Gray broke her glasses and couldn't read or sew, and I thought I ought to have them mended for her,--it wasn't far you know--and then it began to rain so I couldn't get back." "And this is Mr. Clark, I suppose," said Mr. Morrison; "let me thank you for taking care of my little daughter. And now, Wink, put on this coat and your rubbers, and let us hurry before mother quite loses her mind." When she was enveloped in the waterproof, Frances held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Clark," she said; "I hope you will find some nice person to rent your flat. Good-by." The Spectacle Man stood in his door and watched the two figures till they disappeared in the misty twilight, then he returned to the shop. "Peterkin," he said, addressing the cat, "I like that little girl, and I suppose I'll never see her again." Peterkin uncurled himself, stood up on the counter, arched his back, and yawned three times. CHAPTER SECOND. A CERTAIN PERSON. A day or two after her visit to the optician's, Frances lay curled up on the broad window-sill, a thoughtful little pucker between her eyes. About fifteen minutes earlier she had entered the room where her father and mother were talking, just as the former said, "As a certain person is abroad I see no objection to your spending the winter here if you wish." Before she could ask a single question a caller was announced, and she had taken refuge behind the curtains. It was quite by accident that they happened to be staying for a few weeks in this pleasant town where the Spectacle Man lived. They were returning from North Carolina, where they had spent the summer, when a slight illness of Mrs. Morrison's made it seem wise to stop for a while on the way; and before she was quite well, Mr. Morrison was summoned to New York on business, so his wife and daughter stayed where they were, waiting for him, and enjoying the lovely fall weather. They liked it so well they were beginning to think with regret of the time when they must leave, for though really a city in size, the place had many of the attractions of a village. The gardens around the houses, the flowers and vines, the wide shady streets, combined to make an atmosphere of homelikeness; but to Frances' mind its greatest charm lay in the fact that once, long ago, her father had lived here. At least she felt sure it must have been long ago, for it was in that strange time before there was any Frances Morrison. She had never heard as much as she wanted to hear about these years, although she had heard a good deal. There were some things her father evidently did not care to talk about, and one of these was a mysterious individual known as a Certain Person. The first time she had heard this Certain Person mentioned she had questioned her mother, who had replied, "It is some one who was once a friend of father's, but is not now. I think he does not care to mention the name, dear." After this Frances asked no more questions, but she thought a great deal, and her imagination began to picture a tall, fierce looking man who lurked in dark corners ready to spring out at her. Sometimes when she was on the street at night she would see him skulking along in the shadows, and would clasp her father's hand more closely. Altogether this person had grown and flourished in her mind in a wonderful way. And, she couldn't tell how, a Certain Person was connected in her thoughts with "The Girl in the Golden Doorway." This was a story in her very own story-book, a collection of tales known only to her father and herself, which had all been told in the firelight on winter evenings and afterward written out in Mr. Morrison's clear hand in a book bought for the purpose, so that not even a printer knew anything about them. This particular story, which she had heard many times, was of a boy who lived in a great old-fashioned house in the country, where there were beautiful things all about, both indoors and out. The only other child in the house was a little girl who looked down from a heavy gilt frame above the library mantel. The boy, who was just six years old, used to lie on the hearth rug, gazing up at her, and sometimes she would smile and beckon to him as if she wanted to be friends. This happened only at nightfall when the shadows lay dark in the corners of the room and the fire blazed brightly; at such times things that had before been a puzzle to him became quite clear. For instance, he discovered one evening that what looked like the frame of a picture was really a doorway belonging to the house where the little girl lived, and it was plain that if he could only get up there he could find out all about her. Once there, he felt sure she would take him by the hand and together they would go away--away--somewhere! But the mantel was very high, and polished like glass. One afternoon when he had come in from a long drive, and feeling tired was lying very still in his usual place, looking up at the little girl and the long passage that seemed to stretch away behind her, a strange thing happened. So unexpectedly it sent his heart into his mouth, the girl stepped out of the doorway; and then, wonder of wonders! he saw a stairway at one side of the chimney-piece where he had never noticed one before. Daintily holding up her silken skirt, the little maid descended and stood beside him. Astonished and bewildered, he put out his hand to touch her, but with a laugh she flitted across the room. Seized with the fear that she would escape him altogether, the boy started in pursuit. In and out among the massive chairs and tables they ran, the girl always just out of reach, the boy breathless with anxiety. His heart quite failed him when she darted toward the mantel. Then he remembered he could follow; and indeed she seemed to expect it, for she stood still at the top of what had grown to be a very long flight of steps, and beckoned. He hurried on, but the steps were very steep and slippery, and try as he would he could not reach the top. Suddenly some

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Produced by Greg Bergquist, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) [Illustration: Copyright, 1891, by A. S. Burbank. _Frontispiece._ PLYMOUTH IN 1622.] American Historic Towns HISTORIC TOWNS OF NEW ENGLAND Edited by LYMAN P. POWELL Illustrated G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS NEW YORK & LONDON The Knickerbocker Press 1898 COPYRIGHT, 1898 BY G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London The Knickerbocker Press, New York [Illustration] PREFACE In July, 1893, while the first Summer Meeting of the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching was in session at the University of Pennsylvania, I conducted the students, in trips taken from week to week, to historic spots in Philadelphia, the battle-fields of the Brandywine and of Germantown, and to the site of the winter camp at Valley Forge. The experiment was brought to the attention of Dr. Albert Shaw, and at his instance I made a plea through the pages of _The American Monthly Review of Reviews_, October, 1893, for the revival of the mediæval pilgrimage, and for its adaptation to educational and patriotic uses. After pointing out some of the advantages of visits paid under competent guidance and with reverent spirit to spots made sacred by high thinking and self-forgetful living, I suggested a ten days’ pilgrimage in the footsteps of George Washington. The suggestion took root in the public mind. Leading journals commended the idea. New England people, already acquainted with the thought of local historical excursions, hailed the proposed pilgrimage with enthusiasm. Men and women from a score of States avowed their eagerness to make the experiment; and at the close of the University Extension Summer Meeting of July, 1894, in which I had lectured on American history, I found myself conducting for the University Extension Society a pilgrimage, starting from Philadelphia, to Hartford, Boston, Cambridge, Lexington, Concord, Salem, Plymouth, Newburg, West Point, Tarrytown, Tappan, New York, Princeton, and Trenton. The press contributed with discrimination the publicity essential to success. Every community visited rendered intelligent and generous co-operation. And surely no pilgrims, mediæval or modern, ever had such leadership; for among our cicerones and patriotic orators were: Col. T. W. Higginson, Drs. Edward Everett Hale and Talcott Williams, Hon. Hampton L. Carson, Messrs. Charles Dudley Warner, Richard Watson Gilder, Charles Carlton Coffin, Frank B. Sanborn, Edwin D. Mead, Hezekiah Butterworth, George P. Morris, Professors W. P. Trent, William M. Sloane, W. W. Goodwin, E. S. Morse, Brig.-Gen. O. B. Ernst, Major Marshall H. Bright, and Rev. William E. Barton. I had planned in the months that followed to publish a souvenir volume containing the more important addresses made by distinguished men on the historic significance of the places visited; but as the happy experience receded into the past a larger thought laid hold of me. Why not sometime in the infrequent leisure of a busy minister’s life edit a series of volumes on _American Historic Towns_? Kingsley’s novels were written amid parish duties, and Dr. McCook has found time, amid exacting ministerial duties, to make perhaps the most searching study ever made by an American of the habits of spiders. Medical experts agree concerning the value of a wholesome avocation to the man who takes his vocation seriously; and congregations are quick to give ear to the earnest preacher whose sermons betray a large outlook on life. A series of illustrated volumes on _American Historic Towns_, edited with intelligence, would prove a unique and important contribution to historical literature. To the pious pilgrim to historic shrines the series would, perhaps, give the perspective that every pilgrim needs, and furnish information that no guide-book ever offers. To those who have to stay at home the illustrated volumes would present some compensation for the sacrifice, and would help to satisfy a recognized need. The volumes would probably quicken public interest in our historic past, and contribute to the making of another kind of patriotism than that Dr. Johnson had in mind when he defined it as the “last refuge of a scoundrel.” I foresaw some at least of the serious difficulties that await the editor of such a series. If all the towns for which antiquarians and local enthusiasts would fain find room should be included, the series would be too long. A staff of contributors must be secured, possessing literary skill, historical insight, the antiquarian’s patience, and enough confidence in the highest success of the series to be prepared to waive any requirement of adequate pecuniary compensation. Space must be apportioned with impartial but not unsympathetic hand, and the illustrations selected with due discrimination. And, finally, publishers were to be found willing to assume the expense required for the production in suitable form of a series for which no one could with accuracy forecast the sale. The last and perhaps most serious difficulty was removed almost a year ago when Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons expressed a willingness to take the commercial risk involved in publishing the present volume, which will, it is hoped, be the first of a series. Contributors were then found whose work has, I trust, secured for the undertaking an auspicious beginning. Critics inclined at first glance to speak harshly of the differences among the contributors in style and in literary method are advised to withhold judgment till a closer reading has made clear, as it will, the fundamental differences there are among the towns themselves in history and in spirit. Adequate reasons which need not be stated here have made it advisable to omit Lexington, Groton, Portsmouth, the Mystic towns, and other towns which would naturally be included in a later volume on New England Towns, in case the publication should be continued. So many have co-operated in the making of this book that I will not undertake to name them all. But I cannot forbear to acknowledge the valuable assistance I have received at every stage of the work from Mr. G. H. Putnam, Mr. George P. Morris, associate editor of _The Congregationalist_, and Miss Gertrude Wilson, instructor in history at the historic Emma Willard School. The Century Company has, in the preparation of the first chapter on Boston and the chapter on Newport, kindly allowed the use of certain illustrations and portions of articles on Boston and Newport, which have appeared in _St. Nicholas_ and old _Scribner’s_ respectively. Some of the illustrations for the Portland chapter have been furnished by Lamson, the Portland photographer. The Essex Institute, with characteristic generosity, has loaned most of the cuts for the Salem chapter. The Ohio State Archæological and Historical Society has allowed the reproduction from _The Ohio Quarterly_ of some of the designs in the Rutland chapter, while certain of the illustrations in the

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Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ: A BOOK OF LYRICS: BY BLISS CARMAN [Illustration: logo] CHARLES L. WEBSTER AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MDCCCXCIII COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY BLISS CARMAN. (_All rights reserved._) PRESS OF JENKINS & MCCOWAN, NEW YORK. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The poems in this volume have been collected with reference to their similarity of tone. They are variations on a single theme, more or less aptly suggested by the title, _Low Tide on Grand Pré_. It seemed better to bring together between the same covers only those pieces of work which happened to be in the same key, rather than to publish a larger book of more uncertain aim. B. C. _By Grand Pré, September, 1893._ CONTENTS PAGE LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ 11 WHY 15 THE UNRETURNING 18 A WINDFLOWER 19 IN LYRIC SEASON 21 THE PENSIONERS 23 AT THE VOICE OF A BIRD 27 WHEN THE GUELDER ROSES BLOOM 31 SEVEN THINGS 44 A SEA CHILD 47 PULVIS ET UMBRA 48 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT 61 CARNATIONS IN WINTER 63 A NORTHERN VIGIL 65 THE EAVESDROPPER 73 IN APPLE TIME 77 WANDERER 79 AFOOT 89 WAYFARING 94 THE END OF THE TRAIL 103 THE VAGABONDS 111 WHITHER 118 TO S. M. C. _Spiritus haeres sit patriae quae tristia nescit._ LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ The sun goes down, and over all These barren reaches by the tide Such unelusive glories fall, I almost dream they yet will bide Until the coming of the tide. And yet I know that not for us, By any ecstasy of dream, He lingers to keep luminous A little while the grievous stream, Which frets, uncomforted of dream— A grievous stream, that to and fro Athrough the fields of Acadie Goes wandering, as if to know Why one beloved face should be So long from home and Acadie. Was it a year or lives ago We took the grasses in our hands, And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands, And held it there between our hands? The while the river at our feet— A drowsy inland meadow stream— At set of sun the after-heat Made running gold, and in the gleam We freed our birch upon the stream. There down along the elms at dusk We lifted dripping blade to drift, Through twilight scented fine like musk, Where night and gloom awhile uplift, Nor sunder soul and soul adrift. And that we took into our hands Spirit of life or subtler thing— Breathed on us there, and loosed the bands Of death, and taught us, whispering, The secret of some wonder-thing. Then all your face grew light, and seemed To hold the shadow of the sun; The evening faltered, and I deemed That time was ripe, and years had done Their wheeling underneath the sun. So all desire and all regret, And fear and memory, were naught; One to remember or forget The keen delight our hands had caught; Morrow and yesterday were naught. The night has fallen, and the tide.... Now and again comes drifting home, Across these aching barrens wide, A sigh like driven wind or foam: In grief the flood is bursting home. WHY For a name unknown, Whose fame unblown Sleeps in the hills For ever and aye; For her who hears The stir of the years Go by on the wind By night and day; And heeds no thing Of the needs of spring, Of autumn's wonder Or winter's chill; For one who sees The great sun freeze, As he wanders a-cold From hill to hill; And all her heart Is a woven part Of the flurry and drift Of whirling snow; For the sake of two Sad eyes and true, And the old, old love So long ago. THE UNRETURNING The old eternal spring once more Comes back the sad eternal way, With tender rosy light before The going-out of day. The great white moon across my door A shadow in the twilight stirs; But now forever comes no more That wondrous look of Hers. A WINDFLOWER Between the roadside and the wood, Between the dawning and the dew, A tiny flower before the sun, Ephemeral in time, I grew. And there upon the trail of spring, Not death nor love nor any name Known among men in all their lands Could blur the wild desire with shame. But down my dayspan of the year The feet of straying winds came by; And all my trembling soul was thrilled To follow one lost mountain cry. And then my heart beat once and broke To hear the sweeping rain forebode Some ruin in the April world, Between the woodside and the road. To-night can bring no healing now; The calm of yesternight is gone; Surely the wind is but the wind, And I a broken waif thereon. IN LYRIC SEASON The lyric April time is forth With lyric mornings, frost and sun; From leaguers vast of night undone Auroral mild new stars are born. And ever at the year's return, Along the valleys gray with rime, Thou leadest as of old, where time Can naught but follow to thy sway. The trail is far through leagues of spring, And long the quest to the white core Of harvest quiet, yet once more I gird me to the old unrest. I know I shall not ever meet Thy still regard across the year, And yet I know thou wilt draw near, When the last hour of pain and loss Drifts out to slumber, and the deeps Of nightfall feel God's hand unbar His lyric April, star by star, And the lost twilight land reveal. THE PENSIONERS We are the pensioners of Spring, And take the largess of her hand When vassal warder winds unbar The wintry portals of her land; The lonely shadow-girdled winds, Her seraph almoners, who keep This little life in flesh and bone With meagre portions of white sleep. Then all year through with starveling care We go on some fool's idle quest, And eat her bread and wine in thrall To a fool's shame with blind unrest. Until her April train goes by, And then because we are the kin Of every hill flower on the hill We must arise and walk therein. Because her heart as our own heart, Knowing the same wild upward stir, Beats joyward by eternal laws, We must arise and go with her; Forget we are not where old joys Return when dawns and dreams retire; Make grief a phantom of regret, And fate the henchman of desire; Divorce unreason from delight; Learn how despair is uncontrol, Failure the shadow of remorse, And death a shudder of the soul. Yea, must we triumph when she leads. A little rain before the sun, A breath of wind on the road's dust, The sound of trammeled brooks undone, Along red glinting willow stems The year's white prime, on bank and stream The haunting cadence of no song And vivid wanderings of dream, A range of low blue hills, the far First whitethroat's ecstasy unfurled: And we are overlords of change, In the glad morning of the world, Though we should fare as they whose life Time takes within his hands to wring Between the winter and the sea, The weary pensioners of Spring. AT THE VOICE OF A BIRD _Consurgent ad vocem volucris._ Call to me, thrush, When night grows dim, When dreams unform And death is far! When hoar dews flush On dawn's rathe brim, Wake me to hear Thy wildwood charm, As a lone rush Astir in the slim White stream where sheer Blue mornings are. Stir the keen hush On twilight's rim When my own star Is white and clear. Fly low to brush Mine eyelids grim, Where sleep and storm Will set their bar; For God shall crush Spring balm for him, Stark on his bier Past fault or harm, Who once, as flush Of day might skim The dusk, afar In sleep shall hear Thy song's cool rush With joy rebrim The world, and calm The deep with cheer. Then, Heartsease, hush! If sense grow dim, Desire shall steer Us home from far. WHEN THE GUELDER ROSES BLOOM When the Guelder roses bloom, Love, the vagrant, wanders home. Love, that died so long ago, As we deemed, in dark and snow, Comes back to the door again, Guendolen, Guendolen. In his hands a few bright flowers, Gathered in the earlier hours, Speedwell-blue, and poppy-red, Withered in the sun and dead, With a history to each, Are more eloquent than speech. In his eyes the welling tears Plead against the lapse of years. And that mouth we knew so well, Hath a pilgrim's tale to tell. Hear his litany again: "Guendolen, Guendolen!" "No, love, no, thou art a ghost! Love long since in night was lost. "Thou art but the shade of him, For thine eyes are sad and dim." "Nay, but they will shine once more, Glad and brighter than before, "If thou bring me but again To my mother Guendolen! "These dark flowers are for thee, Gathered by the lonely sea. "And these singing shells for her Who first called me wanderer, "In whose beauty glad I grew, When this weary life was new." Hear him raving! "It is I. Love once born can never die." "Thou, poor love, thou art gone mad With the hardships thou hast had. "True, it is the spring of year, But thy mother is not here. "True, the Guelder roses bloom As long since about this room, "Where thy blessed self was born In the early golden morn "But the years are dead, good lack! Ah, love, why hast thou come back, "Pleading at the door again, 'Guendolen, Guendolen'?" When the Guelder roses bloom, And the vernal stars resume Their old purple sweep and range, I can hear a whisper strange As the wind gone daft again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" "When the Guelder roses blow, Love that died so long ago, "Why wilt thou return so oft, With that whisper sad and soft "On thy pleading lips again, 'Guendolen, Guendolen'!" Still the Guelder roses bloom, And the sunlight fills the room, Where love's shadow at the door Falls upon the dusty floor. And his eyes are sad and grave With the tenderness they crave, Seeing in the broken rhyme The significance of time, Wondrous eyes that know not sin From his brother death, wherein I can see thy look again, Guendolen, Guendolen. And love with no more to say, In this lovely world to-day Where the Guelder roses bloom, Than the record on a tomb, Only moves his lips again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" Then he passes up the road From this dwelling, where he bode In the by-gone years. And still, As he mounts the sunset hill Where the Guelder roses blow With their drifts of summer snow, I can hear him, like one dazed At a phantom he has raised, Murmur o'er and o'er again, "Guendolen, Guendolen!" And thus every year, I know, When the Guelder roses blow, Love will wander by my door, Till the spring returns no more; Till no more I can withstand, But must rise and take his hand Through the countries of the night, Where he walks by his own sight, To the mountains of a dawn That has never yet come on, Out of this fair land of doom Where the Guelder roses bloom, Till I come to thee again, Guendolen, Guendolen. SEVEN THINGS The fields of earth are sown From the hand of the striding rain, And kernels of joy are strewn Abroad for the harrow of pain. I. The first song-sparrow brown That wakes the earliest spring, When time and fear sink down, And death is a fabled thing. II. The stealing of that first dawn Over the rosy brow, When thy soul said, "World, fare on, For Heaven is here and now!" III. The crimson shield of the sun On the wall of this House of Doom, With the garb of war undone At last in the narrow room. IV. A heart that abides to the end, As the hills for sureness and peace, And is neither weary to wend Nor reluctant at last of release. V. Thy mother's cradle croon To haunt thee over the deep, Out of the land of Boon Into the land of Sleep. VI. The sound of the sea in storm, Hearing its captain cry, When the wild, white riders form, And the Ride to the Dark draws nigh. VII. But last and best, the urge Of the great world's desire, Whose being from core to verge Only attains to aspire. A SEA CHILD The lover of child Marjory Had one white hour of life brim full; Now the old nurse, the rocking sea, Hath him to lull. The daughter of child Marjory Hath in her veins, to beat and run, The glad indomitable sea, The strong white sun. PULVIS ET UMBRA There is dust upon my fingers, Pale gray dust of beaten wings, Where a great moth came and settled From the night's blown winnowings. Harvest with her low red planets Wheeling over Arrochar; And the lonely hopeless calling Of the bell-buoy on the bar, Where the sea with her old secret Moves in sleep and cannot rest. From that dark beyond my doorway, Silent the unbidden guest Came and tarried, fearless, gentle, Vagrant of the starlit gloom, One frail waif of beauty fronting Immortality and doom; Through the chambers of the twilight Roaming from the vast outland, Resting for a thousand heart-beats In the hollow of my hand. "Did the volley of a thrush-song Lodge among some leaves and dew Hillward, then across the gloaming This dark mottled thing was you? "Or is my mute guest whose coming So unheralded befell From the border wilds of dreamland, Only whimsy Ariel, "Gleaning with the wind, in furrows Lonelier than dawn to reap, Dust and shadow and forgetting, Frost and reverie and sleep? "In the hush when Cleopatra Felt the darkness reel and cease, Was thy soul a wan blue lotus Laid upon her lips for peace? "And through all the years that wayward Passion in one mortal breath, Making thee a thing of silence, Made thee as the lords of death? "Or did goblin men contrive thee In the forges of the hills Out of thistle-drift and sundown Lost amid their tawny rills, "Every atom on their anvil Beaten fine and bolted home, Every quiver wrought to cadence From the rapture of a gnome? "Then the lonely mountain wood-wind, Straying up from dale to dale, Gave thee spirit, free forever, Thou immortal and so frail! "Surely thou art not that sun-bright Psyche, hoar with age, and hurled On the northern shore of Lethe, To this wan Auroral world! "Ghost of Psyche, uncompanioned, Are the yester-years all done? Have the oars of Charon ferried All thy playmates from the sun? "In thy wings the beat and breathing Of the wind of life abides, And the night whose sea-gray cohorts Swing the stars up with the tides. "Did they once make sail and wander Through the trembling harvest sky, Where the silent Northern streamers Change and rest not till they die? "Or from clouds that tent and people The blue firmamental waste, Did they learn the noiseless secret Of eternity's unhaste? "Where learned they to rove and loiter, By the margin of what sea? Was it with outworn Demeter, Searching for Persephone? "Or did that girl-queen behold thee In the fields of moveless air? Did these wings which break no whisper Brush the poppies in her hair? "Is it thence they wear the pulvil— Ash of ruined days and sleep, And the two great orbs of splendid Melting sable deep on deep! "Pilot of the shadow people, Steering whither by what star Hast thou come to hapless port here, Thou gray ghost of Arrochar?" For man walks the world with mourning Down to death, and leaves no trace, With the dust upon his forehead, And the shadow in his face. Pillared dust and fleeing shadow As the roadside wind goes by, And the fourscore years that vanish In the twinkling of an eye. Beauty, the fine frosty trace-work Of some breath upon the pane; Spirit, the keen wintry moonlight Flashed thereon to fade again. Beauty, the white clouds a-building When God said and it was done; Spirit, the sheer brooding rapture Where no mid-day brooks no sun. So. And here, the open casement Where my fellow-mate goes free; Eastward, the untrodden star-road And the long wind on the sea. What's to hinder but I follow This my gypsy guide afar, When the bugle rouses slumber Sounding taps on Arrochar? "Where, my brother, wends the by-way, To what bourne beneath what sun, Thou and I are set to travel Till the shifting dream be done? "Comrade of the dusk, forever I pursue the endless way Of the dust and shadew kindred, Thou art perfect for a day. "Yet from beauty marred and broken, Joy and memory and tears, I shall crush the clearer honey In the harvest of the years. "Thou art faultless as a flower Wrought of sun and wind and snow, I survive the fault and failure. The wise Fates will have it so. "For man walks the world in twilight, But the morn shall wipe all trace Of the dust from off his forehead, And the shadow from his face. "Cheer thee on, my tidings-bearer! All the valor of the North Mounts as soul from flesh escaping Through the night, and bids thee forth. "Go, and when thou hast discovered Her whose dark eyes match thy wings, Bid that lyric heart beat lighter For the joy thy beauty brings." Then I leaned far out and lifted My light guest up, and bade speed On the trail where no one tarries That wayfarer few will heed. Pale gray dust upon my fingers; And from this my cabined room The white soul of eager message Racing seaward in the gloom. Far off shore, the sweet low calling Of the bell-buoy on the bar, Warning night of dawn and ruin Lonelily on Arrochar. THROUGH THE TWILIGHT The red vines bar my window way; The Autumn sleeps beside his fire, For he has sent this fleet-foot day A year's march back to bring to me One face whose smile is my desire, Its light my star. Surely you will come near and speak, This calm of death from the day to sever! And so I shall draw down your cheek Close to my face—So close!—and know God's hand between our hands forever Will set no bar. Before the dusk falls—even now I know your step along the gravel, And catch your quiet poise of brow, And wait so long till you turn the latch! Is the way so hard you had to travel? Is the land so far? The dark has shut your eyes from mine, But in this hush of brooding weather A gleam on twilight's gathering line Has riven the barriers of dream: Soul of my soul, we are together As the angels are! CARNATIONS IN WINTER Your carmine flakes of bloom to-night The fire of wintry sunsets hold; Again in dreams you burn to light A far Canadian garden old. The blue north summer over it Is bland with long ethereal days; The gleaming martins wheel and flit Where breaks your sun down orient ways. There, when the gradual twilight falls, Through quietudes of dusk afar, Hermit antiphonal hermit calls From hills below the first pale star. Then in your passionate love's foredoom Once more your spirit stirs the air, And you are lifted through the gloom To warm the coils of her dark hair. A NORTHERN VIGIL Here by the gray north sea, In the wintry heart of the wild, Comes the old dream of thee, Guendolen, mistress and child. The heart of the forest grieves In the drift against my door; A voice is under the eaves, A footfall on the floor. Threshold, mirror and hall, Vacant and strangely aware, Wait for their soul's recall With the dumb expectant air. Here when the smouldering west Burns down into the sea, I take no heed of rest And keep the watch for thee. I sit by the fire and hear The restless wind go by, On the long dirge and drear, Under the low bleak sky. When day puts out to sea And night makes in for land, There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand! When night goes over the hill And dawn comes down the dale, It's O for the wild sweet will That shall no more prevail! When the zenith moon is round, And snow-wraiths gather and run, And there is set no bound To love beneath the sun, O wayward will, come near The old mad willful way, The soft mouth at my ear With words too sweet to say! Come, for the night is cold, The ghostly moonlight fills Hollow and rift and fold Of the eerie Ardise hills! The windows of my room Are dark with bitter frost, The stillness aches with doom Of something loved and lost. Outside, the great blue star Burns in the ghostland pale, Where giant Algebar Holds on the endless trail. Come, for the years are long, And silence keeps the door, Where shapes with the shadows throng The firelit chamber floor. Come, for thy kiss was warm, With the red embers' glare Across thy folding arm And dark tumultuous hair! And though thy coming rouse The sleep-cry of no bird, The keepers of the house Shall tremble at thy word. Come, for the soul is free! In all the vast dreamland There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand. Ah, not in dreams at all, Fleering, perishing, dim, But thy old self, supple and tall, Mistress and child of whim! The proud imperious guise, Impetuous and serene, The sad mysterious eyes, And dignity of mien! Yea, wilt thou not return, When the late hill-winds veer, And the bright hill-flowers burn With the reviving year? When April comes, and the sea Sparkles as if it smiled, Will they restore to me My dark Love, empress and child? The curtains seem to part; A sound is on the stair, As if at the last... I start; Only the wind is there. Lo, now far on the hills The crimson fumes uncurled, Where the caldron mantles and spills Another dawn on the world! THE EAVESDROPPER In a still room at hush of dawn, My Love and I lay side by side And heard the roaming forest wind Stir in the paling autumn-tide. I watched her earth-brown eyes grow glad Because the round day was so fair; While memories of reluctant night Lurked in the blue dusk of her hair. Outside, a yellow maple tree, Shifting upon the silvery blue With small innumerable sound, Rustled to let the sunlight through. The livelong day the elvish leaves Danced with their shadows on the floor; And the lost children of the wind Went straying homeward by our door. And all the swarthy afternoon We watched the great deliberate sun Walk through the crimsoned hazy world, Counting his hilltops one by one. Then as the purple twilight came And touched the vines along our eaves, Another Shadow stood without And gloomed the dancing of the leaves. The silence fell on my Love's lips; Her great brown eyes were veiled and sad With pondering some maze of dream, Though all the splendid year was glad. Restless and vague as a gray wind Her heart had grown, she knew not why. But hurrying to the open door, Against the verge of western sky I saw retreating on the hills, Looming and sinister and black, The stealthy figure swift and huge Of One who strode and looked not back. IN APPLE TIME The apple harvest days are here, The boding apple harvest days, And down the flaming valley ways, The foresters of time draw near. Through leagues of bloom I went with Spring, To call you on the <DW72>s of morn, Where in imperious song is borne The wild heart of the golden wing. I roamed through alien summer lands, I sought your beauty near and far; To-day, where russet shadows are, I hold your face between my hands. On runnels dark by <DW72>s of fern, The hazy undern sleeps in sun. Remembrance and desire, undone, From old regret to dreams return. The apple harvest time is here, The tender apple harvest time; A sheltering calm, unknown at prime, Settles upon the brooding year. WANDERER I Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the morning unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, come hither, Into the eld of the East with me!" Saith the wide wind of the low red morning, Making in from the gray rough sea. "Wanderer, come, of the footfall weary, And heavy at heart as the sad-heart sea. "For long ago, when the world was making, I walked through Eden with God for guide; And since that time in my heart forever His calm and wisdom and peace abide. "I am thy spirit and thy familiar, Child of the teeming earth's unrest! Before God's joy upon gloom begot thee I had hungered and searched and ended the quest. "I sit by the roadside wells of knowledge; I haunt the streams of the springs of thought; But because my voice is the voice of silence, The heart within thee regardeth not. "Yet I await thee, assured, unimpatient, Till thy small tumult of striving be past. How long, O wanderer, wilt thou a-weary, Keep thee afar from my arms at the last?" II Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the high noon unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, turn hither, Far to the burning South with me," Saith the soft wind on the high June headland, Sheering up from the summer sea, "While the implacable warder, Oblivion, Sleeps on the marge of a foamless sea! "Come where the urge of desire availeth, And no fear follows the children of men; For a handful of dust is the only heirloom The morrow bequeaths to its morrow again. "Touch and feel how the flesh is perfect Beyond the compass of dream to be! 'Bone of my bone,' said God to Adam; 'Core of my core,' say I to thee. "Look and see how the form is goodly Beyond the reach of desire and art! For he who fashioned the world so easily Laughed in his sleeve as he walked apart. "Therefore, O wanderer, cease from desiring; Take the wide province of seaway and sun! Here for the infinite quench of thy craving, Infinite yearning and bliss are one." III Wanderer, wanderer, whither away? What saith the evening unto thee? "Wanderer, wanderer, hither, haste hither, Into the glad-heart West with me!" Saith the strong wind of the gold-green twilight, Gathering out of the autumn hills, "I am the word of the world's first dreamer Who woke when Freedom walked on the hills. "And the secret triumph from daring to doing, From musing to marble, I will be, Till the last fine fleck of the world is finished, And Freedom shall walk alone by the sea. "Who is thy heart's lord, who is thy hero? Bruce or Cæsar or Charlemagne, Hannibal, Olaf, Alaric, Roland? Dare as they dared and the deed's done again! "Here where they come of the habit immortal, By the open road to the land of the Name, Splendor and homage and wealth await thee Of builded cities and bruited fame. "Let loose the conquering toiler within

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E-text prepared by Michael Gray ([email protected]) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 27951-h.htm or 27951-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/9/5/27951/27951-h/27951-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/9/5/27951/27951-h.zip) POLICEMAN BLUEJAY by LAURA BANCROFT Author of The Twinkle Tales, Etc. With Illustrations by Maginel Wright Enright [Frontispiece: "GO, BOTH OF YOU, AND JOIN THE BIRD THAT WARNED YOU"] Chicago The Reilly & Britton Co. Publishers Copyright, 1907 by The Reilly & Britton Co. The Lakeside Press R. R. Donnelley & Sons Company Chicago To the Children I MUST admit that the great success of the "TWINKLE TALES" has astonished me as much as it has delighted the solemn-eyed, hard working publishers. Therefore I have been encouraged to write a new "TWINKLE BOOK," hoping with all my heart that my little friends will find it worthy to occupy a place beside the others on their pet bookshelves. And because the children seem to especially love the story of "Bandit Jim Crow," and bird-life is sure to appeal alike to their hearts and their imaginations, I have again written about birds. The tale is fantastical, and intended to amuse rather than instruct; yet many of the traits of the feathered folk, herein described, are in strict accordance with natural history teachings and will serve to acquaint my readers with the habits of birds in their wildwood homes. At the same time my birds do unexpected things, because I have written a fairy tale and not a natural history. The question is often asked me whether Twinkle and Chubbins were asleep or awake when they encountered these wonderful adventures; and it grieves me to reflect that the modern child has been deprived of fairy tales to such an extent that it does not know--as I did when a girl-- that in a fairy story it does not matter whether one is awake or not. You must accept it as you would a fragrant breeze that cools your brow, a draught of sweet water, or the delicious flavor of a strawberry, and be grateful for the pleasure it brings you, without stopping to question too closely its source. For my part I am glad if my stories serve to while away a pleasant hour before bedtime or keep one contented on a rainy day. In this way they are sure to be useful, and if a little tenderness for the helpless animals and birds is acquired with the amusement, the value of the tales will be doubled. LAURA BANCROFT. LIST OF CHAPTERS I LITTLE ONES IN TROUBLE II POLICEMAN BLUEJAY III THE CHILD-LARKS IV AN AFTERNOON RECEPTION V THE ORIOLE'S STORY VI A MERRY ADVENTURE VII THE BLUEJAY'S STORY VIII MRS. HOOTAWAY IX THE DESTROYERS X IN THE EAGLE'S NEST XI THE ORPHANS XII THE GUARDIAN XIII THE KING BIRD XIV A REAL FAIRYLAND XV THE LAKE OF DRY WATER XVI THE BEAUTY DANCE XVII THE QUEEN BEE XVIII GOOD NEWS XIX THE REBELS XX THE BATTLE XXI THE TINGLE-BERRIES XXII THE TRANSFORMATION LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "GO, BOTH OF YOU, AND JOIN THE BIRD THAT WARNED YOU" THE MAN STOLE THE EGGS FROM THE NEST THE TRIAL OF THE SHRIKE "PEEP! PEEP! PEEP!" CRIED THE BABY GOLDFINCHES SAILING ON THE DRY WATER IN THE HONEY PALACE THE BATTLE "IT'S ALMOST DARK. LET'S GO HOME" [CHAPTER I] _Little Ones in Trouble_ "SEEMS to me, Chub," said Twinkle, "that we're lost." "Seems to me, Twink," said Chubbins, "that it isn't _we_ that's lost. It's the path." "It was here a minute ago," declared Twinkle. "But it isn't here now," replied the boy. "That's true," said the girl. It really _was_ queer. They had followed the straight path into the great forest, and had only stopped for a moment to sit down and rest, with the basket between them and their backs to a big tree. Twinkle winked just twice, because she usually took a nap in the afternoon, and Chubbins merely closed his eyes a second to find out if he could see that long streak of sunshine through his pink eyelids. Yet during this second, which happened while Twinkle was winking, the path had run away and left them without any guide or any notion which way they ought to go. Another strange thing was that when they jumped up to look around them the nearest trees began sliding away, in a circle, leaving the little girl and boy in a clear space. And the trees continued moving back and back, farther and farther, until all their trunks were jammed tight together, and not even a mouse could have crept between them. They made a solid ring around Twinkle and Chubbins, who stood looking at this transformation with wondering eyes. "It's a trap," said Chubbins; "and we're in it." "It looks that way," replied Twinkle, thoughtfully. "Isn't it lucky, Chub, we have the basket with us? If it wasn't for that, we might starve to death in our prison." "Oh, well," replied the little fellow, "the basket won't last long. There's plenty of starve in the bottom of it, Twinkle, any way you can fix it." "That's so; unless we can get out. Whatever do you suppose made the trees behave that way, Chubbins? "Don't know," said the boy. Just then a queer creature dropped from a tree into the ring and began moving slowly toward them. It was flat in shape, like a big turtle; only it hadn't a turtle's hard shell. Instead, its body was covered with sharp prickers, like rose thorns, and it had two small red eyes that looked cruel and wicked. The children could not see how many legs it had, but they must have been very short, because the creature moved so slowly over the ground. When it had drawn near to them it said, in a pleading tone that sounded soft and rather musical: "Little girl, pick me up in your arms, and pet me!" Twinkle shrank back. "My! I couldn't _think_ of doing such a thing," she answered. Then the creature said: "Little boy, please pick me up in your arms, and pet me!" "Go 'way!" shouted Chubbins. "I wouldn't touch you for anything." The creature turned its red eyes first upon one and then upon the other. "Listen, my dears," it continued; "I was once a beautiful maiden, but a cruel tuxix transformed me into this awful shape, and so must I remain until some child willingly takes me in its arms and pets me. Then, and not till then, will I be restored to my proper form." "Don't believe it! Don't believe it!" cried a high, clear voice, and both the boy and the girl looked quickly around to see who had spoken. But no one besides themselves was in sight, and they only noticed a thick branch of one of the trees slightly swaying its leaves. "What is a tuxix?" asked Twinkle, who was beginning to feel sorry for the poor creature. "It is a magician, a sorcerer, a wizard, and a witch all rolled into one," was the answer; "and you can imagine what a dreadful thing that would be." "Be careful!" cried the clear voice, again. "It is the tuxix herself who is talking to you. Don't believe a word you hear!" At this the red eyes of the creature flashed fire with anger, and it tried to turn its clumsy body around to find the speaker. Twinkle and Chubbins looked too, but only heard a flutter and a mocking laugh coming from the trees. "If I get my eye on that bird, it will never speak again," exclaimed the creature, in a voice of fury very different from the sweet tones it had at first used; and perhaps it was this fact that induced the children to believe the warning was from a friend, and they would do well to heed it. "Whether you are the tuxix or not," said Twinkle, "I never will touch you. You may be sure of that." "Nor I," declared Chubbins, stoutly, as he came closer to the girl and grasped her hand in his own. At this the horrid thing bristled all its sharp prickers in anger, and said: "Then, if I cannot conquer you in one way, I will in another. Go, both of you, and join the bird that warned you, and live in the air and the trees until you repent your stubbornness and promise to become my slaves. The tuxix has spoken, and her magical powers are at work. Go!" In an instant Twinkle saw Chubbins shoot through the air and disappear among the leaves of one of the tall trees. As he went he seemed to grow very small, and to change in shape. "Wait!" she cried. "I'm coming, too!" She was afraid of losing Chubbins, so she flew after him, feeling rather queer herself, and a moment after was safe in the tall tree, clinging with her toes to a branch and looking in amazement at the boy who sat beside her. Chubbins had been transformed into a pretty little bird--all, that is, except his head, which was Chubbins' own head reduced in size to fit the bird body. It still had upon it the straw hat, which had also grown small in size, and the sight that met Twinkle's eyes was so funny that she laughed merrily, and her laugh was like the sweet warbling of a skylark. Chubbins looked at her and saw almost what she saw; for Twinkle was a bird too, except for her head, with its checked sunbonnet, which had grown small enough to fit the pretty, glossy-feathered body of a lark. Both of them had to cling fast to the branch with their toes, for their arms and hands were now wings. The toes were long and sharp pointed, so that they could be used in the place of fingers. "My!" exclaimed Twinkle; "you're a queer sight, Chubbins!" "So are you," answered the boy. "That mean old thing must have 'witched us." "Yes, we're 'chanted," said Twinkle. "And now

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E-text prepared by Chuck Greif, Jeannie Howse, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com) Note: Images of the original pages are available through the the Google Books Library Project. See http://books.google.com/books?vid=cwsRAAAAIAAJ&id +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | | been preserved. | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For | | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ A SYNOPSIS OF JEWISH HISTORY From the Return of the Jews from the Babylonish Captivity, to the Days of Herod The Great; Giving an account of the different Sects of those days; the introduction and use of Synagogues and Schools; the origin and introduction of Prayer among the Jews; the Ureem and Thumeem; the Mishna or Oral Law; the Gemara-Completion, usually styled the Talmud. by REV. H. A. HENRY, Rabbi Preacher of Congregation Sherith Israel, San Francisco; Author of Class Book for Jewish youth; of Discourses on the principles of the belief of Israel, &c., &c. San Francisco: Towne & Bacon, Publishers and Printers, No. 125 Clay Street, corner Sansome. 1859. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year of the World 5619,--1859, by Towne & Bacon, for the Author, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of California. P

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Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Wilson's Tales of the Borders AND OF SCOTLAND. HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE, WITH A GLOSSARY. REVISED BY ALEXANDER LEIGHTON, _One of the Original Editors and Contributors_. VOL. XIX. LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE. 1884. CONTENTS. Page THE DOMESTIC GRIEFS OF GUSTAVUS M'IVER, (_Alexander Leighton_), 1 THE FIRST AND SECOND MARRIAGE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 35 THE DISSOLVED PLEDGE, (_Oliver Richardson_), 67 THE HAWICK SPATE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 99 THE AVENGER; OR, THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE, (_Alexander Leighton_), 129 THE LORD OF HERMITAGE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 155 GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT, (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)-- XVIII. KINALDY, 165 XIX. THE TRIALS OF THE REV. SAMUEL AUSTIN, 174 THE CURSE OF SCOTLAND, (_Alexander Campbell_), 196 LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON, (_John M. Wilson_), 199 THE SPORTSMAN OF OUTFIELDHAUGH, (_Alexander Leighton_), 232 THE SEA FIGHT, (_Anon._), 265 WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND. THE DOMESTIC GRIEFS OF GUSTAVUS M'IVER. CHAPTER I. GUSTAVUS'S ANTECEDENTS. In a little house in the Canongate of Edinburgh, there lived, not very long ago, Mr Gustavus M'Iver--(for he never would allow himself to be called Ensign M'Iver, though that was his proper professional designation),--as good a man as ever God put breath in, and as faithful a soldier as ever Lord Wellington commanded in the Peninsula. That is, doubtless, no small praise to one conceived in sin and brought forth in iniquity; and heaven knows if it were not as true as Jove's oath, it would never have been awarded by us. But he was remarkable in other respects than being honest; for he was six feet five without the aid of sock or buskin; and, if any man were to say that he was not four feet from acromion to acromion, he would assuredly be a big liar. But it is the head and face of a man that we like to look at; for, after all, what signifies (except in a warlike view, and ours is a peaceable one) a cart-load of mere bone and muscle, bound together with thick whangs of gristle, and yielding nothing but brute force, if it be not surmounted by a good microcosm of a head, with a good dial-plate to let a man know what is going on within. Do we not see every day great clocks put on the tops of big steeples, and yet, though they are nearer the sun than the little time-piece with the deuce a body at all, they go like an intermitting fever, telling us at one time that we are hurrying to the grave, and at another, that time has nothing to do with us at all. So is it with men; and, for our part, we could never discover any proper legitimate sympathetic accordance between the trunk and cranium of mortals, any more than if (like pins) they had been made in pieces and one head clapped on a body just as the occipital condyles suited the straps to which they are attached. The opinion now expressed is well justified by the example of the subject of our story; for, while the big limbs of him seemed to set at defiance all regular laws of motion, either horizontal or perpendicular, going, as one might say without a paradox, wherever and however they choose, his head was as methodical as that of a drill sergeant, and the like of him for regularity might not be seen from Lerwick to Berwick. Nor was his face ever known to be at fault as a faithful indicator; and verily there was no great wonder in that, for nothing short of the pulleys he carried in his brain could ever have moved a single hair-breadth up or down, to the right or to the left, the big jaw-bone which he seldom condescended to impart any living motion to, except at meal times, or when (and that occurred very seldom) he had an idea to express sufficient in size and importance to warrant such an excess of labour. We have said that Gustavus M'Iver had been in the Peninsula; and we may be believed or not, just as suits the reader's credulity with our credibility; but he was a luckless wight who dared to doubt that fact in the personal presence of the hero himself; better by far he had been at St Sebastian, for the never a one we ever heard of, that had the temerity to express any scepticism on the point that did not live to repent it. There can be no doubt, however, on the subject; for Gustavus was not only in the Peninsula, but he fought there very well; and no great thanks to him either, for he had the entire charge of the mess--a post of honour he had acquired from an indisputable superiority in culinary lore, and a most indefatigable perseverance as well as an unexampled adroitness in the art of carving both for himself and others. The praise he got for fighting was, in so far as regarded the immense heaps of hungry Frenchmen he hewed down with his falchion, true enough; the bulletin writer recorded the fact just as it was reported to him, that the great Goliath Gustavus did actually perform very wonderful feats of sheer killing; and we cannot help thinking, notwithstanding of the sneers of his brother officers, that it would not have become the dignity of a despatch to have made any allusion whatever to the manner in which he had kept up his body and his courage. When the war was done, he came home filled with glory; and as, when the world speaks of a man, it is unnecessary for him to speak of himself, he seldom (for he was a sensible man) ever thought of speaking either of himself or any other person or thing. Conceit is the foundation of speech; where a man is filled to the very throat with glory, there is little occasion for him ever opening his mouth; and therefore it was that Gustavus, in addition to his other peculiarities, seldom deigned to hold converse with the creatures of the earth, unless it were in his capacity of paymaster of pensions (an office his prowess had secured to him), when he was compelled to speak, to make others hold their tongues--an operation in which he succeeded to a miracle, from the accumulated load of authority he derived from his silence. CHAPTER II. GUSTAVUS FALLS IN LOVE. Now, it happened that this same Gustavus, after almost all the sap of his body had been eliminated by fighting, and there seemed to be scarcely enough left to lubricate the muscles that stretched from promontory to point of his big bones, like tough hausers, took it into his head to wish for a wife. We doubt if all the physiologists or psychologists that ever hunted for traces of the spirit among the white guts of the head could tell how such an idea came into such an extraordinary place; and if his heart was as dry as the voluntary muscles of his body, nothing short of a dislocation of Cupid's right arm could ever have sent into such a leathery organ the tickling shaft. True, however, it is as death, that Gustavus did actually fall in love, and the symptoms were just as extraordinary as the passion itself; for there never was heard in any man's lungs before, such a rattle of sighs; and as for the length of his jaws, the never a rough wood-cut of John Bunyan's hero in the Slough of Despond could come within many degrees of their lugubrious longitude. It is even true that the power of the tender passion reached to his stomach--a place of all others that might _a priori_ have been considered perfectly independent of all moral impulses whatsomever. Nothing before, except hunger itself, had ever affected that organ; and, indeed, ensconced behind and between, and beneath such ribs, nothing short of death itself might have been supposed capable of reaching it, or subduing its tough hide, its viscous linings, and its gastric juice, stronger than the best gin that ever was made at Schiedam. Now the _petit bel chose_ that had thus produced such an effect upon the moral and physical economy of this big son of Mars, was no other than a mere toy of a thing--a little milliner called Julia Briggs--scarcely so big, when divested of the padding and stuffing with which her art enabled her to supply her deficiency of natural size, as one of his huge limbs. But this may be no manner of marvel to those who are versant in the mysteries of love, who, being himself a small creature, seems to delight in throwing into the smallest of his victims the greatest portion of his power. It is difficult to see philosophically any final cause in the curious fact in nature; but surely, the never a man, who has any observation in him, will deny, that pigmy beauties and colossal swains (and _vice versa_) have a singular power of producing in each other the tender passion. It may be owing to nature's love of the _juste milieu_, that thus induces her to take this mode of keeping up a reasonable _mean size_ among human creatures, or it may be any one of a thousand other speculations; but what care we for such theories, when we have the fact to state as an undoubted truth, that Gustavus fell in love with Julia Briggs, as standing like a mighty Anak, in the Canongate of Edinburgh, he saw the little creature skipping along, twisting her little limbs as if she would have dislocated her joints in her efforts to appear graceful, in the eyes of mankind generally, and in those of the gigantic Gustavus, whom she had often seen looking after her, in particular! Successful beyond any prior example of her wriggling evolution of her graces, the little baggage--as quick in her eye as ever were Pip, Trip, or Skip, the maids of honour (according to Drayton) of Queen Mab--saw at once that she had hit the proper twirl and twinkle, at last, that would subdue the involuntary muscle that had so long been useless beneath the ribs of the great Gustavus. The moment the effect was produced, the sinews of his body began to move, and away he stalked after her, with strides as long as the whole height _a capite ad calcem_ of the quarry upon which he intended to pounce. It spoke well of the power of "her harness of gossamer," that it stood the tug of so huge a victim; and, as she turned her twinkling eye to observe the triumph of her power, she did not fail to rivet the chains by some higher displays of graceful contortion, that made his eyeballs roll in the large sockets, as if he had seen a hobgoblin, in place of Julia Briggs, the _petite marchande de modes_. This was just as good a beginning as ever a sly man-catcher essayed in the world of love, since the days of Helen; and the arch kidnapper knew very well how to follow up her wile; for, after displaying, by a proper caper, as much of her ancle as would do the business, she skipped away, as nimbly as Nymphidia in the service of Oberon's queen, and was not again seen till she opened the window of her mother's house, and displayed herself, capless and coifless, to her staring admirer. The capture was now completed. Jove himself was never more completely entoiled by the chains of the little baggage Iynge; and, during the whole of that day, Gustavus strode along the pavement, opposite the window of his charmer, as if he had been on duty before a besieged city. He had just as little power to walk away as he had to circumscribe his step to the ordinary measure of God's creatures; every stride occupying, at least, four feet of pavement, and being executed so regularly and methodically, that one step did not differ from another by a single inch. But it is a mere bagatelle to describe these pendulous movements, produced, for the first time, by the spirit of love; while, to execute with truth a faithful picture of the painful contortions of a countenance originally formed a wood-cut of extraordinary dimensions, and now under the soft, melting influence of the tenderest of passions, would require a goose-quill, owning no less an influence than the spirit of an immortal genius. As the loves of some of the inferior animals are expressed by sounds and signs that seem to indicate nothing but fierce war, so might the demonstrations of this extraordinary affair of the heart, exhibited through the grotesque motions of muscles that had been as rigid as dried leather for twenty years, be looked upon as anything rather than signs of the languishing passion which, as Augustin says, will make a musician out of an ass. Yet, doubtless, there was, both in his goggle-eyes and lengthened face, an expression that was intended for softness and languishment; and it is not impossible, that, if one had been apprized _a priori_ of the intention, he might have discovered in the ludicrous gesticulations some resemblance to at least a burlesque of what is only a very ridiculous exhibition at the very best. Love that is long a-coming, comes at last with a terrible onset--overturning all sense and prudence, kicking up the heels of all forms of etiquette, and removing every impediment to its progress. It is but a very small matter to say, that Gustavus could not sleep under the hug or embrace of the new customer that had taken such a violent hold of his heart, though we do not deem it an equally insignificant announcement, that a man who could swallow a couple of pounds of flesh at a down-sitting, should lose his gustative and digestive powers to such an extent that the knocking of his heart sounded audibly through his empty stomach, as if it had been a whispering gallery. But love is a leveller in more senses than the vulgar one; and the only circumstance about the matter of this particular case at all remarkable, was, that such effects, upon a body iron-bound as it was, and of such gigantic proportions, should have been produced by an agent of such truly insignificant dimensions. A resolute disciplinarian, however, at all points, without a single qualm of fear or doubt, and accustomed to attack a city or a haunch of beef with equal _sang froid_, the love-smitten victim, on the third day after his seizure, drew up his huge limbs to their full extent, till he seemed like the Colossus of Rhodes, and settled the whole affair by one resolute gnash of his under maxillary bone. Two strides took him to the door, one or two more brought him down stairs to the street, and the never a man that stalked off ground that was to be his own, went along with such strides as he used in making his way to the house of Julia Briggs. With one solitary idea in his head, and one word on his tongue--though there was room for a thousand--he went direct up to the door, knocked, like one of Froissard's warriors at the barricades, was admitted, turned off the momentous question of marriage by one heavy lurch of his jaw, and settled a matter that danglers take years about in the space of time that a thirsty Bacchanalian would occupy in taking a long pull of jolly good ale. CHAPTER III. GUSTAVUS IS MARRIED. In the week afterwards, the couple were united in the holy bands of matrimony; and, surely, to say that there was any ceremony about such a union, would be a burlesque of the mysteries of Hymen. Yet, rapid as were the movements, and wholesale the conclusion, no man ever put his neck in the noose with such imperturbable gravity, for, during the whole period occupied by the feast, which was in the form of a supper, no man could have observed in his gaunt face any one of the three laughs, Ionic, Megaric, or Sardonic, with which the face is usually convulsed; the only indication approaching to a cachination in the midst of the whoops and yells of the feasters, being a grin in the shape of a _risus Ajacis_, that defied all power of analysis. But even this caricature of a display of good humour, insignificant as it may seem, shewed to those who knew the man that he was labouring under the influence of some extraordinary emotion, as nothing of the kind had ever been seen in his countenance since the day on which he hewed down so unmercifully the French at St Sebastian. Nor, on the following day, when he had fairly entered upon the supreme happiness of the married state, was there seen any palpable sign of the joy that, of course, penetrated through all his well-mailed thoracic viscera--unless it were, perhaps, that his face had even increased in length, and the leathery aspect of all the "celestial index" of the soul was, if possible, more grim than ever. The getting of a wife is, after all, but a very small matter in comparison of the ruling of her; and sure, if ever there was a man in the world, since the days of the grim Hercules, who bungled the matter out and out, that had any chance of subjecting his wife to the requisite thraldom and subordination, Gustavus was that man; for a look of him

