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Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Mitchell 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. In the section SAND WHEEL--PLATE 21, third
paragraph, the word "on" was | 1,990.176176 |
2023-11-16 18:50:14.3543970 | 4,959 | 9 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
_THE GIRLS_
_OF_
_SILVER SPUR RANCH_
BY
GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE
AND
ANNE MCQUEEN
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Chicago_
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
*LIST OF CHAPTERS*
I. A Question of Names
II. Roy Rides to Silver Spur
III. A Package and a Leather-Brown Phaeton
IV. A Jewel of Great Price
V. The Silver Spur Bakery
VI. A Shiny Black Box
VII. The Wire Cutter
VIII. A Partner of the Sun
IX. The Rose by Another Name
_*THE GIRLS OF*_*
*_*SILVER SPUR RANCH*_
*CHAPTER I*
*A Question of Names*
The girls of Silver Spur ranch were all very busy helping Mary, the
eldest, with her wedding sewing. Silver Spur was rather a pretentious
name for John Spooner's little Texas cattle-farm, but Elizabeth, the
second daughter, who had an ear attuned to sweet sounds, had chosen it;
as a further confirmation of the fact she had covered an old spur with
silver-leaf and hung it over the doorway. The neighboring ranchers had
laughed, at first, and old Jonah Bean, the one cowboy left in charge of
the small Spooner herd, always sniffed scornfully when he had occasion
to mention the name of his ranch, declaring that The Tin Spoon would
suit it much better. However, in time everybody became used to it, and
Silver Spur the ranch remained--somehow Elizabeth always had her own
way.
This young lady sat by the window in the little living-room where they
were all at work, and carefully embroidered a big and corpulent "B" on a
sofa-pillow for Mary, who was to marry, in a few days, a young man from
another state who owned the euphonious name of Bellamy--a name Elizabeth
openly envied him.
"I do think Spooner is such a horrid, commonplace sort of name," she
declared with emphatic disapproval. "Aren't you glad you'll soon be rid
of it, Mary?"
"Um-m," murmured Mary, paying scant heed to Elizabeth's query; she was
hemming a ruffle to trim the little muslin frock which was the last
unfinished garment of her trousseau, and she was too busy for argument.
"As if," continued Elizabeth, "the name wasn't odious enough, father
must needs go and choose a _spoon_ for his brand! And he might so
easily have made it a _fleur-de-lys_--fairly rubbing it in, as if it was
something to be proud of!"
Just then Mary, finding that the machine needle kept jabbing in one
place, looked about for a cause, and perceived Elizabeth tranquilly
rocking upon one of the unhemmed breadths of her ruffle.
"I'll be much obliged if you'll take your chair off my ruffle, Saint
Elizabeth," she laughed, tugging at the crumpled cloth, "and just don't
worry over the name--try and live up to your looks."
Elizabeth blushed a little as she stooped to disentangle the cloth from
her rocker; she was a very handsome girl, altogether unlike her sisters,
who were all rather short and dark, and plump looking, Cousin Hannah
Pratt declared, as much alike as biscuits cut out of the same batch of
dough. Elizabeth was about sixteen, tall and fair and slim, with large,
serious blue eyes and long, thick blond hair, which she wore plaited in
the form of a coronet or halo about her head--privately, she much
preferred the halo, as best befitting the character of her favorite
heroine, Saint Elizabeth, a canonized queen whom she desired to resemble
in looks and deportment.
"One would have to be a saint to bear with the name of Spooner," she
said, rather crossly, as she tossed Mary her ruffle.
Cousin Hannah Pratt, rocking in the biggest chair, which she filled to
overflowing, lifted her eyes from her work and regarded Elizabeth
meditatively. "How'd you like to swap it for Mudd, Libby?" she asked
tranquilly.
Elizabeth shuddered--she hated to be called Libby, it was so
commonplace; and Cousin Hannah persisted in calling her that when she
knew how it annoyed her. Elizabeth was thankful that Cousin Hannah--who
kept a boarding-house in Emerald, the near-by village, and had kindly
come over to help with the wedding--was only kin-in-law, which was bad
enough; to have such an uncultured person for a blood relation would
have been worse.
"Mudd! O, poor Elizabeth!" giggled Ruth, the third of the Spooner
sisters, a merry-hearted girl of fifteen, who looked on all the world
with mirthful eyes. "Cousin Hannah, what made you think of such an
_awful_ name?"
"Don't be so noisy, Ruth," cautioned Mary, with what seemed unnecessary
severity. "Mother's neuralgia is bad to day. You can hear every sound
right through in her room. Cousin Hannah, won't you please make her a
cup of tea? I think it would do her good; you make such nice tea."
"Sure and certain!" agreed Cousin Hannah, heartily. Rising ponderously
from her chair, she moved on heavy tiptoes out into the kitchen, the
thin boards creaking as she walked.
"I might also remark that a person would have to be a saint to bear with
Cousin Hannah," said Elizabeth, "she doesn't intend it, maybe, but she
does rile me so!"
"I don't see why anybody would want to be a saint; I'd heap rather be a
knight," spoke up little Harvie, nicknamed by her family "the Babe."
She lay curled up on a lounge in the corner, ostensibly pulling out
bastings, but really reading a worn old copy of Ivanhoe, which was the
book of her heart. There were no children living near the lonely little
ranch, and the Babe, who was only ten, solaced herself with the company
of heroes and heroines of romance--much preferring the heroes.
"I'd rather be'most anything than a'mover'," declared Elizabeth,
emphatically. "And if you want to know the reason, just look out of the
window and watch this procession coming up from the road."
Ruth and the Babe ran to the window; Mary, leaving her machine, slipped
quietly out of the room to see about her mother. Also Mary desired to
have a little private talk with Cousin Hannah.
It was a pitifully ludicrous spectacle that the girls beheld. Up the
driveway leading to the house came a dreary procession of those
unfortunates known in western parlance as "movers," family tramps who
follow the harvests in hope of getting a little work in the fields;
always moving on when the crops are gathered, or planted, as the case
may be--movers never became dwellers in any local territory.
These movers were, in appearance, even more wretched than usual. In a
little covered cart drawn by a diminutive donkey, sat a pale woman with
a baby in her arms, and two small and pallid children crouching beside
her. Behind the cart the father of the family pushed valiantly, in a
kindly endeavor to help along the donkey, while just ahead of that
overburdened animal walked a small boy, holding, as further inducement,
an alluring ear of corn just out of reach of the donkey's nose.
Certainly the family justified Elizabeth's declaration that'most
anything was preferable to being a mover!
Ruth and Elizabeth both laughed at the comical procession, but the
Babe's eyes were full of pity. "The poor things are coming up for
water," she said sorrowfully. "Father always let them get water at our
well--I'll go show them the way." And she ran out to meet the movers
and show them the well at the back of the house, where they filled their
water-jugs and quenched the thirst of the patient and unsatisfied
donkey.
"I wish to goodness Father never had gone to Cuba," sighed Ruth, as she
turned from the window to take up her button-holes, "it is so awfully
lonesome without him."
"I think it was splendid," said Elizabeth, with shining eyes, "to be
among the very first of the volunteers. And maybe he'll do some deed of
daring and be made an officer. Think how nice it will be to say, when
the war is over, that our father figures in history--maybe as one of the
foremost heroes of the Spanish-American war."
"You're always dreaming of things that never happen, Elizabeth," scoffed
practical Ruth. "Of course he won't be made a big officer. If he comes
back just a plain Captain I'll be mighty glad."
"O, well, the world's greatest men and women have always been dreamers,"
asserted Elizabeth, cheerfully, "I can't help being born different from
the rest of you, can I?"
"H'm, I reckon not--but you can start a fire in the stove. People must
eat, no matter how great they are. It's your time to get supper."
"O, dear, it's bad to be born poor!" sighed Elizabeth, as she arose
reluctantly. "Especially when there's a longing within you to do
perfectly fine things, and not mere drudgery. I wish I were a
princess--it seems to me I was born to rule. I'm sure I would be a wise
and capable sovereign. Well, even queens stoop to minister to the lowly,
like Saint Elizabeth, so _I'll_ go get supper for the Spooners!"
And with her head in the clouds, the throneless queen marched
majestically kitchenward, to engage in the humble occupation of cooking
supper for her family.
Voices from her mother's closed door reached her ears as she passed.
Elizabeth would have scorned eavesdropping, but--the ranch being located
in the prairie region of Texas, where lumber is so scarce that just as
little as possible is used in building, and the walls being merely board
partitions, she could not help hearing Cousin Hannah's voice, always
strident, rising above her mother's and Mary's lower tones.
"Fiddle-diddle! What's the use of mincin' matters anyway? She's bound
to know, sooner or later--ought to know without--tellin', if she had a
grain o' common sense. Ain't a single, solitary thing about her favors
the rest of you all."
The words sounded very clearly in Elizabeth's startled ears, arousing a
train of troubled thoughts in her mind, as she moved mechanically about
the kitchen. She felt quite certain that they were talking about her,
and that Cousin Hannah wanted to tell her something that Mrs. Spooner
and Mary didn't want known.
"I wonder what it can be," pondered Elizabeth, as she slowly stirred the
hominy pot. "Whether Cousin Hannah thinks so or not, I've always known
I wasn't like the rest."
This was quite true; Elizabeth, though she dearly loved the parents and
sisters who had always, Cousin Hannah declared, spoiled her, yet could
not help feeling that she was, mentally and physically superior to them,
"made of finer clay," she would have put it. People often remarked on
this lack of resemblance to the others, and when they did so in Mrs.
Spooner's presence she always hastily changed the subject. Elizabeth
had often wondered why. Somehow there seemed always to have been a
mystery surrounding her--something that, if explained, would prove very
thrilling indeed.
Occupied with these thoughts, she moved from cupboard to table, and from
table to fire, preparing the evening meal with deft skill, for anything
Elizabeth Spooner did she did a little better than other people.
Outside the window stretched a vast brown-green plain, bounded by a
horizon line like a ring. There was monotony in the prospect, and yet a
curious sense of adventure and romance, as there is about the sea.
Elizabeth delighted in the mystic beauty of the prairie, yet to-day her
fine eyes studied the level unseeingly as she glanced through the
window, looking to see if Jonah Bean was in sight; the glories of sunset
that flooded the plain passed almost unnoticed. She was thinking too
earnestly on her own problem to observe the outside world.
"If I were by chance adopted, I certainly have a right to know who I
am," Elizabeth pondered, as she set the table beautifully, with certain
artistic touches that the clumsier hands of the other girls somehow
could never manage. "It won't make any difference in my feelings for
father and mother and the girls if I should happen to be born in a
higher station of life than theirs--though I can easily see how poor
mother could think it might; I trust I'm above being snobbish--"
Elizabeth's eyes began to glow with a resolute purpose--"I'm going to
find out, that's what! I'll make Cousin Hannah tell me. She's so big
it's awful to sleep with her, and she snores like thunder. Mary knows
how bad it is, and how I hate it, that's the reason she made me sleep
with Ruth, when one of us had to give up our place. To-night I'll make
Mary take the Babe's place with Mother, who might need her in the night,
and I'll sleep with Cousin Hannah--and find out what she knows about
me!"
Jonah Bean came stamping up the steps just then to wash up for supper at
the water-shelf just outside the kitchen door; informing anybody who
chose to listen that he was mighty tired--there was two men's work to do
on the Spooner ranch, anyhow, and he was gittin' old, same's other
folks. Glancing in at the open door he observed who was the cook.
"Humph! So it's your night for gittin' supper? Well, I hope the
truck'll taste as fancy as that air table looks."
"Sure, Jonah," answered Elizabeth, critically observing the effect of
her handiwork. "If you'll just step outside and get me a big bunch of
those yellow cactus-blooms to put in this brown pitcher it'll be
perfect, and I'll see that you get a big painted cup full of coffee."
"Never could see no use in weeds--full o' stickers at that," grumbled
Jonah, as he turned to go out for the flowers that were growing on the
great cactus in the fence corner. "Hope that air coffee'll be strong
and hot, though."
The coffee was strong and hot, and the hominy was white and well-cooked;
the bacon was brown and crisp and the biscuits light as feathers.
Elizabeth dished the supper in the flowered dishes kept for company,
because she could not bear the heavy earthenware they used every day.
She filled the squatty brown pitcher with the big bunch of golden blooms
old Jonah bore gingerly, careful of the thorns, and then lighted the
lamp with the red shade. Really they didn't need a lamp, but the glow
from the red shade was so pretty that she lighted it anyway--she so
loved beautiful things.
She arranged her mother's tray daintily, laying a cactus-bloom, freed of
its thorns, beside the plate--somehow she felt as if she was preparing
for some extra occasion.
"I declare Libby always cooks like she was fixin' for company," said
Cousin Hannah, admiringly, as she sat at the gracefully arranged table.
"Oughter keep boarders, and she wouldn't find no time for extra kinks."
Elizabeth shuddered a little as she poured Jonah's coffee in the biggest
cup, with the painted motto on it--how she would hate to do such a
sordid thing as keep boarders!
But she smiled very affably on Cousin Hannah, and asked if she wouldn't
tell her how to make spice cake--she always noticed that Cousin Hannah's
cake was so good. She wished to get the recipe to write in her
scrap-book.
"Shore and certain," said Cousin Hannah, amiably, pleased at Elizabeth's
praise, "I'll be glad to write it off. You're 'bout as good a cook as
Ruth, though I always did say she was the born cook o' the family--you
seemin' to be a master hand at managin'."
That she was indeed a master hand at the art, Elizabeth proved that
night, when with a few energetic commands, she sent Mary obediently to
her mother's room, to take the Babe's place, who in turn was put to
sleep with Ruth.
"Why in the world don't you let Ruth sleep with Cousin Hannah?" argued
Mary, "you know how you hate to--and she doesn't mind."
"Because it isn't fair that I shouldn't have my turn as well as the
others--it's disagreeable to all of us. Now you just let me have my
way, and say nothing else about it!" declared Elizabeth with authority,
and as usual, she was allowed to have her way.
While Cousin Hannah undressed, moving ponderously about the little room,
Elizabeth sat on the side of the bed, brushing her long blond hair,
watching with critical admiration of the beautiful, the gleams of red
and gold the lamplight cast upon its glittering strands, and formulating
in her mind a plan to find out the secret of her birth--if secret there
was.
She finally decided that plain speech was better than beating about the
bush, and spoke in a carefully suppressed tone.
"Cousin Hannah," she said, with whispering decisiveness, "I want to know
what you, and Mother and Mary were talking about in her room."
"Why, Libby!" exclaimed Cousin Hannah, plumping down upon the bed in her
astonishment, "did you go and listen to what we was sayin'?"
"Indeed I didn't! But I couldn't help hearing you--and I think it's my
right to know, if you were talking about me."
"But your Ma--but Jennie said she didn't _want_ you should know," argued
the bewildered Cousin Hannah, "land o' livin', girl, ain't you got a
home, and people to care for you? Why in tunket can't you be satisfied
with _that_?"
Certainty made Elizabeth calmly triumphant.
"I have felt, for a long time--ever since I can remember, that I was
different from the rest of my family, though you didn't give me credit
for having sense enough to see it. Of course, I love them all dearly
but I can't help feeling that it's my right to know the truth, whatever
it is. Cousin Hannah, is or is not my name Spooner?"
"Well," Cousin Hannah evaded the question, "what would you get out of it
if your name wasn't Spooner?"
Elizabeth leaped up softly, she held her hairbrush as though it were a
scepter; her long hair flowed and billowed about her as she walked with
majestic tread, up and down the tiny room--she was seeing visions!
If her name was not Spooner! That would mean that her birth was, she
felt sure, indefinitely illustrious some way. Of course she would never
desert the people who loved her, and whom she would always love,
but--might not something come of it that would be grand for them all?
"Libby," Cousin Hannah's eyes followed the moving figure with a
distressed look in them, "your ma--Jennie Spooner--your true ma, if love
and tenderness count for anything, never wanted you told. Mary knows,
and she don't want you should know. When I watch your uppity ways I tell
'em it's high time they explained the situation to you."
"The situation--" Elizabeth hung breathlessly on her words with shining
eyes, and an eager tremble of her lips.
"Yes, the situation," repeated Cousin Hannah heavily. "Jennie Spooner
had a tough time raisin' you--a troublesome young'un as ever I see. You
teethed so hard that it looked like she never knew what a night's rest
was till you got 'em through the gums. I used to come over here many a
time and help her; what with Ruth bein' so nigh the same age, she had
her hands full. It was kept from you for fear of hurtin' your feelin's,
if you must know."
"How could it hurt my feelings?" questioned Elizabeth, a little puzzled.
"I love them all--but they should have told me. They ought to have known
they couldn't change--" a swan to a duckling had been on the tip of her
tongue, but she stopped in time, "me to a Spooner, even by their love
and kindness."
"Change you to a Spooner?" slow wrath mounted to Cousin Hannah's face.
She caught Elizabeth's arm as the girl passed by. "I reckon they
couldn't make a Spooner out o' you, that's a fact. The Spooners, bein',
so far's known to me, respectable householders--"
"But not what _my_ people were," suggested Elizabeth, her whole face
alight, her eyes shining with eagerness. "You must tell me who they
were--what my rightful name is."
Cousin Hannah groaned. "Looks like I've let the cat out of the
bag--don't it? Well, what I've got to tell ain't nigh what you think
I've got to tell," she asserted doggedly. "You'll be sorry for askin'."
Through Elizabeth's mind flashed visions of a wonderful ancestry; to do
her justice these dream parents did not in any way displace the father
and mother she really loved with all her young heart--they were only
that vision which comes to us all in some shape when we | 1,990.374437 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WAR DEPARTMENT
MANUAL
FOR NONCOMMISSIONED OFFICERS AND
PRIVATES OF
CAVALRY
OF THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES
1917
TO BE ALSO USED BY ENGINEER COMPANIES
(MOUNTED) FOR CAVALRY INSTRUCTION
AND TRAINING
WASHINGTON
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
1917
WAR DEPARTMENT,
Document No. 620.
_Office of The Adjutant General._
ADDITIONAL COPIES
OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE PROCURED FROM
THE SUPERINTENDENT OF DOCUMENTS
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
WASHINGTON, D. C.
AT
50 CENTS PER COPY
WAR DEPARTMENT,
WASHINGTON, _June 28, 1917_.
The following Manual for Noncommissioned Officers and Privates of
Cavalry is published for the information and guidance of all
concerned.
[2582824 C.--A. G. O.]
BY ORDER OF THE SECRETARY OF WAR:
TASKER H. BLISS,
_Major General, Acting Chief of Staff_.
OFFICIAL:
H. P. MCCAIN,
_The Adjutant General_.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I. MILITARY DISCIPLINE AND COURTESY.................. 9
Section 1. Oath of enlistment.............................. 9
Section 2. Obedience....................................... 9
Section 3. Loyalty........................................ 11
Section 4. Discipline..................................... 11
Section 5. Military courtesy.............................. 13
Section 6. Saluting....................................... 13
Section 7. Rules governing saluting....................... 15
Section 8. Courtesies in conversation..................... 18
CHAPTER II. ARMS, UNIFORMS, AND EQUIPMENT................... 20
Section 1. The rifle...................................... 20
Section 2. Care of the rifle.............................. 21
Section 3. Cleaning the rifle............................. 23
Section 4. Uniforms....................................... 27
Section 5. The service kit................................ 30
Section 6. The surplus kit................................ 32
Section 7. Assembling equipment........................... 33
CHAPTER III. RATIONS AND FORAGE............................. 36
Section 1. The ration..................................... 36
Section 2. Individual cooking............................. 37
Section 3. The forage ration.............................. 41
CHAPTER IV. PERSONAL HYGIENE AND CARE OF THE FEET........... 43
CHAPTER V. EXTRACTS FROM CAVALRY DRILL REGULATIONS, 1916.... 50
Section 1. Definitions.................................... 50
Section 2. General provisions, individual instruction..... 54 | 1,990.374539 |
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Produced by Anthony Matonac.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
or
The Quickest Flight on Record
By
VICTOR APPLETON
CONTENTS
I The Prize Offer
II Mr. Swift Is Ill
III The Plans Disappear
IV Anxious Days
V Building the Sky Racer
VI Andy Foger Will Contest
VII Seeking a Clue
VIII The Empty Shed
IX A Trial Flight
X A Midnight Intruder
XI Tom Is Hurt
XII Miss Nestor Calls
XIII A Clash with Andy
XIV The Great Test
XV A Noise in the Night
XVI A Mysterious Fire
XVII Mr. Swift Is Worse
XVIII The Broken Bridge
XIX A Nervy Specialist
XX Just in Time
XXI "Will He Live?"
XXII Off to the Meet
XXIII The Great Race
XXIV Won by a Length
XXV Home Again--Conclusion
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Chapter One
The Prize Offer
"Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?"
The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his
summons.
"Yes, I'm Tom Swift," was the reply. "Did you wish to see me?"
"I do. I'm Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation
Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest
we are going to hold. | 1,990.481707 |
2023-11-16 18:50:14.5538690 | 1,153 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (Harvard University)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=emlLN6DE1I
(Harvard University)
2. This book was also published as "Aaron the Jew. A Novel," in
London by Hutchinson & Co. in 1895.
A Fair Jewess
BY
B. L. FARJEON,
_Author of "The Last Tenant" Etc_.
NEW YORK:
THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY.
Copyright, 1894, by
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.
_All rights reserved_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. The Poor Doctor
II. Dr. Spenlove's Visitor
III. Dr. Spenlove Undertakes a Delicate Mission
IV. "One More Unfortunate"
V. "Come! We Will End It"
VI. The Friend in Need
VII. The Result of Dr. Spenlove's Mission
VIII. What was Put in the Iron Box
IX. Mr. Moss Plays his Part
X. The Vision in the Churchyard
XI. Mr. Whimpole Introduces Himself
XII. The Course of the Seasons
XIII. Aaron Cohen Preaches a Sermon on Large Noses
XIV. A Proclamation of War
XV. The Battle is Fought and Won
XVI. Joy and Sorrow
XVII. Divine Consolation
XVIII. In the New House
XIX. The Doctor Speaks Plainly to Aaron Cohen
XX. A Momentous Night
XXI. The Temptation
XXII. The Living and the Dead
XXIII. Plucked from the Jaws of Death
XXIV. The Curtain Falls
XXV. After Many Years
XXVI. The Foundation of Aaron's Fortune
XXVII. The Farewell
XXVIII. Revisits Gosport
XXIX. What Shall be Done to the Man whom the
King Delighteth to Honor?
XXX. The Honorable Percy Storndale
XXXI. The Spirit of the Dead Past
XXXII. Before All, Duty
XXXIII. A Cheerful Doctor
XXXIV. Ruth's Secret
XXXV. The Honorable Percy Storndale Makes an
Appeal
XXXVI. A Duty Performed
XXXVII. The Mother's Appeal
XXXVIII. A Mother's Joy
XXXIX. A Panic in the City
XL. "Can you Forgive me?"
XLI. A Poisoned Arrow
XLII. Retribution
A FAIR JEWESS.
CHAPTER I.
THE POOR DOCTOR.
On a bright, snowy night in December, some years ago, Dr. Spenlove,
having been employed all the afternoon and evening in paying farewell
visits to his patients, walked briskly toward his home through the
narrowest and most squalid thoroughfares in Portsmouth.
The animation of his movements may be set down to the severity of the
weather, and not to any inward cheerfulness of spirits, for as he
passed familiar landmarks he looked at them with a certain regret
which men devoid of sentiment would have pronounced an indication of a
weak nature. In this opinion, however, they would have been wrong, for
Dr. Spenlove's intended departure early the following morning from a
field which had strong claims upon his sympathies was dictated by a
law of inexorable necessity. He was a practitioner of considerable
skill, and he had conscientiously striven to achieve a reputation in
some measure commensurate with his abilities.
From a worldly point of view his efforts had been attended with
mortifying failure; he had not only been unsuccessful in earning a
bare livelihood, but he had completely exhausted the limited resources
with which he had started upon his career; he had, moreover, endured
severe privation, and an opening presenting itself in the wider field
of London he had accepted it with gladness and reluctance. With
gladness because he was an ambitious man, and had desires apart from
his profession; with reluctance because it pained him to bid farewell
to patients in whom he took a genuine interest, and whom he would have
liked to continue to befriend. He had, indeed, assisted many of them
to the full extent of his power, and in some instances had gone beyond
this limit, depriving himself of the necessaries of life to supply
them with medicines and nourishing food, and robbing his nights of
rest to minister to their woes. He bore about him distinguishing marks
of the beautiful self-sacrifice.
On this last night of his residence among them his purse was empty,
and inclement as was the weather he wore, on his road home, but one
thin coat which was but a feeble protection from the freezing air
which pierced to his skin, though every button was put to its proper
use. A hacking cough, which caused him to pause occasionally, denoted
that he was running a dangerous risk in being so insufficiently clad;
but he seemed to make light of this, and smiled when the paroxysm was
| 1,990.573909 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
COLTER’S HELL
AND
JACKSON’S HOLE
By Merrill J. Mattes
Published by
YELLOWSTONE LIBRARY AND MUSEUM ASSOCIATION
and the
GRAND TETON NATURAL HISTORY ASSOCIATION
in cooperation with
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR
[Illustration: Yellowstone Library and Museum Association; National Park
Service]
© 1962 Yellowstone Library and Museum Association
Reprint 1970
The Yellowstone Library and Museum Association and the Grand Teton
Natural History Association are non-profit distributing organizations
whose purpose is the stimulation of interest in the educational and
inspirational aspects of Yellowstone and Grand Teton history and natural
history. The Associations cooperate with and are recognized by the
United States Department of the Interior and its Bureau, the National
Park Service, as essential operating organizations.
As one means of accomplishing their aims the Associations publish
reasonably priced booklets which are available for purchase by mail
throughout the year or at the museum information desks in the parks
during the summer.
Photographs used were provided through the courtesy of the National Park
Service, except where otherwise credited.
COLTER’S HELL AND JACKSON’S HOLE:
The Fur Trappers’ Exploration of the Yellowstone and Grand Teton Park
Region
By
Merrill J. Mattes
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
I. Strange Land of “Volcanoes” and “Shining Mountains” 1
II. The Mystery of “La Roche Jaune” or Yellow Rock River 9
III. John Colter, The Phantom Explorer—1807-1808 13
IV. “Colter’s Hell”: A Case of Mistaken Identity 19
V. “Les Trois Tetons”: The Golden Age of Discovery, 1810-1824 25
VI. “Jackson’s Hole”: Era of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company,
1825-1832 35
VII. “The Fire Hole”: Era of the American Fur Company, 1833-1840 53
VIII. Epilogue: 1841-1870 77
Selected Bibliography 86
Vicinity Map at rear
[Illustration: BEAVER TRAP]
I. Strange Land of “Volcanoes” and “Shining Mountains”
The Yellowstone-Grand Teton region was not officially discovered and its
scenic marvels were not publicly proclaimed until the 1870’s, beginning
with the Washburn | 1,990.581186 |
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Strawberry Acres
By GRACE S. RICHMOND
1911
TO THE OWNER OF "GRASSLANDS"
CONTENTS
PART I.--FIVE MILES OUT
CHAPTER
I. Five Miles Out
II. Everybody Explores
III. The Apartment Overflows
IV. Arguments and Answers
V. Telephones and Tents
VI. In the Pine Grove
VII. Everybody is Satisfied
VIII. Problems and Hearts
IX. Max Compromises
X. Jack-O'-Lantern
PART II.--THE LANES AND THE ACRES
I. What's in a Name
II. In the Old Garden
III. Afternoon Tea
IV. Two and Two
V. On an August Evening
VI. Time-Tables
VII. The Southbound Limited
VIII. From April North
IX. Round the Corner
X. Green Leaves
Strawberry Acres
PART I.--FIVE MILES OUT
CHAPTER I
FIVE MILES OUT
The four Lanes--Max, Sally, Alec and Robert--climbed the five flights of
stairs to their small flat with the agility of youth and the impetus of
high but subdued excitement. Uncle Timothy Rudd, following more slowly,
reached the outer door of the little suite of rooms in time to hear what
seemed to be the first outburst.
"Well, what do you think now?"
"Forty-two acres _and_ the house! Open the windows and give us air!"
"Acres run to seed, and the house tumbling down about its own ears! A
magnificent inheritance that!" Max cast his hat upon a chair as if he
flung it away with the inheritance.
"But who ever thought Uncle Maxwell Lane would ever leave his poor
relations anything?" This was Sally.
"Five miles out by road--a bit less by trolley. Let's go and see it
to-morrow afternoon. Thank goodness a half holiday is so near."
"Anybody been by the place lately?"
"I was, just the other day, on my wheel. I didn't think it looked so
awfully bad." This was Robert, the sixteen-year-old.
As Uncle Timothy entered the tiny sitting-room Sally was speaking. She
had thrown her black veil back over her hat, revealing masses of flaxen
hair, and deep blue eyes glowing with interest. Her delicate cheeks were
warmly flushed, partly with excitement, and partly because for two hours
now--during the journey from the flat to the lawyer's office, the period
spent therein listening to the reading of Uncle Maxwell Lane's will and
the business appertaining thereto, and the return trip home--she had
worn the veil closely drawn. Her simple mourning was to her a screen
behind which to shield herself from curious eyes, always attracted by
those masses of singularly fair hair and the unusual contours of the
young face beneath.
"I think it's a godsend, if ever anything was," she was saying. "Here's
Max, killing himself in the bank, and Alec growing pale and grouchy in
the office, and even Bob--" She was interrupted by a chorus of protests
against her terms of description.
"I'm not killing myself!"
"Pale and grouchy! I'm not a patch on--"
"What's the matter with Bob, Sally Lunn?"
"And Uncle Timmy," continued Sally, undisturbed by interpolations to
which she was quite accustomed, "pining for fresh air--."
"I walk in the park every day, my dear," Uncle Timothy felt obliged to
remind her.
"Yes, I know. But you've lived in a little city flat just as long as it's
good for you, and you need to be turned outdoors. So do we all. Oh, boys,
and Uncle Timmy!--I just sat there, crying and smiling under my veil in
that dreadful office--crying to think that I _couldn't_ cry for Uncle
Maxwell, because he was so cold and queer to us always, and yet he had
given us this property, after all--."
"And a mighty small fraction | 1,990.678297 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
The book uses em-dashes as ellipses at the ends of sentences. These
have been left spaced as in the original text.
_By the Same Author:_
WYMPS: Fairy Tales. With eight illustrations by Mrs.
Percy Dearmer.
AT THE RELTON ARMS: A Novel.
THE MAKING OF A SCHOOL-GIRL.
THE
MAKING OF A PRIG
BY
EVELYN SHARP
JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1897
_Copyright, 1897_,
BY JOHN LANE.
_All rights reserved._
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
The Making of a Prig
CHAPTER I
It was supper time at the Rectory, and the Rector had not come in.
There were two conflicting elements at the Rectory, the Rector's
disregard of details and his sister's sense of their importance. There
was only one will, however, and that was his sister's. So the meals
were always punctual, and the Rector was always late; a fact that by
its very recurrence would have long ceased to be important, had not
Miss Esther loved to accentuate it by a certain formula of complaint
that varied as little as the offence itself. This evening, however, he
was later than usual; and Miss Esther did not attempt to conceal her
impatience as she glanced from the old clock in the corner down to the
fire-place, where another familiar grievance awaited her.
"Katharine, how often have I told you not to lie on the rug like a
great boy?" she said querulously, in the tone of one who has not the
courage or the character to be really angry. She added immediately, "I
want you to ring the bell for the soup."
The girl on the floor rolled over lazily, and shut her book with a
bang.
"Daddy hasn't come in yet," she said, sitting up on her heels and
shaking the hair out of her eyes. A latent spirit of revolt was in her
tone, although she spoke half absently, as if her thoughts were still
with her book. Miss Esther tapped | 1,990.682008 |
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OXFORD
THE ILLUSTRATIONS IN THIS VOLUME WERE ENGRAVED AND PRINTED BY THE
CARL HENTSCHEL COLOURTYPE, LTD.
[Illustration: THE CLARENDON BUILDING, BROAD STREET
It is the Roman Doric portico of the “Building” we see rising in the
centre of the picture, surmounted by a huge leaden figure, forming one
of the _acroteria_ of the pediment.
This noble piece of architecture was erected from the proceeds of the
sale of copies of Lord Clarendon’s _History of the Rebellion_, completed
in 1713.
Looking west, on the right are some old houses, beyond which lie Trinity
and Balliol Colleges.]
OXFORD · PAINTED
BY JOHN FULLEYLOVE R.I.
DESCRIBED BY EDWARD
THOMAS · PUBLISHED BY
A. & C. BLACK · LONDON · W
_Published November 1903_
Prefatory Note
Most of these chapters have been filled by a brief search into my
recollections of Oxford. They aim, therefore, at recording my own
impressions as faithfully as the resultant stir of fancy would allow.
But I am also deeply and obviously indebted to several books, and in
particular to the histories of Oxford by Parker, Maxwell Lyte, and
Boase; to Mr. F. E. | 1,992.373933 |
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THE BROKEN FONT
A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "TALES OF THE WARS OF OUR TIMES,"
"RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PENINSULA," &c. &c. &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1836.
THE BROKEN FONT.
CHAPTER I.
And now, good morrow to our waking soules,
Which watch not one another out of feare.
DONNE.
The noble spirit of Katharine Heywood was severely exercised by those
disclosures of Jane Lambert which have been related in a former
chapter.
She regretted, too late, that she had ever asked that true-hearted
girl to perform an office so difficult in itself, and which had
proved, in its consequences, so hazardous to her reputation and her
peace. The chance of such a misfortune as that which had befallen Jane
never remotely presented itself to her mind at the moment when she
made the request, yet she could not but feel compunction as she
reflected on the trouble to which the generous constancy of a delicate
mind had subjected her affectionate friend. One slight reparation was
in her power. It became her plain duty to undeceive the mind of Juxon
on the subject; and the thought that she should be thus instrumental
in bringing together two fine characters, formed for each other, made
all selfish considerations about her own sorrow, and every pang which
her maidenly pride must suffer, vanish before that proper resolution.
No opportunity of speaking in private with Juxon occurred on the
evening of Jane's disclosure to Katharine, nor did any offer itself
until the arrival of her young cousin Arthur from Oxford. It was a
mournful trial to Katharine to observe the high and joyous spirits of
the ardent youth, as he embraced and thanked Sir Oliver for acceding
to his request. The silent house became suddenly full of cheerful
echoes as the brave boy passed to and fro on its oaken staircase and
along the pleasant gallery, singing snatches of loyal songs, or making
his spurs jingle as he ran. All his preparations for the solemn work
of war were made with a light heart, and with little or no
consideration that fellow-countrymen were to be his enemies. Such
little sympathy as the boy once felt for the tortured Prynne existed
no longer for any one of that party, which he had learned to look upon
as traitors.
One would have thought that he was volunteering in a foreign
expedition, by his gay-hearted alacrity in getting ready.
"Cousin Kate," said he, turning towards her as they sat at breakfast
in the hall, "you must make us a couple of King's rosettes,--and I
hope you have both of you," he added, looking at Jane Lambert, "nearly
finished embroidering the small standard for our troop:--you have
laughed at me, and called me boy, Jane; but when I bring you back your
own embroidery, stained with the blood of traitors, you shall reward
me as a man."
"I am not so very blood-thirsty, Arthur," said Jane Lambert, "as to
wish it shed to do honour to my embroidery; and if I see you come
safe back with your sword bright and a peace branch in your hand, I
will tell a fib for you, and call you a man before your beard comes.
Now don't frown--it does not become your smooth face:--when all is
over, you shall play the part of a lady in the first court masque, and
shall wear my rose- gown."
"Why, Jane," said Sir Oliver, "what is come to you, girl? It was but
five minutes ago that I saw you with your kerchief at your eyes,
looking as sad as though you were sitting at a funeral; and now thou
mockest poor Arthur, as if he were a vain boaster, instead of a
gallant boy, as thou well knowest.--Never mind her, Arthur: she is a
true woman, and teazes those most whom she loves the best. She will
cry peccavi to thee a few weeks hence, and suffer thee to give her a
full pardon in honest kisses."
"Marry, Sir Oliver," said Jane, smiling, "you will spoil the boy, an
you talk thus to him."
"She shall not wait so long for my pardon," said the good-tempered
Arthur, with quickness; and rising from his seat, he went to Jane,
and, with the permitted familiarity of boyhood and cousinship, he
gave her a kiss. "There," he added: "a bird in the hand is worth two
in the bush. 'To-morrow' is a word I never liked, and it is a season
which I may never find. Now, remember, if I should have the ill luck
to be cut down by the sword of a traitor, I die in peace with you,
dear coz, and forgive you for your merriment beforehand."
"She will not be merrier, Arthur, than she is now," said Katharine;
"and to say truth, the very thought is enough to make us sad, if we
were not melancholy already:--but I must not hear, my dear father, of
your going to the field. It will be at the cost of your life, and
that, too, without your having the satisfaction to be of use."
"An example, Kate, must always be of service, if it be a good one; and
though I never stood opposite a shotted cannon hitherto, methinks, to
do that once by the side of my King would make the short remnant of my
life all the brighter for it. Besides, my dear girl, for all the talk
which these Parliament men make about their levies, let the country
gentlemen of the western counties arm in right earnest, and the loyal
cavaliers of England will make these praying rogues bend the knee and
cry out for quarter."
"To be sure they will," said the excited Arthur: "I will bring cousin
Jane a live specimen of the genuine round-headed rebel, with his hands
tied behind him, and the whites of his eyes where the pupils should
be."
At this moment Juxon entered the hall from Old Beech:--he caught the
last sentence; and putting one hand on Arthur's shoulder, as he gave
the other to Sir Oliver.--"Remember, my young master," he said, "that
thy game must be caught before it can be cooked, at least so says the
cookery book in my old housekeeper's room; and, believe me, you will
find a day's fighting with these Parliament boys rather harder work
than a morning's hare-hunting, and little game bagged at the close of
it."
"Why, George Juxon! this from you!" said Sir Oliver. "Why, you are the
very last man that I expected to hear croak in this fashion. Why, I
expect to see the vagabonds turn tail, before a charge of well mounted
cavaliers, like a flock of sheep."
"You could not see such a runaway flight with greater pleasure than I
should; but take my word for it, the King's enemies are made of
sterner stuff than you give them credit for. Many a great spirit is
reckoned among their leaders; and of the meaner folk that follow them
numbers have put their hearts into the cause, under a notion that it
is that of the people. No, sir, Arthur will act in these troubles, I
am well assured, with the same manliness of spirit with which he wrote
to you from Oxford, and, therefore, I do not wish to hear him talk
like a school boy."
Arthur with a little confusion at this grave rebuke; but,
with the frank grace of a generous spirit, confessed himself to have
spoken idly, and to be wrong; excusing it, at the same time, by
saying, that he was only vapouring so to plague Jane Lambert a little,
who, he verily believed, to be in love with one of the rebels. The
eyes of Katharine fell, and her gaze was fixed silently upon the
ground, and a slight contraction of her brow showed to Jane how very
keenly she was suffering. It was not possible, at the moment, to leave
the table without an abruptness which must, of necessity, attract
notice, or she would have done so; but Jane, with a ready
cheerfulness, replied, "Perhaps I am: now, guess for me, most noble
cavalier, whether my Puritan suitor be tall or short; young or old;
how many hairs grow on his chin; whether his cheeks be red and white,
like summer apples; how much buff it may take to make him a war coat;
and if he do not wear high boot heels and jingling spurs for bravery?"
The fine temper of Arthur enabled him to take this playful raillery of
Jane's as pleasantly as it was meant; and Sir Oliver came to the boy's
aid, observing, "The sly maiden is laughing at us both, Arthur; and it
is too true that I must have a broad seam let into my old buff
coat.--See thou have it done quickly," said he, "Philip," turning to
the old serving man behind his chair.
The announcement, however, which Sir Oliver had before made of his
intentions, confirmed by the order thus gaily given, seemed to take
away the old man's breath; for to old Philip none of these sad changes
were matters for laughter.
Juxon did not discourage these intentions of Sir Oliver for the
present: he had satisfied his own mind that the family must, of
necessity, soon quit the mansion at Milverton for a season. The spirit
in Warwick and in Coventry was decidedly favourable to the cause of
the Parliament; and although many of the gentlemen and yeomen in the
country villages declared for his Majesty, yet whatever men could be
raised under the commission of array would, of course, be marched
away. However, it was agreed among the gentry, that the King should be
invited to show himself in the county, and that some effort should be
made to arouse the loyalty and enlist the feelings of the people in
his quarrel. Should this fail, they all looked to Nottingham or
Shrewsbury as favourable rallying points for the Royalists.
In the mean time secret preparations were made for concealing or
removing valuable effects, and for transporting families and
households, when the approach of the parliamentary forces should
render it no longer safe for the more distinguished and wealthy of the
Royalists to remain in their stately homes.
The conversation at the breakfast table at Milverton was changed from
the jocular mood of the moment to a graver tone.
The news of the day,--the last movements of the King,--the rumours of
his approach,--conjectures of his reception,--by turns engaged the
attention of all, and were discussed between Juxon and Sir Oliver with
earnestness and forethought.
The calm clear judgment of George Juxon made him look far on to
consequences; and Sir Oliver, conscious of his own deficiency of
information, and of the indolence of his inquiries, deferred more
readily to the opinions of Juxon than obstinate men are found willing
to do in general.
When the party rose and quitted the hall, Katharine, under the
pretence of asking Juxon's advice about packing a valuable picture,
led him to the gallery alone, while Arthur and Jane Lambert were
settling their playful quarrel upon the terrace.
At the far end of the gallery was a windowed niche, with an antique
seat of carved oak. Katharine sat down, and entreating the attention
of Juxon to something of consequence, which it was her desire to
impart to him, he placed himself on the bench by her side.
"You must be at a loss, Master Juxon, I fear, thoroughly to understand
our dear friend, Jane Lambert."
"It is true--she is a very strange girl."
"Yes, strangely excellent: her idle words and idle ways do veil a
character of rare and precious worth."
"I would fain think so, lady; but I do sometimes fear that she is of a
nature too open and too free for this hollow world. Already, to my
thought, she is unhappy from this very cause: whatever may be her
sorrow, I wish she would confide it to you."
"I | 1,992.376775 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 61. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, December 28, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FIRST NEW-YEAR'S CALL.--SEE NEXT PAGE.]
A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
On the first page of this New-Year's number of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is
a picture of the first New-Year's call of the season, which is one made
at the door of every house in the land just as the clock strikes twelve
on New-Year's Eve.
The little fur-clad figure knocking for admittance is that of New Year
himself, Master Eighteen Eighty-One, laden with promises and good wishes
that will, we hope, insure him a warm welcome from the sleepy watchers
within the cozy room to which he seeks to enter. Even Miss Dolly, whom
the children have left on the cricket in the corner to watch the old
year out and the new one in, and who does not look at all sleepy, will
welcome the little stranger in her own way, and he will quickly be made
to feel at home.
Now watch for him, dear children; he will surely come to every door, and
when he arrives, welcome him warmly, and make up your minds to do
everything in your power to make him the very happiest New Year that
ever was.
"PRINCE CHARLIE."
BY KATHERINE KAMERON.
Christmas was over. The twins, Allan and Jessie, had romped and played
away the whole delightful day, in doors and out.
Wonderful to tell, they had wearied of all the pretty new toys, and
found an end to play. After tea they sat quietly in the fire-glow,
talking with mamma about the beautiful new picture that was her gift to
them. It was a charming group of gayly dressed children--little Princes
and a Princess, the children of the unhappy King Charles I. of England.
The tallest was a handsome boy, in a suit of scarlet velvet, with a
broad collar of rich old lace. He held by the hand a tiny tot, in a
frilled cap and a dress of blue silk, who timidly clung to the
protecting arm of his big brother. The third was a quaint little damsel
in a robe of creamy satin, standing with her dainty hands demurely
folded before her. Her long stately dress touched the floor with its
border of Vandyck points, and her small head was curiously dressed in a
by-gone courtly fashion. About her pretty throat was a necklace of
costly pearls, and she looked the perfect model of a tiny old-time lady
of high degree. A pair of graceful spaniels crouched at the feet of the
children, and behind them was a curtain of some rich foreign stuff. The
fire-light flashed on the sweet young faces and shining auburn hair,
touching the waves and curls, while the shadows danced and nickered
until it seemed to Allan that the bright eyes smiled back to him as he
looked up. It was like a pleasant dream, and Allan's blue eyes grew
slowly dim and dimmer. Jessie's eyelids had been drooping from the time
mamma began to tell about the royal children, and directly the twins
were fast asleep. Papa came in, and mamma laughed with him at the effect
of her story, and then the little sleepers were playfully shaken until
they were wide awake enough to walk up stairs.
There was a sleepy good-night kiss all around, a double "Now I lay me,"
and two heads nestled down on two soft pillows, and the long delightful
Christmas-day was quite gone.
In almost no time Allan felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice said,
softly, "Allan, Allan, wake up, my man, and come and show me about the
things."
Allan turned over, rubbed his dazed eyes, and then jumped straight up in
bed, winking and blinking in wonder at what he saw. Standing beside his
bed was a handsome lad, about his own size, in a scarlet velvet suit.
The stranger was laughing merrily at his surprise, as he spoke again:
"My good fellow, don't sit staring at me, but put on your doublet and
the rest, and come on. We have not long to stay." At this, Allan glanced
through the open door of Jessie's room, and there by her bed he saw in
the moonlight the dainty little dame in the trailing satin. She was
whispering to Jessie. In an instant the visitors vanished hand in hand
through the doorway, and the children heard their soft footfalls on the
stairway. "Prince Charlie! Princess Mary!" was all they said, but they
fairly danced into their clothes, and then ran quickly down to the
library; and when the door opened, what a strange sight met their
astonished eyes! There was a famous fire in the grate, and by the bright
blaze they saw Prince Charlie mounted, on the new velocipede, tugging at
the bridle, and cracking his whip until it snapped again, but the queer
steed moved not a pace. The little Princess sat holding
Nannette--Jessie's French doll--speechless with delight. She turned the
pretty head from side to side, she moved the arms and feet, she examined
the tiny kid boots with their high heels. Then she admired the long
gloves with no end of buttons, and the scrap of a bonnet, made of shreds
of flower and feather in a wonderful way, and perched on a high tower of
fluffy flossy hair.
"Do you like it, Princess Mary?" asked Jessie, most respectfully.
"Oh, it is bonny," was the answer; "so much prettier than any I ever
saw. Is your father a great King, and does he have such wonderful dolls
made for you?" she asked.
"Oh, dear me, no, Princess," said Jessie, hastily, and wanting very much
to laugh. "My father is a great doctor, though. We have no Kings in our
country."
"No Kings!" echoed the little lady, incredulously. "Who reigns, then?
But do not say Princess every time; call me Mary. We must go back so
soon, and I have a hundred questions to ask about so many strange
things. We are very tired of looking at them from up there," glancing at
the picture.
"Indeed, we have longed to get down close by you ever since we came,"
exclaimed the Prince. "I am sure you | 1,992.577853 |
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file which includes the original illustration.
See 33022-h.htm or 33022-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
This e-book contains numerous sidenotes. All sidenotes have
been moved to the beginning of the paragraph in which they
appear. Duplicate date sidenotes within a section have been
removed.
Phonetic symbols are represented by [)a] (short a) and [=a]
(long a). The "because" symbol (an inverted triangle of 3
dots) is represented by [V].
The last four lines on page 22 in the edition used to prepare
this e-book were erroneously duplicated from another page.
For details, see the note at the end of this e-book.
Inconsistent spellings of proper nouns have been retained as
they appear in the original, except where clearly incorrect.
VILLANI'S CHRONICLE
Being Selections from the First Nine Books of the
Croniche Fiorentine of Giovanni Villani
Translated by Rose E. Selfe
and
Edited by Philip H. Wicksteed M.A.
London
Archibald Constable & Co. Ltd.
1906
SECOND EDITION
Carefully Revised
Ditemi dell' ovil di San Giovanni
Quanto era allora, e chi eran le genti
Tra esso degne di piu alti scanni
[Illustration]
PREFATORY NOTE
The Editor is responsible for the selection of the passages
translated, and for the Introduction. He has also compared the
translation with the original text, has satisfied himself of its
general accuracy, and has made numerous suggestions.
The Translator is responsible for the fidelity of the translation in
detail, and for its general tone and style. She has also drawn up the
Indexes, and seen the work through the press.
For the selection of marginal references to the works of Dante the
Editor and Translator are jointly responsible.
Both Translator and Editor desire to express their obligations to Mr.
A.J. Butler, who has given them his ungrudging assistance in every
difficulty, and whose learning and judgment have been invaluable.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xxv
BOOK I.
_This book is called the New Chronicle, in which many
past things are treated of, and especially the root and origins
of the city of Florence; then all the changes through which
it has passed and shall pass in the course of time: begun to
be compiled in the year of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ,
1300. Here begins the preface and the First Book._
Sec. 1. 1
Sec. 2.--_How through the confusion of the Tower of Babel
the world began to be inhabited_ 2
Sec. 5.--_Of the third part of the world called Europe, and
its boundaries_ 4
Sec. 7.--_How King Atlas first built the city of Fiesole_ 4
Sec. 8.--_How Atlas had three sons, Italus and Dardanus
and Sicanus_ 6
Sec. 9.--_How Italus and Dardanus came to agree which
should succeed to the city of Fiesole and the kingdom
of Italy_ 7
Sec. 10.--_How Dardanus came to Phrygia and built the city
of Dardania, which was afterwards the great Troy_ 8
Sec. 11.--_How Dardanus had a son which was named
Tritamus, which was the father of Trojus, after
whose name the city of Troy was so called_ 8
Sec. 17.--_How Antenor and the young Priam, having departed
from Troy, built the city of Venice, and that
of Padua | 1,992.673843 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: CAPTAIN COLES’S NEW IRON TURRET-SHIP-OF-WAR.]
KNOWLEDGE
FOR THE TIME:
A Manual
OF
READING, REFERENCE, AND CONVERSATION ON SUBJECTS OF LIVING
INTEREST, USEFUL CURIOSITY, AND AMUSING RESEARCH:
HISTORICO-POLITICAL INFORMATION.
PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION.
DIGNITIES AND DISTINCTIONS.
CHANGES IN LAWS.
MEASURE AND VALUE.
PROGRESS OF SCIENCE.
LIFE AND HEALTH.
RELIGIOUS THOUGHT.
Illustrated from the best and latest Authorities.
BY JOHN TIMBS, F.S.A.
AUTHOR OF CURIOSITIES OF LONDON, THINGS NOT GENERALLY KNOWN,
ETC.
_LONDON_:
Lockwood and Co., 7 Stationers’-hall Court.
MDCCCLXIV.
TO THE READER.
The great value of contemporary History--that is, history written
by actual witnesses of the events which they narrate,--is now
beginning to be appreciated by general readers. The improved
character of the journalism of the present day is the best evidence
of this advancement, which has been a work of no ordinary labour.
Truth is not of such easy acquisition as is generally supposed;
and the chances of obtaining unprejudiced accounts of events are
rarely improved by distance from the time at which they happen.
In proportion as freedom of thought is enlarged, and liberty of
conscience, and liberty of will, are increased, will be the amount
of trustworthiness in the written records of contemporaries. It is
the rarity of these high privileges in chroniclers of past events
which has led to so many obscurities in the world’s history, and
warpings in the judgment of its writers; to trust some of whom has
been compared to reading with “ spectacles.” And, one of
the features of our times is to be ever taking stock of the amount
of truth in past history; to set readers on the tenters of doubt,
and to make them suspicious of perversions; and to encourage a
whitewashing of black reputations which sometimes strays into an
extreme equally as unserviceable to truth as that from which the
writer started.
It is, however, with the view of correcting the Past by _the light
of the Present_, and directing attention to many salient points
of Knowledge for the Time, that the present volume is offered to
the public. Its aim may be considered great in proportion to the
limited means employed; but, to extend what is, in homely phrase,
termed a right understanding, the contents of the volume are of a
mixed character, the Author having due respect for the emphatic
words of Dr. Arnold: “Preserve proportion in your reading, keep
your views of Men and Things extensive, and _depend upon it a mixed
knowledge is not a superficial one_: as far as it goes, the views
that it gives are true; but he who reads deeply in one class of
writers only, gets views which are almost sure to be perverted, and
which are not only narrow but false.”
Throughout the Work, the Author has endeavoured to avail himself of
the most reliable views of leading writers on Events of the Day;
and by seizing new points of Knowledge and sources of Information,
to present, in a classified form, such an assemblage of Facts and
Opinions as may be impressed with warmth and quickness upon the
memory, and assist in the formation of a good general judgment, or
direct still further a-field.
In this Manual of abstracts, abridgments, and
summaries--considerably over Three Hundred in number--illustrations
by way of Anecdote occur in every page. Wordiness has been avoided
as unfitted for a book which has for its object not the waste but
the economy of time and thought, and the diffusion of concise
notions upon subjects of living Interest, useful Curiosity, and
amusing Research.
The accompanying Table of Contents will, at a single glance, show
the variety as well as the practical character of the subjects
illustrated; the aim being to render the work alike serviceable
to the reader of a journal of the day, as well as to the student
who reads to “reject what is no longer essential.” The Author has
endeavoured to keep pace with the progress of Information; and in
the selection of new accessions, some have been inserted more to
stimulate curiosity and promote investigation than as things to
be taken for granted. The best and latest Authorities have been
consulted, and the improved journalism of our time has been made
available; for, “when a river of gold is running by your door, why
not put out your hat, and take a dip?”[1]
The Author has already published several volumes of “Things not
generally Known,” which he is anxious to _supplement_ with the
present Manual of Knowledge for the Time.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Douglas Jerrold.
THE FRONTISPIECE.
CAPTAIN COLES’S IRON TURRET-SHIP-OF-WAR.
The precise and best mode of constructing Iron Ships-of-War, so
as to carry heavy guns, is an interesting problem, which Captain
Coles believes he has already satisfactorily solved in his Turret
ship, wherein he proposes to protect the guns by turrets. Captain
Coles offered to the Admiralty so long ago as 1855 to construct a
vessel on this principle, having a double bottom; light draught of
water, with the power of giving an increased immersion when under
fire; sharp at both ends; a formidable prow; her rudder and screw
protected by a projection of iron; the turret being hemispherical,
and not a turn-table, which was unnecessary, as this vessel was
designed for attacking stationary forts in the Black Sea.
Captain Coles contributed to the International Exhibition models of
his ship; admitting (he states) from 7 to 8 degrees depression. In
two this is obtained by the deck on each side of the turret sloping
at the necessary angle, to admit of the required depression; in
the other two it is obtained by the centre of the deck on which
the turret is surmounted being raised sufficiently to enable the
shot, when the gun is depressed, to pass clear of the outer edge
of the deck. A drawing published in 1860, of the midship section
from which these models were made, also gives a section of the
_Warrior_, by which it will be seen that supposing the guns of each
to be 10 feet out of water, and to have the usual depressions of
guns in the Navy (7 degrees), the _Warrior’s_ guns on the broadside
will throw the shot 19 feet further from the side than the shield
ship with her guns placed in the centre, that being the distance
of the latter from the edge of the ship: thus, with the same
depression, the shield ship will have a greater advantage, this
being an important merit of the invention, which Captain Coles
has already applied to the _Royal Sovereign_. The construction of
these turrets, the guns, and the turn-tables on which they are
placed, with the machinery to work them, is very interesting; but
its details would occupy more space than is at our command. (See
_Times_, Sept. 8, 1863.)
Captain Coles, in a communication to the _Times_, dated November
4, 1863, thus urges the application of the turret to sea-going
vessels, and quotes the opinion of the present Contractor of the
Navy on the advantages his (Captain Coles’) system must have over
the old one, in strength, height out of water, and stability, and
consequent adaptation for sea-going ships. The Captain states:
“I believe I have already shown that on my system of a revolving
turret, a heavier broadside can be thrown than from ships armed on
the broadside; but it possesses this further advantage, that my
turrets _can be adapted to the heaviest description of ordnance_;
indeed, no other plan has yet been put in practice, while it is
impossible to adapt the broadside ships to them, without the
enlargement of the ports, which would destructively weaken the
ships, and leave the guns’ crew exposed to rifles, grape-shot or
shells.” Captain Coles then quotes the armaments of the _Prince
Albert_ (now constructing at Millwall,) and the _Warrior_, and
shows that although the broadside of the _Prince Albert_ is
nominally reduced to 1120 lbs. (still in excess of the _Warrior’s_
if compared with tonnage); it still gives this great advantage,
that whereas late experiments have demonstrated that 4½-inch
plates can be made to resist 68-pounder and 110-pounder shot, they
have also shown that the 300-pounder smashes them when formed into
a “Warrior target” with the greatest ease. The _Prince Albert_,
therefore, can smash the _Warrior_, though the _Warrior_ carries
no gun that can injure her; nor can she, as a broadside ship, be
altered to carry heavier guns.
The Engraving represents Captain Coles’s Ship cleared for action,
and the bulwarks down.
CONTENTS.
I.--HISTORICO-POLITICAL INFORMATION, 1-56:
Politics not yet a Science,--The Philosopher and the Historian,
1.--Whig and Tory Ministries, 2.--Protectionists,--Rats, and
Ratting,--The Heir to the British Throne always in Opposition,
4.--Legitimacy and Government,--“The Fourth Estate,” 5.--Writing
for the Press,--Shorthand Writers, 7.--The Worth of Popular
Opinion, 8.--Machiavelism,--Free-speaking, 9.--Speakers of the
Houses of Parliament, 10.--The National Conscience, 11.--“The
Nation of Shopkeepers,” 12.--Results of Revolutions, 13.--Worth
of a Republic,--“Safe Men,” 14.--Church Preferment,--Peace
Statesmanship,--The Burial of Sir John Moore, 15.--The Ancestors
of Washington, 16.--The “Star-spangled Banner,”--Ancestry of
President Adams, 18.--The Irish Union, 19.--The House of Bonaparte,
20.--Invasion of England projected by Napoleon I., 21.--Fate of
the Duc d’Enghien, 24.--Last Moments of Mr. Pitt, 25.--What drove
George III. mad, 27.--Predictions of the Downfal of Napoleon
I., 29.--Wellington predicts the Peninsular Compaign, 30.--The
Battle of Waterloo, 31.--Wellington’s Defence of the Waterloo
Campaign, 32.--Lord Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna,
33.--The Cato-street Conspiracy, 34.--Money Panic of 1832, 36.--A
great Sufferer by Revolutions,--Origin of the Anti-Corn-Law
League, 37.--Wellington’s Military Administration, 38.--Gustavus
III. of Sweden, 39.--Fall of Louis Philippe, 40.--The Chartists
in 1848, 41.--Revival of the French Emperorship, 43.--French
Coup d’Etat Predictions,--Statesmanship of Lord Melbourne,
44.--Ungraceful Observance, 45.--The Partition of Poland, 46.--The
Invasion of England, 47.--What a Militia can do, 48.--Whiteboys,
49.--Naval Heroes,--How Russia is bound to Germany, 50.--Count
Cavour’s Estimate of Napoleon III., 51.--The Mutiny at the Nore,
52.--Catholic Emancipation and Sir Robert Peel,--The House of
Coburg, 53.--A few Years of the World’s Changes, 55.--Noteworthy
Pensions, 56.
II.--PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION, 57-84:
How the Earth was peopled, 57.--Revelations of Geology, 58.--The
Stone Age, 59.--What are Celtes? 60.--Roman Civilization of
Britain, 61.--Roman Roads and British Railways, 62.--Domestic
Life of the Saxons, 64.--Love of Freedom, 65.--The Despot
deceived,--True Source of Civilization, 66.--The Lowest
Civilization,--Why do we shake Hands? 67.--Various Modes of
Salutation, 68.--What is Comfort? 69.--What is Luxury?--What do
we know of Life? 70.--The truest Patriot the greatest Hero,--The
old Philosophers, 71.--Glory of the Past, 72.--Wild Oats,--How
Shyness spoils Enjoyment, 73.--“Custom, the Queen of the World,”
74.--Ancient Guilds and Modern Benefit Clubs,--The Oxford Man
and the Cambridge Man, 75.--“Great Events from Little Causes
spring,” 76.--Great Britain on the Map of the World, 80.--Ancient
and Modern London,--Potatoes the national food of the Irish,
81.--Irish-speaking Population,--Our Colonial Empire, 82.--The
English People, 84.
III.--DIGNITIES AND DISTINCTIONS, 85-102:
Worth of Heraldry, 85.--Heralds’ College, 86.--The Shamrock,--Irish
Titles of Honour, 87.--The Scotch Thistle, 88.--King and Queen,
89.--Title of Majesty, and the Royal “We,” 90.--“Dieu et Mon
Droit,”--Plume and Motto of the Prince of Wales, 91.--Victoria,
92.--English Crowns,--The Imperial State Crown, 93.--Queen’s
Messengers,--Presents and Letters to the Queen, 95.--The Prince
of Waterloo,--The See of London, 96.--Expense of Baronetcy
and Knighthood, 97.--The Aristocracy, 98.--Precedence in
Parliament,--Sale of Seats in Parliament,--Placemen in Parliament,
99.--New Peers,--The Russells,--Political Cunning, 100.--The
Union-Jack,--Field-Marshal, 101.--Change of Surname, 102.
IV.--CHANGES IN LAWS, 104-144:
The Statute Law and the Common Law, 104.--Curiosities of the
Statute Law, 105.--Secret of Success at the Bar,--Queen’s
Serjeants, Queen’s Counsel, and Serjeants-at-Law, 107.--Do not
make your Son an Attorney,--Appellate Jurisdiction of the House
of Lords, 108.--Payment of an advocate,--Utter-Barristers,
109.--What was Special Pleading?--What is Evidence? 110.--What is
Trial?--Trial by Jury, 111.--Attendance of Jurors,--The Law of
Libel, 113.--Induction of a Rector, 115.--Benefit of Clergy,--The
King’s Book, 116.--Compulsory Attendance at Church, 117.--The
Mark of the Cross,--Marriage-Law of England, 118.--Marriage
Fines, 119.--Irregular Marriages, 120.--Solemnization of
Marriage, 123.--The Law of Copyright, 124.--Holding over
after Lease,--Abolition of the Hop Duty, 125.--Customs of
Gavelkind,--Treasure Trove, 126.--Principal and Agent,--Legal
Hints, 129.--Vitiating a Sale, 130.--Law of Gardens,--Giving a
Servant a Character, 131.--Deodands, 132.--Arrest of the Body
after Death,--The Duty of making a Will, 133.--Don’t make your own
Will, 134.--Bridewell, 135.--Cockfighting, 136.--Ignorance and
Irresponsibility,--Ticket-of-Leave Men, 137.--Cupar and Jedburgh
Justice,--What is to be done with our Convicts, 138.--The Game
Laws,--The Pillory, 139.--Death-Warrants,--Pardons, 140.--Origin
of the Judge’s Black Cap,--The Last English Gibbet, 141.--Public
Executions, 142.
V.--MEASURE AND VALUE, 146-169:
Numbers descriptive of Distance,--Precocious Mental Calculation,
146.--The Roman Foot, 147.--The Peruvian Quipus, 148.--Distances
measured,--Uniformity of Weights and Measures, 149.--Trinity
High-water Mark,--Origin of Rent, 150.--Curiosities of the
Exchequer, 151.--What becomes of the Public Revenue, 153.--Queen
Anne’s Bounty, 154.--Ecclesiastical Fees,--Burying Gold and Silver,
155.--Results of Gold-seeking, 157.--What becomes of the Precious
Metals? 158.--Tribute-money, 159.--The First Lottery,--Coinage of a
Sovereign, 160.--Wear and Tear of the Coinage,--Counterfeit Coin,
161.--Standard Gold,--Interest of Money, 162.--Interest of Money in
India,--Origin of Insurance, 163.--Stockbrokers, 164.--Tampering
with Public Credit,--Over-speculation, 165.--Value of Horses,--Friendly
Societies, 166.--Wages heightened by Improvement in Machinery,
167.--Giving Employment,--Never sign an Accommodation Bill, 168.--A
Year’s Wills, 169.
VI.--PROGRESS OF SCIENCE, 171-232:
What human Science has accomplished,--Changes in Social
Science, 171.--Discoverers not Inventors, 172.--Science of
Roger Bacon, 173.--The One Science, 174.--Sun-force, 175.--“The
Seeds of Invention,” 176.--The Object of Patents,--Theory and
Practice,--Watt and Telford, 177.--Practical Science,--Mechanical
Arts, 178.--Force of Running Water,--Correlation of Physical
Forces,--Oil on Waves, 180.--Spontaneous Generation,--Guano,--What
is Perspective? 181.--The Stereoscope,--Burning Lenses, 182.--How
to wear Spectacles,--Vicissitudes of Mining, 183.--Uses of
Mineralogy, 185.--Our Coal Resources,--The Deepest Mine, 186.--Iron
as a Building Material, 189.--Concrete, not new,--Sheathing
Ships with Copper, 190.--Copper Smelting,--Antiquity of
Brass,--Brilliancy of the Diamond, 191.--Philosophy of
Gunpowder,--New Pear-flavouring, 192.--Methylated Spirit,
193.--What is Phosphate of Lime?--What is Wood?--How long will
Wood last? 194.--The Safety Match, 195.--Pottery,--Wedgwood,
196.--Imposing Mechanical Effects, 197--Horse-power,--The First
Practical Steam-boat, 198.--Effect of Heavy Seas upon Large
Vessels, 199.--The Railway,--Accidents on Railways, 200.--Railways
and Invasions, 202.--What the English owe to naturalized
Foreigners, 203.--Geological Growth, 204.--The Earth and Man
compared,--Why the Earth is presumed to be Solid,--“Implements in
the Drift,” 205.--The Centre of the Earth, 206.--The Cooling of the
Earth, 207.--Identity of Heat and Motion, 208--Universal Source of
Heat, 209.--Inequalities of the Earth’s Surface, 210.--Chemistry
of the Sea, 212.--The Sea: its Perils, 213.--Limitations of
Astronomy, 214.--Distance of the Earth from the Sun, 215.--Blue
Colour of the Sky, 216.--Beauty of the Sky, 217.--High Temperatures
in Balloon Ascents,--Value of Meteorological Observations,
Telegraph, and Forecasts, 218.--Weather Signs, 220.--Barometer
for Farmers, 222.--Icebergs and the Weather, 223.--St. Swithun:
his true History, 224.--Rainfall in London, 225.--The Force of
Lightning, 226.--Effect of Moonlight,--Contemporary Inventions and
Discoveries, 227.--The Bayonet, 228.--Loot,--Telegram,--Archæology
and Manufactures, 229.--Good Art should be Cheap, 230.--Imitative
Jewellery, 231.--French Enamel, 232.
