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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
_By S. G. Tallentyre_
The Life of Voltaire
The Life of Mirabeau
Matthew Hargraves
THE LIFE
OF
VOLTAIRE
[Illustration: _Voltaire from the statue by Houdon at the Comédie
Française._]
THE LIFE
OF
VOLTAIRE
BY
S. G. TALLENTYRE
AUTHOR OF “THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS,” ETC.
“_Je n’ai point de sceptre, mais j’ai une plume._”--VOLTAIRE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
THIRD EDITION
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BOYHOOD 1
II. EPIGRAMS AND THE BASTILLE 16
III. “ŒDIPE,” AND THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND 25
IV. THE “HENRIADE,” AND A VISIT TO COURT 37
V. ENGLAND, AND THE “ENGLISH LETTERS” 48
VI. PLAYS, A BURLESQUE, AND THE APPEARANCE OF THE “LETTERS” 60
VII. MADAME DU CHÂTELET 74
VIII. A YEAR OF STORMS 86
IX. WORK AT CIREY 96
X. PLEASURE AT CIREY 106
XI. THE AFFAIR DESFONTAINES 117
XII. FLYING VISITS TO FREDERICK 127
XIII. TWO PLAYS AND A FAILURE 137
XIV. VOLTAIRE AS DIPLOMATIST AND COURTIER 149
XV. THE POPE, THE POMPADOUR, AND “THE TEMPLE OF GLORY” 159
XVI. THE ACADEMY, AND A VISIT 167
XVII. COURT DISFAVOUR, AND HIDING AT SCEAUX 175
XVIII. THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT 183
XIX. THE DEATH OF MADAME DU CHÂTELET 194
XX. PARIS, “ORESTE” AND “ROME SAUVÉE” 206
XXI. GLAMOUR 221
XXII. THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 233
XXIII. THE QUARREL WITH MAUPERTUIS 249
XXIV. THE FLIGHT FROM PRUSSIA 265
XXV. THE COMEDY OF FRANKFORT 274
XXVI. THE “ESSAY ON THE MANNERS AND MIND OF NATIONS” 286
XXVII. THE ARRIVAL IN SWITZERLAND 296
XXVIII. THE DÉLICES, AND THE “POEM ON THE DISASTER OF LISBON” 307
XXIX. “NATURAL LAW,” THE VISIT OF D’ALEMBERT, AND THE AFFAIR OF BYNG 318
XXX. THE INTERFERENCE IN THE SEVEN YEARS’ WAR, THE
“GENEVA” ARTICLE, AND LIFE AT DÉLICES 329
XXXI. “THE LITERARY WAR,” AND THE PURCHASE OF FERNEY AND TOURNEY 344
XXXII. FERNEY 356
XXXIII. “CANDIDE,” AND “ÉCRASEZ L’INFÂME” 369
XXXIV. THE BATTLE OF PARTICLES, AND THE BATTLE OF COMEDIES 384
XXXV. BUILDING A CHURCH, AND ENDOWING A DAUGHTER 401
XXXVI. THE AFFAIR OF CALAS 413
XXXVII. THE “TREATISE ON TOLERANCE” 429
XXXVIII. THE SIRVENS AND LA BARRE 446
XXXIX. VOLTAIRE AND GENEVA: VOLTAIRE AND LA HARPE 463
XL. THE COLONY OF WATCHMAKERS AND WEAVERS 481
XLI. THE PIGALLE STATUE, AND THE VINDICATION OF LALLY 497
XLII. LATTER DAYS 514
XLIII. THE LAST VISIT 530
XLIV. THE END 553
INDEX 573
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
VOLTAIRE _Frontispiece_
_From the Statue by Houdon at the Comédie Française._
NINON DE L’ENCLOS 6
_From an original Picture given by herself to the Countess of Sandwich._
J. B. ROUSSEAU 32
_From an Engraving after a Picture by J. Aved._
LOUIS XV. 40
_From the Picture by Carle Van Loo in the Museum at Versailles._
MADAME DU CHÂTELET 70
_From an Engraving after Marianne Loir._
MADAME DE POMPADOUR 152
_From the Painting by François Boucher in the possession, and by kind
permission, of Baron Nathaniel de Rothschild._
MARIA LECZINSKA 172
_From the Picture by Carle Van Loo in the Louvre._
FREDERICK THE GREAT 210
_From an Engraving by Cunejo, after the Painting by Cunningham._
MOREAU DE MAUPERTUIS 238
_From an Engraving after a Painting by Tourmere._
LEKAIN 292
_From an Engraving after a Painting by S. B. Le Noir._
THE CHÂTEAU OF FERNEY 334
_From an Engraving._
VOLTAIRE 370
_From the Bust by Houdon._
MADEMOISELLE CLAIRON 426
_From an Engraving after a Picture by Carle Van Loo._
VOLTAIRE 486
_From the Etching by Denon._
LOUIS XVI. 496
_From the Portrait by Callet in the Petit Trianon._
VOLTAIRE’S DECLARATION OF FAITH 506
_From the Original in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris._
“TRIOMPHE DE VOLTAIRE” 530
_From a Contemporary Print._
SOME SOURCES OF INFORMATION
Œuvres Complètes de Voltaire. _Beuchot._
La Jeunesse de Voltaire. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire au Château de Cirey. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire à la Cour. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire et Frédéric. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire aux Délices. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire et J. J. Rousseau. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire et Genève. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire. Son Retour et sa Mort. _Gustave Desnoiresterres._
Voltaire. _Morley._
Vie de Voltaire. _Condorcet._
Mon Séjour auprès de Voltaire. _Collini._
Mémoires sur Voltaire. _Longchamp et Wagnière._
Critical Essays. _Carlyle._
Vie de Voltaire. _Abbé Duvernet._
Le Roi Voltaire. _A. Houssaye._
Voltaire et son Temps. _F. Bungener._
Voltaire à Ferney. _M. Bavoux._
The Life of Voltaire. _James Parton._
Voltaire et le Président de Brosses. _Foisset._
Les Ennemis de Voltaire. _Charles Nisard._
Ménage et Finances de Voltaire. _Nicolardot._
Voltaire et le Voltairisme. _Nourrisson._
Voltaire au Collège. _Henri Beaune._
Voltaire et les Génevois. _Gabarel._
Vie Privée de Voltaire et de Madame du Châtelet. _Madame de Graffigny._
Voltaire’s Visit to England. _Archibald Ballantyne._
Voltaire, sa Vie et ses Œuvres. _Eugène Noel._
Voltaire et Rousseau. _Maugras._
Voltaire avant et pendant la Guerre de Sept Ans. _Duc de Broglie._
Bolingbroke and Voltaire in England. _Churton Collins._
Voltaire for English Readers. _Colonel Hamley._
Voltaire et Madame du Châtelet. _Havard._
Centenaire de Voltaire. _Victor Hugo._
Vie Intime de Voltaire aux Délices et Ferney. _Perry et Maugras._
La Physique de Voltaire. _E. Saigey._
Histoire Littéraire de Voltaire. _Marquis de Luchet._
Mémoires de Marmontel.