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Produced by David Edwards, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) [Illustration: THE ADVENTURE WITH THE BASKET OF COIN.] A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF; OR, JACK HAZARD AND HIS TREASURE. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE, AUTHOR OF “JACK HAZARD AND HIS FORTUNES,” “LAWRENCE’S ADVENTURES,” “COUPON BONDS,” ETC. [Illustration: Publisher’s Logo] BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. 1872. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS. ------- CHAPTER PAGE I. THE THUNDER-SQUALL 7 II. WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG 13 III. “TREASURE-TROVE” 19 IV. IN WHICH JACK COUNTS HIS CHICKENS 28 V. WAITING FOR THE DEACON 32 VI. “ABOUT THAT HALF-DOLLAR” 36 VII. HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE 41 VIII. JACK AND THE SQUIRE 49 IX. THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY AND JACK’S STRATAGEM 58 X. “THE HUSWICK TRIBE” 65 XI. THE “COURT” AND THE “VERDICT” 70 XII. HOW HOD’S TROUSERS WENT TO THE SQUIRE’S HOUSE 78 XIII. HOW JACK RESCUED LION, BUT MISSED THE TREASURE 82 XIV. SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME 89 XV. JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS 96 XVI. HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S 104 XVII. HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS 111 XVIII. HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME WITHOUT SHOES AND STOCKINGS 116 XIX. HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE 122 XX. HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME 128 XXI. JACK IN DISGRACE 135 XXII. JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE 143 XXIII. BEFORE JUDGE GARTY 150 XXIV. THE PRISONER’S CUP OF MILK 157 XXV. JACK’S PRISONERS 160 XXVI. THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH, AND HIS DOG 167 XXVII. THE RACE, AND HOW IT ENDED 174 XXVIII. THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED 179 XXIX. THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD 187 XXX. JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR 194 XXXI. TEA WITH AUNT PATSY 201 XXXII. A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON 208 XXXIII. A STRANGE CALL AT A STRANGE HOUR OF THE NIGHT 216 XXXIV. HOW JACK WON A BET, AND RETURNED A FAVOR 221 XXXV. AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE 227 XXXVI. THE “RIDE” CONTINUED 234 XXXVII. ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS 239 XXXVIII. THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY 246 XXXIX. A TURN OF FORTUNE 251 XL. THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH 257 XLI. HOW IT ALL ENDED 264 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. ------- CHAPTER I THE THUNDER-SQUALL. [Illustration] ON a high, hilly pasture, occupying the northeast corner of Peach Hill Farm, a man and two boys were one afternoon clearing the ground of stones. The man—noticeable for his round shoulders, round puckered mouth, and two large, shining front teeth—wielded a stout iron bar called a “crow,” with which he pried up the turf-bound rocks, and helped to tumble them over upon a drag, called in that region a “stun-boat.” The larger of the boys—a bright, active lad of about fourteen years—lent a hand at the heavy rocks, and also gathered up and cast upon the drag the smaller stones, on his own account. The second lad—nearly as tall, and perhaps quite as old as the other—helped a little about the stones, but divided his attention chiefly between the horse that drew the drag, and a shaggy black dog that accompanied the party. “Come, boy!” said the man,—enunciating the _m_ and _b_ by closing the said front teeth upon his nether lip,—“ye better quit fool’n’, an’ ketch holt and help. ’S go’n’ to rain.” “Ain’t I helping?” retorted the smaller boy. “Don’t I drive the horse?” “A great sight,—long’s the reins are on his back, an’ I haf to holler to him half the time to git up an’ whoa. Git up, Maje! there! whoa!—Jack’s wuth jest about six of ye.” “O, Jack’s dreadful smart! Beats everything! And so are you, Phi Pipkin!” said the boy, sneeringly. “You feel mighty big since you got married, don’t ye?—I bet ye Lion’s got a squirrel under that big rock! I’m going to see!” And away he ran. “That ’ere Phin Chatford ain’t wuth the salt in his porridge,—if I do say it!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “I never did see sich a shirk; though when he comes to tell what’s been done, you’d think he was boss of all creation. Feel as if I’d like to take the gad to him sometimes, by hokey!” “O Jack!” cried Phin, who had mounted a boulder much too large for Mr. Pipkin’s crow-bar, “you can see Lake Ontario from here,—’way over the trees there! Come and get up here; it’s grand!” “I’ve been up there before,” replied Jack. “Haven’t time now. We shall have that shower here before we get half across the lot.” “Come, Phin!” called out Mr. Pipkin, “there’s reason in all things! We’ll onhitch soon’s we git this load, an’ dodge a wettin’.” “Seems to me you’re all-fired ’fraid of a wetting, both of ye,” cried Phin. “’T won’t hurt me! Let it come, and be darned to it, I say!” This last exclamation sounded so much like blasphemy to the boy’s own ears, and it was followed immediately by so vivid a flash of lightning and so terrific a peal of thunder, from a black cloud rolling up overhead, that he jumped down from the rock and crouched beside it, looking ludicrously pale and scared; while the dog, dropping ears and tail, and whining and trembling with fear, ran first for Jack’s legs, then for Mr. Pipkin’s, and finally crouched by the boulder with Phin. “You’re a perty pictur’ there!” cried Mr. Pipkin, with a loud, hoarse laugh. “Who’s afraid now?” “Lion, I guess,—I ain’t,” said Phin, with an unnatural grin. “Only thought I’d sit down a spell.” “It’s as cheap settin’ as standin’,—as the old hen remarked, arter she’d sot a month on rotten eggs, an’ nary chicken,” said Mr. Pipkin, whose spirits rose with the excitement of the occasion. “There’s a good reason for the dog’s skulking,” said Jack. “He’s afraid of thunder, ever since Squire Peternot fired the old musket in his face and eyes. Hello! another crack!” “I never see sich thunder!” exclaimed Mr. Pipkin. “Look a’ them rain-drops! big as bullets!” “It’s coming!” cried Jack; and instantly the heavy thunder-gust swept over them. “Onhitch!” roared out Mr. Pipkin, in the sudden tumult of rain and wind and thunder. “I must look out for my rheumatiz! Put for the house!” “We shall get drenched before we are half-way to the house,” replied Jack, dropping the trace-chains. “I go for the woods!” “I’ll take Old Maje, then,” said Mr. Pipkin. But before he could mount, Phin, darting from the imperfect shelter of the rock, ran and leaped across the horse’s back. As he was scrambling to a seat, holding on by mane and harness, kicking, and calling out, “Give me a boost, Phi!” Mr. Pipkin gave him a boost, and lost his hat by the operation. That was quickly recovered; but before the owner, clapping it on his head, could get back to the horse’s side, the youthful rider, using the gathered-up reins for a whip, had started for the barn. “Whoa! hold on! take me!” bellowed Mr. Pipkin. “He won’t carry double—ask Jack!” Flinging these parting words over his shoulder, the treacherous Phin went off at a gallop, leaving Mr. Pipkin to follow, at a heavy “dog-trot,” over the darkened hill, through the rushing, blinding storm. Jack was already leaping a wall which separated the pasture from a neighboring wood-lot. Plunging in among the reeling and clashing trees, he first sought shelter by placing himself close under the lee of a large basswood; but the rain dashed through the surging mass of foliage above, and trickled down upon him from trunk and limbs. Looking hastily about to see if he could better his situation, he cast his eye upon a prostrate tree, which some former gale had broken and overthrown, and from which the branches had mostly rotted and fallen away. It appeared to be hollow at the butt, and Jack ran to it, laughing at the thought of crawling in out of the rain. He put in his head, but took it out again immediately. The cavity was dark, and a disagreeable odor of rotten wood, suggestive of bugs and “thousand-legged worms,” repelled him. “Never mind!” thought he. “I can clap my clothes in the hole, and have ’em dry to put on after the shower is over.” He stripped himself in a moment, rolled up his garments in a neat bundle, and placed them, with his hat and shoes, within the hollow log. “Now for a jolly shower-bath!” And, seeing an opening in the woods a little farther on, he capered towards it, laughing at the oddness of his situation, and at the feeling of the rain trickling down his bare back. A few more lightning flashes and tremendous claps of thunder, then a steady, pouring rain for about five minutes, in which Jack danced and screamed in great glee,—and the storm was over. “What a soaking Phi and Phin must have got!” thought he. “And now won’t they be surprised to see me come home in dry clothes!” The wind had gone down before; and now a flood of silver light, like a more ethereal shower, broke upon the still woods, brightening through its arched vistas, glancing from the leaves, and glistening in countless drops from the dripping boughs. A light wind passed, and every tree seemed to shake down laughingly from its shining locks a shower of pearls. Jack was filled with a sense of wonder and joy as he walked back through the beautiful, fresh, wet woods to his hollow log. He waited only a minute or two for his skin to dry, and for the boughs to cease dripping; then put in his hand where he had left his clothes. His clothes were not there! Jack was startled: in place of the anticipated triumph of going home in dry garments, here was a chance of his going home in no garments at all! Yet who could have taken them? how was it possible that they could have been removed during his brief absence? “Maybe this isn’t the log!” He looked around. “Yes, it is, though!” No other fallen trunk at all resembling it was to be seen in the woods. Then he stooped again, and thrust his hand as far as he could into the opening. He touched something,—not what he sought, but a mass of hair, and the leg of some large animal. He recoiled instinctively, with—it must be confessed—a start of fear. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. JACK’S first thought was, that the creature, whatever it might be, was in the log when he placed his clothes there, and that it had afterwards seized them and perhaps torn them to pieces. Then he reflected that the hair he touched felt wet; and he said, “The thing ran to its hole after I put the clothes in, and it has pushed ’em along farther into the log. Wonder what it can be!” It was evidently much too large for a raccoon or a woodchuck: could it be a panther? or a young bear? “He’s got my clothes, any way! I must get him out, or go home without ’em!” Naked and weaponless as he was, he naturally shrank from attacking the strange beast; nor was it pleasant to think of going home in his present condition. It was not at all probable that Mr. Pipkin and Phin would return to their work that afternoon; and he was too far from the house to make his cries for help heard. He resolved to call, however. “Maybe I can make Lion hear. I wonder if he went home.” He remembered that the frightened dog was last seen crouching with Phin beside the rock, and hoping he was there still, he began to call. “Lion! here, Lion!” and, putting his fingers to his mouth, he whistled till all the woods rang. Then suddenly—for he watched the log all the while—he heard a tearing and rattling in the cavity, and saw that the beast was coming out. Stepping quickly backwards, he tripped over a stick; and the next moment the creature—big and shaggy and wet—was upon him. “You rogue! you coward! old Lion! what a fright you gave me! what have you done with my clothes? you foolish boy’s dog!” For the beast was no other than Lion himself; frightened from his retreat beside the boulder, he had followed his young master to the woods, and crept into the hollow of the log, after Jack had left his clothes in it. Jack returned to the log, and with some difficulty fished out his garments. He unfolded them one by one, holding them up and regarding them with ludicrous dismay. Lion had made a bed of them; and between his drenched hide and the rotten wood, they had suffered no slight damage. “O, my trousers!” Jack lamented. “And just look at that shirt! I’d better have worn them in fifty showers! So much for having a dog that’s afraid of thunder!” And he gave the mischief-maker a cuff on the ear. Jack recovered everything except one shoe, which he could not get without going considerably farther than he liked into the decayed trunk. “Here, Lion! you must get that shoe! That’s no more than fair. Understand?” And showing the other shoe, he pointed at the hole. In went Lion, scratching and scrambling, and presently came out again, bringing the shoe in his mouth. Encouraged by his young master’s approval, and eager to atone for his cowardice and the mischief he had done, he went in again, although no other article was missing, and was presently heard pawing and pulling at something deep in the log. “After squirrels, maybe,” said Jack, as, dressing himself, he stepped aside to avoid the volleys of dirt which now and then flew out of the opening. He thought no more of the matter, until the dog came backwards out of the hole, shook himself, and laid a curious trophy down by the shoe. Jack looked at it, and saw to his surprise that it was a metallic handle, such as he had seen used on the ends of small chests and trunks, or on bureau-drawers. He scraped off with his knife some of the rust with which it was covered, and found that it was made of brass. At the ends were short rusty screws, which, upon examination, appeared to have been recently wrenched out of a piece of damp wood. “It’s a trunk-handle,” said Jack. “Lion has pulled it off. And the trunk is in the log!” He grew quite excited over the discovery, and sent the dog in again for further particulars, while he hurriedly put on his shoes. Lion gnawed and dug for a while, and at last reappeared with a small strip of partially decayed board in his mouth. “It’s a piece of the box!” exclaimed Jack. “Try again, old fellow!” Lion plunged once more into the opening, and immediately brought out something still more extraordinary. It was a round piece of metal, about the size of an American half-dollar; but so badly tarnished that it was a long time before Jack would believe that it was really money. He rubbed, he scraped, he turned it over, and rubbed and scraped again, then uttered a scream of delight. “A silver half-dollar, sure as you live, old Lion!” The dog was already in the log again. This time he brought out two more pieces of money like the first, and dropped them in Jack’s hand. “Here, Lion!” cried the excited lad. “I’m going in there myself!” He pulled the dog away, and entered the cavity, quite regardless now of rotten wood, bugs, and “thousand-legged worms.” His heels were still sticking out of the log, when his hand touched the broken end of a small trunk, and slid over a heap of coin, which had almost filled it, and run out in a little stream from the opening the dog had made. Out came Jack again, covered with dirt, his hair tumbled over his eyes, and both hands full of half-dollars. He dashed back the stray locks with his sleeve, glanced eagerly at the coin, looked quickly around to see if there was any person in sight, then examined the contents of his hands. “If there’s no owner to this money, I’m a rich man!” he said, with sparkling eyes. “There ain’t less than a thousand dollars in that trunk!” To a lad in his circumstances, five-and-twenty years ago, such a sum might well appear prodigious. To Jack it was an immense fortune. “And how can there be an owner?” he reasoned. “It must have been in that log a good many years,—long enough for the trunk to begin to rot, any way. Some fellow must have stolen it and hid it there; and he’d have been back after it long ago, if he hadn’t been dead,—or like enough he’s in prison somewhere. Here, Lion! keep out of that!” and Jack cuffed the dog’s ears, to enforce strict future obedience to that command. “Nobody must know of that log,” he muttered, looking cautiously all about him again, “till I can take the money away.” But now, along with the sudden tide of his joy and hopes, a multitude of doubts rushed in upon his mind. How was he to keep his great discovery a secret until he should be ready to take advantage of it? The thief who had stolen the coin might be dead; but was it not the finder’s duty to seek out the real owner and restore it to him? Already that question began to disturb the boy’s conscience; but he soon forgot it in the consideration of others more immediately alarming. “The thief may have been in prison, and he may come back this very night to find his booty! Or the owner of the land may claim it, because it was found on his premises.” And Jack remembered with no little anxiety that the land belonged to Mr. Chatford’s neighbor, the stern and grasping Squire Peternot. “Or, after all,” he thought, “it may be counterfeit!” That was the most unpleasant conjecture of any. “I’ll find out about that, the first thing,” said Jack; and he determined to keep his discovery in the meanwhile a profound secret. Accordingly, after due deliberation, he crept back into the log, and replaced the piece of the trunk, with the handle, and all the coin except one half-dollar; then, having partially stopped the opening with broken sticks and branches, he started for home. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III “TREASURE-TROVE.” TAKING a circuitous route, in order that, if he was seen emerging from the woods, it might be at a distance from the spot where his treasure was concealed, Jack came out upon the pasture, crossed it, took the lane, and soon got over the bars into the barn-yard. As he entered from one side he met Mr. Pipkin coming in from the other. “Hullo!” he cried, with a wonderfully natural and careless air, “did ye get wet?” “Yes, wet as a drownded rat, I did! So did Phin,—and good enough for him, by hokey!” said Mr. Pipkin. “Where’ve you been?” “O, I went into the woods. Got wet, though, a little; and dirty enough,—just look at my clothes!” “I’ve changed mine,” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “Wasn’t a rag on me but what was soakin’ wet. I wished I had gone to the woods.” “I’m glad ye didn’t,” thought Jack, as he walked on. “O,” said he, turning back as if he had just thought of something to tell, “see what I found!” “Half a dollar? ye don’t say! Found it? Where, I want to know!” said Mr. Pipkin, rubbing the piece, first on his trousers, then on his boot. “Over in the woods there,—picked it up on the ground,” said Jack, who discreetly omitted to mention the fact that it had first been laid on the ground by Lion. “That’s curi’s!” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “What is it?” said Phin, making his appearance, also in dry garments. He looked at the coin, while Jack repeated the story he had just told Mr. Pipkin; then said, with a sarcastic smile, “Feel mighty smart, don’t ye, with yer old half-dollar! I don’t believe it’s a good one.” And Master Chatford sounded it on a grindstone under the shed. “Couldn’t ye find any more where ye found this?” “What should I want of any more, if this isn’t a good one?” replied Jack. “Here! give it back to me!” “’Tain’t yours,” said Phin, with a laugh, pocketing the piece, and making off with it. “It’s mine, if I don’t find the owner. ’Tisn’t yours, any way! Phin Chatford!”—Phin started to run, giggling as if it was all a good joke, while Jack started in pursuit, very much in earnest. “Give me my money, or I’ll choke it out of ye!” he cried, jumping upon the fugitive’s back, midway between barn and house. “Here, here! Boys! boys!” said a reproving voice; and Phin’s father, coming out of the wood-shed, approached the scene of the scuffle. “What’s the trouble, Phineas? What is it, Jack?” “He’s choking me!” squealed Phineas. “He’s got my half-dollar!” exclaimed Jack, without loosing his hold of Phin’s neck. “Come, come!” said Mr. Chatford. “No quarrelling. Have you got his half-dollar?” “Only in fun. Besides, ’tain’t his”; and Phin squalled again. “Let go of him, Jack!” said Mr. Chatford, sternly. Jack obeyed reluctantly. “Now what is it all about?” “I’ll tell ye, deacon!” said round-shouldered Mr. Pipkin, coming forward. “It’s an old half-dollar Jack found in the woods; Phin snatched it and run off with ’t. Jack was arter him to git it back; he lit on him like a hawk on a June-bug; but he ha’n’t begun to give him the chokin’ he desarves!” “Give me the money!” said the deacon. “No more fooling, Phineas!” “Here’s the rusty old thing! ’Tain’t worth making a fuss about, any way,” said Phin, contemptuously. “Ho! Jack! you don’t know how to take a joke!” “You _do_ know how to take what don’t belong to you,” replied Jack. “Is it a good one, Mr. Chatford? That’s what I want to know.” “Yes, I guess so,—I don’ know,—looks a little suspicious. Can’t tell about that, though; any silver money will tarnish, exposed to the damp. I’ll ring it. Sounds a little mite peculiar. Who’s got a half-dollar?” “I have!” cried Phin’s little sister Kate. In a minute her piece was brought, and Jack’s was sounded beside it on the door-stone; Jack listening with an anxious and excited look. [Illustration: SOUNDING THE HALF-DOLLAR.] “No, it don’t ring like the other,” observed the deacon. Jack’s heart sank. “Has a more leaden sound.” His heart went down into his shoes. “It may be good, though, after

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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v3 #61 in our series French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy #3 in our series by Rene Bazin Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Please do not remove this. This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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Produced by David Garcia 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.) The Library Assistant's Manual By THEODORE W. KOCH Librarian, University of Michigan Provisional Edition LANSING, MICHIGAN STATE BOARD OF LIBRARY COMMISSIONERS 1913 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _Issued on the occasion of the 61st annual meeting of the Michigan State Teachers' Association, Ann Arbor, October 30-November 1, 1913._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS. Page I. The library movement in the United States 7-15 II. Organization of a library 16-19 III. Book selection and buying 20-24 IV. Classification 25-32 V. Cataloging 33-38 VI. Reference work and circulation 39-50 VII. The binding and care of library books 51-53 VIII. Work with children 54-58 IX. The high school library 59-66 X. Suggested readings in the Encyclopaedia Britannica 67-78 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER I. =THE LIBRARY MOVEMENT IN THE UNITED STATES.= The forerunner of the American public library of today is found in the subscription or stock company libraries of Philadelphia, Boston and other cities. The oldest of these is the Philadelphia Library Company, founded in 1731 by Benjamin Franklin who later referred to it as "the mother of all subscription libraries in America." The Rev. Jacob Duche, a director of the Library Company, wrote in 1774: "Literary accomplishments here meet with deserved applause. But such is the taste for books that almost every man is a reader." The Library Company's authority on book selection was James Logan (the friend of William Penn) who was esteemed "to be a gentleman of universal learning and the best judge of books in these parts." In 1783 the Library Committee instructed its London agent that "though not averse to mingling the dulce with the utile, they did not care to have him buy any more novels." In 1869 the Library Company was made the beneficiary under the will of Dr. James Rush, who left $1,500,000 to establish the Ridgeway Branch. On account of the conditions attached to the bequest, the gift was accepted by a bare majority of the stockholders. Among other restrictions, the will contained the following clause: "Let the library not keep cushioned seats for time-wasting and lounging readers, nor places for every-day novels, mind-tainting reviews, controversial politics, scribblings of poetry and prose, biographies of unknown names, nor for those teachers of disjointed thinking, the daily newspapers." The provisions of the will were strictly carried out and today the Ridgeway Library stands as a storehouse of the literature of the past, a monument to the donor and an evidence of the change that has come over the world in its conception of the function of the library. =Boston Athenaeum.=--Like the Philadelphia Library Company, the Boston Athenaeum was the outgrowth of a group of men who had in common an interest in books. In May 1806, the Anthology Society, which had been editing the "Monthly Anthology and Boston review," established a reading room, the object of which was to afford subscribers a meeting place furnished with the principal American and European periodicals. The annual subscription was placed at ten dollars, which was not more than the cost of a single daily paper. The organization prospered and by 1827 the treasurer's books showed property valued at more than $100,000. Two years later the library administration faced a new problem: a woman applied for admission to the library. Having no precedent to guide him, the librarian allowed the applicant free access to the shelves. She was Hannah Adams, who wrote "A view of religious opinions," a "History of New England," and "The history of the Jews." The next woman to ask for admission to the treasures of the Athenaeum was Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, (1802-1880), author of "The rebels," "The freedman's books," "Hobomok," etc., but her ticket of admission was shortly revoked "lest the privilege cause future embarrassment." As late as 1855 Charles Folsom entered a protest against women having access to "the corrupter portions of polite literature." =Boston Public Library.=--In 1825 a plan was proposed whereby all the libraries in Boston should be united under one roof. Later, a Frenchman by name of Vattemare, caused to be introduced into Congress a measure which was to build up great libraries through international exchanges. A public meeting was held in Boston but a committee of the Boston Athenaeum opposed the scheme and it was dropped. However, in return for some books forwarded through Vattemare to the Municipal Council of Paris, the Mayor of Boston received in 1843 about fifty volumes, which in reality formed the nucleus of the Boston Public Library. In 1847 the Boston City Council appointed a joint committee on a library. The next year a special act was passed by the Massachusetts State Legislature authorizing the city of Boston to found and maintain a library. Efforts were made to effect a union of interests with the Boston Athenaeum, but they failed. In 1849 the first books were presented by the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, and in the following year J. P. Bigelow, then Mayor of the city, turned over to a library fund the sum of $1,000 which had been presented to him as a personal testimony. Edward Everett presented 1,000 United States documents, and Edward Capen was appointed librarian by the Mayor. George Ticknor, a member of the Board, helped to draw up a preliminary report outlining the ideals for the new civic institution. The library was not to be a "mere resort of professed scholars." The key note of the whole public library movement in America was struck by Ticknor when in 1851 he wrote of his hopes for the new library proposed for Boston: "I would establish a library which differs from all free libraries yet attempted; I mean one in which any popular books, tending to moral and intellectual improvement, shall be furnished in such numbers of copies that many persons can be reading the same book at the same time; in short, that not only the best books of all sorts, but the pleasant literature of the day, shall be made accessible to the whole people when they most care for it, that is, when it is fresh and new." A timely friend was found in Joshua Bates, who gave more than $50,000 for the purchase of books, saying that he thought it was desirable to render the public library at once as useful as possible by providing it with a large collection of books in many departments of knowledge. Thus the aim of the founders was quickly realized, it having been their professed intention to make the library what no other library in the world had either attempted or desired to become, "a powerful and direct means for the intellectual and moral advancement of a whole people without distinction of class or condition." The Boston Public Library was the pioneer of the large public libraries in America and as such has long enjoyed a prominence which in a way has resulted in its differentiation from other large municipal institutions. =Astor Library.=--John Jacob Astor, who came to this country in 1783, as a young man of 20, independent of capital, family connections or influence, became the richest man of his day in the United States, and wished to show his feelings of gratitude towards the city of New York, in which he had lived so long and prospered. When he consulted with his friends, Fitz Green Halleck and Washington Irving among others, as to the object to which his liberality should be applied, the plan of building a public library was the most approved and a decision was promptly made in favor of it. Four hundred thousand dollars was left for this purpose. The site chosen for the new Astor Library was in Lafayette Place, in which street lived Mr. William B. Astor, a son of the donor. Washington Irving was the first president of the Board of Trustees, and Joseph G. Cogswell was the first librarian. According to John Hill Burton in the "Book hunter," Mr. Cogswell "spent some years in Europe with Mr. Astor's princely endowment in his pocket, and showed himself a judicious, active and formidable sportsman in the book-hunting world. Whenever from private collections or the breaking up of public institutions, rarities got abroad in the open market, the collectors of the old world found that they had a resolute competitor to deal with, almost, it might be said, a desperate one, since he was, in a manner, the representative of a nation using powerful efforts to get a share of the library treasures of the old world. I know that in the instance of the Astor Library the selections of the books have been made with great judgment and that after the boundaries of the common crowded markets were passed and individual rarities had to be stalked in distant hunting grounds, innate literary value was still held as an object more important than mere abstract rarity, and, as the more worthy quality of the two, that on which the buying power available to the emissary was brought to bear." Cogswell was essentially a bibliophile. He loved books "with an eager and grasping love," said Donald G. Mitchell. To his fruitful labor was due the splendid growth of the Astor collections. Cogswell presented to the Library his own collection of bibliographical literature, and gave the institution a reputation for wealth in this field. "So well has the impress thus imparted been maintained," said Dr. Richard Garnett, "that the Astor Library is said to contain hardly any light and frivolous books." Both the son and grandson of the

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Produced by Donald Cummings, Adrian Mastronardi, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) [Illustration: A MISTY MORNING, NEWBY BRIDGE, WINDERMERE] THE ENGLISH LAKES PAINTED BY A. HEATON COOPER • DESCRIBED BY WM. T. PALMER • PUBLISHED BY ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK • LONDON • MCMVIII [Illustration: Lotus Logo] AGENTS IN AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK First Edition _July_, 1905 Second Edition _October_, 1908 CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION 1 CHAPTER II BY STEAM YACHT ON WINDERMERE 9 CHAPTER III BY WORDSWORTH’S ROTHAY 30 CHAPTER IV RYDAL AND GRASMERE 36 CHAPTER V ESTHWAITE WATER AND OLD HAWKSHEAD 49 CHAPTER VI CONISTON WATER 60 CHAPTER VII THE MOODS OF WASTWATER 79 CHAPTER VIII THE GLORY OF ENNERDALE 98 CHAPTER IX BY SOFT LOWESWATER 106 CHAPTER X CRUMMOCK WATER 116 CHAPTER XI BUTTERMERE 124 CHAPTER XII THE CHARMS OF DERWENTWATER 137 CHAPTER XIII BASSENTHWAITE 156 CHAPTER XIV THIRLMERE FROM THE MAIN ROAD 165 CHAPTER XV HAWESWATER AND THE BIRDS 178 CHAPTER XVI ULLSWATER, HOME OF BEAUTY 185 CHAPTER XVII MOUNTAIN TARNS 203 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1. A Misty Morning, Newby Bridge, Windermere _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE 2. Furness Abbey in the Vale of Nightshade 4 3. Windermere from Wansfell (sunset) 8 4. Swan Inn, Newby Bridge, Windermere 12 5. Near the Ferry, Windermere: Skating by Moonlight 16 6. The Old Ferry, Windermere 20 7. Old Laburnums at Newby Bridge, Windermere 24 8. Windermere and Langdale Pikes, from Lowwood 28 9. A Glimpse of Grasmere (evening sun) 30 10. Wild Hyacinths 32 11. Dungeon Ghyll Force, Langdale 34 12. Dove Cottage, Grasmere 36 13. Skelwith Force, Langdale 40 14. Sunset, Rydal Water 42 15. Grasmere Church 46 16. Esthwaite Water: Apple Blossom 50 17. An Old Street in Hawkshead 52 18. Sheep-Shearing, Esthwaite Hall Farm 56 19. Dawn, Coniston 60 20. Charcoal-Burners, Coniston Lake 62 21. Brantwood, Coniston Lake: Char-fishing 64 22. Coniston Village: the Old Butcher’s shop 66 23. Moonlight and Lamplight, Coniston 68 24. An Old Inn Kitchen, Coniston 70 25. The Shepherd, Yewdale, Coniston 72 26. Stepping-Stones, Seathwaite 74 27. Winter Sunshine, Coniston 76 28. Daffodils by the Banks of the Silvery Duddon 78 29. A Fell Fox-hunt, Head of Eskdale and Scawfell 80 30. Wastwater, from Strands 82 31. Wastwater and Scawfell 84 32. Wastdalehead and Great

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Produced by MFR, John Campbell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=. Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book. HOW TO TEACH MANNERS IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. BY MRS. JULIA M. DEWEY, METHOD AND CRITIC TEACHER IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF RUTLAND, VT.; FORMERLY SUPT. OF SCHOOLS, HOOSIC FALLS, N. Y. “Who misses or who wins the prize? Go, lose or conquer, as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman.” --_Epilogue to Dr. Birch and his Pupils._ [Illustration: (Publisher’s colophon)] THE A. S. BARNES COMPANY NEW YORK AND CHICAGO COPYRIGHT, 1888 E. L. KELLOGG & CO. NEW YORK INTRODUCTION. Importance of the definite teaching of manners. Children are close imitators; they will learn some kind of manners, and one who teaches positively or emphatically (or contrariwise) may often see a miniature of himself in his young pupil. With this truth in mind one can hardly attach too much importance to punctilious politeness on the teacher’s part in his intercourse with pupils. But however polite a teacher may be, the informal or unconscious teaching of manners is not enough. The school-room does not afford opportunity to exemplify all the necessary practices in good manners, and there is no other way but to teach the various requirements of an accepted code with reference to actual examples that may present themselves at any time in life. It is to be remembered that many children have no opportunity of obtaining a knowledge of good manners, either by practice or precept, except as it is afforded by the schools. And as habits formed in childhood are the most enduring, a lack of early training in good manners will show itself as long as life lasts. Many other reasons weigh in favor of the definite teaching of manners, one of which is, if courtesy is demanded of pupils. The underlying principles of courtesy should be inculcated, that children may know it is more than an empty show. Children need to learn the definite language courtesy employs. This to many children is a new language, and can only be accomplished by definite teaching. Beside, if manners are considered of sufficient importance to be counted a regular part of the school, they will attract much more importance. Accompanying this by observance on the part of teacher, the pupil acquires a valuable knowledge. Good manners ever prove an invaluable aid in doing away with many of the unpleasantnesses of school-life. Courtesy of manner under all circumstances means great self-control, and a lack of self-control in teacher or pupil is the origin of most misdemeanors in school. Aside from the benefits to be derived in the school-room, gentle manners help one on in the world wonderfully. They are more powerful in many cases than their other knowledge. “All doors fly open to the one who possesses them.” “Manners are the shadows of great virtues.”--_Whately._ “High thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy.”--_Sir Philip Sidney._ Mr. Calvert says: “A gentleman is never unduly familiar; takes no liberties; is chary of questions; is neither artificial nor affected; is as little obtrusive upon the mind or feelings of others as on their persons; bears himself tenderly toward the weak and unprotected; is not arrogant; cannot be supercilious; can be self-denying without struggle; is not vain of his advantages;

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Produced by Chris Curnow, Matthew Wheaton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) London. Edward Moxon & Co. Dover Street. _MOXON'S MINIATURE POETS._ A SELECTION FROM THE WORKS OF FREDERICK LOCKER. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY RICHARD DOYLE. LONDON: EDWARD MOXON & CO., DOVER STREET. 1865. PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS. THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., AND RICHARD DOYLE THE COVER FROM A DESIGN BY JOHN LEIGHTON, F.S.A. THE SERIES PROJECTED AND SUPERINTENDED BY Some of these pieces appeared in a volume called "London Lyrics," of which there have been two editions, the first in 1857, and the second in 1862; a few of the pieces have been restored to the reading of the First Edition. TO C. C. L. I pause upon the threshold, Charlotte dear, To write thy name; so may my book acquire One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here Who come and go in homeliest attire, Unknown, or only by the few who see The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought: Of such art thou, and I have found in thee The love and truth that HE, the MASTER, taught; Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say With truth, dear Charlotte?--"And I like his lay." ROME, _May_, 1862. CONTENTS. THE JESTER'S MORAL BRAMBLE-RISE THE WIDOW'S MITE ON AN OLD MUFF A HUMAN SKULL TO MY GRANDMOTHER O TEMPORA MUTANTUR! REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A LOCK OF HAIR THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD BROADOAK AN INVITATION TO ROME, AND THE REPLY:-- THE INVITATION THE REPLY OLD LETTERS MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE PICCADILLY THE PILGRIMS OF PALL MALL GERALDINE "O DOMINE DEUS" THE HOUSEMAID THE OLD GOVERNMENT CLERK A WISH THE JESTER'S PLEA THE OLD CRADLE TO MY MISTRESS TO MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS THE ROSE AND THE RING TO MY OLD FRIEND POSTUMUS THE RUSSET PITCHER THE FAIRY ROSE 1863 GERALDINE GREEN:-- I. THE SERENADE II. MY LIFE IS A---- MRS. SMITH THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD THE VICTORIA CROSS ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE SORRENTO JANET BERANGER THE BEAR PIT THE CASTLE IN THE AIR GLYCERE VAE VICTIS IMPLORA PACE VANITY FAIR THE LEGENDE OF SIR GYLES GYLES MY FIRST-BORN SUSANNAH:-- I. THE ELDER TREES II. A KIND PROVIDENCE CIRCUMSTANCE ARCADIA THE CROSSING-SWEEPER A SONG THAT WAS NEVER SUNG MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS BEGGARS THE ANGORA CAT ON A PORTRAIT OF DR. LAURENCE STERNE A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS LITTLE PITCHER UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY ADVICE TO A POET NOTES The Jesters Moral I wish that I could run away From House, and Court, and Levee: Where bearded men appear to-day, Just Eton boys grown heavy.--W. M. PRAED. Is human life a pleasant game That gives a palm to all? A fight for fortune, or for fame? A struggle, and a fall? Who views the Past, and all he prized, With tranquil exultation? And who can say, I've realised My fondest aspiration? Alas, not one! for rest assured That all are prone to quarrel With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd, Or mildew spoils their laurel: The prize may come to cheer our lot, But all too late--and granted 'Tis even better--still 'tis not Exactly what we wanted. My school-boy time! I wish to praise That bud of brief existence, The vision of my youthful days Now trembles in the distance. An envious vapour lingers here, And there I find a chasm; But much remains, distinct and clear, To sink enthusiasm. Such thoughts just now disturb my soul With reason good--for lately I took the train to Marley-knoll, And crossed the fields to Mately. I found old Wheeler at his gate, Who used rare sport to show me: My Mentor once on snares and bait-- But Wheeler did not know me. "Goodlord!" at last exclaimed the churl, "Are you the little chap, sir, What used to train his hair in curl, And wore a scarlet cap, sir?" And then he fell to fill in blanks, And conjure up old faces; And talk of well-remembered pranks, In half forgotten places. It pleased the man to tell his brief And somewhat mournful story, Old Bliss's school had come to grief-- And Bliss had "gone to glory." His trees were felled, his house was razed-- And what less keenly pained me, A venerable donkey grazed Exactly where he caned me. And where have all my playmates sped, Whose ranks were once so serried? Why some are wed, and some are dead, And some are only buried; Frank Petre, erst so full of fun, Is now St. Blaise's prior-- And Travers, the attorney's son, Is member for the shire. Dame Fortune, that inconstant jade, Can smile when least expected, And those who languish in the shade, Need never be dejected. Poor Pat, who once did nothing right, Has proved a famous writer; While Mat "shirked prayers" (with all his might!) And wears, withal, his mitre. Dull maskers we! Life's festival Enchants the blithe new-comer; But seasons change, and where are all These friendships of our summer? Wan pilgrims flit athwart our track-- Cold looks attend the meeting-- We only greet them, glancing back, Or pass without a greeting! I owe old Bliss some rubs, but pride Constrains me to postpone 'em, He taught me something, 'ere he died, About _nil nisi bonum_. I've met with wiser, better men, But I forgive him wholly; Perhaps his jokes were sad--but then He used to storm so drolly. I still can laugh, is still my boast, But mirth has sounded gayer; And which provokes my laughter most-- The preacher, or the player? Alack, I cannot laugh at what Once made us laugh so freely, For Nestroy and Grassot are not-- And where is Mr. Keeley? O, shall I run away from hence, And dress and shave like Crusoe? Or join St. Blaise? No, Common Sense, Forbid that I should do so. I'd sooner dress your Little Miss As Paulet shaves his poodles! As soon propose for Betsy Bliss-- Or get proposed for Boodle's. We prate of Life's illusive dyes, Yet still fond Hope enchants us; We all believe we near the prize, Till some fresh dupe supplants us! A bright reward, forsooth! And though No mortal has attained it, I still can hope, for well I know That Love has so ordained it. PARIS, _November, 1864_. BRAMBLE-RISE. What changes greet my wistful eyes In quiet little Bramble-Rise, Once smallest of its shire? How altered is each pleasant nook! The dumpy church used not to look So dumpy in the spire. This village is no longer mine; And though the Inn has changed its sign, The beer may not be stronger: The river, dwindled by degrees, Is now a brook,--the cottages Are cottages no longer. The thatch is slate, the plaster bricks, The trees have cut their ancient sticks, Or else the sticks are stunted: I'm sure these thistles once grew figs, These geese were swans, and once these pigs More musically grunted. Where early reapers whistled, shrill A whistle may be noted still,-- The locomotive's ravings. New custom newer want begets,-- My bank of early violets Is now a bank for savings! That voice I have not heard for long! So Patty still can sing the song A merry playmate taught her; I know the strain, but much suspect 'Tis not the child I recollect, But Patty,--Patty's daughter; And has she too outlived the spells Of breezy hills and silent dells Where childhood loved to ramble? Then Life was thornless to our ken, And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then A rise without a bramble. Whence comes the change? 'Twere easy told That some grow wise, and some grow cold, And all feel time and trouble: If Life an empty bubble be, How sad are those who will not see A rainbow in the bubble! And senseless too, for mistress Fate Is not the gloomy reprobate That mouldy sages thought her; My heart leaps up, and I rejoice As falls upon my ear thy voice, My frisky little daughter. Come hither, Pussy, perch on these Thy most unworthy father's knees, And tell him all about it: Are dolls but bran? Can men be base? When gazing on thy blessed face I'm quite prepared to doubt it. O, mayst thou own, my winsome elf, Some day a pet just like thyself, Her sanguine thoughts to borrow; Content to use her brighter eyes,-- Accept her childish ecstacies,-- If need be, share her sorrow! The wisdom of thy prattle cheers This heart; and when outworn in years And homeward I am starting, My Darling, lead me gently down To Life's dim strand: the dark waves frown, But weep not for our parting. Though Life is called a doleful jaunt, In sorrow rife, in sunshine scant, Though earthly joys, the wisest grant, Have no enduring basis; 'Tis something in a desert sere, For her so fresh--for me so drear, To find in Puss, my daughter dear, A little cool oasis! APRIL, 1857. THE WIDOW'S MITE. The Widow had but only one, A puny and decrepit son; Yet, day and night, Though fretful oft, and weak, and small, A loving child, he was her all-- The Widow's Mite. The Widow's might,--yes! so sustained, She battled onward, nor complained When friends were fewer: And, cheerful at her daily care, A little crutch upon the stair Was music to her. I saw her then,--and now I see, Though cheerful and resigned, still she Has sorrowed much: She has--HE gave it tenderly-- Much faith--and, carefully laid by, A little crutch. ON AN OLD MUFF Time has a magic wand! What is this meets my hand, Moth-eaten, mouldy, and Covered with fluff? Faded, and stiff, and scant; Can it be? no, it can't-- Yes,--I declare 'tis Aunt Prudence's Muff! Years ago--twenty-three! Old Uncle Barnaby Gave it to Aunty P.-- Laughing and teasing-- "Pru., of the breezy curls, Whisper these solemn churls, _What holds a pretty girl's Hand without squeezing?_" Uncle was then a lad Gay, but, I grieve to add, Sinful: if smoking bad _Baccy's_ a vice: Glossy was then this mink Muff, lined with pretty pink Satin, which maidens think "Awfully nice!" I see, in retrospect, Aunt, in her best bedecked, Gliding, with mien erect, Gravely to Meeting: Psalm-book, and kerchief new, Peeped from the muff of Pru.-- Young men--and pious too-- Giving her greeting. Pure was the life she led Then--from this Muff, 'tis said, Tracts she distributed:-- Scapegraces many, Seeing the grace they lacked, Followed her--one, in fact, Asked for--and got his tract Oftener than any. Love has a potent spell! Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well, Aunt's sweet susceptible Heart undermining, Slipped, so the scandal runs, Notes in the pretty nun's Muff--triple-cornered ones-- Pink as its lining! Worse even, soon the jade Fled (to oblige her blade!) Whilst her friends thought that they'd Locked her up tightly: After such shocking games Aunt is of wedded dames Gayest--and now her name's Mrs. Golightly. In female conduct flaw Sadder I never saw, Still I've faith in the law Of compensation. Once Uncle went astray-- Smoked, joked, and swore away-- Sworn by, he's now, by a Large congregation! Changed is the Child of Sin, Now he's (he once was thin) Grave, with a double chin,-- Blest be his fat form! Changed is the garb he wore,-- Preacher was never more Prized than is Uncle for Pulpit or platform. If all's as best befits Mortals of slender wits, Then beg this Muff, and its Fair Owner pardon: _All's for the best_,--indeed Such is _my_ simple creed-- Still I must go and weed Hard in my garden. A HUMAN SKULL. A human skull! I bought it passing cheap,-- It might be dearer to its first employer; I thought mortality did well to keep Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer. Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin, Here lips were wooed perchance in transport tender;-- Some may have chucked what was a dimpled chin, And never had my doubt about its gender! Did she live yesterday or ages back? What colour were the eyes when bright and waking? And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black, Poor little head! that long has done with aching? It may have held (to shoot some random shots) Thy brains, Eliza Fry,--or Baron Byron's, The wits of Nelly Gwynn, or Doctor Watts,-- Two quoted bards! two philanthropic sirens! But this I surely knew before I closed The bargain on the morning that I bought it; It was not half so bad as some supposed, Nor quite as good as many may have thought it. Who love, can need no special type of death; He bares his awful face too soon, too often; "Immortelles" bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath, And does not yon green elm contain a coffin? O, _cara_ mine, what lines of care are these? The heart still lingers with the golden hours, An Autumn tint is on the chestnut trees, And where is all that boasted wealth of flowers? If life no more can yield us what it gave, It still is linked with much that calls for praises; A very worthless rogue may dig the grave, But hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies. TO MY GRANDMOTHER. (SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.) This relative of mine Was she seventy and nine When she died? By the canvas may be seen How she looked at seventeen,-- As a bride. Beneath a summer tree As she sits, her reverie Has a charm; Her ringlets are in taste,-- What an arm! and what a waist For an arm! In bridal coronet, Lace, ribbons, and _coquette Falbala_; Were Romney's limning true, What a lucky dog were you, Grandpapa! Her lips are sweet as love,-- They are parting! Do they move? Are they dumb?-- Her eyes are blue, and beam Beseechingly, and seem To say, "Come." What funny fancy slips From atween these cherry lips? Whisper me, Sweet deity, in paint, What canon says I mayn't Marry thee? That good-for-nothing Time Has a confidence sublime! When I first Saw this lady, in my youth, Her winters had, forsooth, Done their worst. Her locks (as white as snow) Once shamed the swarthy crow. By-and-by, That fowl's avenging sprite, Set his cloven foot for spite In her eye. Her rounded form was lean, And her silk was bombazine:-- Well I wot, With her needles would she sit, And for hours would she knit,-- Would she not? Ah, perishable clay! Her charms had dropt away One by one. But if she heaved a sigh