VII.--LIFE AND HEALTH, 233-266:
Periods and Conditions of Life,--Age of the People, 233.--The
Human Heart,--The Sense of Hearing, 234.--Care of the Teeth,--On
Blindness, 235.--Sleeping and Dreaming, 236.--Position in
Sleeping,--Hair suddenly changing Colour, 237.--Consumption
not hopeless, 238.--Change of Climate,--Perfumes, 239.--Cure
for Yellow Fever,--Nature’s Ventilation, 240.--Artificial
Ventilation,--Worth of Fresh Air, 241.--Town and Country,
243.--Recreations of the People,--The Druids and their Healing Art,
244.--Remedies for Cancer, 245.--Improved Surgery,--Restoration
of a Fractured Leg, 246.--The Original “Dr. Sangrado,”--False
Arts advancing true, 247.--Brief History of Medicine, 248.--What
has Science done for Medicine? 249.--Element of Physic in Medical
Practice, 250.--Physicians’ Fees,--Prevention of Pitting in
Small-pox, 251.--Underneath the Skin, 252.--Relations of Mind
and Organization, 253.--Deville, the Phrenologist, 254.--“Seeing
is believing,” 255.--Causes of Insanity, 256.--Brain-Disease,
257.--The Half-mad, 258.--Motives for Suicide,--Remedy for
Poisoning, 259.--New Remedy for Wounds,--Compensation for
Wounds,--The Best Physician, 260.--The Uncertainty of Human Life,
262.
VIII.--RELIGIOUS THOUGHT, 266-286:
Moveable Feasts,--Christmas, 266.--Doubt about Religion, 267.--Our
Age of Doubt, 270.--A Hint to Sceptics,--What is Egyptology?
271.--Jerusalem and Nimroud, 272.--What is Rationalism? 273.--What
is Theology? 274.--Religious Forebodings, 275.--Folly of
Atheism,--The First Congregational Church in England, 276.--Innate
Ideas, and Pre-existence of Souls, 277.--Sabbath of Professional
Men, 278.--“In the Beginning,” 279.--The last Religious Martyrs in
England,--Liberty of Conscience, 281.--Awful Judgments,--Christian
Education,--The Book of Psalms, 283.--The Book of Job, 285.
APPENDIX.
Great Precedence Question 287
KNOWLEDGE FOR THE TIME.
Historico-Political Information.
_Politics not yet a Science._
Mr. Buckle, in his thoughtful _History of Civilization_, remarks:
“In the present state of knowledge, Politics, so far from being
a science, is one of the most backward of all the arts; and the
only safe course for the legislator is to look upon his craft as
consisting in the adaptation of temporary contrivances to temporary
emergencies. His business is to follow the age, and not at all to
attempt to lead it. He should be satisfied with studying what is
passing around him, and should modify his schemes, not according
to the notions he has inherited from his fathers, but according
to the actual exigencies of his own time. For he may rely upon it
that the movements of society have now become so rapid that the
wants of one generation are no measure of the wants of another;
and that men, urged by a sense of their own progress, are growing
weary of idle talk about the wisdom of their ancestors, and are
fast discarding those trite and sleepy maxims which have hitherto
imposed upon them, but by which they will not consent to be much
longer troubled.”
_The Philosopher and the Historian._
“I have read somewhere or other,” says Lord Bolingbroke, “in
Dionysius Halicarnassus, I think, that History is Philosophy
teaching by Example.”
Walter Savage Landor has thus distinguished the respective labours
of the Philosopher and the Historian. “There are,” Mr. Landor
writes, “quiet hours and places in which a taper may be carried
steadily, and show the way along the ground; but you must stand a
tip-toe and raise a blazing torch above your head, if you would
bring to our vision the obscure and time-worn figures depicted on
the lofty vaults of antiquity. The philosopher shows everything in
one clear light; the historian loves strong reflections and deep
shadows, but, above all, prominent and moving characters.”
In writing of the Past, it behoves us to bear in mind, that while
actions are always to be judged by the immutable standard of right
and wrong, the judgment which we pass upon men must be qualified
by considerations of age, country, situation, and other incidental
circumstances; and it will then be found, that he who is most
charitable in his judgment, is generally the least unjust.
It is curious to find one of the silken barons of civilization and
refinement, writing as follows. The polite Earl of Chesterfield
says: “I am provoked at the contempt which most historians show for
humanity in general: one would think by them that the whole human
species consisted but of about a hundred and fifty people, called
and dignified (commonly very undeservedly too) by the titles of
emperors, kings, popes, generals, and ministers.”
Sir Humphry Davy has written thus plainly in the same vein:
“In the common history of the world, as compiled by authors in
general, almost all the great changes of nations are confounded
with changes in their dynasties; and events are usually referred
either to sovereigns, chiefs, heroes, or their armies, which
do, in fact, originate entirely from different causes, either
of an intellectual or moral nature. Governments depend far more
than is generally supposed upon the opinion of the people and
the spirit of the age and nation. It sometimes happens that a
gigantic mind possesses supreme power, and rises superior to the
age in which he is born: such was Alfred in England, and Peter in
Russia. Such instances are, however, very rare; and in general it
is neither amongst sovereigns nor the higher classes of society
that the great improvers and benefactors of mankind are to be
found.”--_Consolations in Travel_, pp. 34, 35.
_Whig and Tory Ministries._
The domestic history of England during the reign of Anne, is that
of the great struggles between Whig and Tory; and Earl Stanhope,
in his _History of England_, thus points out a number of precisely
parallel lines of policy, and instances of unscrupulous resort to
the same censurable set of weapons of party warfare, in the Tories
of the reign of Queen Anne and the Whigs of the reign of William
IV.
“At that period the two great contending parties were
distinguished, as at present, by the nicknames of Whig and
Tory. But it is very remarkable that in Queen Anne’s reign the
relative meaning of these terms was not only different but
opposite to that which they bore at the accession of William
IV. In theory, indeed, the main principle of each continues
the same. The leading principle of the Tories is the dread of
popular licentiousness. The leading principle of the Whigs is the
dread of royal encroachment. It may thence, perhaps, be deduced
that good and wise men would attach themselves either to the
Whig or to the Tory party, according as there seemed to be the
greater danger at that particular period from despotism or from
democracy. The same person who would have been a Whig in 1712
would have been a Tory in 1830. For, on examination, it will be
found that, in nearly all particulars, a modern Tory resembles a
Whig of Queen Anne’s reign, and a Tory of Queen Anne’s reign a
modern Whig.
“First, as to the Tories. The Tories of Queen Anne’s reign
pursued a most unceasing opposition to a just and glorious war
against France. They treated the great General of the age as
their peculiar adversary. To our recent enemies, the French,
their policy was supple and crouching. They had an indifference,
or even an aversion, to our old allies the Dutch. They had a
political leaning towards the Roman Catholics at home. They were
supported by the Roman Catholics in their elections. They had a
love of triennial parliaments in preference to septennial. They
attempted to abolish the protecting duties and restrictions of
commerce. They wished to favour our trade with France at the
expense of our trade with Portugal. They were supported by a
faction whose war-cry was ‘Repeal of the Union,’ in a sister
kingdom. To serve a temporary purpose in the House of Lords, they
had recourse (for the first time in our annals) to a large and
overwhelming creation of peers. Like the Whigs in May, 1831, they
chose the moment of the highest popular passion and excitement to
dissolve the House of Commons, hoping to avail themselves of a
short-lived cry for the purpose of permanent delusion. The Whigs
of Queen Anne’s time, on the other hand, supported that splendid
war which led to such victories as Ramillies and Blenheim. They
had for a leader the great man who gained those victories.
They advocated the old principles of trade. They prolonged the
duration of parliaments. They took their stand on the principles
of the Revolution of 1688. They raised the cry of ‘No Popery.’
They loudly inveighed against the subserviency to France, the
desertion of our old allies, the outrage wrought upon the peers,
the deceptions practised upon the sovereign, and the other
measures of the Tory administration.
“Such were the Tories and such were the Whigs of Queen Anne.
Can it be doubted that, at the accession of William IV., Harley
and St. John would have been called Whigs; Somers and Stanhope,
Tories? Would not the October Club have loudly cheered the
measures of Lord Grey, and the Kit-Cat find itself renewed in the
Carlton?”
The defence of the Whigs against these imputations seems to
be founded upon the famous Jesuitical principle, that the end
justifies the means. They do not deny the facts, but they assert,
that while the Tories of 1713 resorted to such modes of furthering
the interests of arbitrary power, they have employed them in
advancing the progress and securing the ascendancy of the democracy.
_Protectionists._
This name was given to that section of the Conservative party
which opposed the repeal of the Corn-laws, and which separated
from Sir Robert Peel in 1846. A “Society for the _Protection_
of Agriculture,” and to counteract the efforts of the Anti-Corn
Law League, gave the name to the party. Lord George Bentinck was
their leader from 1846 till his death on September 21, 1848. The
administration under Lord Derby not proposing the restoration of
the corn-laws, this society was dissolved February 7, 1853.
_Rats, and Ratting._
James, in his _Military Dictionary_, 1816, states:--
“Rats are sometimes used in military operations, particularly for
setting fire to magazines of gunpowder. On these occasions, a
lighted match is tied to the tail of the animal. Marshal Vauban
recommends, therefore, that the walls of powder-magazines should
be made very thick, and the passages for light and wind so narrow
as not to admit them (the rats).”
The expression _to rat_ is a figurative term applied to those who
at the moment of a division desert or abandon any particular party
or side of a question. The term itself comes from the well-known
circumstance of rats running away from decayed or falling
buildings.--_Notes and Queries_, 2 S., No. 68.
_The Heir to the British Throne always in Opposition._
Horace Walpole somewhere remarks, as a peculiarity in the history
of the _Hanover family_, that the heir-apparent has always been
in opposition to the reigning monarch. The fact is true enough;
but it is not a peculiarity in the House of Hanover. It is an
infirmity of human nature, to be | 1,992.674861 |
2023-11-16 18:50:16.7569680 | 1,240 | 58 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, eagkw and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: Mrs. Margaret Fox]
THE MISSING LINK
IN
MODERN SPIRITUALISM.
BY
A. LEAH UNDERHILL,
OF THE FOX FAMILY.
_REVISED AND ARRANGED BY A LITERARY FRIEND._
NEW YORK:
THOMAS R. KNOX & CO.,
(SUCCESSORS TO JAMES MILLER,)
813 BROADWAY.
1885.
COPYRIGHT, 1885, BY
A. LEAH UNDERHILL.
TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
Dedication.
TO MY HUSBAND,
DANIEL UNDERHILL,
WHO,
BEFORE I HAD OTHER CLAIMS THAN THOSE OF TRUTH AND RIGHT,
NOBLY SUSTAINED ME WHEN OLDER FRIENDS WAVERED,
THIS NARRATIVE IS DEDICATED,
NOT LESS GRATEFULLY THAN LOVINGLY.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
The author of this volume, having written it from time to time, from
her recollections and documentary materials, which include bushels of
letters--but unwilling to commit it to the press in the disjointed
condition which was a natural consequence of her own want of much
practice of the pen--did me the honor of requesting my aid in revising
and arranging it for publication. Her honesty and sincerity of character
have caused her to insist upon a preface to that effect. Though deeming
this a superfluous scruple on her part, I am induced to comply with her
wish for a different reason; and that is, the opportunity it affords of
bearing my testimony to the remarkable accuracy of her memory and of her
truthfulness, as those qualities have proved themselves throughout the
intimate intercourse of many weeks, during which she has often had to
repeat the same recollections of facts and incidents, under what was
almost legal cross-examination, without ever the slightest variation in
their details, and without ever allowing anything to pass which might
be in the least degree tainted with inaccuracy or mistake. As she is so
well known to so many friends, it is superfluous for me to express on
this page, which will meet her eye for the first time in print, the
high and affectionate esteem and respect with which that intimate
intercourse, with all its opportunities for observation and judgment,
have inspired the
EDITOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I.
HYDESVILLE 5
"Mysterious Noises" heard in the House of John D. Fox, in
Hydesville (Town of Arcadia), near Newark, Wayne County,
N. Y.--Statements of Witnesses.
CHAPTER II.
HYDESVILLE (_Continued_) 20
The Last Digging in the Cellar--Mob Antagonism--Noble
Friends--Experiences and Theories--Antecedents of the
House--Franklin.
CHAPTER III.
ROCHESTER 30
My First Knowledge of the Matter--Hasten to Hydesville--Rapping
on a Canal Boat--Experiences--Mother Comes to Rochester--Calvin
Brown--Devious Route of Projectiles Up-stairs from Cellar to
Garret--A Death-knell Sounded all Night on the Keys of a Locked
Piano.
CHAPTER IV.
ROCHESTER (_Continued_) 47
Ventriloquism--"Proclaim these Truths to the World"--The Call
for the Alphabet--Voices in Raps--God's Telegraph between
the two Worlds--An Eviction--Committee of Five--No Money
Accepted--Improper Questions to Spirits--"Done"--Struggle
against the "Uncanny Thing"--Benjamin Franklin.
CHAPTER V.
ROCHESTER (_Continued_), November, 1848 57
Light Articles made Immovable--The Coffins--Adieu of the
Spirits--Their Return--First Steps toward Public
Investigation--"Hire Corinthian Hall"--First Committee of
Investigation--Second--Third or "Infidel" Committee--Behavior
of a Great Dining-table--The Tar and Torpedo Mob.
CHAPTER VI.
MEDIUMISTIC VEIN IN OUR FAMILY 74
Some Family Antecedents--Our Great-grandmother--Phantom
Prophetic Funerals--Vision of a Tombstone Nine Years in
Advance, etc.
CHAPTER VII.
MEDIUMISTIC VEIN IN OUR FAMILY (_Continued_) 89
Marvellous Writing by a Baby Medium.
CHAPTER VIII.
ROCHESTER (_Continued_) 100
"Repeat the Lord's Prayer"--First Money Accepted--Muscular
Quakerism--Letter from George Willets--Letter from John E.
Robinson--Caution against Consultation of Spirits about
Worldly Interests.
CHAPTER IX.
ALBANY AND TROY. 1850 115
Excursion to Albany--Delavan House and Van Vechten
Hall--Rev. Dr. Staats and the Judges--High Class of
Minds Interested--President Eliphalet Nott--Pecuniary
Arrangements--Excursion to Troy--Trojan Ladies--Mob Attempts
on Life of Margaretta.
CHAPTER X.
NEW YORK. 1850 128
"The Rochester Knockings at Barnum's Hotel"--Hard Work | 1,992.777008 |
2023-11-16 18:50:16.8532130 | 912 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE MUTABLE MANY
A Novel
By Robert Barr
Second Edition
“For the imitable, rank-scented many, let them
Regard me as I do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves?
--CORIOLANUS.
London: Frederick A. Stokes Company
1896
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
He that trusts you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is,
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him
And curse that justice did it.
Who deserves greatness,
Deserves your hate: and your affections are
A sick man’s appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes.. Hang ye!
Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind;
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile, that was now your garland.”
Coriolanus.
THE MUTABLE MANY
CHAPTER I.
The office of Monkton & Hope’s great factory hung between heaven and
earth, and, at the particular moment John Sartwell, manager, stood
looking out of the window towards the gates, heaven consisted of a
brooding London fog suspended a hundred feet above the town, hesitating
to fall, while earth was represented by a sticky black-cindered
factory-yard bearing the imprint of many a hundred boots. The office was
built between the two huge buildings known as the “Works.” The situation
of the office had evidently been an after-thought--it was of wood, while
the two great buildings which it joined together as if they were
Siamese twins of industry, were of brick. Although no architect had ever
foreseen the erection of such a structure between the two buildings,
yet necessity, the mother of invention, had given birth to what Sartwell
always claimed was the most conveniently situated office in London.
More and more room had been acquired in the big buildings as business
increased, and the office--the soul of the whole thing--had, as it were,
to take up a position outside its body.
The addition, then, hung over the roadway that passed between the two
buildings; it commanded a view of both front and back yards, and had,
therefore, more light and air than the office Sartwell had formerly
occupied in the left-hand building. The unique situation caused it to
be free from the vibration of the machinery to a large extent, and as
a door led into each building, the office had easy access to both.
Sartwell was very proud of these rooms and their position, for he had
planned them, and had thus given the firm much additional space, with
no more ground occupied than had been occupied before--a most desirable
feat to perform in a crowded city like London.
Two rooms at the back were set apart for the two members of the firm,
while Sartwell’s office in the front was three times the size of either
of these rooms and extended across the whole space between the two
buildings. This was as it should be; for Sartwell did three times the
amount; of work the owners of the business accomplished and, if it came
to that, had three times the brain power of the two members of the firm
combined, who were there simply because they were the sons of their
fathers. The founders of the firm had with hard work and shrewd
management established the large manufactory whose present prosperity
was due to Sartwell and not to the two men whose names were known to the
public as the heads of the business.
Monkton and Hope were timid, cautious, somewhat irresolute men, as
capitalists should be all the world over. They had unbounded confidence
in their manager, and generally shifted any grave responsibility or
unpleasant decision to his shoulders, which bore the burdens placed upon
them | 1,992.873253 |
2023-11-16 18:50:17.2607720 | 25 | 7 |
Produced by Curtis Weyant, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at | 1,993.280812 |
2023-11-16 18:50:17.2609460 | 3,016 | 11 |
Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
[Illustration: "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat my bloater, mother?"]
FINE FEATHERS
Mr. Jobson awoke with a Sundayish feeling, probably due to the fact that
it was Bank Holiday. He had been aware, in a dim fashion, of the rising
of Mrs. Jobson some time before, and in a semi-conscious condition had
taken over a large slice of unoccupied territory. He stretched himself
and yawned, and then, by an effort of will, threw off the clothes and
springing out of bed reached for his trousers.
He was an orderly man, and had hung them every night for over twenty
years on the brass knob on his side of the bed. He had hung them there
the night before, and now they had absconded with a pair of red braces
just entering their teens. Instead, on a chair at the foot of the bed
was a collection of garments that made him shudder. With trembling
fingers he turned over a black tailcoat, a white waistcoat, and a pair of
light check trousers. A white shirt, a collar, and tie kept them
company, and, greatest outrage of all, a tall silk hat stood on its own
band-box beside the chair. Mr. Jobson, fingering his bristly chin,
stood: regarding the collection with a wan smile.
"So that's their little game, is it?" he muttered. "Want to make a toff
of me. Where's my clothes got to, I wonder?"
A hasty search satisfied him that they were not in the room, and, pausing
only to drape himself in the counterpane, he made his way into the next.
He passed on to the others, and then, with a growing sense of alarm,
stole softly downstairs and making his way to the shop continued the
search. With the shutters up the place was almost in darkness, and in
spite of his utmost care apples and potatoes rolled on to the floor and
travelled across it in a succession of bumps. Then a sudden turn brought
the scales clattering down.
"Good gracious, Alf!" said a voice. "Whatever are you a-doing of?"
Mr. Jobson turned and eyed his wife, who was standing at the door.
"I'm looking for my clothes, mother," he replied, briefly.
"Clothes!" said Mrs. Jobson, with an obvious attempt at unconcerned
speech. "Clothes! Why, they're on the chair."
"I mean clothes fit for a Christian to wear--fit for a greengrocer to
wear," said Mr. Jobson, raising his voice.
"It was a little surprise for you, dear," said his wife. "Me and Bert
and Gladys and Dorothy 'ave all been saving up for it for ever so long."
"It's very kind of you all," said Mr. Jobson, feebly--"very, but--"
"They've all been doing without things themselves to do it," interjected
his wife. "As for Gladys, I'm sure nobody knows what she's given up."
"Well, if nobody knows, it don't matter," said Mr. Jobson. "As I was
saying, it's very kind of you all, but I can't wear 'em. Where's my
others?"
Mrs. Jobson hesitated.
"Where's my others?" repeated her husband.
"They're being took care of," replied his wife, with spirit. "Aunt
Emma's minding 'em for you--and you know what she is. H'sh! Alf! Alf!
I'm surprised at you!"
Mr. Jobson coughed. "It's the collar, mother," he said at last. "I
ain't wore a collar for over twenty years; not since we was walking out
together. And then I didn't like it."
"More shame for you," said his wife. "I'm sure there's no other
respectable tradesman goes about with a handkerchief knotted round his
neck."
"P'r'aps their skins ain't as tender as what mine is," urged Mr. Jobson;
"and besides, fancy me in a top-'at! Why, I shall be the laughing-stock
of the place."
"Nonsense!" said his wife. "It's only the lower classes what would
laugh, and nobody minds what they think."
Mr. Jobson sighed. "Well, I shall 'ave to go back to bed again, then,"
he said, ruefully. "So long, mother. Hope you have a pleasant time at
the Palace."
He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity,
considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomily
considering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy had
been big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of the
neighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped through
the window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then looked back at
the tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs apprised him that the
conspirators were awaiting the result.
He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb--
while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him.
"Bert wanted to get a taller one," she remarked, "but I said this would
do to begin with."
"Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose," said the unfortunate Mr.
Jobson. "Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What with
the trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw one
in front of me."
"If you see one I'll pick it up for you," said his wife, taking up the
hat and moving towards the door. "Come along!"
Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and his
head painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as he
entered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance.
It was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to his
head.
"Why he couldn't have done it before I don't know," said the dutiful
Gladys. "Why, there ain't a man in the street looks a quarter as smart."
"Fits him like a glove!" said Dorothy, walking round him.
"Just the right length," said Bert, scrutinizing the coat.
"And he stands as straight as a soldier," said Gladys, clasping her hands
gleefully.
"Collar," said Mr. Jobson, briefly. "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat
my bloater, mother?"
"Don't be silly, Alf," said his wife. "Gladys, pour your father out a
nice, strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts at
ha' past ten."
"It'll start all right when it sees me," observed Mr. Jobson, squinting
down at his trousers.
Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme, laughed
applause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of his retort,
sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe, smoked as a
digestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the moment he had
finished it.
"He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't," she declared.
"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."
"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.
"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.
"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.
"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully.
"It's no good; I must smoke, mother."
Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile of
triumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr.
Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully.
"What do they call 'em, mother?" he inquired. "The 'Cut and Try Again
Smokes'?"
Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. "Me and the girls are going upstairs to get
ready now," she said. "Keep your eye on him, Bert!"
Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigar
apiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirts
sounded from the stairs, and Mrs. Jobson and the girls, beautifully
attired, entered the room and stood buttoning their gloves. A strong
smell of scent fought with the aroma of the cigars.
"You get round me like, so as to hide me a bit," entreated Mr. Jobson, as
they quitted the house. "I don't mind so much when we get out of our
street."
Mrs. Jobson laughed his fears to scorn.
"Well, cross the road, then," said Mr. Jobson, urgently. "There's Bill
Foley standing at his door."
His wife sniffed. "Let him stand," she said, haughtily.
Mr. Foley failed to avail himself of the permission. He regarded Mr.
Jobson with dilated eyeballs, and, as the party approached, sank slowly
into a sitting position on his doorstep, and as the door opened behind
him rolled slowly over onto his back and presented an enormous pair of
hobnailed soles to the gaze of an interested world.
"I told you 'ow it would be," said the blushing Mr. Jobson. "You know
what Bill's like as well as I do."
His wife tossed her head and they all quickened their pace. The voice of
the ingenious Mr. Foley calling piteously for his mother pursued them to
the end of the road.
"I knew what it 'ud be," said Mr. Jobson, wiping his hot face. "Bill
will never let me 'ear the end of this."
"Nonsense!" said his wife, bridling. "Do you mean to tell me you've got
to ask Bill Foley 'ow you're to dress? He'll soon get tired of it; and,
besides, it's just as well to let him see who you are. There's not many
tradesmen as would lower themselves by mixing with a plasterer."
Mr. Jobson scratched his ear, but wisely refrained from speech. Once
clear of his own district mental agitation subsided, but bodily
discomfort increased at every step. The hat and the collar bothered him
most, but every article of attire contributed its share. His uneasiness
was so manifest that Mrs. Jobson, after a little womanly sympathy,
suggested that, besides Sundays, it might be as well to wear them
occasionally of an evening in order to get used to them.
"What, 'ave I got to wear them every Sunday?" demanded the unfortunate,
blankly; "why, I thought they was only for Bank Holidays."
Mrs. Jobson told him not to be silly.
"Straight, I did," said her husband, earnestly. "You've no idea 'ow I'm
suffering; I've got a headache, I'm arf choked, and there's a feeling
about my waist as though I'm being cuddled by somebody I don't like."
Mrs. Jobson said it would soon wear off and, seated in the train that
bore them to the Crystal Palace, put the hat on the rack. Her husband's
attempt to leave it in the train was easily frustrated and his
explanation that he had forgotten all about it received in silence. It
was evident that he would require watching, and under the clear gaze of
his children he seldom had a button undone for more than three minutes at
a time.
The day was hot and he perspired profusely. His collar lost its starch--
a thing to be grateful for--and for the greater part of the day he wore
his tie under the left ear. By the time they had arrived home again he
was in a state of open mutiny.
"Never again," he said, loudly, as he tore the collar off and hung his
coat on a chair.
There was a chorus of lamentation; but he remained firm. Dorothy began
to sniff ominously, and Gladys spoke longingly of the fathers possessed
by other girls. It was not until Mrs. Jobson sat eyeing her supper,
instead of eating it, that he began to temporize. He gave way bit by
bit, garment by garment. When he gave way at last on the great hat
question, his wife took up her knife and fork.
His workaday clothes appeared in his bedroom next morning, but the others
still remained in the clutches of Aunt Emma. The suit provided was of
considerable antiquity, and at closing time, Mr. Jobson, after some
hesitation, donned his new clothes and with a sheepish glance at his wife
went out; Mrs. Jobson nodded delight at her daughters.
"He's coming round," she whispered. "He liked that ticket-collector
calling him'sir' yesterday. I noticed it. He's put on everything but
the topper. Don't say nothing about it; take it as a matter of course."
It became evident as the days wore on that she was right... Bit by bit
she obtained the other clothes--with some difficulty--from Aunt Emma, but
her husband still wore his best on Sundays and sometimes of an evening;
and twice, on going into the bedroom suddenly, she had caught him
surveying himself at different angles in the glass.
And, moreover | 1,993.280986 |
2023-11-16 18:50:17.3560730 | 7,435 | 20 | ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
********************The Tragedie of Coriolanus******************
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The Tragedie of Coriolanus
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Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Coriolanus
Executive Director's Notes:
In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all
the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have
been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they
are presented herein:
Barnardo. Who's there?
Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe
Bar. Long liue the King
***
As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words
or letters they had often packed into a "cliche"...this is the
original meaning of the term cliche...and thus, being unwilling
to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions
that look very odd...such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,
above...and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming
Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner....
The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a
time when they were out of "v"'s...possibly having used "vv" in
place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day,
as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend
more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.
You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I
have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an
extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a
very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an
assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University
in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the
purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available
...in great detail...and determined from the various changes,
that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a
variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous
for signing his name with several different spellings.
So, please take this into account when reading the comments below
made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors
that are "not" errors....
So...with this caveat...we have NOT changed the canon errors,
here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Coriolanus.
Michael S. Hart
Project Gutenberg
Executive Director
***
Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken from
a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can
come in ASCII to the printed text.
The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the
conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling,
punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the
printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put
together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the
Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified
spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded
abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within
brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that
you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a
purer Shakespeare.
Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual
differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may
be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between
this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's
habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and
then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then
continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but
incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is.
The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different
First Folio editions' best pages.
If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation
errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel
free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best
etext possible. My email address for right now are [email protected]
and [email protected]. I hope that you enjoy this.
David Reed
The Tragedie of Coriolanus
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter a Company of Mutinous Citizens, with Staues, Clubs, and
other
weapons.
1. Citizen. Before we proceed any further, heare me speake
All. Speake, speake
1.Cit. You are all resolu'd rather to dy then
to famish?
All. Resolu'd, resolu'd
1.Cit. First you know, Caius Martius is chiefe enemy
to the people
All. We know't, we know't
1.Cit. Let vs kill him, and wee'l haue Corne at our own
price. Is't a Verdict?
All. No more talking on't; Let it be done, away, away
2.Cit. One word, good Citizens
1.Cit. We are accounted poore Citizens, the Patricians
good: what Authority surfets one, would releeue
vs. If they would yeelde vs but the superfluitie while it
were wholsome, wee might guesse they releeued vs humanely:
But they thinke we are too deere, the leannesse
that afflicts vs, the obiect of our misery, is as an inuentory
to particularize their abundance, our sufferance is a
gaine to them. Let vs reuenge this with our Pikes, ere
we become Rakes. For the Gods know, I speake this in
hunger for Bread, not in thirst for Reuenge
2.Cit. Would you proceede especially against Caius
Martius
All. Against him first: He's a very dog to the Commonalty
2.Cit. Consider you what Seruices he ha's done for his
Country?
1.Cit. Very well, and could bee content to giue him
good report for't, but that hee payes himselfe with beeing
proud
All. Nay, but speak not maliciously
1.Cit. I say vnto you, what he hath done Famouslie,
he did it to that end: though soft conscienc'd men can be
content to say it was for his Countrey, he did it to please
his Mother, and to be partly proud, which he is, euen to
the altitude of his vertue
2.Cit. What he cannot helpe in his Nature, you account
a Vice in him: You must in no way say he is couetous
1.Cit. If I must not, I neede not be barren of Accusations
he hath faults (with surplus) to tyre in repetition.
Showts within.
What showts are these? The other side a'th City is risen:
why stay we prating heere? To th' Capitoll
All. Come, come
1 Cit. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Menenius Agrippa.
2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath alwayes
lou'd the people
1 Cit. He's one honest enough, wold al the rest wer so
Men. What work's my Countrimen in hand?
Where go you with Bats and Clubs? The matter
Speake I pray you
2 Cit. Our busines is not vnknowne to th' Senat, they
haue had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, w
now wee'l shew em in deeds: they say poore Suters haue
strong breaths, they shal know we haue strong arms too
Menen. Why Masters, my good Friends, mine honest
Neighbours, will you vndo your selues?
2 Cit. We cannot Sir, we are vndone already
Men. I tell you Friends, most charitable care
Haue the Patricians of you for your wants.
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the Heauen with your staues, as lift them
Against the Roman State, whose course will on
The way it takes: cracking ten thousand Curbes
Of more strong linke assunder, then can euer
Appeare in your impediment. For the Dearth,
The Gods, not the Patricians make it, and
Your knees to them (not armes) must helpe. Alacke,
You are transported by Calamity
Thether, where more attends you, and you slander
The Helmes o'th State; who care for you like Fathers,
When you curse them, as Enemies
2 Cit. Care for vs? True indeed, they nere car'd for vs
yet. Suffer vs to famish, and their Store-houses cramm'd
with Graine: Make Edicts for Vsurie, to support Vsurers;
repeale daily any wholsome Act established against
the rich, and prouide more piercing Statutes daily, to
chaine vp and restraine the poore. If the Warres eate vs
not vppe, they will; and there's all the loue they beare
vs
Menen. Either you must
Confesse your selues wondrous Malicious,
Or be accus'd of Folly. I shall tell you
A pretty Tale, it may be you haue heard it,
But since it serues my purpose, I will venture
To scale't a little more
2 Citizen. Well,
Ile heare it Sir: yet you must not thinke
To fobbe off our disgrace with a tale:
But and't please you deliuer
Men. There was a time, when all the bodies members
Rebell'd against the Belly; thus accus'd it:
That onely like a Gulfe it did remaine
I'th midd'st a th' body, idle and vnactiue,
Still cubbording the Viand, neuer bearing
Like labour with the rest, where th' other Instruments
Did see, and heare, deuise, instruct, walke, feele,
And mutually participate, did minister
Vnto the appetite; and affection common
Of the whole body, the Belly answer'd
2.Cit. Well sir, what answer made the Belly
Men. Sir, I shall tell you with a kinde of Smile,
Which ne're came from the Lungs, but euen thus:
For looke you I may make the belly Smile,
As well as speake, it taintingly replyed
To'th' discontented Members, the mutinous parts
That enuied his receite: euen so most fitly,
As you maligne our Senators, for that
They are not such as you
2.Cit. Your Bellies answer: What
The Kingly crown'd head, the vigilant eye,
The Counsailor Heart, the Arme our Souldier,
Our Steed the Legge, the Tongue our Trumpeter,
With other Muniments and petty helpes
In this our Fabricke, if that they-
Men. What then? Fore me, this Fellow speakes.
What then? What then?
2.Cit. Should by the Cormorant belly be restrain'd,
Who is the sinke a th' body
Men. Well, what then?
2.Cit. The former Agents, if they did complaine,
What could the Belly answer?
Men. I will tell you,
If you'l bestow a small (of what you haue little)
Patience awhile; you'st heare the Bellies answer
2.Cit. Y'are long about it
Men. Note me this good Friend;
Your most graue Belly was deliberate,
Not rash like his Accusers, and thus answered.
True is it my Incorporate Friends (quoth he)
That I receiue the generall Food at first
Which you do liue vpon: and fit it is,
Because I am the Store-house, and the Shop
Of the whole Body. But, if you do remember,
I send it through the Riuers of your blood
Euen to the Court, the Heart, to th' seate o'th' Braine,
And through the Crankes and Offices of man,
The strongest Nerues, and small inferiour Veines
From me receiue that naturall competencie
Whereby they liue. And though that all at once
(You my good Friends, this sayes the Belly) marke me
2.Cit. I sir, well, well
Men. Though all at once, cannot
See what I do deliuer out to each,
Yet I can make my Awdit vp, that all
From me do backe receiue the Flowre of all,
And leaue me but the Bran. What say you too't?
2.Cit. It was an answer, how apply you this?
Men. The Senators of Rome, are this good Belly,
And you the mutinous Members: For examine
Their Counsailes, and their Cares; disgest things rightly,
Touching the Weale a'th Common, you shall finde
No publique benefit which you receiue
But it proceeds, or comes from them to you,
And no way from your selues. What do you thinke?
You, the great Toe of this Assembly?
2.Cit. I the great Toe? Why the great Toe?
Men. For that being one o'th lowest, basest, poorest
Of this most wise Rebellion, thou goest formost:
Thou Rascall, that art worst in blood to run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage.
But make you ready your stiffe bats and clubs,
Rome, and her Rats, are at the point of battell,
The one side must haue baile.
Enter Caius Martius.
Hayle, Noble Martius
Mar. Thanks. What's the matter you dissentious rogues
That rubbing the poore Itch of your Opinion,
Make your selues Scabs
2.Cit. We haue euer your good word
Mar. He that will giue good words to thee, wil flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you haue, you Curres,
That like nor Peace, nor Warre? The one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should finde you Lyons, findes you Hares:
Where Foxes, Geese you are: No surer, no,
Then is the coale of fire vpon the Ice,
Or Hailstone in the Sun. Your Vertue is,
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him,
And curse that Iustice did it. Who deserues Greatnes,
Deserues your Hate: and your Affections are
A sickmans Appetite; who desires most that
Which would encrease his euill. He that depends
Vpon your fauours, swimmes with finnes of Leade,
And hewes downe Oakes, with rushes. Hang ye: trust ye?
With euery Minute you do change a Minde,
And call him Noble, that was now your Hate:
Him vilde, that was your Garland. What's the matter,
That in these seuerall places of the Citie,
You cry against the Noble Senate, who
(Vnder the Gods) keepe you in awe, which else
Would feede on one another? What's their seeking?
Men. For Corne at their owne rates, wherof they say
The Citie is well stor'd
Mar. Hang 'em: They say?
They'l sit by th' fire, and presume to know
What's done i'th Capitoll: Who's like to rise,
Who thriues, & who declines: Side factions, & giue out
Coniecturall Marriages, making parties strong,
And feebling such as stand not in their liking,
Below their cobled Shooes. They say ther's grain enough?
Would the Nobility lay aside their ruth,
And let me vse my Sword, I'de make a Quarrie
With thousands of these quarter'd slaues, as high
As I could picke my Lance
Menen. Nay these are almost thoroughly perswaded:
For though abundantly they lacke discretion
Yet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you,
What sayes the other Troope?
Mar. They are dissolu'd: Hang em;
They said they were an hungry, sigh'd forth Prouerbes
That Hunger-broke stone wals: that dogges must eate
That meate was made for mouths. That the gods sent not
Corne for the Richmen onely: With these shreds
They vented their Complainings, which being answer'd
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
To breake the heart of generosity,
And make bold power looke pale, they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the hornes a'th Moone,
Shooting their Emulation
Menen. What is graunted them?
Mar. Fiue Tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms
Of their owne choice. One's Iunius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. Sdeath,
The rabble should haue first vnroo'st the City
Ere so preuayl'd with me; it will in time
Win vpon power, and throw forth greater Theames
For Insurrections arguing
Menen. This is strange
Mar. Go get you home you Fragments.
Enter a Messenger hastily.
Mess. Where's Caius Martius?
Mar. Heere: what's the matter!
Mes. The newes is sir, the Volcies are in Armes
Mar. I am glad on't, then we shall ha meanes to vent
Our mustie superfluity. See our best Elders.
Enter Sicinius Velutus, Annius Brutus Cominius, Titus Lartius,
with other
Senatours.
1.Sen. Martius 'tis true, that you haue lately told vs,
The Volces are in Armes
Mar. They haue a Leader,
Tullus Auffidius that will put you too't:
I sinne in enuying his Nobility:
And were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish me onely he
Com. You haue fought together?
Mar. Were halfe to halfe the world by th' eares, & he
vpon my partie, I'de reuolt to make
Onely my warres with him. He is a Lion
That I am proud to hunt
1.Sen. Then worthy Martius,
Attend vpon Cominius to these Warres
Com. It is your former promise
Mar. Sir it is,
And I am constant: Titus Lucius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus face.
What art thou stiffe? Stand'st out?
Tit. No Caius Martius,
Ile leane vpon one Crutch, and fight with tother,
Ere stay behinde this Businesse
Men. Oh true-bred
Sen. Your Company to'th' Capitoll, where I know
Our greatest Friends attend vs
Tit. Lead you on: Follow Cominius, we must followe
you, right worthy your Priority
Com. Noble Martius
Sen. Hence to your homes, be gone
Mar. Nay let them follow,
The Volces haue much Corne: take these Rats thither,
To gnaw their Garners. Worshipfull Mutiners,
Your valour puts well forth: Pray follow.
Exeunt.
Citizens steale away. Manet Sicin. & Brutus.
Sicin. Was euer man so proud as is this Martius?
Bru. He has no equall
Sicin. When we were chosen Tribunes for the people
Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes
Sicin. Nay, but his taunts
Bru. Being mou'd, he will not spare to gird the Gods
Sicin. Bemocke the modest Moone
Bru. The present Warres deuoure him, he is growne
Too proud to be so valiant
Sicin. Such a Nature, tickled with good successe, disdaines
the shadow which he treads on at noone, but I do
wonder, his insolence can brooke to be commanded vnder
Cominius?
| 1,993.376113 |
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Produced by Moti Ben-Ari 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.)
THE PUBLICATIONS OF
THE CHAMPLAIN
SOCIETY
VI
THE
PUBLICATIONS OF
THE CHAMPLAIN
SOCIETY
HEARNE:
A JOURNEY FROM PRINCE OF
WALES'S FORT IN HUDSON'S BAY
TO THE NORTHERN OCEAN
[Illustration]
TORONTO
THE CHAMPLAIN SOCIETY
_Five Hundred and Twenty Copies of
this Volume have been printed. Twenty
are reserved for Editorial purposes.
The remaining Five Hundred are
supplied only to Members of the
Society and to Subscribing Libraries.
This copy is No. 229_
A JOURNEY
FROM PRINCE OF WALES'S
FORT IN HUDSON'S BAY TO
THE NORTHERN OCEAN
In the Years 1769, 1770, 1771, and 1772
BY
SAMUEL HEARNE
NEW EDITION
WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND ILLUSTRATIONS, BY
J. B. TYRRELL, M.A.
TORONTO
THE CHAMPLAIN SOCIETY
1911
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE
BY SIR EDMUND WALKER
_President | 1,993.376182 |
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Produced by David Reed
HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
Edward Gibbon, Esq.
With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman
Vol. 5
Chapter XLIX: Conquest Of Italy By The Franks.--Part I.
Introduction, Worship, And Persecution Of Images.--Revolt Of
Italy And Rome.--Temporal Dominion Of The Popes.--Conquest
Of Italy By The Franks.--Establishment Of Images.--Character
And Coronation Of Charlemagne.--Restoration And Decay Of The
Roman Empire In The West.--Independence Of Italy.--
Constitution Of The Germanic Body.
In the connection of the church and state, I have considered the former
as subservient only, and relative, to the latter; a salutary maxim,
if in fact, as well as in narrative, it had ever been held sacred. The
Oriental philosophy of the Gnostics, the dark abyss of predestination
and grace, and the strange transformation of the Eucharist from the sign
to the substance of Christ's body, [1] I have purposely abandoned to the
curiosity of speculative divines. But I have reviewed, with diligence
and pleasure, the objects of ecclesiastical history, by which the
decline and fall of the Roman empire were materially affected, the
propagation of Christianity, the constitution of the Catholic church | 1,995.27742 |
2023-11-16 18:50:19.4573740 | 142 | 44 |
Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Eric Skeet, The Philatelic
Digital Library Project at http://www.tpdlp.net and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Notes:
(1) Obvious spelling, punctuation, and typographical errors have been
corrected.
(2) Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
(3) Table V in the Appendix has been split into two parts (Scotland and
Ireland), in view of its page width.
____________________________________________
THE HISTORY OF
THE BR | 1,995.477414 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes: No corrections of typographical or other errors
have been made to this text. Words in italics in the original are
surrounded by _underscores_. Words in bold in the original are
surrounded by =equal signs=. On pages 6 and 7 of the original, a note
was typed vertically in the margin. These notes have been treated as
footnotes and an anchor has been added in the text. The letter that
occurs at the end of the text was not bound into the original book. It
was an insert included with the book and has been reproduced here.
[Illustration: CAPT. JOHN BROWN]
The Raid of John Brown at Harper's
Ferry As I Saw It.
BY
REV. SAMUEL VANDERLIP LEECH, D. D.
_Author of "Ingersoll and The Bible," "The Three Inebriates," "From West
Virginia to Pompeii," "Seven Elements in Successful Preaching," Etc._
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR.
THE DESOTO
WASHINGTON, D. C.
1909
Copyright by S. V. Leech, 1909.
THE RAID OF JOHN BROWN AT HARPER'S FERRY AS I SAW IT.
_By REV. SAMUEL VANDERLIP LEECH, D. D._
The town of Harper's Ferry is located in Jefferson County, West
Virginia. Lucerne, in Switzerland does not excel it in romantic grandeur
of situation. On its northern front the Potomac sweeps along to pass the
national capital, and the tomb of Washington, in its silent flow towards
the sea. On its eastern side the Shenandoah hurries to empty its waters
into the Potomac, that in perpetual wedlock they may greet the stormy
Atlantic. Across the Potomac the Maryland Heights stand out as the tall
sentinels of Nature. Beyond the Shenandoah are the Blue Ridge mountains,
fringing the westward boundary of Loudon County, Virginia. Between these
rivers, and nestling inside of their very confluence, reposes Harper's
Ferry. Back of its hills lies the famous Shenandoah Valley, celebrated
for its natural scenery, its historic battles and "Sheridan's Ride." At
Harper's Ferry the United States authorities early located an Arsenal
and an Armory.
Before the Civil War, the Baltimore Conference of the Methodist
Episcopal Church was constituted of five extensive districts in
Virginia, stretching from Alexandria to Lewisburg and two great
districts north of the Potomac, including the cities of Washington and
Baltimore. The first three years of my ministerial life I spent on
Shepherdstown, West Loudon and Hillsboro Circuits, being then all in
Virginia. The State of West Virginia, now embracing Harper's Ferry, had
not been organized by Congress as a war measure out of the territory of
the mother State. Our Methodist Episcopal Church was theoretically an
anti-slavery organization; but our Virginia and Maryland members held
thousands of inherited and many purchased slaves. These were generally
well-cared for and contented. Being close to the free soil of | 1,995.579457 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Christian Boissonnas and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
A BOOK OF
THE CEVENNES
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
MEHALAH
THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS
THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE
STRANGE SURVIVALS
SONGS OF THE WEST
A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG
OLD COUNTRY LIFE
AN OLD ENGLISH HOME
YORKSHIRE ODDITIES
HISTORIC ODDITIES
OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES
THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW
FREAKS OF FANATICISM
A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
A BOOK OF BRITTANY
A BOOK OF DARTMOOR
A BOOK OF THE WEST
I. DEVON
II. CORNWALL
A BOOK OF NORTH WALES
A BOOK OF SOUTH WALES
A BOOK OF THE RHINE
A BOOK OF THE RIVIERA
A BOOK OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration: THE TAMARGUE FROM LA SOUCHE]
A BOOK OF
THE CEVENNES
BY S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
"ILLE TERRARUM MIHI PRÆTER OMNES
ANGULUS RIDET, UBI NON HYMETTO
MELLA DECEDUNT, VIRIDIQUE CERTAT
BACCA VENAFRO;
VER UBI LONGUM, TEPIDASQUE PRÆBET
JUPITER BRUMAS."
_Hor._ Od. ii. 6.
[Illustration]
WITH FORTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
EIGHT OF WHICH ARE IN COLOUR, AND A MAP
London
John Long
Norris Street, Haymarket
[_All rights reserved_]
_First Published in 1907_
Illustrations reproduced by the Hentschel-Colourtype Process
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CRESCENT 1
II. LE VELAY 15
III. LE PUY 34
IV. ROUND ABOUT LE PUY 60
V. L'AUBERGE DE PEYRABEILLE 84
VI. LES BOUTIÈRES 103
VII. THE VOLCANOES OF THE VIVARAIS 114
VIII. THE CANON OF THE ARDÈCHE 137
IX. THE WOOD OF PAÏOLIVE 153
X. THE RAVINE OF THE ALLIER 161
XI. THE CAMISARDS 177
XII. ALAIS 203
XIII. GANGES 221
XIV. | 1,995.57953 |
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SLAVERY
AND
THE CONSTITUTION.
BY WILLIAM I. BOWDITCH.
BOSTON:
ROBERT F. WALLCUT, 21, CORNHILL.
1849.
BOSTON:
PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON,
No. 21, School-street.
CONTENTS.
_Chapter_ _Page_
I. "SLAVERY AGREE | 1,995.579641 |
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THE GREAT GOD PAN
by
ARTHUR MACHEN
CONTENTS
I THE EXPERIMENT
II MR. CLARKE'S MEMOIRS
III THE CITY OF RESURRECTIONS
IV THE DISCOVERY IN PAUL STREET
V THE LETTER OF ADVICE
VI THE SUICIDES
VII THE ENCOUNTER IN SOHO
VIII THE FRAGMENTS
I
THE EXPERIMENT
"I am glad you came, Clarke; very glad indeed. I was not sure you
could spare the time."
"I was able to make arrangements for a few days; things are not very
lively just now. But have you no misgivings, Raymond? Is it
absolutely safe?"
The two men were slowly pacing the terrace in front of Dr. Raymond's
house. The sun still hung above the western mountain-line, but it
shone with a dull red glow that cast no shadows, and all the air was
quiet; a sweet breath came from the | 2,016.100058 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HISTORY
OF
SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE
LITERATURE.
HISTORY
OF
SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE
LITERATURE.
BY
FREDERICK BOUTERWEK.
[Illustration]
IN TWO VOLUMES.
[Illustration]
Translated from the Original German,
BY THOMASINA ROSS.
VOL. II.
PORTUGUESE LITERATURE.
LONDON:
BOOSEY AND SONS, BROAD STREET.
1823.
E. Justins, Printer, 41, Brick Lane, Spitalfields.
PREFACE.
For much of the valuable information which the following History of
Portuguese Literature contains, the author acknowledges himself to be
indebted to the communications of a learned Portuguese, with whom he
became acquainted after the materials he had previously collected were
arranged for publication. M. Bouterwek originally intended to comprise
what he had to say, on Portuguese literature, in a brief sketch, which
was to form a supplement to the preceding volume; but the assistance of
his literary friend enabled him to make the present volume a suitable
companion to his history of the sister literature of the Peninsula.
In England commercial interests may have induced many persons to make
themselves acquainted with the language of Portugal, but the literature
of that country has hitherto been studied by few. With the exception
of Camoens, even the names of the principal Portuguese authors are
scarcely known to us. The greater novelty of the subject is therefore
an advantage which this second volume possesses over the first.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
VOL. II.
BOOK I.
FROM THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH TO THE COMMENCEMENT
OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
_Page_
Rise of Portuguese poetry 1
Gonzalo Hermiguez and Egaz Moniz, poets of the twelfth
century 5
Early essay in epic poetry 8
King Diniz of Portugal, a poet of the thirteenth century 9
Poets of the royal family in the fourteenth century 10
Oldest specimens of Portuguese prose 14
Intimate connection of the Portuguese and Galician poetry.--The
Galician poet Macias 15
The Cancioneiros Geraes 17
Deficiency with regard to historical romances--little influence
of the cultivation of Latin verse on Portuguese lyric poetry 20
Early cultivation of historical prose in Portuguese literature 21
Increase of Portuguese power, followed by the rapid developement
of the national poetry, at the commencement of the
sixteenth century 23
Bernardim Ribeyro 24
His eclogues 25
His cantigas 30
His romance of Menina e Moça 33
Christovaõ Falcaõ 39
Other ancient lyric poems 44
BOOK II.
FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY UNTIL
TOWARDS THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
CHAP. I.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE POETIC AND RHETORICAL CULTIVATION
OF THE PORTUGUESE DURING THE ABOVE PERIOD.
Relation of Portuguese to Spanish poetry in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries 47
Causes of the continued cultivation of the Spanish language in
Portugal 51
Religious and political character of the Portuguese during this
period 54
CHAP. II.
HISTORY OF PORTUGUESE POETRY AND ELOQUENCE FROM THE
EPOCH OF THE INTRODUCTION OF THE ITALIAN STYLE, TILL
TOWARDS THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
Tranquil adoption of the Italian style 59
Saa de Miranda 61
General character of his poems 63
His eclogues 66
His epistles 71
His spiritual poems 74
His popular songs, &c. 76
His two prose comedies 78
Gil Vicente 85
General character of his dramatic prose 87
His autos, or spiritual dramas 90
His comedies, in a peculiar signification of the term 99
His tragi-comedies 101
His farces 103
Ferreira 111
General character of his poetry 114
His correct style of sonnet composition 117
His odes 119
His elegies 122
His eclogues 125
His epistles ibid
His epigrams, &c. 130
His tragedy and his two prose comedies 132
Camoens 139
General character of his poetry 148
Character and analysis of the Lusiad 150
The other poetic works of Camoens 184
His sonnets 187
His canções 189
His odes 190
His elegies 192
His estancias 195
His eclogues 196
His poems in redondilhas, &c. 197
His dramas 200
Classical school of Saa de Miranda and Antonio Ferreira 208
Andrade Caminha 209
Bernardes 217
Cortereal 223
Other Portuguese poets of the sixteenth century--Ferreira de
Vasconcellos--Rodriguez de Castro--Lobo de Soropita, &c. 225
Rodriguez Lobo 226
His Court in the Country 228
His pastoral romances 235
His miscellaneous poems 245
Imitation of the Spanish romances in Portugal 250
State of Portuguese eloquence in the sixteenth century 252
Romances and novels 253
Sà Sotomayor 254
Pires de Rebello 256
Progress of the historical art 258
Joaõ de Barros 260
Lopez de Castanheda--Damiaõ de Góes--Affonso d’Alboquerque 266
Bernardo de Brito 268
CHAP. III.
HISTORY OF PORTUGUESE POETRY AND ELOQUENCE, FROM THE
LATTER YEARS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY UNTIL TOWARDS
THE CLOSE OF THE SEVENTEENTH.
Decay of the ancient national energy in Portuguese literature 273
Portuguese sonnets of the seventeenth century 276
Faria e Sousa 277
His sonnets 279
His treatises on poetry 283
His eclogues and his theory respecting that species of
composition 286
His commentary on the works of Camoens 288
Thomas de Noronha--comic sonnet poetry 290
Barbosa Bacellar 292
Torrezaõ Coelho 295
Freire de Andrada, an opponent of the Gongorists and
Marinists 296
Further decline of Portuguese taste--Ribeiro de Macedo--Correa
de la Cerda 302
Violante do Ceo 304
Didactic epistles of Alvares da Cunha 307
Jeronymo Bahia 308
Francisco Vasconcellos 311
Telles da Sylva and Nunez da Sylva 312
Other sonneteers--continued intervention of the Spanish
language in Portuguese poetry 315
Portuguese eloquence during the seventeenth century 317
Romantic prose--Matheus Ribeyro--Castanheira Turacem 318
Historical prose--Freire Andrada’s biography of Joaõ de Castro 322
Portuguese treatises on poetry and rhetoric written during the
seventeenth century 327
BOOK III.
FROM THE CLOSE OF THE SEVENTEENTH TO THE END OF THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
Preliminary observations 328
CHAP. I.
GENERAL HISTORY OF POETICAL AND RHETORICAL CULTIVATION
IN PORTUGAL DURING THIS PERIOD.
Total decay of Portuguese literature towards the end of the
seventeenth century 329
Establishment of the Portuguese academy in 1714 331
Administration of the Marquis of Pombal 333
Revived spirit of literature--utility of the Portuguese academy
of sciences 334
CHAP. II.
HISTORY OF PORTUGUESE POETRY DURING THIS PERIOD.
The Conde da Ericeyra 336
General character of his works 338
His Henriqueida 340
Continuance of corrupt taste in Portuguese poetry--Barros
Pereira--Antonio de Lima 347
The Portuguese drama in the first half of the eighteenth
century 350
Spurious dramas called operas ibid
RESUMPTION OF AN IMPROVED STYLE IN PORTUGUESE POETRY.
Manoel da Costa 357
His successful imitation of Cantatas in the style of
Metastasio 362
Progress of Portuguese poetry in the latter part of the
eighteenth century 364
Translations of latin classics into the Portuguese language 365
Titles of some of the poems produced in this period 366
Garçaõ--his imitation of Horace’s odes 367
His dramas in the style of Terence 372
The Abbot Paulino 375
Dona Catharina de Sousa--Her tragedy of Osmia 377
Failure of Osmia on the stage--prevalence of dramatic
imitations and translations 383
Recent Portuguese poets--in particular Tolentino da Almeida 384
Araujo de Azavedo--his translations of English poems 386
CHAP. III.
HISTORY OF PORTUGUESE ELOQUENCE, CRITICISM AND RHETORIC,
DURING THIS PERIOD.
Further decline of Portuguese eloquence 387
New cultivation of eloquence--Classical prose authors still
wanting in modern Portuguese literature 390
Romantic prose--translations 391
Portuguese criticism of the eighteenth century ibid
Ericeyra’s introduction to his Henriqueida 392
Garçaõ’s lectures 395
Philological and critical treatises of the Academicians--Joaquim
de Foyos--Francisco Dias--Antonio das Naves, &c. 398
Compendium of rhetoric by Antonio Teixeira de Magalhaens 402
CONCLUSION.
Comparison of Portuguese and Spanish literature 403
HISTORY
OF
_PORTUGUESE LITERATURE_.
BOOK I.
FROM THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH TO THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SIXTEENTH
CENTURY.
RISE OF PORTUGUESE POETRY.
That songs in the Portuguese language were sung on the banks of the
Tagus, before any kingdom of Portugal existed cannot be doubted.
Indeed even Spanish writers, who have considered the question with
impartiality, do not deny that Portuguese poetry flourished at an
earlier period than the Castilian; and all accounts of the first
dawnings of modern civilization in Portugal denote an original poetic
tendency in the national genius. That destiny, however, by which
Portugal has been from an early period politically severed from the
other parts of the Peninsula could alone have prevented the Portuguese
poetry from being like the Galician, completely absorbed and lost in
the Castilian; for the Galician and Portuguese languages and poetry,
were originally, and even after the separation of Portugal from the
Castiles, scarcely distinguishable from each other.[ | 2,016.19851 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
The upside-down asterisms are denoted by *.*
The list of the corrected items is at the end of this e-book.
=Edgar Fawcett's Novels.=
_Mr. Fawcett is a novelist who does a service that greatly needs to be
done,--a novelist who writes of the life with which he is closely
acquainted, and who manfully emphasizes his respect for his native land,
and his contempt for the weakness and affectation of those who are
ashamed of their country._--New York Evening Post.
_A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE._
_Ninth Edition._ "Little Classic" style. 18mo, $1.00.
Take it as a whole, we know no English novel of the last few years fit
to be compared with it in its own line for simplicity, truth, and
rational interest.--_London Times._
It is the most truly American novel that has been given to the world in
some time, for the reason that it teaches Americans--or, at all events,
should teach them--what puny and puerile beings they become when they
attempt to decry their own country and ape the idiosyncrasies of
another.--_New York Express._
An amazingly clever book, the story well managed in the telling, the
dialogue bright and sparkling, and the humor unforced and
genuine.--_Boston Transcript._
It is a most charming story of American life and character, with a rare
dash of humor in it, and a good deal of vigorous satire.--_Quebec
Chronicle._
_A HOPELESS CASE._
_Fourth Edition._ "Little Classic" style. 18mo, $1.25.
"A Hopeless Case" contains much that goes to make up a novel of the best
order--wit, sarcasm, pathos, and dramatic power--with its sentences
clearly wrought out and daintily finished. It is a book which ought to
have a great success.--_Cincinnati Commercial._
"A Hopeless Case" will, we are sure, meet with a very enthusiastic
reception from all who can appreciate fiction of a high order. The
picture of New York society, as revealed in its pages, is remarkably
graphic and true to life.... A thoroughly delightful novel--keen, witty,
and eminently American. It will give the author a high rank as a writer
of fiction.--_Boston Traveller._
As a sprightly and interesting comedy this book will find hosts of
interested readers. It has its lessons of value in the striking
contrasts it furnishes of the different styles of life found in our
great cities.--_New England Journal of Education._
Its brilliant and faithful pictures of New York society and its charming
heroine can hardly fail to make it very popular.--_Salem Gazette._
_AN AMBITIOUS WOMAN._
12mo, cloth, $1.50.
*.* _For sale by Booksellers. Sent, by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
price by the Publishers_,
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., BOSTON, MASS.
AN AMBITIOUS WOMAN
_A Novel_
BY
EDGAR FAWCETT
AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE," "A HOPELESS
CASE," ETC.
[Illustration]
BOSTON
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street
=The Riverside Press, Cambridge=
1884
Copyright, 1888,
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge:_
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
AN AMBITIOUS WOMAN.
I.
If any spot on the globe can be found where even Spring has lost the
sweet trick of making herself charming, a cynic in search of an
opportunity for some such morose discovery might thank his baleful stars
were chance to drift him upon Greenpoint. Whoever named the place in
past days must have done so with a double satire; for Greenpoint is not
a point, nor is it ever green. Years ago it began by being the sluggish
suburb of a thriftier and smarter suburb, Brooklyn. By degrees the
latter broadened into a huge city, and soon its neighbor village
stretched out to it arms of straggling huts and swampy river-line, in
doleful welcome. To-day the affiliation is complete. Man has said let it
all be Brooklyn, and it is all Brooklyn. But the sovereign dreariness of
Greenpoint, like an unpropitiated god, still remains. Its melancholy,
its ugliness, its torpor, its neglect, all preserve an unimpaired
novelty. It is very near New York, and yet in atmosphere, suggestion,
vitality, it is leagues away. Our noble city, with its magnificent
maritime approaches, its mast-thronged docks, its lordly encircling
rivers, its majesty of traffic, its gallant avenues of edifices, its
loud assertion of life, and its fine promise of riper culture, fades
into a dim memory when you have touched, after only a brief voyage, upon
this forlorn opposite shore.
No Charon rows you across, though your short trip has too often the most
funereal associations. You take passage in a squat little steamboat at
either of two eastern ferries, and are lucky if a hearse with its
satellite coaches should fail to embark in your company; for, curiously,
the one enlivening fact associable with Greenpoint is its close nearness
to a famed Roman Catholic cemetery. It is doubtful if the unkempt child
wading in the muddy gutter ever turns his frowzy head when these dismal
retinues stream past him. They are always streaming past him; they are
as much a part of this lazy environ as the big, ghostly geese that
saunter across its ill-tended cobblestones, the dirty goats that nibble
at the placards on its many dingy fences, or the dull-faced Germans that
plod its semi-paven streets. Death, that is always so bitter a
commonplace, has here become a glaring triteness. Watched, along the
main thoroughfare, from porches of liquor-shops and windows of
tenement-houses, death has perhaps gained a sombre popularity with not a
few shabby gazers. It rides in state, at a dignified pace; it has
followers, too, riding deferentially behind it. Sometimes it has martial
music, and the pomp of military escort. Life seldom has any of this, in
Greenpoint. It cannot ride, or rarely. It must walk, and strain to keep
its strength even for that. One part of it drudges with the needle,
fumes over the smoky stove, sighs at the unappeasable baby; another part
takes by dawn the little dwarfish ferry-boat, and hies to the great
metropolis across the river, returning jaded from labor by nightfall.
No wonder, here, if death should seem to possess not merely a mournful
importance but a gloomy advantage as well, or if for these toilful
townsfolk philosophy had reversed itself, and instead of the paths of
glory leading to the grave, it should look as if the grave were forever
leading to some sort of peculiar and comfortable glory.
But Greenpoint, like a hardened conscience, still has her repentant
surprises. She is not quite a thing of sloth and penury. True, the broad
street that leads from steamboat to cemetery is lined with squalid
homes, and the mourners who are so incessantly borne along to Calvary
must see little else than beer-sellers standing slippered and coatless
beside their doorways, or thin, pinched women haggling with the venders
of sickly groceries. But elsewhere one may find by-streets lined with
low wooden dwellings that hint of neatness and suggest a better grade of
living. A yellowish drab prevails as the hue of these houses; they seem
all to partake of one period, like certain homogeneous fossils. But they
do not breathe of antiquity; they are fanciful with trellised piazzas
and other modern embellishments of carpentry; sometimes they possess
miniature Corinthian pillars, faded by the trickle of rain between their
tawny flutings, as if stirred with the dumb desire to be white and
classic. Scant gardens front them, edged with a few yards of ornamental
fence. Their high basement windows stare at you from a foundation of
brick. They are very prosaic, chiefly from their lame effort to be
picturesque; and when you look down toward the river, expecting to feel
refreshed by its gleam, you are disheartened at the way in which
lumber-yards and sloop-wharves have quite shut any glimpse of it from
your eyes.
In one of these two-storied wooden houses, not many years ago, dwelt a
family of three people,--a Mr. Francis Twining, his wife, and their only
child, a girl, named Claire. Mr. Twining was an Englishman by birth;
many years had passed since he first landed on these shores. He had come
here nearly penniless, but with proud hopes. He was then only
three-and-twenty. He had sprung from a good country family, had been
fitted at Eton for Oxford, and had seen one year at the famed
University. Then sharp financial disaster had overtaken his father,
whose death soon followed. Francis was a younger son, but even to the
heir had fallen a shattered patrimony, and to himself merely a slender
legacy. With this, confident and undaunted as though it were the purse
of Fortunio, Francis had taken voyage for New York. At first he had
shown a really splendid energy. Slim of figure, with a pale, womanish
face lit by large, soft blue eyes, he gave slight physical sign of force
or even will. But though possessed of both, he proved one of those
ill-fated beings whom failure never tires of rebuffing. His mental
ability was unquestioned; he shrank with sensitive disgust from all
vice; he had plenty of ambition, and the instinct of solid industry.
Yet, as years passed on, both secured him but meagre recompense for
struggle. He had begun his career with a clerkship; now, at fifty-three,
he was a clerk still. All his hope had fled; he had undergone bitter
heart-burnings; he had striven to solve the problem of his own defeat.
Meanwhile its explanation was not difficult. He had a boyish trust in
his fellow-creatures that no amount of stern experience seemed to
weaken. Chicanery had made him its sport. Five separate times he had
been swindled mercilessly by men in whom he had reposed implicit faith.
There had lain his rock of ruin: he was always reposing implicit faith
in everybody. His life had been one long pathos of over-credulity. He
could think, reason, reflect, analyze, but he was incapable of doubting.
A fool could have deceived him, and naturally, on repeated occasions,
knaves had not found it difficult. At fifty-three his last hard-earned
savings had been wormed from him by the last plausible scamp. And now he
had accepted himself as the favorite of misfortune; over the glow of his
spirit disappointment had cast its dulling spell, like the deep film of
ash that sheathes a spent ember. He had now one aim--to keep his wife
and child from indigence while he lived, and one despair--that he could
not keep them from indigence after he was dead. But his really lovely
optimism still remained. He had been essentially amiable and complaisant
in all intercourse with his kind, and this quality had not lost a ray of
its fine former lustre. With ample excuse for the worst cynic feeling,
he continued a gentle yet unconscious philanthropist. There was
something piteously sweet in the obstinacy with which he still saw only
the bright side of humanity. His delicate person had grown more slim;
his rusty clothes hung about him with a mournful looseness; his oval
face, worn by worriment, had taken keener lines; but his large blue eyes
still kept their liquid sparkle, and kindled in prompt unison with his
alert smile. The flaxen growth that had always fringed his lips and chin
with cloudy lightness, had now become of a frosty gray. Seen passingly,
no one would have called him, as the current phrase goes, a gentleman.
His wearied mien forbade the suggestion of leisure, while his broadcloth
spoke of long wear and speedy purchase. But a close gaze might have
caught the unperished refinement that still clung to him with sad
persistence, and was evident in such minor effects of personal detail as
a glimpse of cleanly linen about throat and wrist, a cheap yet careful
lustre of the often jaded boot, a culture and purity of the hand, or
even a choice nicety of the finger-nail.
He had married after reaching these shores, and his marriage had proved
another instance of misplaced confidence. His wife had been handsome
when a young woman, and she had become Mrs. Twining at about the age of
five-and-twenty. She was personally quite the opposite of her
bridegroom; she was an inch taller than he, and had an aquiline face,
splendid with a pair of very black eyes that she had rolled and flashed
at the other sex since early girlhood. She had rolled and flashed them
at her present husband, and so conquered him. She was a good inch taller
than he, and lapse of time had not diminished the difference since their
union. She had been extremely vulgar as Miss Jane Wray, when Twining had
married her, and she was extremely vulgar still. She had first met him
in a boarding-house in East Broadway, where Twining had secured a room
on his arrival from England. At this period East Broadway wore only a
waning grace of gentility; some few conservative nabobs still lingered
there, obstinately defying plebeian inroads. Its roomy brick mansions,
with their arched, antique doorways devoid of any vestibule; their
prim-railed stoops that guessed not of ornate balusters; and their
many-paned, thin-sashed windows where plate-glass had never glittered,
were already invaded by inmates whose Teuton names and convex noses
prophesied the social decline that must soon grasp this once select
purlieu. Jane Wray was neither German nor Hebrew; she was American in
the least pleasant sense of that word, both as regarded parentage and
breeding. She was an orphan, and the recipient of surly charity from
unprosperous relatives. She wanted very greatly to marry, and Twining
had seemed to her a golden chance. There was much about her from which
he shrank; but she contrived to rouse his pity, and then to lure from
him a promise which he would have despised himself not to keep.
The succeeding years had brought bitter mutual disappointments. Mrs.
Twining had believed firmly in her husband's powers to sound the horn of
luck and slay the giant of adversity. But he had done neither, and it
now looked as if his bones were one day to bleach along the roadway to
success. She became an austere grumbler, forever pricking her
sweet-tempered lord with a tireless little bodkin of reproach. Her
vulgarities had sharpened; her wit, always cruel and acute, had tipped
itself with a harsher venom and fledged itself with a swifter feather;
her bright, coarse beauty had dimmed and soured; she was at present a
gaunt, elderly female, with square shoulders and hard, dark eyes, who
flung sarcasms broadcast with a baleful liberality, and seemed forever
standing toward her own destiny in the attitude of a person who has some
large unsettled claim against a nefarious government.
Claire Twining, the one child who had been born of this ill-assorted
marriage, was now nineteen years old. She bore a striking likeness to
her father; she possessed his blue eyes, a trifle darker in shade, his
broad white forehead, his sloping delicacy of visage, and his erect
though slender frame. From him, too, had come the sunny quality of her
smile, the gold tints in her chestnut hair, the fine symmetry of hands
and feet. Rather from association than heredity she had caught his
kindly warmth of manner; but in Claire the cordial impulse was far less
spontaneous; she had her black list of dislikes, and she took people on
trust with wary prudence. Here spoke her mother's share in the girl's
being, as it spoke also in a certain distinct chiseling of every
feature, that suggested a softened memento of Miss Jane Wray's girlish
countenance, though Claire's coloring no more resembled her mother's of
past time than wild-rose is like peony, or pastel like chromo. But there
was one more maternal imprint set deep within this girl's nature, not to
be thinned or marred by any stress of events, and productive of a trait
whose development for good or ill is the chief cause that her life has
here been chronicled. The birthright was a perilous one; it was a
heritage of discontent; its tendency was perpetual longings for better
environment, for ampler share in the world's good gifts, for higher
place in its esteem and stronger claim to its heed. But what in her
mother had been ambition almost as crudely eager as a boorish
elbow-thrust, was in Claire more decorous and interesting, like the push
of a fragile yet determined hand through a sullen crowd. In both cases
the dissatisfaction was something that is peculiar to the woman of our
land and time--a desire not to try and adorn the sphere in which she is
born, but to try and reach a new sphere held as more suited for her own
adornment. Yet Claire's restless yearning lacked the homely grossness of
her mother's; it reflected a finer flash; it was not all cut from one
piece; it had its subtlety, its enthusiasm, even its justification. It
was not a mere stubborn hunger for advancement; it was a wish to gain
advancement by the passport of proper worthiness. She did not want the
air to lift her away from hated surroundings, but she wanted wings that
would turn the air her willing ally. It was what her father had made her
that touched what her mother had made her with a truly poetic
tenderness. By only a little prouder curve of the neck and a little
happier fullness of the plume, we part the statuesque swan from
considerably more commonplace kindred. Something like this delightful
benison of difference had fallen upon Claire.
II.
Circumstance, too, had fed the potency of this difference. Claire had
not been reared like her mother. When she was nine years old her parents
were living in a tiny brick house near the East River, among New York
suburbs. But Claire had been sent to a small school near by, kept by a
dim, worn lady, with an opulent past and a most precarious present. She
had studied for three years under this lady's capable care, and had lost
nothing by the opportunity. Her swift, apt mind had delighted her
instructress, whose name was Mrs. Carmichael. Claire was remarkably
receptive; she had acquired without seeming effort. Mrs. Carmichael was
one of the many ladies who attempt the education of youth without either
system or equipment for so serious a task. Her slight body, doubtless
attenuated by recurring memories of a cherished past, would sometimes
invisibly quake before Claire's precocious questionings. She knew all
that she knew superficially, and she soon became fearful lest Claire
should pierce, by a sort of adroit ignorance, her veneer of academic
sham. She had a narrow little peaked face, of a prevailing pink hue, as
though it were being always bathed in some kind of sunset light, like
the rosy afterglow of her own perished respectability. Her nervous,
alert head was set on a pair of sloping shoulders, and she wore its
sparse tresses shaped into roulades and bandeaus which had an amateurish
look, and seemed to imitate the deft handiwork of some long-departed
tirewoman. She carried her small frame with erect importance. She was
always referring to vanished friendships with this or that notability,
but time and place were so ignored in these volunteered reminiscences as
to make her allusions acquire a tender mythic grandeur. Claire had
watched well her teacher's real and native elegance, and she had set
this down as a solid fact. Perhaps the child had probed her many
harmless falsities with equal skill. As for Mrs. Carmichael, she would
sometimes pat her pupil on the cheek and praise her in no weak terms. "I
wish that I had only known you a long time ago, my little lady," she
would say, in her serene treble voice. "I would have brought you up as
my own dear child, for I never had a child of my own. I would have given
you a place in the world to be proud of, and have watched with interest
the growth of your fine mental abilities, surrounded by those poor lost
friends of mine who would have delighted in so clever a girl as you
are."
"When you speak of your friends as lost, Mrs. Carmichael," Claire had
once replied, "do you mean that they are all dead now?"
At this question the lady slowly shook her head, with just enough
emphasis not to imperil the modish architecture of her locks.
"Some of them are dead, my dear," she murmured, with the least droop of
each pink eyelid, "but the rest are much too grand for me at present.
They have quite forgotten me." Here Mrs. Carmichael gave a quick,
fluttered cough, and then put the tips of her close-pressed fingers to
the edges of her close-pressed lips.
Claire privately thought them very churlish friends to have forgotten
anybody so high-bred and winsome as Mrs. Carmichael. And she publicly
expressed this thought at supper the same evening, while she sat with
her parents in a small lower room opening directly off the kitchen. A
weary maid, whose face flamed from the meal she had just cooked, was
patiently serving it. Mrs. Twining, who had lent no light hand toward
the Monday's washing, was in the act of distributing a somewhat meagre
beefsteak, which fate and an incompetent range had conspired to cover on
both sides with a layer of thick, sooty black. Mr. Twining was waiting
to get a piece of the beefsteak; he did not yet know of its disastrous
condition, for a large set of pewter casters reared its uncouth pyramid
between himself and the maltreated viand; but although such calamities
of cookery were not rare to his board, he was putting confidence, as
usual, in the favors of fortune, and preparing himself blandly for a
fresh little stroke of chagrin.
Outside it was midwinter dusk, and a bleak wind was blowing from
the ice-choked river, pale and dull under the sharp stars.
One-Hundred-and-Twelfth Street was in those years a much wilder spot
than now; its buildings, like its flag-stones, were capricious
incidents; its boon of the elevated railroad was yet undreamed of by
capitalists; you rode to it in languid horse-cars from the remote
centres of commerce, upward past parapets of virgin rock where perched
the hut of the squatter, or wastes of houseless highway where even the
aspiring tavern had not dared to pioneer. Mr. Twining had just ridden
hither by this laggard means, and he was tired and hungry; he wanted his
supper, a little valued chat with his beloved Claire, and a caress or
two from the child as well. After these he wanted a few hours of rest
before to-morrow re-dawned, with its humdrum austerities. One other
thing he desired, and this was a blessing more often desired than
attained. He had the wish for a peaceful domestic interval, as regarded
his wife's deportment, between home-coming and departure.
But to-night it had been otherwise decreed. Mrs. Twining's faint spark
of innate warmth was never roused by the contact of suds. Monday was her
day of wrath; you might almost have fancied that she had used a bit of
her superfluous soap in vainly trying to rub the rust from her already
tarnished hopes.
The small room where the trio sat was void of any real cheer. A pygmy
stove, at one side of it, stood fuel-choked and nearly florid in hue.
From this a strong volume of heat engulfed Mrs. Twining in its
oppressive spell, but lost vigor before it reached her husband or
Claire, and left the corners of the apartment so frigid that a gaunt
sofa, off where the light of the big oil-lamp could only vaguely touch
it, took upon its slippery hair-cloth surface the easy semblance of ice.
Two windows, not fashioned to thwart the unwonted bitterness of the
weather, were draped with nothing more resistant than a pair of canvas
shades, gorgeously pictorial in the full light of day, when seen by the
passer who seldom passed. These shades were of similar designs; in
justice to Mrs. Twining it must be told that they had been rented with
the house. On each a plumed gentleman in a gondola held fond converse
with a disheveled lady in a balcony. The conception was no less
Venetian in meaning than vicious in execution; but to-night, for any
observant wayfarer, such presentments of sunny Italy, while viewed
between blotches of wan frost that crusted the intervening panes, must
have appeared doubly counterfeit. Still, the chief discomfort of the
chamber, just at present, was a layer of brooding cold that lay along
its floor, doggedly inexterminable, and the sole approach to regularity
of temperature that its four walls contained.
It had made Claire gather up her feet toward the top rung of her chair,
and shiver once or twice, but it had not chilled the pretty gayety of
her childish talk, all of which had thus far been addressed to her
father.
"And so you like Mrs. Carmichael, my dear?" Twining had said, in his
smooth, cheerful voice. "Well, I am glad of that."
"Oh yes, I like her," replied Claire, with a slight, wise nod of her
head, where the clear gold of youth had not yet given way to the
brown-gold of maidenhood. "But I think it strange that all her fine
friends have dropped off from her. That's what she told me to-day,
Father; truly, she did! Why don't they care for her any more? Is it
because she's poor and has to teach little dunces like me?"
Twining's feminine blue eyes scanned the rather dingy tablecloth for a
moment. "I am afraid it is," he said, in a low voice, pressing between
his fingers a bit of ill-baked bread that grew doughy at a touch.
Mrs. Twining ceased to carve the obdurate beefsteak, though still
retaining her hold on the horn-handled knife and fork. She lifted her
head so that it quite towered above the formidable group of casters, and
looked straight at her husband.
"Don't put false notions into the child, Francis," she said, each word
seeming to strike the next with a steely click. "You're always doing it.
_You_ know nothing of where that woman came from, or who she is."
Twining looked at his wife. His gaze was very mild. "I only know what
she has told me, Jane," he said.
Mrs. Twining laughed and resumed the carving. Her laugh never went with
a smile; it never had the least concern with mirth; it was nearly always
a presage of irony, as an east wind will blow news of storm.
"Oh, certainly; what she's told you! That's you, all over! Suppose she'd
told you she'd been Lady of the White House once. You wouldn't have
believed her, not you! Of course not!"
"What is a Lady of the White House?" asked Claire, appealing to her
father. She was perfectly accustomed to these satiric outbursts on her
mother's part; they belonged to the home-circle; she would have missed
them if they had ceased; it would have been like a removal of the
hair-cloth sofa, or an accident to one of the lovers on the
window-shades.
Twining disregarded this simple question, which was a rare act with him;
he usually heard and heeded whatever Claire had to say.
"Please don't speak hard things of Mrs. Carmichael," he answered his
wife. "She's really a person who has seen better days."
"Better days!" echoed Mrs. Twining. "Well, then, we ought to shake
hands. _I_ think she's just _the_ plainest humbug I ever saw, with her
continual brag about altered circumstances. But I'll take your word for
it, Francis. The next time I see her I'll tell her we're
fellow-unfortunates. We'll compare our 'better days' together, and
calc'late who's seen the most."
Twining gave a faint sigh, and looked down. Then he raised his eyes
again, and a new spark lit their mildness. Something to-night had made
him lack his old patient tolerance.
"I'm afraid Mrs. Carmichael would have much the longer list," he said.
"Oh, you think so!"
"I know so."
Mrs. Twining tossed her head. The gloss was still on her dark hair,
whose gray threads had yet to come, later, in the Greenpoint days. She
was still, as the phrase goes, a fine figure of a woman. Her black eyes
had not lost their fire, nor her form its imposing fullness. She raised
herself a little from her chair, as she now spoke, and in her voice
there was the harshness that well fitted her bristling, aggressive mien.
"Oh! you _know_ so, do you?" she said, in hostile undertone. Then her
next words were considerably louder. "But _I_ happen to know, Francis
Twining, _Es_quire, who and what _I_ was when you took me from a
comfortable home to land me up here at the end of the world, where I'm
lucky if I can get hold of yesterday's newspaper to-morrow, and cross
over to the cars without leaving a shoe behind me in the mud!"
The least flush had tinged Twining's pale cheeks. He had looked very
steadily at his wife all through this speech. And when he now spoke, his
voice made Claire start. It did not seem his.
"You were a poor girl in a third-rate boarding-house, when I married
you," he said. "And the boarding-house was kept by relatives who
disliked and wanted to be rid of you. I don't see how you have fallen
one degree lower since you became my wife. But if you think that you
have so fallen, I beg that you will not forever taunt me with idle
sneers, of which I am sick to the soul!"
Mrs. Twining rose from her chair. Her dress was of some dark-red stuff,
and as the stronger light struck its woof the wrath of | 2,016.300414 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.3011870 | 384 | 15 |
Produced by Heiko Evermann, Lisa Anne Hatfield and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from scanned images of public
domain material from the Google Books project.)
Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text enclosed with _underscores_.
Bold text enclosed with =equal signs=.
Small–caps replaced by ALL CAPS.
More notes appear at the end of the file.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
HOW TO BRING MEN TO CHRIST
BY
R. A. TORREY
_Superintendent Chicago Bible Institute_
CHICAGO:
THE BIBLE INSTITUTE COLPORTAGE ASSOCIATION
250 LA SALLE AVE.
Eastern Depot: East Northfield, Mass.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_JUST PUBLISHED. By the same Author._
=Vest Pocket Companion for Christian Workers.=
The best texts for personal work. Classified for practical use,
printed in full, and arranged for ready reference.
From Mr. Torrey’s preface:
“There is medicine in the Bible for every sin–sick soul, but
every soul does not need the same medicine. This book attempts
to arrange the remedies according to the maladies.”
120 pages, bound in Russia leather in vest pocket size, price 25
cents.
_Fleming H. Revell Company, Publishers_,
NEW YORK. CHICAGO. TORONTO.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1893
BY FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington D. C.
_By the same Author._
=Ten Reasons Why I Believe the Bible is the Word =.15=
of God | 2,016.321227 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.3846690 | 114 | 121 |
Produced by David Edwards, Martin Mayer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[A Transcribers' Note follows the text.]
[Illustration: _Photo by Brady._ _Eng^d by Geo E Perine N.Y._
Albert D. Richardson]
THE
SECRET SERVICE,
THE FIELD, THE DUNGEON,
AND
THE ESCAPE.
"Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents | 2,016.404709 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.3847310 | 2,036 | 66 |
Transcribed from the 1902 (10th edition) by David Price, email
[email protected]. Many thanks to Local Studies, Bradford Central
Library, for allowing their copy of the pamphlet to be transcribed.
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
TENTH EDITION.
[Picture: Decorative divider]
Th' HISTORY o'
HAWORTH RAILWAY
FRA' TH'
BEGINNIN' TO TH' END,
WI' AN ACKAANT O' TH'
OPPNIN' SERRIMONY.
--o--
Bi Bill o'th' Hoylus End.
[Picture: Decorative image of a cow]
On hearing this, the Haworth foalk
Began to think it wor no joak,
An' wisht' at greedy kaa ma' choak,
'At swallowed th' plan o'th railway.
PRICE ONE PENNY.
* * * * *
KEIGHLEY:
BILLOWS & CO., PRINTERS & BOOKBINDERS, 16, HIGH ST.
1902
Telephone No. 224
PREFACE TO THE TENTH EDITION.
The Author of this well-known, amusing, and celebrated pamphlet was born
on the 22nd March, 1836, at a place midway between Keighley and Haworth,
called Hoylus End in a simple cottage near the Whins Delf, at the
terminus of the quaint old hamlet known as Hermit Hole, in the Parish of
Bingley. He began early in life to write songs and uncouth rhymes, and
even as a boy He wrote satires so caustic that they are remembered even
to the present day.
However, the Haworth Railway cropped up, and this found him ample food
for his pen; and as this is the Tenth Edition of the work it is clear
that it is still in popular favour.
Th' History o' Haworth Railway,
FRA' TH' BEGINNING TO TH' END.
[Picture: Decorative divider]
CHAPTER I.
Before I commence mi short history o' Haworth Railway, it might be as
weel to say a word or two abaat Haworth itseln. It's a city at's little
nawn, if onny, in th' history o' Ingland, tho thare's no daat but it's as
oud as Methuslam, if net ouder, yet wi' being built so far aat o' th'
latitude o' civilised nashuns, nobody's scarcely nawn owt abaat it wal
lately. Th' faanders of it is sed to be people fra th' Eastern
countries, for they tuk fearful after em in Haworth i'th line
o'soothsayers, magishuns, an' istralegers; but whether they cum fra th'
East or th' West, thay luk oud fasun'd enuff. Nah th' city is situated
in a vary romantic part o' Yorkshur, an' within two or three miles o'th
boundary mark for th' next county. Sum foak sez it wur th' last place
'at wur made, but it's a mistak, for it looks oud fashun'd enuff to be
th' first 'at wur made. Gurt travellers sez it resembles th' cities o'
Rome an' Edinburgh, for thare's a deal a up-hills afore yo can get tut
top on't; but i' landing yo'd be struck wi wonder an' amazement--wat wi
th' tall biggens, monnements, dooms, hampitheaters, and so on, for
instance Church, or rather th' Cathedrall, is a famous biggen, an' stands
majestekely o'th top o' th' hill. It hez been sed at it wur Olever
Cramwell that wur struck wi' th' appearance o'th' Church an th' city,
alltagether, wal he a mack a consented to have it th' hed-quarters for
th' army an' navy.
Th' faander o'th' Church is sed to be one Wang be Wang, one o'th' Empros
o' China as com ower in a balloon an browt wi' him all his relations but
his grandmuther. Th' natives at that toime wur a mack a wild; but i'
mixing up wi' th' balloonites thay soin becum civilized and bigd th'
Church at's studden fra that toime to nah, wi'th' exepshun o' one end,
destroyed at sum toime, sum sez it wur be war. Some sez West End an th'
Saath End wur destroyed, but its a mack a settled on by th' wiseuns it
wur witchcraft; but be it as it may, Haworth an th' foak a' together is
as toff as paps, an hez stud aat weel, an no daht but it wod a flerished
before Lundun, Parris, or Jerusalem, for centries back, if they hed a
Railway, but after nearly all Grate Britten an' France had been furnished
wi' a railway, th' people i' Haworth began to feel uneazy an' felt
inclined no longer to wauk several miles to get to a stashun if they wur
baan off like. An' besides, they thout it were high time to begin an'
mak sum progress i' th' world, like their naburs i' th' valley. So they
ajetated fer a line daan th' valley as far as Keighla, an' after abaat a
hundred meettings they gat an Akt past for it i' Parliament. So at last
a Cummittee wur formed, an' they met one neet o' purpose ta decide wen it
wod be th' moast convenient for 'em ta dig th' first sod ta commemorate
an' start th' gurt event. An' a bonny rumpus thur wur, yo' mind, for yo'
ma' think ha it wur conducted when thay wur threapin' wi' one another
like a lot a oud wimen at a parish pump, wen it sud be. One sed it mud
tak place at rush-buren, another sed next muck-spreadin' toime, a third
sed it mud be dug et gert wind day it memmery o' oud Jack K--- Well,
noan et proposishuns wud do fur the lot, and there wur such opposishun
wal it omust hung on a thre'ad whether th' railway went on or net, wal at
last an oud farmer, one o'th' committee men, wi' a voice as hoarse as a
farm yard dog, bawls aat, "I propoase Pancake Tuesday." So after a
little more noise it wur propoased an' seconded et Grand Trunk Railway
between th' respective taans of Keighla an' Haworth sud be commemorated
wi' diggin' th' furst sod 'o Pancake Tuesday i'th' year o' our Lord 1864;
an' bi th' show o' hands i'th' usual way it wur carried bi one, and that
wur Ginger Jabus, an' th' tother cud a liked to a bowt him ower, but
Jabus wornt to be bowt that time, for he hed his heart an' sowl i'th'
muvment, an he went abaat singing--
Come all ye lads o' high renown
'At wishes well your native town,
Rowl up an' put your money down
And let us hev a Railway.
Wi' Keighla foak we are behind,
An's hed to wauk agin wur mind;
But soin th' crookt-legg'd ens thay will find
We'll keep em wi' a Railway.
Well, hasumever, public notice wur made nawn, bi th' bellman crying it
all ower th' tawn, which he did to such a pitch wal he'd summat to do to
keep his hat fra flying off, but he managed to do it at last to a nicety,
for th' news spread like sparks aat of a bakehouse chimla; an' wen th'
day come they flockt in fra all parts, sum o'th crookt-legg'd ens fra
Keighla com, Lockertown and th' Owertown foak com, and oud bachelors fra
Stanbury and all parts at continent o' Haworth; foak craaded in on all
sides, even th' oud men an' wimen fra Wicken Crag an' th' Flappeters, an'
strappin' foak they are yo mind, sum as fat as pigs, wi' heeads as red as
carrits, an' nimble as a india-rubber bouncer taw; an' wat wur th' best
on't it happened to be a fine day; or if it hed been made accordin' to
orders it | 2,016.404771 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.4830830 | 1,351 | 11 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.net
[Illustration: SHE WAS UNCONSCIOUS WHEN THEY LIFTED HER OUT. Ruth
Fielding at Lighthouse Point. Page 78]
RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT
OR
NITA, THE GIRL CASTAWAY
BY
ALICE B. EMERSON
Author of Ruth Fielding of The Red Mill,
Ruth Fielding at Briarwood Hall etc.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Books for Girls
By ALICE B. EMERSON
RUTH FIELDING SERIES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL
Or, Jasper Parloe's Secret.
RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL
Or, Solving the Campus Mystery.
RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP
Or, Lost in the Backwoods.
RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT
Or, Nita, the Girl Castaway.
RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH
Or, Schoolgirls Among the Cowboys.
Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York.
Copyright, 1913, by
Cupples & Leon Company
Ruth Fielding at Lighthouse Point
Printed in U.S.A.
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I AN INITIATION 1
II THE FOX AT WORK 9
III ON LAKE OSAGO 16
IV TROUBLE AT THE RED MILL 24
V THE TINTACKER MINE 32
VI UNCLE JABEZ AT HIS WORST 42
VII THE SIGNAL GUN 49
VIII THE LIFEBOAT IS LAUNCHED 57
IX THE GIRL IN THE RIGGING 64
X THE DOUBLE CHARGE 72
XI THE STORY OF THE CASTAWAY 80
XII BUSY IZZY IN A NEW ASPECT 90
XIII CRAB PROVES TO BE OF THE HARDSHELL VARIETY 97
XIV THE TRAGIC INCIDENT IN A FISHING EXCURSION 103
XV TOM CAMERON TO THE RESCUE 114
XVI RUTH'S SECRET 120
XVII WHAT WAS IN THE NEWSPAPER 128
XVIII ANOTHER NIGHT ADVENTURE 137
XIX THE GOBLINS' GAMBOL 145
XX "WHAR'S MY JANE ANN?" 153
XXI CRAB MAKES HIS DEMAND 162
XXII THIMBLE ISLAND 171
XXIII MAROONED 179
XXIV PLUCKY MOTHER PURLING 187
XXV WHAT JANE ANN WANTED 196
RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT
CHAPTER I
AN INITIATION
A brown dusk filled the long room, for although the windows were shrouded
thickly and no lamp burned, some small ray of light percolated from
without and made dimly visible the outlines of the company there gathered.
The low, quavering notes of an organ sighed through the place. There
was the rustle and movement of a crowd. To the neophyte, who had been
brought into the hall with eyes bandaged, it all seemed very mysterious
and awe-inspiring.
Now she was set in a raised place and felt that before her was the
company of masked and shrouded figures, in scarlet dominoes like those
worn by the two guards who had brought her from the anteroom. The
bandage was whisked from her eyes; but she could see nothing of her
surroundings, nor of the company before which she stood.
"Candidate!" spoke a hollow, mysterious voice somewhere in the gloom,
yet sounding so close to her ear that she started. "Candidate! you stand
before the membership body of the S. B.'s. You are as yet unknown to
them and they unknown to you. If you enter the secret association of
the S. B.'s you must throw off and despise forever all ties of a like
character. Do you agree?"
The candidate obeyed, in so far as she prodded her sharply in the ribs
and a shrill voice whispered: "Say you do--gump!"
The candidate obeyed, in so far as she proclaimed that she did, at least.
"It is an oath," went on the sepulchral voice. "Remember!"
In chorus the assembly immediately repeated, "Remember!" in solemn
tones.
"Candidate!" repeated the leading voice, "you have been taught the
leading object of our existence as a society. What is it?"
Without hesitation now, the candidate replied: "Helpfulness."
"It is right. And now, what do our initials stand for?"
"Sweetbriar," replied the shaking voice of the candidate.
"True. That is what our initials stand for to the world at large--to
those who are not initiated into the mysteries of the S. B.'s. But
those letters may stand for many things and it is my privilege to explain
to you now that they likewise are to remind us all of two virtues that
each Sweetbriar is expected to practice--to be sincere and to befriend.
Remember! Sincerity--Befriend. Remember!"
Again the chorus of mysterious voices chanted: "Remember!"
"And now let the light shine upon the face of the candidate, that the
Shrouded Sisterhood may know her where'er they meet her. Once! Twice!
Thrice! Light!"
At the cry the ray of a spot-light flashed out of the gloom at the far
end of the long room and played glaringly upon the face and figure of
the candidate. She herself was more blinded by the glare than she had
been by the bandage. There was a rustle and movement in the room, and
the leading voice went on:
"Sisters! the novice is now revealed to us all. She has now entered into
the outer circle of the Sweetbriars. Let her know us | 2,016.503123 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.4831710 | 107 | 13 |
Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Woman in church]
THE REVOLUTION IN
TANNER’S LANE
BY
MARK RUTHERFORD
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
HODDER & STOUGHTON’S
SEVENPENNY LIBRARY
* * * * *
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
| 2,016.503211 |
2023-11-16 18:50:40.8805600 | 2,723 | 6 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
THE HAUNTED MINE
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF "THE GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,"
"WAR SERIES," ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SALE OF "OLD HORSE," 1
II. CASPER IS DISGUSTED, 13
III. JULIAN IS ASTONISHED, 24
IV. WHERE THE BOX WAS, 38
V. CASPER THINKS OF SOMETHING, 52
VI. A MR. HABERSTRO APPEARS, 65
VII. A PLAN THAT DIDN'T WORK, 78
VIII. CLAUS CALLS AGAIN, 91
IX. THE MASTER MECHANIC, 105
X. WHERE ARE THE VALISES? 118
XI. IN DENVER, 132
XII. CASPER NEVINS, THE SPY, 146
XIII. GETTING READY FOR WORK, 160
XIV. HOW CASPER WAS SERVED, 174
XV. HOW A MINE WAS HAUNTED, 188
XVI. GOOD NEWS, 201
XVII. MR. BANTA IS SURPRISED, 215
XVIII. GRUB-STAKING, 228
XIX. GOING TO SCHOOL, 243
XX. WATERSPOUTS AND BLIZZARDS, 256
XXI. THE CAMP AT DUTCH FLAT, 271
XXII. THE HAUNTED MINE, 286
XXIII. HAUNTED NO LONGER, 302
XXIV. "THAT IS GOLD," 317
XXV. CLAUS, AGAIN, 332
XXVI. CLAUS HEARS SOMETHING, 348
XXVII. BOB TRIES STRATEGY, 365
XXVIII. AN INHUMAN ACT, 380
XXIX. A TRAMP WITH THE ROBBERS, 392
XXX. HOME AGAIN, 406
XXXI. CONCLUSION, 420
THE HAUNTED MINE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SALE OF "OLD HORSE."
"Going for twenty-five cents. Going once; going twice; going----"
"Thirty cents."
"Thirty cents! Gentlemen, I am really astonished at you. It is a
disgrace for me to take notice of that bid. Why, just look at that
box. A miser may have hidden the secret of a gold-mine in it. Here it
is, neatly dovetailed, and put together with screws instead of nails;
and who knows but that it contains the treasure of a lifetime hidden
away under that lid? And I am bid only thirty cents for it. Do I hear
any more? Won't somebody give me some more? Going for thirty cents
once; going twice; going three times, and sold to that lucky fellow
who stands there with a uniform on. I don't know what his name is.
Step up there and take your purchase, my lad, and when you open that
box, and see what is in it, just bless your lucky stars that you came
to this office this afternoon to buy yourself rich."
It happened in the Adams Express office, and among those who always
dropped around to see how things were going was the young fellow who
had purchased the box. It was on the afternoon devoted to the sale of
"old horse"--packages which had lain there for a long time and nobody
had ever called for them. When the packages accumulated so rapidly
that the company had about as many on hand as their storeroom could
hold, an auctioneer was ordered to sell them off for whatever he could
get. Of course nobody could tell what was in the packages, and
somebody always bought them by guess. Sometimes he got more than his
money's worth, and sometimes he did not. That very afternoon a man
bought a package so large and heavy that he could scarcely lift it
from the counter, and so certain was he that he had got something
worth looking at that he did not take the package home with him, but
borrowed a hammer from one of the clerks and opened it on the spot,
the customers all gathering around him to see what he had. To the
surprise of everybody, he turned out half a dozen bricks. A partner of
the man to whom the box was addressed had been off somewhere to buy a
brickyard, and, not satisfied with the productions of the yard, had
enclosed the bricks to the man in St. Louis, to see how he liked them.
The purchaser gazed in surprise at what he had brought, and then threw
down the hammer and turned away; but by the time he got to the door
the loud laughter of everybody in the office--and the office was
always full at the sale of "old horse"--caused him to arrest his
steps. By that time he himself was laughing.
"I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he; "those bricks, which
are not worth a nickel apiece, cost me just two dollars."
He was going on to say something more, but the roar that arose caused
him to wait until it was all over. Then he went on:
"I have spent fifty dollars for 'old horse,' and if anybody ever knows
me to spend another dollar in that way I will give him my head for a
football. A man who comes here to squander his money for anything like
that is a dunce, and ought to have a guardian appointed over him. I
wish you all a very good day."
But in spite of this man's experience, Julian Gray had invested in
this box because he thought there was something in it. He did not care
for what the auctioneer said to him, for he talked that way to
everybody; but Julian knew there were no bricks in it, for it was done
up too neatly. The box was not more than twelve inches long and half
as wide, and by shaking it up and down the boy became aware that there
were papers of some kind in it. He paid the clerk the amount of his
bid upon it, picked up his purchase, and started for the door, paying
no heed to the remarks that were offered for his benefit. There he met
another boy, dressed in a uniform similar to the one he himself wore,
and stopped to exchange a few words with him.
"Well, you got something at last," said the boy. "It is not bricks, I
can swear to that."
"No, sir, it is not," said Julian. "Lift it. It contains papers of
some kind."
"Why don't you open it, and let us see what is in it?"
"I won't do that, either. I am not going to have the whole party
laughing at me the way they served that man a little while ago. Come
up to my room when Jack comes home, and then I will open it."
"I would not be in your boots for a good deal when Jack sees that
box," said the boy, hurrying away. "He says you have no business to
spend the small earnings you get on such gimcracks as 'old horse.'"
"I don't care," said Julian, settling the box under his arm and going
away in the opposite direction. "I've got the box, and if Jack does
not want to see what is in it, he need not look."
Julian broke into a run,--he knew he had no business to spend as much
time in that express office as he had done,--and in a few minutes
reached the headquarters of the Western Union Telegraph Company, in
whose employ he was. He laid down his book of receipts for the
dispatches he had delivered, then picked up his box again and stowed
it away under the counter, where he was sure it would be out of
everybody's way.
"I don't care," Julian repeated to himself, when he recalled what his
older companion, Jack Shelden, would have to say to him when he found
that he had been investing in "old horse." "I don't know that I expect
to make anything out of it, but somehow or other I can't resist my
curiosity to know what is in those bundles. When you can get the
packages for little or nothing, where's the harm? But that is no way
to save my money. I will never go near that express office again."
With this good resolution, Julian took his seat among the other boys
and waited in silence for the operator to call upon him to deliver a
dispatch. It came at last, and during the rest of the afternoon Julian
was kept busy. When six o'clock came he put his box under his arm and
started for home. His duties were done for that day.
The place that Julian called home was a long way from the office, for,
being a poor boy, he was obliged to room where he could get it as
cheaply as possible. He passed along several streets, turned numerous
corners, and finally sprang up the stairs in a sorry-looking house
which seemed almost ready to tumble down, and when he reached the top
he found the door of his room open. There he met his chum, who had
already returned from his work, going about his preparations for
supper, and whistling as though he felt at peace with himself and all
the world.
"Halloo!" he exclaimed, as Julian came in. "What's the news to-day?
Well, there. If you haven't been to that old express office again!"
These two boys were orphans--or at least Jack was. Julian had a
stepfather who, when his mother died, told the boy that he could not
support him any longer, and that he must look out for himself. He no
doubt expected that the boy would find himself in the poorhouse before
he had been long out of his care; but Julian was not that sort of a
fellow. He wandered aimlessly about the streets, looking for something
to do, sleeping in dry-goods boxes or on a plank in some lumber-yard;
and one morning, while passing along the street, wondering where he
was going to get something to eat, he saw a scene that thrilled him
with excitement. A span of horses was running away, and a telegraph
operator--Julian knew that he was an operator from the uniform he
wore--in making an attempt to stop them, lost his footing and fell on
the ground right in front of the frantic team. Julian was nearer to
him than anybody else, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, but
scarcely knowing why he did so, he dashed forward, seized the young
man by the shoulders, and pulled him out of the way. It was all done
in an instant, and Julian shuddered when he thought of what he had
done.
"Thank you, my lad," said the man, when he got up, brushed the dust
from his clothes, and looked after the flying horses. "You saved my
life, but you couldn't save the man in the buggy. Now, what can I give
you?"
"I don't want anything, sir," said Julian. The man was neatly dressed,
and looked as though he had some money, and Julian had more than half
a mind to ask him for enough with which to get some breakfast. But he
concluded that he would not do it; he would look farther, and he was
sure that he could get something to do, such as sweeping out a store,
and earn some breakfast in that way.
"You don't want anything?" exclaimed the man. "Well, you are the
luckiest fellow I ever saw!"
The man now turned and gave Julian a good looking over. It was not
necessary that he should ask any questions, for poverty was written
all over him.
| 2,016.9006 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
A Big Temptation.
[Illustration: "_What are you doing with that baby?_"]
A Big Temptation
By
L. T. Meade,
And Other Stories
by
M. B. Manwell and Maggie Browne
Illustrated by
Arthur A. Dixon
LONDON: _Printed in Bavaria._ _NEW YORK:_
ERNEST NISTER. 640. E. P. DUTTON & CO.
[Illustration]
A Big Temptation
By
L. T. Meade.
Netty stood on the doorstep of a rickety old house and nursed the baby.
She was ten years old and had the perfectly white face of a child who
had never felt any fresher air than that which blows in a London court.
It is true that the year before she had gone with her brother Ben into
the country. The Ladies' Committee of the Holiday Fund had arranged the
matter, and Netty and Ben had gone away. They had spent a whole
delicious fortnight in a place where trees waved, and the air blew
fresh, and there were lots of wildflowers to pick; and she had run about
under the trees, and slept at night in the tiniest little room in the
world, and in the cleanest bed, and had awakened each morning to hear
the doves cooing and the birds singing, and she had thought then that no
happiness could be greater than hers.
This had happened a year ago, and since then a new baby had arrived,
and the baby was rather sickly, and whenever Netty was not at school she
was lugging the baby about or trying to rock him to sleep. She was
baby's nurse, and she was not at all sorry, for she loved the baby and
the occupation gave her time to dream.
Netty had big dark-blue eyes, which showed bigger and darker than ever
in the midst of her | 2,016.999505 |
2023-11-16 18:50:41.3033680 | 2,036 | 20 |
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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)
PLOTINOS
Complete Works
In Chronological Order, Grouped in Four Periods;
With
BIOGRAPHY by PORPHYRY, EUNAPIUS, & SUIDAS,
COMMENTARY by PORPHYRY,
ILLUSTRATIONS by JAMBLICHUS & AMMONIUS,
STUDIES in Sources, Development, Influence;
INDEX of Subjects, Thoughts and Words.
by
KENNETH SYLVAN GUTHRIE,
Professor in Extension, University of the South, Sewanee;
A.M., Sewanee, and Harvard; Ph.D., Tulane, and Columbia.
M.D., Medico-Chirurgical College, Philadelphia.
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE PRESS
P. O. Box 42, ALPINE, N.J., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1918, by Kenneth Sylvan Guthrie.
All Rights, including that of Translation, Reserved.
Entered at Stationers' Hall, by
George Bell and Sons, Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn, London.
PLOTINOS
Complete Works
In Chronological Order, Grouped in Four Periods;
With
BIOGRAPHY by PORPHYRY, EUNAPIUS, & SUIDAS,
COMMENTARY by PORPHYRY,
ILLUSTRATIONS by JAMBLICHUS & AMMONIUS,
STUDIES in Sources, Development, Influence;
INDEX of Subjects, Thoughts and Words.
by
KENNETH SYLVAN GUTHRIE,
Professor in Extension, University of the South, Sewanee;
A.M., Sewanee, and Harvard; Ph.D., Tulane, and Columbia.
M.D., Medico-Chirurgical College, Philadelphia.
VOL. I
Biographies; Amelian Books, 1-21.
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE PRESS
P. O. Box 42, ALPINE, N.J., U.S.A.
FOREWORD
It is only with mixed feelings that such a work can be published.
Overshadowing all is the supreme duty to the English-speaking world,
and secondarily to the rest of humanity to restore to them in an
accessible form their, till now, unexploited spiritual heritage, with
its flood of light on the origins of their favorite philosophy. And
then comes the contrast--the pitiful accomplishment. Nor could it
be otherwise; for there are passages that never can be interpreted
perfectly; moreover, the writer would gladly have devoted to it every
other leisure moment of his life--but that was impossible. As a matter
of fact, he would have made this translation at the beginning of his
life, instead of at its end, had it not been for a mistaken sense of
modesty; but as no one offered to do it, he had to do it himself. If he
had done it earlier, his "Philosophy of Plotinos" would have been a far
better work.
Indeed, if it was not for the difficulty and expense of putting it
out, the writer would now add to the text an entirely new summary of
Plotinos's views. The fairly complete concordance, however, should
be of service to the student, and help to rectify the latest German
summary of Plotinos, that by Drews, which in its effort to furnish a
foundation for Hartmann's philosophy of the unconscious, neglected both
origins and spiritual aspects. However, the present genetic insight of
Plotinos's development should make forever impossible that theory of
cast-iron coherence, which is neither historical nor human.
The writer, having no thesis such as Drews' to justify, will
welcome all corrections and suggestions. He regrets the inevitable
uncertainties of capitalization (as between the supreme One,
Intelligence World-Soul and Daemon or guardian, and the lower
one, intelligence, soul and demon or guardian); and any other
inconsistencies of which he may have been guilty; and he beseeches the
mantle of charity in view of the stupendousness of the undertaking,
in which he practically could get no assistance of any kind, and also
in view of the almost insuperable difficulties of his own career. He,
however, begs to assure the reader that he did everything "ad majorem
Dei gloriam."
INDEX.
PLOTINOS' COMPLETE WORKS.
Preface 1
Concordance of Enneads and Chronological Numbers 2
Concordance of Chronological Numbers and Enneads 3
Biography of Plotinos, by Porphyry 5
Biographies by Eunapius and Suidas 39
Amelian Books, 1-21 40
Amelio-Porphyrian Books, 22-23 283
Porphyrian Books, 34-45 641
Eustochian Books, 46-54 1017
PLOTINIC STUDIES
IN SOURCES, DEVELOPMENT AND INFLUENCE.
1. Development in the Teachings of Plotinos 1269
2. Platonism: Significance, Progress, and Results 1288
3. Plotinos' View of Matter 1296
4. Plotinos' Creation of the Trinity 1300
5. Resemblances to Christianity 1307
6. Indebtedness to Numenius 1313
7. Value of Plotinos 1327
Concordance to Plotinos i
An outline of the doctrines of Plotinos is published under the title
"The Message of Plotinos."
CONCORDANCE OF ENNEADS AND CHRONOLOGICAL NUMBERS
i.1 53 iii.1 3 v.1 10
i.2 19 iii.2 47 v.2 11
i.3 20 iii.3 48 v.3 49
i.4 46 iii.4 15 v.4 7
i.5 36 iii.5 50 v.5 32
i.6 1 iii.6 26 v.6 24
i.7 54 iii.7 45 v.7 18
i.8 51 iii.8 30 v.8 31
i.9 16 iii.9 13 v.9 5
ii.1 40 iv.1 4 vi.1 42
ii.2 14 iv.2 21 vi.2 43
ii.3 52 iv.3 27 vi.3 44
ii.4 12 iv.4 28 vi.4 22
ii.5 25 iv.5 29 vi.5 23
ii.6 17 iv.6 41 vi.6 34
ii.7 37 iv.7 2 vi.7 38
ii.8 35 iv.8 6 vi.8 39
ii.9 33 iv.9 8 vi.9 9
CONCORDANCE OF CHRONOLOGICAL NUMBERS AND ENNEADS
1 i.6 19 i.2 37 ii.7
2 iv.7 20 i.3 38 vi.7
3 iii.1 21 iv.2 39 vi.8
4 iv.1 22 vi.4 40 ii.1
5 v.9 23 vi.5 41 iv.6
6 iv.8 24 v.6 42 vi.1
7 v.4 25 ii.5 43 vi.2
8 iv.9 26 iii.6 44 vi.3
9 vi.9 27 iv.3 45 iii.7
10 v.1 28 iv.4 46 i.4
11 v.2 29 iv.5 47 iii.2
12 ii.4 30 iii.8 48 iii.3
13 iii.9 31 v.8 49 v.3
14 ii.2 32 v.5 50 iii.5
15 iii. | 2,017.323408 |
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THE CINDER POND
BY
CARROLL WATSON RANKIN
AUTHOR OF "DANDELION COTTAGE," "THE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH," ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADA C. WILLIAMSON
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
191 | 2,017.503188 |
2023-11-16 18:50:41.5795010 | 447 | 18 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF ST. CLOUD
Being Secret Letters from a Gentleman at Paris to a Nobleman in London
By Lewis Goldsmith
Volume 6
LETTER X.
PARIS, September, 1805.
My LORD:--I was lately invited to a tea-party by one of our rich
upstarts, who, from a scavenger, is, by the Revolution and by Bonaparte,
transformed into a Legislator, Commander of the Legion of Honour, and
possessor of wealth amounting to eighteen millions of livres. In this
house I saw for the first time the famous Madame Chevalier, the mistress,
and the indirect cause of the untimely end, of the unfortunate Paul the
First. She is very short, fat, and coarse. I do not know whether
prejudice, from what I have heard of her vile, greedy, and immoral
character, influenced my feelings, but she appeared to me a most artful,
vain, and disagreeable woman. She looked to be about thirty-six years of
age; and though she might when younger have been well made, it is
impossible that she could ever have been handsome. The features of her
face are far from being regular. Her mouth is large, her eyes hollow,
and her nose short. Her language is that of brothels, and her manners
correspond with her expressions. She is the daughter of a workman at a
silk manufactory at Lyons; she ceased to be a maid before she had
attained the age of a woman, and lived in a brothel in her native city,
kept by a Madame Thibault, where her husband first became acquainted with
her. She then had a tolerably good voice, was young and insinuating, and
he introduced her on the same stage where he was one of the inferior
dancers. Here in a short time she improved so much, that she was engaged
as a supernumerary; her salary in France as an actress was, | 2,017.599541 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES |
| |
| * Where the original work uses text in italics or bold face, this|
| e-text uses _text_ and =text=, respectively. Small caps in the |
| original work are represented here in all capitals. Subscripts |
| are represented as _{subscript}. |
| * Footnotes have been moved to directly below the paragraph or |
| table to which they belong. |
| * Several tables have been split, transposed or otherwise re- |
| arranged to make them fit within the available width. |
| |
| More Transcriber's Notes will be found at the end of this text. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
PAINT TECHNOLOGY AND TESTS
Published by the
McGraw-Hill Book Company
New York
Successors to the Book Departments of the
McGraw Publishing Company Hill Publishing Company
Publishers of Books for
Electrical World The Engineering and Mining Journal
Engineering Record American Machinist
Electric Railway Journal Coal Age
Metallurgical and Chemical Engineering Power
PAINT TECHNOLOGY
AND TESTS.
BY
HENRY A. GARDNER
_Assistant Director, The Institute of Industrial Research,
Washington, D. C._
_Director, Scientific Section, Paint Manufacturers' Association
of the United States, etc._
McGRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY
239 WEST 39TH STREET, NEW YORK
6 BOUVERIE STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1911
_Copyright, 1911, by the_ MCGRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY
THE.PLIMPTON.PRESS.NORWOOD.MASS.U.S.A
TO
MY MOTHER
PREFACE
A few years ago the producer and consumer of paints possessed
comparatively little knowledge of the relative durability of various
pigments and oils. There existed in some cases a prejudice for a few
standard products, that often held the user in bondage, discouraging
investigation and exciting suspicion whenever discoveries were made,
that brought forth new materials. Such conditions indicated to the more
progressive, the need of positive information regarding the value of
various painting materials, and the advisability of having the questions
at issue determined in a practical manner.
The desire that such work should be instituted, resulted in the creation
of a Scientific Section, the scope of which was to make investigations
to determine the relative merits of different types of paint, and to
enlighten the industry on various technical problems. Paint exposure
tests of an extensive nature were started in various sections of the
country where climatic conditions vary. This field work was supplemented
in the laboratory by a series of important researches into the
properties of pigments, oils, and other raw products entering into the
manufacture of protective coatings. The results of the work were
published in bulletin form and given wide distribution. The demand for
these bulletins early exhausted the original impress, and a general
summary therefore forms a part of this volume.
The purpose of the book is primarily to serve as a reference work for
grinders, painters, engineers, and students; matter of an important
nature to each being presented. Without repetition of the matter found
in other books, two chapters on raw products have been included, and
they present in condensed form a summary of information that will prove
of aid to one who desires to become conversant with painting materials
with a view to continuing tests such as are outlined herein. In other
chapters there has been compiled considerable matter from lectures and
technical articles presented by the writer before various colleges,
engineering societies, and painters' associations.
The writer wishes to gratefully acknowledge the untiring efforts of the
members of the Educational Bureau of the Paint Manufacturers'
Association, whose early endeavors made possible many of the tests
described in this volume. Kind acknowledgment is also made to members of
the International Association of Master House Painters and Decorators of
the United States and Canada, who stood always ready to aid in
investigations which promised to bring new light into their art and
craft.
HENRY A. GARDNER.
WASHINGTON, October, 1911.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PAINT OILS AND THINNERS 1
II A STUDY OF DRIERS AND THEIR EFFECT 21
III PAINT PIGMENTS AND THEIR PROPERTIES 42
IV PHYSICAL LABORATORY PAINT TESTS 70
V THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF SCIENTIFIC PAINT MAKING 93
VI THE SCOPE OF PRACTICAL PAINT TESTS 105
VII CONDITIONS NOTED AT INSPECTION OF TESTS 114
VIII RESULTS OF ATLANTIC CITY TESTS 124
IX RESULTS OF PITTSBURG TESTS 135
X A LABORATORY STUDY OF TEST PANELS 149
XI ADDITIONAL TESTS AT ATLANTIC CITY AND PITTSBURG 174
XII NORTH DAKOTA PAINT TESTS 182
XIII TENNESSEE PAINT TESTS 201
XIV WASHINGTON PAINT TESTS 207
XV CEMENT AND CONCRETE PAINT TESTS 214
XVI STRUCTURAL STEEL PAINT TESTS 220
XVII THE SANITARY VALUE OF WALL PAINTS 252
PAINT TECHNOLOGY
CHAPTER I
PAINT OILS AND THINNERS
=Constants and Characteristics of Oils and Their Effect upon Drying.= An
attempt has been made to give in this chapter a brief summary of the
most important characteristics of those oils finding application in the
paint and varnish industry. For methods of oil analysis, the reader is
referred to standard works on this subject; the analytical constants
herein being given only for comparative purposes.
It is well known that one of the most desirable | 2,017.599664 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration]
TITAN:
A ROMANCE.
FROM THE GERMAN OF
_JEAN PAUL FRIEDRICH RICHTER._
TRANSLATED BY
CHARLES T. BROOKS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1864.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
THIRD EDITION.
_UNIVERSITY PRESS:_
WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY,
_CAMBRIDGE._
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The "Titan" is Jean Paul's longest--and the author meant it, and held
it, to be his greatest and best--romance; and his public (including Mr.
Carlyle) seems, on the whole, to have sustained his opinion. | 2,017.799784 |
2023-11-16 18:50:41.8800550 | 2,572 | 19 |
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THE PRISONER AT THE BAR
BOOKS BY ARTHUR TRAIN
THE PRISONER AT
THE BAR
SIDELIGHTS ON THE ADMINISTRATION
OF CRIMINAL JUSTICE
BY
ARTHUR TRAIN
Assistant District Attorney, New York County
SECOND EDITION
REVISED AND ENLARGED
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1915
Copyright, 1906, 1908, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
[Illustration]
To
ETHEL KISSAM TRAIN
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
The favorable reception accorded to the "Prisoner at the Bar," not
only in the United States but in England, and the fact that it has
won a place in several colleges and law schools as a reference book,
and in some instances as a sort of elementary text-book upon criminal
procedure, have resulted in a demand for a new edition. When the book
was written the author's sole intention was to present in readable form
a popular account of the administration of criminal justice. Upon its
publication he discovered to his surprise that it was the only book of
its exact character in the English language or perhaps in any other.
Reviewers pointed out that whereas there were annotated text-books
of criminal procedure and isolated articles on special topics, most
of them relating to the jury system, there was in existence no other
sketch of criminal justice as a whole, from arrest to conviction, based
upon either actual experience or hearsay.
This new edition has been indexed and is supplied with cross-references
to other works on allied subjects. A chapter has been added upon
"Insanity and the Law," and such statistics as the book contains have
been brought down to date. It is satisfactory to add that these show a
greatly increased efficiency in the jury system in criminal cases in
New York County, and that the tabulations of an eight years' experience
as a prosecutor only serve to confirm the conclusions set forth in the
first edition.
The author desires to express his thanks to Prof. John H. Wigmore, of
the Northwestern University Law School, for his many kind suggestions
and flattering references to this book in his masterly work upon the
law of evidence; to Augustin Derby, Esq., of the New York bar, who
most unselfishly gave much time to the examination of references, and
voluntarily undertook the ungrateful task of compiling the index; and
to those many others who, by comment or appreciation, have made a
second edition necessary.
_Bar Harbor, Me._,
Sept. 1, 1908.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
The prisoner at the bar is a figure little known to most of us. The
newspapers keep us steadily informed as to the doings of all sorts of
criminals up to the time of their capture, and prison literature is
abundant, but just how the criminal becomes a convict is not a matter
of common knowledge. This, however, does not prevent the ordinary
citizen from expressing pronounced and, frequently, vociferous opinions
upon our methods of administering criminal justice, in the same way
that he stands ready at any time to criticise the Darwinian theory,
free trade or foreign missions. Full knowledge of any subject is
inevitably an impediment to forcible asseveration. Generalities are
easy to formulate and difficult to disprove. The man who sits with his
feet up and his chair tilted back in the "drummer's" hotel will inform
you that there is no such thing as criminal justice and that the whole
judiciary, state and federal, is "owned" or can be bought; you yourself
doubtless believe that the jury system is a failure and successfully
evade service upon it; while your neighbor is firmly convinced that
prosecutors secure their positions by reason of their similarity to
bloodhounds and retain them by virtue of the same token.
The only information available to most people on this exceedingly
important subject is that offered by the press, and the press (save
in the case of sensational murder trials) usually confines itself
to dramatic accounts of the arrest of the more picturesque sort of
criminals, with lurid descriptions of their offences. The report or
"story" concludes with the statement that "Detective-Sergeant Smith
immediately arraigned his prisoner (Robinson) before Magistrate Jones,
who committed the latter to jail and adjourned the hearing until the
following Tuesday." This ends the matter, and the grewsome or ingenious
details of the crime having been served up to satisfy the public
appetite, and the offender having been locked up, there is nothing,
from the reporters' point of view, any longer in the story. We never
hear of Robinson again unless he happens to be the president of a
bank or a degenerate millionaire. He is "disposed of," as they say in
the criminal reports, without exciting anybody's interest, and his
conviction or acquittal is not attended by newspaper comment.
If on the other hand the case be one of sensational interest we are
treated daily to long histories of the defendant and his family,
illustrated by grotesque reproductions from the ancestral photograph
album. We become familiar with what he eats and drinks, the number of
cigars he smokes and his favorite actor and author. The case consumes
months in preparation and its trial occupies weeks. A battalion of
"special" talesmen marches to the court house,--"the standing army of
the gibbet," as one of my professional brethren (on the other side of
the bar) calls them. As each of the twelve is chosen his physiognomy
appears on the front page of an evening edition, a tear dropping from
his eye or his jaws locked in grim determination, in accordance with
the sentiments of the editor or the policy of the owner. Then follows
a pictorial procession of witnesses. The prosecutor makes a full-page
address to the public in the centre of which appears his portrait,
heroic size, arm sawing the air.
"I am innocent!" cries a purple defendant, in green letters.
"Murderer!" hisses a magenta prosecutor, in characters of vermilion.
Finally the whole performance comes to an end without anybody having
much of an idea of what has actually taken place, and leaving on the
public mind an entirely false and distorted conception of what a
criminal trial is like.
The object of this book is to correct the very general erroneous
impression as to certain phases of criminal justice, and to give a
concrete idea of its actual administration in large cities in ordinary
cases,--cases quite as important to the defendants and to the public as
those which attract widespread attention.
The millionaire embezzler and the pickpocket are tried before the same
judge and the same jury, and the same system suffices to determine the
guilt or innocence of the boy who has broken into a cigar store and
the actress who has murdered her lover. It is in crowded cities, like
New York, containing an excessive foreign-born population, that the
system meets with its severest test, and if tried and not found wanting
under these conditions it can fairly be said to have demonstrated its
practical efficiency and stability. Has the jury system broken down?
Are prosecutors habitually vindictive and over-zealous? It is the hope
of the writer that the chapters which follow may afford some data to
assist the reader in formulating an intelligent opinion upon these
and kindred subjects. It is needless to say that no attempt is made
to discuss police corruption, the increase or decrease of crime, or
penology in general, and the writer has confined himself strictly to
that period of the criminals' history described in the title as "AT THE
BAR."
To my official chief, William Travers Jerome, and to my associates,
Charles Cooper Nott, Charles Albert Perkins, and Nathan A. Smyth, I
desire to acknowledge my gratitude for their advice and assistance;
to my friend, Leonard E. Opdycke, who suggested the collection and
correlating of these chapters, I wish to express my thanks for his
constant interest and encouragement; but my debt to these is naught
compared to that which I owe to her to whom this book is dedicated,
who, with unsparing pains, has read, re-read and revised these chapters
in manuscript, galley and page and who has united the functions of
critic, censor and collaborator with a patience, good humor, and
discretion which make writing a joy and proof-reading a vacation.
Arthur Train.
_Bar Harbor, Me._,
Sept. 1, 1906.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction. By Prof. John H. Wigmore xvii
CHAPTER I
What Is Crime? 1
CHAPTER II
Who Are the Real Criminals 19
CHAPTER III
The Arrest 31
CHAPTER IV
The Police Court 42
CHAPTER V
The Trial of Misdemeanors 62
CHAPTER VI
The Grand Jury 81
CHAPTER VII
The Law's Delays 102
CHAPTER VIII
Red Tape 129
CHAPTER IX
The Trial of Felonies 148
CHAPTER X
The Judge 178
CHAPTER XI
The Jury 205
CHAPTER XII
The Witness 224
CHAPTER XIII
The Verdict 241
CHAPTER XIV
The Sentence 261
CHAPTER XV
Women in the Courts 279
CHAPTER XVI
Tricks of the Trade 303
CHAPTER XVII
What Fosters Crime 334
CHAPTER XVIII
Insanity and the Law 350
Index 377
INTRODUCTION
By Prof. John H. Wigmore, Dean of the Law School of Northwestern
University.
Mr. Train's book, "The Prisoner at the Bar," as an entertaining and
vivid picture of the criminal procedure of to-day, and a repertory of
practical experience and serious discussion of present-day problems
in the administration of justice, is, in my opinion, both unique and
invaluable. I know of no other book which so satisfyingly fills an
important but empty place in a modern field. At one extreme stand
the scientific <DW43>-criminologists, usefully investigating and
reflecting, but commonly severed from the practical treatment of any
branch of the subject until the prison doors are reached. At another
extreme are the professional lawyers, skilled in the technique of
present procedure, but too much tied by precedent to take anything
but a narrow, backward-looking view. Off in a third corner are the
economists, sociologists, physicians, and serious citizens in general,
who notice that some things are going wrong, but have no accurate
conception of what is actually seen and done every day in courts of
justice; these good people run the risk of favoring impracticable fads
or impossible theories.
Now comes Mr. Train's book, casting in the centre of the field an
illumination useful to all parties. It enlightens the serious citizen
as to the actual experiences of our criminal justice, and shows him the
inexorable facts that must be reckoned with in any new proposals. The
professional lawyer is stimulated to think over the large tendencies
involved in his daily work, to realize that all is _not_ necessarily
for the best, and to join and help with his skill. The scientific
criminologist is warned against trusting too much to the cobwebs of
his ideal theories, or adhering too implicitly to the Lombrosan school
or other foreign propaganda, and | 2,017.900095 |
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ENGLISH NARRATIVE POEMS
Macmillan's Pocket American and English Classics
A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.
16mo Cloth 25 cents each
Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley.
Andersen's Fairy Tales.
Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum.
Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
Bacon's Essays.
Bible (Memorable Passages from).
Blackmore's Lorna Doone.
Browning's Shorter Poems.
Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected).
Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc.
Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii.
Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress.
Burke's Speech on Conciliation.
Burns' Poems (Selections from).
Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
Byron's Shorter Poems.
Carlyle's Essay on Burns.
Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship.
Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (Illustrated).
Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale.
Church's The Story of the Iliad.
Church's The Story of the Odyssey.
Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner.
Cooper's The Deerslayer.
Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans.
Cooper's The Spy.
Dana's Two Years Before the Mast.
Defoe's Robinson Crusoe.
De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.
De Quincey's Joan of Arc, and The English Mail-Coach.
Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and The Cricket on the Hearth.
Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities.
Dryden's Palamon and Arcite.
Early American Orations, 1760-1824.
Edwards' (Jonathan) Sermons.
Eliot's Silas Marner.
Emerson's Essays.
Emerson's Early Poems.
Emerson's Representative Men.
English Narrative Poems.
Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History.
Franklin's Autobiography.
Gaskell's Cranford.
Goldsmith's The Deserted Village,
She Stoops to Conquer, and
The Good-natured Man.
Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield.
Gray's Elegy, etc., and Cowper's John Gilpin, etc.
Grimm's Fairy Tales.
Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair.
Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old Manse.
Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales.
Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables.
Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selections from).
Hawthorne's Wonder-Book.
Holmes' Poems.
Homer's Iliad (Translated).
Homer's Odyssey (Translated).
Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days.
Huxley's Autobiography and Lay Sermons.
Irving's Life of Goldsmith.
Irving's Knickerbocker.
Irving's The Alhambra.
Irving's Sketch Book.
Irving's Tales of a Traveller.
Keary's Heroes of Asgard.
Kingsley's The Heroes.
Lamb's The Essays of Elia.
Lincoln's Inaugurals and Speeches.
Longfellow's Evangeline.
Longfellow's Hiawatha.
Longfellow's Miles Standish.
Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn.
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal.
Macaulay's Essay on Addison.
Macaulay's Essay on Hastings.
Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive.
Macaulay's Essay on Milton.
Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome.
Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson.
Milton's Comus and Other Poems.
Malory's Le Morte Darthur.
Milton's Paradise Lost, Books I. and II.
Old English Ballads.
Old Testament (Selections from).
Out of the Northland.
Palgrave's Golden Treasury.
Parkman's Oregon Trail.
Plutarch's Lives (Caesar, Brutus, and Mark Antony).
Poe's Poems.
Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from).
Pope's Homer's Iliad.
Pope's The Rape of the Lock.
Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies.
Ruskin's The Crown of Wild Olive and Queen of the Air.
Scott's Ivanhoe.
Scott's Kenilworth.
Scott's Lady of the Lake.
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Scott's Marmion.
Scott's Quentin Durward.
Scott's The Talisman.
Shakespeare's As You Like It.
Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Shakespeare's Henry V.
Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
Shakespeare's King Lear.
Shakespeare's Macbeth.
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.
Shakespeare's Richard II.
Shakespeare's The Tempest.
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.
Shelley and Keats: Poems.
Sheridan's The Rivals and The School for Scandal.
Southern Poets: Selections.
Southern Orators: Selections.
Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I.
Stevenson's Kidnapped.
Stevenson's The Master of Ballantrae.
Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey, and An Inland Voyage.
Stevenson's Treasure Island.
Swift's Gulliver's Travels.
Tennyson's Idylls of the King.
Tennyson's The Princess.
Tennyson's Shorter Poems.
Thackeray's English Humourists.
Thackeray's | 2,018.06351 |
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PARKS FOR THE PEOPLE.
PROCEEDINGS OF A PUBLIC MEETING
HELD AT FANEUIL HALL,
JUNE 7, 1876.
BOSTON:
FRANKLIN PRESS: RAND, AVERY, & CO.
1876.
CONTENTS.
ORGANIZATION OF MEETING 5
SPEECH OF MR. JOSEPH S. ROPES 7
" " MR. GEORGE B. CHASE 10
" " MR. RICHARD H. DANA, JUN. 11
" " DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 20
" " REV. ROLLIN H. NEALE, D.D. 26
" " REV. J. P. BODFISH 27
" " COL. CHARLES W. WILDER 31
" " MR. JOSEPH F. PAUL 33
" " HON. P. A. COLLINS 36
LETTER OF DR. EDWARD H. CLARKE 38
COMMITTEE OF ONE HUNDRED 45
FANEUIL HALL MEETING IN FAVOR OF PUBLIC PARKS.
Pursuant to a call published in all the daily papers, and signed by a
large number of prominent citizens and tax-payers of Boston, a public
meeting was convened in Faneuil Hall on the evening of Wednesday, the
7th of June, 1876, to take action on the recommendations contained in
the Report of the Park Commissioners. The hall was crowded by an
intelligent and enthusiastic audience; and the proceedings as reported
_verbatim_ in the columns of the "Boston Morning Journal," were as
follows:--
The meeting was called to order at eight o'clock by Mr. JOHN W. CANDLER,
who said,--
GENTLEMEN,--As Chairman of the Committee of Arrangements, I have been
requested to call this meeting to order. It is usually the case, that,
when a mass meeting of citizens is to be held, a great deal of labor has
to be performed in preparing for and organizing the meeting. But I am
glad to say, that, on this occasion, the important advantage of having a
public almost entirely in our favor was enjoyed by the Committee. We
found a strong and intelligent and deep-seated sentiment almost
unanimous throughout the community, in favor of having the City
Government take prompt and favorable action upon the report of the Park
Commissioners. [Applause.] We found the community earnest and
enthusiastic in the desire that a system of parks should be projected
for the city of Boston, to insure the health, and to make certain and
positive the prosperity, of our citizens in the future. The Committee
had only to present the call or address through the press, which some
of you have read, to find hundreds ready to indorse it; and the
authorities had only to open wide the doors of Faneuil Hall to have the
people throng here, as they have to-night, to manifest the sentiment
which they feel so generally.
Gentlemen, we have with us to-night men of science, philanthropists, the
representatives of the learned professions. We have the capitalist; we
have the merchant; we have the mechanic; and we have the daily laborer,
who toils from the rising to the setting sun,--we have them all here, to
give out a voice to-night, expressing the opinions of the people, which
can neither be misrepresented nor misunderstood. [Applause.]
It is not my duty, gentlemen, to make a speech. You have here this
evening to address you, the representatives of every class, the best
that can be afforded in any city, the leading men of the city of Boston
in the different professions. It is only necessary, in the discharge of
my duty, that I should read to you the names of the gentlemen whom you
will be asked to elect as the officers of this meeting. They are as
follows:--
PRESIDENT.
THE HON. JOSEPH S. ROPES.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, WILLIAM AMORY, RICHARD FROTHINGHAM, PETER C.
BROOKS, MARTIN BRIMMER, GEORGE C. RICHARDSON, BENJAMIN F. THOMAS,
EDWARD S. RAND, HENRY P. KIDDER, THOMAS J. GARGAN, EBEN D. JORDAN,
C. A. RICHARDS, JOHN C. CROWLEY, WILLIAM B. BACON, AARON D.
WILLIAMS, CHARLES F. DONNELLY, WM. W. CLAPP, BENJAMIN DEANE,
RICHARD OLNEY, WILLIAM ATHERTON, THOMAS GOBIN, WILLIAM ENDICOTT,
JUN., ALBERT BOWKER, DANIEL J. SWEENEY, PATRICK T. JACKSON, R. M.
PULSIFER, ROLAND WORTHINGTON, JOHN G. BLAKE, M.D., J. H. CHADWICK,
LEWIS COLEMAN.
SECRETARIES.
HAMILTON A. HILL. WILLIAM E. PERKINS.
The list of names was unanimously approved; and the announcement of the
election of the gentlemen named therein was received with applause.
Mr. CANDLER continued, I have the honor of introducing to you JOSEPH S.
ROPES, Esq., a merchant of Boston, who has been called to fill a great
many places of trust, and who has always been found able in the
discharge of every duty, and faithful in every trust committed to him.
SPEECH OF MR. JOSEPH S. ROPES.
FELLOW-CITIZENS,--I thank you for the honor you have done me in inviting
me to preside on this auspicious occasion. You have come together
to-night, not to quarrel with one another's politics, not to abuse one
another's rival candidates, but to hold a friendly consultation upon one
of the most important and interesting and agreeable subjects which can
engage your attention,--the subject of public parks for the city of
Boston. [Applause.]
Gentlemen, I was born in Boston; and I well remember the time when our
cows were pastured on Boston Common, when the Back Bay was not a myth,
but a reality, and when at least a portion of the summit of Beacon Hill
was covered with green fields, on which were seen sometimes "raree
shows" and travelling menageries. Since that time, our city has grown
and swelled, and stretched itself north and south, and east and west,
striding over one arm of the sea, filling up another, swallowing the
neighboring towns one by one, taking two mouthfuls for Roxbury, and one
for Dorchester, and one for Charlestown and Brighton together, until it
has expanded its population sevenfold, and its area almost seventy times
seven, within fifty years. Yet there stands Boston Common just where and
just what it was--no larger, and thank heaven! as yet no smaller [loud
applause]--than it was fifty years ago.