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Produced by Larry Mittell and PG Distributed Proofreaders FIFTEENTH THOUSAND. THE EXPLORING EXPEDITION TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, OREGON AND CALIFORNIA, BY BREVET COL. J.C. FREMONT. TO WHICH IS ADDED A DESCRIPTION OF THE PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF CALIFORNIA. WITH RECENT NOTICES OF THE GOLD REGION FROM THE LATEST AND MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES. 1852 * * * * * PREFACE. No work has appeared from the American press within the past few years better calculated to interest the community at large than Colonel J.C. Fremont's Narrative of his Exploring Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, Oregon, and North California, undertaken by the orders of the United States government. Eminently qualified for the task assigned him, Colonel Fremont entered upon his duties with alacrity, and has embodied in the following pages the results of his observations. The country thus explored is daily making deeper and more abiding impressions upon the minds of the people, and information is eagerly sought in regard to its natural resources, its climate, inhabitants, productions, and adaptation for supplying the wants and providing the comforts for a dense population. The day is not far distant when that territory, hitherto so little known, will be intersected by railroads, its waters navigated, and its fertile portions peopled by an active and intelligent population. To all persons interested in the successful extension of our free institutions over this now wilderness portion of our land, this work of Fremont commends itself as a faithful and accurate statement of the present state of affairs in that country. Since the preparation of this report, Colonel Fremont has been engaged in still farther explorations by order of the government, the results of which will probably be presented to the country as soon as he shall be relieved from his present arduous and responsible station. He is now engaged in active military service in New Mexico, and has won imperishable renown by his rapid and successful subjugation of that country. The map accompanying this edition is not the one prepared by the order of government, but it is one that can be relied upon for its accuracy. July, 1847. * * * * * ADVERTISEMENT TO THE NEW EDITION. The dreams of the visionary have "come to pass!" the unseen El Dorado of the "fathers" looms, in all its virgin freshness and beauty, before the eyes of their children! The "set time" for the Golden age, the advent of which has been looked for and longed for during many centuries of iron wrongs and hardships, has fully come. In the sunny clime of the south west--in Upper California--may be found the modern Canaan, a land "flowing with milk and honey," its mountains studded and its rivers lined and choked, with gold! He who would know more of this rich and rare land before commencing his pilgrimage to its golden bosom, will find, in the last part of this new edition of a most deservedly popular work, a succinct yet comprehensive account of its inexhaustible riches and its transcendent loveliness, and a fund of much needed information in regard to the several routes which lead to its inviting borders. January 1849. * * * * * A REPORT ON AN EXPLORATION OF THE COUNTRY LYING BETWEEN THE MISSOURI RIVER AND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, ON THE LINE OF THE KANSAS AND GREAT PLATTE RIVERS. * * * * * Washington, March 1, 1843. To Colonel J.J. Abert, _Chief of the Corps of Top. Eng._ Sir: Agreeably to your orders to explore and report upon the country between the frontiers of Missouri and the South Pass in the Rocky Mountains, and on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte rivers, I set out from Washington city on the 2d day of May, 1842, and arrived at St. Louis by way of New York, the 22d of May, where the necessary preparations were completed, and the expedition commenced. I proceeded in a steamboat to Chouteau's landing, about four hundred miles by water from St. Louis, and near the mouth of the Kansas river, whence we proceeded twelve miles to Mr. Cyprian Chouteau's trading-house, where we completed our final arrangements for the expedition. Bad weather, which interfered with astronomical observations, delayed us several days in the early part of June at this post, which is on the right bank of the Kansas river, about ten miles above the mouth, and six beyond the western boundary of Missouri. The sky cleared off at length and we were enabled to determine our position, in longitude 90 deg. 25' 46", and latitude 39 deg. 5' 57". The elevation above the sea is about 700 feet. Our camp, in the mean time, presented an animated and bustling scene. All were busily engaged in completing the necessary arrangements for our campaign in the wilderness, and profiting by this short stay on the verge of civilization, to provide ourselves with all the little essentials to comfort in the nomadic life we were to lead for the ensuing summer months. Gradually, however, every thing--the _materiel_ of the camp--men, horses, and even mules--settled into its place; and by the 10th we were ready to depart; but, before we mount our horses, I will give a short description of the party with which I performed the service. I had collected in the neighborhood of St. Louis twenty-one men, principally Creole and Canadian _voyageurs_, who had become familiar with prairie life in the service of the fur companies in the Indian country. Mr. Charles Preuss, native of Germany, was my assistant in the topographical part of the survey; L. Maxwell, of Kaskaskia, had been engaged as hunter, and Christopher Carson (more familiarly known, for his exploits in the mountains, as Kit Carson) was our guide. The persons engaged in St. Louis were: Clement Lambert, J.B. L'Esperance, J.B. Lefevre, Benjamin Potra, Louis Gouin, J.B. Dumes, Basil Lajeunesse, Francois Tessier, Benjamin Cadotte, Joseph Clement, Daniel Simonds, Leonard Benoit, Michel Morly, Baptiste Bernier, Honore Ayot, Francois La Tulipe, Francis Badeau, Louis Menard, Joseph Ruelle, Moise Chardonnais, Auguste Janisse, Raphael Proue. In addition to these, Henry Brant, son of Col. J.B. Brant, of St. Louis, a young man of nineteen years of age, and Randolph, a lively boy of twelve, son of the Hon. Thomas H. Benton, accompanied me, for the development of mind and body such an expedition would give. We were well armed and mounted, with the exception of eight men, who conducted as many carts, in which were packed our stores, with the baggage and instruments, and which were drawn by two mules. A few loose horses, and four oxen, which had been added to our stock of provisions, completed the train

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***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Diary of Samuel Pepys*** Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Please do not remove this. This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they need about what they can legally do with the texts. **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and further information is included below. We need your donations. 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These donations should be made to: Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation PMB 113 1739 University Ave. Oxford, MS 38655-4109 Title: The Diary of Samuel Pepys Author: Samuel Pepys Editor: Lord Braybrooke Release Date: July, 2002 [Etext #3331] [Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule] [The actual date this file first posted = 12/28/01] Edition: 10 Language: English ***The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Diary of Samuel Pepys*** *****This file should be named 3331.txt or 3331.zip***** This etext was produced by John Hill. Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. 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INDEMNITY You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, and its trustees and

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Produced by Mark C. Orton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) "Entered according to Act of the Provincial Legislature, for the Protection of Copy-rights, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six, by P. SINCLAIR, Quebec, in the Office of the Registrar of the Province of Canada." THE RISE OF CANADA, FROM BARBARISM TO WEALTH AND CIVILISATION. BY CHARLES ROGER, QUEBEC. Una manus calamum teneat, manus altera ferrum, Sic sis nominibus dignus utrinque tuis. VOLUME I. QUEBEC: PETER SINCLAIR. Montreal, H. Ramsay and B. Dawson; Toronto, A. H. Armour & Co.; London, C. W., Andrews & Coombe; Port Hope, James Ainsley; New York, H. Long & Brothers, D. Appleton & Co., J. C. Francis

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Produced by 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) STIRLING CASTLE PUBLISHED BY JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, Publishers to the University. MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON. _New York_, _The Macmillan Co._ _Toronto_, _The Macmillan Co. of Canada_. _London_, _Simpkin, Hamilton and Co._ _Cambridge_, _Bowes and Bowes_. _Edinburgh_, _Douglas and Foulis_. _Sydney_, _Angus and Robertson_. MCMXIII. [Illustration: STIRLING CASTLE.] STIRLING CASTLE ITS PLACE IN SCOTTISH HISTORY BY ERIC STAIR-KERR M.A. EDIN. AND OXON., F.S.A. SCOT. AUTHOR OF “SCOTLAND UNDER JAMES IV” _WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUGH ARMSTRONG CAMERON_ GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY 1913 PREFACE Stirling Castle is a many-sided subject that can be treated in more than one way. The story of the castle might be dealt with in a book divided into sections, each one taking up a special part, such as Military History, Stirling as a Royal Palace, Notable Visitors, etc.; but I have thought it better to set forth the whole of the castle’s history in chronological order, and, after discussing the buildings and their associations, to bring together the salient events connected with the three chief Scottish strongholds, and to record what the poets have said about Stirling. With regard to dates, for the sake of simplicity I have adopted the historical computation; that is to say, the years have been reckoned as if they had always begun on the 1st of January and not on the 25th of March, as was the rule in Scotland until 1600. For example, the date of Prince Henry’s birth is given as February, 1594, although the event was considered at the time to belong to the year 1593. I am glad to express here my thanks to my uncle, the Rev. Eric Robertson, for suggesting that I should undertake this work, and for valuable hints given from time to time; to Mr. David B. Morris, Stirling, who has always responded most willingly to any appeal for help, and who has kindly read the proofs; and to Mr. James Hyslop, Edinburgh, for guidance in the subject of the buildings of the castle. To the artist, Mr. Cameron, I am grateful for the whole-hearted interest which he has taken in my part of the work as well as in his own. E. S. K. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. EARLY HISTORY 1 II. THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 18 III. THE EARLY STEWARTS 36 IV. JAMES V. AND MARY 57 V. JAMES VI. 79 VI. LATER HISTORY 114 VII. THE BUILDINGS, THE PARK, AND THE BRIDGE 133 VIII. THE ASSOCIATIONS OF THE BUILDINGS 161 IX. STIRLING’S POSITION WITH REGARD TO OTHER CASTLES 178 X. STIRLING CASTLE IN POETRY 197 INDEX 214 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Stirling Castle _frontispiece_ The Highlands from Stirling Castle 13 The Abbey Craig and River Forth 21 Stirling Castle from Bannockburn 29 *The Prospect of Stirling Castle 32 _From Engraving by Captain John Slezer, circa 1693._ The Douglas Window 45 James IV.’s Gateway (where Margaret Tudor defied the Commissioners) 59 The Pass of Ballengeich 67 The Keep and the Prince’s Walk 89 The Chapel Royal 109 *Stirling Castle 112 _From Engraving by Robert Sayer, 1753._ Turret on Queen Anne’s Battery 125 The Old Mint 135 Portcullis in James IV.’s Gateway 139 James V. as the Gudeman o’ Ballengeich 143 *The Prospect of Their Majesties’ Castle of Stirling 144 _From Engraving by Captain John Slezer, 1693._ Stirling Old Bridge 155 The Parliament House 163 Old Entrance from Ballengeich 167 Old Buildings in Upper Square 189 A Chimney of the Palace 193 _All the Illustrations, with the exception of the three marked with an asterisk, are by Mr. Hugh Armstrong Cameron._ CHAPTER I. EARLY HISTORY. For many centuries travellers have been struck by the remarkable resemblance which Stirling bears to Edinburgh. In each case there is a castle perched on a precipitous rock, and a town built on a narrow ridge that <DW72>s from the crag to the plain. That two places so much alike in situation should be found in Scotland, and but thirty miles apart, may seem a matter for wonder, but a word or two on the geology of the district may help to explain how the similarity arose. During the Great Ice Age, when the physical features of Scotland were moulded into almost their present form, the extensive plain of the River Forth was filled by a giant glacier, which swept down from the Highland hills to the lower land on the south and east, clearing the softer rocks from its path and exposing the hard basalt of igneous sheets and old volcanic necks. These great eruptive obstructions withstood the pressure of the eastward-moving mass of ice, and so prevented the ground on their lee sides from being subjected to the scouring action that hollowed out the land on the north and west and south. Numerous examples of this “crag and tail” formation are to be found in the track of the ancient glacier, but two of the rocks stand out with striking prominence; on one is built the Castle of Edinburgh, on the other that of Stirling. It is strange that of such natural strongholds early history has so little to say, for these fortresses were afterwards to have their names writ large on almost every page of Scotland’s romantic story. The third sister castle, Dumbarton, came earlier to the front. It was a stronghold of renown in the days of the Strathclyde Britons; but as time wore on its importance diminished, and the place which it had held in the principality of Strathclyde was taken by Stirling and Edinburgh in the consolidated Kingdom of Scotland. On the Gowan Hills, to the north of Stirling Castle, traces of an ancient fort show that the Britons considered it more important to defend the rising ground overlooking the River Forth than to occupy the crag, with its precipitous south-west face. When the Romans under Agricola attempted the conquest of northern Britain they constructed a chain of forts across the country, between the Firths of Forth and Clyde. The untrustworthy Boece asserts that Stirling was fortified at the time of those campaigns, but no real traces of their work have been discovered to prove that the Romans occupied the castle rock under Agricola in A.D. 81-82, or when Lollius Urbicus, Governor of Britain for Antoninus Pius, erected the wall on the line of the earlier forts. Near the Pass of Ballengeich is the so-called Roman Stone, with its indistinct, almost unintelligible letters. Antiquaries of a former day--Camden, Sibbald and Horsley--considered the inscription genuine, but recent scholars are of opinion that the letters were carved many centuries after the departure of the legions from Britain. Again, the existence of a Roman causeway has not yet been proved. The natural supposition that a military road, connecting the camp at Ardoch with the south, passed near Stirling led to the belief that the highway crossed the Forth at Kildean, or higher up at the Ferry of Drip. No vestiges of a causeway of undoubted Roman origin have, however, been discovered either at the river or on the Field of Bannockburn, through which it was thought to have passed on its way to the station of Camelon. After the withdrawal of the Roman legions, Stirling Castle dimly appears in the haze of half-real history. King Arthur is claimed as a local prince in Brittany, Cornwall, Wales and Cumberland, but southern Scotland seems to have, on the whole, the best right to the hero of romance. His tenth battle, it would seem, was fought in the neighbourhood of Stirling, and his victory over the Saxons gave him possession of the fortress. Tradition has always associated his name with the Round Table, which afterwards became the King’s Knot, and William of Worcester, who flourished in the fifteenth century, wrote that King Arthur preserved the Round Table in the Castle of Stirling or Snowden.[1] A less famous, though not a less real, person than the great British warrior chief was Monenna or Modwenna, a high-born saint of Ireland. At least two women bearing this name devoted themselves to the religious life, and some confusion has arisen as to which of them it was who became connected with Stirling. The Monenna who lived in the ninth century, however, apparently visited both England and Scotland, and she seems to have been the one who built, among other churches, the chapel in Stirling Castle.[2] Perhaps because the fortress was so obviously a place of strength the early chroniclers have associated with it events which possibly never took place. Boece mentions that Kenneth MacAlpine laid siege to the castle during the Pictish wars; and the same historian asserts that King Osbert of Northumbria occupied Stirling for a number of years, and established a mint in the fortress. A “cunyie-house” at one time did exist in the castle, but the oldest coins known to have been struck at Stirling date from the reign of Alexander III. A site so favourable for a stronghold, however, must have been the scene of many unrecorded fights, so that “the place of striving,” which was formerly thought to have been the meaning of the citadel’s name, would be no inappropriate appellation. “Stirling” is now held to be a corruption of the Welsh _Ystre Felyn_, signifying “The dwelling of Velin,” old forms of the name being _Estrevelyn_, _Striviling_ and _Struelin_.[3] The more poetic “Snowdon” or “Snawdoun,” a corruption perhaps of some Celtic appellation, or else meaning merely the “snowy hill,” was the name given to Stirling by some of the old chroniclers, as well as by Sir David Lyndsay in _The

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Produced by Cindy Horton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) THE BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKER’S AND SUGAR-BOILER’S ASSISTANT Including a large variety of Modern Recipes FOR _BREAD -- TEA CAKES -- HARD AND FANCY BISCUITS -- BUNS -- GINGERBREADS -- SHORTBREADS -- PASTRY -- CUSTARDS -- FRUIT CAKES -- SMALL GOODS FOR SMALL MASTERS -- CONFECTIONS IN SUGAR -- LOZENGES -- ICE CREAMS -- PRESERVING FRUIT -- CHOCOLATE, ETC., ETC._ WITH REMARKS ON THE ART OF BREAD-MAKING AND CHEMISTRY AS APPLIED TO BREAD-MAKING BY ROBERT WELLS PRACTICAL BAKER, CONFECTIONER, AND PASTRYCOOK, SCARBOROUGH Second Edition, with Additional Recipes. [Illustration: Capio Lumen] LONDON CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON 7, STATIONERS’ HALL COURT, LUDGATE HILL 1890 [_All rights reserved._] PREFACE. In submitting the following pages for public approval, the Author hopes that the work may prove acceptable and useful to the Baking Trade as a Book of Instruction for Learners, and for daily reference in the Shop and Bakehouse; and having exercised great care in its compilation, he believes that in all its details it will be found a trustworthy guide. From his own experience in the Baker’s business, he is satisfied that a book of this kind, embodying in a handy form the accumulated results of the work of practical men, is really wanted; and as in the choice of Recipes he has been guided by an intimate acquaintance with the requirements of the trade, and as every recipe here given has been tested by actual and successful use, he trusts that the labour which he has bestowed upon the preparation of the work may be rewarded by its wide acceptance by his brethren in the trade. The work being divided into sections, as shown in the Contents, and a full Index having been added, reference can readily be made, as occasion may arise, either to a class of goods, or to a particular recipe. Any suggestions for the improvement of the work, which the experience of others may lead them to propose, will, if communicated to the Author, be gratefully esteemed and carefully dealt with in future editions. SCARBOROUGH, _October, 1888_. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. It is very gratifying to both Author and Publishers that this little book has been so favourably received by the Baking Trade and the public that a second edition is required within a few months of the first issue of the work. The opportunity has been taken to insert some additional recipes for the whole-meal and other breads which of late have been so frequently recommended as substitutes for the white bread in established use, together with some remarks on the subject by Professors Jago and Graham; and a few corrections in the text (the necessity for which escaped notice when the work was first in the press) have also been made. _August, 1889._ CONTENTS. BREAD AND BISCUIT BAKING, ETC. PAGE I.--INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Slow Process in the Art of Bread-making 1 Need of Technical Training 1 Chemistry as applied to Bread-making 2 Process of Fermentation 4 Liebig on the Process of Bread-making 5 Professors Jago and Graham on Brown Bread 7, 8 II.--GENERAL REMARKS ON BAKING. Baking and its several Branches 10 Essentials of good Bread-making 10 German Yeast and Parisian Barm 11 Recipe for American Patent Yeast 12 Judging between good and bad Flour 13 Liebig on the Action of Alum in Bread 13 Professor Vaughan on Adulteration with Alum 13 Importance of good Butter to the Pastrycook 13 III.--BREAD, TEA CAKES, BUNS, ETC. 1. To make Home-made Bread 17 2. Bread-making by the Old Method

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Produced by David Widger SKETCHES NEW AND OLD by Mark Twain Part 3. DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed boy, on his way to Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the city prison for stoning Chinamen." What a commentary is this upon human justice! What sad prominence it gives to our human disposition to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco has little right to take credit to herself for her treatment of this poor boy. What had the child's education been? How should he suppose it was wrong to stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him, along with outraged San Francisco, let us give him a chance--let us hear the testimony for the defense. He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and therefore the chances are that his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people, with just enough natural villainy in their composition to make them yearn after the daily papers, and enjoy them; and so this boy had opportunities to learn all

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*** Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover art] [Illustration: HE WILDLY TORE AT EVERYTHING AND HURLED IT DOWN ON HIS PURSUERS _Page_ 86 _Frontispiece_] Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day BY SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL T. T. JEANS, C.M.G., R.N. Author of "John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N." "A Naval Venture" &c. _Illustrated by Edward S. Hodgson_ BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW 1908 By Surgeon Rear-Admiral T. T. Jeans The Gun-runners. John Graham, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N. A Naval Venture. Gunboat and Gun-runner. Ford of H.M.S. "Vigilant". On Foreign Service. Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N. _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_ *Preface* In this story of the modern Royal Navy I have endeavoured, whilst narrating many adventures both ashore and afloat, to portray the habits of thought and speech of various types of officers and men of the Senior Service who live and serve under the White Ensign to-day. To do this the more graphically I have made some of the leading characters take up, from each other, the threads of the story and continue the description of incidents from their own points of view; the remainder of the tale is written in the third person as by an outside narrator. I hope that this method will be found to lend additional interest to the book. I have had great assistance from several Gunnery, Torpedo, and Engineer Lieutenants, who have read the manuscripts as they were written, corrected many errors of detail, and made many useful suggestions. The story may therefore claim to be technically correct. T. T. JEANS, SURGEON REAR-ADMIRAL, ROYAL NAVY *Contents* CHAP. I. The Luck of Midshipman Glover II. Helston receives a Strange Letter III. The Fitting Out of a Squadron IV. The Pirates are not Idle V. The Squadron leaves hurriedly VI. The Voyage East VII. The Pursuit of the Patagonian VIII. Mr. Ping Sang is Outwitted IX. Captain Helston Wounded X. Destroyer "No. 1" Meets her Fate XI. The Action off Sin Ling XII. A Council of War XIII. The Avenging of Destroyer "No. 1" XIV. Night Operations XV. Mr. Midshipman Glover Tells how he was Wounded XVI. Captain Helston's Indecision XVII. Spying Out the Pirates XVIII. The Escape from the Island XIX. Cummins Captures One Gun Hill XX. The Fight for One Gun Hill XXI. On One Gun Hill XXII. The Final Attack on the Hill XXIII. The Attack on the Forts XXIV. The Capture of the Island XXV. The Fruits of Victory XXVI. Home Again *Illustrations* He wildly tore at everything and hurled it down on his pursuers... _Frontispiece_ I struck at him with my heavy malacca stick The sinking of the Pirate Torpedo-Boat The Commander and Jones overpower the Two Sentries Map Illustrating the Operations Against the Pirates [Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING THE OPERATIONS AGAINST THE PIRATES] *CHAPTER I* *The Luck of Midshipman Glover* Ordered Abroad. Hurrah! _Midshipman Glover explains how Luck came to him_ It all started absolutely unexpectedly whilst we were on leave and staying with Mellins in the country. When I say "we", I mean Tommy Toddles and myself. His real name was Foote, but nobody ever called him anything but "Toddles", and I do believe that he would almost have forgotten what his real name actually was if it had not been engraved on the brass plate on the lid of his sea chest, and if he had not been obliged to have it marked very plainly on his washing. We had passed out of the _Britannia_ a fortnight before--passed out as full-blown midshipmen, too, which was all due to luck--and were both staying with Christie at his pater's place in Somerset. It was Christie whom we called Mellins, because he was so tremendously fat; and though he did not mind us doing so in the least, it was rather awkward whilst we were staying in his house, for we could hardly help calling his pater "Colonel Mellins". You see, he was even fatter than Mellins himself, and the very first night we were there--we were both just a little nervous--Toddles did call him Colonel Mellins when we wished him "Good-night", and he glared at us so fiercely, that we slunk up to our room and really thought we'd better run away. We even opened the window and looked out, feeling very miserable, to see if it was possible to scramble down the ivy or the rusty old water-spout without waking everybody, when Mellins suddenly burst in with a pillow he had screwed up jolly hard, and nearly banged us out of the window. By the time we had driven him back to his room at the other end of the corridor, and flattened him out, we had forgotten all about it, and we crept back like mice, and went to sleep. It was just at this time that the papers came out with those extraordinary yarns about the increase of piracy on the Chinese coast, and how some Chinese merchants had clubbed together to buy ships in England and fit out an expedition to clear the sea again. You can imagine how interested we three were, especially as fifty years ago Toddles's father had taken part in a great number of scraps with the Cantonese pirates, and Toddles rattled off the most exciting yarns which his father had told him. We saw in the papers that the Admiralty was about to lend naval officers to take command, but it never struck us that we might possibly get a look in, till one morning a letter came for me from Cousin Milly, whose father is an old admiral and lives at Fareham, and isn't particularly pleasant when I go to see him. My aunt! weren't we excited! Why, she actually wrote that if I wanted to go she thought she could get me appointed to the squadron, as the captain who was going in charge was a great friend of hers. You can imagine what I wrote, and how I buttered her up and called her a brick, and said she was a "perfect ripper". I ended up by saying that "Mr. Arthur Bouchier Christie, midshipman, and Mr. Thomas Algernon Foote, midshipman, chums of mine, would like to go too". I was very careful to give their full names to prevent mistakes, and put "midshipman" after their names just to show that they had also passed out of the _Britannia_. near the top of the list, and so must be pretty good at chasing "X and Y", which, of course, is a great "leg up" in the navy. Two mornings after this Milly sent me a postcard: "Hope to manage it for the three of you". We were so excited after that, that we did nothing but wait about for the postman, and even went down to the village post-office and hung about there, almost expecting a telegram. Well, you would hardly believe it! The very next morning our appointments were in the papers. I have the list somewhere stowed away even now, and it began: "The under-mentioned officers of the Royal Navy have been placed on half-pay and lent to the Imperial Chinese Government for special services". Down at the bottom of the list was "Midshipmen", and we nearly tore Colonel Christie's paper in our excitement as we read, in very small print and among a lot of other names, Arthur B. Christie, Harold S. Glover (that was myself--hurrah!), and Thomas A. Foote. Well, I can't tell you much of what happened after that, for we were simply mad with delight; but I do remember that when I rushed off home my father and mother rather threw a damper over it all. And when my gear had been packed and driven down to the station, I felt rather a brute because everyone cried, and even my father was a little husky when I wished him good-bye. I think something must have got into my eye too, a fly, probably, but it wasn't there when the train ran into Portsmouth Harbour station, and Mellins and Toddles met me and dragged me to the end of the pier to get our first view of our new ship, which was lying at Spithead. Now you will have to read how all these things came about, or you will never properly understand them. *CHAPTER II* *Helston receives a Strange Letter* Helston's Bad Luck--Ping Sang tells of Pirates--Ping Sang makes an Offer--Helston Jubilant In the year 1896 two naval officers were living a somewhat humdrum, monotonous existence in the quiet little Hampshire village of Fareham, which nestles under the fort-crowned Portsdown Hills, and is almost within earshot of the ceaseless clatter of riveting and hammering in the mighty dockyards of Portsmouth. These two men had both served many years before in the small gun-boat _Porcupine_ out in China, and their many escapades and adventures had frequently drawn down on their heads the wrath of the Admiral commanding that station. Wherever the _Porcupine_ went, trouble of some sort or another was sure to follow. At one place an indignant Taotai[#] complained that all the guns--obsolete old muzzle-loaders--in his fort had been tumbled into the ditch one night; at another they only just escaped with their lives from an infuriated mob whilst actually carrying from the temple a highly grotesque, but still more highly revered, joss, at which desecration they had cajoled and bribed the local priests to wink. [#] Taotai = military magistrate. Com

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Produced by Al Haines INDIAN AND OTHER TALES By M. L. HOPE Toronto William Briggs 1911 Copyright, Canada, 1911, By M. L. Hope. {5} INDIAN AND OTHER TALES O beautiful wind of the West, In your wand'rings o'er land and sea, What have you seen in your quest? Come, tell your story to me. In the isles of the southern seas, Where the crystal-clear ocean a melody sang To the beautiful kauri trees, I wandered the summer day through, In the forest's dappled shade, Where the graceful fern-tree bowed its head To woo the Maori maid. A nymph of the woods was she In her kiwi mantle brown; And the fern-tree wooed her with tender grace From dawn till the sun went down; But a Maori chieftain came In the glory of life's young morn, And the maiden forsook her mystic love, Leaving it sad and forlorn. But the tui-bird saw its grief, And in loving sympathy Built her beautiful, woven nest In the heart of the lonely tree. {6} And when its liquid notes echoed the woodland through, The fern-tree lifted its drooping head And was fresh as the morning dew; So I left them in their joy--the youth and his fairy bride, The tree with its nest of callow birds-- And I crossed the ocean tide. In the early morn I came to a land where the orchards were white With their wealth of apple blossoms, and bathed in the spring sunlight; There I found a winding road with banks where the wild-flowers grew, And through a vista of blossoming trees the sea came into view, As it sparkled in the sun and kissed the golden shore, Then laughed aloud in its mirth and ran back to the sea once more. And again I wandered on, until in the twilight dim I came where the scent of the wattle seemed the incense to Nature's hymn, For a brooding peace lay o'er land and sea As I sank to rest in a blue gum-tree, And when I awoke in the dawn, the dew lay on vineyards green, {7} Where they nestled in valleys of red-hued loam; And a river whose fount was a cascade clear, Which burst from the brow of a mountain near, Wended its way through the verdant land, Till it reached at last the ocean strand, Where it lost itself in the waters deep, And only the mermaids saw it leap With joy, as it reached the Garden of Sleep. And still I wandered on until I came to tropical seas, Where the odors of spices were wafted afar by every passing breeze; And in the pearly light of the coming day I saw the feathery bamboo groves, where the elephant loves to stray; I heard his mighty trump, as he waked from his dream, And the sound of women's voices as they wended their way to the stream; A laughing, chattering throng, they passed me on their way To bathe in the limpid waters, ere the sun held his sovereign sway. I followed a Purple Emperor to the cinnamon gardens near, Then chased a laughing rickshaw boy, and whispered in his ear; What the secret was I may not tell, But the rickshaw boy seemed to know it well. {8} Then I left behind me this island fair, With its wondrous charm and fragrant air, And ere night had fallen had crossed the sea, And come to the land of the banyan tree, Where nature is wrapped in mystery deep, And the gods in the cups of the Lotus-flower sleep; And even my spirit felt its spell, For I scarcely breathed as the twilight fell; And when o'er the palm-trees and temples fair The crescent moon hung in the evening air, And from shadowy doorways and wayside shrines near The chant of the Koran fell on my ear; Still more did its mystery my spirit fill, For I felt that I only could breathe and be still. And so on to the Isles of the West I roam, Which the hearts of the exiles ever call home; And I think that the primrose and hare-bells blue Are emblems of hearts that are ever true, And the shamrock doth also with elfin grace Claim for itself in my heart a place; So I whisper them each that no fairer land Have I found in my wanderings from strand to strand; They each have their charm and magic spell, And loving hearts in each one doth dwell. ---------- {9} It was night and the tired villagers were wrapped in sleep; Only within her lonely hut did a mother her vigil keep. All day she had toiled and labored, carrying bricks and stone, While her child lay sick with fever, and uttered his weary moan. Oft she had paused in her work, and in soft, caressing tone Had soothed his plaintive crying, then gone back to her work alone, And now, though tired and weary, and heavy her eyes with sleep, She sat and nursed her baby with a mother love true and deep; And when with a last little cry he turned in her arms and was still, She knew that no more would his baby love the place in her hard life fill. She was only a coolie mother, but her heart was heavy with pain, For she knew that she never would clasp her child in her lonely arms again. What had mattered the daily toil in the heat of the burning sun, When she knew that she had her little one to caress when the day was done? To you he was only a coolie child with his baby limbs dimpled and bare, But now he is one of those favored ones who are safe in their Saviour's care. ---------- {10} The highway was hot and dusty, oppressive the air; The sun on the tired bullocks beat down with pitiless glare. Mere living skeletons were they, their worn-out hides scarce covering their aching bones; Hunger and thirst were their daily lot, while many a cruel blow Forced them to drag their heavy load, though weary their gait and slow; The look in their eyes was pitiful, so full of helpless pain, While ever the cruel driver showered his blows like rain. Have ye no heart, ye men of the East, that ye treat dumb creatures so? Does it help you to bear your own weary lot to add to their tale of woe? Bruised and maim, half-blind, and halt, you drive them until they drop! Oh, had I the power I would wield it, such cruelty to stop; When I see you <DW8> them with pointed stick, my soul cries in answering pain; Oh, why will you treat your oxen so, and give to your land this stain? ---------- {11} Tired out with the heat and the burden of day, And the miles I have walked 'neath the sun's fierce ray, I think with delight of the bungalow dim, And how I shall fill my long glass to the brim; But when I arrive all is empty and bare, The khansamah has gone to his evening prayer. I think I will rest on the charpoi awhile, But the mosquitoes turn out in most welcoming style; I then in despair do betake me outside, Still to find I am helpless to stem their fierce tide. But wait, there's still balm for my weary soul-- I take out my pipe and fill up the bowl, And for a few moments I have a respite, But, oh, I'd be glad of my supper to-night. But presently cometh mine host of the inn, And soon from the murghi's there issues a din, The heartless khansamah he cares not a jot, The dechie is here, but the murghi is not. And though it is tough, and not cooked with great care, I am not in a mood to complain of my fare. You may think that travelling hath its delights, But wait till you've spent a few weary nights In a dak-bungalow, empty and bare, With no punka coolie to answer your prayer, Then I'm sure you'll agree that a pleasanter lot Is to live in a place where dak-bungalows are not. ---------- {12} Again a dak-bungalow is the theme of my lay, But now it is cool, and the close of the day Finds me seated outside in my long-armed chair, My report to the Burra Sahib now to prepare, But, oh, ye great gods, what a discordant din Doth break on the peace and contentment within! A horde of wild monkeys the compound invade, Of every color and age and grade. A venerable sage cometh close to my chair As though he intended my labors to share. But his better-half thinks she has by far the best right To my paper and pens, should I guard them less tight; So she sends him off flying with a howl of pain, Then comes back and watches my efforts again; Meanwhile, the rest of the tribe chatter and grin, Until I think I am being turned outside in. Oh, where are my dreams of peace and delight-- A peg and a smoke in the cool of the night? Their noise and their chatter drive all peace away, And make we feel minded those monkeys to slay; But when I start up and with a stone take a shot, The compound is bare, and the monkeys have got; They have vanished away like the mist in the sun; And, well, after all, they were only in fun. ---------- {13} It was May in the dear old homeland, And the woods and valleys green Were a vision of radiant beauty, For summer now reigned as queen. The lark sang high in the heavens, Filling the air with song, And the thrush with its liquid melody Was glad as the day was long. The brooks through the meadows rippled, Reflecting the sun's bright ray; And the whole earth joined in singing To the summer a welcoming lay. May, in an Eastern city, under burning skies, Where many a weary exile for the dear old homeland cries; Only those know the longing and pain Who have spent long years on the sun-dried plain, Whom days of toil under a pitiless sun Have robbed of hope ere the race was won. Those who each year are free to go To the hills where the cooling breezes blow; Where they see afar off the snow-clad peaks, And nature in all her beauty speaks, Of the weary striving know but the least, For they see but the bright side of life in the East. ---------- {14} I. 'Twas the hush of the early dawn, Ere nature had wakened from sleep; The stars still shone in the opal sky, And deep called unto deep, "Where is the monarch of day-- Why tarrieth he so long? Knoweth he not that his bride, the Morn, Waiteth to greet him with song?" II. And e'en as the clarion cry Rang out from shore to shore, The waves from their deep caves leapt With a mighty roar. The sea-birds wakened from sleep And circled the air; The wild beasts ceased hunting their prey, And sought their lair. III. The mountains caught up the cry And echoed it afar, While dim in the East became The morning star. {15} The hills and the valleys awoke, And with joyous strain The birds of the woodlands broke Into song again. IV. And now the full glory of day Reigned over earth and sea, And morn in her mantle fair Was glad as a bride could be; For night had faded away; And the glorious light of the sun Had filled all her being with joy And made her and the Sun-king one. ---------- I. O land of sunshine

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Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS VOL. III. _By the same Author_ IRELAND UNDER THE TUDORS 3 vols. 8vo. Vols. I. and II.--From the First Invasion of the Northmen to the year 1578. (Out of Print.) Vol. III.--1578-1603. 18_s._ IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS AND DURING THE INTERREGNUM 3 vols. 8vo. Vols. I. and II.--1603-1660. With 2 Maps. 28_s._ net. LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS AND DURING THE INTERREGNUM BY RICHARD BAGWELL, M.A. HON. LITT.D. (DUBLIN), AUTHOR OF 'IRELAND UNDER THE TUDORS' VOL. III. 1660-1690 _WITH MAP_ LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON FOURTH AVENUE & 30th STREET, NEW YORK BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS 1916 All rights reserved CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME CHAPTER XL THE RESTORATION GOVERNMENT, 1660 PAGE The Irish Convention 1 Charles II. proclaimed 3 Coote and Broghill 4 The Church re-established 8 CHAPTER XLI DECLARATION AND ACT OF SETTLEMENT, 1660-1662 Position of Irish Recusants 11 The Declaration 13 Various classes of claimants 14 First Commission of Claims 16 The Irish Parliament, May 1661 18 The Declaration debated 19 Conditions of Settlement 20 Insufficiency of land 22 Ormonde Lord Lieutenant 24 He arrives in Ireland 27 The Clanmalier Estate--Portarlington 28 CHAPTER XLII COURT OF CLAIMS AND ACT OF EXPLANATION, 1662-1665 The second Court of Claims 30 Innocents and Nocents 31 General dissatisfaction 32 Discontented soldiers 34 Plot to seize Dublin Castle--Blood 35 Lord Antrim's case 39 'Murder will out' 42 Bill of Explanation 43 Violent debates 49 The Bill passes 50 CHAPTER XLIII ORMONDE AND THE IRISH HIERARCHY Ormonde's royalism 51 Peter Walsh, Orrery, and Bellings 51 Walsh and the loyal remonstrance 55 Opposition of Primate O'Reilly 56 Incompatibility of royal and papal claims 58 The Congregation meets, June 1666 61 The Remonstrance rejected 62 Why the Congregation failed 64 CHAPTER XLIV GOVERNMENT OF ORMONDE, 1665-1668 Irish Parliament dissolved 67 Mutiny at Carrickfergus 68 Partial exclusion of Irish cattle 69 The Canary Company 70 Disputes on the cattle question 72 Irish cattle excluded and voted a public nuisance 74 Evil effects of exclusion policy 77 Ireland retaliates on Scotland 79 The first Dutch war--coast defence 81 Fall of Clarendon 84 Ormonde and Orrery 86 Recall of Ormonde 87 CHAPTER XLV ROBARTES AND BERKELEY, 1669-1672 Lord Robartes made Lord Lieutenant 89 The Tories 90 Ossory and Robartes 92 Character of Robartes 94 Attempt to impeach Orrery 96 Lord Berkeley and his Secretary 99 Recusants indulged--Oliver Plunket 100 Blood tries to kidnap Ormonde 102 Attacks on the Act of Settlement 102 Lady Clanbrassil 104 The dispensing power 105 Riots in Dublin--Bloody Bridge 106 CHAPTER XLVI GOVERNMENT OF ESSEX, 1672-1677 Essex reaches Ireland 108 Dublin agitators 110 Essex protects Phoenix Park 111 Provincial presidencies suppressed 112 Intolerance of the English Parliament 113 Charles II. submits 114 Agreement of Essex and Ormonde 116 Financial abuses--Ranelagh 119 Ormonde restored to favour 121 And to the Lord Lieutenancy 123 CHAPTER XLVII GOVERNMENT OF ORMONDE, 1677-1685 Revenue troubles 125 Scramble for land 126 Oates's plot 127 Ormonde and Orrery 129 Intrigues of Shaftesbury 130 Spies and false witnesses 133 Trial and execution of Oliver Plunket 134 Ormonde's opinion of the witnesses 139 Castlehaven's Memoirs 140 Ormonde and Anglesey 141 Tories--O'Hanlon and Power 143 Attack on the Settlement 144 Court of Grace 145 Death of Charles II. 147 CHAPTER XLVIII CLARENDON AND TYRCONNEL, 1685-1686 Accession of James II. 148 Purging the army--Tyrconnel 149 Clarendon made Lord Lieutenant 150 His journey to Ireland 151 Tyrconnel goes to London 152 Irish and French Protestant refugees 153 Judges dismissed 154 A new Privy Council 156 Tyrconnel returns as Commander-in-Chief 157 Catherine Sedley in Ireland 157 Drastic changes in the army 158 Hard cases 159 Tory Hamilton's case 160 Tyrconnel summoned to London 162 'Lillibullero' 164 Clarendon leaves Ireland 165 CHAPTER XLIX GOVERNMENT OF TYRCONNEL, 1687-1688 Tyrconnel made Lord Deputy 167 The Coventry letter 168 The Land Settlement threatened 169 Protestant corporations attacked 170 The _Quo Warrantos_ 172 Panic among the Protestants 173 Lord Chancellor Porter dismissed 174 Succeeded by Fitton 175 Judges, magistrates, and sheriffs 176 Rice and Nugent in London 177 Declaration of Indulgence 178 Tyrconnel multiplies commissions 179 Irish soldiers in England 180 Fresh regiments raised 181 Death and character of Ormonde 182 Disturbed state of society--Leinster 184 Southwell's case 186 William's overtures to Tyrconnel 187 Panic in Ulster--Lord Mountjoy 188 Gates of Londonderry shut 190 Enniskillen and Sligo 191 Break of Dromore 193 CHAPTER L JAMES II. IN IRELAND, 1689 French designs on Ireland--Pointis 195 Tyrconnel invites James to Ireland 198 France, Emperor, and Pope 198 Tyrconnel prepares for war 200 Attempts at resistance--Bandon 202 Kenmare 203 James arrives in Ireland 206 From Cork to Dublin 208 Avaux and Melfort 209 Fighting in Ulster--George Walker 212 William III. proclaimed at Londonderry 213 James II. in Ulster 214 Naval action at Bantry 217 Confusion in Dublin--John Stevens 218 CHAPTER LI THE PARLIAMENT OF 1689 Tyrconnel, MacCarthy, and Sarsfield 219 The Hamiltons 222 Composition of Parliament 223 The King's speech 224 The Land Settlement attacked 225 Act of Settlement repealed 227 Act of Attainder 228 Case of Trinity College 231 Treatment of the clergy 232 Commercial legislation 233 Daly's case--scramble for property 234 French efforts to capture trade 236 End of the Parliament 237 CHAPTER LII LONDONDERRY AND ENNISKILLEN, 1689 Siege of Londonderry 239 An English squadron appears 242 Schomberg orders the town to be relieved 243 Cruelty of De Rosen--indignation of James 245 Londonderry relieved by sea 248 Cost of the siege 250 Defence of Enniskillen 250 Colonel Lloyd--the Break of Belleek 252 Kirke in Lough Swilly--Colonel Wolseley 253 Battle of Newtown Butler 255 Walker in England 257 Controversy as to his 'True Account' 258 CHAPTER LIII JAMES II. AND SCHOMBERG, 1689-1690 Schomberg's preparations 260 He reaches Ireland 261 Carrickfergus taken 263 Berwick evacuates Newry 264 Flight of Melfort 265 Schomberg refuses battle 266 Military conspiracy 267 Sufferings of Schomberg's army--Shales 268 Sligo taken and retaken 271 State of Dublin 272 Lauzun sent to Ireland 273 French opinion 274 Brass money 276 Fighting at Newry, Belturbet, and Cavan 278 Avaux and Rosen recalled 280 Lauzun reaches Ireland 281 Disarming the Protestants 282 King and Bonnell 283 Treatment of Trinity College 285 CHAPTER LIV WILLIAM III. IN IRELAND, 1690. THE BOYNE English and French interests 287 Charlemont taken 288 Opposition to William's expedition 289 He lands in Ireland 290 James moves to meet him 292 William reaches the Boyne 293 Battle of the Boyne, July 1 295 Flight of James 299 Political importance of the battle 301 James escapes to France 304 William enters Dublin 306 Final ruin of the Stuart cause 307 CHAPTER LV SOCIAL IRELAND FROM RESTORATION TO REVOLUTION Ireland after the Civil War 309 Country-houses--Portmore, Charleville, Kilkenny 310 Dublin Castle 312 An Irish spa 313 Condition of the poor 314 Ploughing by the tail 316 Some Dublin houses 317 Prosperity under Charles II. 318 CHAPTER LVI THE THREE IRISH CHURCHES The Establishment 319 Jeremy Taylor 320 Bishops ignorant of Irish 321 Condition of the clergy 322 The Irish Bible 324 The Presbyterians 325 The Roman Catholics 326 Oliver Plunket 327 Talbot, O'Molony, and other Bishops 328 Recusants after James II. 330 Slow growth of toleration 331 APPENDIX Letter from Ormonde to Bennet, 1663 333 MAP Ireland to illustrate the reign of James II. _At end of the volume._ IRELAND UNDER THE STUARTS CHAPTER XL THE RESTORATION GOVERNMENT, 1660 The King enjoyed his own again, and England rejoiced exceedingly. Even Oliver's unbeaten soldiers, disgusted with his incompetent successors, were for the most part ready to retire into private life. Yet the spirit of the Puritan revolution survived, and the Mayor of Dover presented a richly bound Bible to the restored monarch, who graciously accepted it, remarking that it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. At Canterbury a crowd of importunate suitors gave him some foretaste of future troubles, but the entry into London was wonderful. 'I stood in the Strand,' says Evelyn, 'and beheld it, and blessed God.' With the shouts of welcome still in his ears Charles took refuge in the arms of Barbara Palmer, and next day issued a proclamation against vicious, debauched, and profane persons. [Sidenote: The Irish Convention.] Coote and Broghill were jealous of each other. There is reason to believe that the former was inclined to claim the whole credit of restoring the King, but that the latter proved his own priority by producing a letter from his rival acknowledging the fact. They agreed that the Restoration might be delayed or frustrated by hasty action in Ireland, and that it was better to wait until England herself was committed to it. The officers who had gladly pronounced for a free Parliament might not have been united had royalty been openly favoured. But the Irish Convention lost no time in repudiating Cromwell's plan of one legislature for the whole of the British Islands, while strongly approving the restoration of the secluded members in England. They declared that 'as for several hundreds of years last passed by the laws and laudable custom and constitution of this nation, Parliaments have been usually held in Ireland and that in those Parliaments laws have been enacted and laws repealed, and subsidies granted, as public occasion required so that right of having Parliaments held in Ireland is still justly and lawfully due and belonging to Ireland, and that the Parliament of England never charged Ireland in any age with subsidies or other public taxes and assessments, until after the violence offered to the Parliament of England in December 1648, since which time they who invaded the rights of the Parliament of England invaded also the rights of the Parliament of Ireland by imposing taxes and assessments upon Ireland.' This important declaration was not made for more than a month after the first meeting of the Convention, and the leaders had prevented news from crossing the Channel until they were sure of unanimity. It is therefore not surprising that they were reported to favour separation from England. The Convention now stigmatised this as a calumny originating with Ludlow and his friends, for the idea of separation was hateful to Ireland as absolutely destructive, 'being generally bone of their bone, flesh of their flesh.' It was clearly seen that the colonists would have a majority, and means were taken to make it permanent. The Convention pledged themselves to favour education, and to assist in the establishment of a pious, learned, and orthodox parochial clergy supported by tithes or endowments. The adventurers and soldiers were to be secured in the lands they had acquired, and all arrears of military pay to be cleared off.[1] [Sidenote: Provisional taxation.] For some months before and after the Restoration all real power was in the hands of the army, but the Irish Convention gave a show of legality to the means by which the soldiers were paid. A poll tax was imposed for this and other public charges, every person of either sex under the degree of yeoman or farmer being assessed at twelve pence, which was the minimum, and the rate rose according to social position. A baron's contribution was fixed at thirty shillings, and that of a marquis, marchioness, or marchioness dowager at eight pounds, which was the maximum. The chief Protestant gentry were appointed collectors in each county, Coote heading the list for Roscommon and Broghill for Cork. The royalist wire-pullers in London had been urging the managers of the Convention not to go too fast for fear of alarming the Presbyterians, and it was not till May 1 that they published a declaration condemning the high court of justice and the sentence on the late King. The people of Ireland, they said, took the first opportunity afforded them of denouncing the most foul murder recorded in sacred or profane history, considering that it had been committed in a country where the true reformed religion flourished, and that it was contrary to the solemn league and covenant which the murderers had themselves taken.[2] [Sidenote: Charles II. proclaimed May 14.] Charles II. was proclaimed in Westminster Hall on May 8, and six days later in Dublin; and there were general rejoicings though the central figure was wanting. The shops were shut, all the finery they contained having been transferred to the citizens' backs. Hogsheads of wine were provided for the multitude, and the more they drank the better the givers were pleased. The guns of the Castle thundered salutes, volleys of musketry were heard on all sides, bonfires and fireworks blazed until midnight. A headless figure stuffed with hay and reclining on a rude hearse was carried in a mock funeral procession, and subjected to the blows and insults of the mob. The journey ended at the mayor's door 'where it was in part burnt before the bonfire there, and part trod to dirt and mortar by the rout.' Such was the end of the mighty Long Parliament.[3] [Sidenote: Lords Justices appointed.] Sir Charles Coote had been President of Connaught since 1645, and there was no difficulty in his case, since service under the Protector was not to be considered a disability. Broghill's appointment, if ever regularly made, was of much later date and of republican origin, but he had the military authority and the legal presidency was soon conferred on him also. With these two was associated Major, soon after Sir William Bury of Grantham, who had been one of the Irish Council under both Protectors. These three were appointed Commissioners for the Government of Ireland

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Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOLUME 93. * * * * * JULY 16, 1887. * * * * * THE LAST VISIT TO THE ACADEMY. [Illustration: No. 691. The Donkey Rider Stopped. "You can't go further than this for twopence."] [Illustration: No. 540. Arrival of the G.O.M. Collars in Venice.] [Illustration: No. 35. A Brave Lassie. "Come on!--the whole lot of you! I'll give it you!"] [Illustration: No. 928. Cat and Child Fight.] * * * * * ABSURD TO A DEGREE. Now that girls have proved themselves capable of earning the highest University honours, why should women remain debarred of University degrees? If any senatorial difficulty precludes the removal of that ridiculous injustice, a girl forbidden to term herself a Bachelor of Arts, for example, might, it has been suggested, "invent some other title more significant of the distinction she has won." No invention could be easier. Her alternative for Bachelor would be obviously Spinster of Arts. No Graduate able to pass the _Pons Asinorum_ can be such a preposterous donkey as to persist in denying even the plainest--possibly the prettiest--Passwoman that. The Dons will be unworthy of the name they go by unless they immediately remove the disability their old-world statutes have imposed upon the _Donne_. * * * * * ROBERT AT THE ACADEMY. I PAID my reglar wisit to the Academy last week, and was glad to find that my werry ernest remonstrance of last year had perduced sech a change as regards Staggerers. No Miss Menads a hunting in Burnham Beeches without no close on to speak of, and no Mr. Cassandra a carrying off of a pore yung lady afore she's had time to dress, merely because she upset the salad-bowl. I don't think it's because "familyaryty breeds content," as the poet says, that I am less staggered than last year, but becos there ain't so many staggerers to be staggered at. Not that there ain't none. Why, there's one lady in the werry same dishabil as Madame Wenus herself a poring out somethink that the Catalog says is a incantashun, but then her pecooliar costoom is reelly xcusable, for she's that red hot that wood excuse anythink or nothink, as in her case. One of the jolliest picturs to my mind is a portrate of a Port Wine drinker. Why, it seems to be a oozing out of ewery pore of his skin! and nothink younger than '63, I'll be bound. What a life to lead, and what a life to look back upon with proud satisfacshun! Poor Lord HARTINGTON looks terribly bored at having to be gazed at so constantly by so many longing, if not loving, eyes, and at being pinted at by the old dowagers as their bo ideall of a sun in law. Ah, Mr. STORY tells us a story as I've offen witnessed, when a young swell stands treat to a few frends and then ain't got enuff money to pay the bill! Wot a nuisance for him, but still wuss for the Landlord, and wussest of all for the pore Waiter. Poor Mr. GROSSMITH looks werry much paler than when I saw him after a jolly dinner at the Mettropole. I thinks as a glass or two of old Port would do him all the good in the world. I now come to another staggerer, that fairly puzzles me. It's a nice young Lady, named, as I see by the Catalog, Euridice, which I beleeve is Greek for "You're a nice one!" who is a trying for to pull a rock down, but I'm sure she'll never do it, though she has taken off ewery morsel of her close, ewen down to her stockings, to give her more strength. I really wonders as she doesn't put a few of her things on, as she must see as Mr. HADES is a cumming towards her, and won't he jest be shocked! And then here's another young Lady, almost as lightly drest, a sitting quietly on a large cold stone, as if there wasn't no North-East wind a blowing, and by moonlight too. What time can she expect to git home, and what will her poor Mother say when she sees her? If I'd ha' bin Mr. HAYNE, Esq., M.P., I'd ha bort a new Hat afore I was painted for my pictur, and ewen gone to the xpense of a new pair of gloves, speshally as his pictur is a going to be given to sumbody. So now he'll go down to remote posteriority with a shabby Hat, and a old pair of gloves on his table. His new Coat looks butifool. It is, I'm told, a capital likeness. The LORD MARE is placed in his proper persition as first in the best room, and looks as happy and as jolly as I've no dout he ginerally feels, though he don't never seem to git no rest. In the next rooms its the great Cardinal MANNING, who ewerybody loves and respects, Waiters and all, though it does rather try our loyalty to see him at dinner, when he don't eat enuff wittles to fatten a church mouse. If I'd ha' bin Sir EDWARD WATKIN, the grate Railway King, I'd ha had a much cleaner shave afore I set for my pictur than he had. I know as he doesn't like to be thought a close shaver in gineral, but, in this werry partickler case, he might have made a xcepshun to his gineral rule. There's a lovely pictur called Ambrosia, a ewident misprint for Hambrosia--probably a new kind of sandwitch--in which there's a werry model of a good-looking waitress a carrying such a elegant little lunshon, as reelly made me quite hungry to look at. I thinks as the reel natives is quite a triumph of Hart. There's quite a grand pictur of the dear old Bank, with all the Carts and Cabs and Omnibuses, and people being all scrowged up together, just like life, and ewerybody a wondering how on earth they shall hever be able to cross, jest like life, and the Bus Coachman a flirtin with the lady passenger on the box, jest like life, and the Policeman a driving away the pore little beggar, jest like life. Ah, it's a reel lovely pictur that is, and werry creditabel to Mr. DOGSTAIL who I'm told painted it. I think the most perthetic pictur in the hole lot is the one called "the Dunce." He's a setting all by hisself, pore feller, what they calls detained, a trying his werry best to do his lesson and he can't do it. And why, coz his thoughts is away out in the playground, where he hears the shouts and the larfing of his skool-fellers. Now, what shood I do, Doctor ABBOTT, if I was his master? Why I shood let him have a nours run with his playmates, and then, when he cums in fresh and jolly, try him again, and praps he'd estonish you. I was a Dunce myself wunce, spechally at spelling, and that's how _I_ was cured. How werry contented all the Parsons looks, they lolls back in their cumferal chairs as much as to say to the tired wisitors, "Don't you wish you had sitch chairs as these to set in?" Some of the Solgers looks at you jest as if they'd like to say, "What on airth are you staring at?" I coud ony take jest a glance at the lovely landscapes; but oh, how nice and cool and carm they all looked, after the staring portrates with their flaring cullers. ROBERT. * * * * * "_THE Wye_" is among STANFORD'S Tourist Guides for this season. He ought to issue another called "_The Wherefore_." If he doesn't show cause for the tour, people will simply ask, "Why?" and stop at home. * * * * * MR. NEWTON will by this time have received quite a refreshing torrent of abuse on his devoted head. No--not torrent--CASS-cade. * * * * * [Illustration: REMARKS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNANSWERED. _Lady Godiva._ "YES, MR. GREEN, I'VE BEEN PAINTED BY ALL THE MOST CELEBRATED ARTISTS OF MY TIME; BUT NOT _ONE_ OF THEM HAS EVER DONE ME JUSTICE!" _Mr. Green._ "WHAT--NOT EVEN _SIR JOSHUA?_"] * * * * * MIXED PICKLES; OR, A VERY LATE PARTY. SCENE--_A Private Room. Two Eminent Statesmen discovered in consultation. Lists of past and present Members of Parliament, also political Maps of England, scattered about._ _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Well, we're agreed about the name, then. It's to be the "National Radical Conservative Unionist Liberal Party," eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (doubtfully)._ Rather long, isn't it? Wouldn't the "Old England Party"--no connection with DIZZY'S "Young England" ditto--sound better? And then we're safe to be called "Nationalists," and the word has such disagreeable associations. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (cheerfully)._ Pooh! What's in a name? I've been called lots of nasty ones before now. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Yes, and called them yourself, too, sometimes. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (with gay indifference)._ Now to business. The most important thing we have to decide is--Who are to be the members of the New Party? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (confidently)._ Quite so. There'll be a perfect rush to join us. We shall have to "hold the fort" pretty strongly to prevent our being swamped. Mind, no weak compliance with what are called "social influences." _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ No. And no claim for admission founded on mere relationship to be regarded for a moment. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Hm! I don't know. Family life, you see, is, after all, the basis of the State; and so it's only fair that the State should do something for one's family in return. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (diplomatically)._ All right! Then we'll shelve that subject. Now, as regards the G. O. M. Suppose he found himself quite out in the cold, and wanted to join us, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (decidedly)._ Not for a moment. Where would our "Dual Control" be then? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Of course. Shouldn't we let in HARTINGTON? Yes. Well, how about SALISBURY? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Awkward if SALISBURY thinks of becoming member of New Party, eh? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (energetically)._ That's my view entirely. You see, if SALISBURY joins, he'll want to be Prime Minister, and then where should I be? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (surprised)._ You! The question rather is, where I should be? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (hastily)._ Ah, well; then we'll shelve _that_ subject too for the present. Wouldn't you--er--like--er--to go into the Lords, and lead _them_? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ You mean, of course, as Premier? _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (modestly)._ I thought--ahem--that _my_ natural qualifications for that post were so obvious that----but, as I said, let's drop the subject for a time. We can come back to it again. Now, what's to be the programme of the Party? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with emphasis)._ There's no doubt about _that_, I should think. Free Education, of course. Then JESSE insists on allotments and free holdings---- _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (thoughtlessly)._ Hang JESSE! _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with considerable dignity)._ Hang him? I intend JESSE as our first Chancellor of the Exchequer, or President of Board of Trade, I can tell you. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (gaily)._ All right. I don't mind, if you consent to WOLFF being next Governor-General of India. Army and Navy Estimates to be cut down Five Millions, each, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Couldn't think of it. We must have a Fleet of some sort, you know. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (discontentedly)._ Then _that_ subject will have to be shelved, too, I suppose. You don't mind, at any rate, a clean sweep being made of the present Admiralty and Ordnance officials, eh? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (heartily)._ Not a bit. No broom you can use will be too hard for them. They'll make it a dirty sweep before you've done. Then there's Local Government, of course. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Readjustment of Taxation. _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Disestablishm---- _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Eh? what? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (calmly)._ Don't be alarmed. We'll shelve _that_ too, if you like. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (relieved)._ By all means. (_With growing uneasiness._) But then, I say, after all, what is our programme? How does it differ from SALISBURY'S, for instance? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (ingeniously)._ Oh, it's far more really Conservative than his, you know. _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Yes--(_encouraged_)--I see. Of course it is. And how does it differ from GLADSTONE'S? _Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ GLADSTONE'S? Oh, well--er--it's more _really and truly Liberal_ than his! _Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (ruminating)._ That _sounds_ all right. The question is, will the country believe it? And if we have to shelve so many questions in order to form our new National Party, shan't we run a risk of being shelved ourselves when the next "wave of progress" sweeps over the Constituencies? [_Left ruminating._ * * * * * WORTH MENTIONING. "WESTGATE-ON-SEA." _Mr. Punch_ takes off his coat and westgate in this hot weather to correct a slight misquotation. _Mr. Punch_ is represented as saying that none of the greatest Composers ever produced an air to equal "the exhilarating, recuperating air" of Westgate-on-Sea. Now _Mr. Punch_, when he wrote this (July 2), did not limit this lovely air to one particular spot, but described it as "the exhilarating, recuperating air of the Isle of Thanet." That Westgate is in Thanet is true, but the advertiser poetically uses the part for the whole, thereby omitting Birchington, Margate, Broadstairs, not to mention the inland villages (delightful in the fall of the year), and above all Ramsgate, which is not _Mr. Punch's_ "seaside resort," as is Westgate when he wants a northerly breeze, but _Mr. Punch's_ seaside Residence, where ten-twelfths of the year are delightful, where sky and sea come out in Mediterranean colour,--where it is Nice without its cold-catching dangers, where fruit and vegetables are flavoursome and plentiful, and where there is even more than a fair share of that exhilarating, recuperating air, of which the Isle of Thanet has the sole patent. In one hour and forty minutes, the L. C. & D. takes the traveller from Town to Westgate, and in two hours to Ramsgate, by Granville Express from Victoria and Holborn Viaduct. On Sunday morning, starting at 10.30 A.M., the Jaded One can be down for lunch at Ramsgate by 12.30, and all the day before him. _A propos_ of the Granville Express, _Mr. Punch_ had the pleasure of dining at the Granville Hotel the other evening, and a better dinner, better chosen, cooked, and served, could not be got anywhere in London, or out of it. The proprietor, Mr. QUATERMAIN EAST, may not wish this to be generally known, but _Mr. Punch_, who specially compliments the _chef_ on his clear turtle and whitebait, thinks that he shall be doing a service to everybody by not keeping secret the story of this QUATERMAIN--not Mr. RIDER HAGGARD'S "_Allan_,"--who means to remain the "Q in the corner" of the Isle of Thanet. "Q. E. D." and "D" stands for "Dinner." * * * * * [Illustration: LATEST STREET IMPROVEMENT. _Regent Street Tradesman._ "LOOK HERE, MR. POLICEMAN, AS WE WANT THE JOB OF CLEARING UP THIS PLACE WELL DONE, WE'LL DO IT OURSELVES."] * * * * * "IF you want a thing done, you should do it yourself," Is an excellent maxim, no doubt, in its way; But, when citizens willingly part with their pelf, They're entitled to claim some return for their pay. BULL does _not_ pay Bobbies to lounge on their beats, And leave him at last to look after his streets. About "Law and Order" there's plenty of talk, But Order seems missing, and Law appears blind. The streets of his City in safety to walk, After stumping up taxes of every kind, Is surely not much for a man to expect, And excuses for failure he's prone to reject. Sure, Regent Street is not Alsatia--not quite, And this handing it over to rufflers and pests, At whatever hour of the day or the night, Is a thing against which civic judgment protests; And BULL, when once roused, be you sure, will determine Against caving in to noctivagant vermin. Must Trade, then, turn scavenger, tradesmen turn out With besom and basket to keep their ways clean? The Bigwigs and Bobbies might like it, no doubt, But BULL will demand what the dickens they mean. He'll have his streets decent by daylight or dark; For why should a man who keeps dogs have to bark? FROM "NORMA."--Moonlight Serenade for Three Voices--a Magistrate, a Policeman, and a Home Secretary--in Regent Street:--"_Cass-ta Diva, Incantatrice!_" * * * * * "GESTA GRAYORUM." THE _Times_ of Thursday last in a learned article on the Gray's Inn Masque, records that "On the 28th February 1587, eight members of the Society were engaged in the production of _The Misfortunes of Arthur_" but on the occasion of _The Maske of Flowers_ in 1887, the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn showed what could be done with the _Success of Arthur_; that is, of Master ARTHUR W. A BECKETT, Master of the Revel

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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tony Towers and PG Distributed Proofreaders THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY By G. Lowes Dickinson 1916 CONTENTS 1. INTRODUCTION Europe since the Fifteenth Century--Machiavellianism--Empire and the Balance of Power 2. THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE AND THE ENTENTE Belgian Dispatches of 1905-14. 3. GREAT BRITAIN The Policy of Great Britain--Essentially an Overseas Power 4. FRANCE The Policy of France since 1870--Peace and Imperialism--Conflicting Elements 5. RUSSIA The Policy of Russia--Especially towards Austria 6. AUSTRIA-HUNGARY The Policy of Austria-Hungary--Especially towards the Balkans 7. GERMANY The Policy of Germany--From 1866 to the Decade 1890-1900--A Change 8. OPINION IN GERMANY German "Romanticism"--New Ambitions. 9. OPINION ABOUT GERMANY Bourdon--Beyens--Cambon--Summary 10. GERMAN POLICY FROM THE DECADE 1890-1900 Relation to Great Britain--The Navy. 11. VAIN ATTEMPTS AT HARMONY Great Britain's Efforts for Arbitration--Mutual Suspicion 12. EUROPE SINCE THE DECADE 1890-1900 13. GERMANY AND TURKEY The Bagdad Railway 14. AUSTRIA AND THE BALKANS 15. MOROCCO 16. THE LAST YEARS Before the War--The Outbreak of War 17. THE RESPONSIBILITY AND THE MORAL The Pursuit of Power and Wealth 18. THE SETTLEMENT 19. THE CHANGE NEEDED Change of Outlook and Change of System--An International League--International Law and Control THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY 1. _Introduction_. In the great and tragic history of Europe there is a turning-point that marks the defeat of the ideal of a world-order and the definite acceptance of international anarchy. That turning-point is the emergence of the sovereign State at the end of the fifteenth century. And it is symbolical of all that was to follow that at that point stands, looking down the vista of the centuries, the brilliant and sinister figure of Machiavelli. From that date onwards international policy has meant Machiavellianism. Sometimes the masters of the craft, like Catherine de Medici or Napoleon, have avowed it; sometimes, like Frederick the Great, they have disclaimed it. But always they have practised it. They could not, indeed, practise anything else. For it is as true of an aggregation of States as of an aggregation of individuals that, whatever moral sentiments may prevail, if there is no common law and no common force the best intentions will be defeated by lack of confidence and security. Mutual fear and mutual suspicion, aggression masquerading as defence and defence masquerading as aggression, will be the protagonists in the bloody drama; and there will be, what Hobbes truly asserted to be the essence of such a situation, a chronic state of war, open or veiled. For peace itself will be a latent war; and the more the States arm to prevent a conflict the more certainly will it be provoked, since to one or another it will always seem a better chance to have it now than to have it on worse conditions later. Some one State at any moment may be the immediate offender; but the main and permanent offence is common to all States. It is the anarchy which they are all responsible for perpetuating. While this anarchy continues the struggle between States will tend to assume a certain stereotyped form. One will endeavour to acquire supremacy over the others for motives at once of security and of domination, the others will combine to defeat it, and history will turn upon the two poles of empire and the balance of power. So it has been in Europe, and so it will continue to be, until either empire is achieved, as once it was achieved by Rome, or a common law and a common authority is established by agreement. In the past empire over Europe has been sought by Spain, by Austria, and by France; and soldiers, politicians, and professors in Germany have sought, and seek, to secure it now for Germany. On the other hand, Great Britain has long stood, as she stands now, for the balance of power. As ambitious, as quarrelsome, and as aggressive as other States, her geographical

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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sjaani and PG Proofreaders HAPPINESS AND MARRIAGE BY ELIZABETH TOWNE "The inner side of every cloud Is bright and shining; I therefore turn my clouds about, And always wear them inside out-- To show the lining." --_James Whitcomb Riley_. "And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future, And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turned to beautiful results." --_Walt Whitman_. 1904 CHAPTER I. TO BE HAPPY THOUGH MARRIED. "Some dear relatives of mine proposed Ada as my future bride. I like Ada and I gladly accepted the offer, and I mean to wed her about the middle of this year. Is this a working of the Law of Attraction? I want to make our married life happy and peaceful. I long for a wedded life of pure blessedness and love and joy without even a pinhead of bitterness ever finding lodgment in our household. How can I attain this state of peace? This is what I now do: I enter into the Silence daily at a particular hour and enjoy the mental picture of how I desire to be when married. Am I right? Please tell me how to make my ideal real." Tudor, Island of Ceylon. The above letter comes from a member of the Success Circle who is a highly cultured and interesting looking native East Indian. We have a full length photo of him in native costume. He asks if "this is the working of the Law of Attraction." Certainly it is. Just as the sun acts through a sheet of glass so the Law of Attraction acts through the conventionalities of a race. Whatever comes together is drawn together by the Law. Whatever is held together is held by that same Law of Attraction. This is just as true in unhappy marriages as in happy ones. If two people are distinctly enough individualized; that is, if they understand and command themselves sufficiently; their attraction and marriage will bring to them only pleasure. If they are not distinctly enough individualized there will be a monkey-and-parrot experience whilst they are working out the wisdom _for which they were attracted_. When soda and sour milk are drawn together there is a great stew and fizz, but the end thereof is sweetness and usefulness. So with two adverse and uncontrolled natures; but out of the stew comes added wisdom, self-command and rounded character for each. When each has finished the work of helping the other to develop they will either find themselves _really_ in love with each other, or they will fall apart. _Some stronger attraction will separate them at the right time_--perhaps through divorce, perhaps through death. _All_ our goings and comings are due to the Law of Attraction. The Law of Attraction giveth, and it taketh away. _Blessed_ is the Law. _Let_ it work. And forget not that _all_ things are due to its working. This does not mean that the Law has no way of working _except_ through the conventionalities of a people. Many times the attraction is to break away from the conventional. _The stronger attraction always wins_-- whatever is, is _best_ for _that time and place_. "Tudor" says he "enters into the silence daily at a particular hour and enjoys the mental picture of how he desires to be when married." His success all depends upon the _equity_ in that picture; upon its truth to the law of being. An impractical idealist lives in the silence with beautiful pictures of "how he desires to be when married." When he gets married there isn't a single detail of his daily experience which is like his mental picture. He is sadly disappointed and perhaps embittered or discouraged. It all depends upon the picture. If Tudor's picture contains a benignant lord and master and a sweet little Alice Ben Bolt sort of wife who shall laugh with delight when he gives her a smile and wouldn't hurt his feelings for a farm; who does his bidding before he bids and is always content with what he is pleased, or able, to do for her; if this is the style of Tudor's mental picture he is certainly doomed to disappointment. I have a suspicion that Tudor is a natural born teacher. His mental pictures may represent himself as a dispenser of moral and mental blessings. He may see Ada sitting adoringly at his feet, ever eager to learn. If so there will certainly be disappointment. East Indian girls may be more docile than American girls; East Indian men may be better and wiser lords and masters; but "Ada" is a Human Being before she is an East Indian; and a Human Being instinctively revolts from a life passed in leading strings. If Tudor continues to remind her that he is her schoolmaster she will certainly revolt; inwardly if not outwardly. Whether the revolt comes inwardly or outwardly harmony is doomed. The first principle of happy marriage is _equality_. The second principle is _mutual confidence_, which can NEVER exist without the first. I do not mean by "equality" what is usually meant. One member of the married twain may be rich, the other poor in worldly goods; one an aristocrat, the other plebeian; one educated, the other unschooled; and yet they may be to each other what they are in _truth_, equals. Equality is a _mental state_, not a matter of birth or breeding, wisdom or ignorance. The TRUTH is that _all_ men and women are equal; all are sparks of the One Life; all children of the one highly aristocratic "Father"; all heirs to the wisdom and wealth of the ages which go to make up eternity. But all men and women are more or less unconscious, in spots at least, of this truth. They spend their lives "looking down" upon each other. Men "look down" upon their wives as "weak" or "inferior," and women look down upon their husbands as "animals" or "great brutes." Men are contemptuous of their wives visionariness, and women despise their husbands for "cold and calculating" tendencies. Every man and woman values certain qualities highly, and in proportion as another fails to manifest these particular qualities he is classed as "low," and his society is not valued. This is the great source of trouble between husbands and wives. Each values his or her own qualities and despises the other's. So _in their own minds_ they are not equal, and the first principle of harmony is missing. The real truth is that in marriage a man is schoolmaster to his wife _and she is equally schoolmistress to him._ This is true in a less degree, of _all_ the relationships of life. The Law of Attraction draws people together _that they may learn_. There is but one Life, which is growth in wisdom and knowledge. There is but one Death, _which is refusal to learn_. If husbands and wives were equals _in their own minds_ they would not despise each other and _refuse to learn_ of each other. The Law of Attraction, or Love, almost invariably attracts opposites, and for their own good. A visionary, idealistic woman is drawn to a practical man, where, kick and fuss and despise each other as they will, she is bound to become more practical and he more idealistic. They exchange qualities in spite of themselves; each is an unconscious agent in rounding out the character and making more abundant the life of the other. Much of this blending of natures is accomplished through passion, the least understood of forces. And the children of a union of opposites, even where there is _great_ contempt and unhappiness between the parents, are almost invariably _better balanced_ than _either_ of the parents. I cannot believe that unhappy marriages are "mistakes" or that they serve no good purpose. The Law of Attraction draws together those who need each other at that particular stage of their growth. The unhappiness is due to their own foolish _refusal_ to learn; and this refusal is due to their contempt for each other. They are like naughty children at school, who cry or sulk and refuse to work out their problems. Like those same naughty children they _make themselves_ unhappy, and fail to "pass" as soon as they might. Remember, that contempt for each other is at the very bottom of all marital unhappiness. The practical man despises his wife's impulsive idealism and tries to make her over. The wife despises his "cold and calculating" tendencies and tries to make him over. That means war, for it is impossible to make over _anybody but yourself_. _Because_ the man despises his wife's tendencies and she despises his, it never occurs to either to try making over _themselves_, thus helping along the very thing they were drawn together for. If Tudor's picture holds two people who are _always_ equal though utterly different; whose future actions are an unknown quantity to be taken as they come and each action to be met in a spirit of _respect_ and inquiry, with a view to understanding and learning from it; if over and through all his picture Tudor spreads a glow of _purpose_ to preserve _his own_ respect and love _for her_, at all costs;--if this is the sort of picture Tudor makes in the silence he will surely realize it later. It requires but one to strike the keynote of respect and personal freedom in marriage; the other will soon come into harmony. You can readily see that all marital jars come from this lack of equality in the individual mind. If a man thinks he is perfectly able to take care of and to judge for himself he resents interference from another. On the other hand if he believes his wife is equally able to judge for _herself_, he _never_ thinks of interfering with her actions. Of course the same is true of the wife. It is lack of respect and confidence which begets the making-over spirit in a family, and from this one cause arises all in harmony. Individual freedom is the _only_ basis for harmonious action; not only in marriage but in all other relationships of life. And individual freedom _cannot_ be granted by the man or woman who considers his or her judgments superior to the judgments of another. A man _must_ accord his wife _equal_ wisdom and power with himself, else he _cannot_ free her to act for herself. A woman must accord her husband that same equality, or she _cannot_ leave him free. It is human (and divine) nature to correct what we believe to be wrong. Only in believing that the other "king (or queen) can do no wrong," lies the possibility of individual freedom, in marriage or out. The man or woman who knows he or she is believed in and trusted is very careful to _deserve_ that trust. Did you know that? The sure way to have your wishes consulted is to exalt and appreciate the other party. Did you know that a man or woman will cheerfully sacrifice his or her own opinions in order to retain the respect and love of the other? But if he thinks the respect and love of the other party is growing less he will give free reign to his own desires. Married people "grow apart" for the one reason that they find fault with each other. Of course it begins by their being disrespectful to each other's faults, but it soon develops into disrespect of each other. From "looking down" upon a husband's faults it is only a few short steps to looking down upon _him_. His faults keep growing by recognition, and his good points keep shrivelling for lack of notice, until _in your_ _mind_ there is nothing left but faults. From trying to make him over you come to despair, and give him up as an altogether bad job. And there isn't a grain of sense in all this madness. Stick to the TRUTH and you will get rid of the madness and the friction, too. The truth is that your husband, or your wife, would be an egregious _fool_ to follow your judgments. You don't know beans from barley corn when it comes to the actions of anybody but yourself. The One Spirit which enlightens _you_ as to _your_ actions is also enlightening your other half as to _her_ actions; and do you suppose this Spirit is going to favor _you_ with better judgment about your other half's duties, than it has given _her?_ I guess _not_. Don't be presumptuous, my boy. Do you own little best, and _trust_ your other half to do hers. Trust that she _is_ doing the best. And above all trust the One Spirit to run you both. If you do this your wife will _rise fast_ in your esteem. And the higher she finds herself in your esteem the harder she will try to please you-- and rise higher. And, girls, don't forget that the shoe fits equally well the other foot. Either man or wife can bring harmony out of chaos simply by _respecting_ the other half _and all his or her acts_. A marriage without "even a pinhead of bitterness" is a marriage without a pin-point of fault-finding, mental or oral. CHAPTER II. A TALE OF WOE. "Why is it that, in more than two-thirds of families the wife and mother bears not only the children but the burdens and heartaches? The husband supplies the _money_ (generally not enough), the wife has the care of a growing and increasing family, the best of everything is saved for 'Father' and he is waited on, etc. If the children annoy him he goes to his club; if the wife dies, why there are plenty more women for the asking. Thousands of women are simply starving for Love and men are either willfully blind or wholly and utterly selfish. You possibly know that this is quite true. Another thing that has caused me many a time to question everything: During the Christmas holidays many times I have seen half-clad, hungry, shivering little ones gazing longingly into the wonderful show windows, wanting probably just one toy, while children no more worthy drive by in carriages, having more than they want. Love, home, mother, everything; on the other hand hunger, want, blues (many times), and both God's children. Let us hear what you have to say about this." B. B. Why does the mother in two-thirds of the families bear not only the children but the burdens and heartaches? _Because she is too thoughtless and inert not to_. It is _easier_ to submit to bearing children than it is to rise up and take command of her own body. It is easier to carry burdens than to wake up and _fire_ them. It is easier to "bear" things and grumble than it is to kick over the traces and _change_ them. To be sure, most women are yet under the hypnotic spell of the old race belief that it is woman's duty to "submit" herself to any kind of an old husband; but that is just what I said--women find it easier to go through life half asleep rather than to _think_ for themselves. Paul says a woman is _not_ to think, she is to ask her husband to think for her. (At least that is what the translators _say_ Paul says. Privately, I have my suspicions that those manly translators helped Paul to say a bit more than he meant to.) It is _easier_ to let her husband think for her even when she doesn't like his thoughts. So she uses her brain in _grumbling_ instead of thinking. People who don't think are ruled by _feeling_. Women feel. They feel not only for themselves but for other people. They shoulder the burdens of the whole family and a few outside the family. They do it themselves-- because it is _easier_ to feel than to think. Nobody walks up to a woman and says, "Here--I have a burden that's very heavy--_you_ carry it

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Produced by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's notes: Several chapters were omitted from the English translation of which this is a transcription. The reasons for this are given in the footnotes. Words originally printed in Greek are shown that way in some versions of this eBook. English transliterations were added to all versions by the Transcribers and are enclosed in {curly braces}. Other notes will be found at the end of this eBook. [Illustration] UNIVERSAL CLASSICS LIBRARY EDITOR'S AUTOGRAPH EDITION ATTEST: Robert Arnot MANAGING EDITOR [Illustration] UNIVERSAL CLASSICS LIBRARY ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAVURES ON JAPAN VELLUM HAND PAINTED REPRODUCTIONS AND FULL PAGE PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS M. WALTER DUNNE PUBLISHER NEW YORK AND LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER GENERAL PREFACE [Illustration] Of the Library of Universal Classics and Rare Manuscripts, twenty volumes are devoted to the various branches of Government, Philosophy, Law, Ethics, English and French Belles Lettres, Hebraic, Ottoman, and Arabian Literature, and one to a collection of 150 reproductions, bound in English vellum, of the autographs, papers and letters of Rulers, Statesmen, Poets, Artists and Celebrities ranging through three centuries, crowned by an illuminated facsimile of that historic Document, the Magna Carta. The series in itself is an epitome of the best in History, Philosophy and Literature. The great writers of past ages are accessible to readers in general solely through translations. It was, therefore, necessary that translations of such rare Classics as are embodied in this series should be of the best, and should possess exactitude in text and supreme faithfulness in rendering the author's thought. Under the vigilant scholarship of the Editorial Council this has been accomplished with unvarying excellence. The classification, selection and editing of the various volumes have been the subject of much earnest thought and consultation on the part of more than twenty of the best known scholars of the day. The Universities of Yale, Washington, Cornell, Chicago, Pennsylvania, Columbia, London, Toronto and Edinburgh are all represented among the contributors, the writers of special introductions, or upon the consulting staff, the latter including the Presidents of five of the Universities mentioned. Among others who contribute special essays upon given subjects may be mentioned the late Librarian of the British Museum, Dr. Richard Garnett, who furnishes the essay introducing "Evelyn's Diary." From the Librarian of the National Library of France, Leon Vallee, comes the fascinating introduction to the celebrated "Memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon." The scholarly minister to Switzerland (late First Assistant Secretary of State), Dr. David J. Hill, lent his wide reading to the brilliant and luminous essay that precedes the "Rights of War and Peace." The resources of the Congressional Library at Washington, as well as of foreign libraries, have all been drawn upon in the gigantic task of compressing into the somewhat narrow limits of twenty volumes all that was highest, best, most enduring and useful in the various ramifications of literature at large. The first section of the Library is devoted entirely to the manuscript reproductions of the autographs of celebrated men in all ranks and phases of life, covering a period of three centuries. They are, in fact, the American edition of the reproduction of rare and celebrated autographs drawn from the British Museum that was issued in England under the editorship of the Assistant Keeper of the Manuscripts. They afford an opportunity to the inquiring reader to study the characters of Rulers, Statesmen, Writers, and Artists through the medium of their chirography. It has long been recognized that character is traceable through handwriting. So it is interesting to discern in the characters traced by Henry VIII the hardened, sensual and selfish character of that autocrat and polygamist; in the writing of Thomas Wolsey, those crafty traits combined with perseverance and mock humility which raised him wellnigh to supremacy in the realm and led him finally to a downfall more complete than any we read of in English history; and in that of Charles V, of Spain, the hard-headed continence of character and superb common sense which enabled him at the height of glory to retire to a monastery while yet there was "daylight in life," as he expressed it, "for the making of his soul." Apart from the historical interest of these Documents, this study of character as revealed in them will prove fascinating to thinking minds. The Magna Carta, greatest of all historical charters wrung from the various kings of England from Henry I downward, was granted by King

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Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) FROM HEADQUARTERS ODD TALES PICKED UP IN THE VOLUNTEER SERVICE BY JAMES ALBERT FRYE BOSTON ESTES AND LAURIAT 1893 Copyright, 1892 BY JAMES ALBERT FRYE TO THE FIRST INFANTRY M.V.M. PREFACE. In the odd though truthful tales here brought together--of which, by the way, some already have been in print--there is not the slightest attempt at pen portraiture, nor is there any pretence to the accuracy of the military historian; in other words, this is a collection of chance yarns, and not a portrait gallery--and no one is asked to believe that either the Nineteenth Army Corps or the "Old Regiment" ever were found in any situations like those in which they here find themselves placed. This book, perhaps, may fall into the hands of one of those

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Produced by Curtis Weyant and David Maddock {~--- UTF-8 BOM ---~} The Mill on the Floss George Eliot Table of Contents Book I: Boy and Girl 1. Outside Dorlcote Mill 2. Mr. Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom 3. Mr. Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom 4. Tom Is Expected 5. Tom Comes

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E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 56442-h.htm or 56442-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/56442/56442-h/56442-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/56442/56442-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/romanticcitiesof00cairrich Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). ROMANTIC CITIES OF PROVENCE [Illustration: CLOISTERS OF ST. TROPHINE, ARLES. _By E. M. Synge._] ROMANTIC CITIES OF PROVENCE by MONA CAIRD Illustrated from Sketches by Joseph Pennell and Edward M. Synge New York: Charles Scribner's Sons London: T. Fisher Unwin TO MARGUERITE HAMILTON SYNGE [All rights reserved.] Preface This volume can hardly be said to have been written: it came about. The little tour in the South of France which is responsible for its existence, happened some years ago, and was undertaken for various reasons, health and rest among others, and the very last idea which served as a motive for the journey was that of writing about the country whose history is so voluminous and so incalculably ancient. Nobody but a historian and a scholar already deeply versed in the subject could dream of attempting to treat it in any serious or complete fashion. But this fact did not prevent the country from instantly making a profound and singular impression upon a mind entirely unprepared by special study or knowledge to be thus stirred. The vividness of the impression, therefore, was not to be accounted for by associations of facts and scenes already formed in the imagination. True, many an incident of history and romance now found its scene and background, but before these corresponding parts of the puzzle had been fitted together the potent charm had penetrated, giving that strange, baffling sense of home-coming which certain lands and places have for certain minds, remaining for ever mysterious, yet for ever familiar as some haunt of early childhood. An experience of that sort will not, as a rule, allow itself to be set aside. It works and troubles and urges, until, sooner or later, some form of transmutation must take place, some condensing into form of the formless, some passing of impulse into expression, be it what it may. And thus the first stray notes and sketches were made without ultimate intention. But the charm imposed itself, and the notes grew and grew. Then a more definite curiosity awoke and gradually the scene widened: history and imagination took sisterly hands and whispered suggestions, explanations of the secret of the extraordinary magic, till finally the desultory sketches began to demand something of order in their undrilled ranks. The real toil then began. The subject, once touched upon, however slightly, is so unendingly vast and many-sided, so entangled with scholarly controversy, that the few words possible to say in a volume of this kind seem but to cause obscurity, and worst of all, to falsify the general balance of impression because of the innumerable other things that must perforce be left unsaid. An uneasy struggle is set up in the mind to avoid, if possible, that most fatal sort of misrepresentation, viz., that which contains a certain proportion of truth. And how to choose among varying accounts and theories, one contradicting the other? Authorities differ on important points as radically and as surely as they differ about the spelling of the names of persons and places. There is conflict even as to the names in use at the present day, as, for instance, the little mountain range of the Alpilles, which some writers persistently spell _Alpines_, out of pure pigheadedness or desire to make themselves conspicuous, as it seems to the weary seeker after textual consistency. Where doctors disagree what can one do who is not a doctor, but try to give a general impression of the whole matter and leave the rest to the gods? As for dates----! Now there are two things with which no one who has not been marked out by Providence by a special and triumphant gift ought to dream of attempting to deal, namely, dates and keys--between which evanescent, elusive and fundamentally absurd entities there is a subtle and deep-seated affinity. If meddled with at all, they must be treated in a large spirit: no meticulous analysis; no pursuit of a pettifogging date sharpening the point of accuracy down to a paltry twelve months. And correspondingly, as regards the smaller kind of keys, no one who values length of days should ever touch them! They are the vehicles of demoniac powers. Of course the good, quiet, well-developed cellar or stable-door key is another matter; and thus (to pursue the parallel) dates can be dealt with in a broadly synthetic fashion, in centuries and group of centuries, so that while the author gains in peace of mind, the reader is spared the painful experience of being stalked and hunted from page to page, and confronted round every corner by quartets of dreary figures, minutely defining moments of time which are about as much to him as they are to Hecuba! The chronology in this volume, therefore, may be described as frugal rather than generous in character, but what there is of it is handled in the "grand manner." Such, then, is the history of the volume which still retains the character of its irregular origin. Historically it attempts nothing but the roughest outline of the salient points of the story about which a traveller interested in the subject at all is at once curious for information. The one thing on which it lays stress is the quality of the country as distinguished from its outward features. For to many (for example, to our severe critic whose impressions are recorded in Chapter III.) these external features are devoid of all attraction. It is necessary to keep this fact in mind. A wide plain bounded by mountains of moderate height and an insignificant chain of bare limestone hills (the Alpilles); cities ancient indeed, but small, shabby, not too clean, with dingy old hotels, and no particular advantages of situation--such a description of Provence would be accurate for those who are not among its enthusiasts. To traverse the country in an express train, especially with the eyes still full of the more obvious beauties of the Pyrenees and the Alps, is to see all the wonder of the land of the troubadours reduced to the mere flatness of a map. In a few minutes the "rapide" had darted past some of its most ancient and romantic cities--quiet and simple they stand, merged into the very soil, with no large or striking features to catch the eye; only a patch of grey masonry in the landscape and a few towers upon the horizon, easily missed in the quick rush of the train. A deeper sound in the rumble of the flying wheels for a couple of minutes announces the crossing of some river: long stretches of waste land, covered for miles and miles with sunburnt stones, and again stretches of country, low-lying, God-forsaken, scarcely cultivated, with a few stunted, melancholy trees, a farmstead on the outskirts here and there: these are the "features of the country," as they might be described without departure from bare, literal, all-deceiving fact. How many travellers of the thousands who pass along this line every year are interested in such a scene or guess its profound and multitudinous experiences? How many realise as they rattle past, that in this arid land of the vine and the cypress were born and fostered the sentiments, the unwritten laws and traditions on which is built all that we understand by civilised life? How many say to themselves as they pass: "But for the men and women who dreamt and sang and suffered in this Cradle of Chivalry, the world that I live in would never have been born, the thoughts I think and the emotions to which I am heir would never have arisen out of the darkness?" But, indeed, the strange, many-sided country gives little aid or suggestion for such realisations: it has reticently covered itself with a mantle; it seems to crouch down out of sight while the monster engine thunders by with its freight of preoccupied passengers. A bare, flat, sun-scorched land. Yes, these are the "facts," but ah! how different from the magic truth! With facts, therefore, this volume has only incidentally to do. It is a "true and veracious history," but by no means a literal one. As to the mere accidents of travel, these are treated lightly. Exactly in which order the cities were visited no reader need count upon certainly knowing--and indeed it concerns him nothing--when and where the observations were made by "Barbara," or the "severe critic," or the landlady of the Hotel de Provence and so forth, the following pages may or may not accurately inform him (with the exception, indeed, of the curious, self-revelation of Raphael of Tarascon, which is given almost word for word as it occurred, for here accident and essence chanced to coincide); but he may be sure that though Barbara possibly did not speak or act as represented then and there, she did or might have so spoken or acted elsewhere and at another time. The irrelevancies of chance and incident have been ignored in the interests of the essential. Barbara may not recognise all her observations when she sees them. _Tant pis pour Barbara!_ They are true in the spirit if not in the letter. And so throughout. From the moment that the original "notes" began to be written, the one and sole impulse and desire has been to suggest, to hint to the imagination that which can never be really told of the poetry, the idealism, the glory, the sadness, and the great joy of this wondrous land of Sun and Wind and Dream. Contents PAGE PREFACE 7 CHAPTER I. THE SPELL OF PROVENCE 17 II. AVIGNON 29 III. A SEVERE CRITIC--UZÈS AND BARBENTANE 49 IV. PETRARCH AND LAURA 67 V. THE CITIES OF THE LAGOONS 81 VI. THE BIRTH OF CHIVALRY 93 VII. THE GAY SCIENCE 111 VIII. ORANGE AND MARTIGUES 131 IX. ROMANTIC LOVE 143 X. ARLES 159 XI. SONG, DANCE, AND LEGEND 171 XII. TARASCON 189 XIII. THE PONT DU GARD 209 XIV. A HUMAN DOCUMENT 219 XV. BEAUCAIRE AND ITS LOVE-STORY 229 XVI. CARCASSONNE, THE ALBIGENSES AND PIERRE VIDAL 241 XVII. MAGUELONNE 261 XVIII. THE SPIRIT OF THE WILDERNESS 269 XIX. ROSES OF PROVENCE 283 XX. AN INN PARLOUR 295 XXI. LES BAUX 307 XXII. RAIMBAUT DE VACQUEIRAS AND GUILHELM DES BAUX 321 XXIII. THE SORCERESS OF THE ALPILLES 335 XXIV. ACROSS THE AGES 349 XXV. THE SONG OF THE RHONE 373 XXVI. THE CAMARGUE 385 XXVII. "ARTISTS IN HAPPINESS" 401 List of Illustrations CLOISTERS OF ST. TROPHINE, ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) _Frontispiece_ PAGE A PROVENÇAL ROAD (_Joseph Pennell_) 19 PONT DE ST. BENÉZET, AVIGNON (_E. M. Synge_) 32 PALACE OF THE POPES AND CATHEDRAL " 35 CHARTREUSE DU VAL-DE-BÉNÉDICTION, VILLENEUVE-LES-AVIGNON " 43 CASTLE OF ST. ANDRÉ, VILLENEUVE-LES-AVIGNON " 45 CHATEAUNEUF, NEAR AVIGNON " 53 RIENZI'S TOWER, AVIGNON " 57 STREET AT UZÈS " 61 GATEWAY, BARBENTANE " 63 VALE AND SOURCE OF THE SORGUE, VAUCLUSE " 71 MILL IN VALE OF THE SORGUE AT VAUCLUSE " 78 ON THE DURANCE " 85 AIGUES MORTES FROM THE CAMARGUE " 86 AT THE PORT OF AIGUES MORTES " 96 CHURCH AT BARBENTANE (_E. M. Synge_) 101 CASTLE OF MONTMAJOUR, ARLES " 106 VIEW FROM ST. GILLES, IN THE CAMARGUE " 115 FAÇADE OF CHURCH, ST. GILLES (_Joseph Pennell_) 117 OUTSIDE THE CHURCH, SAINTES MARIES " 119 THE CHURCH OF LES SAINTES MARIES AT NIGHT " 122 FARM IN PROVENCE " 126 ROMAN GATEWAY AT ORANGE (ON THE LYONS ROAD) " 134 LOOKING DOWN THE GRANDE RUE, MARTIGUES " 135 ON THE GRAND CANAL, MARTIGUES " 137 CHURCH AT MARTIGUES " 138 BOATS, MARTIGUES " 139 THE PORTAL OF THE CHURCH, MARTIGUES " 140 A SQUARE AT NIMES " 145 IN THE CAMARGUE, FROM THE RAILWAY (_E. M. Synge_) 149 OLD BRIDGE AT ST. GILLES " 155 ST. TROPHIME, ARLES (_Joseph Pennell_) 161 LES ALISCAMPS, ARLES " 166 ARLES FROM THE RIVER " 169 ROMAN THEATRE, ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) 170 TARASCON FROM BEAUCAIRE, SHOWING KING RENÉ'S CASTLE " 192 THE CHÂTEAU OF KING RENÉ, TARASCON (_Joseph Pennell_) 198 ENTRANCE TO KING RENÉ'S CASTLE, TARASCON (_E. M. Synge_) 205 THE PONT DU GARD (_E. M. Synge_) 213 THE ROMAN TOUR MAGNE, NIMES, FROM THE FOUNTAIN GARDEN (_Joseph Pennell_) 215 VIEW FROM VISIGOTH TOWER, BEAUCAIRE (_E. M. Synge_) 232 VISIGOTH TOWER, CASTLE OF BEAUCAIRE " 235 BEAUCAIRE FROM TARASCON (_Joseph Pennell_) 238 ROMAN FOUNTAIN AT NIMES " 244 ENTRANCE TOWERS, CARCASSONNE (_E. M. Synge_) 247 THE RAMPARTS, CARCASSONNE " 253 MAGUELONNE FROM THE LAGOON " 265 CHURCH OF MAGUELONNE " 267 ON THE VERGE OF LA CRAU " 273 BASE OF MONUMENT OF MARIUS, ST. REMY (_Joseph Pennell_) 285 ROMAN ARCH, ST. REMY " 287 LA CROIX DE VERTU, ST. REMY (_E. M. Synge_) 291 GROVE AT ST. REMY " 299 ROMAN MONUMENTS, ST. REMY " 303 QUARRY IN VALLEY BELOW LES BAUX " 310 DAUDET'S WINDMILL (_Joseph Pennell_) 315 LES BAUX FROM THE ROAD TO ARLES (_E. M. Synge_) 317 WINDOW IN RUINED HOUSE OF A SEIGNEUR OF LES BAUX " 319 LES BAUX FROM THE ROAD TO ST. REMY, SHOWING PLATFORM IN FRONT OF CHURCH OF ST. VINCENT " 331 AT LES BAUX (_E. M. Synge_) 337 LES BAUX FROM LEVEL OF THE TOWN " 341 OLD HOUSE, ST. REMY " 345 THE CHURCH DOOR, SAINTES MARIES (_Joseph Pennell_) 353 LA LICE, ARLES " 359 A PROVENÇAL FARM (_E. M. Synge_) 366 COW-BOYS OF THE CAMARGUE (_Joseph Pennell_) 371 ANGLORE ON THE RIVER BANK (_E. M. Synge_) 379 PORCH OF CHURCH OF ST. GILLES IN THE CAMARGUE " 388 AIGUES MORTES, LOOKING ALONG THE WALLS " 391 THE CHURCH OF LES SAINTES MARIES SEEN FROM THE CAMARGUE (_Joseph Pennell_) 394 CROSS IN VILLAGE SQUARE AT LES SAINTES MARIES (_E. M. Synge_) 396 LES SAINTES MARIES " 398 CHAPTER I THE SPELL OF PROVENCE "Aubouro-te, raço Latino-- Emé toun péu que se desnouso A l'auro santo dou tabour, Tu siès la raço lumenouso Que viéu de joio e d'estrambord; Tu siès la raço apoustoulico Que souno li campano â brand: Tu siès la troumpo que publico E siès la man que tr