Where are the breathing-places for this enlarged metropolis? Where are
the places of common resort for quiet and healthful enjoyment and
peaceful recreation for this expanded population? Where are the noble
parks and the wide-spreading groves? Where are the places fit for public
entertainment, which we find in every other large city in the civilized
world?--such as we see in London and Paris and Berlin and Vienna and
Florence and Rome and Naples--yes, even for the few brief months of
summer, in the northern capitals of Stockholm and St. Petersburg? And
echo answers, "Where?" [Laughter and applause.]
"Gone like a vision!"
My friends, I need not tell you that this matter has excited the
interest of our philanthropic and public-spirited citizens, and
especially of the medical faculty, to whom it is, in its sanitary
aspect, a matter of most important practical interest. And, through
their representations to the city government and to the state
legislature, a bill was brought before the legislature, which I had the
honor myself to report in the House of Representatives a little more
than a year ago, and which was passed by large majorities in both
houses, authorizing the city of Boston to purchase and to take lands
within its own limits for laying out public parks, and to co-operate
with adjacent towns in laying out conterminous parks for the common
benefit and advantage of citizens on both sides of the line.
This measure was opposed (as all such measures are opposed) on the
ground that "it would lead to jobbery and extravagance." And the answer
was ready at hand, that all public enterprises are liable "to lead to
jobbery and extravagance," but that the abuse of a good thing is no
argument against its valid use [applause]; that it is for the citizens
themselves | 2,018.098554 |
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material from the Google Print | 2,018.108289 |
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Produced by David Garcia, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Martin
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images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
MODERN LEADERS:
_BEING A SERIES OF_
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
BY JUSTIN McCARTHY,
_Author of "Lady Judith: A Tale of Two Continents," etc._
NEW YORK:
SHELDON & COMPANY,
677 BROADWAY and 214 and 216 MERCER STREET.
1872.
CONTENTS.
QUEEN VICTORIA AND HER SUBJECTS. 7
THE REAL LOUIS NAPOLEON. 18
EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. 25
THE PRINCE OF WALES. 35
THE KING OF PRUSSIA. 45
VICTOR EMANUEL, KING OF ITALY. 55
LOUIS ADOLPH THIERS. 66
PRINCE NAPOLEON. 77
THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE. 85
BRIGHAM YOUNG. 96
THE LIBERAL TRIUMVIRATE OF ENGLAND. 106
ENGLISH POSITIVISTS. 116
ENGLISH TORYISM AND ITS LEADERS. 126
"GEORGE ELIOT" AND GEORGE LEWES. 136
GEORGE SAND. 145
EDWARD BULWER AND LORD LYTTON. 156
"PAR NOBILE FRATRUM--THE TWO NEWMANS." 167
ARCHBISHOP MANNING. 175
JOHN RUSKIN. 183
CHARLES READE. 192
EXILE-WORLD OF LONDON. 202
THE REVEREND CHARLES KINGSLEY. 211
MR. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE. 223
SCIENCE AND ORTHODOXY IN ENGLAND. 234
INTRODUCTION.
The sketches which make up this volume are neither purely critical nor
merely biographical. They endeavor to give the American reader a clear
and just idea of each individual in his intellect, his character, his
place in politics, letters, and society. In some instances I have
written of friends whom I know personally and well; in others of men
with whom I have but slight acquaintance; in others still of persons
whom I have only seen. But in every instance those whom I describe are
persons whom I have been able to study on the spot, whose character and
doings I have heard commonly discussed by those who actually knew them.
In no case whatever are the opinions I have given drawn merely from
books and newspapers. This value, therefore, these essays may have to an
American, that they are not such descriptions as any of us might be
enabled to put into print by the mere help of study and reading;
descriptions for example such as one might make of Henry VIII. or
Voltaire. They are in every instance, even when intimate and direct
personal acquaintance least assist them, the result of close observation
and that appreciation of the originals which comes from habitual
intercourse with those who know them and submit them to constant
criticism.
I have not made any alteration in the essays which were written some
years ago. Let them stand as portraits bearing that date. If 1872 has in
any instance changed the features and the fortunes of 1869 and 1870, it
cannot make untrue what then was true. What I wrote in 1869 of the
Prince of Wales, for example, will probably not wholly apply to the
Prince of Wales to-day. We all believe that he has lately changed for
the better. But what I wrote then I still believe was true then; and it
is a fair contribution to history, which does not consent to rub out
yesterday because of to-day. I wrote of a "Liberal Triumvirate" of
England when the phrase was an accurate expression. It would hardly be
accurate now. To-day Mr. Mill does not appear in political life and Mr.
Bright has been an exile, owing to his health, for nearly two years from
the scenes of parliamentary debate and triumph. But the portraits of the
men do not on that account need any change. Even where some reason has
been shown me for a modification of my own judgment I have still
preferred to leave the written letter as it is. A distinguished Italian
friend has impressed on me that King Victor Emanuel is personally a much
more ambitious man than I have painted him. My friend has had far better
opportunities of judging than I ever could have had; but I gave the best
opinion I could, and still holding to it prefer to let it stand, to be
taken for what it is worth.
I think I may fairly claim to have anticipated in some of the political
sketches, that of Louis Napoleon, for instance, the judgment of events
and history, and the real strength of certain characters and
institutions.
These sketches had a gratifying welcome from the American public as they
appeared in the "Galaxy." I hope they may be thought worth reading over
again and keeping in their collected form.
JUSTIN MCCARTHY.
48 GOWER STREET, BEDFORD SQUARE, LONDON, July 31, 1872.
QUEEN VICTORIA AND HER SUBJECTS.
"And when you hear historians tell of thrones, and those who sat upon
them, let it be as men now gaze upon the mammoth's bones, and wonder
what old world such things could see."
So sang Byron half a century ago, and great critics condemned his verse,
and called him a "surly Democrat" because he ventured to put such
sentiments and hopes into rhyme. The thrones of Europe have not | 2,018.157528 |
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THE SNOW-IMAGE
AND
OTHER TWICE-TOLD TALES
THE MAN OF ADAMANT
By
Nathaniel Hawthorne
In the old times of religious gloom and intolerance lived Richard
Digby, the gloomiest and most intolerant of a stern brotherhood. His
plan of salvation was so narrow, that, like a plank in a tempestuous
sea, it could avail no sinner but himself, who bestrode it
triumphantly, and hurled anathemas against the wretches whom he saw
struggling with the billows of eternal death. In his view of the
matter, it was a most abominable crime--as, indeed, it is a great
folly--for men to trust to their own strength, or even to grapple to
any other fragment of the wreck, save this narrow plank, which,
moreover, he took special care to keep out of their reach. In other
words, as his creed was like no man's else, and being well pleased that
Providence had intrusted him alone, of mortals, with the treasure of a
true faith, Richard Digby determined to seclude himself to the sole and
constant enjoyment of his happy fortune.
"And verily," thought he, "I deem it a chief condition of Heaven's
mercy to myself, that I hold no communion with those abominable myriads
which it hath cast off to perish. Peradventure, were I to tarry longer
in the tents of Kedar, the gracious boon would be revoked, and I also
be swallowed up in the deluge of wrath, or consumed in the storm of
fire and brimstone, or involved in whatever new kind of ruin is
ordained for the horrible perversity of this generation."
So Richard Digby took an axe, to hew space enough for a tabernacle in
the wilderness, and some few other necessaries, especially a sword and
gun, to smite and slay any intruder upon his hallowed seclusion; and
plunged into the dreariest depths of the forest. On its verge,
however, he paused a moment, to shake off the dust of his feet against
the village where he had dwelt, and to invoke a curse on the
meeting-house, which he regarded as a temple of heathen idolatry. He
felt a curiosity, also, to see whether the fire and brimstone would not
rush down from Heaven at once, now that the one righteous man had
provided for his own safety. But, as the sunshine continued to fall
peacefully on the cottages and fields, and the husbandmen labored and
children played, and as there were many tokens of present happiness,
and nothing ominous of a speedy judgment, he turned away, somewhat
disappointed. The farther he went, however, and the lonelier he felt
himself, and the thicker the trees stood along his path, and the darker
the shadow overhead, so much the more did Richard Digby exult. He
talked to himself, as he strode onward; he read his Bible to himself,
as he sat beneath the trees; and, as the gloom of the forest hid the
blessed sky, I had almost added, that, at morning, noon, and eventide,
he prayed to himself. So congenial was this mode of life to his
disposition, that he often laughed to himself, but was displeased when
an echo tossed him back the long loud roar.
In this manner, he journeyed onward three days and two nights, and
came, on the third evening, to the mouth of a cave, which, at first
sight, reminded him of Elijah's cave at Horeb, though perhaps it more
resembled Abraham's sepulchral cave at Machpelah. It entered into the
heart of a rocky hill. There was so dense a veil of tangled foliage
about it, that none but a sworn lover of gloomy recesses would have
discovered the low arch of its entrance, or have dared to step within
its vaulted chamber, where the burning eyes of a panther might
encounter him. If Nature meant this remote and dismal cavern for the
use of man, it could only be to bury in its gloom the victims of a
pestilence, and then to block up its mouth with stones, and avoid the
spot forever after. There was nothing bright nor cheerful near it,
except a bubbling fountain, some twenty paces off, at which Richard
Digby hardly threw away a glance. But he thrust his head into the
cave, shivered, and congratulated himself.
"The finger of Providence hath pointed my way!" cried he, aloud, while
the tomb-like den returned a strange echo, as if some one within were
mocking him. "Here my soul will be at peace; for the wicked will not
find me. Here I can read the Scriptures, and be no more provoked with
lying interpretations. Here I can offer up acceptable prayers, because
my voice will not be mingled with the sinful supplications of the
multitude. Of a truth, the only way to heaven leadeth through the
narrow entrance of this cave,--and I alone have found it!"
In regard to this cave it was observable that the roof, so far as the
imperfect light permitted it to be seen, was hung with substances
resembling opaque icicles; for the damps of unknown centuries, dripping
down continually, had become as hard as adamant; and wherever that
moisture fell, it seemed to possess the power of converting what it
bathed to stone. The fallen leaves and sprigs of foliage, which the
wind had swept into the cave, and the little feathery shrubs, rooted
near the threshold, were not wet with a natural dew, but had been
embalmed by this wondrous process. And here I am put in mind that
Richard Digby, before he withdrew himself from the world | 2,018.257317 |
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
WILHELM TELL.
By Frederich Schiller
Translated by Theodore Martin
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
HERMANN GESSLER, Governor of Schwytz and Uri.
WERNER, Baron of Attinghausen, free noble of Switzerland.
ULRICH VON RUDENZ, his Nephew.
WERNER STAUFFACHER, |
CONRAD HUNN, |
HANS AUF DER MAUER, |
JORG IM HOFE, | People of Schwytz.
ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, |
JOST VON WEILER, |
ITEL REDING, |
WALTER FURST, |
WILHELM TELL, |
ROSSELMANN, the Priest, |
PETERMANN, Sacristan, | People of Uri.
KUONI, Herdsman, |
WERNI, Huntsman, |
RUODI, Fisherman, |
ARNOLD OF MELCHTHAL, |
CONRAD BAUMGARTEN, |
MEYER VON SARNEN, |
STRUTH VON WINKELRIED, | People of Unterwald.
KLAUS VON DER FLUE, |
BURKHART AM BUHEL, |
ARNOLD VON SEWA, |
PFEIFFER OF LUCERNE.
KUNZ OF GERSAU.
JENNI, Fisherman's Son.
SEPPI, Herdsman's Son.
GERTRUDE, Stauffacher's Wife.
HEDWIG, Wife of Tell, daughter of Furst.
BERTHA OF BRUNECK, a rich heiress.
ARMGART, |
MECHTHILD, | Peasant women.
ELSBETH, |
HILDEGARD, |
WALTER, | Tell's sons.
WILHELM, |
FRIESSHARDT, | Soldiers.
LEUTHOLD, |
RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, Gessler's master of the horse.
JOHANNES PARRICIDA, Duke of Suabia.
STUSSI, Overseer.
THE MAYOR OF URI.
A COURIER.
MASTER STONEMASON, COMPANIONS, AND WORKMEN.
TASKMASTER.
A CRIER.
MONKS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY.
HORSEMEN OF GESSLER AND LANDENBERG.
MANY PEASANTS; MEN AND WOMEN FROM THE WALDSTETTEN.
WILHELM TELL.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A high, rocky shore of the lake of Lucerne opposite Schwytz.
The lake makes a bend into the land; a hut stands at a short
distance from the shore; the fisher boy is rowing about in his
boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green meadows, the hamlets,
and arms of Schwytz, lying in the clear sunshine. On the left
are observed the peaks of the Hacken, surrounded with clouds; to
the right, and in the remote distance, appear the Glaciers. The
Ranz des Vaches, and the tinkling of cattle-bells, continue for
some time after the rising of the curtain.
FISHER BOY (sings in his boat).
Melody of the Ranz des Vaches.
The clear, smiling lake wooed to bathe in its deep,
A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep;
Then heard he a melody
Flowing and soft,
And sweet, as when angels
Are singing aloft.
And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest,
The waters are murmuring over his breast;
And a voice from the deep cries,
"With me thou must go,
I charm the young shepherd,
I lure him below."
HERDSMAN (on the mountains).
Air.--Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o'er.
We go to the hills, but you'll see us again,
When the cuckoo is calling, and wood-notes are gay,
When flowerets are blooming in dingle and plain,
And the brooks sparkle up in the sunshine of May.
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o'er.
CHAMOIS HUNTER (appearing on the top of a cliff).
Second Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.
On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge,
The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge,
Undaunted he hies him
O'er ice-covered wild,
Where leaf never budded,
Nor spring ever smiled;
And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye
No longer the dwellings of man can espy;
Through the parting clouds only
The earth can be seen,
Far down 'neath the vapor
The meadows of green.
[A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, cracking
noise is heard among the mountains. Shadows of clouds sweep
across the scene.
[RUODI, the fisherman, comes out of his cottage. WERNI, the
huntsman, descends from the rocks. KUONI, the shepherd, enters,
with a milk pail on his shoulders, followed by SERPI, his assistant.
RUODI.
Bestir thee, Jenni, haul the boat on shore.
The grizzly Vale-king [1] comes, the glaciers moan,
The lofty Mytenstein [2] draws on his hood,
And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind;
The storm will burst before we are prepared.
KUONI.
'Twill rain ere long; my sheep browse eagerly,
And Watcher there is scraping up the earth.
WERNI.
The fish are leaping, and the water-hen
Dives up and down. A storm is coming on.
KUONI (to his boy).
Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying.
SEPPI. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells.
KUONI.
Then all are safe; she ever ranges farthest.
RUODI.
You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman.
WERNI.
And likely cattle, too. Are they your own?
KUONI.
I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's
Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care.
RUODI.
How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon!
KUONI.
Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd,
And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed.
RUODI.
You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason.
WERNI.
That's easy said. But beasts have reason too--
And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois.
They never turn to feed--sagacious creatures!
Till they have placed a sentinel ahead,
Who pricks his ears whenever we approach,
And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe.
RUODI (to the shepherd).
Are you for home?
KUONI.
The Alp is grazed quite bare.
WERNI.
A safe return, my friend!
KUONI.
The same to you?
Men come not always back from tracks like yours.
RUODI.
But who comes here, running at topmost speed?
WERNI.
I know the man; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen.
CONRAD BAUMGARTEN (rushing in breathless).
For God's sake, ferryman, your boat!
RUODI.
How now?
Why all this haste?
BAUMGARTEN.
Cast off! My life's at stake!
Set me across!
KUONI.
Why, what's the matter, friend?
WERNI.
Who are pursuing you? First tell us that.
BAUMGARTEN (to the fisherman).
Quick, quick, even now they're close upon my heels!
The viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit!
I'm a lost man should they lay hands upon me.
RUODI.
Why are the troopers in pursuit of you?
BAUMGARTEN.
First save my life and then I'll tell you all.
WERNI.
There's blood upon your garments--how is this?
BAUMGARTEN.
The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.
KUONI.
How! What! The Wolfshot? [3] Is it he pursues you?
BAUMGARTEN.
He'll ne'er hunt man again; I've settled him.
ALL (starting back).
Now, God forgive you, what is this you've done!
BAUMGARTEN.
What every free man in my place had done.
I have but used mine own good household right
'Gainst him that would have wronged my wife--my honor.
KUONI.
And has he wronged you in your honor, then?
BAUMGARTEN.
That he did not fulfil his foul desire
Is due to God and to my trusty axe.
WERNI.
You've cleft his skull, then, have you, with your axe?
KUONI.
Oh, tell us all! You've time enough, before
The boat can be unfastened from its moorings.
BAUMGARTEN.
When I | 2,018.600462 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Cindy Beyer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
[Illustration: THE YACHT WAS BEARING DOWN UPON THEM.]
THE
YOUNG OARSMEN OF LAKEVIEW.
BY
_CAPT. RALPH BONEHILL._
_Author of_
“_Rival Bicyclists_,” “_Leo, the Circus Boy_,” _Etc._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
W. L. ALLISON CO.,
PUBLISHERS.
COPYRIGHT, 1897.
BY
W. L. ALLISON CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. Jerry, Harry and Blumpo 5
II. Mrs. Fleming’s Runaway Horse 12
III. Jerry’s Bravery 18
IV. Saving the Sloop 24
V. Harry is Rescued 30
VI. The Single Shell Race 37
VII. Who Won the Shell Race 43
VIII. A Prisoner of the Enemy 48
IX. Tar and Feathers 55
X. What Towser Did 61
XI. Off for Hermit Island 67
XII. An Attack in the Dark 73
XIII. Jerry’s Shot 78
XIV. The Hermit of the Island 83
XV. The Hermit’s Secret 89
XVI. An Exciting Chase 94
XVII. Harry’s New Yacht 99
XVIII. The Robbery of the Rockpoint Hotel 108
XIX. The Red Valise 113
XX. The Mishap to the Yacht 118
XXI. Words and Blows 125
XXII. Another Boat Race 132
XXIII. Jerry Starts on a Journey 140
XXIV. The Work of a Real Hero 146
XXV. A Fruitless Search 153
XXVI. Alexander Slocum is Astonished 160
XXVII. Jerry’s Clever Escape 165
XXVIII. Something About a Tramp 171
XXIX. Mr. Wakefield Smith Again 178
XXX. An Unlooked for Adventure 182
XXXI. Nellie Ardell’s Troubles 187
XXXII. A Crazy Man’s Doings 193
XXXIII. The Little Nobody 200
XXXIV. Alexander Slocum Shows His Hand 208
XXXV. A Strange Disappearance 215
XXXVI. Jerry Hears an Astonishing
Statement 222
XXXVII. A Joyous Meeting 229
XXXVIII. Alexander Slocum is Brought to Book 237
XXXIX. Harry to the Rescue 244
XL. A Struggle in the Dark 252
XLI. A Last Race—Good-bye to the Rival
Oarsmen 262
CHAPTER I.
JERRY, HARRY, AND BLUMPO.
“I’ll race you.”
“Done! Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Then off we go.”
Quicker than it can be related, four oars fell into the water and four
sturdy arms bent to the task of sending two beautiful single-shell craft
skimming over the smooth surface of the lake.
It was a spirited scene, and attracted not a little attention, for both
of the contestants were well known.
“Go it, Jerry! You can beat him if you try!”
“Don’t let him get ahead, Harry. Keep closer to the shore!”
“How far is the race to be?”
“Up to the big pine tree and back.”
“That’s a full mile and more. I’ll bet on Jerry Upton.”
“And I’ll bet on Harry Parker. He has more skill than Jerry.”
“But Jerry has the muscle.”
“There they go, side by side!”
And thus the talking and shouting went on along the lake front. Most of
the boys present were members of the Lakeview Boat Club, but there were
others of the town there, too, as enthusiastic as the rest.
It was a clear, warm day in June. The summer holidays at the various
institutes of learning in the vicinity had just begun, so many of the
lads had nothing to do but to enjoy themselves.
There were not a few craft out besides the two shells to which we have
drawn attention. But they drew out of the way to give the racers a free
field.
On and on went Jerry and Harry until the big pine was reached. Then came
the turn, and they started on the home stretch side by side, neither one
foot ahead of the other.
“It’s going to be a tie race.”
“Pull, Harry! Let yourself out!”
“Show him what you can do, Jerry!”
Encouraged by the shouts of their friends, both boys increase their
speed. But the increase on both sides was equal, and still the boats
kept bow and bow as they neared the boathouse.
“It’s going to be a tie, sure enough.”
“Spurt a bit, Jerry!”
“Go it for all you’re worth, Harry!”
Again the two contestants put forth additional muscle, each to
out-distance his opponent, and again the two row-boats leaped forward,
still side by side.
As old Jack Broxton, the keeper of the boathouse, said afterward: “It
would have taken twelve judges, sitting twelve days, to have told which
had the advantage.”
The finishing point was now less than five hundred feet distant, and in
a few seconds more the race would be over. The crowd began to stop
shouting, almost breathless with pent-up interest. It was surely the
prettiest race that had ever been rowed on Otasco Lake.
Splash!
The splash was followed by a splutter, and then a frantic cry for help.
A portion of the high float in front of the boathouse had unexpectedly
given way, and a short, stocky, reddish-black youth had gone floundering
over board.
“Blumpo Brown has gone under.”
“It serves him right for standing away out on the edge of the float.”
“Help! Help!” cried the youth in the water.
“Hold on, Harry! Jerry, don’t run into me!”
Alarmed by the cries, the two racers turned around, easing up on their
oars as they did so. A single glance showed them that the unfortunate
one was directly in their path.
“We must stop!” cried Jerry Upton to his friend.
“All right; call it off,” responded Harry Parker. “It was a tie.”
As he finished, both shells drew up, one on either side of Blumpo Brown.
Each of the rowers offered the struggling youth a helping hand.
Blumpo was soon clinging to Jerry’s shell. He was dripping from head to
foot, and not being at all a handsomely-formed or good-looking youth, he
presented a most comical appearance.
“It’s too bad I spoiled the race,” mumbled Blumpo. “But that’s just
me—always putting my foot into it.”
“I guess you put more than your foot into it this time,” was Harry’s
good-natured comment, as he ran close up alongside.
“Where shall I land you, Blumpo?” questioned Jerry Upton.
“Anywhere but near the boathouse,” returned Blumpo, with a shiver that
was not brought on entirely by his involuntary bath. “If you land me
there the fellows won’t give me a chance to get out of sight.”
“I’ll take you up the lake shore if you wish,” said Jerry. “I intended
to go up anyway in a row-boat.”
“All right, Jerry, do that and I’ll be much obliged to you,” returned
Blumpo Brown.
“You are going along, aren’t you, Harry?” continued Jerry, turning to
his late rival.
“Yes, I want to stop at Mrs. Fleming’s cottage,” replied Harry Parker.
In a moment more Harry had turned his shell over to old Jack Broxton and
had leaped into a row-boat.
“Ain’t you fellows going to try it over again?” asked several on the
shore, anxiously.
“Not now,” returned Jerry. Then he went on to Harry, in a lower tone: “I
didn’t expect to make a public exhibition of our little trial at speed,
did | 2,018.756374 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE
OR
CAMP | 2,018.761525 |
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Produced by Dianne Bean
Tales of Aztlan,
The Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of
Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales.
by
George Hartmann
A note about this book: A Maid of Yavapai, the final entry in this
book, is dedicated to SMH. This refers to Sharlot M. Hall, a famous
Arizona settler. The copy of the book that was used to make this etext
is dedicated: With my compliments and a Happy Easter, Apr 5th 1942, To
Miss Sharlot M. Hall, from The daughter of the Author, Carrie S.
Allison, Presented March 31st, 1942, Prescott, Arizona.
1908 Revised edition
Memorial
That this volume may serve to keep forever fresh the memory of a hero,
Captain William Owen O'Neill, U. S. V., is the fervent wish of The
Author.
CONTENTS
I. A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
II. PERILOUS JOURNEY
III. THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR.
THE AMBUSH
IV. A STRANGE LAND AND STRANGER PEOPLE
V. ON THE RIO GRANDE. AN ABSTRACT OF THE AUTHOR'S GENEALOGY
OF MATERNAL LINEAGE
VI. INDIAN LORE. THE WILY NAVAJO
VII. THE FIGHT IN THE SAND HILLS. THE PHANTOM DOG
VIII. WITH THE NAVAJO TRIBE
IX. IN ARIZONA
X. AT THE SHRINE OF A "SPHINX OF AZTLAN"
AN UNCANNY STONE.
L'ENVOY.
THE BIRTH OF ARIZONA. (AN ALLEGORICAL TALE.)
A ROYAL FIASCO.
A MAID OF YAVAPAI.
CHAPTER I.
A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
A native of Germany, I came to the United States soon after the Civil
War, a healthy, strong boy of fifteen years. My destination was a
village on the Rio Grande, in New Mexico, where I had relatives. I was
expected to arrive at Junction City, in the State of Kansas, on a day
of June, 1867, and proceed on my journey with a train of freight wagons
over the famous old Santa Fe trail.
Junction City was then the terminal point of a railway system which
extended its track westward across the great American plains, over the
virgin prairie, the native haunt of the buffalo and fleet-footed
antelope, the iron horse trespassing on the hunting ground of the
Arapahoe and Comanche Indian tribes. As a mercantile supply depot for
New Mexico and Colorado, Junction City was the port from whence a
numerous fleet of prairie schooners sailed, laden with the necessities
and luxuries of an advancing civilization. But not every sailor reached
his destined port, for many were they who were sent by the pirates of
the plains over unknown trails, to the shores of the great Beyond,
their scalpless bodies left on the prairie, a prey to vultures and
coyotes.
If the plans of my relatives had developed according to program, this
story would probably not have been told. Indians on the warpath
attacked the wagon train which I was presumed to have joined, a short
distance out from Junction City. They killed and scalped several
teamsters and also a young German traveler; stampeded and drove off a
number of mules and burned up several wagons. This was done while
fording the Arkansas River, near Fort Dodge. I was delayed near Kansas
City under circumstances which preclude the supposition of chance and
indicate a subtle and Inexorably fatal power at work for the
preservation of my life--a force which with the giant tread of the
earthquake devastates countries and lays cities in ruins; that awful
power which on wings of the cyclone slays the innocent babe in its
cradle and harms not the villain, or vice versa; that inscrutable
spirit which creates and lovingly shelters the sparrow over night and
then at dawn hands it to the owl to serve him for his breakfast. Safe I
was under the guidance of the same loving, paternal Providence which in
death delivereth the innocent babe from evil and temptation, shields
the little sparrow from all harm forever, and incidentally provides
thereby for the hungry owl.
I should have changed cars at Kansas City, but being asleep at the
critical time and overlooked by the conductor, I passed on to a station
beyond the Missouri River. There the conductor aroused me and put me
off the train without ceremony. I was forced to return, and reached the
river without any mishap, as it was a beautiful moonlight night. I
crossed the long bridge with anxiety, for it was a primitive-looking
structure, built on piles, and I had to step from tie to tie, looking
continually down at the swirling waters of the great, muddy river. As I
realized the possibility of meeting a train, I crossed over it,
running. At last I reached the opposite shore. It was nearly dawn now,
and I walked to the only house in sight, a long, low building of logs
and, being very tired, I sat down on the veranda and soon fell asleep.
It was not long after sunrise that a sinister, evil-looking person,
smelling vilely of rum, woke me up roughly and asked me what I did
there. When he learned that I was traveling to New Mexico and had lost
my way, he grew very polite and invited me into the house.
We entered a spacious hall, which served as a dining-room, where eight
young ladies were busily engaged arranging tables and furniture. The
man intimated that he kept a hotel and begged the young ladies to see
to my comfort and bade me consider myself as being at home. The girls
were surprised and delighted to meet me and overwhelmed me with
questions. They expressed the greatest concern and interest when they
learned that I was about to cross the plains.
"Poor little Dutchy," said one, "how could your mother send you out all
alone into the cruel, wide world!" "Mercy, and among the Indians, too,"
said another. When I replied that my dear mother had sent me away
because she loved me truly, as she knew that I had a better chance to
prosper in the United States than in the Fatherland, they called me a
cute little chap and smothered me with their kisses.
The tallest and sweetest of these girls (her name was | 2,018.762582 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Fatal Cord
and The Falcon Rover
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Charles H. Clarke, 13 Paternoster Row, London.
This edition dated 1872.
The Fatal Cord, by Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE FATAL CORD, BY MAYNE REID.
STORY ONE, CHAPTER ONE.
A BIVOUAC OF BOY HUNTERS.
A Hunters' bivouac under the shadows of a Mississippian forest, in a
spot where the trees stand unthinned by the axe of the woodman.
It is upon the Arkansas side of the great river, not far from the town
of Helena, and in the direction of Little Rock, the capital of that
State.
The scene is a small glade, surrounded by tall cottonwood trees, one of
which on each side, conspicuously "blazed," indicates a "trace" of
travel. It is that leading from Helena to a settlement on the forks of
the White River and Cache.
The time is a quarter of a century ago, when this district of country
contained a heterogeneous population, comprising some of the wildest and
wickedest spirits to be found in all the length and breadth of the
backwoods border. It was then the chosen home for men of fallen
fortunes, lawyers and land speculators, slave-traders and swindlers,
hunters, who lived by the pursuit of game, and sportsmen, whose game was
cards, and whose quarry consisted of such dissolute cotton planters as,
forsaking their homes in Mississippi and Tennessee, had re-established
themselves on the fertile bottoms of the Saint Francis, the White and
the Arkansas.
A glance at the individuals comprising the bivouac in question forbids
the supposition that they belong to any of the above. There are six of
them; all are boys, the oldest not over twenty, while the youngest may
be under sixteen. And though at the same glance you are satisfied that
they are but amateur hunters, the game they have succeeded in bringing
down shows them gifted not only with skill but courage in the chase.
The carcase of a large bear lies beside them on the sward, his skin
hanging from a tree, while several steaks cut from his fat rump, and
impaled upon sapling spits, sing pleasantly over the camp fire, sending
a savoury odour far into the forest around.
About a dozen huge bear-hounds, several showing scars of recent
conflict, lie panting upon the grass, while just half this number of
saddled horses stand "hitched" to the trees.
The young hunters are in high glee. They have made a creditable day's
work of it, and as most of them have to go a good way before reaching
home, they have halted in the glade to refresh themselves, their hounds,
and their horses.
The chase has provided them with meat of which all are fond; most of
them carry a "pine" of corn bread in their saddle-bags, and not a few a
flask of corn-whiskey. They would not be the youth of Arkansas if found
unprovided with tobacco. Thus furnished with all the requisites of a
backwoods bivouac they are sucking it in gleesome style.
Scanning these young fellows from a social point of view you can see
they are not all of equal rank. A difference in dress and equipments
bespeaks a distinct standing, even in backwoods society, and this
inequality is evident among the six individuals seated around the camp
fire. He whom we have taken for the oldest, and whose name is Brandon,
is the son of a cotton planter of some position in the neighbourhood.
And there is wealth too, as indicated by the coat of fine white linen,
the white Panama hat, and the diamond pin sparkling among the ruffles in
his shirt-bosom.
It is not this, however, that gives him a tone of authority among his
hunting companions, but rather an assumption of superior age, combined
with perhaps superior strength, and certainly a dash of _bullyism_ that
exhibits itself, and somewhat offensively, in both word and action.
Most of the dogs are his, as also the fine sorrel horse that stands
proudly pawing the ground not far from the fire.
Next to Master Brandon in degree of social standing is a youth, who is
also two years his junior, by name Randall. He is the son of a certain
lawyer, lately promoted to be judge of the district--an office that
cannot be called a sinecure, supposing its duties to be faithfully
performed.
After Randall may be ranked young Spence, the hopeful scion of an
Episcopal clergyman, whose cure lies in one of the river-side towns,
several miles from the scene of the bivouac.
Of lower grade is Ned Slaughter, son of the Helena hotel-keeper, and
Jeff Grubbs, the heir apparent to Jeff Grubbs, senior, the principal dry
goods merchant of the same respectable city.
At the bottom of the scale may be placed Bill Buck, whose father, half
horse trader, half corn planter, squats on a tract of poor land near the
Cache, of which no one cares to dispute his proprietorship.
Notwithstanding these social distinctions, there is none apparent around
the camp fire. In a hunter's bivouac--especially in the South-Western
States, still more notably within the limits of Arkansas--superiority
does not belong either to fine clothes or far stretching lineage. The
scion of the "poor white hack" is as proud of his position as the
descendant of the aristocratic cotton planter; and over the camp fire in
question Bill Buck talked as loudly, ate as choice steaks, and drank as
much corn whisky as Alf Brandon, the owner of the hounds and the
splendid sorrel horse.
In their smoking there might be noted a difference, Bill indulging in a
council pipe, while | 2,018.863055 |
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Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.
THE LABOUR-SAVING HOUSE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
WAR RATION COOKERY (The Eat-less-meat Book)
LEARNING TO COOK
10/- A HEAD FOR HOUSE BOOKS
NOVELS
THE HAT SHOP
MRS. BARNET-ROBES
A MRS. JONES
[Illustration:
_PLATE I_
A FINE OLD RAEBURN MANTEL-PIECE AND FIRE-PLACE FITTED WITH A MODERN
"DOG" GRATE AND GAS FIRE AND ALSO WITH GAS "CANDLE" STANDARDS]
THE LABOUR-SAVING HOUSE
BY MRS. C. S. PEEL
[Illustration]
LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXVIII
The greatest Labour-Saving apparatus which we possess is the Brain: it
has not been worn out by too much use.
_SECOND EDITION_
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE ANCHOR PRESS LTD. TIPTREE ESSEX
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Some portion of this book appeared in the form of articles in _The
Queen_ and _The Evening Standard_. My thanks are due to the Editors of
those papers for permission to republish them.
DOROTHY C. PEEL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
i. Why do we need Labour-Saving Houses? 3
ii. Labour-Saving Houses and the Servant Problem 7
iii. The Labour-Saving House as it Might Be 29
iv. The Labour-Saving House as it Can Be 53
v. The Work of a Labour-Making House, and the
Work of a Labour-Saving House 73
vi. Other People's Experiences of Labour-Saving
Homes 87
vii. Other People's Experiences of Labour-Saving
Homes (_continued_) 119
viii. Coal, Coke, and Gas: How to Use Them to the
Best Advantage 141
ix. The Electric House. Cooking, Heating, Cleaning
and Lighting by Electricity 171
A Final Word 187
Index 189
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
NO.
1. Gas Heater _Frontispiece_
2. Gas Heater PAGE 8
3. Gas Heater " 9
4. Gas Heater " 15
5. Gas Heater " 18
6. Gas Cooker " 31
7. Gas Heating " 31
8. Gas Heating " 33
9. Gas Heating " 35
10. Gas Lighting " 44
11. Gas Lighting " 45
12. Gas Lighting " 47
13. Gas Cooker " 51
14. Gas Cooking " 62
15. Gas Heating (Water) " 64
16. Gas Cooker " 67
17. Gas Heating (Water) " 71
18. Gas Heating (Water) " 75
19. Gas Kitchen " 79
20. Gas Cooking " 81
21. Gas Kitchen " 85
22. Gas Kitchener " 93
23. Gas Kitchen " 95
24. Gas Destructor " 97
25. Gas Kitchen " 101
26. Gas-Reading (Meter) " 105
27. Gas Oven " 108
28. Gas Oven " 111
29. Gas Steamer " 117
30. Gas Utensils " 124
31. Gas Oven " 126
32. Electric Kitchen " 131
33. Electric Iron and Electric Heater " 134
34. Electric Kitchen " 142
35. Dining-room Hot-Plate and Dreadnought Machine " 143
36. Electric Cooker " 145
37. Electric Fire " 148
38. Electric Cooker " 157
39. Electric Cooker " 160
40. Electric Transformer Co. " 163
41. Electric Transformer Co., Delightful Inventions " 164
42. Electric Transformer Co., Breakfast Cooker " 176
42. Electric Transformer Co., Toaster and Hot-Plate " 176
43. Electric Cooker " 177
44. Gas Oven " 180
45. Electric Fireplace " 181
46. Electric Radiator " 188
In almost every English house at least a third of each day is wasted
in doing work which in no way adds to the comfort of its inmates.
CHAPTER I
WHAT THIS CHAPTER IS ABOUT
_Why Labour-Saving Houses are Needed_
THE LABOUR-SAVING HOUSE
CHAPTER I
WHY LABOUR-SAVING HOUSES ARE NEEDED
Why do we need Labour-Saving Houses?
Because:
1.--Life is too short and time too valuable to waste in doing work
which is unnecessary and which adds little or nothing to our
comfort.
2.--There is a scarcity of labour. Girls of the class from which
domestic servants were drawn formerly now dislike service. The
would-be employer finds it difficult to obtain servants and to
keep them when obtained.
3.--Unless great changes are made in our houses and households it
will become even more difficult to obtain servants, because so
many professions are now open to young women that they are in a
position to choose how they will earn a living.
4.--When servants are not obtainable, the mistress is driven to
turn to and do the work of her own house. That is why a demand for
labour-saving mechanism is making itself felt.
5.--Owing to modern inventions, it is now possible to achieve a house
in which a family may be housed and fed in comfort at half the
cost of labour which is absorbed in the labour-making house.
6.--It is pleasanter to spend money on the things one likes than to
squander it on unnecessary coals and kitchenmaids.
House-keeping. Home-making.
What do these words mean?
They mean so much that is vital to the individual and to the nation
that one could weep for the stupidity which permits any untrained and
ill-educated girl to become a nurse, a cook, a housemaid, a mother,
and the mistress of a home!
CHAPTER II
WHAT THIS CHAPTER IS ABOUT
_The Ignorant Employer--The Incompetent Servant--Wanted! a New Race
of Mistresses--Domestic Training for all Girls--Its Value to the
Nation--"Menial" Work--The Surplus of Governesses, Secretaries, and
Companions, and the Scarcity of Servants--Genteel Professions--What
the Servant Dislikes--How to Popularise Domestic Service._
CHAPTER II
THE SERVANT PROBLEM AND SOME SOLUTIONS OF IT
I
"Servants? We haven't a single-handed cook or a house-parlourmaid on
our books, madam."
This, in many cases, is the reply of the registry office to-day, and
as time goes on the shortage of domestic workers will become more and
more acute. Of highly-paid upper servants, with under-servants to
wait upon them, there is no lack, for the supply of persons wishing
to fill the few "plum" posts in any profession is always adequate;
but as there is a lack of under-servants, even the very rich find it
difficult to secure a satisfactory household; while the mistress who
needs a house-parlourmaid, a single-handed cook, a "general," or even
a single-handed house- or parlourmaid finds it almost impossible to
induce a suitable girl to accept her situation.
Why should this be?
"The war," says every one. "All the young women are busy conducting
tramcars, selling bacon, and punching railway tickets."
But why are all the young women anxious to be anything but domestic
servants?
As a matter of fact this dislike to service has not been brought about
by the war; it has been growing steadily for many years, and to a great
extent employers have only themselves to thank for a state of affairs
which they so bitterly deplore.
[Illustration:
_PLATE II_
THE DAVIS "ADAM" GAS FIRE IN AN ADAM STYLE MANTEL]
The Ignorant Employer.
What sane person would undertake the management of a business knowing
nothing of the conduct of it? Yet this is what young women of the
moneyed classes have done ever since it became the fashion to despise
domesticity, to imagine that housekeeping was a pursuit fit only for
women too stupid to do anything else. The girl marries: to her, cookery
and household work are deep, dark mysteries. How do you clean silver?
How long does it take to turn out a bedroom? Do you allow 2 lbs. or
12 lbs. of margarine per week for a household of six persons? What is
dripping? The cook says soup cannot be made without soup meat. Can't
it? And what is soup meat? Imagine the annoyance of working under the
control of such an employer!
Honest, competent servants become disheartened, the incompetent remain
incompetent, while the ignorance of the mistress makes the temptation
to be dishonest well-nigh irresistible. It is the ignorance of the
mistress also that has enabled the perquisite and commission system
(polite names for theft) to flourish, and which make it possible for
tradesmen to employ men at low wages on the tacit understanding that a
high wage may be gained by fleecing the customer.
[Illustration:
_PLATE III_
AN "ADAM" DESIGN GAS DOG GRATE PLACED IN A FINE OLD FIRE-PLACE IN A
LARGE HALL
Note also the attractive gas candle brackets. (Richmond)]
No Chance for the Incompetent Servant.
Again, had the servant-employers of this country a proper knowledge
of their duties, the incompetent servant would have little chance to
exist. She would have been taught her work, and if she would not do it,
have been dismissed.
But nine times out of ten the mistress does not know how to teach, and
is so dependent on her servants that she must keep anyone rather than
be left servantless.
The result of our genteel dislike of "menial" duties has not only
encouraged dishonesty and incompetence in our servants, it has actually
lessened the supply. The mistress who has never cleaned a room or
cooked a dinner cannot realise the difficulties of either task. Hence
it is that because domestic work generally has been done by paid
servants, we have made but little effort to plan and furnish our houses
in a labour-saving fashion. We have also failed to move with the times,
and to realise that no matter if we approve or disapprove, young girls
now demand more variety and more freedom in their lives than was
formerly the case.
Wanted! a New Race of Mistresses.
A race of competent, sympathetic mistresses might have made domestic
service one of the most sought-after of the professions open to the
average woman. They might have eliminated practically all the hard
and dirty work of the house, they might have organised regular hours
for exercise and recreation, and by their own example shown what war
is now teaching us--the incalculable value to the nation of the good
housekeeper. In their scorn of domestic duties Englishwomen have
forgotten that the sole duty of the housewife is not to know the price
of mutton: it is her duty, and that of those who work with her, to
bring up a race of decently behaved, clean, well-fed people, and to
make of her home a place of peace and goodwill, a centre from which
radiates a right influence.
Is this the work for the woman too stupid for aught else? or is it the
work of a true patriot?
It is often said that the English govern their Government, and there is
truth in the statement. The Press keeps its finger on the public pulse:
when that shows signs of excitement, the Press acts, and between them,
Public and Press set Parliament moving.
Domestic Training for all Girls.
Possibly, in time, the serious lack of domestic labour will excite the
Public and the Press to such a pitch that the Government will realise
that every girl, no matter of what class, should be taught how to cook
and to clean and to wash, tend and feed a young child, and not only be
taught how to do these things, but impressed with the idea that in so
doing she is as surely performing her duty to her country as are the
soldier, sailor, doctor, scientist, or merchant.
But the fact that you teach girls these things will not cause them to
become servants, you object.
I am by no means sure that you are right. When all girls have been
through a course of domestic training, and when they have been
impressed with the national importance of such work, they will regard
it from a point of view different from that which now obtains.
The girl who becomes the employer will know what she is asking of her
employée; she will realise that to labour indoors from 6.30 or 7 to 10
or 10.30 five days a week is not attractive to a young girl. The work
may not be continuous: there will be half-hours of rest and talk with
the other maids; but the fact remains that the servant is on duty and
liable to be called upon at any time during those hours.
The mistress, who has been a worker, will also realise how hard and
disagreeable are some of the tasks required of the servant in a
labour-making home.
On the other hand, the servant will know that she cannot take advantage
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A LETTER TO A
Gentleman in the Country,
FROM
His Friend in LONDON:
Giving an
Authentick and circumstantial Account of
the Confinement, Behaviour, and Death of
ADMIRAL BYNG,
As attested by the Gentlemen who were present.
_Mens conscia Recti._
LONDON:
Printed for and sold by J. LACY, the Corner of
St. Martin's-Court, St. Martin's-Lane, near
Leicester-Fields. MDCCLVII.
[Price One Shilling.]
_Just published, and sold by_ J. Lacy, _at the Corner of_ St.
Martin's-Court, St. Martin's-Lane, _near_ Leicester-Fields.
I. Further Particulars in Relation to the Case of Admiral Byng, from
original Papers, by a Gentleman of Oxford. Price one Shilling.
II. A Collection of several Pamphlets very little known: Some suppressed
Letters, and sundry detached Pieces, relative to the Case of Admiral Byng.
Price one Shilling and Six-pence.
III. A further Address to the Publick; containing genuine Copies of all
the Letters which passed between Admiral Byng and the S------y of the
Ad----ty, from the Time of his Suspension to the 25th of October last.
Price one Shilling.
IV. The whole and genuine Trial of Admiral Byng, two Volumes Octavo. N. B.
For the better understanding of which, five curious Prints are added,
which exhibit the different Positions of both Fleets, before, at, and
after the Engagement. Price five Shillings.
V. Admiral Byng's Defence as presented by him, and read in the Court
Martial, on Board his Majesty's Ship St. George in Portsmouth-Harbour,
January, 18. 1757. Price Six-pence.
N. B. Most Money for any Library or Parcel of Books; Books elegantly
bound; and Gentlemen's Libraries gilt, or lettered, methodiz'd, and
Catalogues written either in Town or Country.
A LETTER TO A
Gentleman in the Country,
FROM
His Friend in LONDON, _&c._
DEAR SIR,
Agreeable to your request, I have taken great pains to collect all the
particulars, relating to the behaviour and death of the unfortunate
ADMIRAL BYNG.
You know me sufficiently, to be satisfied that I have never had any biass
in his favour, or against him. But as the whole affair has been laid
before the publick, sufficiently plain for every man of common sense, not
prejudiced, to understand it; excepting some _inexplicable_ Circumstances
relating to the _Court Martial_; I may be allowed to judge for myself, and
yield to truths which I think can admit of no farther controversy.
It is true, there are yet _sophisters_, who want to _impose_ upon us; but
I think their designs are easily seen through. It is impossible that any
impartial man should fail to observe the almost incredible pains taken to
misrepresent and blacken his publick and private character. Even now,
after he has paid the forfeit of his _life_, for _crimes_, at most, only
_disputably so_, there are a great number of emissaries, who seem to make
it their business to go from one coffee-house to another, spreading the
most scandalous reports with regard to his death. _Dying Speeches_,
containing the most _infamous absurdities_, have been imposed upon the
publick, with several booksellers names prefixed in the title-page, in
order to give them the air of authenticity.
For what end and purposes all these measures have been taken, they can
best tell, who have always been, and still continue so indefatigably
industrious. But I must confess they greatly raise my indignation; and I
am at last fully persuaded, _hidden political machinery_ has been employed
against this unfortunate gentleman. Our friend _D----_ says, _cunning
heads, black hearts, and long purses_. Indeed, I think it appears very
evident, that some persons are very active and solicitous to _load him_
with ignominious crimes, with a view _to exculpate themselves_, or others;
to render him odious in the eyes of the people, that his fall may be
unlamented. But can a generous nation, like this, where understanding
abounds, accept of his blood for the crimes of any other? surely, it
cannot be.
I believe you will agree with me in thinking, that the Admiral's behaviour
before and at the time of his death; his observations and conversation
with his friends; together with the paper containing his thoughts on the
occasion, wrote by himself, and signed, which he gave to the Marshal of
the Admiralty, immediately before the sentence passed upon him was put in
execution; must hereafter be his best APOLOGY, EXCULPATION, and ENCOMIUM;
must reflect honour upon his family, and be an _indelible reproach to some
of our cotemporaries_; who have practised every _wicked artifice, to
deceive and spirit up the people_, and to throw a mist over the whole of
this transaction.
Without any farther preamble, I shall proceed to give you a relation of
the particulars, as they are ascertained to me, by the concurring
testimony of gentlemen who were upon the spot; whose veracity cannot be
doubted, and whose authority to vouch them again, may be easily obtained.
As you have critically perused the trial and sentence, I presume you will
be pleased with some particulars as far back as the time of passing the
sentence.
On _Thursday_ the 27th of _January_, when the Admiral was sent for on
board the _St. George_ to receive his sentence, he declared to some of his
friends, that he expected to be reprimanded, and that he possibly might be
cashiered; "_because_, said he, _there must have been several controverted
points; the Court Martial has been shut up a long time; and almost all the
questions proposed by the Court have tended much more to pick out faults
in my conduct, than to get at a true state of the circumstances; but I
profess, I cannot conceive what they will fix upon_."
Soon after he got on board, and was in the cabbin upon the quarter-deck, a
member of the _Court Martial_ came out, and told one of his relations, he
had the Court's leave to inform him, they had found the Admiral capitally
guilty; in order that he might prepare him to receive the sentence. The
gentleman went up to him immediately; but was so surprised, he could not
tell how to inform him. The Admiral observing his countenance, said to
him, "_What is the matter? Have they broke me?_" The gentleman hesitating
in his reply, with some confusion of countenance, he added, "_Well, I
understand--If nothing but my Blood will satisfy, let them take it_."
Immediately after this, he was sent for into Court, where he continued to
be the only man that did not appear moved, while the sentence was reading
by the Judge-advocate; and went ashore afterwards with the same air and
composure that he came on board.
A gentleman afterwards endeavoured to give him consolation, by
representing to him, that a _sentence without guilt could be no stain_;
that it was highly improbable such a sentence would be put in execution,
considering the extraordinary circumstances attending it; and that there
was the greatest probability of a pardon. He replied, "_What will that
signify to me? What satisfaction can I receive from the liberty to crawl
a few years longer on the earth, with the infamous load of a Pardon at my
back? I despise life upon such terms, and would rather have them take
it_."
The gentleman then remarked to him, that his pardon must proceed from
justice rather than mercy; and must be more an acknowlegment of his
innocence, than a forgiveness of guilt: with that distinction he seemed
better satisfied, and reconciled to the thought.
Some days after the sentence was passed, he was conveyed on board the
_Monarque_, and confined in the captain's cabbin upon the quarter-deck.
And as soon as the warrant for his death arrived at _Portsmouth_, all his
friends who came to see him, were obliged to leave him before it was
dark, and go on shore. An additional number of marine officers and marines
were ordered on board that ship. An officer regularly mounted guard, and a
great number of centinels were placed, _viz._ two upon the fore-castle,
one over each side in the chains, two at the cabbin-door, two upon the
poop, two in a boat under the ship's stern, and, for some part of the
time, two in the stern-gallery; besides a guard-boat constantly rowing
round the ship during the night. These centinels had orders to call aloud
to each other, _all is well_, every five minutes throughout the night; by
which means, almost as soon as the last centinel had answered, it was
time for the first to begin again, and there was a perpetual round of,
_all is well_. This circumstance almost totally depriving the Admiral of
sleep, because the centinels were mostly close to him where he lay, made
him frequently say, "_I did hope for leave to sleep, and apprehend I might
be sufficiently guarded and taken care of, without so frequent a
repetition of this noisy ceremony close to my ear_."
At length the lieutenants of the ship had orders to watch in the great
cabbin, relieving each other every four hours, as is customary at sea: so
that there was always one of them in the cabbin with him day and night,
who delivered up the charge of the Admiral's person to the next officer,
keeping a journal, in which was minuted down every person's name who came
to him, the time when he came, and the time of his going away; and the
order to the centinels for calling out every five minutes, was then
omitted.
When captain _Montague_ waited upon him, to inform him that the warrant
from the Admiralty was come, for putting the sentence passed upon him in
execution, he received the news with the same cool composure, that he had
received the sentence; without discovering the smallest emotion,
depression of spirits, or alteration in his behaviour.
The same gentleman waited upon him again, on the 27th of _February_, being
the day before that which was appointed for his execution, and, in
Admiral _Boscawen_'s name, acquainted him that a respite was arrived for
fourteen days. He composedly desired his compliments to Admiral
_Boscawen_, with thanks for his intelligence, without appearing in the
smallest degree elevated, or even pleased beyond his usual. His friends,
on that occasion, represented to him what had passed in the House of
Commons, magnified and dwelt upon every favourable circumstance; and,
giving themselves up to joy, congratulated him on the certainty of an
honourable pardon, which they imagined must follow. He calmly replied, "_I
am glad you think so, because it makes you easy and happy; but I think it
is now become an affair merely_ political, _without any farther relation
to_ right or wrong, justice or injustice; _and therefore I differ in
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BY FAR EUPHRATES
A TALE
BY
D. ALCOCK
_Author of "The Spanish Brothers" "Crushed, yet Conquering"
"Dr. Adrian" etc_
London
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27 PATERNOSTER ROW
MDCCCXCVII
BUTLER & TANNER,
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.
"Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire;... and
the form of the fourth is like the Son of God."
PREFACE
Many a tale of blood and tears has come to us of late from far
Euphrates, and from the regions round about. It is not so much the aim
of the following pages to tell these over again as to show the light
that, even there, shines through the darkness. "I do set My bow in the
cloud" is true of the densest, most awful cloud of human misery. As in
the early ages of Christianity, "what little child, what tender woman"
was there
"Who did not clasp the cross with a light laugh,
Or wrap the burning robe round, thanking God"?
As in later times, of no less fervent faith, "men took each other's
hands and walked into the fire, and women sang a song of triumph while
the gravedigger was shovelling the earth over their living faces," so
now, in our own days, there still walks in the furnace, with His
faithful servants, "One like unto the Son of God."
Every instance of faith or heroism given in these pages is not only true
in itself, but typical of a hundred others. The tale is told, however
feebly and inadequately, to strengthen our own faith and quicken our own
love. It is told also to stir our own hearts to help and save the
remnant that is left. The past is past, and we cannot change it now; but
we CAN still save from death, or from fates worse than death, the
children of Christian parents, who are helpless and desolate orphans
because their parents _were_ Christians, and true to the Faith they
professed and the Name they loved.
D. ALCOCK.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
THE DARK RIVER 1
CHAPTER II
FATHER AND SON 9
CHAPTER III
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 17
CHAPTER IV
A NEW LIFE 26
CHAPTER V
BARON MUGGURDITCH THOMASSIAN 44
CHAPTER VI
ROSES AND BATH TOWELS 59
CHAPTER VII
GATHERING STORMS 66
CHAPTER VIII
A PROPOSAL 73
CHAPTER IX
PEACE AND STRIFE 91
CHAPTER X
AN ARMENIAN WEDDING 113
CHAPTER XI
AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 125
CHAPTER XII
THE USE OF A REVOLVER 143
CHAPTER XIII
WHAT PASTOR STEPANIAN THOUGHT 155
CHAPTER XIV
A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ 173
CHAPTER XV
DARK HOURS 194
CHAPTER XVI
"THE DARK RIVER TURNS TO LIGHT" 214
CHAPTER XVII
A GREAT CRIME 229
CHAPTER XVIII
EVIL TIDINGS 241
CHAPTER XIX
A GREAT CRIME CONSUMMATED 256
CHAPTER XX
BY ABRAHAM'S POOL, AND ELSEWHERE 271
CHAPTER XXI
"GOD-SATISFIED AND EARTH-UNDONE" 287
CHAPTER XXII
GIVEN BACK FROM THE DEAD 301
CHAPTER XXIII
BETROTHAL 315
CHAPTER XXIV
UNDER THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 323
CHAPTER XXV
AT HOME 341
CHAPTER XXVI
A SERMON 351
APPENDIX 367
Chapter I
THE DARK RIVER
"A thousand streams of lovelier flow
Bathed his own native land."
The Eastern sun was near its setting. Everywhere beneath its beams
stretched out a vast, dreary campaign--pale yellowish brown--with low
rolling hills, bare of vegetation. There was scarcely anything upon
which the eye of man could rest with interest or satisfaction, except
one little clump of plane trees, beside which a party of travellers had
spread their tents. They had spent the day in repose, for they intended
to spend the night in travelling; since, although summer was past and
autumn had come, the heat was still great.
The tent in the centre of the little encampment was occupied by an
Englishman and his son, to whom all the rest were but guides, or
servants, or guards. The Syrians, the Arabs, and the Turkish zaptiehs
who filled these offices were resting from their labours, having
tethered their horses under the trees.
It was about time for them to be stirring now, to attend to the animals,
to make the coffee, and to do other needful things in preparation for
the journey. But they were used to wait for a signal from their master
for the time being--Mr. Grayson, or Grayson Effendi, as they generally
called him. Pending this, they saw no reason to shorten their repose,
though a few of them sat up, yawned, and began to take out their tobacco
pouches, and to employ themselves in making cigarettes.
Presently, from the Effendi's own tent, a slight boyish form emerged,
and trod softly through the rest. "Hohannes Effendi"--so the Turks and
Arabs called him, as a kind of working equivalent for "Master John"--was
a bright, fair-faced, blue-eyed English lad in his sixteenth year. He
was dressed in a well-worn suit of white drill, and his head protected
by a kind of helmet, with flaps to cover the cheeks and neck, since the
glare reflected from the ground was almost as trying as the scorching
heat above.
Once beyond the encampment, he quickened his pace, and, fast and
straight as an arrow flies, dashed on over the little hills due
eastwards. For there, the Arabs had told him, "a bow shot off," "two
stones' throw," "the length a man might ride while he said his 'La
ilaha ill Allah!'"--ran the great river. Waking some two hours before
from the profound sleep of boyhood, he had not been able to close his
eyes again for the longing that came over him to look upon it. For this
was "that ancient river," last of the mystic Four that watered the
flowers of Eden, witness of ruined civilizations, survivor of dead
empires, the old historic Euphrates. Not that all this was present to
the mind of young John Grayson; but he had caught from his father, whose
constant companion he was, a reflected interest in "places where things
happened," which was transfigured by the glamour of a young imagination.
On and on he went, for the wide, featureless, monotonous landscape
deceived his eye, and the river was really much farther than he thought.
He got amongst tall reeds, which sometimes hindered his view, though
often he could see over them well enough--if there had been anything to
see, except more reeds, mixed with a little rank grass--more low hills,
and over all a cloudless, purple sky. The one point of relief was the
dark spot in the distance, that meant, as he knew, the trees from which
he had started.
He thought two or three times of turning back, not from weariness, and
certainly not from fear, except the fear that his father might wonder
what had become of him. But, being a young Englishman, he did not
choose to be beaten, and so he went on.
At last there reached his ears what seemed a dull, low murmur, but what
was in fact the never-ceasing sound of a great river on its way to the
sea; while at the same time--
"The scent of water far away
Upon the breeze was flung."
He hurried on, now over a grassy place, now through tall, thick reeds,
until at last, emerging from a mass of them, he found himself on the
edge of a steep precipitous bank, and lo! the Euphrates rolled beneath
him.
He could have cried aloud in his surprise and disappointment. Was this
indeed the great Euphrates--the grand, beautiful river he had come to
see? Had this indeed flowed through Paradise?--this dull, muddy, most
unlovely stream? Dark, dark it looked, as he stood and gazed down into
its turbid waters. "Dark?" he said to himself, "no, it is not dark, it
is _black_." And the longer he gazed the blacker and the drearier it
grew.
Why stay any longer by "this ugly old stream"?--for so he called it.
There was nothing to do, nothing to see. He turned to go back, and then
the whole scene in its loneliness and desolation took a sudden grip of
his young soul. The awe and wonder of the great, silent, solitary space
overcame him. The river, instead of being a voice amidst the stillness,
a living thing amidst the death around, was only another death. It
seemed to flow from some--
"Waste land where no man comes,
Or hath come, since the making of the world."
Then all at once, by a very common trick of fancy, young John Grayson
found himself at home--at home really--in happy England. His mother,
dead a year ago, was there still. He saw her room: the table with her
books and work, and her favourite clock upon it; a shawl she used to
wear of some blue, shimmering stuff like silk;--he saw her face. And
then, as suddenly, all was gone. He knew that she was dead. And he stood
alone with the silent sky, the desolate earth, the gloomy river--an atom
of life in the midst of a vast, dead world. Before he knew it the tears
were on his cheek.
This would never do. He was ashamed of himself, though there was no one
there to see. Dashing the disgraceful drops aside, he started at a run
to go back.
After a time he stopped, in a space fairly clear of reeds, to look about
him. He could see in the distance the clump of trees that marked the
camping place, but it looked very far off. The low hills confused him;
it would not be such an easy matter as he thought to return. He sat down
to rest a little, for disappointment and discouragement made him feel
suddenly very tired.
But he soon sprang to his feet again with a shout. A familiar sound
reached his ear, the long Australian "Coo-ee-en!" which his father had
adopted as the most penetrating kind of call. He gave back the cry with
all the strength of his lungs, and waved his handkerchief high in the
air.
Presently he saw his father coming towards him through the reeds,
followed by two of the Arabs. He ran to him in high delight, his sad
reflections gone into the vast limbo that engulfs boyish sorrows.
"Father! father! I have found Euphrates."
"Yes, my boy, but _I_ had some trouble to find _you_."
They stood together, son and father, in that great solitude, as in a
sense they did also in the greater solitude of the world. The father was
one of those men of whom it is impossible to say he belongs to such and
such a type, or, he is cast in such and such a mould. Rather was he
hand-hewn, as by the Great Artist's own chisel. He was tall, spare,
wiry, with a cheek as brown as southern skies could make it, dark hair
and beard showing early threads of grey, dark eyes full of fire, and a
mouth as sensitive as a woman's. The boy had inherited his mother's blue
eyes and fair hair, but he was very like his father, both in expression
and in the cast of his features, especially the shape of his forehead
and the moulding of his fine mouth and chin. Slight as was the shadow of
rebuke conveyed by his father's words, he felt it--it was so rare.
He said simply, "I am sorry."
"Did you think Euphrates worth the trouble when you found it?" asked his
father, who had seen the far-famed and disappointing river long ago.
"Very much the reverse, father. An uglier, muddier, blacker kind of a
river I never saw."
"I suppose we are quite close to it? I will go on and have a look, as
there is no hurry about our start. Stay here, if you are tired, with one
of the Arabs."
"I will come back with you. I should like it."
"Come along, then."
A short walk brought them to the bank, the two Arabs following at a
respectful distance stately and indifferent.
The sun was setting now, and, behold! a wonder met their eyes. The dark
stream was transfigured, as if by the wand of an angel. It poured
rejoicing on its way, a torrent of liquid gold; for it had taken to its
heart of hearts all the glory of the setting sun, and gave it back to
the beholder in a marvel of radiance. So might look to mortal eyes the
river of God, the river of the water of life, that runs through the
shining streets of the New Jerusalem. The boy uttered a cry of wonder
and delight. The father gazed in silence. At last he said, "_So the dark
river turns to gold._"
"But come, my boy," he added presently, "before the sun sets. Let us
take away with us in memory this look of the Euphrates."
Chapter II
FATHER AND SON
"I cannot rest from travel, I will drink
Life to the lees."
--_Tennyson._
While the travellers go back to their encampment, now in full
preparation for the start, it may be well to introduce them formally by
name. In this respect they were exactly alike; the father's name in full
was John Frederick Pangbourne Grayson, and so was the son's. His
friends, however, generally called him John, Johnnie, or Jack, by
preference the latter, which was his father's custom also.
John Frederick Pangbourne had made himself remarkable in early life as a
bold, adventurous traveller, going into places and amongst peoples
little known to the rest of the world. He was in perils of many kinds,
often great, sometimes desperate, but he always came through, thanks to
his cool courage, his quickness of resource, his tact in dealing with
men, and last, but not least, his abounding sympathy and kindness. So
other men said; he himself said simply, if any one spoke of his dangers
and deliverances, "I got out of it," or "they went away," or "they did
me no harm," as the case might be,--"_thank God_." For he feared God;
and though he did not go out of his way to tell it to the world, he was
quite willing for the world to know it.
Beside the travel-hunger of the Englishman, which is as strong or
stronger than the earth-hunger of the Celt, Pangbourne had another
motive in his wanderings. He was smitten to the heart with love and
longing for "brown Greek MSS.," or MSS. in any other ancient tongue. He
had already made a find or two, chiefly of early copies, or part copies,
of the old Christian Apologists. But these only whetted his appetite for
more. He had heard of MSS. to be found in the neighbourhood of Mount
Ararat, and was purposing to go in search of them, when two events
changed his plans--he got a fortune, and he married a wife.
As he was a younger son, the family acres had gone of course to his
elder brother, Ralph Pangbourne, a squire in one of the Midland
counties. Not that they brought him any great wealth; for he suffered
like others from the economic changes of the time, there was a heavy
mortgage on his property, and his family was large and expensive.
Therefore he was not particularly rejoiced when Miss Matilda Grayson, a
distant connection of the family, left her large fortune to his younger
brother instead of to himself. However, as there was the condition
attached of assuming the name of Grayson, she may well have thought that
the representative of the Pangbourne family would not choose to comply.
"But I wish she had given the chance to one of my boys," thought Ralph
Pangbourne.
Frederick, as he was usually called by his kinsfolk, behaved with great
liberality. He cleared off the mortgage, and virtually adopted one of
his brother's children, his god-son and namesake. Still, the fortune was
his.
But it would not have kept him in England if he had not about the same
time met his fate, while visiting one of the universities, in the
daughter of a learned Professor who was interested in his archæological
researches. The course of true love in this instance falsified the
proverb. He bought a pleasant country seat in the south of England, and
settled down to the life of an English gentleman. Quiet years followed;
and if even in his happy home he sometimes felt the stings of a longing
for wider horizons and more stirring scenes, at least he told of them to
none. One son, and only one, was born to him.
After some fifteen happy years his wife died, very suddenly. No man
ever mourned his dead more truly; but it was inevitable that when the
first pangs of bereavement died into a dull aching, he should long to
resume his wandering life. Some special studies, which he had been
making when the great calamity overtook him, gave definiteness to his
plans. His fancy had been caught by the old legend of Agbar, King of
Edessa, of his letter to our Lord, and the answer, fabrications though
they manifestly are. An idea possessed him that in the neighbourhood of
the ancient Edessa, Agbar's "fair little city," so early Christianized,
MSS. might be found, dating perhaps from the first century. The thought
gave an object to his proposed wanderings in the East, for to the East
his heart was ever drawn by strong, mystic yearning. And if his dreams
should prove only dreams, there was no duty now which forbade him to
pursue them.
One duty indeed he had--the care of his boy. Always much attached, in
the days of their bereavement son and father drew very close together.
Everybody advised him to leave Jack at school, but everybody spoke to
deaf ears; for Jack entreated him to take him with him, and his own
heart echoed the plea. After all, why not? He was a strong, healthy lad,
very manly, and full of bright intelligence. Might not foreign travel
be the best of schools for him? To Jack the prospect seemed the most
delightful ever unfolded before mortal eyes.
Grayson could well afford every luxury of travel that might ensure
safety and preserve health. Had he been alone, he would have cheerfully
faced many risks and inconveniences to which he did not care to expose
his son. So far they had journeyed in great comfort, keenly enjoying the
adventure. They expected | 2,018.863379 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
DEALING IN FUTURES
A Play In Three Acts
By Harold Brighouse
New York: Samuel French Publisher
1913
[Illustration: 0005]
DEALING IN FUTURES
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
CHARACTERS
Jabez Thompson....................A Chemical Manufacturer.
Rosie Thompson....................His Daughter.
John Bunting......................A Master Dyer.
Charlie Bunting...................His Son.
Walter Clavering..................A Young Doctor.
The Scene is laid in an outlying Lancashire village and the action of
the play takes place within a space of twenty-six hours.
ACT I
_The dining-room of Jabez Thompson's; the room is luxuriously furnished
and combines comfort with ostentation; the door is left, and at the back
a large doorway curtained off leads to the billiard-room. (A plan of
this and the other scenes in the play will be found at the end of the
book.) The table is littered with the debris of dinner, and at it sit
Jabez Thompson (l.), and Rosie his daughter (l.), facing each other.