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Produced by readbueno, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A RAILWAY ROMANCE. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN: _A ROMANCE OF_ London and North-Western Railway Shares. BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS. LONDON: JAMES HOGG AND SONS, 7 LOVELL'S COURT, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1888. _All Rights reserved._ Richard Clay & Sons, BREAD STREET HILL, LONDON; _Bungay, Suffolk_. INTRODUCTION. The following story was told me by that meek but estimable little man who forms the central figure in it. I have made him relate the strange vicissitudes of his life in the first person, and, by doing so, preserve, I venture to believe, some quaintness of thought and expression that is characteristic of him. MY ADVENTURE IN THE FLYING SCOTSMAN. CHAPTER I. A DANGEROUS LEGACY. The rain gave over about five o'clock, and the sun, having struggled unavailingly all day with a leaden November sky, burst forth in fiery rage, when but a few short minutes separated him from the horizon. His tawny splendour surrounded me as I trudged from Richmond, in Surrey, to the neighbouring hamlet of Petersham. Above me the wet, naked branches of the trees shone red, and seemed to drip with blood; the hedgerows sparkled their flaming gems; in the meadows, which I struck across to save time, parallel streaks of crimson lay along the cart-ruts. All nature glowed in the lurid light, and, to a mind fraught with much trouble and anxiety, there was something sinister in the slowly dying illumination, in the lowering, savage sky, in the bars of blood that sank hurtling together into the west, and in the vast cloudlands of gloom that were now fast bringing back the rain and the night. Should you ask what reason I, John Lott, a small, middle-aged, banking clerk, who lived in North London, might have for thus rushing away from the warm fire, good wife, pretty daughter, and comforting tea-cake, that were all at this moment awaiting me somewhere in Kilburn, I would reply, that death, sudden and startling, had brought about this earthquake in my orderly existence. Should you again naturally suggest that a four-wheeled cab might have effected with greater cleanliness and dispatch, than my short legs, the country journey between Richmond and Petersham, I would admit the fact, but, at the same time, advance sufficiently sound reasons why that muddy walk was best undertaken on foot. For, touching this death, but one other living man could have equal interest in it with myself; and for me, especially, were entwined round about it issues of very grave and stupendous moment. Honour, rectitude, my duty to myself and to my neighbour, together with other no less important questions, were all at stake; and upon my individual judgment, blinded by no thoughts of personal danger or self-interest, must the case be

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England From Squire to Squatter A Tale of the Old Land and the New By Gordon Stables Published by John F. Shaw and Co., 48 Paternoster Row, London. This edition dated 1888. CHAPTER ONE. BOOK I--AT BURLEY OLD FARM. "TEN TO-MORROW, ARCHIE." "So you'll be ten years old to-morrow, Archie?" "Yes, father; ten to-morrow. Quite old, isn't it? I'll soon be a man, dad. Won't it be fun, just?" His father laughed, simply because Archie laughed. "I don't know about the fun of it," he said; "for, Archie lad, your growing a man will result in my getting old. Don't you see?" Archie turned his handsome brown face towards the fire, and gazed at it--or rather into it--for a few moments thoughtfully. Then he gave his head a little negative kind of a shake, and, still looking towards the fire as if addressing it, replied: "No, no, no; I don't see it. Other boys' fathers _may_ grow old; mine won't, mine couldn't, never, _never_." "Dad," said a voice from the corner. It was a very weary, rather feeble, voice. The owner of it occupied a kind of invalid couch, on which he half sat and half reclined--a lad of only nine years, with a thin, pale, old-fashioned face, and big, dark, dreamy eyes that seemed to look you through and through as you talked to him. "Dad." "Yes, my dear." "Wouldn't you like to be old really?" "Wel--," the father was beginning. "Oh," the boy went on, "I should dearly love to be old, very old, and very wise, like one of these!" Here his glance reverted to a story-book he had been reading, and which now lay on his lap. His father and mother were used to the boy's odd remarks. Both parents sat here to-night, and both looked at him with a sort of fond pity; but the child's eyes had half closed, and presently he dropped out of the conversation, and to all intents and purposes out of the company. "Yes," said Archie, "ten is terribly old, I know; but is it quite a man though? Because mummie there said, that when Solomon became a man, he thought, and spoke, and did everything manly, and put away all his boy's things. I shouldn't like to put away my bow and arrow--what say, mum? I shan't be altogether quite a man to-morrow, shall I?" "No, child. Who put that in your head?" "Oh,

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Produced by Clytie Siddall and Distributed Proofreaders THE LITERARY REMAINS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE VOLUME THE THIRD COLLECTED AND EDITED BY HENRY NELSON COLERIDGE. 1838 TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE THE THIRD AND FOURTH VOLUMES OF COLERIDGE'S REMAINS ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS Preface Formula Fidei de SS. Trinitate Nightly Prayer Notes on 'The Book of Common Prayer' Notes on Hooker Notes on Field Notes on Donne Notes on Henry More Notes on Heinrichs Notes on Hacket Notes on Jeremy Taylor Notes on 'The Pilgrim's Progress' Notes on John Smith Letter to a Godchild PREFACE For a statement of the circumstances under which the collection of Mr. Coleridge's Literary Remains was undertaken, the Reader is referred to the Preface to the two preceding Volumes published in 1836. But the graver character of the general contents of this Volume and of that which will immediately follow it, seems to justify the Editor in soliciting particular attention to a few additional remarks. Although the Author in his will contemplated the publication of some at least of the numerous notes left by him on the margins and blank spaces of books and pamphlets, he most certainly wrote the notes themselves without any purpose beyond that of delivering his mind of the thoughts and aspirations suggested by the text under perusal. His books, that is, any person's books--even those from a circulating library--were to him, whilst reading them, as dear friends; he conversed with them as with their authors, praising, or censuring, or qualifying, as the open page seemed to give him cause; little solicitous in so doing to draw summaries or to strike balances of literary merit, but seeking rather to detect and appreciate the moving principle or moral life, ever one and single, of the work in reference to absolute truth. Thus employed he had few reserves, but in general poured forth, as in a confessional, all his mind upon every subject,--not keeping back any doubt or conjecture which at the time and for the purpose seemed worthy of consideration. In probing another's heart he laid his hand upon his own. He thought pious frauds the worst of all frauds, and the system of economizing truth too near akin to the corruption of it to be generally compatible with the Job-like integrity of a true Christian's conscience. Further, he distinguished so strongly between that internal faith which lies at the base of, and supports, the whole moral and religious being of man, and the belief, as historically true, of several incidents and relations found or supposed to be found in the text of the Scriptures, that he habitually exercised a liberty of criticism with respect to the latter, which will probably seem objectionable to many of his readers in this country. [1] His friends have always known this to be the fact; and he vindicated this so openly that it would be folly to attempt to conceal it: nay, he pleaded for it so earnestly--as the only middle path of safety and peace between a godless disregard of the unique and transcendant character of the Bible taken generally, and that scheme of interpretation, scarcely less adverse to the pure spirit of Christian wisdom, which wildly arrays our faith in opposition to our reason, and inculcates the sacrifice of the latter to the former,--that to suppress this important part of his solemn convictions would be to misrepresent and betray him. For he threw up his hands in dismay at the language of some of our modern divinity on this point;--as if a faith not founded on insight were aught else than a specious name for wilful positiveness;--as if the Father of Lights could require, or would accept, from the only one of his creatures whom he had endowed with reason the sacrifice of fools! Did Coleridge, therefore, mean that the doctrines revealed in the Scriptures were to be judged according to their supposed harmony or discrepancy with the evidence of the senses, or the deductions of the mere understanding from that evidence? Exactly the reverse: he disdained to argue even against Transubstantiation on such a ground, well knowing and loudly proclaiming its utter weakness and instability. But it was a leading principle in all his moral and intellectual views to assert the existence in all men equally of a power or faculty superior to, and independent of, the external senses: in this power or faculty he recognized that image of God in which man was made; and he could as little understand how faith, the indivisibly joint act or efflux of our reason and our will, should be at variance with one of its factors or elements, as how the Author and Upholder of all truth should be in contradiction to himself. He trembled at the dreadful dogma which rests God's right to man's obedience on the fact of his almighty power,--a position falsely inferred from a misconceived illustration of St. Paul

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E-text prepared by Sean C. Sieger and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP: A COLLECTION OF SONGS FOR ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS COMPILED BY WILLIAM W. BROWN, A FUGITIVE SLAVE. 1848. PREFACE. The demand of the public for a cheap Anti-Slavery Song-Book, containing Songs of a more recent composition, has induced me to collect together, and present to the public, the songs contained in this book. In making this collection, however, I am indebted to the authors of the "Liberty Minstrel," and "the Anti-Slavery Melodies," But the larger portion of these songs has never before been published; some have never been in print. To all true friends of the Slave, the Anti-Slavery Harp is respectfully dedicated, W. W. BROWN. BOSTON, JUNE, 1848. SONGS. HAVE WE NOT ALL ONE FATHER? AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER? AIR--Bride's Farewell. Am I not a man and brother? Ought I not, then, to be free? Sell me not one to another, Take not thus my liberty. Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour, Died for me as well as thee. Am I not a man and brother? Have I not a soul to save? Oh, do not my spirit smother, Making me a wretched slave; God of mercy, God of mercy, Let me fill a freeman's grave! Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though thou long hast groaned a slave, Bound with cruel cords and tether From the cradle to the grave! Yet the Saviour, yet the Saviour, Bled and died all souls to save. Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though we long have told thee nay; And are bound to aid each other, All along our pilgrim way. Come and welcome, come and welcome, Join with us to praise and pray! O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER. AIR--Araby's Daughter. I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary, Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast; I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary, I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed. O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion, As she thinks of her children about to be sold; You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean, But the grief of that mother can never be known. The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom, That ever has bloomed in her path-way below; It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom, And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe; Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression; Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay; No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggression-- She must weep as she treads on her desolate way. O, slave mother, hope! see--the nation is shaking! The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong! The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking, Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong! Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing, May one day lift up its unmanacled form, While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering, Is born, like the rain-bow,'mid tempest and storm. THE BLIND SLAVE BOY. AIR--Sweet Afton. Come back to me, mother! why linger away From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day! I mark every footstep, I list to each tone, And wonder my mother should leave me alone! There are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee, But there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me; For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share, And none for the poor little blind boy will care. My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed; Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek, And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak! O mother! I've no one to love me--no heart Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part; No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind, O! none like a mother can cherish the blind! Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear, No mother can hasten to banish thy fear; For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild, And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child! Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal The anguish that none but a mother can feel, When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God! Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, She hears in her anguish his piteous moan, As he eagerly listens--but listens in vain, To catch the loved tones of his mother again! The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy, Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy! YE SONS OF FREEMEN. AIR--Marseilles Hymn. Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness, Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise; Three millions of our race in madness Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish, Yes, trembling slaves in freedom's land, Endure the lash, nor raise a hand? Must nature 'neath the whip-cord languish? Have pity on the slave, Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. The fearful storm--it threatens lowering, Which God in mercy long delays; Slaves yet may see their masters cowering, While whole plantations smoke and blaze! While whole plantations smoke and blaze; And we may now prevent the ruin, Ere lawless force with guilty stride Shall scatter vengeance far and wide-- With untold crimes their hands imbruing. Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. With luxury and wealth surrounded, The southern masters proudly dare, With thirst of gold and power unbounded, To mete and vend God's light and air! To mete and vend God's light and air; Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded, Till life's poor toilsome day is o'er; While they in vain for right implore; And shall they longer still be goaded? Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. O Liberty! can man e'er bind thee? Can overseers quench thy flame? Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee, Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame? Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame? Too long the slave has groaned, bewailing The power these heartless tyrants wield; Yet free them not by sword or shield, For with men's hearts they're unavailing; Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Toil on! toil on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free! FREEDOM'S STAR. AIR--Silver Moon. As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day, I turned my fond gaze to the sky; I beheld all the stars as so sweetly they lay, And but one fixed my heart or my eye. Shine on, northern star, thou'rt beautiful and bright To the slave on his journey afar; For he speeds from his foes in the darkness of night, Guided on by thy light, freedom's star. On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back; Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods, With thy beams shining full on his track. Shine on, &c. Unwelcome to him is the bright orb of day, As it glides o'er the earth and the sea; He seeks then to hide like a wild beast of prey, But with hope, rests his heart upon thee. Shine on, &c. May never a cloud overshadow thy face, While the slave flies before his pursuer; Gleam steadily on to the end of his race, Till his body and soul are secure. Shine on, &c. THE LIBERTY BALL. AIR--Rosin the Bow. Come all ye true friends of the nation, Attend to humanity's call; Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball-- And roll on the liberty ball-- Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball. The Liberty hosts are advancing-- For freedom to _all_ they declare; The down-trodden millions are sighing-- Come, break up our gloom of despair. Come break up our gloom of despair, &c. Ye Democrats, come to the rescue, And aid on the liberty cause, And millions will rise up and bless you, With heart-cheering songs of applause, With heart-cheering songs, &c. Ye Whigs, forsake slavery's minions, And boldly step into our ranks; We care not for party opinions, But invite all the friends of the banks,-- And invite all the friends of the banks, &c, And when we have formed the blest union We'll firmly march on, one and all-- We'll sing when we meet in communion, And _roll on_ the liberty ball, And roll on the liberty ball, dec. EMANCIPATION HYMN OF THE WEST INDIAN <DW64>s. FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST CELEBRATION. Praise we the Lord! let songs resound To earth's remotest shore! Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise-- For we are slaves no more. Praise we the Lord! His power hath rent The chains that held us long! His voice is mighty, as of old, And still His arm is strong. Praise we the Lord! His wrath arose, His arm our fetters broke; The tyrant dropped the lash, and we To liberty awoke! Praise we the Lord! let holy songs Rise from these happy isles!-- O! let us not unworthy prove, On whom His bounty smiles. And cease we not the fight of faith Till all mankind be free; Till mercy o'er the earth shall flow, As waters o'er the sea. Then shall indeed Messiah's reign Through all the world extend; Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned, And Heaven with earth shall blend. OVER THE MOUNTAIN. Over the mountain, and over the moor, Hungry and weary I wander forlorn; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return; Give me some food for my mother in charity; Give me some food and then I will be gone. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind and the night's coming on. Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough, Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew; I've two little brothers at home, when they're old enough, They will work hard for the gifts you bestow; Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity. Cold blows the wind, and the night's coming on; Give me some food for my mother in charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone. JUBILEE SONG. Air--Away the Bowl. Our grateful hearts with joy o'erflow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, We hail the Despot's overthrow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, No more he'll raise the gory lash, And sink it deep in human flesh, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra Hurra, Hurra, Hurra. We raise the song in Freedom's name, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Her glorious triumph we proclaim, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Beneath her feet lie Slavery's chains, Their power to curse no more remains, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra. With joy we'll make the air resound,

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Produced by Chris Curnow, Sue Fleming and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. FRONTISPIECE. [Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his scymetar to cut off her head.] THE POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. Embellished with neat Engravings. [Illustration] COOPERSTOWN: Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney. 1828 _The Alphabet._ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z _A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z_ _a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z_ fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 . , ; : ? ! ' () [] * [dagger] [double dagger] Sec. || ¶ THE POPULAR STORY OF BLUE BEARD. A long time ago, and at a considerable distance from any town, there lived a gentleman, who was not only in possession of great riches, but of the largest estates in that part of the country. Although he had some very elegant neat mansions on his estates, he generally resided in a magnificent castle, beautifully situated on a rising ground, surrounded with groves of the finest evergreens, and other choice trees and shrubs. The inside of this fine castle was even more beautiful than the outside; for the rooms were all hung with the richest damask, curiously ornamented; the chairs and sofas were covered with the finest velvet, fringed with gold; and his table-dishes and plates were either of silver or gold, finished in the most elegant style. His carriages and horses might have served a king, and perhaps were finer than any monarch's of the present day. The gentleman's appearance, however, did not altogether correspond to his wealth; for, to a fierce disagreeable countenance, was added an ugly blue beard, which made him an object of fear and disgust in the neighbourhood, where he usually went by the name of Blue Beard. There resided, at some considerable distance from Blue Beard's castle, an old lady and her two daughters, who were people of some rank, but by no means wealthy. The two young ladies were very pretty, and the fame of their beauty having reached Blue Beard, he determined to ask one of them in marriage. Having ordered a carriage, he called at their house, where he saw the two young ladies, and was very politely received by their mother, with whom he begged a few moments conversation. [Illustration] After the two young ladies left the room, he began by describing his immense riches, and then told her the purport of his visit, begging she would use her interest in his favour. They were both so lovely, he said, that he would be happy to get either of them for his wife, and would therefore leave it to their own choice to determine upon the subject, and immediately took his leave. When the proposals of Blue Beard were mentioned to the young ladies by their mother, both Miss Anne and her sister Fatima protested, that they would never marry an ugly man, and particularly one with such a frightful blue beard; because, although he possessed immense riches, it was reported in the country, that he had married several beautiful ladies, and nobody could tell what had become of them. Their mother said, that the gentleman was agreeable in his conversation and manners; that the ugliness of his face, and the blue beard, were defects which they would soon be reconciled to from habit: that his immense riches would procure them every luxury their heart could desire; and he was so civil, that she was certain the scandalous reports about his wives must be entirely without foundation. The two young ladies were as civil as they possibly could be, in order to conceal the disgust they felt at Blue Beard, and, to soften their refusal, replied to this effect,--That, at present, they had no desire to change their situation; but if they had, the one sister could never think of depriving the other of so good a match, and that they did not wish to be separated. Blue Beard having called next day, the old lady told him what her daughters had said; on which he sighed deeply, and pretended to be very much disappointed; but as he had the mother on his side, he still continued his visits to the family. Blue Beard, knowing the attractions that fine houses, fine furniture, and fine entertainments, have on the minds of ladies in general, invited the mother, her two daughters, and two or three other ladies who were then on a visit to them, to spend a day or two with him at his castle. [Illustration] Blue Beard's invitation was accepted, and having spent a considerable time in arranging their wardrobe, and in adorning their persons, they all set out for the splendid mansion of Blue Beard. On coming near the castle, although they had heard a great deal of the taste and expense that had been employed in decorating it, they were struck with the beauty of the trees that overshadowed the walks through which they passed, and with the fragrancy of the flowers which perfumed the air. When they reached the castle, Blue Beard, attended by a number of his servants in splendid dresses, received them with the most polite courtesy, and conducted them to a magnificent drawing-room. An elegant repast was ready in the dining-room, to which they adjourned. Here they were again astonished by the grandeur of the apartment and the elegance of the entertainment, and they felt so happy, that the evening passed away before they were aware. Next day, after they had finished breakfast, the ladies proceeded to examine the pictures and furniture of the rooms that were open, and were truly astonished at the magnificence that every where met their view. [Illustration] The time rolled pleasantly away amidst a succession of the most agreeable amusements, consisting of hunting, music, dancing, and banquets, where the richest wines, and most tempting delicacies, in most luxurious profusion, presented themselves in every direction. The party felt so agreeable amidst these scenes of festivity, that they continued at the castle several days, during which the cunning Blue Beard, by every obsequious service, tried to gain the favour of his fair guests. Personal attentions, even although paid us by an ugly creature, seldom fail to make a favourable impression; it was therefore no wonder that Fatima, the youngest of the two sisters, began to think Blue Beard a very polite, pleasant, and civil gentleman; and that the beard, which she and her sister had been so much afraid of, was not so very blue. A short time after her return home, Fatima, who was delighted with the attention which had been paid her at the castle, told her mother that she did not now feel any objections to accept of Blue Beard as a husband. The old lady immediately communicated to him the change in her daughter's sentiments. Blue Beard, who lost no time in paying the family a visit, was in a few days privately married to the young lady and soon after the ceremony, Fatima, accompanied by her sister, returned to the castle the wife of Blue Beard. [Illustration] On arriving there, they were received at the entrance by all his retinue, attired in splendid dresses, and Blue Beard, after saluting his bride, led the way to an elegant entertainment, where, every thing that could add to to their comfort being prepared, they spent the evening in the most agreeable manner. The next day, and every succeeding day, Blue Beard always varied the amusements, and a month had passed away imperceptibly, when he told his wife that he was obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had some affairs to transact in a distant part of the country, which required his personal attendance. "But," said he, "my dear Fatima, you may enjoy yourself in my absence in any way that will add to your happiness, and you can invite your friends to make the time pass more agreeably, for you are sole mistress in this castle. Here are the keys of the two large wardrobes; this is the key of the great box that contains the best plate, which we use for company; this of my strong box, where I keep my money; and this belongs to the casket, in which are all my jewels. Here also is a master-key to all the rooms in the house; but this small key belongs to the blue closet at the end of the long gallery on the ground floor. I give you leave," he continued, "to open, or do what you like with all the rest of the castle except this closet: now, my dear, remember you must not enter it, nor even put the key into the lock. If you do not obey me in this, expect the most dreadful of punishments." [Illustration] She promised him implicit obedience to his orders, and then accompanied him to the gate, where Blue Beard, after saluting her in a tender manner, stepped into the coach, and drove away. When Blue Beard was gone, Fatima sent a kind invitation to her friends to come immediately to the castle, and ordered a grand entertainment to be prepared for their reception. She also sent a messenger to her two brothers, both officers in the army, who were quartered about forty miles distant, requesting they would obtain leave of absence, and spend a few days with her. So eager were her friends to see the apartments and the riches of Blue Beard's castle, of which they had heard so much, that in less than two hours after receiving notice, the whole company were assembled, with the exception of her brothers, who were not expected till the following day. As her guests had arrived long before the time appointed them for the entertainment. Fatima took them thro' every apartment in the castle, and displayed all the wealth she had acquired by her marriage with Blue Beard. They went from room to room, and from wardrobe to wardrobe, expressing fresh wonder and delight at every new object they came to; but their surprise was increased when they entered the drawing-rooms, and saw the grandeur of the furniture. During the day, Fatima was so much engaged, that she never once thought of the blue closet, which Blue Beard had ordered her not to open; but when all the visitors were gone, she felt a great curiosity to know its contents. She took out the key, which was made of the finest gold, and went to consult with her sister on the subject. Anne used every argument she could think of to dissuade Fatima from her purpose, and reminded her of the threats of Blue Beard; but all in vain, for Fatima was now bent on gratifying her curiosity. She therefore, in spite of all her sister could do, seized one of the candles, and hurried down stairs to the fatal closet. On reaching the door she stopped, and began to reason with herself on the propriety of her conduct; but her curiosity at length overcame every other consideration, and, with a trembling hand, she applied the key to the lock, and opened the door. She had only advanced a few steps, when the most frightful scene met her view, and, struck with horror and dismay, she dropped the key of the closet

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Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. The University of Iowa, Iowa Authors collection graciously researched and provided scans of missing pages for this book. (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH BY EMERSON HOUGH _Author of_ "YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE ROCKIES" ETC. ILLUSTRATED HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH Copyright, 1918, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America [Illustration: THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS WERE HAULED UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS OF BLOCK AND TACKLE"] CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN 1 II. THE SCOWS 12 III. THE GREAT BRIGADE 32 IV. THE GRAND RAPIDS 51 V. WHITE-WATER DAYS 64 VI. ON THE STEAMBOAT 79 VII. THE WILD PORTAGE 89 VIII. ON THE MACKENZIE 112 IX. UNDER THE ARCTIC CIRCLE 132 X. FARTHEST NORTH 149 XI. THE MIDNIGHT SUN 164 XII. THE RAT PORTAGE 176 XIII. DOWN THE PORCUPINE 192 XIV. AT FORT YUKON 212 XV. THE FUR TRADE 222 XVI. DAWSON, THE GOLDEN CITY 231 XVII. WHAT UNCLE DICK THOUGHT 246 ILLUSTRATIONS THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS WERE HAULED UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS OF BLOCK AND TACKLE" _Frontispiece_ AN ENCAMPMENT OF ESKIMOS ON THE BEACH AT FORT MCPHERSON _Facing p._ 55 HUSKY FLEET--FORT MCPHERSON " 172 HUSKY DOG--RAMPART HOUSE " 206 YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH I THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN "Well, fellows," said Jesse Wilcox, the youngest of the three boys who stood now at the ragged railway station of Athabasca Landing, where they had just disembarked, "here we are once more. For my part, I'm ready to start right now." He spoke somewhat pompously for a youth no more than fifteen years of age. John Hardy and Rob McIntyre, his two companions, somewhat older than himself, laughed at him as he sat now on his pack-bag, which had just been tossed off the baggage-car of the train that had brought them hither. "You might wait for Uncle Dick," said John. "He'd feel pretty bad if we started off now for the Arctic Circle and didn't allow him to come along!" Rob, the older of the three, and the one to whom they were all in the habit of looking up in their wilderness journeyings, smiled at them both. He was not apt to talk very much in any case, and he seemed now content in these new surroundings to sit and observe what lay about him. It was a straggling little settlement which they saw, with one long, broken street running through the center. There was a church spire, to be sure, and a square little wooden building in which some business men had started a bank for the sake of the coming settlers now beginning to pass through for the country along the Peace River. There were one or two stores, as the average new-comer would have called them, though each really was the post of one of the fur-trading companies then occupying that country. Most prominent of these, naturally, was the building of the ancient Hudson's Bay Company. A rude hotel with a dirty bar full of carousing half-breeds and rowdy new-comers lay just beyond the end of the uneven railroad tracks which had been laid within the month. The surface of the low hills running back from the Athabasca River was covered with a stunted growth of aspens, scattered among which here and there stood the cabins or board houses of the men who had moved here following the rush of the last emigration to the North. There were a few tents and lodges of half-breeds also scattered about. "Well, Uncle Dick said we would be starting right away," argued Jesse, a trifle crestfallen. "Yes," said Rob, "but he told me we would be lucky if 'right away' meant inside of a week. He said the breeds always powwow around and drink for a few days before they start north with the brigade for a long trip. That's a custom they have. They say the Hudson's Bay Company has more customs than customers these days. Times are changing for the fur trade even here. "Where's your map, John?" he added; and John spread out on the platform where they stood his own rude tracing of the upper country which he had made by reference to the best government maps obtainable. Their uncle Dick, engineer of this new railroad and other frontier development enterprises, of course had a full supply of these maps, but it pleased the boys better to think that they made their own maps--as indeed they always had in such earlier trips as those across the Rockies, down the Peace River, in the Kadiak Island country, or along the headwaters of the Columbia, where, as has been told, they had followed the trails of the wilderness in their adventures before this time. They all now bent over the great sheet of paper, some of which was blank and marked "Unknown." "Here we are, right here," said John, putting his finger on the map. "Only, when this map was made there wasn't any railroad. They used to come up from Edmonton a hundred miles across the prairies and muskeg by wagon. A rotten bad journey, Uncle Dick said." "Well, it couldn't have been much worse than the new railroad," grumbled Jesse. "It was awfully rough, and there wasn't any place to eat." "Oh, don't condemn the new railroad too much," said Rob. "You may be glad to see it before you get back from this trip. It's going to be the hardest one we ever had. Uncle Dick says this is the last great wilderness of the world, and one less known than any other part of the earth's surface. Look here! It's two thousand miles from here to the top of the map, northwest, where the Mackenzie comes in. We've got to get there if all goes well with us." John was still tracing localities on the map with his forefinger. "Right here is where we are now. If we went the other way, up the Athabasca instead of down, then we would come out at the Peace River Landing, beyond Little Slave Lake. That's where we came out when we crossed the Rockies, down the Finlay and the Parsnip and the Peace. I've got that course of ours all marked in red." "But we go the other way," began Jesse, bending over his shoulder and looking at the map now. "Here's the mouth of the Peace River, more than four hundred miles north of here, in Athabasca Lake. Both these two rivers, you might say, come together there. But look what a long river it is if you call the Athabasca and the Mackenzie the same! And look at the big lakes up there that we have read about. The Mackenzie takes you right into that country." "The Mackenzie! One of the very greatest rivers of the world," said Rob. "I've always wanted to see it some time. And now we shall. "I'd have liked to have been along with old Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the old trader who first explored it," he added, thoughtfully. "I forget just what time that was," said Jesse, hesitating and scratching his head. "It was in seventeen eighty-nine," said Rob, always accurate. "He was only a young Scotchman then, and they didn't call him Sir Alexander at all until a good while later--after he had made some of his great discoveries. He put up the first post on Lake Athabasca--right here where our river discharges--and he went from there to the mouth of the Mackenzie River and back all in one season." "How did they travel?" demanded John. "They must have had nothing better than canoes." "Nothing else," nodded Rob, "for they could have had nothing else. They just had birch-bark canoes, too, not as good as white men take into that country now. There were only six white men in the party, with a few Indians. They left Athabasca Lake--here it is on the map--on June third, and they got to the mouth of the great river in forty days. That certainly must have been traveling pretty fast! It was more than fifteen hundred miles--almost sixteen hundred. But they got back to Athabasca Lake in one hundred and two days, covering over three thousand miles down-stream and up-stream. Well, we've all traveled enough in these strong rivers to know how hard it is to go back up-stream, whether with the tracking-line or the paddle or the sail. They did it." "And now we're here to see what it was that they did," said Jesse, looking with some respect at the ragged line on the map which marked the strong course of the Mackenzie River toward the Arctic Sea. "He must have been quite a man, old Alexander Mackenzie," John added. "Yes," said Rob. "As you know, he came back to Athabasca and started up the Peace River in seventeen ninety-three, and was the first man to cross to the Pacific. We studied him over in there. But he went up-stream there, and we came down. That's much easier. It will be easier going down this river, too, which was his first great exploration place. "Now," he continued, "we'll be going down-stream, as I said, almost two thousand miles to the mouth of that river. Uncle Dick says we'll be comfortable as princes all the way. We'll have big scows to travel in, with everything fixed up fine." "Here," said Jesse, putting his finger on the map hesitatingly, "is the place where it says 'rapids.' Must be over a hundred miles of it on this river, or even more." "That's right, Jess," commented John. "We can't dodge those rapids yet. Uncle Dick says that the new railroad in the North may go to Fort McMurray at the foot of this great system of the Athabasca rapids. That would cut out a lot of hard work. If there were a railroad up there, a fellow could go to the Arctics almost as easy as going to New York." "I'd rather go to the Midnight Sun now," said Rob. "There's some trouble about it now, and there's some wilderness now between here and there. It's no fun to do a thing when it's too easy. I wouldn't give a cent to go to Fort McPherson, the last post north, by any railroad." John was still poring over the map, which lay upon the rude boards of the platform, and he shook his head now somewhat dubiously. "Look where we'll have to go," he said, "and all in three months. We have to get back for school next fall." "Never doubt we can do it," said Rob, stoutly. "If we couldn't, Uncle Dick would never try it. He's got it all figured out, you may be sure of that, and he's made all his arrangements with the Hudson's Bay Company. You forget they've been going up into this country for a hundred years, and they know how long it takes and how hard it is. They know all about how to outfit for it, too." "The hardest place we'll have," said John, following his map with his finger now almost to the upper edge, "is right here where we leave the Mackenzie and start over toward the Yukon, just south of the Arctic Ocean. That's a whizzer, all right! No railroad up in there, and I guess there never will be. That's where so many of the Klondikers were lost, my father told me--twenty years ago that was." "They took a year for it," commented Rob, "and sometimes eighteen months, to get across the mountains there. They built houses and passed the winter, and so a great many of them got sick and died. But twenty years ago is a long time nowadays. We can do easily what they could hardly do at all. Uncle Dick has allowed us about three weeks to cover that five hundred miles over the Rat Portage!" "Well, surely if Sir Alexander Mackenzie could make that trip in birch-bark canoes, over three thousand miles, with just a few men who didn't know where they were going, we ought to be able to get through now. That was a hundred and twenty-eight years ago, I figure it, and a lot of things have happened since then." John spoke now with considerable confidence. "Well, Uncle Dick will take care of

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E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, Sam W., 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 54682-h.htm or 54682-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54682/54682-h/54682-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54682/54682-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/zuifolktales00cushrich ZUÑI FOLK TALES Recorded and Translated by FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING With an Introduction by J. W. Powell [Illustration: TÉNATSALI] New York and London G. P. Putnam’S Sons The Knickerbocker Press 1901 Copyright, 1901 By Emily T. M. Cushing The Knickerbocker Press, New York [Illustration: {Photograph of Frank Hamilton Cushing}] LIST OF TALES PAGE THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MÁTSAKI AND THE RED FEATHER 1 THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34 THE POOR TURKEY GIRL 54 HOW THE SUMMER BIRDS CAME 65 THE SERPENT OF THE SEA 93 THE MAIDEN OF THE YELLOW ROCKS 104 THE FOSTER-CHILD OF THE DEER 132 THE BOY HUNTER WHO NEVER SACRIFICED TO THE DEER HE HAD SLAIN: OR THE ORIGIN OF THE SOCIETY OF RATTLESNAKES 150 HOW ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA STOLE THE THUNDER-STONE AND THE LIGHTNING-SHAFT 175 THE WARRIOR SUITOR OF MOKI 185 HOW THE COYOTE JOINED THE DANCE OF THE BURROWING-OWLS 203 THE COYOTE WHO KILLED THE DEMON SÍUIUKI: OR WHY COYOTES RUN THEIR NOSES INTO DEADFALLS 215 HOW THE COYOTES TRIED TO STEAL THE CHILDREN OF THE SACRED DANCE 229 THE COYOTE AND THE BEETLE 235 HOW THE COYOTE DANCED WITH THE BLACKBIRDS 237 HOW THE TURTLE OUT HUNTING DUPED THE COYOTE 243 THE COYOTE AND THE LOCUST 255 THE COYOTE AND THE RAVENS WHO RACED THEIR EYES 262 THE PRAIRIE-DOGS AND THEIR PRIEST, THE BURROWING-OWL 269 HOW THE GOPHER RACED WITH THE RUNNERS OF K’IÁKIME 277 HOW THE RATTLESNAKES CAME TO BE WHAT THEY ARE 285 HOW THE CORN-PESTS WERE ENSNARED 288 JACK-RABBIT AND COTTONTAIL 296 THE RABBIT HUNTRESS AND HER ADVENTURES 297 THE UGLY WILD BOY WHO DROVE THE BEAR AWAY FROM SOUTHEASTERN MESA 310 THE REVENGE OF THE TWO BROTHERS ON THE HÁWIKUHKWE, OR THE TWO LITTLE ONES AND THEIR TURKEYS 317 THE YOUNG SWIFT-RUNNER WHO WAS STRIPPED OF HIS CLOTHING BY THE AGED TARANTULA 345 ÁTAHSAIA, THE CANNIBAL DEMON 365 THE HERMIT MÍTSINA 385 HOW THE TWINS OF WAR AND CHANCE, ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA, FARED WITH THE UNBORN-MADE MEN OF THE UNDERWORLD 398 THE COCK AND THE MOUSE 411 THE GIANT CLOUD-SWALLOWER 423 THE MAIDEN THE SUN MADE LOVE TO, AND HER BOYS: OR THE ORIGIN OF ANGER 429 LIST OF PLATES PAGE PORTRAIT OF FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING _Frontispiece_ THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34 ZUÑI FROM THE SOUTH 64 WAÍHUSIWA 92 A BURRO TRAIN IN A ZUÑI STREET 132 THUNDER MOUNTAIN FROM ZUÑI 174 A HOPI (MOKI) MAIDEN 184 A DANCE OF THE KÂKÂ 228 ACROSS THE TERRACES OF ZUÑI 276 THE PINNACLES OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN 344 PÁLOWAHTIWA 388 ZUÑI WOMEN CARRYING WATER 428 INTRODUCTION It is instructive to compare superstition with science. Mythology is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ancients. Folk-lore is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ignorant of today. Ancient mythology has been carefully studied by modern thinkers for purposes of trope and simile in the embellishment of literature, and especially of poetry; then it has been investigated for the purpose of discovering its meaning in the hope that some occult significance might be found, on the theory that the wisdom of the ancients was far superior to that of modern men. Now, science has entered this field of study to compare one mythology with another, and pre-eminently to compare mythology with science itself, for the purpose of discovering stages of human opinion. When the mythology of tribal men came to be studied, it was found that their philosophy was also a mythology in which the mysteries of the universe were explained in a collection of tales told by wise men, prophets, and priests. This lore of the wise among savage men is of the same origin and has the same significance as the lore of Hesiod and Homer. It is thus a mythology in the early sense of that term. But the mythology of tribal men is devoid of that glamour and witchery born of poetry; hence it seems rude and savage in comparison, for example, with the mythology of the _Odyssey_, and to rank no higher as philosophic thought than the tales of the ignorant and superstitious which are called folk-lore; and gradually such mythology has come to be called folk-lore. Folk-lore is a discredited mythology--a mythology once held as a philosophy. Nowadays the tales of savage men, not being credited by civilized and enlightened men with that wisdom which is held to belong to philosophy, are called folk-lore, or sometimes folk-tales. The folk-tales collected by Mr. Cushing constitute a charming exhibit of the wisdom of the Zuñis as they believe, though it may be but a charming exhibit of the follies of the Zuñis as we believe. The wisdom of one age is the folly of the next, and the opinions of tribal men seem childish to civilized men. Then why should we seek to discover their thoughts? Science, in seeking to know the truth about the universe, does not expect to find it in mythology or folk-lore, does not even consider it as a paramount end that it should be used as an embellishment of literature, though it serves this purpose well. Modern science now considers it of profound importance to know the course of the evolution of the humanities; that is, the evolution of pleasures, the evolution of industries, the evolution of institutions, the evolution of languages, and, finally, the evolution of opinions. How opinions grow seems to be one of the most instructive chapters in the science of psychology. Psychologists do not go to the past to find valid opinions, but to find stages of development in opinions; hence mythology or folk-lore is of profound interest and supreme importance. Under the scriptorial wand of Cushing the folk-tales of the Zuñis are destined to become a part of the living literature of the world, for he is a poet although he does not write in verse. Cushing can think as myth-makers think, he can speak as prophets speak, he can expound as priests expound, and his tales have the verisimilitude of ancient lore; but his sympathy with the mythology of tribal men does not veil the realities of science from his mind. The gods of Zuñi, like those of all primitive people, are the ancients of animals, but we must understand and heartily appreciate their simple thought if we would do them justice. All entities are animals--men, brutes, plants, stars, lands, waters, and rocks--and all have souls. The souls are tenuous existences--mist entities, gaseous creatures inhabiting firmer bodies of matter. They are ghosts that own bodies. They can leave their bodies, or if they discover bodies that have been vacated they can take possession of them. Force and mind belong to souls; fixed form, firm existence belong to matter, while bodies and souls constitute the world. The world is a universe of animals. The stars are animals compelled to travel around the world by magic. The plants are animals under a spell of enchantment, so that usually they cannot travel. The waters are animals sometimes under the spell of enchantment. Lakes writhe in waves, the sea travels in circles about the earth, and the streams run over the lands. Mountains and hills tremble in pain, but cannot wander about; but rocks and hills and mountains sometimes travel about by night. These animals of the world come in a flood of generations, and the first-born are gods and are usually called the ancients, or the first ones; the later-born generations are descendants of the gods, but alas, they are degenerate sons. The theatre of the world is the theatre of necromancy, and the gods are the primeval wonder-workers; the gods still live, but their descendants often die. Death itself is the result of necromancy practiced by bad men or angry gods. In every Amerindian language there is a term to express this magical power. Among the Iroquoian tribes it is called _orenda_; among the Siouan tribe some manifestations of it are called _wakan_ or _wakanda_, but the generic term in this language is _hube_. Among the Shoshonean tribes it is called _pokunt_. Let us borrow one of these terms and call it “orenda.” All unexplained phenomena are attributed to orenda. Thus the venom of the serpent is orenda, and this orenda can pass from a serpent to an arrow by another exercise of orenda, and hence the arrow is charmed. The rattlesnake may be stretched beside the arrow, and an invocation may be performed that will convey the orenda from the snake to the arrow, or the serpent may be made into a witch’s stew and the arrow dipped into the brew. No man has contributed more to our understanding of the doctrine of orenda as believed and practised by the Amerindian tribes than Cushing himself. In other publications he has elaborately discussed this doctrine, and in his lectures he was wont to show how forms and decorations of implements and utensils have orenda for their motive. When one of the ancients--that is, one of the gods--of the Iroquois was planning the streams of earth by his orenda or magical power, he determined to have them run up one side and down the other; if he had done this men could float up or down at will, by passing from one side to the other of the river, but his wicked brother interfered and made them run down on both sides; so orenda may thwart orenda. The bird that sings is universally held by tribal men to be exercising its orenda. And when human beings sing they also exercise orenda; hence song is a universal accompaniment of Amerindian worship. All their worship is thus fundamentally terpsichorean, for it is supposed that they can be induced to grant favors by pleasing them. All diseases and ailments of mankind are attributed by tribal men to orenda, and all mythology is a theory of magic. Yet many of the tribes, perhaps all of them, teach in their tales of some method of introducing death and disease into the world, but it is a method by which supernatural agencies can cause sickness and death. The prophets, who are also priests, wonder-workers, and medicine-men, are called shamans in scientific literature. In popular literature and in frontier parlance they are usually called medicine-men. Shamans are usually initiated into the guild, and frequently there are elaborate tribal ceremonies for the purpose. Often individuals have revelations and set up to prophesy, to expel diseases, and to teach as priests. If they gain a following they may ultimately exert much influence and be greatly revered, but if they fail they may gradually be looked upon as wizards or witches, and they may be accused of black art, and in extreme cases may be put to death. All Amerindians believe in shamancraft and witchcraft. The myths of cosmology are usually called creation myths. Sometimes all myths which account for things, even the most trivial, are called creation myths. Every striking phenomenon observed by the Amerind has a myth designed to account for its origin. The horn of the buffalo, the tawny patch on the shoulders of the rabbit, the crest of the blue-jay, the tail of the magpie, the sheen of the chameleon, the rattle of the snake,--in fact, everything that challenges attention gives rise to a myth. Thus the folk-tales of the Amerinds seem to be inexhaustible, for in every language, and there are hundreds of them, a different set of myths is found. In all of these languages a strange similarity in cosmology is observed, in that it is a cosmology of regions or worlds. About the home world of the tribe there is gathered a group of worlds, one above, another below, and four more: one at every cardinal point; or we may describe it as a central world, an upper world, a lower world, a northern world, a southern world, an eastern world, and a western world. All of the animals of the tribes, be they human animals, tree animals, star animals, water animals (that is, bodies of water), or stone animals (that is, mountains, hills, valleys, and rocks), have an appropriate habitation in the zenith world, the nadir world, or in one of the cardinal worlds, and their dwelling in the center world is accounted for by some myth of travel to this world. All bodies and all attributes of bodies have a home or proper place of habitation; even the colors of the clouds and the rainbow and of all other objects on earth are assigned to the six regions from which they come to the midworld. We may better understand this habit of thought by considering the folk-lore of civilization. Here are but three regions: heaven, earth, and hell. All good things come from heaven; and all bad things from hell. It is true that this cosmology is not entertained by scholarly people. An enlightened man thinks of moral good as a state of mind in the individual, an attribute of his soul, and a moral evil as the characteristic of an immoral man; but still it is practically universal for even the most intelligent to affirm by a figure of speech that heaven is the place of good, and hell the place of evil. Now, enlarge this conception so as to assign a place as the proper region for all bodies and attributes, and you will understand the cosmological concepts of the Amerinds. The primitive religion of every Amerindian tribe is an organized system of inducing the ancients to take part in the affairs of men, and the worship of the gods is a system designed to please the gods, that they may be induced to act for men, particularly the tribe of men who are the worshipers. Time would fail me to tell of the multitude of activities in tribal life designed for this purpose, but a few of them may be mentioned. The first and most important of all are terpsichorean ceremonies and festivals. Singing and dancing are universal, and festivals are given at appointed times and places by every tribe. The long nights of winter are devoted largely to worship, and a succession of festival days are established, to be held at appropriate seasons for the worship of the gods. Thus there are festival days for invoking rain, there are festival days for thanksgiving--for harvest homes. In lands where the grasshopper is an important food there are grasshopper festivals. In lands where corn is an important food there are green-corn festivals; where the buffalo constituted an important part of their aliment there were buffalo dances. So there is a bear dance or festival, and elk dance or festival, and a multitude of other festivals as we go from tribe to tribe, all of which are fixed at times indicated by signs of the zodiac. In the higher tribes elaborate calendars are devised from which we unravel their picture-writings. The practice of medicine by the shamans is an invocation to the gods to drive out evil spirits from the sick and to frighten them that they may leave. By music and dancing they obtain the help of the ancients, and by a great variety of methods they drive out the evil beings. Resort is often had to scarifying and searing, especially when the sick man has great local pains. All American tribes entertain a profound belief in the doctrine of signatures,--_similia, similibus curantur_,--and they use this belief in procuring charms as medicine to drive out the ghostly diseases that plague their sick folk. Next in importance to terpsichorean worship is altar worship. The altar is a space cleared upon the ground, or a platform raised from the ground or floor of the kiva or assembly-house of the people. Around the altar are gathered the priests and their acolytes, and here they make prayers and perform ceremonies with the aid of altar-pieces of various kinds, especially tablets of picture-writings on wood, bone, or the skins of animals. The altar-pieces consist of representatives of the thing for which supplication is made: ears of corn or vases of meal, ewers of water, parts of animals designed for food, cakes of grasshoppers, basins of honey, in fine any kind of food; then crystals or fragments of rock to signify that they desire the corn to be hard, or of honeydew that they desire the corn to be sweet, or of corn of different colors that they desire the corn to be of a variety of colors. That which is of great interest to students of ethnology is the system of picture-writing exhibited on the altars. In this a great variety of things which they desire and a great variety of the characteristics of these things are represented in pictographs, or modeled in clay, or carved from wood and bone. The graphic art, as painting and sculpture, has its origin with tribal men in the development of altar-pieces. So also the drama is derived from primeval worship, as the modern practice of medicine has been evolved from necromancy. There is another method of worship found in savagery, but more highly developed in barbarism,--the worship of sacrifice. The altar-pieces and the dramatic supplications of the lower stage gradually develop into a sacrificial stage in the higher culture. Then the objects are supposed to supply the ancients themselves with food and drink and the pleasures of life. This stage was most highly developed in Mexico, especially by the Nahua or Aztec, where human beings were sacrificed. In general, among the Amerinds, not only are sacrifices made on the altar, but they are also made whenever food or drink is used. Thus the first portions of objects designed for consumption are dedicated to the gods. There are in America many examples of these pagan religions, to a greater or less extent affiliated in doctrine and in worship with the religion of Christian origin. In the early history of the association of white men with the Seneca of New York and Pennsylvania, there was in the tribe a celebrated shaman named Handsome Lake, as his Indian name is translated into English. Handsome Lake had a nephew who was taken by the Spaniards to Europe and educated as a priest. The nephew, on his return to America, told many Bible stories to his uncle, for he speedily relapsed into paganism. The uncle compounded some of these Bible stories with Seneca folk-tales, and through his eloquence and great influence as a shaman succeeded in establishing among the Seneca a new cult of doctrine and worship. The Seneca are now divided into two very distinct bodies who live together on the same reservation,--the one are “Christians,” the other are “Pagans” who believe and teach the cult of Handsome Lake. Mr. Cushing has introduced a hybrid tale into his collection, entitled “The Cock and the Mouse.” Such tales are found again and again among the Amerinds. In a large majority of cases Bible stories are compounded with native stories, so that unwary people have been led to believe that the Amerinds are descendants of the lost tribes of Israel. J. W. Powell. Washington City, November, 1901. ZUÑI FOLK TALES THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MÁTSAKI AND THE RED FEATHER (_Told the First Night_) In the days of the ancients, when Mátsaki was the home of the children of men, there lived, in that town, which is called “Salt City,” because the Goddess of Salt made a white lake there in the days of the New, a beautiful maiden. She was passing beautiful, and the daughter of the priest-chief, who owned more buckskins and blankets than he could hang on his poles, and whose port-holes were covered with turquoises and precious shells from the ocean--so many were the sacrifices he made to the gods. His house was the largest in Mátsaki, and his ladder-poles were tall and decorated with slabs of carved wood--which you know was a great thing, for our grandfathers cut with the _tímush_ or flint knife, and even tilled their corn-fields with wooden hoes sharpened with stone and weighted with granite. That’s the reason why all the young men in the towns round about were in love with the beautiful maiden of Salt City. Now, there was one very fine young man who lived across the western plains, in the Pueblo of the Winds. He was so filled with thoughts of the maiden of Mátsaki that he labored long to gather presents for her, and looked not with favor on any girl of his own pueblo. One morning he said to his fathers: “I have seen the maiden of Mátsaki; what think ye?” “Be it well,” said the old ones. So toward night the young man made a bundle of mantles and necklaces, which he rolled up in the best and whitest buckskin he had. When the sun was setting he started toward Mátsaki, and just as the old man’s children had gathered in to smoke and talk he reached the house of the maiden’s father and climbed the ladder. He lifted the corner of the mat door and shouted to the people below--“_Shé!_” “_Hai!_” answered more than a pair of voices from below. “Pull me down,” cried the young man, at the same time showing his bundle through the sky-hole. The maiden’s mother rose and helped the young man down the ladder, and as he entered the fire-light he laid the bundle down. “My fathers and mothers, my sisters and friends, how be ye these many days?” said he, very carefully, as though he were speaking to a council. “Happy! Happy!” they all responded, and they said also: “Sit down; sit down on this stool,” which they placed for him in the fire-light. “My daughter,” remarked the old man, who was smoking his cigarette by the opposite side of the hearth-place, “when a stranger enters the house of a stranger, the girl should place before him food and cooked things.” So the girl brought from the great vessel in the corner fresh rolls of _héwe_, or bread of corn-flour, thin as papers, and placed them in a tray before the young man, where the light would fall on them. “Eat!” said she, and he replied, “It is well.” Whereupon he sat up very straight, and placing his left hand across his breast, very slowly took a roll of the wafer bread with his right hand and ate ever so little; for you know it is not well or polite to eat much when you go to see a strange girl, especially if you want to ask her if she will let you live in the same house with her. So the young man ate ever so little, and said, “Thank you.” “Eat more,” said the old ones; but when he replied that he was “past the naming of want,” they said, “Have eaten,” and the girl carried the tray away and swept away the crumbs. “Well,” said the old man, after a short time, “when a stranger enters the house of a stranger, it is not thinking of nothing that he enters.” “Why, that is quite true,” said the youth, and then he waited. “Then what may it be that thou hast come thinking of?” added the old man. “I have heard,” said the young man, “of your daughter, and have seen her, and it was with thoughts of her that I came.” Just then the grown-up sons of the old man, who had come to smoke and chat, rose and said to one another: “Is it not about time we should be going home? The stars must be all out.” Thus saying, they bade the old ones to “wait happily until the morning,” and shook hands with the young man who had come, and went to the homes of their wives’ mothers. “Listen, my child!” said the old man after they had gone away, turning toward his daughter, who was sitting near the wall and looking down at the beads on her belt fringe. “Listen! You have heard what the young man has said. What think you?” “Why! I know not; but what should I say but ‘Be it well,’” said the girl, “if thus think my old ones?” “As you may,” said the old man; and then he made a cigarette and smoked with the young man. When he had thrown away his cigarette he said to the mother: “Old one, is it not time to stretch out?” So when the old ones were asleep in the corner, the girl said to the youth, but in a low voice: “Only possibly you love me. True, I have said ‘Be it well’; but before I take your bundle and say ‘thanks,’ I would that you, to prove that you verily love me, should go down into my corn-field, among the lands of the priest-chief, by the side of the river, and hoe all the corn in a single morning. If you will do this, then shall I know you love me; then shall I take of your presents, and happy we will be together.” “Very well,” replied the young man; “I am willing.” Then the young girl lighted a bundle of cedar splints and showed him a room which contained a bed of soft robes and blankets, and, placing her father’s hoe near the door, bade the young man “wait happily unto the morning.” So when she had gone he looked at the hoe and thought: “Ha! if that be all, she shall see in the morning that I am a man.” At the peep of day over the eastern mesa he roused himself, and, shouldering the wooden hoe, ran down to the corn-fields; and when, as the sun was coming out, the young girl awoke and looked down from her house-top, “Aha!” thought she, “he is doing well, but my children and I shall see how he gets on somewhat later. I doubt if he loves me as much as he thinks he does.” So she went into a closed room. Down in the corner stood a water jar, beautifully painted and as bright as new. It looked like other water jars, but it was not. It was wonderful, wonderful! for it was covered with a stone lid which held down many may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes. The maiden lifted the lid and began to speak to the little animals as though she were praying. “Now, then, my children, this day fly ye forth all, and in the corn-fields by the river there shall ye see a young man hoeing. So hard is he working that he is stripped as for a race. Go forth and seek him.” “_Tsu-nu-nu-nu_,” said the flies, and “_Tsi-ni-ni-ni_,” sang the gnats and mosquitoes; which meant “Yes,” you know. “And,” further said the girl, “when ye find him, bite him, his body all over, and eat ye freely of his blood; spare not his armpits, neither his neck nor his eyelids, and fill his ears with humming.” And again the flies said, “_Tsu-nu-nu-nu_,” and the mosquitoes and gnats, “_Tsi-ni-ni-ni._” Then, _nu-u-u_, away they all flew like a cloud of sand on a windy morning. “Blood!” exclaimed the young man. He wiped the sweat from his face and said, “The gods be angry!” Then he dropped his hoe and rubbed his shins with sand and slapped his sides. “_Atu!_” he yelled; “what matters--what in the name of the Moon Mother matters with these little beasts that cause thoughts?” Whereupon, crazed and restless as a spider on hot ashes, he rolled in the dust, but to no purpose, for the flies and gnats and mosquitoes sang “_hu-n-n_” and “_tsi-ni-ni_” about his ears until he grabbed up his blanket and breakfast, and ran toward the home of his fathers. “_Wa-ha ha! Ho o!_” laughed a young man in the Tented Pueblo to the north, when he heard how the lover had fared. “_Shoom!_” he sneered. “Much of a man he must have been to give up the maid of Mátsaki for may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes!” So on the very next morning, he, too, said to his old ones: “What a fool that little _boy_ must have been. I will visit the maiden of Mátsaki. I’ll show the people of Pínawa what a Hámpasawan man can do. Courage!”--and, as the old ones said “Be it well,” he went as the other had gone; but, pshaw! he fared no better. After some time, a young man who lived in the River Town heard about it and laughed as hard as the youth of the Tented Pueblo had. He called the two others fools, and said that “girls were not in the habit of asking much when one’s bundle was large.” And as he was a young man who had everything, he made a bundle of presents as large as he could carry; but it did him no good. He, too, ran away from the may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes. Many days passed before any one else would try again to woo the maiden of Mátsaki. They did not know, it is true, that she was a Passing Being; but others had failed all on account of mosquitoes and may-flies and little black gnats, and had been more satisfied with shame than a full hungry man with food. “That is sick satisfaction,” they would say to one another, the fear of which made them wait to see what others would do. Now, in the Ant Hill, which was named Hálonawan,[1] lived a handsome young man, but he was poor, although the son of the priest-chief of Hálonawan. He thought many days, and at last said to his grandmother, who was very old and crafty, “_Hó-ta?_” [1] The ancient pueblo of Zuñi itself was called Hálonawan, or the Ant Hill, the ruins of which, now buried beneath the sands, lie opposite the modern town within the cast of a stone. Long before Hálonawan was abandoned, the nucleus of the present structure was begun around one of the now central plazas. It was then, and still is, in the ancient songs and rituals of the Zuñis, _Hálona-ítiwana_, or the “Middle Ant Hill