Jabez is elderly, corpulent, bearded, of florid face and general
prosperous appearance; he wears a frock coat, light grey trousers, and
has a heavy gold watch chain. He speaks with all the assertiveness of
life-long success._
Rosie _is dark and highly coloured, her face strong rather than
beautiful. She dresses with taste, avoiding her fathers scarcely veiled
vulgarity, and wears a high dress of some amber material. She inherits
her father's strength of will, and though outwardly cultured, has not
been able to subdue entirely a naturally violent temper. Her voice is
a little shrill and shrewish, and Jabez is obviously rather afraid of
her._
Mallinson, _the butler, enters with coffee, which he places on the table
by Rosie. Rosie pours coffee. Butler puts cup by Jabez._
*****
Butler. Mr. Lomax, from the works, has arrived, sir.
Jabez. Very well, put him in the library. I'll be there in a moment to
sign the letters.
Butler. Yes, sir.
Jabez. Oh, give him this and tell him to look through it. (_Gives folded
paper from his pocket._)
Butler. Yes, sir. (_Takes paper and exit._)
Jabez (_Sips coffee, lights cigar, and turns chair to face audience_).
By the way, Rosie, I asked Charlie to come round after dinner and to
bring his father.
Rosie (_Interested_). Oh! Why?
Jabez. I'm not satisfied with him. I want to have a chat with the pair
of them to see if we can't get things on a better basis.
Rosie. What's the matter with Charlie?
Jabez. Oh, you wouldn't understand. It's a business question.
Rosie. I see. You'd rather I wasn't here?
Jabez. Yes. If you don't mind. We can't do better than stick to the rule
even where Charlie's concerned, eh?
Rosie. Oh, I shan't intrude on a business talk.
Jabez. Thanks, my dear, thanks. (_Encouraged to go on._) Do you know,
Rosie, I'm not a bit happy over this engagement of yours to Charlie.
Rosie (_Curtly_). Why?
Jabez (_Apologetically_). He's a queer fellow. I can't size him up. I
can't think why on earth you got engaged to him.
Rosie. That's my business, isn't it?
Jabez Yes, my dear. I suppose it is. But that doesn't stop me from
wishing you'd taken a fancy to some one else.
Rosie. I've told you before I won't have you interfering in my affairs,
father. I'm quite capable of managing them myself.
Jabez (_Meekly_). I try not to, my dear. I do try not to. Only this
matter--it's not as if you had a mother, is it now?
Rosie. Oh, you can trust me to judge whether a man comes because he
wants me or whether he's only a vulgar fortune-hunter. Whatever Charlie
is or isn't, he's not after my money.
Jabez. No, Charlie never is after money. You're easily the better
business man. He's always got his head full of ideas about pampering the
men instead of thinking of the welfare of the firm.
Rosie (_Snappishly_). You needn't think you can get me to break it off,
so don't try. You can say what you like to him so long as you remember
I'm going to marry him.
Jabez. Well, well, I must see what I can make of Charlie. (_Drinks._)
I'll tell you one thing, my dear, you're a good deal more eager about it
than he is.
Rosie. Possibly. You needn't worry about that.
Jabez. But I do worry, my dear. How can I help it? (_Rosie moves
impatiently._) Now don't fly in a temper. He _is_ taking his time in
coming up to scratch. Let me ask you one thing?
Rosie. Yes?
Jabez. When are you going to be married?
Rosie. I really don't know.
Jabez. No, and it's time you did. You've been engaged long enough.
Rosie. Is that what you are going to talk to him about to-night?
Jabez. Amongst other things. I'm tired of his playing about with the
thing. If your mind's made up, what's there to wait for? People are
beginning to talk.
Rosie. Let them.
Jabez. That's all very well, but people in our position must consider
public opinion. You don't object to my settling it, do you?
Rosie. Oh, do what you want. But don't you dare to bully Charlie. I
won't have him bullied.
Jabez. Oh, I shan't hurt him. A good talking to _'_ull do him no harm.
(_Enter Butler, l._)
Butler (_At door l._). Dr. Clavering has called, sir. Wishes to speak to
you.
Jabez (_Surprised_) Clavering? Well, show him up.
Butler. Yes, sir.
(_Exit Butler._)
Jabez. What's the matter with Clavering? He doesn't often condescend
to leave his precious research work in the evenings. (_Rosie shrugs her
shoulders contemptuously. Enter Butler._)
Butler (_Announcing_). Dr. Clavering.
(_Enter Clavering. Exit Butler. Clavering is a young doctor with keen
clever face, clean-shaven, with a general air of self-reliance. He is a
practical man of a fairs whose business happens to be doctoring._)
Clavering. Good evening, Mr. Thompson.
Jabez (_Rising_). Good evening, Dr. Clavering. (_They shake hands, and
Jabez, turning his chair sits sideways to the table._)
Clav. Good evening, Miss Thompson. (_Rosie murmurs and bows coldly._)
Jabez. Well, what can I do for you, doctor? Sit down.
Clav. (_Sits on sofa l._) The fact is--it's rather a liberty--I hope
you won't mind.
Jabez. Out with it man! What's to do?
Clav. I've come to see you about one of your men--a fellow named Alcott.
Jabez (_Reflectively_). Alcott? Alcott?
Clav. You don't just call him to mind?
Jabez. No, but I will.
Clav. That won't matter. It's just----
Jabez (_rising_). But it does matter; if I talk about a man I like
to know who I'm talking about. I shan't be a moment. My record book's
handy.
Clav. Record book? You keep it here?
Jabez. Yes; I've every man's record in that book. I don't risk leaving
a thing like that at the works, safe or no safe. (_Crossing and reaching
door l._) I'll go and look the name up. Lomax is here too with the
letters for signing, but that won't detain me long. (_Exit taking hunch
of keys from his trousers' pocket._)
Clav. Miss Thompson, I'm glad your father's gone. It gives me an
opportunity----
Rosie (_Eagerly_). Yes? Any illness amongst the men, doctor?
Clav. Only this Alcott. I'll discuss that with Mr. Thompson. Don't let's
waste time now. (_Rises and moves to back of table._) I hoped so much to
see you alone. I never get a chance.
Rosie. There's always the telephone.
Clav. I can't see your face through the telephone, and it's always
about others. What a great heart you have, Miss Thompson! (_Sits above
table._)
Rosie. I? Oh, one does what one can.
Clav. For others.
Rosie. Others?
Clav. Yes; for me it's the telephone--always the telephone. So and so's
ill--a name passes, an address, and we ring off. I never get the chance
of seeing you alone.
Rosie. Doctors are such busy people, aren't they?
Clav. Not too busy to be human, to desire to see in the flesh the woman
one's always communicating with through a cold-blooded telephone. We're
allies, you know, Miss Thompson, fellow-conspirators, aren't we? That
makes a bond between us.
Rosie (_Conventionally_). It's very good of you to let me know so
promptly when any of the men fall ill and to keep it a secret between
us--even from Charlie.
Clav. (_Contemptuously_). Oh, Charlie!
Rosie (_Quickly_). He doesn't know, of course?
Clav. No, he knows nothing.
Rosie. I was just afraid. You're such close friends, and this book
you've been writing must have brought you closer together. I thought you
might have let it slip out.
Clav. Oh, no. I kept the bond.
Rosie. I can never thank you sufficiently.
Clav. You could if you would.
Rosie. How? Tell me.
Clav. As you said, I'm a busy man, but I'm not too busy to use my
eyes. A man can't join hands with a good woman in the great work of
alleviating suffering without conceiving an admiration for her, without
longing--
Rosie (_Coldly_). Need we waste time in compliments, Dr. Clavering? My
father may be back at any moment, and if you've, anything to say to me,
won't you come to the point?
Clav. I want to know if I may hope for a reward.
Rosie. Surely a doctor doesn't ask reward for helping to do good.
Clav. Virtue its own reward? Come, Miss Thompson, isn't that one of the
maxims all of us apply to others rather than to ourselves?
Rosie (_Rising_). If you want to be paid for your services to me,
doctor, perhaps you will send in an account.
Clav. You're misunderstanding wilfully. (_Rising._) Can't we be frank
with one another, we coworkers in the same field? Must you wear before
me the mask you put on to suit your father?
Rosie. I wear a mask to suit my father? I think you're labouring under
some mistake.
Clav. Then the reward I aim at is---- Oh, don't you see?
Rosie. I hope I don't. (_Crossing to door R. at back._) I think we'd
both better forget this conversation, Dr. Clavering.
Clav. (_Following_). You shan't put me off. I----
(_Enter Jabez with a small red bound book, keeping a place in it with
his finger. Clavering leaves Rosie promptly and stands above table._)
Jabez. I'm primed now, doctor. (_He sits and puts the book open on the
table._) There's not much worth knowing about my men that this friend
can't tell me (_Tapping the book_). But it doesn't tell me much good
about Mr. Alcott (_Emphasizing the "Mr." sarcastically_).
Clav. Sorry to hear that. Poor chap, he's in a bad way. (_Rosie looks
interested._) eh?
Jabez. Oh, you've been to see him professionally,
Clav. I don't go to see Brixham's Buildings, they come to me. Surgery
hours are just over.
Rosie (_Softly, sitting at writing-table r., taking a piece of note
paper and writing_). Brixham's Buildings.
Jabez. Well?
CLAV. (_Sitting above table with elbows on it and fingertips at chin_).
The work doesn't suit him. What that fellow needs is a good dose of
fresh air. When I told him so, he said he'd lose his job if he asked off
for a month. I've come to see if something cant be arranged for him, Mr.
Tompson.
Jabez (_Cold | 2,018.864389 |
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Produced by David Kline, David Cortesi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note: in this pure-ASCII edition, a small number of
non-ASCII characters have been encoded as follows: ['e] and [`e]
for accented E; [^e] and [^o] for E and O with circumflex; and
[:i] for I with an ulaut.
['E]dition d'['E]lite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors,"
"Tales from the Dramatists," etc.
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume I
American
I
J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1893, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1904, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE.]
PREFACE.
It has become a commonplace remark that fact is often
stranger than fiction. It may be said, as a variant of this,
that history is often more romantic than romance. The pages
of the record of man's doings are frequently illustrated by
entertaining and striking incidents, relief points in the
dull monotony of every-day events, stories fitted to rouse
the reader from languid weariness and stir anew in his veins
the pulse of interest in human life. There are many
such,--dramas on the stage of history, life scenes that are
pictures in action, tales pathetic, stirring, enlivening,
full of the element of the unusual, of the stuff the novel
and the romance are made of, yet with the advantage of being
actual fact. Incidents of this kind have proved as
attractive to writers as to readers. They have dwelt upon
them lovingly, embellished them with the charms of rhetoric
and occasionally with the inventions of fancy, until what
began as fact has often entered far into the domains of
legend and fiction. It may well be that some of the
narratives in the present work have gone through this
process. If so, it is simply indicative of the interest
they have awakened in generations of readers and writers.
But the bulk of them are fact, so far as history in general
can be called fact, it having been our design to cull from
the annals of the nations some of their more stirring and
romantic incidents, and present them as a gallery of
pictures that might serve to adorn the entrance to the
temple of history, of which this work is offered as in some
sense an illuminated ante-chamber. As such, it is hoped that
some pilgrims from the world of readers may find it a
pleasant halting-place on their way into the far-extending
aisles of the great temple beyond.
CONTENTS
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS 9
FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 26
CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS 34
SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP 53
THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES 69
HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED 80
HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA 90
THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS 98
SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM 111
A GALLANT DEFENCE 128
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY 138
PAUL'S REVERE'S RIDE 157
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 172
THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK 180
A QUAKERESS PATRIOT 189
THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER 195
ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR 211
MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX 223
THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA 237
THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR 249
HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED 259
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC 275
STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE 285
AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON 298
THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE 314
ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES 327
HOW HAWAII LOST ITS QUEEN AND ENTERED THE UNITED STATES 338
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME I.
WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. _Frontispiece._
VIKING SHIPS AT SEA. 11
LAKE CHAMPLAIN AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 41
POND ISLAND, MOUTH OF THE KENNEBEC. 54
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES. 76
THE CHARTER OAK, HARTFORD. 85
PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHEN A BOY. 90
WASHINGTON'S HOME AT MT. VERNON. 98
SHORE OF LAKE GEORGE. 118
INDIAN ATTACK AND GALLANT DEFENCE. 128
THE OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 158
THE SPIRIT OF '76. 166
ETHAN ALLEN'S ENTRANCE, TICONDEROGA. 172
THE OLD STATE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 191
THE BENEDICT ARNOLD MANSION. 220
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 280
LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND. 298
SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 319
MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA. 328
A NATIVE GRASS HUT, HAWAII. 340
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS.
The year 1000 A.D. was one of strange history. Its advent
threw the people of Europe into a state of mortal terror.
Ten centuries had passed since the birth of Christ. The
world was about to come to an end. Such was the general
belief. How it was to reach its end,--whether by fire,
water, or some other agent of ruin,--the prophets of
disaster did not say, nor did people trouble themselves to
learn. Destruction was coming upon them, that was enough to
know; how to provide against it was the one thing to be
considered.
Some hastened to the churches; others to the taverns. Here
prayers went up; there wine went down. The petitions of the
pious were matched by the ribaldry of the profligate. Some
made their wills; others wasted their wealth in revelry,
eager to get all the pleasure out of life that remained for
them. Many freely gave away their property, hoping, by
ridding themselves of the goods of this earth, to establish
a claim to the goods of Heaven, with little regard to the
fate of those whom they loaded with their discarded wealth.
It was an era of ignorance and superstition. Christendom
went insane over an idea. When the year ended, and the world
rolled on, none the worse for conflagration or deluge, green
with the spring leafage and ripe with the works of man,
dismay gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer,
man regained their flown wits, and those who had so
recklessly given away their wealth bethought themselves of
taking legal measures for its recovery.
Such was one of the events that made that year memorable.
There was another of a highly different character. Instead
of a world being lost, a world was found. The Old World not
only remained unharmed, but a New World was added to it, a
world beyond the seas, for this was the year in which the
foot of the European was first set upon the shores of the
trans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this first
discovery of America that we have now to tell.
In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far away from
fear-haunted Europe, a scene was being enacted of a very
different character from that just described. Over the
waters of unknown seas a small, strange craft boldly made
its way, manned by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorous
men, driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollen
texture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, which
seemed at times as if they would drive that deckless vessel
bodily beneath the waves.
This crew was of men to whom fear was almost unknown, the
stalwart Vikings of the North, whose oar-and sail-driven
barks now set out from the coasts of Norway and Denmark to
ravage the shores of southern Europe, now turned their prows
boldly to the west in search of unknown lands afar.
Shall we describe this craft? It was a tiny one in which to
venture upon an untravelled ocean in search of an unknown
continent,--a vessel shaped somewhat like a strung bow,
| 2,019.095477 |
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Produced by David Widger
SLAIN BY THE DOONES.
by R. D. Blackmore
Copyright: Dodd, Mead And Company, 1895
CHAPTER I--AFTER A STORMY LIFE.
To hear people talking about North Devon, and the savage part called
Exmoor, you might almost think that there never was any place in
the world so | 2,019.120167 |
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Produced by Simon Gardner, Adrian Mastronardi, The
Philatelic Digital Library Project at http://www.tpdlp.net
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes
Several symbols appear in the left margin of certain catalogue entries:
the equals sign (=), em-dash (--) and a circular "bullet" (o). No
explanation is given in the book for the significance of these symbols
which are reproduced as the original.
A distinctive | 2,019.121631 |
2023-11-16 18:50:43.1340010 | 3,446 | 29 |
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini 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 46092-h.htm or 46092-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46092/46092-h/46092-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46092/46092-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/littlepilgrimage00pottuoft
A LITTLE PILGRIMAGE IN ITALY
[Illustration: PERUGIA: LOOKING TOWARDS ASSISI.]
A LITTLE PILGRIMAGE IN ITALY
by
OLAVE M. POTTER
Author of 'The Colour of Rome.'
With 8 Plates and Illustrations by Yoshio Markino
Toronto
The Musson Book Company
Limited
First Published November 1911
Cheap Re-Issue 1913
Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty
FOREWORD
One morning of high summer three pilgrims met together in the City
of Genoa to sally forth in search of sunshine and the Middle Ages.
At least that was what the Poet said, for sunshine and Ancient
Stones were the passions of the Poet's life.
The Philosopher insisted that we went in search of Happiness.
It is no matter. But in fact we did meet one July day of sweltering
sunshine in Genoa, the Western Gate of Italy, which is a city of
grateful shadows, whose narrow streets defy the brilliant sun.
This is a book of simple delights, a chronicle of little pleasures,
so I shall not talk much of Genoa, although to my mind she is the
most Italian of all the great cities of Italy. Nor shall I speak of
Florence, or Naples, or Venice, or Rome. Doubtless, like me, you
have loved them all.
[Illustration: A STREET IN GENOA.]
If you come with me I shall take you away from the great cities
where your feet are bruised on the stony streets and never feel the
soft warm earth beneath their soles, where mountainous walls of
brick limit your vision to smoke-clouded strips of sky, where you
never smell the fragrance of the night. If you come with me I shall
take you to the hills, the deep-bosomed rolling hills, with their
valleys and their plains and with towered cities riding on their
crests. You will lie with me under the olives and stone-pines,
where the warm earth cushions your limbs in luxury, and the
sunlight flickering in the green shadows lights on a wealth of
flowers.
Then, if you will, come back to your haunted streets.
But I am persuaded that if you go there you will find a great
content among the little cities of great memories which stand
knee-deep in flowers upon the hills of Italy, or in those nobler
towns,--Siena, who belongs to the Madonna, and Perugia, whose name
is as a torch to light your feet into the Valleys of Romance. In
their streets you are seldom shut away from the mountains and the
sky; and little gracious weeds and grasses have spread a web among
their stones as though an elfin world sought to entrap a monster
and pull him down to ruin.
Our little pilgrimage took us to many shrines, and haunts of
peace and beauty. We made our discoveries, saw much, learned not
a little philosophy. And, most of all, we caught a glimpse of the
heart of Umbria--Umbria of the saints. We watched the gathering of
the golden maize in the plain below Assisi while we walked with
St. Francis among the vines and olives; we saw the vintage being
brought home with song and thanksgiving at Orvieto and Viterbo.
We dwelt among beautiful simple-hearted men and women, living in
little farms far from the toil of the modern world, who still
worship God in the gladness of their hearts and the spirit of the
ardent thirteenth century; who toil and spin and bear children
and lie down to die, not with the stupidity of animals or the
self-satisfaction of the bourgeoisie, but full of a beautiful
content, moved by a beautiful faith. We dipped into Tuscany too,
into Lombardy, into the March of Ancona, into Lazio, but nowhere
else was the world as perfect, as unspoiled as in Umbria. If you
are travel-stained with life, if the sweat of a work-a-day world
still clings about you, if you have lost your saints and almost
forgotten your Gods, you will cure the sickness of your soul in
Umbria.
[Illustration: GENOA: THE HARBOUR.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
FOREWORD v
I. AREZZO 1
II. CORTONA 14
III. PERUGIA 24
IV. TODI 45
V. SIENA AND THE PALIO 58
VI. SAN GIMIGNANO DELLE BELLE TORRI 88
VII. MONTE OLIVETO MAGGIORE 105
VIII. CHIUSI 116
IX. HANNIBAL'S THRASYMENE 129
X. ASSISI 144
XI. GUBBIO 171
XII. ANCONA 188
XIII. LORETO 201
XIV. RAVENNA 216
XV. THE REPUBLIC OF SAN MARINO 234
XVI. URBINO 245
XVII. FOLIGNO 259
XVIII. CLITUMNUS 276
XIX. SPOLETO 280
XX. THE FALLS OF TERNI 296
XXI. NARNI 303
XXII. ORVIETO: THE CITY OF WOE 316
XXIII. VITERBO 333
XXIV. ROME 353
ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATES
PERUGIA: LOOKING TOWARDS ASSISI _Frontispiece_
SIENA: TORRE DEL MANGIA _Facing page_ 62
SAN GIMIGNANO " 102
LAKE THRASYMENE " 137
ASSISI: THE LOWER CHURCH OF SAN FRANCESCO " 152
ANCONA: THE FISHING FLEET " 192
SPOLETO: THE AQUEDUCT " 292
THE FALLS OF TERNI " 298
HALF-TONES
GENOA: THE HARBOUR _Facing page_ viii
A STREET IN AREZZO " 8
CORTONA FROM THE PORTA S. MARGHERITA " 20
PERUGIA: PIAZZA DEL MUNICIPIO " 28
PERUGIA: THE RING OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN " 30
PERUGIA: PORTA EBURNEA " 40
PERUGIA: THE TOMB OF THE VOLUMNII " 42
A STREET IN SIENA " 66
SIENA: S. DOMENICO AND THE VIA BENINCASA " 68
SIENA FROM THE CONVENTO DELL'OSSERVANZA " 72
SIENA: THE PALIO " 84
SAN GIMIGNANO: THE WASHING PLACE " 96
CHIUSI: THE PALACE OF THE BISHOP " 126
A STREET IN ASSISI " 148
THE LITTLE CLOISTER IN S. FRANCESCO D'ASSISI " 154
ASSISI: THE PORZIUNCULA " 168
GUBBIO: PIAZZA VITTORIO EMANUELE " 180
GUBBIO: VIA CARMIGNANO " 184
LORETO " 202
SAN MARINO " 236
URBINO: SAN FRANCESCO " 252
FOLIGNO: THE WASHING PLACE " 268
THE TEMPLE OF CLITUMNUS " 278
A STREET IN SPOLETO " 288
THE CATTLE FAIR AT NARNI " 306
A STREET IN ORVIETO " 322
ORVIETO: ETRUSCAN TOMB " 330
VITERBO: MEDIAEVAL HOUSE IN THE PIAZZA S. LORENZO " 336
VITERBO: FROM A WINDOW IN THE PALACE OF THE POPES " 340
VITERBO: VIA DI S. PELLEGRINO " 346
ROME: ST. PETER'S SEEN FROM THE ARCO OSCURO " 354
ROME: A FOUNTAIN IN THE BORGHESE GARDENS " 358
LINE DRAWINGS
A STREET IN GENOA _See page_ vi
AREZZO: THE PRISON " 6
CORTONA FROM THE PIAZZA GARIBALDI " 16
PERUGIA: DETAIL FROM THE CHOIR OF S. PIETRO DE'
CASSINENSI " 24
PERUGIA: ARCO DI AUGUSTO " 27
THE GRIFFON OF PERUGIA " 32
FOUNTAIN IN THE CLOISTER OF S. PIETRO DE' CASSINENSI " 36
DETAILS FROM THE APSE OF THE CATHEDRAL OF TODI " 51
TODI: S. MARIA DELLA CONSOLAZIONE " 54
SIENA: BANNER-HOLDER " 61
SIENA: TORCH-REST " 64
SIENESE YOUTHS IN PALIO DRESS " 77
SEEN AT THE PALIO " 81
THE TOWERS OF SAN GIMIGNANO " 89
CHIUSURE FROM MONTE OLIVETO MAGGIORE " 107
CITTA DELLA PIEVE FROM CHIUSI " 118
ETRUSCAN CINERARY URNS " 122
CHIMNEYS AT PASSIGNANO " 133
ASSISI: S. MARIA MADDALENA AT RIVO TORTO " 159
ASSISI: THE CARCERE " 163
GUBBIO: THE LAMPLIGHTER " 173
GUBBIO: SAN FRANCESCO " 177
GUBBIO: THE MEDIAEVAL AQUEDUCT " 183
PEASANTS AT LORETO " 206
PILGRIMS AT LORETO " 211
RAVENNA: THE PINETA " 218
RAVENNA: SANT'AGATA " 221
RAVENNA: THE TOMB OF DANTE " 228
RAVENNA: COLUMN OF GASTON DE FOIX " 232
THE PALACE OF THE DUKES OF URBINO " 247
FOLIGNO: SAN DOMENICO " 263
FOLIGNO: WELL IN THE CASA NOCCHI " 265
SPELLO " 273
SPOLETO: PORTA D'ANNIBALE " 282
SPOLETO: SAN GREGORIO " 285
A FOUNTAIN OF SPOLETO " 290
SPOLETO: SAN PIETRO " 294
THE LOWER FALL OF TERNI " 300
FARMERS AT THE OX " 304
FAIR OF NARNI " 308
NARNI: MARKET PEOPLE " 310
NARNI: THE PONTE D'AUGUSTO " 312
BELOW THE WALLS OF ORVIETO " 318
ORVIETO: THE CLOCK TOWER " 320
ORVIETO: SANT'AGOSTINO " 326
ETRUSCAN NECROPOLIS BELOW THE WALLS OF ORVIETO " 329
OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF VITERBO " 334
VITERBO: THE MOAT OUTSIDE THE PORTA SAN PIETRO " 338
VITERBO: THE STEMMA OF THE CITY " 341
VITERBO: THE PALACE OF THE POPES " 343
VITERBO: FOUNTAIN IN THE PALAZZO MUNICIPIO " 344
VITERBO: THE HOUSE OF THE BELLA GALIANA " 345
ONE OF VITERBO'S MANY FOUNTAINS " 348
THE RUINED THEATRE OF FERENTO " 351
THE ALTAR OF THE UNKNOWN GOD ON THE PALATINE " 356
THE VIA APPIA " 360
AREZZO
We came to Arezzo in the cool of the evening. It had been a
breathless day. Even at Genoa the air hung heavy with the sirocco.
We found Pisa in a mirage, and the white hills of Carrara
glistening like the lime rocks of a desert.
It was good to be in Tuscany again--Tuscany with her grey farms
and lichened roofs, her towered horizons, her blue hills, her
vineyards, and her olive-gardens. We could hear the song of the
cicalas vibrating in the sunshine above the jar of the train; near
at hand the hills swelled up, clothed with the tender mist of
olives or linked with vines; stone-pines floated darkly against the
sky, and cypress spires climbed the hillsides in a long procession
like souls on pilgrimage.
Perhaps it is because Arezzo, little Arezzo, with her ancient
history and her tale of great men, was the earliest of our
hill-cities that we loved her at first sight. Coming from London
and Genoa, with the noise and dust and heat of long train journeys
still hanging about us, she seemed very cool and sweet among her
vineyards and olive-gardens. She has left her hill-top now that
she needs no more the walls which Sangallo built in the fighting
days of the Popes, and has trailed down to the railway in the
valley, leaving behind her wide piazzas which she has filled with
shady trees, and benches, and statues of her great ones. Her paved | 2,019.154041 |
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SAILORS' KNOTS
By W.W. Jacobs
1909
SELF-HELP
The night-watchman sat brooding darkly over life and its troubles. A
shooting corn on the little toe of his left foot, and a touch of liver,
due, he was convinced, to the unlawful cellar work of the landlord of the
Queen's Head, had induced in him a vein of profound depression. A
discarded boot stood by his side, and his gray-stockinged foot protruded
over the edge of the jetty until a passing waterman gave it a playful rap
with his oar. A subsequent inquiry as to the price of pigs' trotters
fell on ears rendered deaf by suffering.
"I might 'ave expected it," said the watchman, at last. "I done that
man--if you can call him a man--a kindness once, and this is my reward
for it. Do a man a kindness, and years arterwards 'e comes along and
hits you over your tenderest corn with a oar."
[Illustration: "''E comes along and hits you over your tenderest corn
with a oar.'"]
He took up his boot, and, inserting his foot with loving care, stooped
down and fastened the laces.
Do a man a kindness, he continued, assuming a safer posture, and 'e tries
to borrow money off of you; do a woman a kindness and she thinks you want
tr marry 'er; do an animal a kindness and it tries to bite you--same as a
horse bit a sailorman I knew once, when 'e sat on its head to 'elp it get
up. He sat too far for'ard, pore chap.
Kindness never gets any thanks. I remember a man whose pal broke 'is leg
while they was working together unloading a barge; and he went off to
break the news to 'is pal's wife. A kind-'earted man 'e was as ever you
see, and, knowing 'ow she would take on when she 'eard the news, he told
her fust of all that 'er husband was killed. She took on like a mad
thing, and at last, when she couldn't do anything more and 'ad quieted
down a bit, he told 'er that it was on'y a case of a broken leg, thinking
that 'er joy would be so great that she wouldn't think anything of that.
He 'ad to tell her three times afore she understood 'im, and then,
instead of being thankful to 'im for 'is thoughtfulness, she chased him
'arf over Wapping with a chopper, screaming with temper.
I remember Ginger Dick and Peter Russet trying to do old Sam Small a
kindness one time when they was 'aving a rest ashore arter a v'y'ge.
They 'ad took a room together as usual, and for the fust two or three
days they was like brothers. That couldn't last, o' course, and Sam was
so annoyed one evening at Ginger's suspiciousness by biting a 'arf-dollar
Sam owed 'im and finding it was a bad 'un, that 'e went off to spend the
evening all alone by himself.
He felt a bit dull at fust, but arter he had 'ad two or three 'arf-pints
'e began to take a brighter view of things. He found a very nice, cosey
little public-'ouse he hadn't been in before, and, arter getting two and
threepence and a pint for the 'arf-dollar with Ginger's tooth-marks on,
he began to think that the world wasn't 'arf as bad a place as people
tried to make out.
There was on'y one other man in the little bar Sam was in--a tall, dark
chap, with black side-whiskers and spectacles, wot kept peeping round the
partition and looking very 'ard at everybody that came in.
"I'm just keeping my eye on 'em, cap'n," he ses to Sam, in a low voice.
"Ho!" ses Sam.
"They don't know me in this disguise," ses the dark man, "but I see as
'ow you spotted me at once. Anybody 'ud have a 'ard time of it to
deceive you; and then they wouldn't gain nothing by it."
"Nobody ever 'as yet," ses Sam, smiling at 'im.
"And nobody ever will," ses the dark man, shaking his 'cad; "if they was
all as fly as you, I might as well put the shutters up. How did you twig
I was a detective officer, cap'n?"
Sam, wot was taking a drink, got some beer up 'is nose with surprise.
"That's my secret," he ses, arter the tec 'ad patted 'im on the back and
brought 'im round.
"You're a marvel, that's wot you are," ses the tec, shaking his 'ead.
"Have one with me."
Sam said he didn't mind if 'e did, and arter drinking each other's
healths very perlite 'e ordered a couple o' twopenny smokes, and by way
of showing off paid for 'em with 'arf a quid.
"That's right, ain't it?" ses the barmaid, as he stood staring very 'ard
at the change. "I ain't sure about that 'arf-crown, now I come to look
at it; but it's the one you gave me."
Pore Sam, with a tec standing alongside of 'im, said it was quite right,
and put it into 'is pocket in a hurry and began to talk to the tec as
fast as he could about a murder he 'ad been reading about in the paper
that morning. They went and sat down by a comfortable little fire that
was burning in the bar, and the tec told 'im about a lot o' murder cases
he 'ad been on himself.
"I'm down 'ere now on special work," he ses, "looking arter sailormen."
"Wot ha' they been doing?" ses Sam.
"When I say looking arter, I mean protecting 'em," ses the tec. "Over
and over agin some pore feller, arter working 'ard for months at sea,
comes 'ome with a few pounds in 'is pocket and gets robbed of the lot.
There's a couple o' chaps down 'ere I'm told off to look arter special,
but it's no good unless I can catch 'em red-'anded."
"Red-'anded?" ses Sam.
"With their hands in the chap's pockets, I mean," ses the tec.
Sam gave a shiver. "Somebody had their 'ands in my pockets once," he
ses. "Four pun ten and some coppers they got."
"Wot was they like?" ses the tee, starting.
Sam shook his 'ead. "They seemed to me to be all hands, that's all I
know about 'em," he ses. "Arter they 'ad finished they leaned me up agin
the dock wall an' went off."
"It sounds like 'em," ses the tec, thoughtfully. "It was Long Pete and
Fair Alf, for a quid; that's the two I'm arter."
He put his finger in 'is weskit-pocket. "That's who I am," he ses,
'anding Sam a card; "Detective-Sergeant Cubbins. If you ever get into
any trouble at any time, you come to me."
Sam said 'e would, and arter they had 'ad another drink together the tec
shifted 'is seat alongside of 'im and talked in his ear.
"If I can nab them two chaps I shall get promotion," he ses; "and it's a
fi'-pun note to anybody that helps me. I wish I could persuade you to."
"'Ow's it to be done?" ses Sam, looking at 'im.
"I want a respectable-looking seafaring man," ses the tec, speaking very
slow; "that's you. He goes up Tower Hill to-morrow night at nine
o'clock, walking very slow and very unsteady on 'is pins, and giving my
two beauties the idea that 'e is three sheets in the wind. They come up
and rob 'im, and I catch them red-'anded. I get promotion, and you get a
fiver."
"But 'ow do you know they'll be there?" ses Sam, staring at 'im.
Mr. Cubbins winked at 'im and tapped 'is nose.
[Illustration: "Mr. Cubbins winked at 'im and tapped 'is nose."]
"We 'ave to know a good deal in our line o' business," he ses.
"Still," ses Sam, "I don't see----"
"Narks," says the tec; "coppers' narks. You've 'eard of them, cap'n?
Now, look 'ere. Have you got any money?"
"I got a matter | 2,019.271742 |
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Produced by StevenGibbs, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Badminton Library
of
SPORTS AND PASTIMES
EDITED BY
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G.
ASSISTED BY ALFRED E. T. WATSON
_YACHTING_
II.
[Illustration: Old Flags.]
YACHTING
BY
R. T. PRITCHETT
THE MARQUIS OF DUFFERIN AND AVA, K.P.
JAMES McFERRAN
REV. G. L. BLAKE, T. B. MIDDLETON
EDWARD WALTER CASTLE AND ROBERT CASTLE
G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, LEWIS HERRESHOFF
THE EARL OF ONSLOW, G.C.M.G., H. HORN
SIR GEORGE LEACH, K.C.B., VICE-PRESIDENT Y.R.A.
[Illustration: Yachts.]
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. II.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. T. PRITCHETT
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1894
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ROYAL YACHTS AND ENGLISH YACHT CLUBS 1
_By R. T. Pritchett, Marquis of Dufferin and Ava,
K.P., James McFerran, and Rev. G. L. Blake._
II. SCOTTISH CLUBS 72
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
III. IRISH CLUBS 99
_By R. T. Pritchett, Rev. G. L. Blake, and T. B.
Middleton._
IV. THE THAMES CLUBS AND WINDERMERE 152
_By Edward Walter Castle, Robert Castle, and R. T.
Pritchett._
V. YACHTING ON THE NORFOLK BROADS 190
_By G. Christopher Davies._
VI. YACHTING IN AMERICA 227
_By Lewis Herreshoff._
VII. YACHTING IN NEW ZEALAND 287
_By the Earl of Onslow, G.C.M.G._
VIII. FOREIGN AND COLONIAL YACHTING 304
_By R. T. Pritchett and Rev. G. L. Blake._
IX. SOME FAMOUS RACES 324
| 2,019.598957 |
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Produced by Sean Hackett
THE BOOK OF SNOBS
By One Of Themselves
(William Makepeace Thackeray)
PREFATORY REMARKS
(The necessity of a work on Snobs, demonstrated from History, and proved
by felicitous illustrations:--I am the individual destined to write that
work--My vocation is announced in terms of great eloquence--I show
that the world has been gradually preparing itself for the WORK and the
MAN--Snobs are to be studied like other objects of Natural Science,
and are a part of the Beautiful (with a large B). They pervade all
classes--Affecting instance of Colonel Snobley.)
We have all read a statement, (the authenticity of which I take leave to
doubt entirely, for upon what calculations I should like to know is it
founded?)--we have all, I say, been favoured by perusing a remark,
that when the times and necessities of the world call for a Man, that
individual is found. Thus at the French Revolution (which the reader
will be pleased to have introduced so early), when it was requisite to
administer a corrective dose to the nation, Robespierre was found;
a most foul and nauseous dose indeed, and swallowed eagerly by the
patient, greatly to the latter's ultimate advantage: thus, when it
became necessary to kick John Bull out of America, Mr. Washington
stepped forward, and performed that job to satisfaction: thus, when
the Earl of Aldborough was unwell, Professor Holloway appeared with his
pills, and cured his lordship, as per advertisement, &c. &c.. Numberless
instances might be adduced to show that when a nation is in great want,
the relief is at hand; just as in the Pantomime (that microcosm) where
when CLOWN wants anything--a warming-pan, a pump-handle, a goose, or a
lady's tippet--a fellow comes sauntering out from behind the side-scenes
with the very article in question.
Again, when men commence an undertaking, they always are prepared
to show that the absolute necessities of the world demanded its
completion.--Say it is a railroad: the directors begin by stating that
'A more intimate communication between Bathershins and Derrynane Beg
is necessary for the advancement of civilization, and demanded by the
multitudinous acclamations of the great Irish people.' Or suppose it is
a newspaper: the prospectus states that 'At a time when the Church is
in danger, threatened from without by savage fanaticism and miscreant
unbelief, and undermined from within by dangerous Jesuitism, and
suicidal Schism, a Want has been universally felt--a suffering people
has looked abroad--for an Ecclesiastical Champion and Guardian. A body
of Prelates and Gentlemen have therefore stepped forward in this our
hour of danger, and determined on establishing the BEADLE newspaper,'
&c. &c. One or other of these points at least is incontrovertible: the
public wants a thing, therefore it is supplied with it; or the public is
supplied with a thing, therefore it wants it.
I have long gone about with a conviction on my mind that I had a work to
do--a Work, if you like, with a great W; a Purpose to fulfil; a chasm to
leap into, like Curtius, horse and foot; a Great Social Evil to Discover
and to Remedy. That Conviction Has Pursued me for Years. It has Dogged
me in the Busy Street; Seated Itself By Me in The Lonely Study; Jogged
My Elbow as it Lifted the Wine-cup at The Festive Board; Pursued me
through the Maze of Rotten Row; Followed me in Far Lands. On Brighton's
Shingly Beach, or Margate's Sand, the Voice Outpiped the Roaring of the
Sea; it Nestles in my Nightcap, and It Whispers, 'Wake, Slumberer, thy
Work Is Not Yet Done.' Last Year, By Moonlight, in the Colosseum,
the Little Sedulous Voice Came To Me and Said, 'Smith, or Jones' (The
Writer's Name is Neither Here nor There), 'Smith or Jones, my fine
fellow, this is all very well, but you ought to be at home writing your
great work on SNOBS.
When a man has this sort of vocation it is all nonsense attempting to
elude it. He must speak out to the nations; he must unbusm himself, as
Jeames would say, or choke and die. 'Mark to yourself,' I have often
mentally exclaimed to your humble servant, 'the gradual way in which you
have been prepared for, and are now led by an irresistible necessity
to enter upon your great labour. First, the World was made: then, as a
matter of course, Snobs; they existed for years and years, and were no
more known than America. But presently,--INGENS PATEBAT TELLUS,--the
people became darkly aware that there was such a race. Not above
five-and-twenty years since, a name, an expressive monosyllable, arose
to designate that race. That name has spread over England like railroads
subsequently; Snobs are known and recognized throughout an Empire on
which I am given to understand the Sun never sets. PUNCH appears at the
ripe season, to chronicle their history: and the individual comes forth
to write that history in PUNCH.'
I have (and for this gift I congratulate myself with Deep and Abiding
Thankfulness) an eye for a Snob. If the Truthful is the Beautiful, it is
Beautiful to study even the Snobbish; to track Snobs through history,
as certain little dogs in Hampshire hunt out truffles; to sink shafts in
society and come upon rich veins of Snobore. Snobbishness is like Death
in a quotation from Horace, which I hope you never have heard, 'beating
with equal foot at poor men's doors, and kicking at the gates of
Emperors.' It is a great mistake to judge of Snobs lightly, and think
they exist among the lower classes merely. An immense percentage of
Snobs, I believe, is to be found in every rank of this mortal life. You
must not judge hastily or vulgarly of Snobs: to do so shows that you are
yourself a Snob. I myself have been taken for one.
When I was taking the waters at Bagnigge Wells, and living at the
'Imperial Hotel' there, there used to sit opposite me at breakfast, for
a short time, a Snob so insufferable that I felt I should never get
any benefit of the waters so long as he remained. His name was
Lieutenant-Colonel Snobley, of a certain dragoon regiment. He wore
japanned boots and moustaches: he lisped, drawled, and left the 'r's'
out of his words: he was always flourishing about, and smoothing his
lacquered whiskers with a huge flaming bandanna, that filled the room
with an odour of musk so stifling that I determined to do battle with
that Snob, and that either he or I should quit the Inn. I first began
harmless conversations with him; frightening him exceedingly, for he did
not know what to do when so attacked, and had never the slightest notion
that anybody would take such a liberty with him as to speak first:
then I handed him the paper: then, as he would take no notice of these
advances, I used to look him in the face steadily and--and use my fork
in the light of a toothpick. After two mornings of this practice, he
could bear it no longer, and fairly quitted the place.
Should the Colonel see this, will he remember the Gent who asked him if
he thought Publicoaler was a fine writer, and drove him from the Hotel
with a four-pronged fork?
CHAPTER I--THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH
There are relative and positive Snobs. I mean by positive, such persons
as are Snobs everywhere, in all companies, from morning till night,
from youth to the grave, being by Nature endowed with Snobbishness--and
others who are Snobs only in certain circumstances and relations of
life.
For instance: I once knew a man who committed before me an act as
atrocious as that which I have indicated in the last chapter as
performed by me for the purpose of disgusting Colonel Snobley; viz, the
using the fork in the guise of a toothpick. I once, I say, knew a man
who, dining in my company at the 'Europa Coffee-house,' (opposite the
Grand Opera, and, as everybody knows, the only decent place for dining
at Naples,) ate peas with the assistance of his knife. He was a person
with whose society I was greatly pleased at first--indeed, we had met in
the crater of Mount Vesuvius, and were subsequently robbed and held to
ransom by brigands in Calabria, which is nothing to the purpose--a man
of great powers, excellent heart, and varied information; but I had
never before seen him with a dish of pease, and his conduct in regard to
them caused me the deepest pain.
After having seen him thus publicly comport himself, but one course was
open to me--to cut his acquaintance. I commissioned a mutual friend
(the Honourable Poly Anthus) to break the matter to this gentleman as
delicately as possible, and to say that painful circumstances--in nowise
affecting Mr. Marrowfat's honour, or my esteem for him--had occurred,
which obliged me to forego my intimacy with him; and accordingly we met
and gave each other the cut direct that night at the Duchess of Monte
Fiasco's ball.
Everybody at Naples remarked the separation of the Damon and
Pythias--indeed, Marrowfat had saved my life more than once--but, as an
English gentleman, what was I to do?
My dear friend was, in this instance, the Snob RELATIVE. It is not
snobbish of persons of rank of any other nation to employ their knife in
the manner alluded to. I have seen Monte Fiasco clean his trencher with
his knife, and every Principe in company doing likewise. I have seen,
at the hospitable board of H.I.H. the Grand Duchess Stephanie of
Baden--(who, if these humble lines should come under her Imperial eyes,
is besought to remember graciously the most devoted of her servants)--I
have seen, I say, the Hereditary Princess of Potztausend-Donnerwetter
(that serenely-beautiful woman) use her knife in lieu of a fork or
spoon; I have seen her almost swallow it, by Jove! like Ramo Samee, the
Indian juggler. And did I bl | 2,019.698609 |
2023-11-16 18:50:43.7785280 | 109 | 15 |
Produced by Geoff Palmer
A MINSTREL IN FRANCE
BY
HARRY LAUDER
[ILLUSTRATION: _frontispiece_ Harry Lauder and his son, Captain John
Lauder. (see Lauder01.jpg)]
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED SON
CAPTAIN JOHN LAUDER
First 8th, Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders
Killed in France, December 28, 1916
Oh, there's sometimes I am lonely | 2,019.798568 |
2023-11-16 18:50:43.8786180 | 3,133 | 58 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/littlewizard00weymiala
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Table of Contents added by Transcriber.
A LITTLE WIZARD
[Illustration: STANLEY J. WEYMAN]
A LITTLE WIZARD
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
AUTHOR OF
"A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "FRANCIS CLUDDE,"
"UNDER THE RED ROBE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
9 and 11 EAST 16th STREET
COPYRIGHT, 1895.
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY.
_A Little Wizard_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. Pattenhall.
II. Malham High Moors.
III. Langdale's Horse.
IV. The Meal Chest
V. Treasure Trove.
VI. Dead Sea Apples.
VII. The Wooden Cross.
VIII. A Strange Trial.
IX. His Excellency's Judgment.
A LITTLE WIZARD
CHAPTER I.
PATTENHALL.
When the agent of General Skippon, to whom the estate of Pattenhall by
Ripon fell, as part of his reward after the battle of Naseby, went
down to take possession, he found a little boy sitting on a heap of
stones a few paces from the entrance gate. The old house (which has
since been pulled down) lay a quarter of a mile from the road and
somewhat in a hollow; but its many casements, blushing and sparkling
in the glow of the evening sun, caught the rider's eye, and led him
into the comfortable belief that he had reached his destination. He
had come from Ripon, however, and the village lies on the farther side
of the house from that town; consequently he had seen no one whom he
could question, and he hailed the boy's presence with relief, checking
his horse, and calling to him to know if this was Pattenhall.
The lad crouching on the stones, and nervously plucking the grass
beside him, looked up at the four stern men sitting squarely in their
saddles. But he did not answer. He might have been deaf.
"Come!" Agent Hoby said, repeating his question roughly. "You have got
a tongue, my lad. Is this old squire Patten's?"
The boy shook his head mutely. He looked about twelve years old.
"Is it farther on?"
"Yes, farther on," the lad muttered, scarcely moving his lips.
"Where?"
Still keeping his eyes, which were large and brown, on his questioner,
the boy pointed towards the tower of the church, a quarter of a mile
away.
The agent stifled an exclamation, such as in other times would have
been an oath. "Umph! I thought we were there!" he muttered. "However,
it is but a step. Come up, mare."
The boy watched the four riders plod on along the road until the
trees, which were in the full glory of their summer foliage, and
almost met across the dusty way, hid them from his eyes. Then he rose,
and shaking his fist with passionate vehemence in the direction in
which they had gone, turned towards the gateway as if he would go up
to the house. Before he had taken three steps, however, he changed his
mind, and coming slowly back to the heap of stones, sat down in the
same place and posture as before. The movement to retreat and the
return were alike characteristic. In frame the boy was altogether
childish, being puny and slight, and somewhat stunted; but his small
face, browned by wind and sun, expressed both will and sensibility. As
he sat waiting for the travellers to return, there was a sparkle, and
not of tears only, in his eyes. His mouth took an ugly shape, and his
small hand found and clutched one of the stones on which he sat.
Agent Hoby had never been more astonished in his life than when he
returned hot and angry and found him still there. It was the last
thing he had expected. "You little villain!" he cried, shortening his
whip in his hand, and spurring his horse on to the strip of turf,
which then, as now, bordered the road--"how dare you tell lies to the
Commons' Commissioners?"
[Illustration: He turned and rode in.--Page 9.]
There was a slender gap in the wall behind the heap of stones, and the
lad fell back into this, still clutching his missile in his hand. "I
told no lies!" he said, looking defiantly at the angry man. "You asked
me for Squire Patten, and I sent you to him--to the churchyard!"
One of the men behind Hoby chuckled grimly; and Hoby himself, who had
ridden with Cromwell at Naseby, and looked the Robber Prince in the
eyes, held his hand. "You little whelp!" he said, half in anger and
half in admiration. "It is easy to see what brood you come of! I have
half a mind to lash your back for you! Be off to your mammy, and bid
her whip you! My hand is too heavy."
With that, taking no further notice of the boy, he turned and rode in
through the gate. The aspect of the house, the quality of the herbage,
the size of the timber, the lack of stock, all claimed at once his
agent's eye, and rendered it easy for him to forget the incident. He
grumbled at the sagacity of the Roundhead troopers, who had lain a
night at Pattenhall before Marston Moor, and swept it as bare as a
board. He had a grunt of sympathy to spare for Squire Patten, who,
sore wounded in the same fight, had ridden home to die three days
later. He gave a thought even to young Patten, who had forfeited the
last chance of saving his sequestrated estate by breaking his parole,
and again appearing in arms against the Parliament. But of the lad
crawling slowly along the path behind him he thought nothing. And the
boy, young as he was, felt this and resented it.
When the party presently reached the house, and the few servants who
remained came out obsequiously to receive them, the boy felt his
loneliness and sudden insignificance still more keenly. He saw
stirrups held, and heard terms of honor passing; and he crept away to
the hayloft to give vent to the tears he was too proud to shed in
public. Safe in this refuge, he flung himself down on the hay and
showed himself all child; now sobbing as if his heart was broken, and
now clenching his little fists and beating the air in impotent
passion.
The solitude to which he was left showed that he had good cause for
his grief. No one asked for him, no one sought him, who had lately
been the most important person in the place. The loft grew dark, the
windows changed to mere patches of grey in the midst of blackness. At
any other time, and under any other circumstances, the child would
have been afraid to remain there alone. But grief and indignation
swallow up fear, and in the darkness he called on his dead father and
mother, and felt them nearer than in the day. Young as he was, the
child could remember a time when his absence for half an hour would
have set the house by the ears, and started a dozen pairs of legs in
search of him; when loving voices, silent now forever, would have
cried his name through yard and paddock, and a score of servants, whom
death and dearth had not yet scattered, would have rushed to gratify
his smallest need.
No wonder that at the thought of those days, and of the loving care
and gentle hands which had guarded him from hour to hour, the solitary
child crouching in the hay and darkness cried long and passionately.
He knew little of the quarrel between King and Commons, and nothing of
Laud or Strafford, Pym or Hampden, Ship-money or the New Model. But he
could suffer. He was old enough to remember and feel, and compare past
things with present; and understanding that today his father's house
was passing into the hands of strangers, he experienced all the terror
and anguish which a sense of homelessness combined with helplessness
can inflict. Lonely and neglected he had been for some time now; but
he had felt his loneliness little (comparatively speaking) until
to-day.
Agent Hoby had finished his supper. Stretching his legs before the
empty hearth in the attitude of one who had done a day's work, he was
in the act of admonishing Gridley the butler on his duty to his new
master, when he became aware of a slight movement in the direction of
the door. The panelled walls of the parlor in which he sat swallowed
up the light, and the candles stood in his way. He had to raise one
above his head and peer below it before he could make out anything.
When he did, and the face of the lad he had seen by the gate grew as
it were out of the panel, his first feeling was one of alarm. He
started and muttered an exclamation, thinking that he saw amiss; and
that either the October he had drunk was stronger than ordinary, or
there was something uncanny in the house. When a second look, however,
persuaded him that the boy was there in the flesh, he gave way to
anger.
"Gridley!" he said, knitting his brows, "who is this, and how does he
come to be here? Is he one of your brats, man?"
"One of mine?" the butler answered stupidly.
"Ay, one of yours! Or how comes he to be here?" the agent answered
querulously, sitting forward with a hand on each arm of his chair, and
frowning at the boy, who returned his gaze with interest.
The butler looked at the lad as if he were considering him in some new
light, and hesitated before he answered. "It is the young master," he
said at last.
"The young what?" the agent exclaimed, leaning still farther forward,
and putting into the words as much surprise as possible.
"It is the young master," Gridley repeated sullenly. "And he is here
in season, for I want to know what I am to do with him."
"Do you mean that he is a Patten?" Hoby muttered, staring at the lad
as if he were bewitched.
"To be sure," Gridley answered, looking also at the boy.
"But your master had only one son? Those were my instructions."
"Two," said the butler. "Master Francis--"
"Who is with Duke Hamilton in Scotland, and if caught in arms in
England will hang," rejoined the agent, sternly. "Well?"
"And this one."
Hoby glared at the boy as if he would eat him. To find that the
estate, which he had considered free from embarrassing claims, was
burdened with a child, annoyed him beyond measure. The warrants under
which he acted overrode, of course, all rights and all privileges; in
the eye of the law the boy before him had no more to do with the old
house and the wide acres than the meanest peasant who had a hovel on
the land. But the agent was a humane man, and in his way a just one;
and though he had been well content to ignore the malignant young
reprobate whom he had hitherto considered the only claimant, he was
vexed to find there was another, more innocent and more helpless.
"He must have relations," he said at last, after rubbing his closely
cropped head with an air of much perplexity. "He must go to them."
"He has none alive that I know of," the butler answered stolidly. He
was a high-shouldered, fat-faced man, with sly eyes.
"There are no other Pattens?" quoth Hoby.
"Not so much as an old maid."
"Then he must go to his mother's people."
"She was Cornish," Gridley answered, with a slight grin. "Her family
were out with Sir Ralph Hopton, and are now in Holland, I hear."
Repulsed on all sides, the agent rose from his chair. "Well, bring him
to me in the morning," he said irritably, "and I will see what can be
done. His matter can wait. For yourself, however, make up your mind,
my man; go or stay as you please. But if you stay it can only be upon
my conditions. You understand that?" he added with some asperity.
Gridley assented with a corresponding smack of sullenness in his tone,
and taking the hint, bore off the boy to bed. Soon the few lights,
which still shone in the great house that had so quietly changed
masters, died out one by one; until all lay black and silent, except
one small room, low-ceiled, musty, and dark-panelled, which lay to the
right of the hall, but a step or two below its level. This room was
the butler's pantry and sleeping-chamber. The plate which had once
glittered on its shelves, the silver flagons and Sheffield cups, the
spice bowls and sugar-basins, were gone, devoted these five years past
to the melting-pot and the Royal cause. The club and blunderbuss which
should have guarded them remained, however, in their slings beside the
bed; along with some show of dingy pewter and dingier blackjacks, and
as many empty bottles as served at once to litter the gloomy little
dungeon and prove that the old squire's cellar was not yet empty.
In the midst of this disorder, and in no way incommoded by the close
atmosphere of the room, which reeked of beer and stale liquors, the
but | 2,019.898658 |
2023-11-16 18:50:43.8868720 | 2,022 | 13 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sharon Verougstraete and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE GREEN GOD
[Illustration: "GENTLEMEN," HE SAID IN A FRIGHTENED SORT OF VOICE, "MISS
TEMPLE CANNOT BE FOUND."]
THE
GREEN
GOD
by
Frederic Arnold Kummer
Illustrations by
R. F. Schabelitz
NEW YORK
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
_Published September_
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I MR. ASHTON 1
II A CRY IN THE MORNING 28
III A QUEER DISCOVERY 48
IV I ADVISE MISS TEMPLE 79
V MAJOR TEMPLE'S STORY 101
VI THE ORIENTAL PERFUME 120
VII IN THE TEMPLE OF BUDDHA 142
VIII INSPECTOR BURNS' CONCLUSIONS 161
IX MISS TEMPLE'S DISAPPEARANCE 182
X MISS TEMPLE'S TESTIMONY 198
XI THE VENGEANCE OF BUDDHA 228
XII I ASK MISS TEMPLE A QUESTION 247
XIII A NIGHT OF HORROR 267
XIV THE SECRET OF THE GREEN ROOM 286
THE GREEN GOD
CHAPTER I
MR. ASHTON
The dull October afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close as I passed
through the village of Pinhoe, and set my steps rather wearily toward
Exeter. I had conceived the idea, some time before, of walking from
London to Torquay, partly because I felt the need of the exercise and
fresh air, and partly because I wanted to do some sketching in the
southwest counties. Perhaps had I realized, when I started out, what
manner of adventure would befall me in the neighborhood of the town of
Exeter, I should have given that place a wide berth. As matters now
stood, my chief concern at the moment was to decide whether or not I
could reach there before the impending storm broke. For a time I had
thought of spending the night at the inn at Pinhoe, but, after a careful
examination of the wind-swept sky and the masses of dun colored clouds
rolling up from the southwest, I decided that I could cover the
intervening five miles and reach the Half Moon Hotel in High street
before the coming of the storm. I had left Pinhoe perhaps half a mile to
the rear, when the strong southwest gale whipped into my face some drops
of cold, stinging rain which gave me warning that my calculations as to
the proximity of the storm had been anything but correct. I hesitated,
uncertain whether to go forward in the face of the gale, or to beat a
hasty retreat to the village, when I heard behind me the sound of an
approaching automobile.
The car was proceeding at a moderate speed, and as I stepped to the side
of the road to allow it to pass, it slowed up, and I heard a gruff, but
not unpleasant, voice asking me whether I could point out the way to
Major Temple's place. I glanced up, and saw a tall, heavily built man,
of perhaps some forty years of age, leaning from the rear seat of the
motor. He was bronzed and rugged with the mark of the traveler upon him,
and although his face at first impressed me unpleasantly, the impression
was dispelled in part at least by his peculiarly attractive smile. I
informed him that I could not direct him to the place in question, since
I was myself a comparative stranger to that part of England. He then
asked me if I was going toward Exeter. Upon my informing him not only
that I was, but that I was particularly desirous of reaching it before
the coming of the rain, he at once invited me to get into the car, with
the remark that he could at least carry me the major part of the way.
I hesitated a moment, but, seeing no reason to refuse the offer, I
thanked him and got into the car, and we proceeded toward the town at a
fairly rapid rate. My companion seemed disinclined to talk, and puffed
nervously at a long cheroot. I lighted my pipe, with some difficulty on
account of the wind, and fell to studying the face of the man beside me.
He was a good-looking fellow, of a sort, with a somewhat sensuous face,
and I felt certain that his short, stubby black mustache concealed a
rather cruel mouth. Evidently a man to gain his ends, I thought, without
being over nice as to the means he employed. Presently he turned to me.
"I understand," he said, "that Major Temple's place is upon the main
road, about half a mile this side of Exeter. There is a gray-stone
gateway, with a lodge. I shall try the first entrance answering that
description. The Major only leased the place recently, so I imagine he
is not at all well known hereabouts." He leaned forward and spoke to
his chauffeur.
I explained my presence upon the Exeter road, and suggested that I would
leave the car as soon as we reached the gateway in question, and
continue upon foot the balance of my way. My companion nodded, and we
smoked in silence for a few moments. Suddenly, with a great swirl of
dead leaves, and a squall of cold rain, the storm broke upon us. The
force of the gale was terrific, and although the car was provided with a
leather top, the wind-swept rain poured in and threatened to drench us
to the skin. My companion drew the heavy lap-robe close about his chin,
and motioned to me to do likewise, and a moment later we turned quickly
into a handsome, gray-stone gateway and up a long, straight gravel road,
bordered on each side by a row of beautiful oaks. I glanced up at my new
acquaintance in some surprise, but he only smiled and nodded, so I said
no more, realizing that he could hardly set me down in the face of such
a storm.
We swirled over the wet gravel for perhaps a quarter of a mile, through
a fine park, and with a swift turn at the end brought up under the
porte-cochere of a large, gray-stone house of a peculiar and to me
somewhat gloomy and unattractive appearance. The rain, however, was now
coming down so heavily, and the wind swept with such furious strength
through the moaning trees in the park, that I saw it would be useless to
attempt to proceed against it, either on foot or in the motor, so I
followed my companion as he stepped from the machine and rang the bell.
After a short wait, the door was thrown open by a servant and we
hurriedly entered, my acquaintance calling to the chauffeur as we did so
to proceed at once to the stables and wait until the rain had moderated
before setting out upon his return journey.
We found ourselves in a large, dimly lighted hallway. I inspected the
man who had admitted us with considerable curiosity as he closed the
door behind us, not only because of his Oriental appearance--he was a
Chinaman of the better sort--but also because he was dressed in his
native garb, his richly embroidered jacket reflecting the faint light of
the hall with subdued, yet brilliant, effect. He upon his part showed
not the slightest interest in our coming, as he inspected us with his
childlike, sleepy eyes. "Tell Major Temple," said my friend to the man,
as he handed him his dripping coat and hat, "that Mr. Robert Ashton is
here, and--" He turned to me with a questioning glance. "Owen Morgan," I
replied, wondering if he would know me by name. If he did, he showed no
sign. "Just so--Mr. Owen Morgan," he continued, then strode toward a log
fire which crackled and sputtered cheerily upon the hearth of a huge
stone fireplace. I gave the man my cap and stick,--I was walking in a
heavy Norfolk jacket, my portmanteau having been sent ahead by train to
Exeter--and joined Mr. Ashton before the fire.
"I'm afraid I'm rather presuming upon the situation," I suggested, "to
make myself so much at home here; but perhaps the storm will slacken up
presently."
"Major Temple will be glad to see you, I'm sure," rejoined Mr. Ashton,
unconcernedly. "You can't possibly go on, you know--listen!" He waved
his hand toward the leaded windows against which the storm was now
driving with furious force.
"I'm afraid not," I answered, a bit ungraciously. I have a deep-rooted
dislike to imposing myself upon strangers, and I felt that | 2,019.906912 |
2023-11-16 18:50:43.9823530 | 1,336 | 10 | AMERICA, VOL. II (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Dianna Adair, Bryan Ness, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the more than 300 original illustrations.
See 50883-h.htm or 50883-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h/50883-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/narrcrithistamerica02winsrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: XV^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: novam^{te}).
Spanish Explorations and Settlements in America
from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century
[Illustration]
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. II
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1886,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The Spanish arms on the title are copied from the titlepage of
Herrera._]
INTRODUCTION. PAGE
DOCUMENTARY SOURCES OF EARLY SPANISH-AMERICAN HISTORY. _The
Editor_ i
CHAPTER I.
COLUMBUS AND HIS DISCOVERIES. _The Editor_ 1
ILLUSTRATIONS: Columbus’ Armor, 4; Parting of Columbus with
Ferdinand and Isabella, 6; Early Vessels, 7; Building a Ship,
8; Course of Columbus on his First Voyage, 9; Ship of Columbus’
Time, 10; Native House in Hispaniola, 11; Curing the Sick,
11; The Triumph of Columbus, 12; Columbus at Hispaniola, 13;
Handwriting of Columbus, 14; Arms of Columbus, 15; Fruit-trees
of Hispaniola, 16; Indian Club, 16; Indian Canoe, 17, 17;
Columbus at Isla Margarita, 18; Early Americans, 19; House in
which Columbus died, 23.
CRITICAL ESSAY 24
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ptolemy, 26, 27; Albertus Magnus, 29; Marco
Polo, 30; Columbus’ Annotations on the _Imago Mundi_, 31; on
Æneas Sylvius, 32; the Atlantic of the Ancients, 37; Prince
Henry the Navigator, 39; his Autograph, 39; Sketch-map of
Portuguese Discoveries in Africa, 40; Portuguese Map of the Old
World (1490), 41; Vasco da Gama and his Autograph, 42; Line of
Demarcation (Map of 1527), 43; Pope Alexander VI., 44.
NOTES 46
A, First Voyage, 46; B, Landfall, 52; C, Effect of the
Discovery in Europe, 56; D, Second Voyage, 57; E, Third Voyage,
58; F, Fourth Voyage, 59; G, Lives and Notices of Columbus,
62; H, Portraits of Columbus, 69; I, Burial and Remains of
Columbus, 78; J, Birth of Columbus, and Accounts of his Family,
83.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of first page of Columbus’ Letter,
No. III., 49; Cut on reverse of Title of Nos. V. and VI., 50;
Title of No. VI., 51; The Landing of Columbus, 52; Cut in
German Translation of the First Letter, 53; Text of the German
Translation, 54; the Bahama Group (map), 55; Sign-manuals
of Ferdinand and Isabella, 56; Sebastian Brant, 59; Map of
Columbus’ Four Voyages, 60, 61; Fac-simile of page in the
Glustiniani Psalter, 63; Ferdinand Columbus’ Register of Books,
65; Autograph of Humboldt, 68; Paulus Jovius, 70. Portraits
of Columbus,—after Giovio, 71; the Yanez Portrait, 72; after
Capriolo, 73; the Florence picture, 74; the De Bry Picture,
75; the Jomard Likeness, 76; the Havana Medallion, 77; Picture
at Madrid, 78; after Montanus, 79; Coffer and Bones found in
Santo Domingo, 80; Inscriptions on and in the Coffer, 81, 82;
Portrait and Sign-manual of Ferdinand of Spain, 85; Bartholomew
Columbus, 86.
POSTSCRIPT 88
THE EARLIEST MAPS OF THE SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE DISCOVERIES.
_The Editor_ 93
ILLUSTRATIONS: Early Compass, 94; Astrolabe of Regiomontanus,
96; Later Astrolabe, 97; Jackstaff, 99; Backstaff, 100;
Pirckeymerus, 102; Toscanelli’s Map | 2,020.002393 |
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A TALE OF ONE CITY:
THE NEW BIRMINGHAM.
_Papers Reprinted from the "Midland Counties Herald"_,
BY
THOMAS ANDERTON.
Birmingham: "MIDLAND COUNTIES HERALD" OFFICE.
TO BE HAD FROM CORNISH BROTHERS, NEW STREET; MIDLAND EDUCATIONAL CO.,
CORPORATION STREET.
1900
I.
PROLOGUE.
The present century has seen the rise and development of many towns in
various parts of the country, and among them Birmingham is entitled to
take a front place. If Thomas Attwood or George Frederick Muntz could
now revisit the | 2,020.059693 |
2023-11-16 18:50:44.0443070 | 6,097 | 6 |
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Proofreading Team.
THE CINEMA MURDER
BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
1917
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
With a somewhat prolonged grinding of the brakes and an unnecessary
amount of fuss in the way of letting off steam, the afternoon train from
London came to a standstill in the station at Detton Magna. An elderly
porter, putting on his coat as he came, issued, with the dogged aid of
one bound by custom to perform a hopeless mission, from the small,
redbrick lamp room. The station master, occupying a position of vantage
in front of the shed which enclosed the booking office, looked up and
down the lifeless row of closed and streaming windows, with an expectancy
dulled by daily disappointment, for the passengers who seldom alighted.
On this occasion no records were broken. A solitary young man stepped out
on to the wet and flinty platform, handed over the half of a third-class
return ticket from London, passed through the two open doors and
commenced to climb the long ascent which led into the town.
He wore no overcoat, and for protection against the inclement weather
he was able only to turn up the collar of his well-worn blue serge coat.
The damp of a ceaselessly wet day seemed to have laid its cheerless
pall upon the whole exceedingly ugly landscape. The hedges, blackened
with smuts from the colliery on the other side of the <DW72>, were
dripping also with raindrops. The road, flinty and light grey in colour,
was greasy with repellent-looking mud--there were puddles even in the
asphalt-covered pathway which he trod. On either side of him stretched
the shrunken, unpastoral-looking fields of an industrial neighbourhood.
The town-village which stretched up the hillside before him presented
scarcely a single redeeming feature. The small, grey stone houses, hard
and unadorned, were interrupted at intervals by rows of brand-new,
red-brick cottages. In the background were the tall chimneys of several
factories; on the left, a colliery shaft raised its smoke-blackened
finger to the lowering clouds.