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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Internet Web Archive Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov03spei (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. A Novel. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 1874. (_All rights reserved_.) CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER I. A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. II. IN THE SYCAMORE WALK. III. MISS CULPEPPER SPEAKS HER MIND. IV. KNOCKLEY HOLT. V. AT THE THREE CROWNS HOTEL. VI. TOM FINDS HIS TONGUE. VII. EXIT MRS. MCDERMOTT. VIII. DIRTY JACK. IX. WHAT TO DO NEXT? X. HOW TOM WINS HIS WIFE. XI. THE EIGHTH OF MAY. XII. GATHERED THREADS. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. CHAPTER I. A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. Two hours after the receipt of Mrs. McDermott's second letter, Squire Culpepper was on his way to Sugden's bank. His heart was heavy, and his step slow. He had never had to borrow a farthing from any man--at least, never since he had come into the estate--and he felt the humiliation, as he himself called it, very bitterly. There was something of bitterness, too, in having to confess to his friend Cope how all his brilliant castles in the air had vanished utterly, leaving not a wrack behind. He could see, in imagination, the sneer that would creep over Cope's face as the latter asked him why he could not obtain a mortgage on his fine new mansion at Pincote; the mansion he had talked so much about--about which he had bored his friends; the mansion that was to have been built out of the Alcazar shares, but of which not even the foundation-stone would ever now be laid. Then, again, the Squire was far from certain as to the kind of reception which would be accorded him by the banker. Of late he had seemed cool, very cool--refrigerating almost. Once or twice, too, when he had called, Mr. Cope had been invisible: a Jupiter Tonans buried for the time being among a cloud of ledgers and dockets and transfers: not to be seen by any one save his own immediate satellites. The time had been, and not so very long ago, when he could walk unchallenged through the outer bank office, whoever else might be waiting, and so into the inner sanctum, and be sure of a welcome when he got there. But now he was sure to be intercepted by one or other of the clerks with a "Will you please to take a seat for a moment while I see whether Mr. Cope is disengaged." The Squire groaned with inward rage as, leaning on his thick stick, he limped down Duxley High Street and thought of all these things. As he had surmised it would be, so it was on the present occasion. He had to sit down in the outer office, one of a row of six who were waiting Mr. Cope's time and pleasure to see them. "He won't lend me the money," said the Squire to himself, as he sat there choking with secret mortification. "He'll find some paltry excuse for refusing me. It's almost worth a man's while to tumble into trouble just to find out who are his friends and who are not." However, the banker did not keep him waiting more than five or six minutes. "Mr. Cope will see you, sir," said a liveried messenger, who came up to him with a low bow; and into Mr. Cope's parlour the Squire was thereupon ushered. The two men met with a certain amount of restraint on either side. They shook hands as a matter of course, and made a few remarks about the weather; and then the banker began to play with his seals, and waited in bland silence to hear whatever the Squire might have to say to him. Mr. Culpepper fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat.

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Produced by Sue Asscher. HTML version by Al Haines. THE VALLEY OF DECISION BY EDITH WHARTON Author of "A Gift from the Grave," "Crucial Instances," etc. "Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision." TO MY FRIENDS PAUL AND MINNIE BOURGET IN REMEMBRANCE OF ITALIAN DAYS TOGETHER. CONTENTS. BOOK I. THE OLD ORDER. BOOK II. THE NEW LIGHT. BOOK III. THE CHOICE. BOOK IV. THE REWARD. BOOK I. THE OLD ORDER. Prima che incontro alla festosa fronte I lugubri suoi lampi il ver baleni. 1.1. It was very still in the small neglected chapel. The noises of the farm came faintly through closed doors--voices shouting at the oxen in the lower fields, the querulous bark of the old house-dog, and Filomena's angry calls to the little white-faced foundling in the kitchen. The February day was closing, and a ray of sunshine, slanting through a slit in the chapel wall, brought out the vision of a pale haloed head floating against the dusky background of the chancel like a water-lily on its leaf. The face was that of the saint of Assisi--a sunken ravaged countenance, lit with an ecstasy of suffering that seemed not so much to reflect the anguish of the Christ at whose feet the saint knelt, as the mute pain of all poor down-trodden folk on earth. When the small Odo Valsecca--the only frequenter of the chapel--had been taunted by the farmer's wife for being a beggar's brat, or when his ears were tingling from the heavy hand of the farmer's son, he found a melancholy kinship in that suffering face; but since he had fighting blood in him too, coming on the mother's side of the rude Piedmontese stock of the Marquesses di Donnaz, there were other moods when he turned instead to the stout Saint George in gold armour, just discernible through the grime and dust of the opposite wall. The chapel of Pontesordo was indeed as wonderful a storybook as fate ever unrolled before the eyes of a neglected and solitary child. For a hundred years or more Pontesordo, a fortified manor of the Dukes of Pianura, had been used as a farmhouse; and the chapel was never opened save when, on Easter Sunday, a priest came from the town to say mass. At other times it stood abandoned, cobwebs curtaining the narrow windows, farm tools leaning against the walls, and the dust deep on the sea-gods and acanthus volutes of the altar. The manor of Pontesordo was very old. The country people said that the great warlock Virgil, whose dwelling-place was at Mantua, had once shut himself up for a year in the topmost chamber of the keep, engaged in unholy researches; and another legend related that Alda, wife of an early lord of Pianura, had thrown herself from its battlements to escape the pursuit of the terrible Ezzelino. The chapel adjoined this keep, and Filomena, the farmer's wife, told Odo that it was even older than the tower and that the walls had been painted by early martyrs who had concealed themselves there from the persecutions of the pagan emperors. On such questions a child of Odo's age could obviously have no pronounced opinion, the less so as Filomena's facts varied according to the seasons or her mood, so that on a day of east wind or when the worms were not hatching well, she had been known to affirm that the pagans had painted the chapel under Virgil's instruction, to commemorate the Christians they had tortured. In spite of the distance to which these conflicting statements seemed to relegate them, Odo somehow felt as though these pale strange people--youths with ardent faces under their small round caps, damsels with wheat- hair and boys no bigger than himself, holding spotted dogs in leash--were younger and nearer to him than the dwellers on the farm: Jacopone the farmer, the shrill Filomena, who was Odo's foster-mother, the hulking bully their son and the abate who once a week came out from Pianura to give Odo religious instruction and who dismissed his questions with the invariable exhortation not to pry into matters that were beyond his years. Odo had loved the pictures in the chapel all the better since the abate, with a shrug, had told him they were nothing but old rubbish, the work of the barbarians. Life at Pontesordo was in truth not very pleasant for an ardent and sensitive little boy of nine, whose remote connection with the reigning line of Pianura did not preserve him from wearing torn clothes and eating black bread and beans out of an earthen bowl on the kitchen doorstep. "Go ask your mother for new clothes!" Filomena would snap at him, when his toes came through his shoes and the rents in his jacket-sleeves had spread beyond darning. "These you are wearing are my Giannozzo's, as you well know, and every rag on your back is mine, if there were any law for poor folk, for not a copper of pay for your keep or a stitch of clothing for your body have we had these two years come Assumption--. What's that? You can't ask your mother, you say, because she never comes here? True enough--fine ladies let their brats live in cow-dung, but they must have Indian carpets under their own feet. Well, ask the abate, then--he has lace ruffles to his coat and a naked woman painted on his snuff box--What? He only holds his hands up when you ask? Well, then, go ask your friends on the chapel-walls--maybe they'll give you a pair of shoes--though Saint Francis, for that matter, was the father of the discalced, and would doubtless tell you to go without!" And she would add with a coarse laugh: "Don't you know that the discalced are shod with gold?" It was after such a scene that the beggar-noble, as they called him at Pontesordo, would steal away to the chapel and, seating himself on an upturned basket or a heap of pumpkins, gaze long into the face of the mournful saint. There was nothing unusual in Odo's lot. It was that of many children in the eighteenth century, especially those whose parents were cadets of noble houses, with an appanage barely sufficient to keep their wives and themselves in court finery, much less to pay their debts and clothe and educate their children. All over Italy at that moment, had Odo Valsecca but known it, were lads whose ancestors, like his own, had been dukes and crusaders, but who, none the less, were faring, as he fared, on black bread and hard blows, and the half-comprehended taunts of unpaid foster-parents. Many, doubtless, there were who cared little enough, as long as they might play morro with the farmer's lads and ride the colt bare-back through the pasture and go bird-netting and frog-hunting with the village children; but some perhaps, like Odo, suffered in a dumb animal way, without understanding why life was so hard on little boys. Odo, for his part, had small taste for the sports in which Gianozzo and the village lads took pleasure. He shrank from any amusement associated with the frightening or hurting of animals, and his bosom swelled with the fine gentleman's scorn of the clowns who got their fun in so coarse a way. Now and then he found a moment's glee in a sharp tussle with one of the younger children who had been tormenting a frog or a beetle; but he was still too young for real fighting, and could only hang on the outskirts when the bigger boys closed, and think how some day he would be at them and break their lubberly heads. There were thus many hours when he turned to the silent consolations of the chapel. So familiar had he grown with the images on its walls that he had a name for every one: the King, the Knight, the Lady, the children with guinea-pigs, basilisks and leopards, and lastly the Friend, as he called Saint Francis. An almond-faced lady on a white palfrey with gold trappings represented his mother, whom he had seen too seldom for any distinct image to interfere with the illusion; a knight in damascened armour and scarlet cloak was the valiant captain, his father, who held a commission in the ducal army; and a proud young man in diadem and ermine, attended by a retinue of pages, stood for his cousin, the reigning Duke of Pianura. A mist, as usual at that hour, was rising from the marshes between Pontesordo and Pianura, and the light soon ebbed from the saint's face, leaving the chapel in obscurity. Odo had crept there that afternoon with a keener sense than usual of the fact that life was hard on little boys; and though he was cold and hungry and half afraid, the solitude in which he cowered seemed more endurable than the noisy kitchen where, at that hour, the farm hands were gathering for their polenta, and Filomena was screaming at the frightened orphan who carried the dishes to the table. He knew, of course, that life at Pontesordo would not last for ever--that in time he would grow up and be mysteriously transformed into a young gentleman with a sword and laced coat, who would go to court and perhaps be an officer in the Duke's army or in that of some neighbouring prince; but, viewed from the lowliness of his nine years, that dazzling prospect was too remote to yield much solace for the cuffs and sneers, the ragged shoes and sour bread of the present. The fog outside had thickened, and the face of Odo's friend was now discernible only as a spot of pallor in the surrounding dimness. Even he seemed farther away than usual, withdrawn into the fog as into that mist of indifference which lay all about Odo's hot and eager spirit. The child sat down among the gourds and medlars on the muddy floor and hid his face against his knees. He had sat there a long time when the noise of wheels and the crack of a postillion's whip roused the dogs chained in the stable. Odo's heart began to beat. What could the sounds mean? It was as though the flood-tide of the unknown were rising about him and bursting open the chapel door to pour in on his loneliness. It was, in fact, Filomena who opened the door, crying out to him in an odd Easter Sunday voice, the voice she used when she had on her silk neckerchief and gold chain or when she was talking to the bailiff. Odo sprang up and hid his face in her lap. She seemed, of a sudden, nearer to him than any one else--a last barrier between himself and the mystery that awaited him outside. "Come, you poor sparrow," she said, dragging him across the threshold of the chapel, "the abate is here asking for you;" and she crossed herself, as though she had named a saint. Odo pulled away from her with a last wistful glance at Saint Francis, who looked back at him in an ecstasy of commiseration. "Come, come," Filomena repeated, dropping to her ordinary key as she felt the resistance of the little boy's hand. "Have you no heart, you wicked child? But, to be sure, the poor innocent doesn't know! Come cavaliere, your illustrious mother waits." "My mother?" The blood rushed to his face; and she had called him "cavaliere"! "Not here, my poor lamb! The abate is here; don't you see the lights of the carriage? There, there, go to him. I haven't told him, your reverence; it's my silly tender-heartedness that won't let me. He's always been like one of my own creatures to me--" and she confounded Odo by bursting into tears. The abate stood on the doorstep. He was a tall stout man with a hooked nose and lace ruffles. His nostrils were stained with snuff and he took a pinch from a tortoise-shell box set with the miniature of a lady; then he looked down at Odo and shrugged his shoulders. Odo was growing sick with apprehension. It was two days before the appointed time for his weekly instruction and he had not prepared his catechism. He had not even thought of it--and the abate could use the cane. Odo stood silent and envied girls, who are not disgraced by crying. The tears were in his throat, but he had fixed principles about crying. It was his opinion that a little boy who was a cavaliere might weep when he was angry or sorry, but never when he was afraid; so he held his head high and put his hand to his side, as though to rest it on his sword. The abate sneezed and tapped his snuff-box. "Come, come, cavaliere, you must be brave--you must be a man; you have duties, you have responsibilities. It's your duty to console your mother--the poor lady is plunged in despair. Eh? What's that? You haven't told him? Cavaliere, your illustrious father is no more." Odo stared a moment without understanding; then his grief burst from him in a great sob, and he hid himself against Filomena's apron, weeping for the father in damascened armour and scarlet cloak. "Come, come," said the abate impatiently. "Is supper laid? for we must be gone as soon as the mist rises." He took the little boy by the hand. "Would it not distract your mind to recite the catechism?" he inquired. "No, no!" cried Odo with redoubled sobs. "Well, then, as you will. What a madman!" he exclaimed to Filomena. "I warrant it hasn't seen its father three times in its life. Come in, cavaliere; come to supper." Filomena had laid a table in the stone chamber known as the bailiff's parlour, and thither the abate dragged his charge and set him down before the coarse tablecloth covered with earthen platters. A tallow dip threw its flare on the abate's big aquiline face as he sat opposite Odo, gulping the hastily prepared frittura and the thick purple wine in its wicker flask. Odo could eat nothing. The tears still ran down his cheeks and his whole soul was possessed by the longing to steal back and see whether the figure of the knight in the scarlet cloak had vanished from the chapel wall. The abate sat in silence, gobbling his food like the old black pig in the yard. When he had finished he stood up, exclaiming: "Death comes to us all, as the hawk said to the chicken. You must be a man, cavaliere." Then he stepped into the kitchen, and called out for the horses to be put to. The farm hands had slunk away to one of the outhouses, and Filomena and Jacopone stood bowing and curtseying as the carriage drew up at the kitchen door. In a corner of the big vaulted room the little foundling was washing the dishes, heaping the scraps in a bowl for herself and the fowls. Odo ran back and touched her arm. She gave a start and looked at him with frightened eyes. He had nothing to give her, but he said: "Good-bye, Momola"; and he thought to himself that when he was grown up and had a sword he would surely come back and bring her a pair of shoes and a panettone. The abate was calling him, and the next moment he found himself lifted into the carriage, amid the blessings and lamentations of his foster-parents; and with a great baying of dogs and clacking of whipcord the horses clattered out of the farmyard, and turned their heads toward Pianura. The mist had rolled back and fields and vineyards lay bare to the winter moon. The way was lonely, for it skirted the marsh, where no one lived; and only here and there the tall black shadow of a crucifix ate into the whiteness of the road. Shreds of vapour still hung about the hollows, but beyond these fold on fold of translucent hills melted into a sky dewy with stars. Odo cowered in his corner, staring out awestruck at the unrolling of the strange white landscape. He had seldom been out at night, and never in a carriage; and there was something terrifying to him in this flight through the silent moon-washed fields, where no oxen moved in the furrows, no peasants pruned the mulberries, and not a goat's bell tinkled among the oaks. He felt himself alone in a ghostly world from which even the animals had vanished, and at last he averted his eyes from the dreadful scene and sat watching the abate, who had fixed a reading-lamp at his back, and whose hooked-nosed shadow, as the springs jolted him up and down, danced overhead like the huge Pulcinella at the fair of Pontesordo. 1.2. The gleam of a lantern woke Odo. The horses had stopped at the gates of Pianura, and the abate giving the pass-word, the carriage rolled under the gatehouse and continued its way over the loud cobble-stones of the ducal streets. These streets were so dark, being lit but by some lantern projecting here and there from the angle of a wall, or by the flare of an oil-lamp under a shrine, that Odo, leaning eagerly out, could only now and then catch a sculptured palace-window, the grinning mask on the keystone of an archway, or the gleaming yellowish facade of a church inlaid with marbles. Once or twice an uncurtained window showed a group of men drinking about a wineshop table, or an artisan bending over his work by the light of a tallow dip; but for the most part doors and windows were barred and the streets disturbed only by the watchman's cry or by a flash of light and noise as a sedan chair passed with its escort of linkmen and servants. All this was amazing enough to the sleepy eyes of the little boy so unexpectedly translated from the solitude of Pontesordo; but when the carriage turned under another arch and drew up before the doorway of a great building ablaze with lights, the pressure of accumulated emotions made him fling his arms about his preceptor's neck. "Courage, cavaliere, courage! You have duties, you have responsibilities," the abate admonished him; and Odo, choking back his fright, suffered himself to be lifted out by one of the lacqueys grouped about the door. The abate, who carried a much lower crest than at Pontesordo, and seemed far more anxious to please the servants than they to oblige him, led the way up a shining marble staircase where beggars whined on the landings and powdered footmen in the ducal livery were running to and fro with trays of refreshments. Odo, who knew that his mother lived in the Duke's palace, had vaguely imagined that his father's death must have plunged its huge precincts into silence and mourning; but as he followed the abate up successive flights of stairs and down long corridors full of shadow he heard a sound of dance music below and caught the flash of girandoles through the antechamber doors. The thought that his father's death had made no difference to any one in the palace was to the child so much more astonishing than any of the other impressions crowding his brain, that these were scarcely felt, and he passed as in a dream through rooms where servants were quarrelling over cards and waiting-women rummaged in wardrobes full of perfumed finery, to a bedchamber in which a lady dressed in weeds sat disconsolately at supper. "Mamma! Mamma!" he cried, springing forward in a passion of tears. The lady, who was young, pale and handsome, pushed back her chair with a warning hand. "Child," she exclaimed, "your shoes are covered with mud; and, good heavens, how you smell of the stable! Abate, is it thus you teach your pupil to approach me?" "Madam, I am abashed by the cavaliere's temerity. But in truth I believe excessive grief has clouded his wits--'tis inconceivable how he mourns his father!" Donna Laura's eyebrows rose in a faint smile. "May he never have worse to grieve for!" said she in French; then, extending her scented hand to the little boy, she added solemnly: "My son, we have suffered an irreparable loss." Odo, abashed by her rebuke and the abate's apology, had drawn his heels together in a rustic version of the low bow with which the children of that day were taught to approach their parents. "Holy Virgin!" said his mother with a laugh, "I perceive they have no dancing-master at Pontesordo. Cavaliere, you may kiss my hand. So--that's better; we shall make a gentleman of you yet. But what makes your face so wet? Ah, crying, to be sure. Mother of God! as for crying, there's enough to cry about." She put the child aside and turned to the preceptor. "The Duke refuses to pay," she said with a shrug of despair. "Good heavens!" lamented the abate, raising his hands. "And Don Lelio?" he faltered. She shrugged again, impatiently. "As great a gambler as my husband. They're all alike, abate: six times since last Easter has the bill been sent to me for that trifle of a turquoise buckle he made such a to-do about giving me." She rose and began to pace the room in disorder. "I'm a ruined woman," she cried, "and it's a disgrace for the Duke to refuse me." The abate raised an admonishing finger. "Excellency...excellency..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Eh? You're right. Everything is heard here. But who's to pay for my mourning the saints alone know! I sent an express this morning to my father, but you know my brothers bleed him like leeches. I could have got this easily enough from the Duke a year ago--it's his marriage has made him so stiff. That little white-faced fool--she hates me because Lelio won't look at her, and she thinks it's my fault. As if I cared whom he looks at! Sometimes I think he has money put away...all I want is two hundred ducats...a woman of my rank!" She turned suddenly on Odo, who stood, very small and frightened, in the corner to which she had pushed him. "What are you staring at, child? Eh! the monkey is dropping with sleep. Look at his eyes, abate! Here, Vanna, Tonina, to bed with him; he may sleep with you in my dressing-closet, Tonina. Go with her, child, go; but for God's sake wake him if he snores. I'm too ill to have my rest disturbed." And she lifted a pomander to her nostrils. The next few days dwelt in Odo's memory as a blur of strange sights and sounds. The super-acute state of his perceptions was succeeded after a night's sleep by the natural passivity with which children accept the improbable, so that he passed from one novel impression to another as easily and with the same exhilaration as if he had been listening to a fairy tale. Solitude and neglect had no surprises for him, and it seemed natural enough that his mother and her maids should be too busy to remember his presence. For the first day or two he sat unnoticed on his little stool in a corner of his mother's room, while packing-chests were dragged in, wardrobes emptied, mantua-makers and milliners consulted, and troublesome creditors dismissed with abuse, or even blows, by the servants lounging in the ante-chamber. Donna Laura continued to show the liveliest symptoms of concern, but the child perceived her distress to be but indirectly connected with the loss she had suffered, and he had seen enough of poverty at the farm to guess that the need of money was somehow at the bottom of her troubles. How any one could be in want, who slept between damask curtains and lived on sweet cakes and chocolate, it exceeded his fancy to conceive; yet there were times when his mother's voice had the same frightened angry sound as Filomena's on the days when the bailiff went over the accounts at Pontesordo. Her excellency's rooms, during these days, were always crowded, for besides the dressmakers and other merchants there was the hairdresser, or French Monsu--a loud, important figure, with a bag full of cosmetics and curling-irons--the abate, always running in and out with messages and letters, and taking no more notice of Odo than if he had never seen him, and a succession of ladies brimming with condolences, and each followed by a servant who swelled the noisy crowd of card-playing lacqueys in the ante-chamber. Through all these figures came and went another, to Odo the most noticeable,--that of a handsome young man with a high manner, dressed always in black, but with an excess of lace ruffles and jewels, a clouded amber head to his cane, and red heels to his shoes. This young gentleman, whose age could not have been more than twenty, and who had the coldest insolent air, was treated with profound respect by all but Donna Laura, who was for ever quarrelling with him when he was present, yet could not support his absence without lamentations and alarm. The abate appeared to act as messenger between the two, and when he came to say that the Count rode with the court, or was engaged to sup with the Prime Minister, or had business on his father's estate in the country, the lady would openly yield to her distress, crying out that she knew well enough what his excuses meant: that she was the most cruelly outraged of women, and that he treated her no better than a husband. For two days Odo languished in his corner, whisked by the women's skirts, smothered under the hoops and falbalas which the dressmakers unpacked from their cases, fed at irregular hours, and faring on the whole no better than at Pontesordo. The third morning, Vanna, who seemed the most good-natured of the women, cried out on his pale looks when she brought him his cup of chocolate. "I declare," she exclaimed, "the child has had no air since he came in from the farm. What does your excellency say? Shall the hunchback take him for a walk in the gardens?" To this her excellency, who sat at her toilet under the hair-dresser's hands, irritably replied that she had not slept all night and was in no state to be tormented about such trifles, but that the child might go where he pleased. Odo, who was very weary of his corner, sprang up readily enough when Vanna, at this, beckoned him to the inner ante-chamber. Here, where persons of a certain condition waited (the outer being given over to servants and tradesmen), they found a lean humpbacked boy, shabbily dressed in darned stockings and a faded coat, but with an extraordinary keen pale face that at once attracted and frightened the child. "There, go with him; he won't eat you," said Vanna, giving him a push as she hurried away; and Odo, trembling a little, laid his hand in the boy's. "Where do you come from?" he faltered, looking up into his companion's face. The boy laughed and the blood rose to his high cheekbones. "I?--From the Innocenti, if your Excellency knows where that is," said he. Odo's face lit up. "Of course I do," he cried, reassured. "I know a girl who comes from there--the Momola at Pontesordo." "Ah, indeed?" said the boy with a queer look. "Well, she's my sister, then. Give her my compliments when you see her, cavaliere. Oh, we're a large family, we are!" Odo's perplexity was returning. "Are you really Momola's brother?" he asked. "Eh, in a way--we're children of the same house." "But you live in the palace, don't you?" Odo persisted, his curiosity surmounting his fear. "Are you a servant of my mother's?" "I'm the servant of your illustrious mother's servants; the abatino of the waiting-women. I write their love-letters, do you see, cavaliere, I carry their rubbish to the pawnbroker's when their sweethearts have bled them of their savings; I clean the birdcages and feed the monkeys, and do the steward's accounts when he's drunk, and sleep on a bench in the portico and steal my food from the pantry...and my father very likely goes in velvet and carries a sword at his side." The boy's voice had grown shrill, and his eyes blazed like an owl's in the dark. Odo would have given the world to be back in his corner, but he was ashamed to betray his lack of heart; and to give himself courage he asked haughtily: "And what is your name, boy?" The hunchback gave him a gleaming look. "Call me Brutus," he cried, "for Brutus killed a tyrant." He gave Odo's hand a pull. "Come along," said he, "and I'll show you his statue in the garden--Brutus's statue in a prince's garden, mind you!" And as the little boy trotted at his side down the long corridors he kept repeating under his breath in a kind of angry sing-song, "For Brutus killed a tyrant." The sense of strangeness inspired by his odd companion soon gave way in Odo's mind to emotions of delight and wonder. He was, even at that age, unusually sensitive to external impressions, and when the hunchback, after descending many stairs and winding through endless back-passages, at length led him out on a terrace above the gardens, the beauty of the sight swelled his little heart to bursting. A Duke of Pianura had, some hundred years earlier, caused a great wing to be added to his palace by the eminent architect Carlo Borromini, and this accomplished designer had at the same time replanted and enlarged the ducal gardens. To Odo, who had never seen plantations more artful than the vineyards and mulberry orchards about Pontesordo, these perspectives of clipped beech and yew, these knots of box filled in with multi- sand, appeared, with the fountains, colonnades and trellised arbours surmounted by globes of glass, to represent the very pattern and Paradise of gardens. It seemed indeed too beautiful to be real, and he trembled, as he sometimes did at the music of the Easter mass

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Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: "You must accept my word."] INSIDE THE LINES _By_ EARL DERR BIGGERS AND ROBERT WELLES RITCHIE _Founded on Earl Derr Biggers' Play of the Same Name_ INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1915 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN. N. Y. CONTENTS CHAPTER I Jane Gerson, Buyer II From the Wilhelmstrasse III Billy Capper at Play IV 32 Queen's Terrace V A Ferret VI A Fugitive VII The Hotel Splendide VIII Chaff of War IX Room D X A Visit to a Lady XI A Spy in the Signal Tower XII Her Country's Example XIII Enter, a Cigarette XIV The Captain Comes to Tea XV The Third Degree XVI The Pendulum of Fate XVII Three-Thirty A. M. XVIII The Trap Is Sprung XIX At the Quay INSIDE THE LINES CHAPTER I JANE GERSON, BUYER "I had two trunks--two, you ninny! Two! _Ou est l'autre?_" The grinning customs guard lifted his shoulders to his ears and spread out his palms. "_Mais, mamselle----_" "Don't you '_mais_' me, sir! I had two trunks--_deux troncs_--when I got aboard that wabbly old boat at Dover this morning, and I'm not going to budge from this wharf until I find the other one. Where _did_ you learn your French, anyway? Can't you understand when I speak your language?" The girl plumped herself down on top of the unhasped trunk and folded her arms truculently. With a quizzical smile, the customs guard looked down into her brown eyes, smoldering dangerously now, and began all over again his speech of explanation. "_Wagon-lit?_" She caught a familiar word. "_Mais oui_; that's where I want to go--aboard your wagon-lit, for Paris. _Voilà!_"--the girl carefully gave the word three syllables--"_mon ticket pour Paree!_" She opened her patent-leather reticule, rummaged furiously therein, brought out a handkerchief, a tiny mirror, a packet of rice papers, and at last a folded and punched ticket. This she displayed with a triumphant flourish. "_Voilà! Il dit_ 'Miss Jane Gerson'; that's me--_moi-meme_, I mean. And _il dit 'deux troncs'_; now you can't go behind that, can you? Where is that other trunk?" A whistle shrilled back beyond the swinging doors of the station. Folk in the customs shed began a hasty gathering together of parcels and shawl straps, and a general exodus toward the train sheds commenced. The girl on the trunk looked appealingly about her; nothing but bustle and confusion; no Samaritan to turn aside and rescue a fair traveler fallen among customs guards. Her eyes filled with trouble, and for an instant her reliant mouth broke its line of determination; the lower lip quivered suspiciously. Even the guard started to walk away. "Oh, oh, please don't go!" Jane Gerson was on her feet, and her hands shot out in an impulsive appeal. "Oh, dear; maybe I forgot to tip you. Here, _attende au secours_, if you'll only find that other trunk before the train----" "Pardon; but if I may be of any assistance----" Miss Gerson turned. A tallish, old-young-looking man, in a gray lounge suit, stood heels together and bent stiffly in a bow. Nothing of the beau or the boulevardier about his face or manner. Miss Gerson accepted his intervention as heaven-sent. "Oh, thank you ever so much! The guard, you see, doesn't understand good French. I just can't make him understand that one of my trunks is missing. And the train for Paris----" Already the stranger was rattling incisive French at the guard. That official bowed low, and, with hands and lips, gave rapid explanation. The man in the gray lounge suit turned to the girl. "A little misunderstanding, Miss--ah----" "Gerson--Jane Gerson, of New York," she promptly supplied. "A little misunderstanding, Miss Gerson. The customs guard says your other trunk has already been examined, passed, and placed on the baggage van. He was trying to tell you that it would be necessary for you to permit a porter to take this trunk to the train before time for starting. With your permission----" The stranger turned and halloed to a porter, who came running. Miss Gerson had the trunk locked and strapped in no time, and it was on the shoulders of the porter. "You have very little time, Miss Gerson. The train will be making a start directly. If I might--ah--pilot you through the station to the proper train shed. I am not presuming?" "You are very kind," she answered hurriedly. They set off, the providential Samaritan in the lead. Through the waiting-room and on to a broad platform, almost deserted, they went. A guard's whistle shrilled. The stranger tucked a helping hand under Jane Gerson's arm to steady her in the sharp sprint down a long aisle between tracks to where the Paris train stood. It began to move before they had reached its mid-length. A guard threw open a carriage door, in they hopped, and with a rattle of chains and banging of buffers the Express du Nord was off on its arrow flight from Calais to the capital. The carriage, which was of the second class, was comfortably filled. Miss Gerson stumbled over the feet of a puffy Fleming nearest the door, was launched into the lap of a comfortably upholstered widow on the opposite seat, ricochetted back to jam an elbow into a French gentleman's spread newspaper, and finally was catapulted into a vacant space next to the window on the carriage's far side. She giggled, tucked the skirts of her pearl-gray duster about her, righted the chic sailor hat on her chestnut-brown head, and patted a stray wisp of hair back into place. Her meteor flight into and through the carriage disturbed her not a whit. As for the Samaritan, he stood uncertainly in the narrow cross aisle, swaying to the swing of the carriage and reconnoitering seating possibilities. There was a place, a very narrow one, next to the fat Fleming; also there was a vacant place next to Jane Gerson. The Samaritan caught the girl's glance in his indecision, read in it something frankly comradely, and chose the seat beside her. "Very good of you, I'm sure," he murmured. "I did not wish to presume----" "You're not," the girl assured, and there was something so fresh, so ingenuous, in the tone and the level glance of her brown eyes that the Samaritan felt all at once distinctly satisfied with the cast of fortune that had thrown him in the way of a distressed traveler. He sat down with a lifting of the checkered Alpine hat he wore and a stiff little bow from the waist. "If I may, Miss Gerson--I am Captain Woodhouse, of the signal service." "Oh!" The girl let slip a little gasp--the meed of admiration the feminine heart always pays to shoulder straps. "Signal service; that means the army?" "His majesty's service; yes, Miss Gerson." "You are, of course, off duty?" she suggested, with the faintest possible tinge of regret at the absence of the stripes and buttons that spell "soldier" with the woman. "You might say so, Miss Gerson. Egypt--the Nile country is my station. I am on my way back there after a bit of a vacation at home--London I mean, of course." She stole a quick side glance at the face of her companion. A soldier's face it was, lean and school-hardened and competent. Lines about the eyes and mouth--the stamp of the sun and the imprint of the habit to command--had taken from Captain Woodhouse's features something of freshness and youth, though giving in return the index of inflexible will and lust for achievement. His smooth lips were a bit thin, Jane Gerson thought, and the out-shooting chin, almost squared at the angles, marked Captain Woodhouse as anything but a trifler or a flirt. She was satisfied that nothing of presumption or forwardness on the part of this hard-molded chap from Egypt would give her cause to regret her unconventional offer of friendship. Captain Woodhouse, in his turn, had made a satisfying, though covert, appraisal of his traveling companion by means of a narrow mirror inset above the baggage rack over the opposite seat. Trim and petite of figure, which was just a shade under the average for height and plumpness; a small head set sturdily on a round smooth neck; face the very embodiment of independence and self-confidence, with its brown eyes wide apart, its high brow under the parting waves of golden chestnut, broad humorous mouth, and tiny nose slightly nibbed upward: Miss Up-to-the-Minute New York, indeed! From the cocked red feather in her hat to the dainty spatted boots Jane Gerson appeared in Woodhouse's eyes a perfect, virile, vividly alive American girl. He'd met her kind before; had seen them browbeating bazaar merchants in Cairo and riding desert donkeys like strong young queens. The type appealed to him. The first stiffness of informal meeting wore away speedily. The girl tactfully directed the channel of conversation into lines familiar to Woodhouse. What was Egypt like; who owned the Pyramids, and why didn't the owners plant a park around them and charge admittance? Didn't he think Rameses and all those other old Pharaohs had the right idea in advertising--putting up stone billboards to last all time? The questions came crisp and startling; Woodhouse found himself chuckling at the shrewd incisiveness of them. Rameses an advertiser and the Pyramids stone hoardings to carry all those old boys' fame through the ages! He'd never looked on them in that light before. "I say, Miss Gerson, you'd make an excellent business person, now, really," the captain voiced his admiration. "Just cable that at my expense to old Pop Hildebrand, of Hildebrand's department store, New York," she flashed back at him. "I'm trying to convince him of just that very thing." "Really, now; a department shop! What, may I ask, do you have to do for--ah--Pop Hildebrand?" "Oh, I'm his foreign buyer," Jane answered, with a conscious note of pride. "I'm over here to buy gowns for the winter season, you see. Paul Poiret--Worth--Paquin; you've heard of those wonderful people, of course?" "Can't say I have," the captain confessed, with a rueful smile into the girl's brown eyes. "Then you've never bought a Worth?" she challenged. "For if you had you'd not forget the name--or the price--very soon." "Gowns--and things are not in my line, Miss Gerson," he answered simply, and the girl caught herself feeling a secret elation. A man who didn't know gowns couldn't be very intimately acquainted with women. And--well-- "And this Hildebrand, he sends you over here alone just to buy pretties for New York's wonderful women?" the captain was saying. "Aren't you just a bit--ah--nervous to be over in this part of the world--alone?" "Not in the least," the girl caught him up. "Not about the alone part, I should say. Maybe I am fidgety and sort of worried about making good on the job. This is my first trip--my very first as a buyer for Hildebrand. And, of course, if I should fall down----" "Fall down?" Woodhouse echoed, mystified. The girl laughed, and struck her left wrist a smart blow with her gloved right hand. "There I go again--slang; 'vulgar American slang,' you'll call it. If I could only rattle off the French as easily as I do New Yorkese I'd be a wonder. I mean I'm afraid I won't make good." "Oh!" "But why should I worry about coming over alone?" Jane urged. "Lots of American girls come over here alone with an American flag pinned to their shirt-waists and wearing a Baedeker for a wrist watch. Nothing ever happens to them." Captain Woodhouse looked out on the flying panorama of straw-thatched houses and fields heavy with green grain. He seemed to be balancing words. He glanced at the passenger across the aisle, a wizened little man, asleep. In a lowered voice he began: "A woman alone--over here on the Continent at this time; why, I very much fear she will have great difficulties when the--ah--trouble comes." "Trouble?" Jane's eyes were questioning. "I do not wish to be an alarmist, Miss Gerson," Captain Woodhouse continued, hesitant. "Goodness knows we've had enough calamity shouters among the Unionists at home. But have you considered what you would do--how you would get back to America in case of--war?" The last word was almost a whisper. "War?" she echoed. "Why, you don't mean all this talk in the papers is----" "Is serious, yes," Woodhouse answered quietly. "Very serious." "Why, Captain Woodhouse, I thought you had war talk every summer over here just as our papers are filled each spring with gossip about how Tesreau is going to jump to the Feds, or the Yanks are going to be sold. It's your regular midsummer outdoor sport over here, this stirring up the animals." Woodhouse smiled, though his gray eyes were filled with something not mirth. "I fear the animals are--stirred, as you say, too far this time," he resumed. "The assassination of the Archduke Ferd----" "Yes, I remember I did read something about that in the papers at home. But archdukes and kings have been killed before, and no war came of it. In Mexico they murder a president before he has a chance to send out 'At home' cards." "Europe is so different from Mexico," her companion continued, the lines of his face deepening. "I am afraid you over in the States do not know the dangerous politics here; you are so far away; you should thank God for that. You are not in a land where one man--or two or three--may say, 'We will now go to war,' and then you go, willy-nilly." The seriousness of the captain's speech and the fear that he could not keep from his eyes sobered the girl. She looked out on the sun-drenched plains of Pas de Calais, where toy villages, hedged fields, and squat farmhouses lay all in order, established, seeming for all time in the comfortable doze of security. The plodding manikins in the fields, the slumberous oxen drawing the harrows amid the beet rows, pigeons circling over the straw hutches by the tracks' side--all this denied the possibility of war's corrosion. "Don't you think everybody is suffering from a bad dream when they say there's to be fighting?" she queried. "Surely it is impossible that folks over here would all consent to destroy this." She waved toward the peaceful countryside. "A bad dream, yes. But one that will end in a nightmare," he answered. "Tell me, Miss Gerson, when will you be through with your work in Paris, and on your way back to America?" "Not for a month; that's sure. Maybe I'll be longer if I like the place." Woodhouse pondered. "A month. This is the tenth of July. I am afraid---- I say, Miss Gerson, please do not set me down for a meddler--this short acquaintance, and all that; but may I not urge on you that you finish your work in Paris and get back to England at least in two weeks?" The captain had turned, and was looking into the girl's eyes with an earnest intensity that startled her. "I can not tell you all I know, of course. I may not even know the truth, though I think I have a bit of it, right enough. But one of your sort--to be caught alone on this side of the water by the madness that is brewing! By George, I do not like to think of it!" "I thank you, Captain Woodhouse, for your warning," Jane answered him, and impulsively she put out her hand to his. "But, you see, I'll have to run the risk. I couldn't go scampering back to New York like a scared pussy-cat just because somebody starts a war over here. I'm on trial. This is my first trip as buyer for Hildebrand, and it's a case of make or break with me. War or no war, I've got to make good. Anyway"--this with a toss of her round little chin--"I'm an American citizen, and nobody'll dare to start anything with me." "Right you are!" Woodhouse beamed his admiration. "Now we'll talk about those skyscrapers of yours. Everybody back from the States has something to say about those famous buildings, and I'm fairly burning for first-hand information from one who knows them." Laughingly she acquiesced, and the grim shadow of war was pushed away from them, though hardly forgotten by either. At the man's prompting, Jane gave intimate pictures of life in the New World metropolis, touching with shrewd insight the fads and shams of New York's denizens even as she exalted the achievements of their restless energy. Woodhouse found secret amusement and delight in her racy nervous speech, in the dexterity of her idiom and patness of her characterizations. Here was a new sort of for him. Not the languid creature of studied suppression and feeble enthusiasm he had known, but a virile, vivid, sparkling woman of a new land, whose impulses were as unhindered as her speech was heterodox. She was a woman who worked for her living; that was a new type, too. Unafraid, she threw herself into the competition of a man's world; insensibly she prided herself on her ability to "make good"--expressive Americanism, that,--under any handicap. She was a woman with a "job"; Captain Woodhouse had never before met one such. Again, here was a woman who tried none of the stale arts and tricks of coquetry; no eyebrow strategy or maidenly simpering about Jane Gerson. Once sure Woodhouse was what she took him to be, a gentleman, the girl had established a frank basis of comradeship that took no reckoning of the age-old conventions of sex allure and sex defense. The unconventionality of their meeting weighed nothing with her. Equally there was not a hint of sophistication on the girl's part. So the afternoon sped, and when the sun dropped over the maze of spires and chimney pots that was Paris, each felt regret at parting. "To Egypt, yes," Woodhouse ruefully admitted. "A dreary deadly 'place in the sun' for me. To have met you, Miss Gerson; it has been delightful, quite." "I hope," the girl said, as Woodhouse handed her into a taxi, "I hope that _if_ that war comes it will find you still in Egypt, away from the firing-line." "Not a fair thing to wish for a man in the service," Woodhouse answered, laughing. "I may be more happy when I say my best wish for you is that _when_ the war comes it will find you a long way from Paris. Good-by, Miss Gerson, and good luck!" Captain Woodhouse stood, heels together and hat in hand, while her taxi trundled off, a farewell flash of brown eyes rewarding him for the military correctness of his courtesy. Then he hurried to another station to take a train--not for a Mediterranean port and distant Egypt, but for Berlin. CHAPTER II FROM THE WILHELMSTRASSE "It would be wiser to talk in German," the woman said. "In these times French or English speech in Berlin----" she finished, with a lifting of her shapely bare shoulders, sufficiently eloquent. The waiter speeded his task of refilling the man's glass and discreetly withdrew. "Oh, I'll talk in German quick enough," the man assented, draining his thin half bubble of glass down to the last fizzing residue in the stem. "Only just show me you've got the right to hear, and the good fat bank-notes to pay; that's all." He propped his sharp chin on a hand that shook slightly, and pushed his lean flushed face nearer hers. An owlish caution fought the wine fancies in his shifting lynx eyes under reddened lids; also there was admiration for the milk-white skin and ripe lips of the woman by his side. For an instant--half the time of a breath--a flash of loathing made the woman's eyes tigerish; but at once they changed again to mild bantering. "So? Friend Billy Capper, of Brussels, has a touch of the spy fever himself, and distrusts an old pal?" She laughed softly, and one slim hand toyed with a heavy gold locket on her bosom. "Friend Billy Capper forgets old times and old faces--forgets even the matter of the Lord Fisher letters----" "Chop it, Louisa!" The man called Capper lapsed into brusk English as he banged the stem of his wineglass on the damask. "No sense in raking that up again--just because I ask you a fair question--ask you to identify yourself in your new job." "We go no further, Billy Capper," she returned, speaking swiftly in German; "not another word between us unless you obey my rule, and talk this language. Why did you get that message through to me to meet you here in the Café Riche to-night if you did not trust me? Why did you have me carry your offer to--to headquarters and come here ready to talk business if it was only to hum and haw about my identifying myself?" The tenseness of exaggerated concentration on Capper's gaunt face began slowly to dissolve. First the thin line of shaven lips flickered and became weak at down-drawn corners; then the frown faded from about the eyes, and the beginnings of tears gathered there. Shrewdness and the stamp of cunning sped entirely, and naught but weakness remained. "Louisa--Louisa, old pal; don't be hard on poor Billy Capper," he mumbled. "I'm down, girl--away down again. Since they kicked me out

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Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: When the wagon came Nell was placed inside (page 138)] *NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER* *Told from Charles Dickens's "The Old Curiosity Shop"* THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK 1908 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS. *CONTENTS.* I. The Old Curiosity Shop II. Driven from Home III. In the Open Country IV. The Village School V. The Caravan VI. The Wax-work Show VII. Nell the Bread-Winner VIII. Trouble for Nell IX. Flying from Temptation X. A Bed of Ashes XI. A Friend in Need XII. Peace after Storm _*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.*_ When the wagon came Nell was placed inside... _Frontispiece_ The old man gave an angry reply Forth from the city went the two poor wanderers (missing from book) So they set off together The tea things were set forth upon a drum (missing from book) After a few moments she moved nearer to the group *NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER.* *Chapter I.* *THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.* One evening an Old Gentleman was taking a walk in the city of London, when some one spoke to him in a soft, sweet voice that fell pleasantly upon his ears. He turned hastily round, and found at his elbow a pretty little girl of some thirteen summers, who begged to be directed to a certain street which was in quite another part of London. "It is a very long way from here, my child," said the Old Gentleman. "I know that, sir," she replied timidly. "I am afraid it _is_ a very long way, for I came from there to-night." "Alone?" said the Old Gentleman. "Oh yes; I don't mind that. But I am a little afraid now, for I have lost my road." "And what made you ask it of me? Suppose I should tell you wrong?" "I am sure you will not do that," said the little maiden. "You are such a very old gentleman, and walk so slow yourself." As the child spoke these words a tear came into her clear eye, and her slight figure trembled as she looked up into the Old Gentleman's face. "Come," said he, "I'll take you there." She put her hand in his as if she had known him from her cradle; and they trudged away together, the little creature rather seeming to lead and take care of the Old Gentleman than he to be protecting her. "Who has sent you so far by yourself?" said he. "Somebody who is very kind to me, sir." "And what have you been doing?" "That I must not tell," said the child. The Old Gentleman looked at the little creature with surprise, for he wondered what kind of errand it might be that made her unwilling to answer the question. Her quick eye seemed to read his thoughts. As it met his she added that there was no harm in what she had been doing, but it was a great secret--a secret which she did not even know herself. This was said with perfect frankness. She now walked on as before, talking cheerfully by the way; but she said no more about her home, beyond remarking that they were going quite a new road, and asking if it were a short one. At length, clapping her hands with pleasure and running on before her new friend for a short distance, the little girl stopped at a door, and remaining on the step till the Old Gentleman came up, knocked at it when he joined her. When she had knocked twice or thrice there was a noise as if some person were moving inside, and at length a faint light was seen through the glass of the upper part of the door. As this light approached very slowly it showed clearly both what kind of person it was who advanced and what kind of apartment it was through which he came. He was a little old man, with long gray hair, whose face and figure, as he held the light above his head and looked before him, could be plainly seen. The place through which he made his way was one of those found in odd corners of the town, and known as "curiosity shops." There were suits of mail standing like ghosts in armour here and there; rusty weapons of various kinds; twisted figures in china, and wood, and iron, and ivory; curtains, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams. The thin, worn face of the little old man was suited to the place. He might have groped among old churches, and tombs, and deserted houses, and gathered all the spoils

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Produced by Chris Curnow, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) _Grimm Library_ No. 15 THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT (_Appendix to No. 12, 'The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac'_) _The Grimm Library._ (_Crown 8vo. Net Prices._) I. GEORGIAN FOLK-TALES. Translated by Marjory Wardrop. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 175. 5_s._ II., III., V. THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS. By Edwin Sidney Hartland, F.S.A. 3 vols. L1, 7_s._ 6_d._ Vol. I. THE SUPERNATURAL BIRTH. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxiv + 228 (_not sold separately_). Vol. II. THE LIFE-TOKEN. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ viii + 445. 12_s._ 6_d._ Vol. III. ANDROMEDA. MEDUSA. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxvii + 225. 7_s._ 6_d._ IV., VI. THE VOYAGE OF BRAN, SON OF FEBAL. An Eighth-century Irish Saga, now first edited and translated by Kuno Meyer. Vol. I. With an Essay upon the Happy Otherworld in Irish Myth, by Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xvii + 331. 10_s._ 6_d._ Vol. II. With an Essay on the Celtic Doctrine of Rebirth, by Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 352. 10_s._ 6_d._ VII. THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN. Studies upon its Original Scope and Significance. By Jessie L. Weston, translator of Wolfram von Eschenbach's 'Parzival.' _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xiv + 111. 4_s._ VIII. THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE. Being a Collection of Stories relating to the Hero Cuchullin, translated from the Irish by various Scholars. Compiled and Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Eleanor Hull. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 316. 7_s._ 6_d._ IX., X. THE PRE- AND PROTO-HISTORIC FINNS, both Eastern and Western, with the Magic Songs of the West Finns. By the Hon. John Abercromby. I., _pp._ xxiv + 363. II., _pp._ xiii + 400. L1, 1_s._ XI. THE HOME OF THE EDDIC POEMS. With Especial Reference to the 'Helgi Lays,' by Sophus Bugge, Professor in the University of Christiania. Revised Edition, with a new Introduction concerning Old Norse Mythology. Translated from the Norwegian by William Henry Schofield, Instructor in Harvard University. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 408. 12_s._ 6_d._ XII. THE LEGEND OF SIR LANCELOT DU LAC. Studies upon its Origin, Development, and Position in the Arthurian Romantic Cycle. By Jessie L. Weston. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 252. 7_s._ 6_d._ XIII. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. Its Sources and Analogues. By C. F. Maynadier. _Pp._ xii + 222. 6_s._ XIV. SOHRAB AND RUSTEM. The Epic Theme of a Combat between Father and Son. A Study of its Genesis and Use in Literature and Popular Tradition. By Murray Anthony Potter, A.M. _Pp._ xii + 235. 6_s._ _All rights reserved_ THE Three Days' Tournament A Study in Romance and Folk-Lore _Being an Appendix to the Author's 'Legend of Sir Lancelot'_ By Jessie L. Weston AUTHOR OF 'THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN' ETC., ETC. London Published by David Nutt At the Sign of the Phoenix Long Acre 1902 Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable PREFACE The Study comprised in the following pages should, as the title indicates, be regarded as an Appendix to the Studies on the Lancelot Legend previously published in the Grimm Library Series. As will be seen, they not only deal with an adventure ascribed to that hero, but also provide additional arguments in support of the theory of romantic evolution there set forth. Should the earlier volume ever attain to the honour of a second edition, it will probably be found well to include this Study in the form of an additional chapter; but serious students of Arthurian romance are unfortunately not so large a body that the speedy exhaustion of an edition of any work dealing with the subject can be looked for, and, therefore, as the facts elucidated in the following pages are of considerable interest and importance to all concerned in the difficult task of investigating the sources of the Arthurian legend, it has been thought well to publish them without delay in their present form. In the course of this Study I have, as opportunity afforded, expressed opinions on certain points upon which Arthurian scholars are at issue. Here in these few introductory words I should like, if possible, to make clear my own position with regard to the question of Arthurian criticism as a whole. I shall probably be deemed presumptuous when I say that, so far, I very much doubt whether we have any one clearly ascertained and established fact that will serve as a definite and solid basis for the construction of a working hypothesis as to the origin and development of this immense body of romance. We all of us have taken, and are taking, far too much for granted. We have but very few thoroughly reliable critical editions, based upon a comparative study of all the extant manuscripts. Failing a more general existence of such critical editions, it appears impossible to hope with any prospect of success to 'place' the various romances.[1] Further, it may be doubted if the true conditions of the problem, or problems, involved have even yet been adequately realised. The Arthurian cycle is not based, as is the Charlemagne cycle, upon a solid substratum of fact, which though modified for literary purposes is yet more or less capable of identification and rectification; such basis of historic fact as exists is extremely small, and for critical purposes may practically be restricted to certain definite borrowings from the early chronicles. The great body of Arthurian romance took shape and form in the minds of a people reminiscent of past, hopeful of future, glory, who interwove with their dreams of the past, and their hopes for the future, the current beliefs of the present. To thoroughly understand, and to be able intelligently and helpfully to criticise the Arthurian Legend, it is essential that we do not allow ourselves to be led astray by what we may call the 'accidents' of the problem--the moulding into literary shape under French influence--but rather fix our attention upon the 'essentials'--the radically Celtic and folk-lore character of the material of which it is composed. We need, as it were, to place ourselves _en rapport_ with the mind alike of the conquered and the conquerors. It is not easy to shake ourselves free from the traditions and methods of mere textual criticism and treat a question, which is after all more or less a question of scholarship, on a wider basis than such questions usually demand. Yet, unless I am much mistaken, this adherence to traditional methods, and consequent confusion between what is essential and what merely accidental, has operated disastrously in retarding the progress of Arthurian criticism; because we have failed to realise the true character of the material involved, we have fallen into the error of criticising Arthurian romance as if its beginnings synchronised more or less exactly with its appearance in literary form. A more scientific method will, I believe, before long force us to the conclusion that the majority of the stories existed in a fully developed, coherent, and what we may fairly call a romantic form for a considerable period before they found literary shape. We shall also, probably, find that in their gradual development they owed infinitely less to independent and individual imagination than they did to borrowings from that inexhaustible stock of tales in which all peoples of the world appear to have a common share. Thus I believe that the first two lessons which the student of Arthurian romance should take to heart are (_a_) the extreme paucity of any definite critical result, (_b_) the extreme antiquity of much of the material with which we are dealing. But there is also a third point as yet insufficiently realised--the historic factors of the problem. We hear a great deal of the undying hatred which is supposed to have existed between the Britons and their Saxon conquerors; the historical facts, such as they are, have been worked for all they are worth in the interests of a particular school of criticism; but so far attention has been but little directed to a series of at least equally remarkable historic facts--the deliberate attempts made to conciliate the conquered Britons by a dexterous political use of their national beliefs and aspirations. In 1894, when publishing my first essay in Arthurian criticism, the translation of Wolfram von Eschenbach's _Parzival_, I drew attention to the very curious Angevin allusions of that poem, and the definite parallels to be traced between the incidents of the story and those recorded in the genuine Angevin Chronicles. I then hazarded the suggestion that many of the peculiarities of this version might be accounted for by a desire on the part of the author to compliment the most noted prince of that house by drawing a parallel between the fortunes of Perceval and his mother, Herzeleide, and those of Henry of Anjou and his mother, the Empress Maude. Subsequent study has only confirmed the opinion then tentatively expressed; and I cannot but feel strongly that the average method of criticism, which contents itself merely with discussion of those portions of Wolfram's poem which correspond to other versions of the _Perceval_ story, while it neglects those sections (_i.e._ the Angevin allusions and the Grail 'Templars') to which no parallel can be found elsewhere, is a method which entirely defeats its own object, and one from which only partial results can be obtained. For critical purposes, and for determining certain central problems of the location and growth of the Arthurian Legend in literary form, I doubt whether the _Parzival_ be not the most important extant text of the entire cycle: once realise--as if we thoroughly understand the historic conditions of the time we can scarcely fail to realise--that those two first introductory books could not possibly be written at the date of the composition of the German poem, and we shall then begin to recognise the extreme importance of discovering the when, where, and why of their original composition. Could we solve the riddle of the date and authorship of the earlier poem, that containing the Angevin allusions, the Grail Temple with its knights, and, we may add, the numerous Oriental references, we should, I believe, hold in our hand the master-key which would unlock the main problems confronting us. In all probability that unlocking when it comes will furnish us with more than one surprise. The Arthurian problem is one which appeals not only to the literary critic but also to the historian. Have we not in the past been tempted to regard it too exclusively as the property of the one, and to hold that a British chieftain of whose name and exploits such scanty record survives can scarcely be a worthy subject of serious historic research? But if the study of history fails to elucidate much concerning the personality and feats of Arthur, it may yet discover much with regard to the growth and development of his legend. The Arthurian cycle, both in literary value and in intrinsic interest, forms undoubtedly the most important group in Mediaeval literature. Is it not a reproach to scholars that to-day, at the beginning of the twentieth century, there should be such an utter lack of knowledge of the proper order and relation of the members of that group? The most brilliant Arthurian scholars can offer us no more than an accurate acquaintance with certain texts, and, perhaps, an hypothesis as to their relative order. The result is that a period extending over some fifty years or more of unusual literary activity, and far-reaching influence, lies at present outside the area of scientific knowledge, and is, for teaching purposes, practically non-existent. We cannot write the history of Arthurian literature, we cannot teach or lecture with confidence upon any portion of it, until a more determined and systematic attempt at unravelling its many puzzles be made. Is it not time to seriously consider the desirability of co-ordinating the labours of individual scholars? At present each works, as Hal o' the Wynd fought, for his own hand, and it is only by a happy chance that the work of one supplements and supports that of another. Is not the time ripe for the formation of an International Society, composed of those students, in France, Germany, America and England, who are sincerely interested in the elucidation of this important section of Mediaeval literature, and who, working on an organised and predetermined plan, shall co-operate towards rendering possible the compilation of a really accurate and scientific history of the Arthurian cycle? Those who took a share, however small, in such a work would at least have the satisfaction of knowing that they were contributing, not to the ephemeral curiosity or pleasure of the passing moment, but to the enduring profit and permanent intellectual wealth of the world. Dulwich, _September 1902_. CONTENTS PAGE The Evidence of the Ipomedon, 1-14 The Tournament in Cliges, 14-21 The Tournament in Folk-Tale, 21-34 The Tournament in Romance, 34-43 The Bearing on the Lancelot Story, 43-51 Evidence for an Insular Version of the Romance, 51-59 THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT I _Sul ne sai pas de mentir lart_ _Walter Map reset ben sa part._ _Ipomedon_, fo. 82, ll. 29-30. These words of the author of the _Ipomedon_ were, some years ago, commented upon by Mr. Ward in his valuable _Catalogue of Romances in the British Museum_, vol. i. He there remarks that the allusion is especially valuable as being the direct ascription, by a contemporary, of the character of romance-writer to Walter Map, and that in apparent connection with the romance most persistently attributed to him--the _Prose Lancelot_. The suggestive remarks of Mr. Ward do not appear hitherto to have attracted the attention they deserve. Recently, having occasion to write a brief notice of Walter Map, they came, for the first time, under my notice, and, taken in connection with certain points of the _Lancelot_ study in which I had for some time been engaged, assumed an unexpected importance. It became evident to me that the whole question of the connection of the _Ipomedon_ with Arthurian literature, and the light which the words of the author might throw upon the relation to each other of different forms of the same story, was well worth study; and might eventually be of material assistance in determining the much debated question of the position of Chretien de Troyes in the Arthurian cycle. In the following pages I propose to examine, first, the exact nature and value of the evidence of the _Ipomedon_ as regards Arthurian tradition; second, its bearing upon the versions of a popular incident in romance--the appearance of a knight at a tournament on three consecutive days, in the disguise of three different suits of armour--especially with relation to the versions of the _Prose Lancelot_, the _Lanzelet_ of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven, and the _Cliges_ of Chretien de Troyes. To begin with the _Ipomedon_. As is probably known to most scholars, the scene of this story is laid in the south of Europe--Sicily, Calabria, Apulia--and the names of the characters are largely borrowed from classical sources. The poem relates at considerable length the wooing of the Princess of Calabria, known as _La Fiere_, by Ipomedon, son of the King of Apulia. (In the second part of the poem the hero's father is dead, and he is, himself, king.) The lady has made a vow to wed none but the bravest of knights. Ipomedon, disguised as her cup-bearer, wins her love, and at a three days' tournament, in a varying armour of white, red, and black, wins her hand, but disappears without claiming it, under the pretext that he has not won sufficient fame to satisfy her pride. In the second part of the poem the lady is threatened by an unwelcome suitor, in the person of a hideous giant. Ipomedon, aware of her plight, disguises himself as a fool, and goes to her uncle's court, knowing that she will send thither for aid. He demands from the king the gift of the first combat that shall offer, which is granted as a mere joke. On the appearance of the messenger sent by _La Fiere_--the favourite friend of the princess--Ipomedon claims the fulfilment of the king's pledge, much to the disgust of the maiden, who will have nothing to do with him at first, but whose confidence he wins by his valiant deeds on the journey, defeats and slays the giant; and hindered from evasion by her gallant cousin, who proves to be his own unknown brother, finally marries _La Fiere_, and, we learn, is eventually slain with his brother before Thebes. The author of this poem calls himself Hue de Rotelande, and says that he lives at Credehulle, which Mr. Ward identifies with Credenhill, near Hereford. After completing the _Ipomedon_ he wrote a sequel, _Prothesilaus_, which he dedicated to his patron, Gilbert Fitz-Baderon, Lord of Monmouth. This Gilbert, the only one of his family so named, was Lord of Monmouth certainly from 1176 to 1190-91, and may have succeeded to the dignity earlier, as the last mention of his father is in 1165-66; but the payment by Gilbert of a fine for trespassing in the royal forests in 1176 is the first mention we have of him. As in the _Ipomedon_ Hue refers to the siege of Rouen in 1174, it is clear that both his poems fall between that date and 1190, the year of Gilbert's death, but we cannot date them more exactly.[2] It is, however, certain that he wrote his poems on English ground, consequently it follows as a matter of course that any incident of Arthurian romances to which he may allude must have been known in England at that date. Now what are the indications of familiarity with Arthurian tradition which we find in the _Ipomedon_? Setting aside for the present the Three Days' Tournament, the main subject of our study, we may point out certain other incidents which have attracted the attention of scholars. Professor Koelbing,[3] in his study of the English versions of the poem, remarks justly that every reader must be struck with the close resemblance between the circumstances under which, in the second part of the poem, Ipomedon undertakes the defence of _La Fiere_ and the opening of the _Bel Inconnu_ poems.[4] It may be pointed out that while in the first instance the parallel is with the English rather than with the French version, _i.e._, Ipomedon, like Libeaus Desconus, demands the _first combat_ that shall offer, while Bel Inconnu simply asks that the first request he shall make be granted, the feature that the maiden leaves the court without waiting for her unwelcome defender agrees with the French rather than with the English version: in the latter both depart together. As in all romances of the _Bel Inconnu_ cycle, the messenger is accompanied by a dwarf, who endeavours to induce a more gentle treatment of the knight, and as in all she continues to flout the hero till confuted by his deeds of valour. In the _Ipomedon_, certainly the conversion is more complete, as she offers the hero her love, if he will renounce the quest and accompany her to her own land. It is impossible to read the _Ipomedon_ and to doubt that the author was familiar with the story of Gawain's unnamed son.[5] Again, the seneschal of King Meleager, Cananeus, Caymys, or Kaenius, as his name is variously spelt, with his sharp tongue and overbearing manner, is strongly reminiscent of Sir Kay; and the parallel is further brought out in the encounter with Ipomedon, where that hero thrusts him from his steed, '_tope over tayle_,' breaking in one version his shoulder-blade, in another his arm.[6] This should be compared with Lanzelet's joust with Kay, and its result '_er stach hern Keiin so das im die fueeze harte ho uf ze berge kaften und dem zalehaften daz houbet gein der erde fuor_;[7] also with _Morien_,[8] where Arthur reminds Kay of the result of his joust with Perceval--'_Hine stac u dat u wel sceen dat gi braect u canefbeen, ende dede u oec met onneren beide die vote opwerd keren_.' Professor Koelbing also points out that the position held by Cabaneus, nephew of King Meleager, is analogous to that of Gawain, in the Arthurian cycle (to which I would also add that the name of _La Fiere_ recalls that of _L'Orgueilleuse de Logres_ in Chretien), and decides that the romance, as a whole, '_schliesst sich nach tendenz characterzeichnung und handlung diese klasse (i.e. dem artus-kreise) unverkennbar an_.'[9] That is, the _genre_ of composition was by 1174-90 so well established that it was freely imitated in romances entirely unconnected with the cycle by subject-matter. When, therefore, in direct connection with an adventure of which several versions are preserved in the Arthurian cycle--the Three Days' Tournament--we find the author of the poem excusing himself for somewhat embroidering his tale, and quoting Walter Map as one who practises the same art, our minds naturally turn to the romances of that cycle, and to Map's reputed connection with Arthurian story. As is well known, the question as to the share which may rightly be assigned to Walter Map in the evolution of the Arthurian legend is one of the problems of modern criticism. At one time or another, with the exception of the _Merlin_ and the _Tristan_, all the great prose romances of the cycle, the _Lancelot_, in its completed form, the _Grand S. Graal_, _Queste_, and _Mort Artur_, have been assigned to him,[10] and till quite recently writers on early English literature did not scruple to accept the tradition. Probably even to-day the majority would name Walter Map as the populariser, if not the inventor, of the Grail legend. Those, however, who are familiar at first hand with the romances in question have long since realised that in their present form they represent the result of a long period of accretion, and have undergone many redactions; they cannot possibly, as they now stand, be held to be the work of any one writer, certainly not of one who took so active and leading a part in public affairs as did Map. Further, his own statement, in the famous words recorded by Giraldus Cambrensis, to whom they were addressed, '_Multa_ _scripsistis et multum adhuc scribitis et nos multa diximus. Vos scripta dedistis et nos verba_,' with the application that follows, have been held by Professor Birch-Hirschfeld and other scholars to be a direct denial on his part of any literary activity.[11] At the same time we know Map did write, and was interested in romantic and popular tales, further that he had the reputation of being a poet,[12] and the persistence of the tradition connecting him with the Arthurian cycle can hardly be set aside. The question is, do these words of Hue de Rotelande throw any light upon this disputed point? Can we hope by the aid of this contemporary of Map's to arrive at a conclusion which may assist us in determining the real nature of his contribution to the development of this famous cycle, and will the ascertaining of this fact help us, as the definite establishment of a single fact often does, to solve other problems closely connected therewith? Mr. Ward, when he wrote the article to which I have referred above, expressed a decided opinion on this point; and it appears to me that by following up the lines of research there indicated we shall attain results far more important in themselves, and far more startling in their ultimate effect than he then suspected. First, let us see exactly what Hue says. The passage in question (which will not be found in the translations) occurs at the end of the first portion of the poem. The author has just been relating how his hero, who is living at King Meleager's court, in the assumed character of body-servant to the queen, scouts the idea of attending the tournament which is to decide who shall wed _La Fiere_ of Calabria, loudly expressing his preference for the pleasures of the chase. Each morning he leaves the court before daylight, announcing his departure by loud blasts of the horn; but having reached the forest, where his servant awaits him with steed and armour, he sends his 'Master,' Tholomy, to hunt in his stead; and arming himself each day in a different suit of armour, white, red, and black, proceeds to the tournament, where he carries off the prize for valour, unhorsing all the principal knights on either side, even to the king himself, and his valiant nephew Cabaneus. Each evening he returns to the forest, reassumes his hunter's garb, and with the spoils of the chase won by Tholomy takes his way to the court, where he vaunts the skill of his hounds above that of the unknown knight, and is roundly mocked for his lack of prowess by the ladies. After the third day he leaves secretly, to return to his own land, sending to the king, by the hand of a messenger, the spoils of his three days' victory. The seneschal, Cananeus, volunteers to bring him back, and is punished for his officious interference, as related above.[13] At the conclusion of this episode, Hue states that he is not lying--at least not more than a little--and if he be ''tis but the custom of the day, and all the blame should not be laid upon him, Walter Map is just as bad.' _'Ore entendez seignurs mut ben_ _Hue dit ke il ni ment de ren_ _Fors aukune feiz neent mut_ _Nuls ne se pot garder par tut_ _En mendre afere mut suvent_ _Un bon renable hom mesprent_ _El mund nen ad un sul si sage_ _Ki tuz iurz seit en un curage_ _Kar cist secles lad ore en sei_ _Nel metez mie tut sur mei_ _Sul ne sai pas de mentir lart_ _Walter Map reset ben sa part.'_ --P. 82, ll. 19-30. Now shall we understand this merely as a general allusion, without any special significance, or was there anything in the story which Hue had just been relating which might reasonably be supposed to have brought Map to his mind? Mr. Ward very pertinently draws attention to the fact that this appearance at a tournament on successive days, in different armour, is precisely an adventure attributed to Lancelot, and the _Lancelot_ is the romance most persistently attributed to Map. The parallel to which Mr. Ward refers is that contained in the earlier part of the _Prose Lancelot_.[14] Lancelot first appears at Arthur's court in white armour: he is known as 'le Blanc Chevalier.' On his first absence after receiving knighthood he is taken prisoner by the Lady of Malehaut, who detains him in her castle. A tournament, of a very warlike nature, taking place between Arthur and Galehault, the lady releases Lancelot, who, disguised in red armour, performs deeds of surpassing valour. He returns to prison, and on the encounter between the kings being renewed, again appears, this time in black. Finally, he reveals himself to the queen, and tells her that all the feats of arms he has achieved in the characters of white, red, and black knight were undertaken in her honour. The general resemblance is, as Mr. Ward remarks, too striking to be overlooked; though, as he does _not_ remark, there are certain differences which seem to indicate that the version of the _Prose Lancelot_ has undergone some modification. Thus, there are not three consecutive days, but Lancelot's appearance in the three characters occurs at widely separated intervals. Further, Mr. Ward does not seem to be aware that this is but one instance out of three in which the same, or a similar, adventure is attributed to Lancelot. In the latter part of the _Prose Lancelot_, the section represented by the Dutch translation, we find Arthur holding a tournament, which has been suggested by Guinevere with the view of recalling Lancelot, who has long been absent, to court, and heightening his fame. Lancelot returns secretly, unknown to all but the queen, who sends him a message to come and discomfit the knights who are jealous of him. Lancelot appears in _red_ armour and overthrows them all. The queen demands another tournament in three days' time, when Lancelot appears as a _white_ knight, with the same result. After this he reveals himself to Arthur.[15] But the best parallel is that contained in the _Lanzelet_ of Ulrich von Zatzikhoven. Here Lanzelet makes his first appearance at court at a three days' tournament; the first day dressed in _green_, the second in _white_, the third in _red_; overthrows all opposed to him, including Kay,[16] and takes his departure, without revealing himself. With these repeated parallels before us, it seems impossible to doubt that when Hue de Rotelande referred to Walter Map, in connection with the tournament episode of _Ipomedon_, he had in his mind a version of the _Lancelot_, which also contained such a story, and which was attributed to the latter writer. But what could this version have been? Certainly not the _Prose Lancelot_ in its present form. As we remarked before, this romance is the result of slow growth and successive redactions, and the two parallels contained in it bear marks of modification and dislocation. In my recent studies on the Lancelot legend[17] I have pointed out that in the process of evolution it certainly passed through a stage in which it was closely connected with, and affected by, the _Perceval_ story. Gradually the popularity of the hero of the younger tale obscured that of the elder; and in the _Lancelot_, as we now have it, the traces of _Perceval_ influence have almost disappeared from the majority of the printed versions, though interesting survivals are still to be found in certain manuscripts and in the Dutch translation. Now one of the best known adventures attributed to Perceval is that in which the sight of blood-drops on new-fallen snow--caused by a bird having been wounded, or slain, by a hawk--recalls to his mind the lady of his love, and plunges

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E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Transcriber's note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the end of the text. A BLACK ADONIS. by ALBERT ROSS. * * * *

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Produced by Distributed Proofreaders Female Scripture Biography: Including an Essay on What Christianity Has Done for Women. By Francis Augustus Cox, A.M. "It is a necessary charity to the (female) sex to acquaint them with their own value, to animate them to some higher thoughts of themselves, not to yield their suffrage to those injurious estimates the world hath made of them, and from a supposed incapacity of noble things, to neglect the pursuit of them, from which God and nature have no more precluded the feminine than the masculine part of mankind." The Ladies' Calling, Pref. VOL. II. BOSTON: LINCOLN & EDMANDS. 1831. Contents of Vol. I. Essay The Virgin Mary--Chapter I. Section I. Congratulation of the angel Gabriel--advantages of the Christian dispensation--Eve and Mary compared--state of Mary's family at the incarnation--she receives an angelic visit--his promise to her of a son, and prediction of his future greatness--Mary goes to Elizabeth, their meeting--Mary's holy enthusiasm and remarkable language--Joseph informed of the miraculous conception by an angel--general remarks Section II. Nothing happens by chance--dispensations preparatory to the coming of Christ--prophecy of Micah accomplished by means of the decree of Augustus--Mary supernaturally strengthened to attend upon her new-born infant--visit of the shepherds Mary's reflections--circumcision of the child--taken to the temple--Simeon's rapture and prediction--visit and offerings of the Arabian philosophers--general considerations Section III. The flight into Egypt--Herod's cruel proceedings and death--Mary goes to Jerusalem with Joseph--on their return their Child is missing--they find him among the doctors--he returns with them, the feast of Cana--Christ's treatment of his mother when she desired to speak to him--her behaviour at the crucifixion--she is committed to the care of John--valuable lessons to be derived from this touching scene Section IV. Brief account of the extravagant regard which has been paid to the Virgin Mary at different periods--the names by which she has been addressed, and the festivals instituted to honour her memory--general remarks on the nature and character of superstition, particularly that of the Catholics Elizabeth--Chapter II. The angelic appearance to Zacharias--birth of John characters of Elizabeth and Zacharias--importance of domestic union being founded on religion, shown in them--their venerable age--the characteristic features of their piety--the happiness of a life like theirs--the effect it is calculated to produce on others--the perpetuation of holy friendship through immortal ages--the miserable condition of the irreligious Anna--Chapter III. Introduction of Anna into the sacred story--inspired description of her--the aged apt to be unduly attached to life--Anna probably religious at an early period--Religion the most substantial support amidst the infirmities of age--the most effectual guard against its vices--and the best preparation for its end The Woman of Samaria--Chapter IV. Account of Christ's journey through Samaria--he arrives at Jacob's well--enters into conversation with a woman of the country--her misapprehensions--the discovery of his character to her as a prophet her convictions--her admission of his claim as the true Messiah, which she reports in the city--the great and good effect--reflections The Woman Who Was a Sinner--Chapter V. Jesus and John contrasted--the former goes to dine at the house of a Pharisee--a notorious woman introduces herself, and weeps at his feet--remarks on true repentance and faith, as exemplified in her conduct--surmises of Simon the Pharisee--the answer of Jesus the woman assured of forgiveness--instructions deducible from the parable The Syrophenician--Chapter VI. Introductory observations--Christ could not be concealed the Syrophenician woman goes to him on account of her daughter--her humility--earnestness--faith--the silence of Christ upon her application to him--the disciples repulsed--the woman's renewed importunity--the apparent scorn with which it is treated--her admission of the contemptuous insinuation--her persevering ardour--her ultimate success--the necessity of being importunate in prayer--remarks on the woman's national character--present state of the Jews: the hope of their final restoration, Martha and Mary--Chapter VII. Bethany distinguished as the residence of a pious family, which consisted of Lazarus and his two sisters--their diversity of character--the faults of Martha, domestic vanity and fretfulness of temper--her counterbalancing excellencies--Mary's choice and Christ's commendation--decease of Lazarus--his restoration to life at the voice of Jesus--remarks on death being inflicted upon the people of God as well as others--the triumph which Christianity affords over this terrible evil--account of Mary's annointing the feet of Jesus, and his vindication of her conduct, The Poor Widow--Chapter VIII. Account of Christ's sitting over against the treasury--he particularly notices the conduct of an obscure individual--she casts in two mites--it is to be viewed as a religious offering--the ground on which it is eulogized by Christ--the example honorable to the female sex--people charitable from different motives--two reasons which might have been pleaded as an apology for withholding this donation she was poor and a widow--her pious liberality notwithstanding--all have something to give--the most trifling sum of importance--the habit of bestowing in pious charity beneficial motives to gratitude deduced from the wretchedness of others, the promises of God, and the cross of Jesus, Sapphira--Chapter IX. Mixed constitution of the church of Christ--benevolent spirit of the primitive believers at Jerusalem--anxiety of Ananias and Sapphira to appear as zealous and liberal as others--Ananias repairs to the apostles to deposit the price of his possessions--is detected in deception and dies--similar deceit and death of Sapphira--nature and progress of apostasy--peculiar guilt of Sapphira--agency of Satan distinctly marked--diabolical influence ascertained--consolatory sentiments suggested to Christians, Dorcas--Chapter X. Joppa illustrious on many accounts, particularly as the residence of Dorcas--she was a disciple of Christ--faith described as the principle of discipleship--the inspired testimony to the character of Dorcas--she was probably a widow or an aged maiden--remarks on reproaches commonly cast upon the latter class of women--Dorcas exhibited as a pattern of liberality, being prompt in the relief she afforded--her charities abundant--and personally bestowed: observations on the propriety of visiting the poor--the charities of Dorcas often free and unsolicited--wise and conducted upon a plan--the pretences of the uncharitable stated and confuted--riches only valuable as they are used in bountiful distribution, Lydia--Chapter XI. Account of Paul and his companions meeting with Lydia by the river-side at Philippi--the impression produced upon her heart by the preaching of Paul--the remarks on conversion, as exemplified in the case of this disciple--its seat the heart--its accomplishment the result of divine agency--the manner of it noticed: the effects of a divine influence upon the human mind, namely, attention to the word of God and the ordinances of the Gospel, and affectionate regard to the servants of Christ--remarks on the paucity of real Christians--the multiplying power of Christianity--its present state in Britain--efforts of the Bible Society Female Scripture Biography Vol. II The Virgin Mary. Chapter I. Section I. Congratulation of the Angel Gabriel--Advantages of the Christian Dispensation--Eve and Mary compared--State of Mary's Family at the Incarnation--she receives an angelic Visit--his Promise to her of a Son, and Prediction of his future Greatness--Mary goes to Elizabeth--their Meeting--Mary's holy Enthusiasm and remarkable Language--Joseph informed of the miraculous Conception by an Angel--general Remarks. "HAIL, THOU THAT ART HIGHLY FAVOURED, THE LORD IS WITH THEE! BLESSED ART THOU AMONG WOMEN!" Such was the congratulatory language in which the commissioned angel addressed the virgin of Nazareth, when about to announce the intention of Heaven, that she should become the mother of Jesus; and such the strain which we cannot help feeling disposed to adopt, while recording her illustrious name, and contemplating this wonderful transaction. On Mary devolved the blessing which the most pious of women had for a long succession of ages so eagerly desired, and which had often created such an impatience for the birth of children, in some of whom they indulged the sublime hope of seeing the promised Messiah. In her offspring was accomplished the long series of prophecy which commenced even at the moment when the justice of God pronounced a sentence of condemnation upon rebellious man; and which, like a bright track extending through the moral night, and shining amidst the typical shadows of the Mosaic dispensation, fixed the attention of patriarchs, and prophets, and saints, for four thousand years:--and upon this otherwise obscure and insignificant female beamed the first ray of that evangelical morning which rose upon the world with such blissful radiance, and is increasing to the "perfect day." Infidels may contemplate the manifestation with unholy ridicule or vain indifference; but we will neither consent to renounce the evidence afforded to the historic fact, nor cease to celebrate the mysterious miracle. We will unite with the impassioned angel, at least in the sentiment and spirit of his address; and join the high praises of the midnight anthem, sung by descending spirits in the fields of Bethlehem: "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOOD WILL TOWARDS MEN!" In the course of Scripture history, we are now advanced to that period which the apostle emphatically denominates "the last days," in which "God, who at sundry times and in divers manners, spake in time past, unto the fathers by the prophets," speaks to us "by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds." Let us hear his voice, admit his claims, and bow to his dictates. As truth arises upon us with greater splendour, we shall find that character is formed to greater maturity under the immediate influence of "the ministration of righteousness" which "exceeds in glory." By the unparalleled transactions of this age we shall see the whole energy of the human mind drawn forth, and furnished with ample scope for exercise; all the faculties become ennobled and purified; and the female sex especially, from the days of Elizabeth and Mary to the close of the sacred record, becomes marked with a holy singularity. By the starlight of the former dispensation, we have discovered many women of superior excellence, availing themselves of all the means they enjoyed, and presenting a pre-eminence of character proportioned to their comparatively few advantages and imperfect revelation; but amidst the splendours of

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Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The Table of Contents is placed after the Preface. This book contains illustrations showing some of the tricks described. The illustrations are available in the HTML version. In this text-only version they are replaced by the place-holder "[Illustration]", but in the section "Match Puzzles", some simple ASCII diagrams have been created to represent the matches when possible. In the text-only version, italic type is marked _like this_, and bold face *like this*. Footnotes are represented with uppercase letters in square brackets. Two publisher's advertisement pages were placed at the beginning of the book in the printed edition, in this version they have been moved to the end, with the other advertisement pages. A list of changes to the original publication is given at the end. More Conjuring. [Illustration] By HERCAT. HERCAT'S SIMPLE TRICKS MORE CONJURING BY HERCAT Simple Tricks for Social Gatherings BY THE AUTHOR OF "LATEST SLEIGHTS AND ILLUSIONS," "HERCAT'S CARD TRICKS," "CONJURING UP TO DATE," "HERCAT'S VENTRILOQUIST," "HERCAT'S CHAPEAUGRAPHY, SHADOWGRAPHY, AND PAPER FOLDING," ETC. [Illustration: D&S limited] London: DEAN & SON, Ltd., [Illustration: Hamley's 160a, 35, NEW OXFORD STREET, Fleet Street, LONDON, W.C.] E.C. 1912 PREFACE The title of this little brochure indicates its contents. _Simple Tricks_ and simple tricks only. No apparatus is required and but little sleight-of-hand is needed in the performance of any of them. They consist of a series of tricks and problems, easily acquired, suitable for gatherings round the table on winter evenings. Some of them are new and many are old; but even the oldest are new to the rising generation. For six of the latest tricks,--"A Hindoo Swindle," "The Elusive Match," "A Subtle Impromptu Effect with a Coin," "A Novel Card Effect," "An Artful Card Force," and "Another Easy Card Force,"--I am indebted to my friend Mr. F. Walford Perry, a thoroughly up-to-date and original young conjurer. As I have already said, I have included no tricks which require the exercise of much sleight-of-hand; but even the most simple trick should be thoroughly practised before you present it to your friends, especially those tricks which require the assistance of a confederate. Rehearse everything with him thoroughly beforehand. Even your "patter" should be rehearsed. But endeavour to lead your audience to believe that, like "Mr. Wemmick's" marriage, it is all impromptu. He said, "Hello! here's a church. Let's have a wedding." You say, "Hand me that serviette ring and I'll show you a trick." If, when the contents of this little volume have been thoroughly digested, my readers desire to make a study of more advanced legerdemain, I recommend my _Conjuring Up to Date_, _Card Tricks with and without Apparatus_, and _Latest Sleights and Illusions_ to their notice. For tricks which require apparatus my readers cannot do better than to send to Messrs. Hamley Bros., Ltd., 35, New Oxford Street, or one of their branches, for their Magical Catalogue. _The Daily Telegraph_, in a recent article on "Magic Fifty Years Ago," used these words: "Hamleys' were then, as they are now, the premier manufacturers of magical apparatus." A statement which I cordially endorse. The apparatus sold by Messrs. Hamley Bros. is invariably reliable. In conclusion I beg to offer my readers the following advice:-- Never state the nature of the trick you are about to perform. Make it a rule never to repeat a trick the same evening unless you have acquired a different way of showing it. In fact, it is advisable to learn several methods of presenting the same trick. Talk as much as possible and make your "patter" lively, but do not try to be funny unless you are naturally humorous; and, above all, avoid allusions to politics, religion, or any subject about which there may be a diversity of opinion among your audience. HERCAT. CONTENTS SIMPLE CARD TRICKS PAGE An Easy Method of Finding a Selected Card 9 To Bring a Chosen Card from the Bottom of the Pack at any Number Requested 10 A Chosen Card Shaken through a Handkerchief 10 A Selected Card found in a Lighted Cigarette 12 A Sticking Card 13 Two Selected Cards Caught in the Air 13 An Easy but Puzzling Trick 14 Travelling Cards 14 To Name all the Cards in the Pack 16 A New Method 16 The Sense of Touch 17 Where is the Ace? 18 To Make a Person Name a Card which You have Yourself Selected 19 The Clock 21 How to Guess Cards Thought of 22 An Ingenious Card Trick 23 To Name a Card which Some One has Thought of 25 The Rejected Recruits--a Laughable Trick 26 A Novel Card Effect 26 An Artful Card Force 28 Another Easy Card Force 28 A Simple but Puzzling Card Trick 29 SIMPLE COIN TRICKS How to Detect a Marked Coin 30 A Penetrative Shilling 30 Another Simple Trick 31 A Coin to Disappear from Your Cheek and Reappear at Your Elbow 32 Two Vanished Half-Crowns 33 A Divination 33 An Effective but Simple Trick 34 Changing Apple and Coins 35 An Obedient Sixpence 36 Coin and Glass 36 A Simple Experiment with Four Shillings 38 Puzzle of Ten Halfpence 39 How to Increase Your Wealth 39 A Neat Coin Trick 40 A Subtle Impromptu Effect with a Coin 41 An Original Coin Swindle 42 A Cross 43 SIMPLE TRICKS WITH HANDKERCHIEFS, RINGS, CANDLES, ETC. A Knot that Cannot be Drawn Tight 44 To Tie an Instantaneous Knot in a Handkerchief 45 Half a Burnt Message Found Restored in a Candle 46 Two Good Ring Tricks 47 SIMPLE ARITHMETICAL PROBLEMS To Ascertain a Number Thought of 49 How to Name a Number which has been Erased 51 A Lesson in the Correct Formation of a Figure 52 Four Nines Problem 53 An Answer to a Sum Given in Advance 53 An Arithmetical Puzzle 54 An Arithmetical Mystery 55 How to Tell Her Age 55 A Race in Addition 56 To Predict the Hour Your Friend Intends to Rise on the Following Morning 57 MATCH PUZZLES Experiment with Ten Matches 59 The Magic Nine 60 Triangles with Matches 61 Match Squares 61 Your Opponent must Take the Last Match 62 A Shakespearean Quotation 63 Numeral 63 Six and Five Make Nine 63 The Artful Schoolboys 64 What are Matches Made of? 66 A Sheep Pen 66 Post and Rail Puzzle 67 SIMPLE MISCELLANEOUS TRICKS A Good After-Dinner Trick 68 To Remove a Serviette Ring from a Tape Held on the Thumbs of Another Person 70 An Experiment in Gravity 71 A Scissors Feat 71 Another Trick with a Pair of Scissors 72 An Indestructible Cigarette Paper 73 To Cut an Apple in Two with Your Finger 74 A Trick with Dominoes 74 An Escape 75 Cigarette Papers and Serviettes 76 Four Cigarette Papers 77 A Hindoo Swindle 77 The Elusive Match--a Capital Impromptu Trick 79 SIMPLE CARD TRICKS AN EASY METHOD OF FINDING A SELECTED CARD Throw the pack on the table and request some one to select a card. Then gather up the rest of the cards and request your friend to show his card to his neighbour, to avoid mistakes. While this is being done bend the pack slightly while pretending to shuffle it, and cause the card to be returned and the pack shuffled. The selected card can then be easily detected among the bent cards by its being perfectly straight. A good way to finish the trick is to bring the card to the top of the pack and cause it to project about an inch over the right side; cover the front end of the pack with your four fingers so that the edge of the projecting card is concealed, and, with your thumb at the other end, hold the pack firmly about eighteen inches above the table. Request the person who drew the card to call it by name. On this being done, drop the pack on the table, when the projecting card will be completely turned over by the air in its descent and lie perfectly square on the top of the pack. Another good finish is to bring the chosen card to the bottom of the pack, and requesting the person who selected it to hold the pack by pinching it tightly between his finger and thumb close to the corner, you give the pack a sharp rap, when all the cards will fall excepting the one chosen. TO BRING A CHOSEN CARD FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE PACK AT ANY NUMBER REQUESTED Ask a member of the company to take a card, look at it, and return it to the pack. Make the "pass" (_Hercat's Card Tricks_, p. 7); "palm" the card (_Card Tricks_, p. 18) and hand the pack to be shuffled. While this is being done transfer the palmed card to your left hand, and on receiving the pack back, place it over the concealed card, and tell the company you will produce the latter from the bottom of the pack at