After his first glance around at these familiar and unlovely objects,
Philip Romilly walked with his head a little thrown back, his eyes lifted
as though with intent to the melancholy and watery skies. He was a young
man well above medium height, slim, almost inclined to be angular, yet
with a good carriage notwithstanding a stoop which seemed more the
result of an habitual depression than occasioned by any physical
weakness. His features were large, his mouth querulous, a little
discontented, his eyes filled with the light of a silent and rebellious
bitterness which seemed, somehow, to have found a more or less permanent
abode in his face. His clothes, although they were neat, had seen better
days. He was ungloved, and he carried under his arm a small parcel,
which appeared to contain a book, carefully done up in brown paper.
As he reached the outskirts of the village he slackened his pace.
Standing a little way back from the road, from which they were separated
by an ugly, gravelled playground, were the familiar school buildings,
with the usual inscription carved in stone above the door. He laid his
hand upon the wooden gate and paused. From inside he could catch the
drone of children's voices. He glanced at his watch. It was barely twenty
minutes past four. For a moment he hesitated. Then he strolled on, and,
turning at the gate of an adjoining cottage, the nearest to the schools
of a little unlovely row, he tried the latch, found it yield to his
touch, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and turned, with
a little weary sigh of content, towards a large easy-chair drawn up in
front of the fire. For a single moment he seemed about to throw himself
into its depths--his long fingers, indeed, a little blue with the cold,
seemed already on their way towards the genial warmth of the flames. Then
he stopped short. He stood perfectly still in an attitude of arrested
motion, his eyes, wonderingly at first, and then with a strange,
unanalysable expression, seeming to embark upon a lengthened, a
scrupulous, an almost horrified estimate of his surroundings.
To the ordinary observer there would have been nothing remarkable in the
appearance of the little room, save its entirely unexpected air of luxury
and refinement. There was a small Chippendale sideboard against the wall,
a round, gate-legged table on which stood a blue china bowl filled with
pink roses, a couple of luxurious easy-chairs, some old prints upon the
wall. On the sideboard was a basket, as yet unpacked, filled with
hothouse fruit, and on a low settee by the side of one of the easy-chairs
were a little pile of reviews, several volumes of poetry, and a couple of
library books. In the centre of the mantelpiece was a photograph, the
photograph of a man a little older, perhaps, than this newly-arrived
visitor, with rounder face, dressed in country tweeds, a flower in his
buttonhole, the picture of a prosperous man, yet with a curious, almost
disturbing likeness to the pale, over-nervous, loose-framed youth whose
eye had been attracted by its presence, and who was gazing at it,
spellbound.
"Douglas!" he muttered. "Douglas!"
He flung his hat upon the table and for a moment his hand rested upon his
forehead. He was confronted with a mystery which baffled him, a mystery
whose sinister possibilities were slowly framing themselves in his mind.
While he stood there he was suddenly conscious of the sound of the
opening gate, brisk footsteps up the tiled way, the soft swirl of a
woman's skirt. The latch was raised, the door opened and closed. The
newcomer stood upon the threshold, gazing at him.
"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Why, Philip!"
There was a curious change in the girl's tone, from almost glad welcome
to a note of abrupt fear in that last pronouncement of his name. She
stood looking at him, the victim, apparently, of so many emotions that
there was nothing definite to be drawn either from her tone or
expression. She was a young woman of medium height and slim, delicate
figure, attractive, with large, discontented mouth, full, clear eyes and
a wealth of dark brown hair. She was very simply dressed and yet in a
manner which scarcely suggested the school-teacher. To the man who
confronted her, his left hand gripping the mantelpiece, his eyes filled
with a flaming jealousy, there was something entirely new in the hang of
her well-cut skirt, the soft colouring of her low-necked blouse, the
greater animation of her piquant face with its somewhat dazzling
complexion. His hand flashed out towards her as he asked his question.
"What does it mean, Beatrice?"
She showed signs of recovering herself. With a little shrug of the
shoulders she turned towards the door which led into an inner room.
"Let me get you some tea, Philip," she begged. "You look so cold and
wet."
"Stay here, please," he insisted.
She paused reluctantly. There was a curious lack of anything peremptory
in his manner, yet somehow, although she would have given the world
to have passed for a few moments into the shelter of the little kitchen
beyond, she was impelled to do as he bade her.
"Don't be silly, Philip," she said petulantly. "You know you want some
tea, and so do I. Sit down, please, and make yourself comfortable. Why
didn't you let me know you were coming?"
"Perhaps it would have been better," he agreed quietly. "However, since I
am here, answer my question."
She drew a little breath. After all, although she was lacking in any real
strength of character, she was filled with a certain compensatory
doggedness. His challenge was there to be faced. There was no way out of
it. She would have lied willingly enough but for the sheer futility of
falsehood. She commenced the task of bracing herself for the struggle.
"You had better," she said, "frame your question a little more exactly. I
will then try to answer it."
He was stung by her altered demeanour, embarrassed by an avalanche of
words. A hundred questions were burning upon his lips. It was by a great
effort of self-control that he remained coherent.
"The last time I visited you," he began, "was three months ago. Your
cottage then was furnished as one would expect it to be furnished. You
had a deal dresser, a deal table, one rather hard easy-chair and a very
old wicker one. You had, if I remember rightly, a strip of linoleum upon
the floor, and a single rug. Your flowers were from the hedges and your
fruit from the one apple tree in the garden behind. Your clothes--am I
mistaken about your clothes or are you dressed more expensively?"
"I am dressed more expensively," she admitted.
"You and I both know the value of these things," he went on, with a
little sweep of the hand. "We know the value of them because we were once
accustomed to them, because we have both since experienced the passionate
craving for them or the things they represent. Chippendale furniture, a
Turkey carpet, roses in January, hothouse fruit, Bartolozzi prints, do
not march with an income of fifty pounds a year."
"They do not," she assented equably. "All the things which you see here
and which you have mentioned, are presents."
His forefinger shot out with a sudden vigour towards the photograph.
"From him?"
"From Douglas," she admitted, "from your cousin."
He took the photograph into his hand, looked at it for a moment, and
dashed it into the grate. The glass of the frame was shivered into a
hundred pieces. The girl only shrugged her shoulders. She was holding
herself in reserve. As for him, his eyes were hot, there was a dry
choking in his throat. He had passed through many weary and depressed
days, struggling always against the grinding monotony of life and his
surroundings. Now for the first time he felt that there was something
worse.
"What does it mean?" he asked once more.
She seemed almost to dilate as she answered him. Her feet were firmly
planted upon the ground. There was a new look in her face, a look of
decision. She was more or less a coward but she felt no fear. She even
leaned a little towards him and looked him in the face.
"It means," she pronounced slowly, "exactly what it seems to mean."
The words conveyed horrible things to him, but he was speechless. He
could only wait.
"You and I, Philip," she continued, "have been--well, I suppose we should
call it engaged--for three years. During those three years I have earned,
by disgusting and wearisome labour, just enough to keep me alive in a
world which has had nothing to offer me but ugliness and discomfort and
misery. You, as you admitted last time we met, have done no better. You
have lived in a garret and gone often hungry to bed. For three years this
has been going on. All that time I have waited for you to bring something
human, something reasonable, something warm into my life, and you have
failed. I have passed, in those three years, from twenty-three to
twenty-six. In three more I shall be in my thirtieth year--that is to
say, the best time of my life will have passed. You see, I have been
thinking, and I have had enough."
He stood quite dumb. The girl's newly-revealed personality seemed to fill
the room. He felt crowded out. She was, at that stage, absolutely
mistress of the situation.... She passed him carelessly by, flung herself
into the easy-chair and crossed her legs. As though he were looking at
some person in another world, he realized that she was wearing shoes of
shapely cut, and silk stockings.
"Our engagement," she went on, "was at first the dearest thing in life to
me. It could have been the most wonderful thing in life. I am only an
ordinary person with an ordinary character, but I have the capacity to
love unselfishly, and I am at heart as faithful and as good as any other
woman. But there is my birthright. I have had three years of sordid and
utterly miserable life, teaching squalid, dirty, unlovable children
things they had much better not know. I have lived here, here in Detton
Magna, among the smuts and the mists, where the flowers seem withered and
even the meadows are stony, where the people are hard and coarse as their
ugly houses, where virtue is ugly, and vice is ugly, and living is ugly,
and death is fearsome. And now you see what I have chosen--not in a
moment's folly, mind, because I am not foolish; not in a moment's
passion, either, because until now the only real feeling I have had in
life was for you. But I have chosen, and I hold to my choice."
"They won't let you stay here," he muttered.
"They needn't," she answered calmly. "There are other ways in which I can
at least earn as much as the miserable pittance doled out to me here. I
have avoided even considering them before. Shall I tell you why? Because
I didn't want to face the temptation they might bring with them. I always
knew what would happen if escape became hopeless. It's the ugliness I
can't stand--the ugliness of cheap food, cheap clothes, uncomfortable
furniture, coarse voices, coarse friends if I would have them. How do you
suppose I have lived here these last three years, a teacher in the
national schools? Look up and down this long, dreary street, at the names
above the shops, at the villas in which the tradespeople live, and ask
yourself where my friends were to come from? The clergyman, perhaps? He
is over seventy, a widower, and he never comes near the place. Why, I'd
have been content to have been patronized if there had been anyone here
to do it, who wore the right sort of clothes and said the right sort of
thing in the right tone. But the others--well, that's done with."
He remained curiously dumb. His eyes were fixed upon the fragments of the
photograph in the grate. In a corner of the room an old-fashioned clock
ticked wheezily. A lump of coal fell out on the hearth, which she
replaced mechanically with her foot. His silence seemed to irritate and
perplex her. She looked away from him, drew her chair a little closer
to the fire, and sat with her head resting upon her hands. Her tone had
become almost meditative.
"I knew that this would come one day," she went on. "Why don't you speak
and get it over? Are you waiting to clothe your phrases? Are you afraid
of the naked words? I'm not. Let me hear them. Don't be more melodramatic
than you can help because, as you know, I am cursed with a sense of
humour, but don't stand there saying nothing."
He raised his eyes and looked at her in silence, an alternative which she
found it hard to endure. Then, after a moment's shivering recoil into her
chair, she sprang to her feet.
"Listen," she cried passionately, "I don't care what you think! I tell
you that if you were really a man, if you had a man's heart in your body,
you'd have sinned yourself before now--robbed some one, murdered them,
torn the things that make life from the fate that refuses to give them.
What is it they pay you," she went on contemptuously, "at that miserable
art school of yours? Sixty pounds a year! How much do you get to eat and
drink out of that? What sort of clothes have you to wear? Are you
content? Yet even you have been better off than I. You have always your
chance. Your play may be accepted or your stories published. I haven't
even had that forlorn hope. But even you, Philip, may wait too long.
There are too many laws, nowadays, for life to be lived naturally. If I
were a man, a man like you, I'd break them."
Her taunts apparently moved him no more than the inner tragedy which her
words had revealed. He did not for one moment give any sign of abandoning
the unnatural calm which seemed to have descended upon him. He took up
his hat from the table, and thrust the little brown paper parcel which he
had been carrying, into his pocket. His eyes for a single moment met the
challenge of hers, and again she was conscious of some nameless,
inexplicable fear.
"Perhaps," he said, as he turned away, "I may do that."
His hand was upon the latch before she realized that he was actually
going. She sprang to her feet. Abuse, scorn, upbraidings, even
violence--she had been prepared for all of these. There was something
about this self-restraint, however, this strange, brooding silence, which
terrified her more than anything she could have imagined.
"Philip!" she shrieked. "You're not going? You're not going like this?
You haven't said anything!"
He closed the door with firm fingers. Her knees trembled, she was
conscious of an unexpected weakness. She abandoned her first intention of
following him, and stood before the window, holding tightly to the sash.
He had reached the gate now and paused for a moment, looking up the long,
windy street. Then he crossed to the other side of the road, stepped over
a stile and disappeared, walking without haste, with firm footsteps,
along a cindered path which bordered the sluggish-looking canal. He had
come and gone, and she knew what fear was!
CHAPTER II
The railway station at Detton Magna presented, if possible, an even
more dreary appearance than earlier in the day, as the time drew near
that night for the departure of the last train northwards. Its long strip
of flinty platform was utterly deserted. Around the three flickering
gas-lamps the drizzling rain fell continuously. The weary porter came
yawning out of his lamp room into the booking office, where the station
master sat alone, his chair turned away from the open wicket window to
the smouldering embers of the smoky fire.
"No passengers to-night, seemingly," the latter remarked to his
subordinate.
"Not a sign of one," was the reply. "That young chap who came down from
London on a one-day return excursion, hasn't gone back, either. That'll
do his ticket in."
The outside door was suddenly opened and closed. The sound of footsteps
approaching the ticket window was heard. A long, white hand was thrust
through the aperture, a voice was heard from the invisible outside.
"Third to Detton Junction, please."
The station-master took the ticket from a little rack, received the exact
sum he demanded, swept it into the till, and resumed his place before the
fire. The porter, with the lamp in his hand, lounged out into the
booking-hall. The prospective passenger, however, was nowhere in sight.
He looked back into the office.
"Was that Jim Spender going up to see his barmaid again?" he asked his
superior.
The station master yawned drowsily.
"Didn't notice," he answered. "What an old woman you're getting, George!
Want to know everybody's business, don't you?"
The porter withdrew, a little huffed. When, a few minutes later, the
train drew in, he even avoided ostentatiously a journey to the far end of
the platform to open the door for the solitary passenger who was standing
there. He passed up the train and slammed the door without even glancing
in at the window. Then he stood and watched the red lights disappear.
"Was it Jim?" the station master asked him, on their way out.
"Didn't notice," his subordinate replied, a little curtly. "Maybe it was
and maybe it wasn't. Good night!"
* * * * *
Philip Romilly sat back in the corner of his empty third-class carriage,
peering out of the window, in which he could see only the reflection of
the feeble gas-lamp. There was no doubt about it, however--they were
moving. The first stage of his journey had commenced. The blessed sense
of motion, after so long waiting, at first soothed and then exhilarated
him. In a few moments he became restless. He let down the rain-blurred
window and leaned out. The cool dampness of the night was immensely
refreshing, the rain softened his hot cheeks. He sat there, peering away
into the shadows, struggling for the sight of definite objects--a tree, a
house, the outline of a field--anything to keep the other thoughts away,
the thoughts that came sometimes like the aftermath of a grisly,
unrealisable nightmare. Then he felt chilly, drew up the window, thrust
his hands into his pockets from which he drew out a handsome cigarette
case, struck a match, and smoked with vivid appreciation of the quality
of the tobacco, examined the crest on the case as he put it away, and
finally patted with surreptitious eagerness the flat morocco letter case
in his inside pocket.
At the Junction, he made his way into the refreshment room and ordered
a long whisky and soda, which he drank in a couple of gulps. Then he
hastened to the booking office and took a first-class ticket to
Liverpool, and a few minutes later secured a seat in the long,
north-bound express which came gliding up to the side of the platform. He
spent some time in the lavatory, washing, arranging his hair,
straightening his tie, after which he made his way into the elaborate
dining-car and found a comfortable corner seat. The luxury of his
surroundings soothed his jagged nerves. The car was comfortably warmed,
the electric light upon his table was softly shaded. The steward who
waited upon him was swift-footed and obsequious, and seemed entirely
oblivious of Philip's shabby, half-soaked clothes. He ordered champagne a
little vaguely, and the wine ran through his veins with a curious
potency. He ate and drank now and then mechanically, now and then with
the keenest appetite. Afterwards he smoked a cigar, drank coffee, and
sipped a liqueur with the appreciation of a connoisseur. A fellow
passenger passed him an evening paper, which he glanced through with
apparent interest. Before he reached his journey's end he had ordered and
drunk another liqueur. He tipped the steward handsomely. It was the first
well-cooked meal which he had eaten for many months.
Arrived at Liverpool, he entered a cab and drove to the Adelphi Hotel. He
made his way at once to the office. His clothes were dry now and the rest
and warmth had given him more confidence.
"You have a room engaged for me, I think," he said, "Mr. Douglas Romilly.
I sent some luggage on."
The man merely glanced at him and handed him a ticket.
"Number sixty-seven, sir, on the second floor," he announced.
A porter conducted him up-stairs into a large, well-furnished bedroom. A
fire was blazing in the grate; a dressing-case, a steamer trunk and a
hatbox were set out at the foot of the bedstead.
"The heavier luggage, labelled for the hold, sir," the man told him, "is
down-stairs, and will go direct to the steamer to-morrow morning. That
was according to your instructions, I believe."
"Quite right," Philip assented. "What time does the boat sail?"
"Three o'clock, sir."
Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself
on board early in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction
seemed already to terrify him.
"Not till the afternoon," he muttered.
"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time
after eleven o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you,
sir."
The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly
locked the door after him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from
his pocket and, after several attempts, opened both the steamer trunk and
the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed contents with a
certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook
out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the
morrow, even selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he
wandered into the adjoining bathroom, took a hot bath, packed away at the
bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had been wearing, went
to bed--and slept.
CHAPTER III
The sun was shining into his bedroom when Philip Romilly was awakened the
next morning by a discreet tapping at the door. He sat up in bed and
shouted "Come in." He had no occasion to hesitate for a moment. He knew
perfectly well where he was, he remembered exactly everything that had
happened. The knocking at the door was disquieting but he faced it
without a tremor. The floor waiter appeared and bowed deferentially.
"There is a gentleman on the telephone wishes to speak to you, sir," he
announced. "I have connected him with the instrument by your side."
"To speak with me?" Philip repeated. "Are you quite sure?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Douglas Romilly he asked for. He said that his name was
Mr. Gayes, I believe."
The man left the room and Philip took up the receiver. For a moment he
sat and thought. The situation was perplexing, in a sense ominous, yet
it had to be faced. He held the instrument to his ear.
"Hullo? Who's that?" he enquired.
"That Mr. Romilly?" was the reply, in a man's pleasant voice. "Mr.
Douglas Romilly?"
"Yes!"
"Good! I'm Gayes--Mr. Gayes of Gayes Brothers. My people wrote me last
night from Leicester that you would be here this morning. You are
crossing, aren't you, on the _Elletania_?"
Philip remained monosyllabic.
"Yes," he admitted cautiously.
"Can't you come round and see us this morning?" Mr. Gayes invited. "And
look here, Mr. Romilly, in any case I want you to lunch with me at the
club. My car shall come round and fetch you at any time you say."
"Sorry," Philip replied. "I am very busy this morning, and I am engaged
for lunch."
"Oh, come, that's too bad," the other protested, "I really want to have a
chat with you on business matters, Mr. Romilly. Will you spare me half an
hour if I come round?"
"Tell me exactly what it is you want?" Philip insisted.
"Oh! just the usual thing," was the cheerful answer. "We hear you are off
to America on a buying tour. Our last advices don't indicate a very easy
market over there. I am not at all sure that we couldn't do better for
you here, and give you better terms."
Philip began to feel more sure | 2,020.064347 |
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THE
MAIDS TRAGEDY.
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Persons Represented in the Play.
King.
Lysippus, _brother to the King_.
Amintor, _a Noble Gentleman_.
Evadne, _Wife to_ Amintor.
Malantius}
Diphilius} _Brothers to_ Evadne.
Aspatia, _troth-plight wife to_ Amnitor.
Calianax, _an old humorous Lord, and
Father to_ Aspatia.
Cleon}
Strato} _Gentlemen_.
Diagoras, _a Servant_.
Antiphila}
Olympias} _waiting Gentlewomen to_ Aspatia.
Dula, _a Lady_.
Night}
Cynthia}
Neptune}
Eolus} _Maskers_.
* * * * *
_Actus primus. Scena prima_.
Enter _Cleon, Strato, Lysippus, Diphilus_.
_Cleon_. The rest are making ready Sir.
_Strat_. So let them, there's time enough.
_Diph_. You are the brother to the King, my Lord,
we'll take your word.
_Lys_. _Strato_, thou hast some skill in Poetry, What
thinkst thou of a Mask? will it be well?
_Strat_. As well as Mask can be.
_Lys_. As Mask can be?
_Strat_. Yes, they must commend their King, and speak
in praise of the Assembly, bless the Bride and
Bridegroom, in person of some God; th'are tyed
to rules of flattery.
_Cle_. See, good my Lord, who is return'd!
_Lys_. Noble _Melantius_!
[_Enter Melantius_.
The Land by me welcomes thy vertues home to _Rhodes_,
thou that with blood abroad buyest us our peace; the
breath of King is like the breath of Gods; My brother
wisht thee here, and thou art here; he will be too kind,
and weary thee with often welcomes; but the time doth
give thee a welcome above this or all the worlds.
_Mel_. My Lord, my thanks; but these scratcht limbs of mine have
spoke my love and truth unto my friends, more than my
tongue ere could: my mind's the same it ever was to you;
where I find worth, I love the keeper, till he let it go,
And then I follow it.
_Diph_. Hail worthy brother!
He that rejoyces not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.
_Mel_. I thank thee _Diphilus_: but thou art faulty;
I sent for thee to exercise thine armes
With me at _Patria_: thou cam'st not _Diphilus_: 'Twas
ill.
_Diph_. My noble brother, my excuse
Is my King's strict command, which you my Lord
Can witness with me.
_Lys_. 'Tis true _Melantius_,
He might not come till the solemnity
Of this great match were past.
_Diph_. Have you heard of it?
_Mel_. Yes, I have given cause to those that
Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamesome;
I have no other business here at _Rhodes_.
_Lys_. We have a Mask to night,
And you must tread a Soldiers measure.
_Mel_. These soft and silken wars are not for me;
The Musick must be shrill, and all confus'd,
That stirs my blood, and then I dance with armes:
But is _Amintor_ Wed?
_Diph_. This day.
_Mel_. All joyes upon him, for he is my friend:
Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend,
His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate,
And one that never thinks his life his own,
If his friend need it: when he was a boy,
As oft as I return'd (as without boast)
I brought home conquest, he would gaze upon me,
And view me round, to find in what one limb
The vertue lay to do those things he heard:
Then would he wish to see my Sword, and feel
The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
Weigh it; he oft would make me smile at this;
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
Will see it all perform'd.
[_Enter Aspatia, passing by_.
_Melan_. Hail Maid and Wife!
Thou fair _Aspatia_, may the holy knot
That thou hast tyed to day, last till the hand
Of age undo't; may'st thou bring a race
Unto _Amintor_ that may fill the world
Successively with Souldiers.
_Asp_. My hard fortunes
Deserve not scorn; for I was never proud
When they were good.
[_Exit Aspatia_.
_Mel_. How's this?
_Lys_. You are mistaken, for she is not married.
_Mel_. You said _Amintor_ was.
_Diph_. 'Tis true; but
_Mel_. Pardon me, I did receive
Letters at _Patria_, from my _Amintor_,
That he should marry her.
_Diph_. And so it stood,
In all opinion long; but your arrival
Made me imagine you had heard the change.
_Mel_. Who hath he taken then?
_Lys_. A Lady Sir,
That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
With flashes of her eye; the fair _Evadne_ your
vertuous Sister.
_Mel_. Peace of heart betwixt them: but this is strange.
_Lys_. The King my brother did it
To honour you; and these solemnities
Are at his charge.
_Mel_. 'Tis Royal, like himself;
But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful _Aspatia_; there is rage
Hid in her fathers breast; _Calianax_
Bent long against me, and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
with the King?
_Lys_. Yes; but this Lady
Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in, and make her maids
Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief
That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
With laughter, she will with so sad a look
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
She'l send them weeping one by one away.
_Mel_. She has a brother under my command
Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
The number of his years.
[_Enter Amintor_.
_Cle_. My Lord the Bridegroom!
_Mel_. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
Upon my foe: I love thee well _Amintor_,
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
my love.
_Amin_. Thou art _Melantius_;
All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
To thank the gods, _Melantius_ is return'd
In safety; victory sits on his sword
As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
Only thy valour and thy innocence.
What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee still thus!
_Mel_. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
After long absence; all the wounds I have,
Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
And what was War?
_Amin_. Pardon thou holy God
Of Marriage bed, and frown not, I am forc't
In answer of such noble tears as those,
To weep upon my Wedding day.
_Mel_. I fear thou art | 2,020.101713 |
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THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
Three Lectures
Given at the University of Naples, Italy on April 22, 23 and 24, 1901
By Enrico Ferri
Translated by Ernest Untermann
Chicago
Charles H. Kerr & Company
1908
THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
I.
My Friends:
When, in the turmoil of my daily occupation, I received an invitation,
several months ago, from several hundred students of this famous
university, to give them a brief summary, in short special lectures, of
the principal and fundamental conclusions of criminal sociology, I
gladly accepted, because this invitation fell in with two ideals of
mine. These two ideals are stirring my heart and are the secret of my
life. In the first place, this invitation chimed with the ideal of my
personal life, namely, to diffuse and propagate among my brothers the
scientific ideas, which my brain has accumulated, not through any merit
of mine, but thanks to the lucky prize inherited from my mother in the
lottery of life. And the second ideal which this invitation called up
before my mind's vision was this: The ideal of young people of Italy,
united in morals and intellectual pursuits, feeling in their social
lives the glow of a great aim. It would matter little whether this aim
would agree with my own ideas or be opposed to them, so long as it
should be an ideal which would lift the aspirations of the young people
out of the fatal grasp of egoistic interests. Of course, we positivists
know very well, that the material requirements of life shape and
determine also the moral and intellectual aims of human consciousness.
But positive science declares the following to be the indispensable
requirement for the regeneration of human ideals: Without an ideal,
neither an individual nor a collectivity can live, without it humanity
is dead or dying. For it is the fire of an ideal which renders the life
of each one of us possible, useful and fertile. And only by its help can
each one of us, in the more or less short course of his or her
existence, leave behind traces for the benefit of fellow-beings. The
invitation extended to me proves that the students of Naples believe in
the inspiring existence of such an ideal of science, and are anxious to
learn more about ideas, with which the entire world of the present day
is occupied, and whose life-giving breath enters even through the
windows of the dry courtrooms, when their doors are closed against it.
* * * * *
Let us now speak of this new science, which has become known in Italy by
the name of the Positive School of Criminology. This science, the same
as every other phenomenon of scientific evolution, cannot be
shortsightedly or conceitedly attributed to the arbitrary initiative of
this or that thinker, this or that scientist. We must rather regard it
as a natural product, a necessary phenomenon, in the development of that
sad and somber department of science which deals with the disease of
crime. It is this plague of crime which forms such a gloomy and painful
contrast with the splendor of present-day civilization. The 19th century
has won a great victory over mortality and infectious diseases by means
of the masterful progress of physiology and natural science. But while
contagious diseases have gradually diminished, we see on the other hand
that moral diseases are growing more numerous in our so-called
civilization. While typhoid fever, smallpox, cholera and diphtheria
retreated before the remedies which enlightened science applied by means
of the experimental method, removing their concrete causes, we see on
the other hand that insanity, suicide and crime, that painful trinity,
are growing apace. And this makes it very evident that the science which
is principally, if not exclusively, engaged in studying these phenomena
of social disease, should feel the necessity of finding a more exact
diagnosis of these moral diseases of society, in order to arrive at some
effective and more humane remedy, which should more victoriously combat
this somber trinity of insanity, suicide and crime.
The science of positive criminology arose in the last quarter of the
19th century, as a result of this strange contrast, which would be
inexplicable, if we could not discover historical and scientific reasons
for its existence. And it is indeed a strange contrast that Italy should
have arrived at a perfect theoretical development of a classical school
of criminology, while there persists, on the other hand, the disgraceful
condition that criminality assumes dimensions never before observed in
this country, so that the science of criminology cannot stem the tide of
crime in high and low circles. It is for this reason, that the positive
school of criminology arises out of the very nature of things, the same
as every other line of science. It is based on the conditions of our
daily life. It would indeed be conceited on our part to claim that we,
who are the originators of this new science and its new conclusions,
deserve alone the credit for its existence. The brain of the scientist
is rather a sort of electrical accumulator, which feels and assimilates
the vibrations and heart-beats of life, its splendor and its shame, and
derives therefrom the conviction that it must of necessity provide for
definite social wants. And on the other hand, it would be an evidence of
intellectual short-sightedness on the part of the positivist man of
science, if he did not recognize the historical accomplishments, which
his predecessors on the field of science have left behind as indelible
traces of their struggle against the unknown in that brilliant and
irksome domain. For this reason, the adherents of the positive school of
criminology feel the most sincere reverence for the classic school of
criminology. And I am glad today, in accepting the invitation of the
students of Naples, to say, that this is another reason why their
invitation was welcome to me. It is now 16 years since I gave in this
same hall a lecture on positive criminology, which was then in its
initial stages. It was in 1885, when I had the opportunity to outline
the first principles of the positive school of criminology, at the
invitation of other students, who preceded you on the periodic waves of
the intellectual generations. And the renewal of this opportunity gave
me so much moral satisfaction that, I could not under any circumstances
decline your invitation. Then too, the Neapolitan Atheneum has
maintained the reputation of the Italian mind in the 19th century, also
in that science which even foreign scientists admit to be our specialty,
namely the science of criminology. In fact, aside from the two terrible
books of the Digest, and from the practical criminologists of the Middle
Ages who continued the study of criminality, the modern world opened a
glorious page in the progress of criminal science with the modest little
book of Cesare Beccaria. This progress leads from Cesare Beccaria, by
way of Francesco Carrara, to Enrico Pessina.
Enrico Pessina alone remains of the two giants who concluded the cycle
of classic school of criminology. In a lucid moment of his scientific
consciousness, which soon reverted to the old abstract and metaphysical
theories, he announced in an introductory statement in 1879, that
criminal justice would have to rejuvenate itself in the pure bath of the
natural sciences and substitute in place of abstraction the living and
concrete study of facts. Naturally every scientist has his function and
historical significance; and we cannot expect that a brain which has
arrived at the end of its career should turn towards a new direction. At
any rate, it is a significant fact that this most renowned
representative of the classic school of criminology should have pointed
out this need of his special science in this same university of Naples,
one year after the inauguration of the positive school of criminology,
that he should have looked forward to a time when the study of natural
and positive facts would set to rights the old juridical abstractions.
And there is still another precedent in the history of this university,
which makes scientific propaganda at this place very agreeable for a
positivist. It is that six years before that introductory statement by
Pessina, Giovanni Bovio gave lectures at this university, which he
published later on under the title of "A Critical Study of Criminal
Law." Giovanni Bovio performed in this monograph the function of a
critic, but the historical time of his thought, prevented him from
taking part in the construction of a new science. However, he prepared
the ground for new ideas, by pointing out all the rifts and weaknesses
of the old building. Bovio maintained that which Gioberti, Ellero,
Conforti, Tissol had already maintained, namely that it is impossible to
solve the problem which is still the theoretical foundation of the
classic school of criminology, the problem of the relation between
punishment and crime. No man, no scientist, no legislator, no judge, has
ever been able to indicate any absolute standard, which would enable us
to say that equity demands a definite punishment for a definite crime.
We can find some opportunistic expedient, but not a solution of the
problem. Of course, if we could decide which is the gravest crime, then
we could also decide on the heaviest sentence and formulate a descending
scale which would establish the relative | 2,020.199997 |
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[Illustration: Sir Henry Morgan--Buccaneer.]
_Sir Henry Morgan, BUCCANEER_
_A Romance of the Spanish Main_
_BY_
_CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY_
_Author of "For Love of Country," "For the Freedom of the Sea," "The
Southerners," "Hohenzollern," "The Quiberon Touch," "Woven with the
Ship," "In the Wasp's Nest," Etc._
[Illustration]
_Illustrations by J.N. MARCHAND and WILL CRAWFORD_
G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1903, IN
GREAT BRITAIN
[_All rights reserved_]
_Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer_ _Issued October, 1903_
_TO MY ONLY BROTHER_
COLONEL JASPER EWING BRADY
_LATE U.S. ARMY_
"Woe to the realms which he coasted! for there
Was shedding of blood and rending of hair,
Rape of maiden and slaughter of priest,
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast;
When he hoisted his standard black,
Before him was battle, behind him wrack,
And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane,
To light his band to their barks again."
SCOTT: "Harold the Dauntless."
_PREFACE_
In literature there have been romantic pirates, gentlemanly pirates,
kind-hearted pirates, even humorous pirates--in fact, all sorts and
conditions of pirates. In life there was only one kind. In this book
that kind appears. Several presentations--in the guise of novels--of
pirates, the like of which never existed on land or sea, have recently
appeared. A perusal of these interesting romances awoke in me a desire
to write a story of a real pirate, a pirate of the genuine species.
Much research for historical essays, amid ancient records and moldy
chronicles, put me in possession of a vast amount of information
concerning the doings of the greatest of all pirates; a man unique among
his nefarious brethren, in that he played the piratical game so
successfully that he received the honor of knighthood from King Charles
II. A belted knight of England, who was also a brutal, rapacious,
lustful, murderous villain and robber--and undoubtedly a pirate,
although he disguised his piracy under the name of buccaneering--is
certainly a striking and unusual figure.
Therefore, when I imagined my pirate story I pitched upon Sir Henry
Morgan as _the_ character of the romance. It will spare the critic to
admit that the tale hereinafter related is a work of the imagination,
and is not an historical romance. According to the latest accounts, Sir
Henry Morgan, by a singular oversight of Fate, who must have been
nodding at the time, died in his bed--not peacefully I trust--and was
buried in consecrated ground. But I do him no injustice, I hasten to
assure the reader, in the acts that I have attributed to him, for they
are more than paralleled by the well authenticated deeds of this human
monster. I did not even invent the blowing up of the English frigate in
the action with the Spanish ships.
If I have assumed for the nonce the attributes of that unaccountably
somnolent Fate, and brought him to a terrible end, I am sure abundant
justification will be found in the recital of his mythical misdeeds,
which, I repeat, were not a circumstance to his real transgressions.
Indeed, one has to go back to the most cruel and degenerate of the Roman
emperors to parallel the wickednesses of Morgan and his men. It is not
possible to put upon printed pages explicit statements of what they did.
The curious reader may find some account of these "Gentlemen of the
Black Flag," so far as it can be translated into present-day books
intended for popular reading, in my volume of "COLONIAL FIGHTS AND
FIGHTERS."
The writing of this novel has been by no means an easy task. How to
convey clearly the doings of the buccaneer so there could be no
misapprehension on the part of the reader, and yet to write with due
delicacy and restraint a book for the general public, has been a problem
with which I have wrestled long and arduously. The whole book has been
completely revised some six times. Each time I have deleted something,
which, while it has refined, I trust has not impaired the strength of
the tale. If the critic still find things to censure, let him pass over
charitably in view of what might have been!
As to the other characters, I have done violence to the name and fame of
no man, for all of those who played any prominent part among the
buccaneers in the story were themselves men scarcely less criminal than
Morgan. Be it known that I have simply appropriated names, not careers.
They all had adventures of their own and were not associated with Morgan
in life. Teach--I have a weakness for that bad young man--is known to
history as "Blackbeard"--a much worse man than the roaring singer of
these pages. The delectable Hornigold, the One-Eyed, with the "wild
justice" of his revenge, was another real pirate. So was the faithful
Black Dog, the maroon. So were Raveneau de Lussan, Rock Braziliano,
L'Ollonois, Velsers, Sawkins, and the rest.
In addition to my desire to write a real story of a real pirate I was
actuated by another intent. There are numberless tales of the brave days
of the Spanish Main, from "Westward Ho!" down. In every one of them,
without exception, the hero is a noble, gallant, high-souled,
high-spirited, valiant descendant of the Anglo-Saxon race, while the
villain--and such villains they are!--is always a proud and haughty
Spaniard, who comes to grief dreadfully in the final trial which
determines the issue. My sympathies, from a long course of reading of
such romances, have gone out to the under Don. I determined to write a
story with a Spanish gentleman for the hero, and a Spanish gentlewoman
for the heroine, and let the position of villain be filled by one of our
own race. Such things were, and here they are. I have dwelt with
pleasure on the love affairs of the gallant Alvarado and the beautiful
Mercedes.
But, after all, the story is preeminently the story of Morgan. I have
striven to make it a character sketch of that remarkable personality. I
wished to portray his ferocity and cruelty, his brutality and
wantonness, his treachery and rapacity; to exhibit, without lightening,
the dark shadows of his character, and to depict his inevitable and
utter breakdown finally; yet at the same time to bring out his dauntless
courage, his military ability, his fertility and resourcefulness, his
mastery of his men, his capacity as a seaman, which are qualities worthy
of admiration. Yet I have not intended to make him an admirable figure.
To do that would be to falsify history and disregard the artistic
canyons. So I have tried to show him as he was; great and brave, small
and mean, skilful and able, greedy and cruel; and lastly, in his crimes
and punishment, a coward.
And if a mere romance may have a lesson, here in this tale is one of a
just retribution, exhibited in the awful, if adequate, vengeance finally
wreaked upon Morgan by those whom he had so fearfully and dreadfully
wronged.
CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY.
BROOKLYN, N.Y., _December, 1902_.
NOTE.--The date of the sack of Panama has been advanced to comply
with the demands of this romance.
_TABLE OF CONTENTS_
BOOK I.
HOW SIR HENRY MORGAN IN HIS OLD AGE RESOLVED TO GO A-BUCCANEERING
AGAIN.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--Wherein Sir Henry Morgan made good use of the
ten minutes allowed him 25
II.--How Master Benjamin Hornigold, the One-Eyed,
agreed to go with his old Captain 45
III.--In which Sir Henry Morgan finds himself at the head
of a crew once more 65
IV.--Which tells how the _Mary Rose_, frigate, changed
masters and flags 81
BOOK II.
THE CRUISE OF THE BUCCANEERS AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE SEAS.
CHAPTER PAGE
V.--How the _Mary Rose_ overhauled three Spanish treasure
ships 97
VI.--In which is related the strange expedient of the
Captain and how they took the great galleon 115
VII.--Wherein Bartholomew Sawkins mutinied against
his Captain and what befel him on that account 128
VIII.--How they strove to club-haul the galleon and failed
to save her on the coast of Caracas 145
BOOK III.
WHICH TREATS OF THE TANGLED LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE PEARL OF CARACAS.
CHAPTER PAGE
IX.--Discloses the hopeless passion between Donna Mercedes
de Lara and Captain Dominique Alvarado,
the Commandante of La Guayra 161
X.--How Donna Mercedes tempted her lover and how he
strove valiantly to resist her appeals 174
XI.--Wherein Captain Alvarado pledges his word to the
Viceroy of Venezuela, the Count Alvaro de Lara,
and to Don Felipe de Tobar, his friend 190
XII.--Shows how Donna Mercedes chose death rather than
give up Captain Alvarado, and what befel them on
the road over the mountains 200
XIII.--In which Captain Alvarado is forsworn and with
Donna Mercedes in his arms breaks his plighted
word 218
BOOK IV.
IN WHICH IS RELATED AN ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING OF LA GUAYRA BY THE
BUCCANEERS AND THE DREADFUL PERILS OF DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND
CAPTAIN ALVARADO IN THAT CITY.
CHAPTER PAGE
XIV.--Wherein the crew of the galleon intercepts the two
lovers by the way 231
XV.--Tells how Mercedes de Lara returned the unsought
caress of Sir Henry Morgan and the means by
which the buccaneers surmounted the walls 248
XVI.--In which Benjamin Hornigold recognizes a cross and
Captain Alvarado finds and loses a mother on the
strand 265
XVII.--Which describes an audience with Sir Henry Morgan
and the treachery by which Captain Alvarado
benefited 283
BOOK V.
HOW THE SPANIARDS RE-TOOK LA GUAYRA AND HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO FOUND A
NAME AND SOMETHING DEARER STILL IN THE CITY.
CHAPTER PAGE
XVIII.--Discloses the way in which Mercedes de Lara fought
with woman's cunning against Captain Henry
Morgan 301
XIX.--How Captain Alvarado crossed the mountains, found
the Viceroy, and placed his life in his master's
hands 326
XX.--Wherein Master Teach, the pirate, dies better than
he lived 347
XXI.--The recital of how Captain Alvarado and Don Felipe
de Tobar came to the rescue in the nick of time 354
XXII.--In which Sir Henry Morgan sees a cross, cherishes
a hope, and makes a claim 370
XXIII.--How the good priest, Fra Antonio de Las Casas, told
the truth, to the great relief of Captain Alvarado
and Donna Mercedes, and the discomfiture of
Master Benjamin Hornigold and Sir Henry
Morgan 385
XXIV.--In which Sir Henry Morgan appeals unavailingly
alike to the pity of woman, the forgiveness of
priest, the friendship of comrade, and the hatred
of men 402
BOOK VI.
IN WHICH THE CAREER OF SIR HENRY MORGAN IS ENDED ON ISLA DE LA
TORTUGA, TO THE GREAT DELECTATION OF MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD, HIS
SOMETIME FRIEND.
CHAPTER PAGE
XXV.--And last. Wherein is seen how the judgment of
God came upon the buccaneers in the end 421
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY J.N. MARCHAND
| 2,020.354919 |
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THE
DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
VOL. IV.
THE
DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION;
BEING
THE LETTERS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, SILAS DEANE, JOHN
ADAMS, JOHN JAY, ARTHUR LEE, WILLIAM LEE, RALPH
IZARD, FRANCIS DANA, WILLIAM CARMICHAEL, HENRY
LAURENS, JOHN LAURENS, M. DE LAFAYETTE, M.
DUMAS, AND OTHERS, CONCERNING THE FOREIGN
RELATIONS OF THE UNITED STATES DURING
THE WHOLE REVOLUTION;
TOGETHER WITH
THE LETTERS IN REPLY FROM THE SECRET COMMITTEE OF
CONGRESS, AND THE SECRETARY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS.
ALSO,
THE ENTIRE CORRESPONDENCE OF THE FRENCH MINISTERS,
GERARD AND LUZERNE, WITH CONGRESS.
Published under the Direction of the President of the United States, from
the original Manuscripts in the Department of State, conformably
to a Resolution of Congress, of March 27th, 1818.
EDITED
BY JARED SPARKS.
VOL. IV.
BOSTON:
NATHAN HALE AND GRAY & BOWEN;
G. & C. &. H. CARVILL, NEW YORK; P. THOMPSON, WASHINGTON.
1829.
HALE'S STEAM PRESS.
No. 6 Suffolk Buildings, Congress Street, Boston.
CONTENTS OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN'S CORRESPONDENCE, CONTINUED.
Page.
Count de Vergennes to B. Franklin. Versailles,
August 23d, 1782, 3
Expresses a wish to promote the commerce between
France and America.
Thomas Townshend to Richard Oswald. Whitehall,
September 1st, 1782, 4
The King is ready to treat with the Commissioners
on the footing of unconditional independence.
To Robert R. Livingston. Passy, Sept. 3d, 1782, 4
Allowance made to his grandson for various public services.--
Submits his own account to the disposal of Congress.--Encloses
letters (inserted in the note) from Mr Jay and Mr Laurens,
expressing their regard for his grandson.
To John Jay. Passy, September 4th, 1782, 9
Mr Oswald's courier arrives, with directions to acknowledge
the independence of America.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
September 5th, 1782, 10
Complains of want of information from Europe.--Movements
of the British troops in the south.--Importance
of the West India trade to the United
States.--Right of the States to cut logwood.
Richard Oswald to B. Franklin. Paris, September
5th, 1782, 15
Enclosing an extract from a letter of the Secretary of
State, regarding the negotiation.
To Richard Oswald. Passy, Sept. 8th, 1782, 15
Requesting a copy of the fourth article of his instructions,
given in the note.
To Earl Grantham. Passy, Sept. 11th, 1782, 16
Prospect of peace.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
September 12th, 1782, 17
Presenting Mr Paine's work addressed to the Abbe
Raynal.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
September 12th, 1782, 18
Necessity of further supplies of money.
To David Hartley. Passy, September 17th, 1782, 18
The preliminaries formerly received, inadmissible.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
September 18th, 1782, 19
Congress declines accepting Mr Laurens's resignation;
alters Dr Franklin's powers.
Mr Secretary Townshend to Richard Oswald.
Whitehall, September 20th, 1782, 20
The commission passing with the change proposed by
the American Commissioners.
Richard Oswald to B. Franklin. Paris, September
24th, 1782, 21
Transmitting a copy of Mr Townshend's letter to himself.
Count de Vergennes to B. Franklin. Versailles,
September 25th, 1782, 21
Aspect of affairs dubious.
To Robert R. Livingston. Passy, Sept. 26th, 1782, 22
Reply to his complaints of want of information.--Delays
of the negotiation.
Count de Vergennes to B. Franklin. Versailles,
October 3d, 1782, 23
Granting the exequatur empowering the United States'
Consul to act in France.
David Hartley to B. Franklin. Bath, Oct. 4th, 1782, 24
Sends a proposition for a temporary commercial convention.--The
dissolution of the union of the States apprehended.
To Robert R. Livingston. Passy, Oct. 14th, 1782, 25
Progress of the negotiation.--Acknowledges the receipt
of Ministers' salaries.
To John Adams. Passy, Oct. 15th, 1782, 28
Delay in the negotiations.
From T. Townshend to B. Franklin. Whitehall,
October 23d, 1782, 29
Introducing Mr Strachey.
To Thomas Townshend. Passy, Nov. 4th, 1782, 30
Regrets the obstructions to the negotiations.
To Robert R. Livingston. Passy, Nov. 7th, 1782, 31
Introducing the Baron de Kermelin.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
November 9th, 1782, 31
Sweden proposes to acknowledge the independence of
the United States.--Advantage of obtaining an acknowledgment
from the States of Barbary.--Difficulties in the exchange of
prisoners.--Affair of Lippincott.--Mr Boudinot elected President.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
November 21st, 1782, 34
Mr Jefferson added to the commission.--Mr Burgess,
an English merchant, not permitted to settle in Boston.
To Richard Oswald. Passy, Nov. 26th, 1782, 36
Indemnification of American royalists.--Resolutions of Congress
on the subject.--Act of the Pennsylvania assembly for procuring
an estimate of the damages committed by the British.--Characters
of the royalists.--Inexpediency of discussing the measure.
Robert R. Livingston to B. Franklin. Philadelphia,
November 27th, 1782, 44
Messrs Lamarque and Fabru.
To Count de Vergennes. Passy, Nov. 29th, 1782, 45
| 2,020.405826 |
2023-11-16 18:50:44.5814600 | 7,136 | 101 |
Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
HUNTING THE GRISLY AND OTHER SKETCHES
by Theodore Roosevelt
PREPARER'S NOTE
This text was prepared from a 1902 edition, published by G. P.
Putnam's Sons, New York and London. It was originally published in
1893. It is part II of "The Wilderness Hunter."
An Account of the Big Game of the United
States and its Chase with Horse
Hound, and Rifle
CHAPTER I.--THE BISON OR AMERICAN BUFFALO.
When we became a nation in 1776, the buffaloes, the first animals
to vanish when the wilderness is settled, roved to the crests of the
mountains which mark the western boundaries of Pennsylvania, Virginia,
and the Carolinas. They were plentiful in what are now the States of
Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. But by the beginning of the present
century they had been driven beyond the Mississippi; and for the next
eighty years they formed one of the most distinctive and characteristic
features of existence on the great plains. Their numbers were
countless--incredible. In vast herds of hundreds of thousands of
individuals, they roamed from the Saskatchewan to the Rio Grande
and westward to the Rocky Mountains. They furnished all the means of
livelihood to the tribes of Horse Indians, and to the curious population
of French Metis, or Half-breeds, on the Red River, as well as to those
dauntless and archtypical wanderers, the white hunters and trappers.
Their numbers slowly diminished, but the decrease was very gradual until
after the Civil War. They were not destroyed by the settlers, but by the
railways and the skin hunters.
After the ending of the Civil War, the work of constructing
trans-continental railway lines was pushed forward with the utmost
vigor. These supplied cheap and indispensable, but hitherto wholly
lacking, means of transportation to the hunters; and at the same time
the demand for buffalo robes and hides became very great, while the
enormous numbers of the beasts, and the comparative ease with which they
were slaughtered, attracted throngs of adventurers. The result was such
a slaughter of big game as the world had never before seen; never before
were so many large animals of one species destroyed in so short a time.
Several million buffaloes were slain. In fifteen years from the time
the destruction fairly began the great herds were exterminated. In
all probability there are not now, all told, five hundred head of
wild buffaloes on the American continent; and no herd of a hundred
individuals has been in existence since 1884.
The first great break followed the building of the Union Pacific
Railway. All the buffaloes of the middle region were then destroyed, and
the others were split into two vast sets of herds, the northern and the
southern. The latter were destroyed first, about 1878; the former not
until 1883. My own chief experience with buffaloes was obtained in the
latter year, among small bands and scattered individuals, near my ranch
on the Little Missouri; I have related it elsewhere. But two of my
kinsmen were more fortunate, and took part in the chase of these lordly
beasts when the herds still darkened the prairie as far as the eye could
see.
During the first two months of 1877, my brother Elliott, then a lad not
seventeen years old, made a buffalo-hunt toward the edge of the Staked
Plains in Northern Texas. He was thus in at the death of the southern
herds; for all, save a few scattering bands, were destroyed within two
years of this time. He was with my cousin, John Roosevelt, and they went
out on the range with six other adventurers. It was a party of just such
young men as frequently drift to the frontier. All were short of
cash, and all were hardy, vigorous fellows, eager for excitement and
adventure. My brother was much the youngest of the party, and the least
experienced; but he was well-grown, strong and healthy, and very fond
of boxing, wrestling, running, riding, and shooting; moreover, he had
served an apprenticeship in hunting deer and turkeys. Their mess-kit,
ammunition, bedding, and provisions were carried in two prairie-wagons,
each drawn by four horse. In addition to the teams they had six
saddle-animals--all of them shaggy, unkempt mustangs. Three or four
dogs, setters and half-bred greyhounds, trotted along behind the wagons.
Each man took his turn for two days as teamster and cook; and there were
always two with the wagons, or camp, as the case might be, while the
other six were off hunting, usually in couples. The expedition was
undertaken partly for sport and partly with the hope of profit; for,
after purchasing the horses and wagons, none of the party had any money
left, and they were forced to rely upon selling skins and hides, and,
when near the forts, meat.
They started on January 2nd, and shaped their course for the head-waters
of the Salt Fork of the Brazos, the centre of abundance for the great
buffalo herds. During the first few days they were in the outskirts of
the settled country, and shot only small game--quail and prairie fowl;
then they began to kill turkey, deer, and antelope. These they swapped
for flour and feed at the ranches or squalid, straggling frontier towns.
On several occasions the hunters were lost, spending the night out
in the open, or sleeping at a ranch, if one was found. Both towns and
ranches were filled with rough customers; all of my brother's companions
were muscular, hot-headed fellows; and as a consequence they were
involved in several savage free fights, in which, fortunately, nobody
was seriously hurt. My brother kept a very brief diary, the entries
being fairly startling from their conciseness. A number of times, the
mention of their arrival, either at a halting-place, a little village,
or a rival buffalo-camp is followed by the laconic remark, "big fight,"
or "big row"; but once they evidently concluded discretion to be
the better part of valor, the entry for January 20th being, "On the
road--passed through Belknap--too lively, so kept on to the Brazos--very
late." The buffalo-camps in particular were very jealous of one another,
each party regarding itself as having exclusive right to the range it
was the first to find; and on several occasions this feeling came near
involving my brother and his companions in serious trouble.
While slowly driving the heavy wagons to the hunting grounds they
suffered the usual hardships of plains travel. The weather, as in most
Texas winters, alternated between the extremes of heat and cold. There
had been little rain; in consequence water was scarce. Twice they were
forced to cross wild, barren wastes, where the pools had dried up, and
they suffered terribly from thirst. On the first occasion the horses
were in good condition, and they travelled steadily, with only
occasional short halts, for over thirty-six hours, by which time they
were across the waterless country. The journal reads: "January 27th--Big
hunt--no water, and we left Quinn's blockhouse this morning 3 A.M.--on
the go all night--hot. January 28--No water--hot--at seven we struck
water, and by eight Stinking Creek--grand 'hurrah.'" On the second
occasion, the horses were weak and travelled slowly, so the party went
forty-eight hours without drinking. "February 19th--Pulled on twenty-one
miles--trail bad--freezing night, no water, and wolves after our fresh
meat. 20--Made nineteen miles over prairie; again only mud, no water,
freezing hard--frightful thirst. 21st--Thirty miles to Clear Fork, fresh
water." These entries were hurriedly jotted down at the time, by a
boy who deemed it unmanly to make any especial note of hardship or
suffering; but every plainsman will understand the real agony implied
in working hard for two nights, one day, and portions of two others,
without water, even in cool weather. During the last few miles the
staggering horses were only just able to drag the lightly loaded
wagon,--for they had but one with them at the time,--while the men
plodded along in sullen silence, their mouths so parched that they could
hardly utter a word. My own hunting and ranching were done in the north
where there is more water; so I have never had a similar experience.
Once I took a team in thirty-six hours across a country where there was
no water; but by good luck it rained heavily in the night, so that the
horses had plenty of wet grass, and I caught the rain in my slicker, and
so had enough water for myself. Personally, I have but once been as long
as twenty-six hours without water.
The party pitched their permanent camp in a canyon of the Brazos known
as Canyon Blanco. The last few days of their journey they travelled
beside the river through a veritable hunter's paradise. The drought
had forced all the animals to come to the larger water-courses, and the
country was literally swarming with game. Every day, and all day long,
the wagons travelled through the herds of antelopes that grazed on every
side, while, whenever they approached the canyon brink, bands of deer
started from the timber that fringed the river's course; often, even
the deer wandered out on the prairie with the antelope. Nor was the game
shy; for the hunters, both red and white, followed only the buffaloes,
until the huge, shaggy herds were destroyed, and the smaller beasts were
in consequence but little molested.
Once my brother shot five antelopes from a single stand, when the party
were short of fresh venison; he was out of sight and to leeward, and the
antelopes seemed confused rather than alarmed at the rifle-reports and
the fall of their companions. As was to be expected where game was so
plenty, wolves and coyotes also abounded. At night they surrounded the
camp, wailing and howling in a kind of shrieking chorus throughout the
hours of darkness; one night they came up so close that the frightened
horses had to be hobbled and guarded. On another occasion a large wolf
actually crept into camp, where he was seized by the dogs, and the
yelling, writhing knot of combatants rolled over one of the sleepers;
finally, the long-toothed prowler managed to shake himself loose, and
vanished in the gloom. One evening they were almost as much startled
by a visit of a different kind. They were just finishing supper when an
Indian stalked suddenly and silently out of the surrounding darkness,
squatted down in the circle of firelight, remarked gravely, "Me Tonk,"
and began helping himself from the stew. He belonged to the friendly
tribe of Tonkaways, so his hosts speedily recovered their equanimity;
as for him, he had never lost his, and he sat eating by the fire
until there was literally nothing left to eat. The panic caused by his
appearance was natural; for at that time the Comanches were a scourge to
the Buffalo-hunters, ambushing them and raiding their camps; and several
bloody fights had taken place.
Their camp had been pitched near a deep pool or water-hole. On both
sides the bluffs rose like walls, and where they had crumbled and lost
their sheerness, the vast buffalo herds, passing and repassing for
countless generations, had worn furrowed trails so deep that the backs
of the beasts were but little above the surrounding soil. In the
bottom, and in places along the crests of the cliffs that hemmed in
the canyon-like valley, there were groves of tangled trees, tenanted by
great flocks of wild turkeys. Once my brother made two really remarkable
shots at a pair of these great birds. It was at dusk, and they were
flying directly overhead from one cliff to the other. He had in his hand
a thirty-eight calibre Ballard rifle, and, as the gobblers winged their
way heavily by, he brought both down with two successive bullets. This
was of course mainly a piece of mere luck; but it meant good shooting,
too. The Ballard was a very accurate, handy little weapon; it belonged
to me, and was the first rifle I ever owned or used. With it I had once
killed a deer, the only specimen of large game I had then shot; and I
presented the rifle to my brother when he went to Texas. In our happy
ignorance we deemed it quite good enough for Buffalo or anything else;
but out on the plains my brother soon found himself forced to procure a
heavier and more deadly weapon.
When camp was pitched the horses were turned loose to graze and refresh
themselves after their trying journey, during which they had lost flesh
woefully. They were watched and tended by the two men who were always
left in camp, and, save on rare occasions, were only used to haul in the
buffalo hides. The camp-guards for the time being acted as cooks; and,
though coffee and flour both ran short and finally gave out, fresh meat
of every kind was abundant. The camp was never without buffalo-beef,
deer and antelope venison, wild turkeys, prairie-chickens, quails,
ducks, and rabbits. The birds were simply "potted," as occasion
required; when the quarry was deer or antelope, the hunters took the
dogs with them to run down the wounded animals. But almost the entire
attention of the hunters was given to the buffalo. After an evening
spent in lounging round the campfire and a sound night's sleep, wrapped
in robes and blankets, they would get up before daybreak, snatch a
hurried breakfast, and start off in couples through the chilly dawn. The
great beasts were very plentiful; in the first day's hunt twenty were
slain; but the herds were restless and ever on the move. Sometimes they
would be seen right by the camp, and again it would need an all-day's
tramp to find them. There was no difficulty in spying them--the chief
trouble with forest game; for on the prairie a buffalo makes no effort
to hide and its black, shaggy bulk looms up as far as the eye can see.
Sometimes they were found in small parties of three or four individuals,
sometimes in bands of about two hundred, and again in great herds of
many thousands; and solitary old bulls, expelled from the herds, were
common. If on broken land, among the hills and ravines, there was not
much difficulty in approaching from the leeward; for, though the
sense of smell in the buffalo is very acute, they do not see well at a
distance through their overhanging frontlets of coarse and matted
hair. If, as was generally the case, they were out in the open, rolling
prairie, the stalking was far more difficult. Every hollow, every
earth hummock and sagebush had to be used as cover. The hunter wriggled
through the grass flat on his face, pushing himself along for perhaps a
quarter of a mile by his toes and fingers, heedless of the spiny cactus.
When near enough to the huge, unconscious quarry the hunter began
firing, still keeping himself carefully concealed. If the smoke was
blown away by the wind, and if the buffaloes caught no glimpse of the
assailant, they would often stand motionless and stupid until many of
their number had been slain, the hunter being careful not to fire too
high, aiming just behind the shoulder, about a third of the way up the
body, that his bullet might go through the lungs. Sometimes, even
after they saw the man, they would act as if confused and panic-struck,
huddling together and staring at the smoke puffs; but generally they
were off at a lumbering gallop as soon as they had an idea of the point
of danger. When once started, they ran for many miles before halting,
and their pursuit on foot was extremely laborious.
One morning my cousin and brother had been left in camp as guards. They
were sitting idly warming themselves in the first sunbeams, when their
attention was sharply drawn to four buffaloes that were coming to the
pool to drink. The beasts came down a game trail, a deep rut in the
bluff, fronting where they were sitting, and they did not dare to stir
for fear of being discovered. The buffaloes walked into the pool, and
after drinking their fill, stood for some time with the water running
out of their mouths, idly lashing their sides with their short tails,
enjoying the bright warmth of the early sunshine; then, with much
splashing and the gurgling of soft mud, they left the pool and clambered
up the bluff with unwieldy agility. As soon as they turned, my brother
and cousin ran for their rifles, but before they got back the buffaloes
had crossed the bluff crest. Climbing after them, the two hunters found,
when they reached the summit, that their game, instead of halting,
had struck straight off across the prairie at a slow lope, doubtless
intending to rejoin the herd they had left. After a moment's
consultation the men went in pursuit, excitement overcoming their
knowledge that they ought not, by rights, to leave camp. They struck
a steady trot, following the animals by sight until they passed over a
knoll, and then trailing them. Where the grass was long, as it was for
the first four or five miles, this was a work of no difficulty, and they
did not break their gait, only glancing now and then at the trial. As
the sun rose and the day became warm, their breathing grew quicker; and
the sweat rolled off their faces as they ran across the rough prairie
sward, up and down the long inclines, now and then shifting their heavy
rifles from one shoulder to the other. But they were in good training,
and they did not have to halt. At last they reached stretches of bare
ground, sun-baked and grassless, where the trail grew dim; and here they
had to go very slowly, carefully examining the faint dents and marks
made in the soil by the heavy hoofs, and unravelling the trail from
the mass of old footmarks. It was tedious work, but it enabled them to
completely recover their breath by the time that they again struck
the grassland; and but a few hundred yards from the edge, in a slight
hollow, they saw the four buffaloes just entering a herd of fifty or
sixty that were scattered out grazing. The herd paid no attention to
the new-comers, and these immediately began to feed greedily. After
a whispered consultation, the two hunters crept back, and made a long
circle that brought them well to leeward of the herd, in line with
a slight rise in the ground. They then crawled up to this rise and,
peering through the tufts of tall, rank grass, saw the unconscious
beasts a hundred and twenty-five or fifty yards away. They fired
together, each mortally wounding his animal, and then, rushing in as
the herd halted in confusion, and following them as they ran, impeded by
numbers, hurry, and panic, they eventually got three more.
On another occasion the same two hunters nearly met with a frightful
death, being overtaken by a vast herd of stampeded buffaloes. All the
animals that go in herds are subject to these instantaneous attacks
of uncontrollable terror, under the influence of which they become
perfectly mad, and rush headlong in dense masses on any form of death.
Horses, and more especially cattle, often suffer from stampedes; it is
a danger against which the cowboys are compelled to be perpetually on
guard. A band of stampeded horses, sweeping in mad terror up a valley,
will dash against a rock or tree with such violence as to leave several
dead animals at its base, while the survivors race on without halting;
they will overturn and destroy tents and wagons, and a man on foot
caught in the rush has but a small chance for his life. A buffalo
stampede is much worse--or rather was much worse, in the old
days--because of the great weight and immense numbers of the beasts,
which, in a fury of heedless terror, plunged over cliffs and into
rivers, and bore down whatever was in their path. On the occasion in
question, my brother and cousin were on their way homeward. They were
just mounting one of the long, low swells, into which the prairie was
broken, when they heard a low, muttering, rumbling noise, like far-off
thunder. It grew steadily louder, and, not knowing what it meant, they
hurried forward to the top of the rise. As they reached it, they stopped
short in terror and amazement, for before them the whole prairie was
black with madly rushing buffaloes.
Afterward they learned that another couple of hunters, four or five
miles off, had fired into and stampeded a large herd. This herd, in its
rush, gathered others, all thundering along together in uncontrollable
and increasing panic.
The surprised hunters were far away from any broken ground or other
place of refuge, while the vast herd of huge, plunging, maddened beasts
was charging straight down on them not a quarter of a mile distant. Down
they came!--thousands upon thousands, their front extending a mile in
breadth, while the earth shook beneath their thunderous gallop, and,
as they came closer, their shaggy frontlets loomed dimly through the
columns of dust thrown up from the dry soil. The two hunters knew that
their only hope for life was to split the herd, which, though it had so
broad a front, was not very deep. If they failed they would inevitably
be trampled to death.
Waiting until the beasts were in close range, they opened a rapid fire
from their heavy breech-loading rifles, yelling at the top of their
voices. For a moment the result seemed doubtful. The line thundered
steadily down on them; then it swayed violently, as two or three of
the brutes immediately in front fell beneath the bullets, while their
neighbors made violent efforts to press off sideways. Then a narrow
wedge-shaped rift appeared in the line, and widened as it came
closer, and the buffaloes, shrinking from their foes in front, strove
desperately to edge away from the dangerous neighborhood; the shouts
and shots were redoubled; the hunters were almost choked by the cloud
of dust, through which they could see the stream of dark huge bodies
passing within rifle-length on either side; and in a moment the peril
was over, and the two men were left alone on the plain, unharmed, though
with their nerves terribly shaken. The herd careered on toward the
horizon, save five individuals which had been killed or disabled by the
shots.
On another occasion, when my brother was out with one of his friends,
they fired at a small herd containing an old bull; the bull charged
the smoke, and the whole herd followed him. Probably they were simply
stampeded, and had no hostile intention; at any rate, after the death of
their leader, they rushed by without doing any damage.
But buffaloes sometimes charged with the utmost determination, and were
then dangerous antagonists. My cousin, a very hardy and resolute hunter,
had a narrow escape from a wounded cow which he had followed up a steep
bluff or sand cliff. Just as he reached the summit, he was charged, and
was only saved by the sudden appearance of his dog, which distracted the
cow's attention. He thus escaped with only a tumble and a few bruises.
My brother also came in for a charge, while killing the biggest bull
that was slain by any of the party. He was out alone, and saw a small
herd of cows and calves at some distance, with a huge bull among them,
towering above them like a giant. There was no break in the ground, nor
any tree nor bush near them, but, by making a half-circle, my brother
managed to creep up against the wind behind a slight roll in the prairie
surface, until he was within seventy-five yards of the grazing and
unconscious beasts. There were some cows and calves between him and the
bull, and he had to wait some moments before they shifted position, as
the herd grazed onward and gave him a fair shot; in the interval they
had moved so far forward that he was in plain view. His first bullet
struck just behind the shoulders; the herd started and looked around,
but the bull merely lifted his head and took a step forward, his tail
curled up over his back. The next bullet likewise struck fair, nearly in
the same place, telling with a loud "pack!" against the thick hide, and
making the dust fly up from the matted hair. Instantly the great bull
wheeled and charged in headlong anger, while the herd fled in the
opposite direction. On the bare prairie, with no spot of refuge, it was
useless to try to escape, and the hunter, with reloaded rifle, waited
until the bull was not far off, then drew up his weapon and fired.
Either he was nervous, or the bull at the moment bounded over some
obstacle, for the bullet went a little wild; nevertheless, by good luck,
it broke a fore-leg, and the great beast came crashing to the earth, and
was slain before it could struggle to its feet.
Two days after this even, a war party of Comanches swept down along the
river. They "jumped" a neighboring camp, killing one man and wounding
two more, and at the same time ran off all but three of the horses
belonging to our eight adventurers. With the remaining three horses and
one wagon they set out homeward. The march was hard and tedious; they
lost their way and were in jeopardy from quicksands and cloudbursts;
they suffered from thirst and cold, their shoes gave out, and their
feet were lamed by cactus spines. At last they reached Fort Griffen in
safety, and great was their ravenous rejoicing when they procured some
bread--for during the final fortnight of the hunt they had been without
flour or vegetables of any kind, or even coffee, and had subsisted on
fresh meat "straight." Nevertheless, it was a very healthy, as well as
a very pleasant and exciting experience; and I doubt if any of those who
took part in it will ever forget their great buffalo-hunt on the Brazos.
My friend, Gen. W. H. Walker, of Virginia, had an experience in the
early '50's with buffaloes on the upper Arkansas River, which gives
some idea of their enormous numbers at that time. He was camped with
a scouting party on the banks of the river, and had gone out to try
to shoot some meat. There were many buffaloes in sight, scattered,
according to their custom, in large bands. When he was a mile or two
away from the river a dull roaring sound in the distance attracted his
attention, and he saw that a herd of buffalo far to the south, away from
the river, had been stampeded and was running his way. He knew that
if he was caught in the open by the stampeded herd his chance for life
would be small, and at once ran for the river. By desperate efforts
he reached the breaks in the sheer banks just as the buffaloes reached
them, and got into a position of safety on the pinnacle of a little
bluff. From this point of vantage he could see the entire plain. To the
very verge of the horizon the brown masses of the buffalo bands showed
through the dust clouds, coming on with a thunderous roar like that of
surf. Camp was a mile away, and the stampede luckily passed to one side
of it. Watching his chance he finally dodged back to the tent, and all
that afternoon watched the immense masses of buffalo, as band after band
tore to the brink of the bluffs on one side, raced down them, rushed
through the water, up the bluffs on the other side, and again off over
the plain, churning the sandy, shallow stream into a ceaseless tumult.
When darkness fell there was no apparent decrease in the numbers that
were passing, and all through that night the continuous roar showed that
the herds were still threshing across the river. Towards dawn the sound
at last ceased, and General Walker arose somewhat irritated, as he had
reckoned on killing an ample supply of meat, and he supposed that there
would be now no bison left south of the river. To his astonishment, when
he strolled up on the bluffs and looked over the plain, it was still
covered far and wide with groups of buffalo, grazing quietly. Apparently
there were as many on that side as ever, in spite of the many scores of
thousands that must have crossed over the river during the stampede of
the afternoon and night. The barren-ground caribou is the only American
animal which is now ever seen in such enormous herds.
In 1862 Mr. Clarence King, while riding along the overland trail through
western Kansas, passed through a great buffalo herd, and was himself
injured in an encounter with a bull. The great herd was then passing
north, and Mr. King reckoned that it must have covered an area nearly
seventy miles by thirty in extent; the figures representing his rough
guess, made after travelling through the herd crosswise, and upon
knowing how long it took to pass a given point going northward. This
great herd of course was not a solid mass of buffaloes; it consisted of
innumerable bands of every size, dotting the prairie within the limits
given. Mr. King was mounted on a somewhat unmanageable horse. On one
occasion in following a band he wounded a large bull, and became so
wedged in by the maddened animals that he was unable to avoid the charge
of the bull, which was at its last gasp. Coming straight toward him it
leaped into the air and struck the afterpart of the saddle full with its
massive forehead. The horse was hurled to the ground with a broken back,
and King's leg was likewise broken, while the bull turned a complete
somerset over them and never rose again.
In the recesses of the Rocky Mountains, from Colorado northward
through Alberta, and in the depths of the subarctic forest beyond the
Saskatchewan, there have always been found small numbers of the bison,
locally called the mountain buffalo and wood buffalo; often indeed the
old hunters term these animals "bison," although they never speak of the
plains animals save as buffalo. They form a slight variety of what was
formerly the ordinary plains bison, intergrading with it; on the whole
they are darker in color, with longer, thicker hair, and in consequence
with the appearance of being heavier-bodied and shorter-legged. They
have been sometimes spoken of as forming a separate species; but,
judging from my own limited experience, and from a comparison of the
many hides I have seen, I think they are really the same animal,
many individuals of the two so-called varieties being quite
indistinguishable. In fact, the only moderate-sized herd of wild bison
in existence to-day, the protected herd in the Yellowstone Park, is
composed of animals intermediate in habits and coat between the mountain
and plains varieties--as were all the herds of the Bighorn, Big Hole,
Upper Madison, and Upper Yellowstone valleys.
However, the habitat of these wood and mountain bison yielded them
shelter from hunters in a way that the plains never could, and hence
they have always been harder to kill in the one place than in the other;
for precisely the same reasons that have held good with the elk, which
have been completely exterminated from the plains, while still abundant
in many of the forest fastnesses of the Rockies. Moreover, the bison's
dull eyesight is no special harm in the woods, while it is peculiar | 2,020.6015 |
2023-11-16 18:50:44.6414170 | 129 | 13 | DEVELOPMENT OF ART***
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[Illustration]
The Conquest
_The Story of a <DW64> Pioneer_
BY THE PIONEER
1913
THE WOODRUFF PRESS
Lincoln, Nebr.
Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1913,
by the Woodruff Bank Note Co., in the office of the
Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.
First Edition, May 1, 1913
_To the_
_HONORABLE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON_
_INTRODUCTORY_
_This is a true story of a <DW64> who was discontented and the
circumstances that were the outcome of that discontent._
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Became number one in the opening 56
Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to
celebrate 113
Made a declaration that he would build a town 128
Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production
of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on
either side were great mountains of sand 133
On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek
their level 140
The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader 145
Everything grew so rank, thick and green 160
Had put 280 acres under cultivation 177
Bringing stock, household goods and plenty of money 192
Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in
Tipp county 209
As the people were all now riding in autos 241
A beautiful townsite where trees stood 251
Ernest Nicholson takes a hand 256
The crops began to wither 289
The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I
cared for the stock 304
LIST OF CHAPTERS
PAGE
I Discontent--Spirit of the Pioneer 9
II Leaving Home--A Maiden 18
III Chicago, Chasing a Will-O-The-Wisp 24
IV The P----n Company 34
V "Go West Young Man" 48
VI "And Where is Oristown?" 54
VII Oristown, the "Little Crow" Reservation 61
VIII Far Down the Pacific--The Proposal 67
IX The Return--Ernest Nicholson 72
X The Oklahoma Grafter 74
XI Dealin' in Mules 79
XII The Homesteaders 86
XIII Imaginations Run Amuck 91
XIV The Surveyors 94
XV "Which Town Will the R.R. Strike?" 104
XVI Megory's Day 108
XVII Ernest Nicholson's Return 117
XVIII Comes Stanley, the Chief Engineer 123
XIX In the Valley of the Keya Paha 126
XX The Outlaw's Last Stand 132
XXI The Boom 134
XXII The President's Proclamation 140
XXIII Where the <DW64> Fails 142
XXIV And the Crowds Did Come--The Prairie Fire 148
XXV The Scotch Girl 153
XXVI The Battle 164
XXVII The Sacrifice--Race Loyalty 168
XXVIII The Breeds 175
XXIX In the Valley of the Dog Ear 182
XXX Ernest Nicholson Takes a Hand 186
XXXI The McCralines 193
XXXII A Long Night 201
XXXIII The Survival of the Fittest 208
XXXIV East of State Street 216
XXXV An Uncrowned King 233
XXXVI A Snake in the Grass 241
XXXVII The Progressives and the Reactionaries 251
XXXVIII Sanctimonious Hypocrisy 265
XXXIX Beginning of the End 273
XL The Mennonites 280
XLI The Drouth 284
XLII A Year of Coincidences 294
XLIII "And Satan Came Also" 297
The Conquest
CHAPTER I
DISCONTENT--SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER
Good gracious, has it been that long? It does not seem possible; but it
was this very day nine years ago when a fellow handed me this little
what-would-you-call-it, Ingalls called it "Opportunity." I've a notion
to burn it, but I won't--not this time, instead, I'll put it down here
and you may call it what you like.
Master of human destinies am I.
Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait.
Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
Hovel, and mart, and palace--soon or late
I knock unbidden once at every gate.
If sleeping, wake--if feasting, rise before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore,
I answer not, and I return no more.
Yes, it was that little poem that led me to this land and sometimes I
wonder well, I just wonder, that's all. Again, I think it would be
somewhat different if it wasn't for the wind. It blows and blows until
it makes me feel lonesome and so far away from that little place and the
country in southern Illinois.
I was born twenty-nine years ago near the Ohio River, about forty miles
above Cairo, the fourth son and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by
the name of Devereaux--which, of course, is not my name but we will call
it that for this sketch. It is a peculiar name that ends with an "eaux,"
however, and is considered an odd name for a <DW52> man to have, unless
he is from Louisiana where the French crossed with the Indians and
slaves, causing many Louisiana <DW64>s to have the French names and many
speak the French language also. My father, however, came from Kentucky
and inherited the name from his father who was sold off into Texas
during the slavery period and is said to be living there today.
He was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land and was, therefore,
considered fairly "well-to-do," that is, for a <DW52> man. The county
in which we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles, and took its
name from an old fort that used to do a little cannonading for the
Federal forces back in the Civil War.
The farming in this section was hindered by various disadvantages and at
best was slow, hard work. Along the valleys of the numerous creeks and
bayous that empty their waters into the Ohio, the soil was of a rich
alluvium, where in the early Spring the back waters from the Ohio
covered thousands of acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding
left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and clay which greatly
added to the soil's productivity. One who owned a farm on these bottoms
was considered quite fortunate. Here the corn stalks grew like saplings,
with ears dangling one and two to a stalk, and as sound and heavy as
green blocks of wood.
The heavy rains washed the loam from the hills and deposited it on these
bottoms. Years ago, when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the
excessive rainfall had washed away the loose surface, the highlands were
considered most valuable for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable
as the bottoms now are. Farther back from the river the more rolling the
land became, until some sixteen miles away it was known as the hills,
and here, long before I was born, the land had been very valuable. Large
barns and fine stately houses--now gone to wreck and deserted--stood
behind beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old oaks, where
rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made their homes, and sometimes a
raccoon or opossum founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days.
The orchards, formerly the pride of their owners, now dropped their
neglected fruit which rotted and mulched with the leaves. The fields,
where formerly had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy and
clover, were now grown over and enmeshed in a tangled mass of weeds and
dew-berry vines; while along the branches and where the old rail fences
had stood, black-berry vines had grown up, twisting their thorny stems
and forming a veritable hedge fence. These places I promised mother to
avoid as I begged her to allow me to follow the big boys and carry their
game when they went hunting.
In the neighborhood and throughout the country there had at one time
been many farmers, or ex-slaves, who had settled there after | 2,021.022167 |
2023-11-16 18:50:45.0029650 | 842 | 12 |
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Libraries)
[Illustration: “‘Lord, these are the lambs of thy flock.’”]
Jessica’s First Prayer
Jessica’s Mother
Hesba Stretton
New York
H. M. Caldwell Co.
Publishers
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Coffee-Stall and its Keeper PAGE 5
CHAPTER II.
Jessica’s Temptation 15
CHAPTER III.
An Old Friend in a New Dress 23
CHAPTER IV.
Peeps into Fairy-land 35
CHAPTER V.
A New World Opens 44
CHAPTER VI.
The First Prayer 50
CHAPTER VII.
Hard Questions 54
CHAPTER VIII.
An Unexpected Visitor 60
CHAPTER IX.
Jessica’s First Prayer Answered 69
CHAPTER X.
The Shadow of Death 82
Jessica’s First Prayer.
CHAPTER I.
THE COFFEE-STALL AND ITS KEEPER.
In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges
which span the streets of London there could be seen, a few years
ago, from five o’clock every morning until half-past eight, a tidily
set out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which
stood two large tin cans with a small fire of charcoal burning under
each, so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the
morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their
way to their daily toil. The coffee-stall was a favorite one, for
besides being under shelter, which was of great consequence upon rainy
mornings, it was also in so private a niche that the customers taking
their out-of-door breakfast were not too much exposed to notice; and,
moreover, the coffee-stall keeper was a quiet man, who cared only
to serve the busy workmen without hindering them by any gossip. He
was a tall, spare, elderly man, with a singularly solemn face and a
manner which was grave and secret. Nobody knew either his name or
dwelling-place; unless it might be the policeman who strode past the
coffee-stall every half-hour and nodded familiarly to the solemn man
behind it. There were very few who cared to make any inquiries about
him; but those who did could only discover that he kept the furniture
of his stall at a neighboring coffee-house, whither he wheeled his
trestle and board and crockery every day not later than half-past
eight in the morning; after which he was wont to glide away with a
soft footstep and a mysterious and fugitive air, with many backward
and sidelong glances, as if he dreaded observation, until he was lost
among the crowds which thronged the streets. No one had ever had the
persevering curiosity to track him all the way to his house, or to find
out his other means of gaining a livelihood; but in general his stall
was surrounded by customers, whom he served with silent seriousness,
and who did not grudge to pay him his charge for the refreshing coffee
he supplied to them.
For several years the crowd of work-people had paused by the
coffee-stall under the railway-arch, when one morning, in a partial
lull of his business, the owner became suddenly aware of a pair of very
bright dark eyes being fastened upon him and the slices of bread and
butter on his board, with a gaze as hungry as that of a mouse which has
been driven by famine into a trap. A thin and meagre face belonged to
the eyes, which was half hidden by a mass of matted hair hanging over | 2,021.023005 |
2023-11-16 18:50:45.0399190 | 3,121 | 7 |
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(This book was produced from scanned images of public
domain material from the Google Books project.)
[Illustration: "The Toad Woman stopped fanning and looked at her." Page
125.]
ADVENTURES
IN
Shadow-Land.
CONTAINING
Eva's Adventures in Shadow-Land.
By MARY D. NAUMAN.
AND
The Merman and The Figure-Head.
By CLARA F. GUERNSEY.
TWO VOLUMES IN ONE.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1874.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Lippincott's Press,
Philadelphia.
EVA'S ADVENTURES
IN
SHADOW-LAND.
TO
MY FRIEND
E. W.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
What Eva saw in the Pond 9
CHAPTER II.
Eva's First Adventure 15
CHAPTER III.
The Gift of the Fountain 23
CHAPTER IV.
The First Moonrise 30
CHAPTER V.
What Aster was 36
CHAPTER VI.
The Beginning of the Search 45
CHAPTER VII.
Aster's Misfortunes 52
CHAPTER VIII.
What Aster did 63
CHAPTER IX.
The Door in the Wall 73
CHAPTER X.
The Valley of Rest 80
CHAPTER XI.
The Magic Boat 92
CHAPTER XII.
Down the Brook 104
CHAPTER XIII.
The Enchanted River 119
CHAPTER XIV.
The Green Frog 130
CHAPTER XV.
In the Grotto 145
CHAPTER XVI.
Aster's Story 151
CHAPTER XVII.
The Last of Shadow-Land 162
EVA'S ADVENTURES
IN SHADOW-LAND.
CHAPTER I.
_WHAT EVA SAW IN THE POND._
She had been reading fairy-tales, after her lessons were done, all the
morning; and now that dinner was over, her father gone to his office,
the baby asleep, and her mother sitting quietly sewing in the cool
parlor, Eva thought that she would go down across the field to the old
mill-pond; and sit in the grass, and make a fairy-tale for herself.
There was nothing that Eva liked better than to go and sit in the tall
grass; grass so tall that when the child, in her white dress, looped on
her plump white shoulders with blue ribbons, her bright golden curls
brushed back from her fair brow, and her blue eyes sparkling, sat down
in it, you could not see her until you were near her, and then it was
just as if you had found a picture of a little girl in a frame, or
rather a nest of soft, green grass.
All through this tall, wavy grass, down to the very edge of the pond,
grew many flowers,--violets, and buttercups, and dandelions, like little
golden suns. And as Eva sat there in the grass, she filled her lap with
the purple and yellow flowers; and all around her the bees buzzed as
though they wished to light upon the flowers in her lap; on which, at
last,--so quietly did she sit,--two black-and-golden butterflies
alighted; while a great brown beetle, with long black feelers, climbed
up a tall grass-stalk in front of her, which, bending slightly under his
weight, swung to and fro in the gentle breeze which barely stirred Eva's
golden curls; and the field-crickets chirped, and even a snail put his
horns out of his shell to look at the little girl, sitting so quietly in
the grass among the flowers, for Eva was gentle, and neither bee, nor
butterfly, beetle, cricket, or snail were afraid of her. And this is
what Eva called making a fairy-tale for herself.
But sitting so quietly and watching the insects, and hearing their low
hum around her, at last made Eva feel drowsy; and she would have gone to
sleep, as she often did, if all of a sudden there had not sounded, just
at her feet, so that it startled her, a loud
Croak! croak!
But it frightened the two butterflies; for away they went, floating off
on their black-and-golden wings; and the brown beetle was in so much of
a hurry to run away that he tumbled off the grass-stalk on which he had
been swinging, and as soon as he could regain his legs, crept, as fast
as they could carry him, under a friendly mullein-leaf which grew near,
and hid himself; and the crickets were silent; and the bees all flew
away to their hive; and the snail drew himself and his horns into his
house, so that he looked like nothing in the world but a shell; for when
beetles, and butterflies, and crickets, and bees, and snails hear this
croak! croak! they know that it is time for them to get out of the way.
And when Eva looked down, there, just at her feet, sat a great green
toad.
She gave him a little push with her foot to make him go away; but
instead of that he only hopped the nearer, and again came--
Croak! croak!
He was entirely too near now for comfort, so the little girl jumped up,
dropping all the flowers she had gathered; and as she stood still for a
moment she thought that she heard the green toad say:
"Go to the pond! Go to the pond!"
It seemed so funny to Eva to hear a toad talk that she stood as still as
a mouse looking at him; and as she looked at him, she heard him say
again, as plain as possible:
"Go to the pond! Go to the pond!"
And then Eva did just exactly what either you or I would have done if we
had heard a great green toad talking to us. She went slowly through the
tall grass down to the very edge of the pond.
But instead of the fishes which used to swim about in the pretty clear
water, and which would come to eat the crumbs of bread she always threw
to them, and the funny, croaking frogs which used to jump and splash in
the water, she saw nothing but the same great green toad, which had
hopped down faster than she had walked, and which was now sitting on a
mossy stone near the bank. And when Eva would have turned away he
croaked again:
"Stay by the pond! Stay by the pond!"
And whether Eva wished it or not, she stood by the pond--for she really
could not help it--and looked. And it seemed to her that the sky grew
dark and the water black, as it always does before a rain; and then the
child grew frightened, and would have run away, but that just then, in
the very blackest part of the pond, she saw shining and looking up at
her a little round full moon, with a face in it; and it seemed to her,
strange though you may think it, that the eyes of the face in the moon
winked at her; and then it was gone.
And again Eva would have left the pond, but the green toad, which she
thought had suddenly grown larger, croaked more loudly:
"Stay by the pond! Stay by the pond!"
And Eva obeyed, as indeed she could not help doing; and then again, in
the pond, there came and went the little moon-face, only that this time
it was larger, and the eyes winked longer.
For the third time the child would have turned away, frightened at all
these strange doings in the pond; but for the third time the green toad,
larger than ever, croaked:
"Stay by the pond! Stay by the pond!"
So, for the third time, Eva looked at the pond; and there, for the third
time, was the shining moon-face, as large now as a real full moon,
though, when Eva looked up, there was no moon shining in the sky to be
reflected in the pond; and then the eyes in the moon-face looked harder
at her, and the toad winked at her; and then the toad was the moon and
the moon was the toad, and both seemed to change places with each other;
and at last both of them shone and winked so that Eva could not tell
them apart; and before she knew what she was doing she lay down quietly
in the tall grass, and the moon in the pond and the green toad winked at
her until she fell asleep.
Then the moon-eyes closed and the shining face faded; and the green toad
slipped quietly off his stone into the water; and still Eva slept
soundly.
And that was what Eva saw in the pond.
CHAPTER II.
_EVA'S FIRST ADVENTURE._
How long she lay there asleep the child did not know. It might only have
been for a few minutes; it might have been for hours. Yet, when she did
awake, and think it was time for her to go home, she did not understand
where she could be. The place seemed the same, yet not the same,--as
though some wonderful change had come over it during her sleep. There
was the pond, to be sure, but was it the same pond? Tall trees grew
round it, yet their branches were bare and leafless. A little brook ran
into the pond, which she was sure that she never had seen there before.
Was she still asleep? No. She was wide awake. She sprang to her feet and
looked around. The green toad was gone, so was the moon-face; her
father's house was nowhere to be seen; there was no sun, but it was not
dark, for a light seemed to come from the earth, and yet the earth
itself did not shine; mountains rose in the distance; but, strangest of
all, these mountains sometimes bore one shape, sometimes another; at
times they were like great crouching beasts, then again like castles or
palaces, then, as you looked, they were mountains again. Strange shadows
passed over the pond, stranger shapes flitted among the trees.
Eva did not know how the change had been made, still less did she guess
that she was now in Shadow-Land.
Yet it was all so singular that, as she looked upon the changing
mountain forms, and the quaint shadows, a sudden longing came over her,
with a desire to go home, and she turned away from the pond. And as she
did so, a little fragrant purple violet, the last that was left of all
the flowers which she had gathered, and which had been tangled in her
curls, fell to the ground, melting into fragrance as it did so; and as
it fell, there passed from Eva's mind all recollection of father,
mother, home, and the little brother cooing in his cradle: the changing
mountain forms seemed strange no longer; she forgot to wonder at the
singular earth-light, and at the absence of the sun; and noticing for
the first time that she was standing in a little path which ran along
the pond, and then followed the course of the little brook, whose waters
seemed singing the words, "Follow, follow me!" Eva wondered no longer,
but first stooping to pick up a little stick, in shape like a boy's
cane, with a knob at one end, just like a roughly carved head, and which
was lying just at her feet, she walked along the little path, which
seemed made expressly for her to walk in.
She walked on and on, as she thought, for hours, yet there came neither
sunset nor moonrise, and there were no stars in the sky, which seemed
nearer the earth than she had ever seen it before. There were clouds, to
be sure, of shapes as strange as those of the mountains, which passed
and repassed each other, although there was no wind to move them.
Everything was silent. Even the trees, swaying, as they did, to and fro,
moved noiselessly; the only sound, save Eva's light steps, which broke
the stillness was the silvery ripple of the brook, which kept company
with the path Eva trod, and whose waters murmured, gently, "Follow,
follow me!"
And Eva followed the murmuring brook, which seemed to her like a
pleasant companion in this silent land, where, even as there was no
sound, there was no sign of life; nothing like the real world which the
child had left, and of which, with the fall of the little violet from
her curls, she had lost all recollection; even as though that world had
never existed for her. Once or twice, as she went on, holding her little
stick in her hand, she imagined that she saw child-figures beckoning to
her; but, upon going up to them, she always found that either a rock, or
a low, leafless shrub, or else a rising wreath of mist, had deceived
her.
Yet, though she was alone, with no one near her, not even a bird to flit
merrily from tree to tree, nor an insect to buzz across her path, Eva
felt and knew no fear, and not for a moment did she care that she was
alone. The silvery ripple of the little brook, along which her path lay,
sounded like a pleasant voice in her ears; when thirsty, she drank of
its waters, which seemed to serve alike as food and drink; when tired,
she would lie fearlessly down upon its grassy margin, and sleep, as she
would imagine, only for a few minutes, for there would be no change in
| 2,021.059959 |
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HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
[Illustration: "'PICK UP YOUR SKIRT,' HE SAID BLUNTLY; 'IT GETS
STEEPER.'"--Page 32]
HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN,
WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE, ETC
WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE PIONEERS 1
II PORTENTS OF CHANGE 14
III AT THE FORD 26
IV THE OPENING OF THE RIFT 36
V THE SPENDTHRIFT 48
VI THE MORTGAGE BROKER 56
VII AN ACCIDENT 67
VIII AN UNEXPECTED ESCAPE 79
IX A MAN OF AFFAIRS 92
X THE CASTING VOTE 103
XI THE STEAM PLOW 118
XII THE ENEMY WITHIN 132
XIII THE TRAITOR 145
XIV A BOLD SCHEME 156
XV HARVEST HOME 169
XVI THE BRIDGE 182
XVII A HEAVY BLOW 192
XVIII COVERING HIS TRAIL 203
XIX THE BLIZZARD 215
XX A SEVERE TEST 225
XXI THE DAY OF RECKONING 236
XXII THE PRICE OF HONOR 245
XXIII A WOMAN INTERVEN | 2,021.100224 |
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My Lady Caprice
by
Jeffery Farnol
CONTENTS
I. TREASURE TROVE
II. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
III. THE DESPERADOES
IV. MOON MAGIC
V. THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT
VI. THE OUTLAW
VII. THE BLASTED OAK
VIII. THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
I
TREASURE TROVE
I sat fishing. I had not caught anything, of course--I rarely do, nor
am I fond of fishing in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances demanded it.
It had all come about through Lady Warburton, Lisbeth's maternal aunt.
Who Lisbeth is you will learn if you trouble to read these veracious
narratives--suffice it for the present that she has been an orphan from
her youth up, with no living relative save her married sister Julia and
her Aunt (with a capital A)--the Lady Warburton aforesaid.
Lady Warburton is small and somewhat bony, with a sharp chin and a
sharper nose, and invariably uses lorgnette; also, she is possessed of
much worldly goods.
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon
her--had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette,
and gently though firmly (Lady Warburton is always firm) had suggested
that Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and inclined to be a
little self-willed. That she (Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had existed between us so
long for something stronger. That although she (Lady Warburton) quite
appreciated the fact that one who wrote books, and occasionally a play,
was not necessarily immoral-- Still I was, of course, a terrible
Bohemian, and the air of Bohemia was not calculated to conduce to that
degree of matrimonial harmony which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother, could wish for. That,
therefore, under these circumstances my attentions were--etc., etc.
Here I would say in justice to myself that despite the torrent of her
eloquence I had at first made some attempt at resistance; but who could
hope to contend successfully against a woman possessed of such an
indomitable nose and chin, and one, moreover, who could level a pair of
lorgnette with such deadly precision? Still, had Lisbeth been beside
me things might have been different even then; but she had gone away
into the country--so Lady Warburton had informed me. Thus alone and at
her mercy, she had succeeded in wringing from me a half promise that I
would cease my attentions for the space of six months, "just to give
dear Elizabeth time to learn her own heart in regard to the matter."
This was last Monday. On the Wednesday following, as I wandered
aimlessly along Piccadilly, at odds with Fortune and myself, but
especially with myself, my eye encountered the Duchess of Chelsea.
The Duchess is familiarly known as the "Conversational Brook" from the
fact that when once she begins she goes on forever. Hence, being in my
then frame of mind, it was with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed
the summons of her parasol and crossed over to the brougham.
"So she's gone away?" was her greeting as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth,"
she nodded, "I happened to hear something about her, you know."
It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess generally does "happen to hear"
something about everything. "And you actually allowed yourself to be
bullied into making that promise--Dick! Dick! I'm ashamed of you."
"How was I to help myself?" I began. "You see--"
"Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting me affectionately with the handle
of her parasol, "it wasn't to be expected, of course. You see, I know
her--many, many years ago I was at school with Agatha Warburton."
"But she probably didn't use lorgnettes then, and--"
"Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky' I used to call it," nodded
the Duchess. "And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear child--and
to such a horrid, quiet little place, too, where she'll have nobody to
talk to but that young Selwyn.
"I beg pardon, Duchess, but--"
"Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere.
Agatha has been scheming for it a long time, under the rose, you know.
Of course, it would be a good match, in a way--wealthy, and all
that--but I must say he bores me horribly--so very serious and precise!"
"Really!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say--"
"I expect she will have them married before they know it--Agatha's
dreadfully determined. Her character lies in her nose and chin."
"But Lisbeth is not a child--she has a will of her own, and--"
"True," nodded the Duchess, "but is it a match for Agatha's chin? And
then, too, it is rather more than possible that you are become the
object of her bitterest scorn by now.
"But, my dear Duchess--"
"Oh, Agatha is a born diplomat. Of course she has written before this,
and without actually saying it has managed to convey the fact that you
are a monster of perfidy; and Lisbeth, poor child, is probably crying
her eyes out, or imagining she hates you, is ready to accept the first
proposal she receives out of pure pique."
"Great heavens!" I exclaimed, "what on earth can I do?"
"You might go fishing," the Duchess suggested thoughtfully.
"Fishing!" I repeated, "--er, to be sure, but--"
"Riverdale is a very pretty place they tell me," pursued the Duchess in
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CHRISTIANITY
AND
GREEK PHILOSOPHY;
OR, THE RELATION BETWEEN
SPONTANEOUS AND REFLECTIVE THOUGHT IN GREECE
AND THE POSITIVE TEACHING OF
CHRIST AND HIS APOSTLES.
BY B.F. COCKER, D.D.,
PROFESSOR OF MORAL AND MENTAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
"Plato made me know the true God, Jesus Christ showed me the way to
him."
ST. AUGUSTINE
NEW YORK: CARLTON & LANAHAN.
SAN FRANCISCO: E. THOMAS.
CINCINNATI: HITCHCOCK & WALDEN.
1870.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by HARPER &
BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
TO
D.D. WHEDON, D.D.,
MY EARLIEST LITERARY FRIEND, WHOSE VIGOROUS WRITINGS HAVE
STIMULATED MY INQUIRIES, WHOSE COUNSELS HAVE GUIDED
MY STUDIES, AND WHOSE KIND AND GENEROUS WORDS
HAVE ENCOURAGED ME TO PERSEVERANCE
AMID NUMEROUS DIFFICULTIES,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME AS A TOKEN OF MY MORE THAN ORDINARY AFFECTION
_THE AUTHOR_.
PREFACE.
In preparing the present volume, the writer has been actuated by a
conscientious desire to deepen and vivify our faith in the Christian
system of truth, by showing that it does not rest _solely_ on a special
class of facts, but upon all the facts of nature and humanity; that its
authority does not repose _alone_ on the peculiar and supernatural
events which transpired in Palestine, but also on the still broader
foundations of the ideas and laws of the reason, and the common wants
and instinctive yearnings of the human heart. It is his conviction that
the course and constitution of nature, the whole current of history, and
the entire development of human thought in the ages anterior to the
advent of the Redeemer centre in, and can only be interpreted by, the
purpose of redemption.
The method hitherto most prevalent, of treating the history of human
thought as a series of isolated, disconnected, and lawless movements,
without unity and purpose; and the practice of denouncing the religions
and philosophies of the ancient world as inventions of satanic mischief,
or as the capricious and wicked efforts of humanity to relegate itself
from the bonds of allegiance to the One Supreme Lord and Lawgiver, have,
in his judgment, been prejudicial to the interests of all truth, and
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[Illustration: CATHARINE DE BORA,
_WIFE OF LUTHER_.]
CATHARINE DE BORA;
OR,
Social and Domestic
SCENES IN THE
HOME OF LUTHER.
BY
JOHN G. MORRIS,
TRANSLATOR OF “THE BLIND GIRL OF WITTENBERG,” AND PASTOR OF THE FIRST
LUTHERAN CHURCH OF BALTIMORE.
PHILADELPHIA:
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON.
1856.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN & SON.
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER I.
Clerical Celibacy—Luther—Bernhardi’s Marriage—Treatment of
Catharine De Bora—the Convent—Wealthy Nuns—Convent
Life—the Escape—Treatment of the Nuns—Florentine de
Oberweimer—Leonard Koppe—Luther’s Defence 9
CHAPTER II.
Luther’s Reflections—Example of the Apostles—Celibacy—Gregory
VII.—Luther’s Change of Mind—Luther’s Marriage—Character
of Catharine 27
CHAPTER III.
Wedding-Dinner—Melanchthon—Slanders 43
CHAPTER IV.
Luther’s Domestic Life—Character of Catharine—Perils of
Luther—Sickness—Death of his Parents—Private
Life—Catharine 52
CHAPTER V.
Income—Expenses—Hospitality—Charity—Diet—Afflictions—
Despondency—Journeys—Death 70
CHAPTER VI.
Catharine, a Widow—Her Support—Sufferings—Journeys—Death 84
CHAPTER VII.
Luther’s Children—Domestic Character—Catharine 94
CHAPTER VIII.
Character of Catharine 120
PREFACE.
There are many interesting and characteristic incidents in the domestic
life of Luther which are not found in biographies of the great Reformer.
The character of his wife has not been portrayed in full, and who does
not wish to become better acquainted with a woman who mingled many a
drop of balsam in those numerous cups of sorrow which her celebrated
husband was compelled to drink?
This little book is the result of extensive research, and exhibits facts
attested by the most reliable authorities, many of which will be new to
those of my readers who have not investigated this particular subject.
J. G. M.
Baltimore, June, 1856.
LUTHER AT HOME.
CHAPTER I.
Clerical Celibacy—Luther-Bernhardi’s Marriage—Treatment of Catharine
de Bora—the Convent—Wealthy Nuns—Convent Life—the Escape—Treatment of
the Nuns—Florentine de Oberweimer—Leonard Koppe—Luther’s Defence.
The celibacy of the clergy was one of the strongest pillars on which the
proud edifice of Romish power rested. It was a stupendous partition-wall
which separated the clergy from all other interests, and thus
consolidated the wide-spread authority of the Pope. It cut off the
secular clergy, as well as the monks, from all domestic ties. They
forgot father, mother, and friends. Political obligations to their
sovereign and country were disregarded, but the cord which bound them to
the interests of Rome was only the more tightly drawn.
Superior purity was the presumed ground of the system, but a total
surrender of all rights, and complete submission to the will of the
Pope, were its legitimate results. He was regarded as the only parent of
the clergy—the only sovereign to whom they owed allegiance—the only
protector in whom they were to confide, and, as dutiful sons, obedient
subjects, and grateful beneficiaries, they were obliged to exert
themselves to the utmost to maintain his authority and extend his
dominion. Clerical celibacy was regarded not only as a duty, but as the
highest attainment in moral perfection. The system was introduced with
caution and maintained with sleepless vigilance and zeal. There were
some who saw its errors and disadvantages, and desired its abolition,
but their remonstrances were unheeded and their clamors silenced.
That, however, which was considered impossible by the whole Christian
world, was accomplished by a single man, who himself had been a monk,
and whose first duty as such was a vow of celibacy! That man was Martin
Luther, Augustinian Monk, Doctor of Theology at the University of
Wittenberg, who, by his heroic conduct in relation to this subject, has
only added to the other inappreciable services he has rendered the
Church. It was he who was bold enough to abandon the monastic order,
and, in spite of the principles of the Church as they prevailed in that
age, _to enter the married state_. This adventurous step led to the
deliverance of a large portion of the clergy from the chain of Papal
power. From having been the slavish satellites of a foreign master in
Italy, they became patriotic subjects and useful men at home.
Several years before, two friends of Luther, who were his noble
assistants in the work of the Reformation, Melanchthon and Carlstadt,
had written treatises against clerical celibacy. Their books on this
subject were equally as unexpected, and created as much excitement among
the clergy, as Luther’s Theses against Indulgences had done six years
before.
Luther was not the first priest of those days who practically rejected
celibacy. As early as 1521, one of his friends and fellow-laborers,
Bernhardi, superintendent of the churches at Kemberg, had the boldness
to marry. He was the first ecclesiastic in Saxony who took this step,
and his wedding-day was long regarded as the _Pastors’ Emancipation
Day_; but Caspar Aquila, a priest residing near Augsburg, was married as
early as 1516, Jacob Knabe in 1518, and Nicolas Brunner in 1519.
Luther was free from all participation in Bernhardi’s marriage, for at
that time he was a prisoner in Wartburg Castle, and the first
intelligence came so unexpectedly, that whilst he admired the courage of
his friend, he was very apprehensive it would occasion him and his cause
many severe trials. Not long after, Bernhardi’s metropolitan, the
Cardinal Archbishop Albert, of Mainz and Magdeburg, demanded of the
Elector of Saxony, Frederick the Wise, to send Bernhardi to Halle, to
answer for his presumptuous act. Frederick did not yield to the demand
of the Archbishop, and the latter professed to be satisfied with an
anonymous defence of Bernhardi.
Luther himself sent a petition to Albert in behalf of the clergy who had
already married and of those who intended to marry. Subsequently,
however, Bernhardi suffered severely. When, in 1547, more than twenty
years after his nuptials, the Emperor Charles V. captured Wittenberg,
his savage Spaniards seized Bernhardi, and bound him fast to a table.
His wife rescued him from their murderous hands; but, soon after, others
laid hold of him, and after cruelly beating him, tied him to a horse and
dragged him to the camp at Torgau. A German officer, after much trouble,
had him liberated, and he finally, after unexampled suffering, reached
his family at Kemberg. A considerable number of priests followed the
example of Bernhardi. They were not deterred by the ban of the bishops,
nor by the fear of deposition and imprisonment. But all this would not
have created such immense excitement if Luther himself, to whom all eyes
were directed, had not resolved, by his own example, to strike a deadly
blow at priestly celibacy.
Catharine de Bora, a nun of the celebrated Bernhardin or Cistercian
convent at Nimtschen, in Saxony, was the person whom Luther chose as his
wife. She was born on the 29th of January, 1499. There is no authentic
record of the place of her birth, and the history of her childhood is
wrapped in obscurity. It is only as the nun Catharine that we first
became acquainted with her. Her Romish calumniators (and no innocent
woman was ever more bitterly and cruelly defamed,) declare that her
parents compelled her to become a nun against her will, because they
were poor and could not support her, and particularly because her
conduct was so objectionable that her seclusion was necessary. As
regards the first, it is true; she was not wealthy when she became the
wife of Luther; but, if she had been compelled to enter the nunnery, it
is likely that Luther would have mentioned it as an additional
justification of her flight. Her objectionable morality is based by her
enemies on the fact of her escape, and hence the accusation has no
ground whatever. There is not a particle of proof to establish the
calumnious charge.
This Convent was designated by the name of _The Throne of God_. It was
founded in 1250 by Henry the Illustrious. No trace of it remains at the
present day. In 1810-12 its ruins were removed to make room for the
erection of an edifice connected with a school for boys established at
that place.
Most of the inmates of this Convent were of noble birth, for at that
day, as well as at present, it was the policy and interest of the Romish
clergy to induce as many ladies of high rank as possible to take the
veil, thereby rendering the profession respectable, and securing large
sums as entrance fees if they were wealthy, and all their patrimony
after their decease.
It may seem strange that Catharine de Bora, who, according to her own
confession, was devout, industrious in the discharge of conventual
duties, and diligent in prayer, should have determined with eight other
“sisters” to escape from their prison. But when it is considered that
the convent was situated within the territory of the Elector Frederick
the Wise, who was Luther’s friend and patron—that Luther himself visited
a neighboring monastery at Grimma as Inspector—that in 1519, after the
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WALT WHITMAN
_Yesterday & Today_
BY
HENRY EDUARD LEGLER
CHICAGO
BROTHERS OF THE BOOK
1916
COPYRIGHT 1916
BY THE
BROTHERS OF THE BOOK
The edition of this book consists of six hundred copies on this
Fabriano hand-made paper, and the type distributed.
This copy is Number 2
TO DR. MAX HENIUS
CONSISTENT HATER OF SHAMS
ARDENT LOVER OF ALL OUTDOORS
AND GENEROUS GIVER OF SELF
IN GENUINE FELLOWSHIP
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
_Walt Whitman: Yesterday & Today_
I
On a day about mid-year in 1855, the conventional literary world was
startled into indecorous behavior by the unannounced appearance of a
thin quarto sheaf of poems, in form and in tone unlike anything of
precedent issue. It was called Leaves of Grass, and there were but
twelve poems in the volume. No author's name appeared upon the title
page, the separate poems bore no captions, there was no imprint of
publisher. A steel engraving of a man presumably between thirty and
forty years of age, coatless, shirt flaringly open at the neck, and a
copyright notice identifying Walter Whitman with the publication,
furnished the only clues. Uncouth in size, atrociously printed, and
shockingly frank in the language employed, the volume evoked such a
tirade of rancorous condemnation as perhaps bears no parallel in the
history of letters. From contemporary criticisms might be compiled an
Anthology of Anathema comparable to Wagner's Schimpf-Lexicon, or the
Dictionary of Abuse suggested by William Archer for Henrik Ibsen. Some
of the striking adjectives and phrases employed in print would include
the following, as applied either to the verses or their author:
The slop-bucket of Walt Whitman.
A belief in the preciousness of filth.
Entirely bestial.
Nastiness and animal insensibility to shame.
Noxious weeds.
Impious and obscene.
Disgusting burlesque.
Broken out of Bedlam.
Libidinousness and swell of self-applause.
Defilement.
Crazy outbreak of conceit and vulgarity.
Ithyphallic audacity.
Gross indecency.
Sunken sensualist.
Rotten garbage of licentious thoughts.
Roots like a pig.
Rowdy Knight Errant.
A poet whose indecencies stink in the nostrils.
Its liberty is the wildest license; its love the essence of
the lowest lust!
Priapus--worshipping obscenity.
Rant and rubbish.
Linguistic silliness.
Inhumanly insolent.
Apotheosis of Sweat.
Mouthings of a mountebank.
Venomously malignant.
Pretentious twaddle.
Degraded helot of literature.
His work, like a maniac's robe, bedizened with fluttering
tags of a thousand colors.
Roaming, like a drunken satyr, with inflamed blood, through
every field of lascivious thought.
Muck of abomination.
A few quotations from the press of this period will serve to indicate
the general tenor of comment:
"The book might pass for merely hectoring and ludicrous, if it were
not something a great deal more offensive," observed the Christian
Examiner (Boston, 1856). "It openly deifies the bodily organs, senses,
and appetites in terms that admit of no double sense. The author is
'one of the roughs, a Kosmos, disorderly, fleshly, sensual, divine
inside and out. The scent of these armpits an aroma finer than
prayer.' He leaves 'washes and razors for foofoos,' thinks the talk
about virtue and vice only 'blurt,' he being above and indifferent to
both of them. These quotations are made with cautious delicacy. We
pick our way as cleanly as we can between other passages which are
more detestable."
In columns of bantering comment, after parodying his style of
all-inclusiveness, the United States Review (1855) characterizes Walt
Whitman thus: "No skulker or tea-drinking poet is Walt Whitman. He
will bring poems to fill the days and nights--fit for men and women
with the attributes of throbbing blood and flesh. The body, he
teaches, is beautiful. Sex is also beautiful. Are you to be put down,
he seems to ask, to that shallow level of literature and conversation
that stops a man's recognizing the delicious pleasure of his sex, or a
woman hers? Nature he proclaims inherently clean. Sex will not be put
aside; it is the great ordination of the universe. He works the muscle
of the male and the teeming fibre of the female throughout his
writings, as wholesome realities, impure only by deliberate intention
and effort. To men and women, he says, you can have healthy and
powerful breeds of children on no less terms than these of mine.
Follow me, and there shall be taller and richer crops of humanity on
the earth."
From Studies among the Leaves, printed in the Crayon (New York, 1856),
this extract may be taken: "With a wonderful vigor of thought and
intensity of perception, a power, indeed, not often found, Leaves of
Grass has no identity, no concentration, no purpose--it is barbarous,
undisciplined, like the poetry of a half-civilized people, and as a
whole useless, save to those miners of thought who prefer the metal in
its unworked state."
The New York Daily Times (1856) asks: "What Centaur have we here, half
man, half beast, neighing defiance to all the world? What conglomerate
of thought is this before us, with insolence, philosophy, tenderness,
blasphemy, beauty, and gross indecency tumbling in drunken confusion
through the pages? Who is this arrogant young man who proclaims
himself the Poet of the time, and who roots like a pig among a rotten
garbage of licentious thoughts?"
"Other poets," notes a writer in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (1856),
"other poets celebrate great events, personages, romances, wars,
loves, passions, the victories and power of their country, or some
real or imagined incident--and polish their work, and come to
conclusions, and satisfy the reader. This poet celebrates natural
propensities in himself; and that is the way he celebrates all. He
comes to no conclusions, and does not satisfy the reader. He certainly
leaves him what the serpent left the woman and the man, the taste of
the Paradise tree of the knowledge of good and evil, never to be
erased again."
"He stalks among the dapper gentlemen of this generation like a
drunken Hercules amid the dainty dancers," suggested the Christian
Spiritualist (1856). "The book abounds in passages that cannot be
quoted in drawing rooms, and expressions that fall upon ears polite
with a terrible dissonance."
Nor was savage criticism in the years 1855 and 1856 limited to this
side of the Atlantic. The London Critic, in a caustic review, found
this the mildest comment that Whitman's verse warranted: "Walt
Whitman gives us slang in the place of melody, and rowdyism in the
place of regularity. * * * Walt Whitman libels the highest type of
humanity, and calls his free speech the true utterance of a man; we
who may have been misdirected by civilization, call it the expression
of a beast."
Noisy as was this babel of discordant voices, one friendly greeting
rang clear. Leaves of Grass had but just come from the press, when
Ralph Waldo Emerson, from his home in Concord, under date of July 21,
1855, wrote to the author in genuine fellowship:
"I give you joy of your free and brave thought. I have great joy in
it. I find incomparable things said incomparably well, as they must
be. I find the courage of treatment which so delights us, and which
large perception only can inspire.
"I greet you at the beginning of a great career, which yet must have
had a long foreground somewhere, for such a start. I rubbed my eyes a
little to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of
the book is a sober certainty. It has the best merits, namely, of
fortifying and encouraging."
Tracing the popular estimates of Walt Whitman through the next five
years, expressions of unmeasured disapproval similar to those quoted
may be found in periodicals and in the daily press, with here and
there grudging admission that despite unseemly tendencies, there is
evident originality and even genius in the pages of this unusual book.
In a comparatively temperate review, August 4, 1860, the Cosmopolite,
of Boston, while deploring that nature is treated here without
fig-leaves, declares the style wonderfully idiomatic and graphic,
adding: "In his frenzy, in the fire of his inspiration, are fused and
poured out together elements hitherto considered antagonistic in
poetry--passion, arrogance, animality, philosophy, brag, humility,
rowdyism, spirituality, laughter, tears, together with the most ardent
and tender love, the most comprehensive human sympathy which ever
radiated its divine glow through the pages of poems."
A contemporary of this date, the Boston Post, found nothing to
commend. "Grass," said the writer, making the title of the book his
text, "grass is the gift of God for the healthy sustenance of his
creatures, and its name ought not to be desecrated by being so
improperly bestowed upon these foul and rank leaves of the
poison-plants of egotism, irreverance, and of lust, run rampant and
holding high revel in its shame."
And the London Lancet, July 7, 1860, comments in this wise: "Of all
the writers we have ever perused, Walt Whitman is the most silly, the
most blasphemous, and the most disgusting. If we can think of any
stronger epithets, we will print them in a second edition."
II
What were these poems which excited such vitriolic epithets? Taking
both the editions of 1855 and of the year following, and indeed
including all of the four hundred poems bearing Whitman's authorship
in the three-quarters of a half-century during which his final volume
was in the making, scarcely half a dozen poems can be found which
could give offense to the most prudish persons. Nearly all of these
have been grouped, with some others, under the general sub-title
Children of Adam. There are poems which excite the risibles of some
readers, there are poems which read like the lists of a mail-order
house, and others which appear in spots to have been copied bodily
from a gazetteer. These, however, are more likely to provoke
good-natured banter than violent denunciatory passion. Even Ralph
Waldo Emerson, whose generous greeting and meed of praise in the
birth-year of Leaves of Grass will be recalled, in sending a copy of
it to Carlyle in 1860, and commending it to his interest, added: "And
after you have looked into it, if you think, as you may, that it is
only an auctioneer's inventory of a warehouse, you can light your pipe
with it."
Had Whitman omitted the few poems whose titles are given here,
doubtless a few readers would have found his formless verses either
curious or ludicrous, or merely stupid, and others would have passed
them by as unmeriting even casual attention. The poems which are
chiefly responsible for a controversy which raged for half a century,
are these:
I sing the body electric.
A woman waits for me.
To a common prostitute.
The dalliance of the eagles.
Wholly dissociated from the picturesque personality from which the
book emanated, Leaves of Grass bears a unique story margined on its
pages. The sprawling types whose muddy imprint on the ill-proportioned
pages made up the uncouth first edition of the book, were put together
by the author's hands, and the sorry press work was his handiwork as
well. The unusual preface and the twelve poems that followed he wrote
in the open, while lounging on the wharves, while crossing on
ferry-boats, while loitering in the fields, while sitting on the tops
of omnibuses. His physical materials were the stubs of pencils, the
backs of used envelopes, scraps of paper that easily came to hand. The
same open-air workshops and like crude tools of writing he utilized
for nearly forty years. During the thirty-seven years that intervened
between the first printing of his Leaves and his death in 1892, he
followed as his chief purpose in life the task he had set himself at
the beginning of his serious authorship--the cumulative expression of
personality in the larger sense which is manifest in the successive
and expanding editions of his Leaves of Grass. That book becomes
therefore, a life history. Incompletely as he may have performed this
self-imposed task, his own explanation of his purpose may well be
accepted as made in good faith. That explanation appears in the
preface to the 1876 edition, and amid the multitude of paper scraps
that came into the possession of his executors, following his passing
away, may be found similar clues:
"It was originally my intention, after chanting in Leaves of Grass the
songs of the body and of existence, to then compose a further,
equally-needed volume, based on those convictions of perpetuity and
conservation which, enveloping all precedents, make the unseen soul
govern absolutely at last. I meant, while in a sort continuing the
theme of my first chants, to shift the slides and exhibit the problem
and paradox of the same ardent and fully appointed personality
entering the sphere of the resistless gravitation of spiritual law,
and with cheerful face estimating death, not at all as the cessation,
but as somehow what I feel it must be, the entrance upon by far the
greater part of existence, and something | 2,021.598601 |
2023-11-16 18:50:45.5786310 | 7,138 | 9 |
Produced by Angus Christian
OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND
By Howard Pyle
CONTENTS
I. The Dragon's House,
II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,
III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn,
IV. The White Cross on the Hill,
V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,
VI. How Otto Lived in the Dragon's House,
VII. The Red Cock Crows on Drachenhausen,
VIII. In the House of the Dragon Scorner,
IX. How One-eyed Hans Came to Trutz-Drachen,
X. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen,
XI. How Otto was Saved,
XII. A Ride for Life,
XIII. How Baron Conrad Held the Bridge,
XIV. How Otto Saw the Great Emperor,
FOREWORD.
Between the far away past history of the world, and that which lies near
to us; in the time when the wisdom of the ancient times was dead and
had passed away, and our own days of light had not yet come, there lay a
great black gulf in human history, a gulf of ignorance, of superstition,
of cruelty, and of wickedness.
That time we call the dark or middle ages.
Few records remain to us of that dreadful period in our world's history,
and we only know of it through broken and disjointed fragments that have
been handed down to us through the generations.
Yet, though the world's life then was so wicked and black, there yet
remained a few good men and women here and there (mostly in peaceful
and quiet monasteries, far from the thunder and the glare of the worlds
bloody battle), who knew the right and the truth and lived according to
what they knew; who preserved and tenderly cared for the truths that the
dear Christ taught, and lived and died for in Palestine so long ago.
This tale that I am about to tell is of a little boy who lived and
suffered in those dark middle ages; of how he saw both the good and the
bad of men, and of how, by gentleness and love and not by strife and
hatred, he came at last to stand above other men and to be looked up to
by all. And should you follow the story to the end, I hope you may find
it a pleasure, as I have done, to ramble through those dark ancient
castles, to lie with little Otto and Brother John in the high
belfry-tower, or to sit with them in the peaceful quiet of the sunny
old monastery garden, for, of all the story, I love best those early
peaceful years that little Otto spent in the dear old White Cross on the
Hill.
Poor little Otto's life was a stony and a thorny pathway, and it is well
for all of us nowadays that we walk it in fancy and not in truth.
I. The Dragon's House.
Up from the gray rocks, rising sheer and bold and bare, stood the walls
and towers of Castle Drachenhausen. A great gate-way, with a heavy
iron-pointed portcullis hanging suspended in the dim arch above, yawned
blackly upon the bascule or falling drawbridge that spanned a chasm
between the blank stone walls and the roadway that winding down the
steep rocky <DW72> to the little valley just beneath. There in the lap of
the hills around stood the wretched straw-thatched huts of the peasants
belonging to the castle--miserable serfs who, half timid, half fierce,
tilled their poor patches of ground, wrenching from the hard soil barely
enough to keep body and soul together. Among those vile hovels played
the little children like foxes about their dens, their wild, fierce eyes
peering out from under a mat of tangled yellow hair.
Beyond these squalid huts lay the rushing, foaming river, spanned by a
high, rude, stone bridge where the road from the castle crossed it, and
beyond the river stretched the great, black forest, within whose gloomy
depths the savage wild beasts made their lair, and where in winter time
the howling wolves coursed their flying prey across the moonlit snow and
under the net-work of the black shadows from the naked boughs above.
The watchman in the cold, windy bartizan or watch-tower that clung to
the gray walls above the castle gateway, looked from his narrow window,
where the wind piped and hummed, across the tree-tops that rolled in
endless billows of green, over hill and over valley to the blue and
distant <DW72> of the Keiserberg, where, on the mountain side, glimmered
far away the walls of Castle Trutz-Drachen.
Within the massive stone walls through which the gaping gateway led,
three great cheerless brick buildings, so forbidding that even the
yellow sunlight could not light them into brightness, looked down, with
row upon row of windows, upon three sides of the bleak, stone courtyard.
Back of and above them clustered a jumble of other buildings, tower and
turret, one high-peaked roof overtopping another.
The great house in the centre was the Baron's Hall, the part to the left
was called the Roderhausen; between the two stood a huge square pile,
rising dizzily up into the clear air high above the rest--the great
Melchior Tower.
At the top clustered a jumble of buildings hanging high aloft in the
windy space a crooked wooden belfry, a tall, narrow watch-tower, and a
rude wooden house that clung partly to the roof of the great tower and
partly to the walls.
From the chimney of this crazy hut a thin thread of smoke would now and
then rise into the air, for there were folk living far up in that empty,
airy desert, and oftentimes wild, uncouth little children were seen
playing on the edge of the dizzy height, or sitting with their bare
legs hanging down over the sheer depths, as they gazed below at what was
going on in the court-yard. There they sat, just as little children in
the town might sit upon their father's door-step; and as the sparrows
might fly around the feet of the little town children, so the circling
flocks of rooks and daws flew around the feet of these air-born
creatures.
It was Schwartz Carl and his wife and little ones who lived far up there
in the Melchior Tower, for it overlooked the top of the hill behind the
castle and so down into the valley upon the further side. There, day
after day, Schwartz Carl kept watch upon the gray road that ran like a
ribbon through the valley, from the rich town of Gruenstaldt to the rich
town of Staffenburgen, where passed merchant caravans from the one to
the other--for the lord of Drachenhausen was a robber baron.
Dong! Dong! The great alarm bell would suddenly ring out from the belfry
high up upon the Melchior Tower. Dong! Dong! Till the rooks and daws
whirled clamoring and screaming. Dong! Dong! Till the fierce wolf-hounds
in the rocky kennels behind the castle stables howled dismally in
answer. Dong! Dong!--Dong! Dong!
Then would follow a great noise and uproar and hurry in the castle
court-yard below; men shouting and calling to one another, the ringing
of armor, and the clatter of horses' hoofs upon the hard stone. With the
creaking and groaning of the windlass the iron-pointed portcullis would
be slowly raised, and with a clank and rattle and clash of iron chains
the drawbridge would fall crashing. Then over it would thunder horse and
man, clattering away down the winding, stony pathway, until the great
forest would swallow them, and they would be gone.
Then for a while peace would fall upon the castle courtyard, the cock
would crow, the cook would scold a lazy maid, and Gretchen, leaning out
of a window, would sing a snatch of a song, just as though it were a
peaceful farm-house, instead of a den of robbers.
Maybe it would be evening before the men would return once more. Perhaps
one would have a bloody cloth bound about his head, perhaps one would
carry his arm in a sling; perhaps one--maybe more than one--would be
left behind, never to return again, and soon forgotten by all excepting
some poor woman who would weep silently in the loneliness of her daily
work.
Nearly always the adventurers would bring back with them pack-horses
laden with bales of goods. Sometimes, besides these, they would return
with a poor soul, his hands tied behind his back and his feet beneath
the horse's body, his fur cloak and his flat cap wofully awry. A while
he would disappear in some gloomy cell of the dungeon-keep, until an
envoy would come from the town with a fat purse, when his ransom would
be paid, the dungeon would disgorge him, and he would be allowed to go
upon his way again.
One man always rode beside Baron Conrad in his expeditions and
adventures a short, deep-chested, broad-shouldered man, with sinewy arms
so long that when he stood his hands hung nearly to his knees.
His coarse, close-clipped hair came so low upon his brow that only a
strip of forehead showed between it and his bushy, black eyebrows. One
eye was blind; the other twinkled and gleamed like a spark under the
penthouse of his brows. Many folk said that the one-eyed Hans had drunk
beer with the Hill-man, who had given him the strength of ten, for he
could bend an iron spit like a hazel twig, and could lift a barrel of
wine from the floor to his head as easily as though it were a basket of
eggs.
As for the one-eyed Hans he never said that he had not drunk beer with
the Hill-man, for he liked the credit that such reports gave him with
the other folk. And so, like a half savage mastiff, faithful to death
to his master, but to him alone, he went his sullen way and lived his
sullen life within the castle walls, half respected, half feared by the
other inmates, for it was dangerous trifling with the one-eyed Hans.
II. How the Baron went Forth to Shear.
Baron Conrad and Baroness Matilda sat together at their morning meal
below their raised seats stretched the long, heavy wooden table, loaded
with coarse food--black bread, boiled cabbage, bacon, eggs, a great
chine from a wild boar, sausages, such as we eat nowadays, and flagons
and jars of beer and wine, Along the board sat ranged in the order of
the household the followers and retainers. Four or five slatternly women
and girls served the others as they fed noisily at the table, moving
here and there behind the men with wooden or pewter dishes of food, now
and then laughing at the jests that passed or joining in the talk. A
huge fire blazed and crackled and roared in the great open fireplace,
before which were stretched two fierce, shaggy, wolfish-looking hounds.
Outside, the rain beat upon the roof or ran trickling from the eaves,
and every now and then a chill draught of wind would breathe through the
open windows of the great black dining-hall and set the fire roaring.
Along the dull-gray wall of stone hung pieces of armor, and swords and
lances, and great branching antlers of the stag. Overhead arched the
rude, heavy, oaken beams, blackened with age and smoke, and underfoot
was a chill pavement of stone.
Upon Baron Conrad's shoulder leaned the pale, slender, yellow-haired
Baroness, the only one in all the world with whom the fierce lord of
Drachenhausen softened to gentleness, the only one upon whom his savage
brows looked kindly, and to whom his harsh voice softened with love.
The Baroness was talking to her husband in a low voice, as he looked
down into her pale face, with its gentle blue eyes.
"And wilt thou not, then," said she, "do that one thing for me?"
"Nay," he growled, in his deep voice, "I cannot promise thee never more
to attack the towns-people in the valley over yonder. How else could I
live an' I did not take from the fat town hogs to fill our own larder?"
"Nay," said the Baroness, "thou couldst live as some others do, for all
do not rob the burgher folk as thou dost. Alas! mishap will come upon
thee some day, and if thou shouldst be slain, what then would come of
me?"
"Prut," said the Baron, "thy foolish fears" But he laid his rough, hairy
hand softly upon the Baroness' head and stroked her yellow hair.
"For my sake, Conrad," whispered the Baroness.
A pause followed. The Baron sat looking thoughtfully down into the
Baroness' face. A moment more, and he might have promised what she
besought; a moment more, and he might have been saved all the bitter
trouble that was to follow. But it was not to be.
Suddenly a harsh sound broke the quietness of all into a confusion of
noises. Dong! Dong!--it was the great alarm-bell from Melchior's Tower.
The Baron started at the sound. He sat for a moment or two with his hand
clinched upon the arm of his seat as though about to rise, then he sunk
back into his chair again.
All the others had risen tumultuously from the table, and now stood
looking at him, awaiting his orders.
"For my sake, Conrad," said the Baroness again.
Dong! Dong! rang the alarm-bell. The Baron sat with his eyes bent upon
the floor, scowling blackly.
The Baroness took his hand in both of hers. "For my sake," she pleaded,
and the tears filled her blue eyes as she looked up at him, "do not go
this time."
From the courtyard without came the sound of horses' hoofs clashing
against the stone pavement, and those in the hall stood watching and
wondering at this strange delay of the Lord Baron. Just then the door
opened and one came pushing past the rest; it was the one-eyed Hans.
He came straight to where the Baron sat, and, leaning over, whispered
something into his master's ear.
"For my sake," implored the Baroness again; but the scale was turned.
The Baron pushed back his chair heavily and rose to his feet. "Forward!"
he roared, in a voice of thunder, and a great shout went up in answer as
he strode clanking down the hall and out of the open door.
The Baroness covered her face with her hands and wept.
"Never mind, little bird," said old Ursela, the nurse, soothingly; "he
will come back to thee again as he has come back to thee before."
But the poor young Baroness continued weeping with her face buried in
her hands, because he had not done that thing she had asked.
A white young face framed in yellow hair looked out into the courtyard
from a window above; but if Baron Conrad of Drachenhausen saw it from
beneath the bars of his shining helmet, he made no sign.
"Forward," he cried again.
Down thundered the drawbridge, and away they rode with clashing hoofs
and ringing armor through the gray shroud of drilling rain.
The day had passed and the evening had come, and the Baroness and her
women sat beside a roaring fire. All were chattering and talking and
laughing but two--the fair young Baroness and old Ursela; the one sat
listening, listening, listening, the other sat with her chin resting in
the palm of her hand, silently watching her young mistress. The night
was falling gray and chill, when suddenly the clear notes of a bugle
rang from without the castle walls. The young Baroness started, and the
rosy light flashed up into her pale cheeks.
"Yes, good," said old Ursela; "the red fox has come back to his den
again, and I warrant he brings a fat town goose in his mouth; now we'll
have fine clothes to wear, and thou another gold chain to hang about thy
pretty neck."
The young Baroness laughed merrily at the old woman's speech. "This
time," said she, "I will choose a string of pearls like that one my aunt
used to wear, and which I had about my neck when Conrad first saw me."
Minute after minute passed; the Baroness sat nervously playing with a
bracelet of golden beads about her wrist. "How long he stays," said she.
"Yes," said Ursela; "but it is not cousin wish that holds him by the
coat."
As she spoke, a door banged in the passageway without, and the ring of
iron footsteps sounded upon the stone floor. Clank! Clank! Clank!
The Baroness rose to her feet, her face all alight. The door opened;
then the flush of joy faded away and the face grew white, white, white.
One hand clutched the back of the bench whereon she had been sitting,
the other hand pressed tightly against her side.
It was Hans the one-eyed who stood in the doorway, and black trouble sat
on his brow; all were looking at him waiting.
"Conrad," whispered the Baroness, at last. "Where is Conrad? Where is
your master?" and even her lips were white as she spoke.
The one-eyed Hans said nothing.
Just then came the noise of men s voices in the corridor and the shuffle
and scuffle of feet carrying a heavy load. Nearer and nearer they came,
and one-eyed Hans stood aside. Six men came struggling through the
doorway, carrying a litter, and on the litter lay the great Baron
Conrad. The flaming torch thrust into the iron bracket against the wall
flashed up with the draught of air from the open door, and the light
fell upon the white face and the closed eyes, and showed upon his body
armor a great red stain that was not the stain of rust.
Suddenly Ursela cried out in a sharp, shrill voice, "Catch her, she
falls!"
It was the Baroness.
Then the old crone turned fiercely upon the one-eyed Hans. "Thou fool!"
she cried, "why didst thou bring him here? Thou hast killed thy lady!"
"I did not know," said the one-eyed Hans, stupidly.
III. How the Baron came Home Shorn.
But Baron Conrad was not dead. For days he lay upon his hard bed, now
muttering incoherent words beneath his red beard, now raving fiercely
with the fever of his wound. But one day he woke again to the things
about him.
He turned his head first to the one side and then to the other; there
sat Schwartz Carl and the one-eyed Hans. Two or three other retainers
stood by a great window that looked out into the courtyard beneath,
jesting and laughing together in low tones, and one lay upon the heavy
oaken bench that stood along by the wall snoring in his sleep.
"Where is your lady?" said the Baron, presently; "and why is she not
with me at this time?"
The man that lay upon the bench started up at the sound of his voice,
and those at the window came hurrying to his bedside. But Schwartz Carl
and the one-eyed Hans looked at one another, and neither of them spoke.
The Baron saw the look and in it read a certain meaning that brought
him to his elbow, though only to sink back upon his pillow again with a
groan.
"Why do you not answer me?" said he at last, in a hollow voice; then
to the one-eyed Hans, "Hast no tongue, fool, that thou standest gaping
there like a fish? Answer me, where is thy mistress?"
"I--I do not know," stammered poor Hans.
For a while the Baron lay silently looking from one face to the other,
then he spoke again. "How long have I been lying here?" said he.
"A sennight, my lord," said Master Rudolph, the steward, who had come
into the room and who now stood among the others at the bedside.
"A sennight," repeated the Baron, in a low voice, and then to Master
Rudolph, "And has the Baroness been often beside me in that time?"
Master Rudolph hesitated. "Answer me," said the Baron, harshly.
"Not--not often," said Master Rudolph, hesitatingly.
The Baron lay silent for a long time. At last he passed his hands over
his face and held them there for a minute, then of a sudden, before
anyone knew what he was about to do, he rose upon his elbow and then sat
upright upon the bed. The green wound broke out afresh and a dark red
spot grew and spread upon the linen wrappings; his face was drawn and
haggard with the pain of his moving, and his eyes wild and bloodshot.
Great drops of sweat gathered and stood upon his forehead as he sat
there swaying slightly from side to side.
"My shoes," said he, hoarsely.
Master Rudolph stepped forward. "But, my Lord Baron," he began and then
stopped short, for the Baron shot him such a look that his tongue stood
still in his head.
Hans saw that look out of his one eye. Down he dropped upon his knees
and, fumbling under the bed, brought forth a pair of soft leathern
shoes, which he slipped upon the Baron's feet and then laced the thongs
above the instep.
"Your shoulder," said the Baron. He rose slowly to his feet, gripping
Hans in the stress of his agony until the fellow winced again. For a
moment he stood as though gathering strength, then doggedly started
forth upon that quest which he had set upon himself.
At the door he stopped for a moment as though overcome by his weakness,
and there Master Nicholas, his cousin, met him; for the steward had sent
one of the retainers to tell the old man what the Baron was about to do.
"Thou must go back again, Conrad," said Master Nicholas; "thou art not
fit to be abroad."
The Baron answered him never a word, but he glared at him from out of
his bloodshot eyes and ground his teeth together. Then he started forth
again upon his way.
Down the long hall he went, slowly and laboriously, the others following
silently behind him, then up the steep winding stairs, step by step,
now and then stopping to lean against the wall. So he reached a long
and gloomy passageway lit only by the light of a little window at the
further end.
He stopped at the door of one of the rooms that opened into this
passage-way, stood for a moment, then he pushed it open.
No one was within but old Ursela, who sat crooning over a fire with a
bundle upon her knees. She did not see the Baron or know that he was
there.
"Where is your lady?" said he, in a hollow voice.
Then the old nurse looked up with a start. "Jesu bless us," cried she,
and crossed herself.
"Where is your lady?" said the Baron again, in the same hoarse voice;
and then, not waiting for an answer, "Is she dead?"
The old woman looked at him for a minute blinking her watery eyes, and
then suddenly broke into a shrill, long-drawn wail. The Baron needed to
hear no more.
As though in answer to the old woman's cry, a thin piping complaint came
from the bundle in her lap.
At the sound the red blood flashed up into the Baron's face. "What
is that you have there?" said he, pointing to the bundle upon the old
woman's knees.
She drew back the coverings and there lay a poor, weak, little baby,
that once again raised its faint reedy pipe.
"It is your son," said Ursela, "that the dear Baroness left behind her
when the holy angels took her to Paradise. She blessed him and called
him Otto before she left us."