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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Jane Hyland, Bill Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Secret Memoirs THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY 1891-1902 This edition, printed on Japanese vellum paper, is limited to two hundred and fifty copies. No. ________ [Illustration: LOUISE, EX-CROWN-PRINCESS OF SAXONY Photo taken shortly before her flight from Dresden] Secret Memoirs THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY 1891-1902 THE STORY OF LOUISE CROWN PRINCESS FROM THE PAGES OF HER DIARY, LOST AT THE TIME OF HER ELOPEMENT FROM DRESDEN WITH M. ANDRE ("RICHARD") GIRON BY HENRY W. FISCHER Author of "Private Lives of William II and His Consort," "Secret History of the Court of Berlin," etc., etc. Illustrated from Photographs BENSONHURST, NEW YORK FISCHER'S FOREIGN LETTERS, INC. PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1912 BY HENRY W. FISCHER Copyright, 1912, applied for by Henry W. Fischer in Great Britain Copyright, 1912, by Henry W. Fischer, in Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, and all foreign countries having international copyright arrangements with the United States [_All rights reserved, including those of translation_] EDITOR'S CARD This is to certify that the Ex-Crown Princess of Saxony, now called Countess Montiguoso, Madame Toselli by her married name, is in no way, either directly or indirectly, interested in this publication. There has been no communication of whatever nature, directly or through a third party, between this lady and the editor or publishers. In fact, the publication will be as much a surprise to her as to the general public. The Royal Court of Saxony, therefore, has no right to claim, on the ground of this publication, that Princess Louise violated her agreement with that court as set forth in the chapter on the _Kith and Kin of the ex-Crown Princess of Saxony_, under the heads of "_Louise's Alimony and Conditions_" and "_Allowance Raised and a Further Threat_." HENRY W. FISCHER, _Editor_. Fischer's Foreign Letters, Publishers THIS BOOK AND ITS PURPOSE By Henry W. Fischer Of Memoirs that are truly faithful records of royal lives, we have a few; the late Queen Victoria led the small number of crowned autobiographists only to discourage the reading of self-satisfied royal ego-portrayals forever, but in the Story of Louise of Saxony we have the main life epoch of a Cyprian Royal, who had no inducement to say anything false and is not afraid to say anything true. For the Saxon Louise wrote not to guide the hand of future official historiographers, or to make virtue distasteful to some sixty odd grand-children, bored to death by the recital of the late "Mrs. John Brown's" sublime goodness:--Louise wrote for her own amusement, even as Pepys did when he diarized the peccadilloes of the Second Charles' English and French "hures" (which is the estimate these ladies put upon themselves).[1] The ex-Crown Princess of Saxony suffered much in her youth by a narrow-minded, bigoted mother, a Sadist like the monstrous Torquemada; marriage, she imagined, spelled a rich husband, more lover than master; freedom from tyranny, paltry surroundings, interference. To her untutored mind, life at the Saxon Court meant right royal splendor, liberty to do as one pleases, the companionship of agreeable, amusing and ready-to-serve friends. _The Sad Saxon Court_ Her experience? Instead of the Imperial mother who took delight in cutting her children's faces with diamonds and exposing her daughters to the foul mach

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Produced by Rose Mawhorter and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) [Illustration: DAVID LOW DODGE] WAR INCONSISTENT WITH THE RELIGION OF JESUS CHRIST BY DAVID LOW DODGE WITH

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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

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Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton 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: GUTENBERG TAKES THE FIRST PROOF] Historic Inventions By RUPERT S. HOLLAND _Author of "Historic Boyhoods," "Historic Girlhoods," "Builders of United Italy," etc._ PHILADELPHIA GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1911, by GEORGE W. JACOBS AND COMPANY _Published August, 1911_ _All rights reserved_ Printed in U.S.A. _To J. W. H._ CONTENTS I. GUTENBERG AND THE PRINTING PRESS 9 II. PALISSY AND HIS ENAMEL 42 III. GALILEO AND THE TELESCOPE 53 IV. WATT AND THE STEAM-ENGINE 70 V. ARKWRIGHT AND THE SPINNING-JENNY 84 VI. WHITNEY AND THE COTTON-GIN 96 VII. FULTON AND THE STEAMBOAT 111 VIII. DAVY AND THE SAFETY-LAMP 126

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Produced by Henry Flower, Jonathan Ingram, Suzanne Lybarger, the booksmiths at eBookForge and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note Italics are indicated by _underscores_, and bold text by =equals= signs. [Illustration: HENRY MAYHEW. [_From a Daguerreotype by_ BEARD.]] LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR A Cyclopædia of the Condition and Earnings OF THOSE THAT _WILL_ WORK THOSE THAT _CANNOT_ WORK, AND THOSE THAT _WILL NOT_ WORK BY HENRY MAYHEW THE LONDON STREET-FOLK COMPRISING STREET SELLERS · STREET BUYERS · STREET FINDERS STREET PERFORMERS · STREET ARTIZANS · STREET LABOURERS WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS VOLUME ONE First edition 1851 (_Volume One only and parts of Volumes Two and Three_) Enlarged edition (Four volumes) 1861-62 New impression 1865 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. THE STREET-FOLK. PAGE WANDERING TRIBES IN GENERAL 1 WANDERING TRIBES IN THE COUNTRY 2 THE LONDON STREET-FOLK 3 COSTERMONGERS 4 STREET SELLERS OF FISH 61 STREET SELLERS OF FRUIT AND VEGETABLES 79 STATIONARY STREET SELLERS OF FISH, FRUIT, AND VEGETABLES 97 THE STREET IRISH 104 STREET SELLERS OF GAME, POULTRY, RABBITS, BUTTER, CHEESE, AND EGGS 120 STREET SELLERS OF TREES, SHRUBS, FLOWERS, ROOTS, SEEDS, AND BRANCHES 131 STREET SELLERS OF GREEN STUFF 145 STREET SELLERS OF EATABLES AND DRINKABLES 158 STREET SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE, AND THE FINE ARTS 213 STREET SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES 323 THE WOMEN STREET SELLERS 457 THE CHILDREN STREET SELLERS 468 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. LONDON COSTERMONGER Page 13 THE COSTER GIRL „ 37 THE OYSTER STALL „ 49 THE ORANGE MART (DUKE’S PLACE) „ 73 THE IRISH STREET-SELLER „ 97 THE WALL-FLOWER GIRL „ 127 THE GROUNDSELL MAN „ 147 THE BAKED POTATO MAN „ 167 THE COFFEE STALL To face page 184 COSTER BOY AND GIRL “TOSSING THE PIEMAN” „ 196 DOCTOR BOKANKY, THE STREET-HERBALIST „ 206 THE LONG SONG SELLER „ 222 ILLUSTRATIONS OF STREET ART, NO. I. „ 224 „ „ NO. II. „ 238 THE HINDOO TRACT SELLER „ 242 THE “KITCHEN,” FOX COURT „ 251 ILLUSTRATIONS OF STREET ART, NO. III. „ 278 THE BOOK AUCTIONEER „ 296 THE STREET-SELLER OF NUTMEG-GRATERS „ 330 THE STREET-SELLER OF DOG-COLLARS „ 360 THE STREET-SELLER OF CROCKERYWARE „ 366 THE BLIND BOOT-LACE SELLER „ 406 THE STREET-SELLER OF GREASE-REMOVING COMPOSITION „ 428 THE LUCIFER-MATCH GIRL „ 432 THE STREET-SELLER OF WALKING-STICKS „ 438 THE STREET-SELLER OF RHUBARB AND SPICE „ 452 THE STREET-SELLER OF COMBS „ 458 PORTRAIT OF MR. MAYHEW To face the Title Page PREFACE. The present volume is the first of an intended series, which it is hoped will form, when complete, a cyclopædia of the industry, the want, and the vice of the great Metropolis. It is believed that the book is curious for many reasons: It surely may be considered curious as being the first attempt to publish the history of a people, from the lips of the people themselves--giving a literal description of their labour, their earnings, their trials, and their sufferings, in their own “unvarnished” language; and to pourtray the condition of their homes and their families by personal observation of the places, and direct communion with the individuals. It may be considered curious also as being the first commission of inquiry into the state of the people, undertaken by a private individual, and the first “blue book” ever published in twopenny numbers. It is curious, moreover, as supplying information concerning a large body of persons, of whom the public had less knowledge than of the most distant tribes of the earth--the government population returns not even numbering them among the inhabitants of the kingdom; and as adducing facts so extraordinary, that the traveller in the undiscovered country of the poor must, like Bruce, until his stories are corroborated by after investigators, be content to lie under the imputation of telling such tales, as travellers are generally supposed to delight in. Be the faults of the present volume what they may, assuredly they are rather short-comings than exaggerations, for in every instance the author and his coadjutors have sought to understate, and most assuredly never to exceed the truth. For the omissions, the author would merely remind the reader of the entire novelty of the task--there being no other similar work in the language by which to guide or check his inquiries. When the following leaves are turned over, and the two or three pages of information derived from books contrasted with the hundreds of pages of facts obtained by positive observation and investigation, surely some allowance will be made for the details which may still be left for others to supply. Within the last two years some thousands of the humbler classes of society must have been seen and visited with the especial view of noticing their condition and learning their histories; and it is but right that the truthfulness of the poor generally should be made known; for though checks have been usually adopted, the people have been mostly found to be astonishingly correct in their statements,--so much so indeed, that the attempts at deception are certainly the exceptions rather than the rule. Those persons who, from an ignorance of the simplicity of the honest poor, might be inclined to think otherwise, have, in order to be convinced of the justice of the above remarks, only to consult the details given in the present volume, and to perceive the extraordinary agreement in the statements of all the vast number of individuals who have been seen at different times, and who cannot possibly have been supposed to have been acting in concert. The larger statistics, such as those of the quantities of fish and fruit, &c., sold in London, have been collected from tradesmen connected with the several markets, or from the wholesale merchants belonging to the trade specified--gentlemen to whose courtesy and co-operation I am indebted for much valuable information, and whose names, were I at liberty to publish them, would be an indisputable guarantee for the facts advanced. The other statistics have been obtained in the same manner--the best authorities having been invariably consulted on the subject treated of. It is right that I should make special mention of the assistance I have received in the compilation of the present volume from Mr. HENRY WOOD and Mr. RICHARD KNIGHT (late of the City Mission), gentlemen who have been engaged with me from nearly the commencement of my inquiries, and to whose hearty co-operation both myself and the public are indebted for a large increase of knowledge. Mr. Wood, indeed, has contributed so large a proportion of the contents of the present volume that he may fairly be considered as one of its authors. The subject of the Street-Folk will still require another volume, in order to complete it in that comprehensive manner in which I am desirous of executing the modern history of this and every other portion of the people. There still remain--the _Street-Buyers_, the _Street-Finders_, the _Street-Performers_, the _Street-Artizans_, and the _Street-Labourers_, to be done, among the several classes of street-people; and the _Street Jews_, the _Street Italians and Foreigners_, and the _Street Mechanics_, to be treated of as varieties of the order. The present volume refers more particularly to the _Street-Sellers_, and includes special accounts of the _Costermongers_ and the _Patterers_ (the two broadly-marked varieties of street tradesmen), the _Street Irish_, the _Female Street-Sellers_, and the _Children Street-Sellers_ of the metropolis. My earnest hope is that the book may serve to give the rich a more intimate knowledge of the sufferings, and the frequent heroism under those sufferings, of the poor--that it may teach those who are beyond temptation to look with charity on the frailties of their less fortunate brethren--and cause those who are in “high places,” and those of whom much is expected, to bestir themselves to improve the condition of a class of people whose misery, ignorance, and vice, amidst all the immense wealth and great knowledge of “the first city in the world,” is, to say the very least, a national disgrace to us. LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. THE STREET-FOLK. OF WANDERING TRIBES IN GENERAL. Of the thousand millions of human beings that are said to constitute the population of the entire globe, there are--socially, morally, and perhaps even physically considered--but two distinct and broadly marked races, viz., the wanderers and the settlers--the vagabond and the citizen--the nomadic and the civilized tribes. Between these two extremes, however, ethnologists recognize a mediate variety, partaking of the attributes of both. There is not only the race of hunters and manufacturers--those who live by shooting and fishing, and those who live by producing--but, say they, there are also the herdsmen, or those who live by tending and feeding, what they consume. Each of these classes has its peculiar and distinctive physical as well as moral characteristics. “There are in mankind,” says Dr. Pritchard, “three principal varieties in the form of the head and other physical characters. Among the rudest tribes of men--the hunters and savage inhabitants of forests, dependent for their supply of food on the accidental produce of the soil and the chase--a form of head is prevalent which is mostly distinguished by the term “_prognathous_,” indicating a prolongation or extension forward of the jaws. A second shape of the head belongs principally to such races as wander with their herds and flocks over vast plains; these nations have broad lozenge-shaped faces (owing to the great development of the cheek bones), and pyramidal skulls. The most civilized races, on the other hand--those who live by the arts of cultivated life,--have a shape of the head which differs from both of those above mentioned. The characteristic form of the skull among these nations may be termed oval or elliptical.” These three forms of head, however, clearly admit of being reduced to two broadly-marked varieties, according as the bones of the face or those of the skull are more highly developed. A greater relative development of the jaws and cheek bones, says the author of the “Natural History of Man,” indicates a more ample extension of the organs subservient to sensation and the animal faculties. Such a configuration is adapted to the wandering tribes; whereas, the greater relative development of the bones of the skull--indicating as it does a greater expansion of the brain, and consequently of the intellectual faculties--is especially adapted to the civilized races or settlers, who depend mainly on their knowledge of the powers and properties of things for the necessaries and comforts of life. Moreover it would appear, that not only are all races divisible into wanderers and settlers, but that each civilized or settled tribe has generally some wandering horde intermingled with, and in a measure preying upon, it. According to Dr. Andrew Smith, who has recently made extensive observations in South Africa, almost every tribe of people who have submitted themselves to social laws, recognizing the rights of property and reciprocal social duties, and thus acquiring wealth and forming themselves into a respectable caste, are surrounded by hordes of vagabonds and outcasts from their own community. Such are the Bushmen and _Sonquas_ of the Hottentot race--the term “_sonqua_” meaning literally _pauper_. But a similar condition in society produces similar results in regard to other races; and the <DW5>s have their Bushmen as well as the Hottentots--these are called _Fingoes_--a word signifying wanderers, beggars, or outcasts. The Lappes seem to have borne a somewhat similar relation to the Finns; that is to say, they appear to have been a wild and predatory tribe who sought the desert like the Arabian Bedouins, while the Finns cultivated the soil like the industrious Fellahs. But a phenomenon still more deserving of notice, is the difference of speech between the Bushmen and the Hottentots. The people of some hordes, Dr. Andrew Smith assures us, vary their speech designedly, and adopt new words, with the intent of rendering their ideas unintelligible to all but the members of their own community. For this last custom a peculiar name exists, which is called “_cuze-cat_.” This is considered as greatly advantageous in assisting concealment of their designs. Here, then, we have a series of facts of the utmost social importance. (1) There are two distinct races of men, viz.:--the wandering and the civilized tribes; (2) to each of these tribes a different form of head is peculiar, the wandering races being remarkable for the development of the bones of the face, as the jaws, cheek-bones, &c., and the civilized for the development of those of the head; (3) to each civilized tribe there is generally a wandering horde attached; (4) such wandering hordes have frequently a different language from the more civilized portion of the community, and that adopted with the intent of concealing their designs and exploits from them. It is curious that no one has as yet applied the above facts to the explanation of certain anomalies in the present state of society among ourselves. That we, like the <DW5>s, Fellahs, and Finns, are surrounded by wandering hordes--the “Sonquas” and the “Fingoes” of this country--paupers, beggars, and outcasts, possessing nothing but what they acquire by depredation from the industrious, provident, and civilized portion of the community;--that the heads of these nomades are remarkable for the greater development of the jaws and cheekbones rather than those of the head;--and that they have a secret language of their own--an English “_cuze-cat_” or “slang” as it is called--for the concealment of their designs: these are points of coincidence so striking that, when placed before the mind, make us marvel that the analogy should have remained thus long unnoticed. The resemblance once discovered, however, becomes of great service in enabling us to use the moral characteristics of the nomade races of other countries, as a means of comprehending the more readily those of the vagabonds and outcasts of our own. Let us therefore, before entering upon the subject in hand, briefly run over the distinctive, moral, and intellectual features of the wandering tribes in general. The nomad then is distinguished from the civilized man by his repugnance to regular and continuous labour--by his want of providence in laying up a store for the future--by his inability to perceive consequences ever so slightly removed from immediate apprehension--by his passion for stupefying herbs and roots, and, when possible, for intoxicating fermented liquors--by his extraordinary powers of enduring privation--by his comparative insensibility to pain--by an immoderate love of gaming, frequently risking his own personal liberty upon a single cast--by his love of libidinous dances--by the pleasure he experiences in witnessing the suffering of sentient creatures--by his delight in warfare and all perilous sports--by his desire for vengeance--by the looseness of his notions as to property--by the absence of chastity among his women, and his disregard of female honour--and lastly, by his vague sense of religion--his rude idea of a Creator, and utter absence of all appreciation of the mercy of the Divine Spirit. Strange to say, despite its privations, its dangers, and its hardships, those who have once adopted the savage and wandering mode of life, rarely abandon it. There are countless examples of white men adopting all the usages of the Indian hunter, but there is scarcely one example of the Indian hunter or trapper adopting the steady and regular habits of civilized life; indeed, the various missionaries who have visited nomade races have found their labours utterly unavailing, so long as a wandering life continued, and have succeeded in bestowing the elements of civilization, only on those compelled by circumstances to adopt a settled habitation. OF THE WANDERING TRIBES OF THIS COUNTRY. The nomadic races of England are of many distinct kinds--from the habitual vagrant--half-beggar, half-thief--sleeping in barns, tents, and casual wards--to the mechanic on tramp, obtaining his bed and supper from the trade societies in the different towns, on his way to seek work. Between these two extremes there are several mediate varieties--consisting of pedlars, showmen, harvest-men, and all that large class who live by either selling, showing, or doing something through the country. These are, so to speak, the rural nomads

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Produced by David Widger SHIP'S COMPANY By W.W. Jacobs DUAL CONTROL "Never say 'die,' Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, kindly; "I like you, and so do most other people who know what's good for 'em; and if Florrie don't like you she can keep single till she does." Mr. Albert Sharp thanked him. "Come in more oftener," said Mr. Culpepper. "If she don't know a steady young man when she sees him, it's her mistake." "Nobody could be steadier than what I am," sighed Mr. Sharp. Mr. Culpepper nodded. "The worst of it is, girls don't like steady young men," he said, rumpling his thin grey hair; "that's the silly part of it." "But you was always steady, and Mrs. Culpepper married you," said the young man. Mr. Culpepper nodded again. "She thought I was, and that came to the same thing," he said, composedly. "And it ain't for me to say, but she had an idea that I was very good-looking in them days. I had chestnutty hair. She burnt a piece of it only the other day she'd kept for thirty years." [Illustration: A very faint squeeze in return decided him] "Burnt it? What for?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Words," said the other, lowering his voice. "When I want one thing nowadays she generally wants another; and the things she wants ain't the things I want." Mr. Sharp shook his head and sighed again. "You ain't talkative enough for Florrie, you know," said Mr. Culpepper, regarding him. "I can talk all right as a rule," retorted Mr. Sharp. "You ought to hear me at the debating society; but you can't talk to a girl who doesn't talk back." "You're far too humble," continued the other. "You should cheek her a bit now and then. Let 'er see you've got some spirit. Chaff 'er." "That's no good," said the young man, restlessly. "I've tried it. Only the other day I called her 'a saucy little kipper,' and the way she went on, anybody would have thought I'd insulted her. Can't see a joke, I s'pose. Where is she now?" "Upstairs," was the reply. "That's because I'm here," said Mr. Sharp. "If it had been Jack Butler she'd have been down fast enough." "It couldn't be him," said Mr. Culpepper, "because I won't have 'im in the house. I've told him so; I've told her so, and I've told 'er aunt so. And if she marries without my leave afore she's thirty she loses the seven hundred pounds 'er father left her. You've got plenty of time--ten years." Mr. Sharp, sitting with his hands between his knees, gazed despondently at the floor. "There's a lot o' girls would jump at me," he remarked. "I've only got to hold up my little finger and they'd jump." "That's because they've got sense," said Mr. Culpepper. "They've got the sense to prefer steadiness and humdrumness to good looks and dash. A young fellow like you earning thirty-two-and-six a week can do without good looks, and if I've told Florrie so once I have told her fifty times." "Looks are a matter of taste," said Mr. Sharp, morosely. "Some of them girls I was speaking about just now--" "Yes, yes," said Mr. Culpepper, hastily. "Now, look here; you go on a different tack. Take a glass of ale like a man or a couple o' glasses; smoke a cigarette or a pipe. Be like other young men. Cut a dash, and don't be a namby-pamby. After you're married you can be as miserable as you like." Mr. Sharp, after a somewhat lengthy interval, thanked him. "It's my birthday next Wednesday," continued Mr. Culpepper, regarding him benevolently; "come round about seven, and I'll ask you to stay to supper. That'll give you a chance. Anybody's allowed to step a bit over the mark on birthdays, and you might take a glass or two and make a speech, and be so happy and bright that they'd 'ardly know you. If you want an excuse for calling, you could bring me a box of cigars for my birthday." "Or come in to wish you 'Many Happy Returns of the Day,'" said the thrifty Mr. Sharp. "And don't forget to get above yourself," said Mr. Culpepper, regarding him sternly; "in a gentlemanly way, of course. Have as many glasses as you like--there's no stint about me." "If it ever comes off," said Mr. Sharp, rising--"if I get her through you, you shan't have reason to repent it. I'll look after that." Mr. Culpepper, whose feelings were a trifle ruffled, said that he would "look after it too." He had a faint idea that, even from his own point of view, he might have made a better selection for his niece's hand. Mr. Sharp smoked his first cigarette the following morning, and, encouraged by the entire absence of any after-effects, purchased a pipe, which was taken up by a policeman the same evening for obstructing the public footpath in company with a metal tobacco-box three parts full. In the matter of ale he found less difficulty. Certainly the taste was unpleasant, but, treated as medicine and gulped down quickly, it was endurable. After a day or two he even began to be critical, and on Monday evening went so far as to complain of its flatness to the wide- eyed landlord of the "Royal George." "Too much cellar-work," he said, as he finished his glass and made for the door. "Too much! 'Ere, come 'ere," said the landlord, thickly. "I want to speak to you." The expert shook his head, and, passing out into, the street, changed colour as he saw Miss Garland approaching. In a blundering fashion he clutched at his hat and stammered out a "Good evening." Miss Garland returned the greeting and, instead of passing on, stopped and, with a friendly smile, held out her hand. Mr. Sharp shook it convulsively. "You are just the man I want to see," she exclaimed. "Aunt and I have been talking about you all the afternoon." Mr. Sharp said "Really!" "But I don't want uncle to see us," pursued Miss Garland, in the low tones of confidence. "Which way shall we go?" Mr. Sharp's brain reeled. All ways were alike to him in such company. He walked beside her like a man in a dream. "We want to give him a lesson," said the girl, presently. "A lesson that he will remember." "Him?" said the young man. "Uncle," explained the girl. "It's a shocking thing, a wicked thing, to try and upset a steady young man like you. Aunt is quite put out about it, and I feel the same as she does." "But," gasped the astonished Mr. Sharp, "how did you?" "Aunt heard him," said Miss Garland. "She was just going into the room when she caught a word or two, and she stayed outside and listened. You don't know what a lot she thinks of you." Mr. Sharp's eyes opened wider than ever. "I thought she didn't like me," he said, slowly. "Good gracious!" said Miss Garland. "Whatever could have put such an idea as that into your head? Of course, aunt isn't always going to let uncle see that she agrees with him. Still, as if anybody could help--" she murmured to herself. "Eh?" said the young man, in a trembling voice. "Nothing." Miss Garland walked along with averted face; Mr. Sharp, his pulses bounding, trod on air beside her. "I thought," he said, at last "I thought that Jack Butler was a favourite of hers?" "Jack Butler!" said the girl, in tones of scornful surprise. "The idea! How blind men are; you're all alike, I think. You can't see two inches in front of you. She's as pleased as possible that you are coming on Wednesday; and so am--" Mr. Sharp caught his breath. "Yes?" he murmured. "Let's go down here," said Miss Garland quickly; "down by the river. And I'll tell you what we want you to do." She placed her hand lightly on his arm, and Mr. Sharp, with a tremulous smile, obeyed. The smile faded gradually as he listened, and an expression of anxious astonishment took its place. He shook his head as she proceeded, and twice ventured a faint suggestion that she was only speaking in jest. Convinced at last, against his will, he walked on in silent consternation. "But," he said at last, as Miss Garland paused for breath, "your uncle would never forgive me. He'd never let me come near the house again." "Aunt will see to that," said the girl, confidently. "But, of course, if you don't wish to please me--" She turned away, and Mr. Sharp, plucking up spirit, ventured to take her hand and squeeze it. A faint, a very faint, squeeze in return decided him. "It will come all right afterwards," said Miss Garland, "especially with the hold it will give aunt over him." "I hope so," said the young man. "If not, I shall be far--farther off than ever." Miss Garland blushed and, turning her head, gazed steadily at the river. "Trust me," she said at last. "Me and auntie." Mr. Sharp said that so long as he pleased her nothing else mattered, and, in the seventh heaven of delight, paced slowly along the towpath by her side. "And you mustn't mind what auntie and I say to you," said the girl, continuing her instructions. "We must keep up appearances, you know; and if we seem to be angry, you must remember we are only pretending." Mr. Sharp, with a tender smile, said that he understood perfectly. "And now I had better go," said Florrie, returning the smile. "Uncle might see us together, or somebody else might see us and tell him. Good-bye." She shook hands and went off, stopping three times to turn and wave her hand. In a state of bewildered delight Mr. Sharp continued his stroll, rehearsing, as he went, the somewhat complicated and voluminous instructions she had given him. By Wednesday evening he was part-perfect, and, in a state of mind divided between nervousness and exaltation, set out for Mr. Culpepper's. He found that gentleman, dressed in his best, sitting in an easy-chair with his hands folded over a fancy waistcoat of startling design, and, placing a small box of small cigars on his knees, wished him the usual "Happy Returns." The entrance of the ladies, who seemed as though they had just come off the ice, interrupted Mr. Culpepper's thanks. "Getting spoiled, that's what I am," he remarked, playfully. "See this waistcoat? My old Aunt Elizabeth sent it this morning." He leaned back in his chair and glanced down in warm approval. "The missis gave me a pipe, and Florrie gave me half a pound of tobacco. And I bought a bottle of port wine myself, for all of us." He pointed to a bottle that stood on the supper-table, and, the ladies retiring to the kitchen to bring in the supper, rose and placed chairs. A piece of roast beef was placed before him, and, motioning Mr. Sharp to a seat opposite Florrie, he began to carve. "Just a nice comfortable party," he said, genially, as he finished. "Help yourself to the ale, Bert." Mr. Sharp, ignoring the surprise on the faces of the ladies, complied, and passed the bottle to Mr. Culpepper. They drank to each other, and again a flicker of surprise appeared on the faces of Mrs. Culpepper and her niece. Mr. Culpepper, noticing it, shook his head waggishly at Mr. Sharp. "He drinks it as if he likes it," he remarked. "I do," asserted Mr. Sharp, and, raising his glass, emptied it, and resumed the attack on his plate. Mr. Culpepper unscrewed the top of another bottle, and the reckless Mr. Sharp, after helping himself, made a short and feeling speech, in which he wished Mr. Culpepper long life and happiness. "If you ain't happy with Mrs. Culpepper," he concluded, gallantly, "you ought to be." Mr. Culpepper nodded and went on eating in silence until, the keen edge of his appetite having been taken off, he put down his knife and fork and waxed sentimental. "Been married over thirty years," he said, slowly, with a glance at his wife, "and never regretted it." "Who hasn't?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "Why, me," returned the surprised Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp, who had just raised his glass, put it down again and smiled. It was a faint smile, but it seemed to affect his host unfavourably. "What are you smiling at?" he demanded. "Thoughts," said Mr. Sharp, exchanging a covert glance with Florrie. "Something you told me the other day." Mr. Culpepper looked bewildered. "I'll give you a penny for them thoughts," he said, with an air of jocosity. Mr. Sharp shook his head. "Money couldn't buy 'em," he said, with owlish solemnity, "espec--especially after the good supper you're giving me." "Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, uneasily, as his wife sat somewhat erect "Bert, it's my birthday, and I don't grudge nothing to nobody; but go easy with the beer. You ain't used to it, you know." "What's the matter with the beer?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "It tastes all right--what there is of it." "It ain't the beer; it's you," explained Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp stared at him. "Have I said anything I oughtn't to?" he inquired. Mr. Culpepper shook his head, and, taking up a fork and spoon, began to serve a plum-pudding that Miss Garland had just placed on the table. "What was it you said I was to be sure and not tell Mrs. Culpepper?" inquired Mr. Sharp, dreamily. "I haven't said that, have I?" "No!" snapped the harassed Mr. Culpepper, laying down the fork and spoon and regarding him ferociously. "I mean, there wasn't anything. I mean, I didn't say so. You're raving." "If I did say it, I'm sorry," persisted Mr. Sharp. "I can't say fairer than that, can I?" "You're all right," said Mr. Culpepper, trying, but in vain, to exchange a waggish glance with his wife. "I didn't say it?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "No," said Mr. Culpepper, still smiling in a wooden fashion. "I mean the other thing?" said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper. "Look here," exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; "why not eat your pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you." "Speak for yourself," said his wife, tartly. "I like to hear Mr. Sharp talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?" Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. "I--I can't tell you," he said, slowly. "Why not?" asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly. "Because it--it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious Mr. Sharp. "Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply. "He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon, "and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?" Mr. Culpepper, shivering with wrath and dread, struggled for speech. "You'd better get home, Bert," he said at last. "You're not yourself. There's nobody kicking you under the table. You don't know what you are saying. You've been dreaming things. I never said anything of the kind." "Memory's gone," said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him. "Clean gone. Don't you remember--" "NO!" roared Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his direction. He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an incentive to further efforts. In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs. Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the sideboard, placed it upon the table. "Help yourself, Mr. Sharp," she said, pushing the bottle of port towards him. Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper. Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and announced his intention of making a speech. "But you've made one," said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation. "That--that was las' night," said Mr. Sharp. "This is to-night--your birthday." "Well, we don't want any more," said Mr. Culpepper. Mr. Sharp hesitated. "It's only his fun," he said, looking round and raising his glass. "He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him up. Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best. We all have our--faults, and he has his--has his. Where was I?" "Sit down," growled Mr. Culpepper. "Talking about my husband's faults," said his wife. "So I was," said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow. "Don't be alarm'," he continued, turning to his host; "nothing to be alarm' about. I'm not going to talk about 'em. Not so silly as that, I hope. I don't want spoil your life." "Sit down," repeated Mr. Culpepper. "You're very anxious he should sit down," said his wife, sharply. "No, I'm not," said Mr. Culpepper; "only he's talking nonsense." Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation, looked for encouragement to Miss Garland. "He's a man we all look up to and respect," he continued. "If he does go off to London every now and then on business, that's his lookout. My idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him. "He'd have pleasure of her company and, same time, he'd be money in pocket by it. And why shouldn't she go to music-halls sometimes? Why shouldn't she--" "You get off home," said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering the table with his fist. "Get off home; and if you so much as show your face inside this 'ouse again there'll be trouble. Go on. Out you go!" "Home?" repeated Mr. Sharp, sitting down suddenly. "Won't go home till morning." "Oh, we'll soon see about that," said Mr. Culpepper, taking him by the shoulders. "Come on, now." Mr. Sharp subsided lumpishly into his chair, and Mr. Culpepper, despite his utmost efforts, failed to move him. The two ladies exchanged a glance, and then, with their heads in the air, sailed out of the room, the younger pausing at the door to bestow a mirthful glance upon Mr. Sharp ere she disappeared. "Come--out," said Mr. Culpepper, panting. "You trying to tickle me?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "You get off home," said the other. "You've been doing nothing but make mischief ever since you came in. What put such things into your silly head I don't know. I shall never hear the end of 'em as long as I live." "Silly head?" repeated Mr. Sharp, with an alarming change of manner. "Say it again." Mr. Cul

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Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: SLEDDING UP THE CHILKAT VALLEY] GOLD-SEEKING ON THE DALTON TRAIL _BEING THE ADVENTURES OF TWO NEW ENGLAND BOYS IN ALASKA AND THE NORTHWEST TERRITORY_ BY ARTHUR R. THOMPSON Illustrated BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1900 _Copyright, 1900_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY _All rights reserved_ UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON AND SON. CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TO My Comrade of Many Camp-Fires DEXTER WADLEIGH LEWIS PREFACE Among my first passions was that for exploration. The Unknown--that region of mysteries lying upon the outskirts of commonplace environment--drew me with a mighty attraction. My earliest recollections are of wanderings into the domains of the neighbors, and of excursions--not infrequently in direct contravention to parental warnings--over fences, stone-walls, and roofs, and into cobwebbed attics, fragrant hay-lofts, and swaying tree-tops. Of my favorite tree, a sugar maple, I remember that, so thoroughly did I come to know every one of its branches, I could climb up or down unhesitatingly with eyes shut. At that advanced stage of acquaintance, however, it followed naturally that the mysteriousness, and hence the subtle attractiveness, of my friend the maple was considerably lessened. By degrees the boundary line of the unknown was pushed back into surrounding fields. Wonderful caves were hollowed in sandy banks. Small pools, to the imaginative eyes of the six-year-old, became lakes abounding with delightful adventures. The wintry alternations of freezing and thawing were processes to be observed with closest attention and never-failing interest. Nature displayed some new charm with every mood. There came a day when I looked beyond the fields, when even the river, sluggish and muddy in summer, a broad, clear torrent in spring, was known from end to end. Then it was that the range of low mountains--to me sublime in loftiness--at the western horizon held my fascinated gaze. To journey thither on foot became ambition's end and aim. This feat, at first regarded as undoubtedly beyond the powers of man unaided by horse and carry-all (the thing had once been done in that manner on the occasion of a picnic), was at length proved possible. What next? Like Alexander, I sought new worlds. Nothing less than real camping out could satisfy that hitherto unappeasable longing. This dream was realized in due season among the mountains of New Hampshire; but the craving, far from losing its keenness, was whetted. Of late it has been fed, but never satiated, by wider rovings on land and sea. Perhaps it is in the blood and can never be eliminated. Believing that this restlessness, accompanied by the love of adventure and out-of-door life, is natural to every boy, I have had in mind particularly in the writing of this narrative those thousands of boys in our cities who are bound within a restricted, and it may be unromantic, sphere of activity. To them I have wished to give a glimpse of trail life, not with a view to increasing their restlessness,--for I have not veiled discomforts and discouragements in relating enjoyments,--but to enlarge their horizon,--to give them, in imagination at least, mountain air and appetites, journeys by lake and river, and an acquaintance with men and conditions as they now exist in the great Northwest. The Dalton trail, last year but little known, may soon become a much travelled highway. With a United States garrison at Pyramid, and the village of Klukwan a bone of contention between the governments of this country and Canada, the region which it traverses is coming more and more into notice. I would only add that natural features, scenery, and people, have been described faithfully, however inadequately, and the story throughout is based upon real happenings. Should any of my young readers pass over the trail to-day in the footsteps of David and Roly, they would find, save for possible vandalism of Indians or whites, the cabins on the North Alsek and in the Kah Sha gorge just as they are pictured, and they could be sure of a welcome from Lucky, Long Peter, and Coffee Jack. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A LETTER FROM ALASKA 1 II. BUYING AN OUTFIT 7 III. FROM SEATTLE TO PYRAMID HARBOR 18 IV. THE FIRST CAMP 28 V. THE GREAT NUGGET, AND HOW UNCLE WILL HEARD OF IT 38 VI. ROLY IS HURT 47 VII. CAMP AT THE CAVE 54 VIII. SLEDDING 60 IX. KLUKWAN AND THE FORDS 69 X. A PORCUPINE-HUNT AT PLEASANT CAMP 77 XI. THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX 88 XII. THE SUMMIT OF CHILKAT PASS 101 XIII. DALTON'S POST 112 XIV. FROM THE STIK VILLAGE TO LAKE DASAR-DEE-ASH 120 XV. STAKING CLAIMS 127 XVI. A CONFLAGRATION 135 XVII. THROUGH THE ICE 142 XVIII. BUILDING THE CABIN 149 XIX. THE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLE 157 XX. ROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTING 166 XXI. LAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POST 175 XXII. A HARD JOURNEY 182 XXIII. THE LAKE AFFORDS TWO MEALS AND A PERILOUS CROSSING 192 XXIV. DAVID GETS HIS BEAR-SKIN 201 XXV. MORAN'S CAMP 210 XXVI. HOW THE GREAT NUGGET NEARLY COST THE BRADFORDS DEAR 216 XXVII. AN INDIAN CREMATION 223 XXVIII. THE PLAGUE OF MOSQUITOES 231 XXIX. LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS 238 XXX. WASHING OUT THE GOLD 248 XXXI. DAVID MAKES A BOAT-JOURNEY 256 XXXII. CHAMPLAIN'S LANDING 264 XXXIII. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 272 XXXIV. RAIDED BY A WOLF 279 XXXV. A LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF IT 289 XXXVI. HOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM SPEAKING HIS MIND 297 XXXVII. HOMEWARD BOUND 306 XXXVIII. A CARIBOU, AND HOW IT WAS KILLED 314 XXXIX. DANGERS OF THE SUMMER FORDS 321 XL. SUNDAY IN KLUKWAN 331 XLI. THE ROBBERS AT LAST 339 XLII. PYRAMID, SKAGWAY, AND DYEA.--CONCLUSION 348 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE SLEDDING UP THE CHILKAT VALLEY _Frontispiece_ PYRAMID HARBOR, PYRAMID MOUNTAIN IN THE DISTANCE 26 MAP OF THE DALTON TRAIL 28 A CURIOUS PHENOMENON BESIDE THE TRAIL 89 THE CAMP OF THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX 93 "PRESENTLY SOME LITTLE YELLOW SPECKS WERE UNCOVERED" 131 CHILDREN OF THE WILDERNESS 192 RAFTING DOWN THE NORTH ALSEK 265 A HERD OF CATTLE.--YUKON DIVIDE IN THE DISTANCE 267 FORDING THE KLAHEENA 325 "SALMON BY THE THOUSAND" 349 GOLD-SEEKING ON THE DALTON TRAIL CHAPTER I A LETTER FROM ALASKA In a large, old-fashioned dwelling which overlooked from its hillside perch a beautiful city of Connecticut, the Bradford family was assembled for the evening meal. It was early in February, and the wind, which now and then whirled the snowflakes against the window-panes, made the pretty dining-room seem doubly cozy. But Mrs. Bradford shivered as she poured the tea. "Just think of poor Will," she said, "away off in that frozen wilderness! Oh, if we could only know that he is safe and well!" and the gentle lady's brown eyes sought her husband's face as if for reassurance. Mr. Bradford was a tall, strongly built man of forty-five, with light-brown hair and mustache, and features that betrayed much care and responsibility. Upon him as treasurer had fallen a great share of the burden of bringing a large manufacturing establishment through two years of financial depression, and his admirable constitution had weakened under the strain. But now a twinkle came into his gray eyes as he said, "My dear, I hardly think Will is suffering. At least he wasn't a month ago." "Why, how do you know?" asked Mrs. Bradford. "Has he written at last?" For answer Mr. Bradford drew from the depths of an inside pocket a number of letters, from which he selected one whose envelope was torn and travel-stained. It bore a Canadian and an American postage stamp, as if the sender had been uncertain in which country it would be mailed, and wished to prepare it against either contingency. At sight of the foreign stamp Ralph,--or "Roly," as he had been known ever since a certain playmate had called him "Roly-poly" because of his plumpness,--aged fifteen, was awake in an instant. Up to that moment his energies had been entirely absorbed in the laudable business of dulling a very keen appetite, but it quickly became evident that his instincts as a stamp collector were even keener. He had paused in the act of raising a bit of bread to his mouth, and made such a comical figure with his lips expectantly wide apart that his younger sister Helen, a little maid of nine, was betrayed into a sudden and violent fit of laughter, in which, in spite of the superior dignity of eighteen years, their brother David was compelled to join. "Yes," said Mr. Bradford, "I received a letter from Will this afternoon. Suppose I read it aloud." Absolute quiet being magically restored, he proceeded as follows:-- RAINY HOLLOW, CHILKAT PASS, Jan. 9, 1898. DEAR BROTHER CHARLES,--I am storm-bound at this place, and waiting for an opportunity to cross the summit, so what better can I do than write the letter so long deferred? I have been as far west as the Cook Inlet region, and have acquired some good coal properties. While there I heard from excellent authorities that rich gold placers have been discovered on the Dalton trail, which leads from Pyramid Harbor to Dawson City, at a point about two hundred miles inland. I thought it best to investigate the truth of this rumor, and am now on the way to the designated locality, with an Indian guide and dog-team. Now, as you know, I was able to take claims for you as well as for myself in the Cook Inlet country, by the powers of attorney which you sent me, but in the Canadian territory to which I am going the law does not allow this, and you can only secure a claim by purchase, or by being

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Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, David Garcia, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. [Illustration: THE POOR HOME.] _Alfred Crowquill's Fairy Tales._ * * * * * THE GIANT HANDS: OR, THE REWARD OF INDUSTRY. * * * * * LONDON: G. ROUT

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Produced by K Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy 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.) THE JOB AN AMERICAN NOVEL BY SINCLAIR LEWIS AUTHOR OF MAIN STREET, BABBITT, ETC. GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published February, 1917 TO MY WIFE WHO HAS MADE "THE JOB" POSSIBLE AND LIFE ITSELF QUITE BEAUTIFULLY IMPROBABLE CONTENTS Page Part I 3 THE CITY Part

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Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) A LITTLE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS [Illustration: "What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near. FRONTISPIECE. _See page_ 69.] A LITTLE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1912 _Copyright, 1912_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. _All rights reserved_ Published, September, 1912 THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. CONTENTS PAGE THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON 5 THE CHILD WHO HAD EVERYTHING BUT-- 47 SANTA CLAUS AND LITTLE BILLEE 87 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN SANTAS 129 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near _Frontispiece_ She stood with her eyes popping out of her head PAGE 39 He thought it very strange that Santa Claus' hand should be so red and cold and rough 91 One by one the prisoners of the night dropped in surreptitiously 155 A TOAST TO SANTA CLAUS Whene'er I find a man who don't Believe in Santa Claus, And spite of all remonstrance won't Yield up to logic's laws, And see in things that lie about The proof by no means dim, I straightway cut that fellow out, And don't believe in him. The good old Saint is everywhere Along life's busy way. We find him in the very air We breathe day after day-- Where courtesy and kindliness And love are joined together, To give to sorrow and distress A touch of sunny weather. We find him in the maiden's eyes Beneath the mistletoe, A-sparkling as the star-lit skies All golden in their glow. We find him in the pressure of The hand of sympathy, And where there's any thought of love He's mighty sure to be. So here's to good old Kindliheart! The best bet of them all, Who never fails to do his part In life's high festival; The worthy bearer of the crown With which we top the Saint. A bumper to his health, and down With them that say he ain't! THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON I Hetherington wasn't half a bad sort of a fellow, but he had his peculiarities, most of which were the natural defects of a lack of imagination. He didn't believe in ghosts, or Santa Claus, or any of the thousands of other things that he hadn't seen with his own eyes, and as he walked home that rather chilly afternoon just before Christmas and found nearly every corner of the highway decorated with bogus Saints, wearing the shoddy regalia of Kris-Kringle, the sight made him a trifle irritable. He had had a fairly good luncheon that day, one indeed that ought to have mellowed his disposition materially, but which somehow or other had not so resulted. In fact, Hetherington was in a state of raspy petulance that boded ill for his digestion, and when he had reached the corner of Forty-second

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