IV. The White Cross on the Hill.
Here the glassy waters of the River Rhine, holding upon its bosom a
mimic picture of the blue sky and white clouds floating above, runs
smoothly around a jutting point of land, St. Michaelsburg, rising from
the reedy banks of the stream, sweeps up with a smooth swell until
it cuts sharp and clear against the sky. Stubby vineyards covered its
earthy breast, and field and garden and orchard crowned its brow, where
lay the Monastery of St. Michaelsburg--"The White Cross on the Hill."
There within the white walls, where the warm yellow sunlight slept, all
was peaceful quietness, broken only now and then by the crowing of
the cock or the clamorous cackle of a hen, the lowing of kine or the
bleating of goats, a solitary voice in prayer, the faint accord of
distant singing, or the resonant toll of the monastery bell from the
high-peaked belfry that overlooked the hill and valley and the smooth,
far-winding stream. No other sounds broke the stillness, for in this
peaceful haven was never heard the clash of armor, the ring of iron-shod
hoofs, or the hoarse call to arms.
All men were not wicked and cruel and fierce in that dark, far-away age;
all were not robbers and terror-spreading tyrants, even in that time
when men's hands were against their neighbors, and war and rapine dwelt
in place of peace and justice.
Abbot Otto, of St. Michaelsburg, was a gentle, patient, pale-faced old
man; his white hands were soft and smooth, and no one would have thought
that they could have known the harsh touch of sword-hilt and lance. And
yet, in the days of the Emperor Frederick--the grandson of the great
Red-beard--no one stood higher in the prowess of arms than he. But all
at once--for why, no man could tell--a change came over him, and in the
flower of his youth and fame and growing power he gave up everything
in life and entered the quiet sanctuary of that white monastery on the
hill-side, so far away from the tumult and the conflict of the world in
which he had lived.
Some said that it was because the lady he had loved had loved his
brother, and that when they were married Otto of Wolbergen had left the
church with a broken heart.
But such stories are old songs that have been sung before.
Clatter! clatter! Jingle! jingle! It was a full-armed knight that came
riding up the steep hill road that wound from left to right and right to
left amid the vineyards on the <DW72>s of St. Michaelsburg. Polished helm
and corselet blazed in the noon sunlight, for no knight in those days
dared to ride the roads except in full armor. In front of him the
solitary knight carried a bundle wrapped in the folds of his coarse gray
cloak.
It was a sorely sick man that rode up the heights of St. Michaelsburg.
His head hung upon his breast through the faintness of weariness and
pain; for it was the Baron Conrad.
He had left his bed of sickness that morning, had saddled his horse in
the gray dawn with his own hands, and had ridden away into the misty
twilight of the forest without the knowledge of anyone excepting the
porter, who, winking and blinking in the bewilderment of his broken
slumber, had opened the gates to the sick man, hardly knowing what he
was doing, until he beheld his master far away, clattering down the
steep bridle-path.
Eight leagues had he ridden that day with neither a stop nor a stay; but
now at last the end of his journey had come, and he drew rein under the
shade of the great wooden gateway of St. Michaelsburg.
He reached up to the knotted rope and gave it a pull, and from within
sounded the answering ring of the porter's bell. By and by a little
wicket opened in the great wooden portals, and the gentle, wrinkled face
of old Brother Benedict, the porter, peeped out at the strange iron-clad
visitor and the great black war-horse, streaked and wet with the sweat
of the journey, flecked and dappled with flakes of foam. A few words
passed between them, and then the little window was closed again; and
within, the shuffling pat of the sandalled feet sounded fainter and
fainter, as Brother Benedict bore the message from Baron Conrad to Abbot
Otto, and the mail-clad figure was left alone, sitting there as silent
as a statue.
By and by the footsteps sounded again; there came a noise of clattering
chains and the rattle of the key in the lock, and the rasping of the
bolts dragged back. Then the gate swung slowly open, and Baron Conrad
rode into the shelter of the White Cross, and as the hoofs of his
war-horse clashed upon the stones of the courtyard within, the wooden
gate swung slowly to behind him.
Abbot Otto stood by the table when Baron Conrad entered the high-vaulted
room from the farther end. The light from the oriel window behind the
old man shed broken rays of light upon him, and seemed to frame his thin
gray hairs with a golden glory. His white, delicate hand rested upon the
table beside him, and upon some sheets of parchment covered with rows of
ancient Greek writing which he had been engaged in deciphering.
Clank! clank! clank! Baron Conrad strode across the stone floor, and
then stopped short in front of the good old man.
"What dost thou seek here, my son?" said the Abbot.
"I seek sanctuary for my son and thy brother's grandson," said the Baron
Conrad, and he flung back the folds of his cloak and showed the face of
the sleeping babe.
For a while the Abbot said nothing, but stood gazing dreamily at
the baby. After a while he looked up. "And the child's mother," said
he--"what hath she to say at this?"
"She hath naught to say," said Baron Conrad, hoarsely, and then stopped
short in his speech. "She is dead," said he, at last, in a husky voice,
"and is with God's angels in paradise."
The Abbot looked intently in the Baron's face. "So!" said he, under his
breath, and then for the first time noticed how white and drawn was the
Baron's face. "Art sick thyself?" he asked.
"Ay," said the Baron, "I have come from death's door. But that is no
matter. Wilt thou take this little babe into sanctuary? My house is a
vile, rough place, and not fit for such as he, and his mother with the
blessed saints in heaven." And once more Conrad of Drachenhausen's face
began twitching with the pain of his thoughts.
"Yes," said the old man, gently, "he shall live here," and he stretched
out his hands and took the babe. "Would," said he, "that all the little
children in these dark times might be thus brought to the house of God,
and there learn mercy and peace, instead of rapine and war."
For a while he stood looking down in silence at the baby in his arms,
but with his mind far away upon other things. At last he roused himself
with a start. "And thou," said he to the Baron Conrad--"hath not thy
heart been chastened and softened by this? Surely thou wilt not go back
to thy old life of rapine and extortion?"
"Nay," said Baron Conrad, gruffly, "I will rob the city swine no longer,
for that was the last thing that my dear one asked of me."
The old Abbot's face lit up with a smile. "I am right glad that thy
heart was softened, and that thou art willing at last to cease from war
and violence."
"Nay," cried the Baron, roughly, "I said nothing of ceasing from war. By
heaven, no! I will have revenge!" And he clashed his iron foot upon the
floor and clinched his fists and ground his teeth together. "Listen,"
said he, "and | 2,021.598671 |
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_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 | 2,021.699063 |
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Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year at Overton College
By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.
Author of The Grace Harlowe High School Girls Series, Grace Harlowe's
First Year at Overton College, Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton
College, Grace Harlowe's Third Year at Overton College.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1914
[Illustration: Grace Paused in the Doorway.]
CONTENTS
I. A Semper Fidelis Luncheon
II. The Last Freshman
III. An Accident and a Surprise
IV. Patience Promises to Stand By
V. A Declaration of War
VI. A Face to Face Talk
VII. When Friends Fall Out
VIII. A Leaf from the Past
IX. A Thanksgiving Invitation
X. Kathleen's Promise
XI. Kathleen's Great Story
XII. Treachery
XIII. The Invitation
XIV. A Congenial Sextette
XV. A Firelight Council
XVI. Elfreda Shows Grace the Way
XVII. What the Seniors Thought of the Plan
XVIII. The Fairy Godmother's Visit
XIX. What Patience Overheard
XX. The Mysterious "Peter Rabbit"
XXI. Who Will Win the Honor Pin?
XXII. Kathleen's Great Moment
XXIII. Grace Finds Her Work
XXIV. Conclusion
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Grace Paused in the Doorway.
Grace Stepped Behind a Tree.
They Clustered About the Fireplace.
The Four Friends Were Strolling Across the Campus.
Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year at Overton College
CHAPTER I
A SEMPER FIDELIS LUNCHEON
"The skies must smile and the sun must shine
When Semper Fidelis goes out to dine,"
sang Arline Thayer joyously as she rearranged her sofa pillows for the
eighth time, patting each one energetically before placing it, then
stepping back to view the effect. "Aren't you glad every one's here, and
things have begun to happen again, Ruth?" she asked blithely. "I hope no
one disappoints us. I wish this room were larger. Still, it held
eighteen girls one night last year. Don't you remember my Hallowe'en
party, and what a time we had squeezing in here?"
"It is so good in Mrs. Kane to let us have the dining room with Mary to
serve the oysters," said Ruth. "We never could do things properly up
here."
"I know it. Oysters are such slippery old things, even on the half
shell," returned Arline, who was not specially fond of them. "Let me
see. The girls will be here at four o'clock. We are to have oysters,
soup, a meat course, salad and dessert. That makes five different
courses in five different houses. It will be eight o'clock before we
reach the dessert. I am glad that is to be served in Grace's room. We
always have a good time at Wayne Hall."
To the readers of "Grace Harlowe's First Year at Overton
College," "Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College"
and "Grace Harlowe's Third Year at Overton College," Grace
Harlowe and her various intimate associates have become familiar
figures. Those who made her acquaintance, together with that of her
three friends, Nora O'Malley, Jessica Bright and Anne Pierson, during
her high school days will recall with pleasure the many eventful
happenings of these four happy years as set forth in "Grace
Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School," "Grace Harlowe's
Sophomore Year at High School," "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at
High School" and "Grace Harlowe's Senior Year at High
School."
The September following the graduation of the four friends from high
school had seen their paths diverge widely, for Nora and Jessica had
entered an eastern conservatory of music, while Anne and Grace, after
due deliberation, had decided upon Overton College. Miriam Nesbit, of
Oakdale fame, had entered college with them, and the trio of friends had
spent three eventful years at Overton.
"It is time we gathered home," grumbled Arline. "I have hardly seen
Grace or any of the Semper Fidelis girls this week. They have all been
so popular that they haven't given a thought to their neglected little
friends."
"Let me see," returned Ruth slyly. "How many nights have you stayed
quietly at home this week?"
"Not one, you rascal," retorted Arline, laughing. "I ought to be the
last one to grumble. But in spite of all the rush, I have missed | 2,021.7037 |
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A TALE OF ONE CITY:
THE NEW BIRMINGHAM.
_Papers Reprinted from the "Midland Counties Herald"_ | 2,021.839977 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Aside from the correction of obvious typographical errors, the text has
not been modernized; the original (some archaic) spellings have been
retained (Maderia for Madiera; marjorem for marjoram; Marsilles for
Marsailles; horison for horizon). [Note of etext transcriber.]
MEMORANDA
ON
TOURS, TOURAINE
AND
CENTRAL FRANCE.
Tours.--Printed by A. MAME and Co.
MEMORANDA
ON
TOURS AND TOURAINE
INCLUDING
REMARKS ON THE CLIMATE
with a sketch
OF THE
BOTANY AND GEOLOGY OF THE PROVINCE
ALSO ON THE
WINES
AND
MINERAL WATERS
OF
FRANCE
The maladies to which they are applicable, and their effects upon the
constitution. To which is added an appendix containing a variety of
useful information to
THE TOURIST
BY
J. H. HOLDSWORTH, M. D.
TOURS,
A. AIGRE, rue Royale.
Messrs. CALIGNANIS, No 18, rue Vivienne, PARIS;
HENRY RENSHAW, No 356, Strand, LONDON;
And all other Booksellers.
1842
"Thou, nature, art my Goddess; to thy law my services are bound."
SHAKSPEARE.
TO
LAWSON CAPE, M. D.
Lecturer at Saint-Thomas's Hospital
THIS SMALL VOLUME
IS INSCRIBED
As a slight testimony of friendship and esteem
BY THE
AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The author of the present little volume in offering it to the public is
sensible how crude and imperfect is its form. The haste with which from
unavoidable circumstances, it has been composed and the difficulties he
has had to contend with in printing it in a foreign country will, he
trusts, be considered an excuse, however insufficient, for errors which
would otherwise be unpardonable.
His object has been to convey information on subjects new to the
generality of those who resort to France for the restoration of their
health. In England, independent of the valetudinarian, not only the man
of wealth and fashion, but the economist of time and means,--in these
days of locomotive mania,--deem a visit to the continent almost
indispensable; and in the majority of cases, after the resolution to
take a trip abroad is formed the resolvent with a perfect indifference
as to _route_ or _locality_, becomes anxious to obtain information
concerning such places as may in reality be most calculated to conduce
to his health, pleasure, instruction or amusement,--either _en route_,
or as a temporary place of residence.
Under a due consideration of these circumstances the author trusts
having endeavoured to blend information with utility and amusement in
so unpretending and general a form; he may be deemed to have
accomplished the ends to which he has humbly aspired. And should his
professional occupations at some future period, permit him to revise his
work, he will render its style more worthy of the reader.
Tours, september 1842.
CONTENTS.
Page
Description of the scenery of Touraine 1
Remarks on the climate of Touraine 8
Beneficial effects of the climate considered 13
Directions for invalid travellers 25
Hydropathic treatment 32
Wines of France 34
Description of various routes to Tours 42
Notices respecting Tours and its neighbourhood 49
Sporting 54
Ancient Chateaux of Touraine 55
Mettray Colony 73
Remarks on society at Tours 81
Botany of Touraine 88
Information respecting the growth and varieties
of the vine 97
Geology of Touraine 105
Spas of France 123
Spas of central France, their respective localities,
medicinal virtues, diseases to which
they are applicable, etc. 139
Classification of French wines, places where
grown, character, comparative qualities,
etc., etc. 186
Alcoholic strength of various wines and liquors 192
Meteorological Register for Tours 194
Reaumur's Thermometric scale turned into
Fahrenheit's 208
Appendix.--Passports, Cash, Coinage 209
Useful information for travellers, etc., etc. 217
Expense of living in France, etc. 230
[Illustration: VUE DE TOURS
Lith. CLAREY-MARTINEAU. r de la harpe 16, TOURS.]
MEMORANDA
OF
TOURS, TOURAINE,
AND
CENTRAL FRANCE.
CHARACTER OF THE SCENERY OF TOURAINE.
Although there is little that can be denominated bold, or strikingly
romantic, in the general aspect of the country around Tours, it
nevertheless, possesses charms of a peculiar and novel nature, alike
calculated to gratify a lover of the picturesque, tranquillize the
mind, and renovate the enfeebled energies of the valetudinarian.
Hence it has long been famed as a favourite resort, more especially, of
these classes of British Tourists, etc.; many adopting it as a temporary
place of residence, whilst others have permanently established
themselves in some of the beautiful sylvan retreats which characterize
the more immediate vicinity of the city.
Throughout a vast area, the surface of the surrounding country is
pleasingly diversified by gentle undulations, considerable tracts of
which are adorned by dense masses of foliage, occasionally presenting
deeply indented vistas, embosoming some modern country house or ancient
Chateau, with its spacious, but somewhat formal pleasure grounds. Many
picturesque vales with their meandering streams, verdant meadows, and
towering poplars, also present themselves to the eye of the traveller,
but the characteristic rural features of this portion of France are its
wide spread _vineyards_, which may almost be said to occupy every <DW72>,
| 2,021.85447 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
$1.00 a Year. MARCH, 1886. 10 cts. a No.
THE <DW29>
EDITED BY "<DW29>"
MRS. G. R. ALDEN
"<DW29>s FOR THOUGHTS"
D. LOTHROP & Co.
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston P. O.
as second-class matter.
EPPS'S (GRATEFUL--COMFORTING) COCOA.
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Send $1, $2, $3, or $5 for retail box by Express of the best Candies
in America, put up in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. Suitable for
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Address C. F. GUNTHER, Confectioner, Chicago.
GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.
BAKER'S
Breakfast Cocoa.
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Warranted =absolutely _pure Cocoa_=, from which the excess of Oil
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=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=
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GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.
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Of any kind, send stamp to =A. W. GUMP, Dayton, Ohio,= for large
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it_, for 16c., _Florence "Waste" Embroidery Silk_, 25c. per package.
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[Illustration]
The British Government awarded a Medal for this article October, 1885.
Dundas Dick & Co., 112 | 2,021.998563 |
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_THE CONTEMPORARY SCIENCE SERIES._
EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.
APPARITIONS
AND THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE.
APPARITIONS
AND
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE:
_AN EXAMINATION OF THE EVIDENCE
FOR TELEPATHY_.
BY
FRANK PODMORE, M.A.
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS._
LONDON:
WALTER SCOTT, LTD.,
24 WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1894.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
Position of the subject--Founding of the Society for
Psychical Research--Definition of telepathy--General
difficulties of the inquiry--Special sources of
error--Fraud--Hyperæsthesia--Muscle-reading--Thought-forms and
number-habit.
CHAPTER II.
EXPERIMENTAL TRANSFERENCE OF SIMPLE SENSATIONS
IN THE NORMAL STATE 18
Transference of Tastes--Of pain, by Mr. M. Guthrie and
others--Of sounds--Of ideas not definitely classed, by Professor
Richet, the American Society for Psychical Research, Dr.
Ochorowicz--Transference of visual images, by Dr. Blair Thaw, Mr.
Guthrie, Professor Oliver Lodge, Herr Max Dessoir, Herr Schmoll,
Dr. von Schrenck-Notzing, and others.
CHAPTER III.
EXPERIMENTAL TRANSFERENCE OF SIMPLE SENSATIONS
WITH HYPNOTISED PERCIPIENTS 58
Transference of tastes, by Dr. Azam--Of pain, by Edmund Gurney--Of
visual images, by Dr. Liébeault, Professor and Mrs. Henry Sidgwick,
Dr. Gibotteau, Dr. Blair Thaw.
CHAPTER IV.
EXPERIMENTAL PRODUCTION OF MOVEMENTS AND
OTHER EFFECTS 82
Inhibition of action by silent willing, by Edmund Gurney, Professor
Barrett, and others--Origination of action by silent willing, by
Dr. Blair Thaw, M. J. H. P., and others--Planchette-writing, by
Rev. P. H. Newnham, Mr. R. H. Buttemer--Table-tilting, by the
Author, by Professor Richet--Production of local anæsthesia, by
Edmund Gurney, Mrs. H. Sidgwick.
CHAPTER V.
EXPERIMENTAL PRODUCTION OF TELEPATHIC EFFECTS
AT A DISTANCE 105
Induction of sleep, by Dr. Gibert and Professor Janet, Professor
Richet, Dr. Dufay--Of hysteria and other effects, by Dr.
Tolosa-Latour, M. J. H. P.--Transference of ideas of sound, by Miss
X., M. J. Ch. Roux--Of visual images, by Miss Campbell, M. Léon
Hennique, Mr. Kirk, Dr. Gibotteau.
CHAPTER VI.
GENERAL CRITICISM OF THE EVIDENCE FOR SPONTANEOUS
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE 143
On chance coincidence--Misrepresentation--Errors of
observation--Errors of inference--Errors of narration--Errors of
memory--"Pseudo-presentiment"--Precautions against error--"Where
are the letters?"--The spontaneous cases as a true natural group.
CHAPTER VII.
TRANSFERENCE OF IDEAS AND EMOTIONS 161
Transference of pain, Mr. Arthur Severn--Of smell, Miss X.--Of
ideas, Miss X., Mrs. Barber--Of visual images, Mr. Haynes,
Professor Richet, Dr. Dupré--Of emotion, Mr. F. H. Krebs, Dr. N.,
Miss Y.--Of motor impulses, Archdeacon Bruce, Professor Venturi.
CHAPTER VIII.
COINCIDENT DREAMS 185
Discussion of the evidence for telepathy derivable from
dreams--Chance-coincidence--Simultaneous dreams, the Misses
Bidder--Transference of sensation in dreams, Professor Royce, Mrs.
Harrison--Dreams conveying news of death, etc., Mr. J. T., Mr.
R. V. Boyle, Captain Campbell, Mr. E. W. Hamilton, Mr. Edward A.
Goodall--Clairvoyant dream, Mrs. E. J.
CHAPTER IX.
ON HALLUCINATION IN GENERAL 207
Common misconceptions--Hypnotic hallucinations, experiments by
MM. Binet and Féré, Mr. Myers--_Point de repère_--Post-hypnotic
hallucinations, Professor Liégeois, Edmund Gurney--Spontaneous
hallucinations, Professor Sidgwick's census--Table showing
classification of spontaneous hallucinations--Origin of
hallucinations, sometimes telepathic--Proof of this, calculation of
chance-coincidence, allowance for defects of memory--Conclusion.
CHAPTER X.
INDUCED TELEPATHIC HALLUCINATIONS 226
Possible misconceptions--Accounts of experiments, by Rev. Clarence
Godfrey, Herr Wesermann, Mr. H. P. Sparks, and A. H. W. Cleave, Mrs
B----, Dr. von Schrenck-Notzing, Dr. Wiltse, Mr. Kirk.
CHAPTER XI.
SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHIC HALLUCINATIONS 247
Auditory hallucinations, Miss Clark, Mr. William Tudor--Visual
hallucinations--Incompletely developed, Countess Eugenie Kapnist,
Miss L. Caldecott, Dr. Carat--Completely developed, Miss Berta
Hurly, Mrs. McAlpine, Miss Mabel Gore Booth--Hallucinations
affecting two senses, Rev. Matthew Frost, M. A----.
CHAPTER XII.
COLLECTIVE HALLUCINATIONS 268
Illusions, epidemic hallucinations, illusions of
memory--Explanations of collective hallucination--Auditory
hallucinations, Mr. C. H. Cary, Miss Newbold--Visual
hallucinations, Mrs. Greiffenberg, Mrs. Milman and Miss Campbell,
Mr. and Mrs. C----, Mr. Falkinburg, Dr. W. O. S., Rev. C. H.
Jupp--Collective hallucinations with percipients apart, Sister
Martha and Madame Houdaille, Sir Lawrence Jones and Mr. Herbert
Jones.
CHAPTER XIII.
SOME LESS COMMON TYPES OF TELEPATHIC HALLUCINATION 297
Reciprocal cases, Rev. C. L. Evans and Miss ---- --A misinterpreted
message, Miss C. L. Hawkins-Dempster--Heteroplastic hallucination,
Mrs. G----, Frances Reddell, Mr. John Husbands, Mr. J----
--"Haunted houses," Mrs. Knott and others, Surgeon-Major W. and
others.
CHAPTER XIV.
ON CLAIRVOYANCE IN TRANCE 326
Definition of clairvoyance--Accounts of phenomena observed
with Mrs. Piper, by Professor Lodge, Professor W. James, and
others--Accounts of experiments by Mr. A. W. Dobbie, Dr. Wiltse,
Mr. W. Boyd, Dr. F----, Dr. Backman.
CHAPTER XV.
ON CLAIRVOYANCE IN THE NORMAL STATE 351
Observations of M. Keulemans--Crystal-visions, Miss X., Dr.
Backman, Miss A. and Sir Joseph Barnby--Spontaneous clairvoyance,
Mrs. Paquet, Mr. F. A. Marks, Mrs. L. Z.--Clairvoyance in dream,
Mrs. Freese--Clairvoyant perceptivity in an experiment, Dr.
Gibotteau.
CHAPTER XVI.
THEORIES AND CONCLUSIONS 371
_Resumé_, the proof apparent--The proof presumptive--The
alleged influence of magnets and metals--The alleged marvels of
spiritualism--Usage of the word telepathy--On various theories
of telepathy--Difficulties of a physical explanation--Value of
theory as a guide to investigation--Is telepathy a rudimentary or a
vestigial faculty?--Our ignorance stands in the way of a conclusive
answer--Imperative need for more facts.
PREFACE.
The following pages aim at presenting in brief compass a selection
of the evidence upon which the hypothesis of thought-transference,
or telepathy, is based. It is now more than twelve years since
the Society for Psychical Research was founded, and nearly eight
since the publication of _Phantasms of the Living_. Both in the
periodical _Proceedings_ of the Society and in the pages of Edmund
Gurney's book,[1] a large mass of evidence has been laid before
the public. But the papers included in the _Proceedings_ are
interspersed with other matter, some of it too technical for the
taste of the general reader; whilst the two volumes of _Phantasms
of the Living_, which have for some time been out of print, were
too costly for the purse of some, and too bulky for the patience of
others. The attention which, notwithstanding these drawbacks, that
work excited on its first appearance, the friendly reception which
it met with in many quarters, and the fact that a considerable
edition has been disposed of, encouraged the hope that a book on
somewhat similar lines, but on a smaller scale, might be of service
to those--and their number has probably increased within the last
few years--who take a genuine interest in this inquiry. Accordingly
in the autumn of 1892 I obtained permission from the Council of the
Society for Psychical Research to make full use, in the compilation
of the present work, not merely of the evidence already published
by us, but of the not inconsiderable mass of unpublished records in
the possession of the Society.
It will be seen that the present book has little claim to novelty
of design; but it is not merely an abridged edition of the larger
work referred to. On the one hand it has a somewhat wider scope,
and includes accounts of telepathic clairvoyance and other
phenomena which did not enter into the scheme of Mr. Gurney's book.
On the other hand, the bulk of the illustrative cases here quoted
have been taken from more recent records; and, in particular,
certain branches of the experimental work have assumed a quite
new importance within the last few years. Thus the experiments
conducted by Mrs. Henry Sidgwick at Brighton have strengthened
the demonstration of thought-transference, and have gone far to
solve one or two of the problems connected with the subject; and
the evidence for the experimental production of telepathic effects
at a distance has been greatly enlarged by the work of MM. Janet
and Gibert,[2] Richet, Gibotteau, Schrenck-Notzing, and in this
country by Mr. Kirk and others.[3] It may be added that some of
the criticisms called forth by _Phantasms of the Living_, and our
own further researches, have led us to modify our estimate of
the evidence in some directions, and to strengthen generally the
precautions taken against the unconscious warping of testimony.
To say, however, that the following pages owe much to Edmund
Gurney is but to acknowledge the obligation which all students
of the subject must recognise to his keen and vigorous intellect
and his colossal industry. My own debt is a more personal one. To
have worked under his guidance, and to have been stimulated by his
example, was an invaluable schooling in the qualities demanded by
an inquiry of this nature. Of the living, I owe grateful thanks,
in the first instance, to Professor and Mrs. Henry Sidgwick, who
have read through the whole of the book in typescript, and have
given help and counsel throughout. Miss Alice Johnson, Mr. F. W.
H. Myers, the late Dr. A. T. Myers, Miss Porter, and others have
also given me welcome help in various directions. In acknowledging
this assistance, however, it is right to add that, though I trust
in my estimate of the evidence presented, and in the general tenour
of the conclusions suggested, to find myself, with few exceptions,
in substantial agreement with my colleagues, yet I have no claim to
represent the Society for Psychical Research, nor right to cloak my
own shortcomings with the authority of others.
One word more needs to be said. The evidence, of which samples are
presented in the following pages, is as yet hardly adequate for the
establishment of telepathy as a fact in nature, and leaves much to
be desired for the elucidation of the laws under which it operates.
Any contributions to the problem, in the shape either of accounts
of experiments, or of recent records of telepathic visions and
similar experiences, will be gladly received by me on behalf of the
Society for Psychical Research, at 19 Buckingham Street, Adelphi,
W.C.
FRANK PODMORE.
_August 1894._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The book actually bore on the title-page the names of
Edmund Gurney, F. W. H. Myers, and the present writer. But the division
of authorship, as explained in the Preface, was as follows:--"As
regards the writing and the views expressed, Mr. Myers is solely
responsible for the Introduction, and for the 'Note on a Suggested
Mode of Psychical Interaction;' and Mr. Gurney is solely responsible
for the remainder of the book.... But the collection, examination, and
appraisal of evidence has been a joint labour."]
[Footnote 2: Some account of the earlier experiments by MM. Janet and
Gibert was included in the supplementary chapter at the end of the
second volume of _Phantasms_.]
[Footnote 3: See Chapters V. and X. of the present book.]
APPARITIONS AND THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY--SPECIAL GROUNDS OF CAUTION.
It is salutary sometimes to reflect how recent is the growth of our
scientific cosmos, and how brief an interval separates it from the
chaos which went before. This may be seen even in Sciences which deal
with matters of common observation. Amongst material phenomena the
facts of Geology are assuredly not least calculated to excite the
curiosity or impress the imagination of men. Yet until the middle of
the last century no serious attempt was made to solve the physical
problems they presented. The origin of the organic remains embedded
in the rocks had indeed formed the subject of speculation ever since
the days of Aristotle. Theophrastus had suggested that they were
formed by the plastic forces of Nature. Mediæval astrologers ascribed
their formation to planetary influences. And these hypotheses, with
the alternative view of the Church, that fossil bones and shells were
relics of the Mosaic Deluge, appear to have satisfied the learned of
Europe until the time of Voltaire, who reinforced the rationalistic
position, as he conceived it, by the suggestion that the shells, at
any rate, had been dropped from the hats of pilgrims returning from
the Holy Land. Yet Werner and Hutton were even then preparing to
elucidate the causes of stratification and the genesis of the igneous
rocks. Cuvier in the next generation was to demonstrate the essential
analogies of the fossils found in the Paris basin with living species;
Agassiz was to investigate the relation of fossil fishes and to show
the true nature of their embedded remains. Nay, even in the middle of
the present century, so slow is the growth and spread of organised
knowledge, it was possible for a pious Scotchman to ascribe the origin
of mountain chains to a cataclysm which, after the fall of Man, had
broken up and distorted the once symmetrical surface of the earth;[4]
for a Dean of York to essay to bring the Mediæval theory up to date and
prove that the whole series of geological strata, with their varied
organic remains, were formed by volcanic eruptions acting in concert
with the Mosaic Deluge;[5] and for another English divine to warn his
readers against any sacrilegious meddling with the arcana of the rocks,
because they represented the tentative essays of the Creator at organic
forms--a concealed storehouse of celestial misfits![6]
The subject-matter of the present inquiry has passed, or is now
passing, through stages closely similar to those above described.
"Ghosts" and warning dreams have been matters of popular belief and
interest since the earliest ages known to history, and are prevalent
amongst even the least advanced races at the present time. The
Specularii and Dr. Dee have familiarised us with clairvoyance and
crystal vision. Many of the alleged marvels of witchcraft were
probably due to the agency of hypnotism, which in later times, under
the various names of mesmerism, electrobiology, animal magnetism, has
attracted the curiosity of the unlettered, and from time to time the
serious interest of the learned. These phenomena indeed were made the
subject of scientific inquiry, first in France and later in England,
during the first half of the present century; have now again, after a
brief period of eclipse, been investigated for the last two decades
by competent observers on the Continent, and are at length winning a
recognised footing in scientific circles in this country. Yet within
the last two or three years we have witnessed the spectacle of more
than one medical man, of some repute in this island, laughing to scorn
all the researches of Charcot and Bernheim, just as their prototypes a
generation or two ago ignored the results of Cuvier and Agassiz, and
held it an insult to the Creator to accept the scientific explanation
of coprolites.
And as regards the other subjects, to which must be added the
alleged marvels of the Spiritualists, there have indeed been one
or two isolated series of observations by competent inquirers, but
for the most part the learned have held themselves free to as | 2,022.001513 |
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Transcribed from the [1832] W. Upcroft edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE TRIBUTE;
A
_Panegyrical Poem_
DEDICATED
TO THE HONORABLE
THE LADY ANN COKE,
OF
_HOLKHAM HALL_.
* * * * *
BY | 2,022.063902 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
The
Rival Campers Afloat
Or, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING
By
Ruel Perley Smith
Author of "The Rival Campers"
ILLUSTRATED BY
LOUIS D. GOWING
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1906
_Copyright_, _1906_
By L. C. Page & Company
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, August, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston. U. S. A._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Down the River 1
II. The Collision 15
III. A Rescue Unrewarded 28
IV. Squire Brackett Discomfited 39
V. Harvey Gets Bad News 56
VI. Out to the Fishing-grounds 73
VII. Near the Reefs 91
VIII. Little Tim a Strategist 108
IX. Harry Brackett Plays a Joke 126
X. Mr. Carleton Arrives 143
XI. Squire Brackett Is Puzzled 160
XII. The Surprise Sets Sail Again 180
XIII. Stormy Weather 192
XIV. The Man in the Cabin 206
XV. Mr. Carleton Goes Away 224
XVI. Searching the Viking 239
XVII. A Rainy Night 259
XVIII. Two Secrets Discovered 278
XIX. The Loss of the Viking 298
XX. Fleeing in the Night 318
XXI. A Timely Arrival 336
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Crew of the Viking Meet Skipper Martel (_Frontispiece_) 98
"The boom brought up with a smashing blow against the Viking's
starboard quarter" 25
"'Nonsense,' roared the infuriated Squire. 'He can sail a boat as
good as you can'" 54
"'Here, that's our boat,' cried Joe. 'You've got no right to
touch it'" 112
"'Just tell them that you heard me say I was going back to
Boston'" 236
"'Get out of here,' exclaimed Mr. Carleton, sharply" 335
THE RIVAL CAMPERS
AFLOAT
CHAPTER I.
DOWN THE RIVER
It was a pleasant afternoon in the early part of the month of June. The
Samoset River, winding down prettily through hills and sloping farm lands
to the bay of the same name, gleamed in the sunlight, now with a polished
surface like ebony in some sheltered inlet, or again sparkling with
innumerable points of light where its surface was whipped up into tiny
waves by a brisk moving wind.
There had been rain for a few days before, and the weather was now
clearing, with a smart westerly breeze that had come up in the morning,
but was swinging in slightly to the southward. The great white
cloud-banks had mostly passed on, and these were succeeded at present by
swiftly moving clumps of smaller and lighter clouds, that drifted easily
across the sky, like the sails below them over the surface of the water.
There were not a few of these sails upon the river, some set to the
breeze and some furled; some of the craft going up with the tide toward
the distant city of Benton, the head of vessel navigation; some breasting
the tide and working their way down toward Samoset Bay; other and larger
craft, with sails snugly furled, tagging along sluggishly at the heels of
blustering little tugs,--each evidently much impressed with the
importance of its mission,--and so going on and out to the open sea,
where they would sail down the coast with their own great wings spread.
The river was, indeed, a picture of life and animation. It was a river
with work to do, but it did it cheerfully and with a good spirit. Far up
above the city of Benton, it had brought the great log rafts down through
miles of forest and farm land. Above and below the city, for miles, it
had run bravely through sluice and mill-race, and turned the great wheels
for the mills that sawed the forest stuff into lumber. And now, freed
from all bounds and the restraint of dams and sluiceways, and no longer
choked with its burden of logs, it was pleased to float the ships, loaded
deep with the sawed lumber, down and away to other cities.
There was many a craft going down the river that afternoon. Here and
there along the way was a big three or four masted schooner, loaded with
ice or lumber, and bound for Baltimore or Savannah. Or, it might be, one
would take notice of a trim Italian bark, carrying box-shooks, to be
converted later into boxes for lemons and oranges. Then, farther
southward, a schooner that had brought its catch to the Benton market,
and was now working out again to the fishing-grounds among the islands of
the bay.
Less frequently plied the river steamers that ran to and from the summer
resorts in Samoset Bay; or, once a day, coming or going, the larger
steamers that ran between Benton and Boston.
Amid all these, at a point some twenty miles down the river from Benton,
there sailed a craft that was, clearly, not of this busy, hard-working
fraternity of ships. It was a handsome little vessel, of nearly forty
feet length, very shapely of hull and shining of spars; with a glint of
brass-work here and there; its clean, white sides presenting a polished
surface to the sunbeams; its rigging new and well set up, and a handsome
new pennant flung to the breeze from its topmast.
The captain of many a coaster eyed her sharply as she passed; and, now
and then, one would let his own vessel veer half a point off its course,
while he took his pipe from his mouth and remarked, "There's a clean
craft. Looks like she might go some." And then, probably, as he brought
his own vessel back to its course, concluded with the usual salt-water
man's comment, "Amateur sailors, I reckon. Humph!"
That remark, if made on this particular occasion, would have been
apparently justifiable. If one might judge by their age, the skippers of
this trim yacht should certainly have been classed as amateurs. There
were two of them. The larger, a youth of about sixteen or seventeen years
of age, held the wheel and tended the main-sheet. The other, evidently a
year or two younger, sat ready to tend the jib-sheets on either side as
they tacked, shifting his seat accordingly. The yacht was beating down
the river against the last of a flood-tide.
"We're doing finely, Henry," said the elder boy, as he glanced admiringly
at the set of the mainsail, and then made a general proud survey of the
craft from stem to stern and from cabin to topmast. "She does walk along
like a lady and no mistake. She beats the _Surprise_--poor old boat! My,
but I often think of that good little yacht I owned, sunk down there in
the thoroughfare. We had lots of fun in her. But this one certainly more
than takes her place."
"Who would ever have thought," he continued, "when we saw the strange men
sail into the harbour last year, with this yacht, that she would turn out
to be a stolen craft, and that she would one day be put up for sale, and
that old Mrs. Newcome would buy her for us? It's like a story in a book."
"It's better than any story I ever read, Jack," responded the other boy.
"It's a story with a stroke of luck at the end of it--and that's better
than some of them turn out. But say, don't you think you better let me
take my trick at the wheel? You know you are going to teach me how to
sail her. I don't expect to make much of a fist of it, at the start; but
I've picked up quite a little bit of yacht seamanship from my sailing
with the Warren boys."
"That's so," conceded the other. "You must have got a pretty good notion
of how to sail a boat, by watching them. Here, take the wheel. But you'll
find that practice in real sailing, and just having it in your head from
watching others, are two different things. However, you'll learn fast. I
never knew any one who had any sort of courage, and any natural liking
toward boat-sailing, but what he could pick it up fast, if he kept his
eyes open.
"The first thing to do, to learn to sail a boat, is to take hold in
moderate weather and work her yourself. And the next thing, is to talk to
the fishermen and the yachtsmen, and listen when they get to spinning
yarns and arguing. You can get a lot of information in that way that you
can use, yourself, later on."
The younger boy took the wheel, while the other sat up alongside,
directing his movements. But first he took the main-sheet and threw off
several turns, where he had had it belayed on the cleat back of the
wheel, and fastened it merely with a slip-knot, that could be loosed with
a single smart pull on the free end.
"We won't sail with the sheet fast until you have had a few weeks at it,
Henry," he said. "There are more boats upset from sheets fast at the
wrong time, or from main-sheets with kinks in them, that won't run free
when a squall hits, than from almost any other cause. And the river is a
lot worse in that way than the open bay, for the flaws come quicker and
sharper off these high banks."
Henry Bums, with the wheel in hand and an eye to the luff of the sail, as
of one not wholly inexperienced, made no reply to the other's somewhat
patronizing manner; but a quiet smile played about the corners of his
mouth. If he had any notion that the other's extreme care was not
altogether needed, he betrayed no sign of impatience, but took it in good
part. Perhaps he realized that common failing of every yachtsman, to
think that there is nobody else in all the world that can sail a boat
quite as well as himself.
He knew, too, that Jack Harvey had, indeed, had by far a larger
experience in sailing than he, though he had spent much of his time upon
the water.
In any event, his handling of the boat now evidently satisfied the
critical watchfulness of Jack Harvey; for that youth presently exclaimed,
"That's it. Oh, you are going to make a skipper, all right. You take hold
with confidence, too, and that's a good part of the trick."
At this point in their sailing, however, the yacht _Viking_ seemed to
have attracted somewhat more than the casual attention of an observer
from shore. A little less than a quarter of a mile down the river, on a
wharf that jutted some distance out from the bank, so that the river as
it ran swerved swiftly by its spiling, a man stood waving to them.
"Hello," said Henry Burns, espying the figure on the wharf, "there's a
tribute to the beauty of the _Viking_. Somebody probably thinks this is
the president's yacht and is saluting us."
"Well, he means us, sure enough," replied Jack Harvey, "and no joke,
either. He's really waving. He wants to hail us."
The man had his hat in hand and was, indeed, waving it to them
vigorously.
They had been standing across the river in an opposite direction to the
wharf; but now, as Jack Harvey cast off the leeward jib-sheets, Henry
Burns put the helm over, and the yacht swung gracefully and swiftly up
into the wind and headed off on the tack inshore. Jack Harvey let the
jibs flutter for a moment, until the yacht had come about, and Henry
Burns had begun to check her from falling off the wind, by reversing the
wheel. Then he quickly trimmed in on the sheets, and the jibs began to
draw.
"Most beginners," he said, "trim the jib in flat on the other side the
minute they cast off the leeward sheet. But that delays her in coming
about."
Again the quiet smile on the face of Henry Burns, but he merely answered,
"That's so."
They stood down abreast the wharf and brought her up, with sails
fluttering. Jack Harvey, looking up from the side to the figure above on
the wharf, called out, "Hello, were you waving to us?"
"Why, yes," responded the man, "I was. Are you going down the river far?"
"Bound down to Southport," said Harvey.
"Good!" exclaimed the stranger, and added, confidently, "I'll go along
with you part way, if you don't mind. I'm on my way to Burton's Landing,
five miles below, and the steamboat doesn't come along for three hours
yet. I cannot get a carriage and I don't want to walk. You don't mind
giving me a lift, do you? That's a beautiful boat of yours, by the way."
The man had an air of easy assurance; and, besides, the request was one
that any yachtsman would willingly grant.
"Why, certainly," replied Harvey, "we'll take you, eh, Henry?"
"Pleased to do it," responded Henry Burns.
They worked the yacht up alongside | 2,022.064014 |
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THE
CHIEF MATE'S YARNS
_TWELVE TALES OF THE SEA_
BY
CAPT. MAYN CLEW GARNETT
[Illustration]
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911, 1912, BY
STREET & SMITH
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
_The White Ghost of Disaster_
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER 5
THE LIGHT AHEAD 42
THE WRECK OF THE "RATHBONE" 76
THE AFTER BULKHEAD 105
CAPTAIN JUNARD 123
IN THE WAKE OF THE ENGINE 148
IN THE HULL OF THE "HERALDINE" 172
A TWO-STRANDED YARN--PART I 198
A TWO-STRANDED YARN--PART II 234
AT THE END OF THE DRAG-ROPE 263
PIRATES TWAIN 279
THE JUDGMENT OF MEN 310
ON GOING TO SEA 333
THE WHITE GHOST OF DISASTER
We had been sitting in at the game for more than an hour, and no life
had entered it. The thoughts of all composing that little group of five
in the most secluded corner of the ship's smoking room were certainly
not on the game, and three aces lay down to fours up.
The morose and listless ship's officer out of a berth, although he
spoke little--if at all--seemed to put a spell of uneasiness and unrest
on the party. The others did not know him or his history; but his looks
spelled disaster and misfortune.
At last Charlie Spangler, the noted journalist, keen for a story or
two, threw down his cards, exclaiming: "Let's quit. None of us is less
uneasy than the rest of the ship's passengers."
"Yes," chimed in Arthur Linch, the noted stock-broker. "We have
endeavored to banish the all-pervading thought, 'will the ship arrive
safely without being wrecked,' and have failed miserably. Cards will
not do it." This seemed to express the sentiments of everybody except
the morose mariner, whose thoughts nobody could read or fathom. He sat
there, deep in his chair, gazing at a scene or scenes none of us could
see or appreciate.
"Well! Since we cannot take our thoughts off'shipwreck,' we may as
well discuss the subject and ease our minds," added the journalist
again, still hot on the scent of the possible story which he felt that
the ship's officer hoarded.
The mariner, however, did not respond to this, and continued with his
memories, apparently oblivious of our presence.
Under the leadership of the journalist the discussion waxed warm for
some time, until the stock-broker, ever solicitous for the welfare of
the stock-market and conforming his opinions thereto, exclaimed loudly:
"The officers and the crew were not responsible for the collision with
the berg. It was an 'act of God!' and as such we are daily taking
chances with it. What will be, will be. We cannot escape Destiny!"
"Destiny be damned!" came like a thunderbolt from the heretofore
silent mariner, and we all looked to see the face now full of rage and
passion. "What do you know of the sea, you land pirate? What do you
know of sea dangers and responsibility for the safety of human lives?
Man! you're crazy. There is no such thing as Destiny at sea. A seaman
knows what to expect when he takes chances. If you call that an 'act of
God,' you deserve to have been there and submitted to it."
The face of Charlie Spangler was glowing. His heart beat so fast when
he heard this sea clam open up, that he was afraid it might overwork
and stop. "Our friend is right!" he exclaimed. "I infer that he speaks
from knowledge and experience. We are hardly qualified to discuss such
matters properly.
"You have something on your mind, friend. Unburden it to us. We are
sympathetic, you know. Our position here makes us so," saying which,
Spangler filled the mariner's half-empty glass and looked at him with
sympathy streaming out of his trained eyes. We all nodded our assent.
Having fortified himself with the contents of the glass before him, the
mariner spoke: "Yes, gentlemen, I am going to speak from knowledge and
experience. It was my luck to be aboard of the vessel which had the
shortest of lives, but which will live in the memory of man for many a
year.
"It is my misfortune to be one of its surviving officers. I am going
to give you the facts as they happened this last time, and a few other
times besides. It is the experiences through which I have passed that
make me wish I had gone down with the last one. I must now live on with
memories, indelibly stamped on my brain, which I would gladly forget.
Your attention, gentlemen--"
* * * * *
Captain Brownson came upon the bridge. It was early morning, and the
liner was tearing through a smooth sea in about forty-three north
latitude. The sun had not yet risen, but the gray of the coming
daylight showed a heaving swell that rolled with the steadiness that
told of a long stretch of calm water behind it. The men of the
morning watch showed their pale faces white with that peculiar pallor
which comes from the loss of the healthful sleep between midnight and
morning. It was the second mate's watch, and that officer greeted the
commander as he came to the bridge rail where the mate stood staring
into the gray ahead.
"See anything?" asked the master curtly.
"No, sir--but I smell it--feel it," said the mate, without turning his
head.
"What?" asked Brownson.
"Don't you feel it?--the chill, the--well, it's ice, sir--ice, if I
know anything."
"Ice?" snarled the captain. "You're crazy! What's the matter with you?"
"Oh, very well--you asked me--I told you--that's all."
The captain snorted. He disliked the second officer exceedingly. Mr.
Smith had been sent him by the company at the request of the manager of
the London office. He had always picked his own men, and he resented
the office picking them for him. Besides, he had a nephew, a passenger
aboard, who was an officer out of a berth.
"What the devil do they know of a man, anyhow! I'm the one responsible
for him. I'm the one, then, to choose him. They won't let me shift
blame if anything happens, and yet they sent me a man I know nothing of
except that he is young and strong. I'll wake him up some if he stays
here." So he had commented to Mr. Wylie, the chief mate. Mr. Wylie had
listened, thought over the matter, and nodded his head sagely.
"Sure," he vouchsafed; "sure thing." That was as much as any one
ever got out of Wylie. He was not a talkative mate. Yet when he knew
Smith better, he retailed the master's conversation to him during a
spell of generosity engendered by the donation of a few highballs by
Macdowell, the chief engineer. Smith thanked him--and went his way
as | 2,022.065076 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
A Woman's Will
[Illustration]
A Woman's Will
By
Anne Warner
_Illustrated by J. H. Caliga_
[Illustration: con passionato.]
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1904
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published April, 1904
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART I
THE RISE OF THE STORM 1
PART II
THE BEATING OF THE WAVES 171
PART III
THE BREAKING OF THE BARRIERS 297
ILLUSTRATIONS
_From Pastel Drawings by I. H. Caliga_
"And the unvoiceable wonder of his magic" _Frontispiece_
"She rose to receive them with radiant countenance" _Page_ 19
"They stood together on the Maximilianbrucke" " 173
"'I want you to pay a lot of attention to what I am
going to say, Rosina'" " 319
A Woman's Will
PART I
THE RISE OF THE STORM
Chapter One
"Good-bye--good-bye, Rosina!" cried Jack, giving one last violent wave
to his handkerchief. And then he put it back in his pocket, because the
crowd upon the deck of the departing Liner had now become a mere blur in
the distance, and distant blurs seemed to his practical nature unworthy
any further outlay of personal energy. "But oh!" he added, as he and
Carter turned to quit the dock, "how the family are just agoing to revel
in peace for these next few months! The Milennium!--well, I don't know!"
"I do not see how you and your Uncle John ever came to let her go off
all alone like that," Carter said, with a gloom that did not try to mask
a terrible reproach; "she'll be so awfully liable to meet some
foreigner over there and--and just marry him." He threw up his cane as
he spoke, intending to rap on the boarding by which they were that
instant passing.
Jack thrust his own cane out quickly and barred the other with an
excellent fencing _fente_.
"No rapping on wood!" he cried sharply; "not after that speech!--you
know!"
Carter turned two astonished eyes friend-ward.
"What do you mean?" he asked; "do you mean to say that you'd stand her
marrying any one over there for one minute?"
"Stand it!" said Jack, "would we _stand_ it, did you say? My dear
fellow, how plainly you betray the fact that you are in love with
Rosina. We,--myself and the family,--on the contrary, live with her. The
difference in the two propositions is too tremendous to be quickly
grasped by you even, but it is just about the same distance as that
between theory and practice."
"Nonsense!" said Carter, with an air of deep annoyance.
"I'll tell you how I personally regard Rosina," Jack went on, paying no
attention to the other's exclamation; "I look upon her as very likely to
marry abroad, because I don't know of but one man at home clever enough
to be able to marry her."
He laid his hand upon Carter's shoulder as he spoke, and Carter, who
didn't at all understand what he meant, thought that he understood, and
was correspondingly happy.
They boarded the ferry then, and went from Hoboken straight back to
civilization.
* * * * *
The "Kronprinz" meanwhile was slowly wending her way down the river,
past the skyscrapers, and out towards the open sea.
Rosina, already established in her chair, with a mother-of-pearl
lorgnette upon her lap and a pair of field-glasses swinging from the
card-holder, felt more placidly happy than she had in years. If those
left behind who supposed that she was going abroad to get a second
husband could but have gazed into her heart, they would have
comprehended the utter and complete falsity of their views.
Her year and a half of widowhood had been one long-continued period of
quiet ecstasy.
Standing alone in her own room the morning after the funeral, she had
made a vow to never marry again.
"Enough is as good as a feast," she had said, surveying her crape-draped
self with a deep sense of satisfaction; "it never approached anything
like a feast, but it certainly has taught me to know when I have had
enough."
And then new orders had been issued to every department of her
establishment, and a peace approaching Paradise reigned in her heart.
When Carter, in a moment of daring courage, found words in which to
unfold the facts of his case, she listened in a spirit of intense wonder
that he could really be stupid enough to suppose that she would consider
such an idea for a minute.
Carter, his heart jumping wildly about behind his shirt-bosom, thought
that her look of amazement was a look of appreciation, and wound himself
up to a tension that was quite a strain on the situation.
"I'm going abroad in May," was her sole response when he had quite
finished.
"Oh, my God! don't go and marry some one over there!" he cried out, in
the sudden awful stress of the moment.
"I shall marry no one," she declared with freezing emphasis. "The very
idea! you all seem to think that I am anxious to render myself miserable
again; but I assure you that such is very far from being the case."
Poor Carter was stricken dumb under her lash, but he loved her none the
less, for it must be said that there was a certain passionate sweetness
in both the bow and quiver of Rosina's mouth which always took the worst
of the sting out of all of her many cruel speeches. And yet that very
same bow and quiver were bound to breed a fearful doubt as to the degree
of faith which one might be justified in holding in regard to the
impregnability of her position. Very likely she herself did firmly
intend remaining a widow forever; and yet--
And yet?--
Oh, the thought was unendurable!
Carter refused to endure it anyhow, but for all that the days had moved
right along until that worst of days came into being, leaving him on the
dock and sending the "Kronprinz" out to sea.
And, if the truth must be told, it is to be feared that if Rosina's
unhappy suitor could have caught a glimpse of her as night fell over
that same day's ending, his sickest doubts would have found food for
reflection and consequent misery in her situation, for when Ottillie,
the Swiss maid, came up on deck with a great, furred wrap, the most
personable man aboard was already installed at her mistress's side,
thanks to a convenient college acquaintance with her dearest of cousins;
and the way that the personable man grabbed the cloak from Ottillie and
heaped it gently around its owner would have stirred the feelings of
any casual lover whose bad luck it might be to happen along just then.
Rosina nestled back into the soft fur folds and smiled a smile of
luxurious content.
"I am so thoroughly imbued with utter bliss," she said; "only to think
that I am going _where_-ever I please, to do _what_-ever I please, just
_when_-ever I please,--indefinitely."
"It sounds like Paradise, surely," said the man, dropping into his own
seat and tucking himself up with two deft blows administered to the
right and left of his legs; "what do you suppose you'll do first?"
"I think that I shall do almost everything first," she answered
laughing, and then, taking a long look out upon the twinkles of Fire
Island, she sighed deeply and joyfully, and added, "Ah, but I'm going to
have a beautiful time!"
The man plunged a hand into his breast-pocket.
"Did you ever smoke a cigarette?" he asked.
"Never | 2,022.158723 |
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E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Pat McCoy, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39612-h.htm or 39612-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
A letter or letters contained within curly brackets was a
superscript in the original text. Example: exam{t}
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics. Example:
_Criminal Trials_
Another transcriber's note is at the end of this text.
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
[Illustration: SIR EVERARD DIGBY
_From a portrait belonging to W. R. M. Wynne, Esq. of Peniarth, Merioneth_]
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
Being a Biography of Sir Everard Digby by One of His Descendants
by the author of
"A Life of Archbishop Laud," By a Romish Recusant, "The
Life of a Prig, by One," etc.
With Illustrations
London
Kegan Paul, Trench, Truebner & Co., Ltd.
Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road
1895
PREFACE
The chief difficulty in writing a life of Sir Everard Digby is to steer
clear of the alternate dangers of perverting it into a mere history of
the Gunpowder Plot, on the one hand, and of failing to say enough of
that great conspiracy to illustrate his conduct, on the other. Again, in
dealing with that plot, to condemn all concerned in it may seem like
kicking a dead dog to Protestants, and to Catholics like joining in one
of the bitterest and most irritating taunts to which they have been
exposed in this country throughout the last three centuries.
Nevertheless, I am not discouraged. The Gunpowder Plot is an historical
event about which the last word has not yet been said, nor is likely to
be said for some time to come; and monographs of men who were, either
directly or indirectly, concerned in it, may not be altogether useless
to those who desire to make a study of it. However faulty the following
pages may be in fact or in inference, they will not have been written in
vain if they have the effect of eliciting from others that which all
students of historical subjects ought most to desire--the Truth.
I wish to acknowledge most valuable assistance received from the Right
Rev. Edmund Knight, formerly Bishop of Shrewsbury, as well as from the
Rev. John Hungerford Pollen, S.J., who was untiring in his replies to my
questions on some very difficult points; but it is only fair to both of
them to say that the inferences they draw from the facts, which I have
brought forward, occasionally vary from my own. My thanks are also due
to that most able, most courteous, and most patient of editors, Mr Kegan
Paul, to say nothing of his services in the very different capacity of a
publisher, to Mr Wynne of Peniarth, for permission to photograph his
portrait of Sir Everard Digby, and to Mr Walter Carlile for information
concerning Gayhurst.
The names of the authorities of which I have made most use are given in
my footnotes; but I am perhaps most indebted to one whose name does not
appear the oftenest. The back-bone of every work dealing with the times
of the Stuarts must necessarily be the magnificent history of Mr Samuel
Rawson Gardiner.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The portrait of Sir Everard Digby--Genealogy--His father a
literary man--His father's book--Was Sir Everard brought up a
Protestant?--At the Court of Queen Elizabeth--Persecution of
Catholics--Character of Sir Everard--Gothurst--Mary
Mulsho--Marriage--Knighthood 1-14
CHAPTER II.
Hospitality at Gothurst--Roger Lee--Sir Everard "Catholickly
inclined"--Country visiting 300 years ago--An absent
host--A good hostess--Wish to see a priest--Priest or
sportsman?--Father Gerard--Reception of Lady Digby--Question
of Underhandedness--Illness of Sir Everard--Conversion--Second
Illness--Impulsiveness of Sir Everard 15-32
CHAPTER III.
The wrench of conversion--Position of converts at different
periods--The Digbys as converts--Their chapel--Father
Strange--Father Percy--Chapels in the days of
persecution--Luisa de Carvajal--Oliver Manners--Pious
dodges--Stolen waters--Persecution under Elizabeth 33-48
CHAPTER IV.
The succession to the Crown--Accession of James--The Bye
Plot--Guy Fawkes--Father Watson's revenge on the
Jesuits--Question as to the faithlessness of
James--Martyrdoms and persecutions--A Protestant Bishop upon
them 49-69
CHAPTER V.
Catholics and the Court--Queen Anne of Denmark--Fears of the
Catholics--Catesby--Chivalry--Tyringham--The Spanish
Ambassador--Attitude of foreign Catholic powers--Indictments
of Catholics--Pound's case--Bancroft--Catesby and
Garnet--Thomas Winter--William Ellis--Lord Vaux--Elizabeth,
Anne, and Eleanor Vaux--Calumnies 70-96
CHAPTER VI | 2,022.161162 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: GENERAL ROBERT | 2,022.161211 |
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Produced by Colin Bell, Julia Neufeld and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter is
superscripted (example: yo^r).
Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
except in obvious cases of typographical error.
Page 80: "and cause you to come up out of your graves"--The transcriber
has inserted the missing word "to".
Page 87: "the world, to conquer's men's souls"--Replaced "conquer's"
with "conquer".
Page 293: Missing footnote anchor [242] has been inserted by the
transcriber.
For the eBook version the bookcover was created by the transcriber and
is placed in the public domain.
* * * * *
LETTERS
OF
SAMUEL RUTHERFORD
[Illustration: RUTHERFORD'S WALK.]
[Illustration: title page]
LETTERS
OF
SAMUEL RUTHERFORD
_With a Sketch of his Life_
AND
_Biographical Notices of His Correspondents_
BY THE
REV. ANDREW A. BONAR, D.D.
AUTHOR OF "MEMOIR AND REMAINS OF ROBERT MURRAY M'CHEYNE"
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
PREFACE.
Most justly does the old Preface to the earlier Editions begin by
telling the Reader that "These Letters have no need of any man's
epistle commendatory, the great Master having given them one, written
by His own hand on the hearts of all who favour the things of God."
Every one who knows these "Letters" at all, is aware of their most
peculiar characteristic, namely, the discovery they present of the
marvellous intercourse carried on between the writer's soul and his
God.
This Edition will be found to be the most complete that has hitherto
appeared. It is the same as that of 1863, in two vols., with two
slight alterations, viz. the footnotes are for the most part removed
to the Glossary, and a few of the notices are condensed, but nothing
omitted of any importance. On the other hand, one or two slight
additions have been made. Attending carefully to the chronological
arrangement, the Editor has sought, by biographical, topographical,
and historical notices, to put the Reader in possession of all that
was needed to enable him to enter into the circumstances in which each
Letter was written, so far as that could be done. The appended
Glossary of Scottish words and expressions (many of them in reality
old English), the Index of Places and Persons, the Index of Special
Subjects, and the prefixed Contents of Each Letter, will, it is
confidently believed, be found both interesting and useful. The Sketch
of Rutherford's Life may be thought too brief; but the limits within
which such a Sketch must necessarily be confined, when occupying the
place of a mere Introduction, rendered brevity inevitable.
Every Letter hitherto published is to be found in this Edition. The
ten additional Letters of the Edition 1848, along with two more, added
since that time, are all inserted in their chronological place. The
publishers have taken great pains with the typography.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Sketch of _Samuel Rutherford_, 1
1. To _Marion M'Naught_.--Children to be Dedicated to God, 33
2. To _a Christian Gentlewoman, on the death of a
Daughter._--Christ's Sympathy with, and Property in
us--Reasons for Resignation, 34
3. To _Lady Kenmure, on occasion of illness and spiritual
depression_.--Acquiescence in God's Purpose--Faith in
exercise--Encouragement in view of Sickness and
Death--Public Affairs, 36
4. To _Lady Kenmure, on death of her infant Daughter_.--
Tribulation the Portion of God's People, and intended
to wean them from the World, 40
5. To _Lady Kenmure, when removing from Anwoth_.--Changes--
Loss of Friends--This World no abiding Place, 42
6. To _Marion M'Naught, telling of his Wife's illness_.--Inward
Conflict, arising from Outward Trial, 44
7. To _Lady Kenmure_.--The Earnest of the Spirit--Communion
with Christ--Faith in the Promises, 46
8. To _Marion M'Naught_.--His Wife's Illness--Wrestlings with
God, 49
9. To _Marion M'Naught_.--Recommending a Friend to her
Care--Prayers asked, 50
10. To _Marion M'Naught_.--Submission, Perseverance, and Zeal
recommended, 50
11. To _Lady Kenmure_.--God's Inexplicable Dealings with His
People well ordered--Want of Ordinances--Conformity
to Christ--Troubles of the Church--Mr. Rutherford's
Wife's Death, 52
12. To _Marion M'Naught_.--God Mixeth the Cup--The Reward of
the Wicked--Faithfulness--Forbearance--Trials, 54
13. To _Marion M'Naught, when exposed to reproach for her
principles_.--Jesus a Pattern of Patience under
Suffering, 57
14. To _Marion M | 2,022.262781 |
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E-text prepared by Woodie4, Curtis Weyant, and the Project Gutenberg
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Dave Porter Series
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Or
The Pluck of an American Schoolboy
by
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," "Dave Porter in the South Seas,"
"Dave Porter's Return to School," "Old Glory Series," "Pan American
Series," "Defending His Flag," etc.
Illustrated By Charles Nuttall
[Illustration: In a twinkling the turnout was upset.--_Page 206._]
[Illustration: Publishers mark]
Boston
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
Published, March, 1908
Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
All rights reserved
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
Norwood, Mass.
U. S. A.
PREFACE
"Dave Porter in the Far North" is a complete story in itself, but forms
the fourth volume in a line issued under the general title of "Dave
Porter Series."
In the first volume, entitled "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," I introduced a
typical American lad, full of life and vigor, and related the
particulars of his doings at an American boarding school of to-day--a
place which is a little world in itself. At this school Dave made both
friends and enemies, proved that he was a natural leader, and was
admired accordingly.
The great cloud over Dave's life was the question of his parentage. His
enemies called him "that poorhouse nobody," which hurt him deeply. He
made a discovery, and in the second volume of the series, entitled "Dave
Porter in the South Seas," we followed him on a most unusual voyage, at
the end of which he found an uncle, and learned something of his father
and sister, who were at that time traveling in Europe.
Dave was anxious to meet his own family, but could not find out just
where they were. While waiting for word from them, he went back to Oak
Hall, and in the third volume of the series, called "Dave Porter's
Return to School," we learned how he became innocently involved in a
mysterious series of robberies, helped to win two great games of
football, and brought the bully of the academy to a realization of his
better self.
As time went by Dave longed more than ever to meet his father and his
sister, and how he went in search of them I leave the pages which follow
to relate. As before, Dave is bright, manly, and honest to the core, and
in those qualities I trust my young readers will take him as their model
throughout life.
Once more I thank the thousands who have taken an interest in what I
have written for them. May the present story help them to despise those
things which are mean and hold fast to those things which are good.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
January 10, 1908.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON THE TRAIN 1
II. A ROW IN A RESTAURANT 12
III. OFF THE TRACK 22
IV. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BARN 32
V. BACK TO OAK HALL 42
VI. GUS PLUM'S CONFESSION 51
VII. HOW JOB HASKERS WENT SLEIGH-RIDING 59
VIII. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER 69
IX. DAVE TALKS TO THE POINT 78
X. AN ADVENTURE ON ROBBER ISLAND 87
XI. A HUNT FOR AN ICE-BOAT 97
XII. THE MEETING OF THE GEE EYES 107
XIII. AN INTERRUPTED INITIATION 116
XIV. GOOD-BYE TO OAK HALL 125
XV. DAVE AND ROGER IN LONDON 134
XVI. SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION 143
XVII. ON THE NORTH SEA 152
XVIII. IN NORWAY AT LAST 162
XIX. OFF TO THE NORTHWARD 171
XX. AN ENCOUNTER WITH WOLVES 181
XXI. CAUGHT IN A WINDSTORM 190
XXII. SNOWBOUND IN THE MOUNTAINS 200
XXIII. LEFT IN THE DARK 210
XXIV. THE BURGOMASTER OF MASOLGA 219
XXV. TO THE NORTHWARD ONCE MORE 228
XXVI. DAYS OF WAITING 237
XXVII. DAVE STRIKES OUT ALONE 246
XXVIII. A JOYOUS MEETING 255
XXIX. BEARS AND WOLVES 264
XXX. HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION 274
ILLUSTRATIONS
In a twinkling the turnout was upset (page
206) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Roger shoved it aside and it struck Isaac Pludding
full on the stomach 25
"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled
Shadow 58
The mule shied to one side and sent Dave
sprawling on the ice 101
What was left of the camp-fire flew up in the
air 120
Once they ran close to a three-masted schooner 160
"Out with the lot of them! I will take the
rooms" 229
Dave received a blow from a rough paw that
sent him headlong 267
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
CHAPTER I
ON THE TRAIN
"Here we are at the station, Dave!"
"Yes, and there is Phil waiting for us," answered Dave Porter. He threw
up the car window hastily. "Hi, there, Phil, this way!" he called out,
lustily.
A youth who stood on the railroad platform, dress-suit case in hand,
turned hastily, smiled broadly, and then ran for the steps of the
railroad car. The two boys already on board arose in their seats to
greet him.
"How are you, Dave? How are you, Ben?" he exclaimed cordially, and shook
hands. "I see you've saved a seat for me. Thank you. My, but it's a cold
morning, isn't it?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't come on account of the weather," answered
Dave Porter. "How are you feeling?"
"As fine as ever," answered Phil Lawrence. "Oh, it will take more than
one football game to kill me," he went on, with a light laugh.
"I trust you never get knocked out like that again, Phil," said Dave
Porter, seriously.
"So do I," added Ben Basswood. "The game isn't worth it."
"Mother thought I ought to stay home until the weather moderated a bit,
but I told her you would all be on this train and I wanted to be with
the crowd. Had a fine Thanksgiving, I suppose."
"I did," returned Ben Basswood.
"Yes, we had a splendid time," added Dave Porter, "only I should have
been better satisfied if I had received some word from my father and
sister."
"No word yet, Dave?"
"Not a line, Phil," and Dave Porter's usually bright face took on a
serious look. "I don't know what to make of it and neither does my Uncle
Dunston."
"It certainly is queer. If they went to Europe your letters and
cablegrams ought to catch them somewhere. I trust you get word soon."
"If I don't, I know what I am going to do."
"What?"
"Go on a hunt, just as I did when I found my uncle," was Dave Porter's
reply.
While the three boys were talking the train had rolled out of the
station. The car was but half filled, so the lads had plenty of room in
which to make themselves comfortable. Phil Lawrence stowed away his suit
case in a rack overhead and settled down facing the others. He gave a
yawn of satisfaction.
"I can tell you, it will feel good to get back to Oak Hall again," he
observed. "You can't imagine how much I've missed the boys and the good
times, even if I was laid up in bed with a broken head."
"You'll get a royal reception, Phil," said Dave. "Don't forget that when
you went down you won the football game for us."
"Maybe I did, Dave, but you had your hand in winning, too, and so did
Ben."
"Well, if the fellows---- Say, here comes Nat Poole." Dave lowered his
voice. "I don't think he'll want to see me."
As | 2,022.298886 |
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