Mémoires, ou Essai sur la Musique. _Grétry._
Mémoires. _Madame de Genlis._
Mémoires sur la Vie de Ninon de l’Enclos.
Mémoires. _Président Hénault._
Mémoires. _Saint-Simon._
Mémoires. _Marquis d’Argenson._
Journal et Mémoires. _Marais._
Mémoires. _Madame d’Épinay._
Journal. _Collé._
Mémoires. _Comte de Ségur._
Mémoires et Correspondance. _Diderot._
Souvenirs d’un Citoyen. _Formey._
La Jeunesse de Florian, ou Mémoires d’un jeune Espagnol.
Mémoires de Madame du Hausset.
Mémoires et Lettres du Cardinal de Bernis.
Madame de Pompadour. _De Goncourt._
Letters of an English Traveller. _Martin Sherlock._
The State of Music in France and Italy. _Dr. Burney._
A View of Society and Manners in France, etc. _Dr. John Moore._
Mémoires. _Lekain._
Lettres. _Madame Suard._
Lettres et Pensées du Maréchal Prince de Ligne.
The Private Correspondence of Garrick.
Lettres du Chevalier de Boufflers sur son Voyage en Suisse.
Letters of Horace Walpole.
Frederick the Great. _Carlyle._
Frederick the Great and his Times. _T. Campbell._
Œuvres. _ | 2,022.299009 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.2872420 | 3,452 | 8 |
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, 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.)
THE SEA LADY
[Illustration: "Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady.
(See page 150.)]
THE SEA LADY
BY
H. G. WELLS
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1902
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published September, 1902_
Copyright 1901 by H. G. Wells
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY 1
II.--SOME FIRST IMPRESSIONS 30
III.--THE EPISODE OF THE VARIOUS JOURNALISTS 71
IV.--THE QUALITY OF PARKER 90
V.--THE ABSENCE AND RETURN OF MR. HARRY CHATTERIS 101
VI.--SYMPTOMATIC 133
VII.--THE CRISIS 204
VIII.--MOONSHINE TRIUMPHANT 285
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
"Am I doing it right?" asked the Sea Lady _Frontispiece_
"Stuff that the public won't believe aren't facts" 81
She positively and quietly settled down with the Buntings 90
A little group about the Sea Lady's bath chair 134
"Why not?" 160
The waiter retires amazed 170
They seemed never to do anything but blow and sigh and
rustle papers 180
Adjusting the folds of his blanket to a greater dignity 216
THE SEA LADY
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
THE COMING OF THE SEA LADY
I
Such previous landings of mermaids as have left a record, have all a
flavour of doubt. Even the very circumstantial account of that Bruges
Sea Lady, who was so clever at fancy work, gives occasion to the
sceptic. I must confess that I was absolutely incredulous of such things
until a year ago. But now, face to face with indisputable facts in my
own immediate neighbourhood, and with my own second cousin Melville (of
Seaton Carew) as the chief witness to the story, I see these old legends
in a very different light. Yet so many people concerned themselves with
the hushing up of this affair, that, but for my sedulous enquiries, I am
certain it would have become as doubtful as those older legends in a
couple of score of years. Even now to many minds----
The difficulties in the way of the hushing-up process were no doubt
exceptionally great in this case, and that they did contrive to do so
much, seems to show just how strong are the motives for secrecy in all
such cases. There is certainly no remoteness nor obscurity about the
scene of these events. They began upon the beach just east of Sandgate
Castle, towards Folkestone, and they ended on the beach near Folkestone
pier not two miles away. The beginning was in broad daylight on a bright
blue day in August and in full sight of the windows of half a dozen
houses. At first sight this alone is sufficient to make the popular want
of information almost incredible. But of that you may think differently
later.
Mrs. Randolph Bunting's two charming daughters were bathing at the time
in company with their guest, Miss Mabel Glendower. It is from the latter
lady chiefly, and from Mrs. Bunting, that I have pieced together the
precise circumstances of the Sea Lady's arrival. From Miss Glendower,
the elder of two Glendower girls, for all that she is a principal in
almost all that follows, I have obtained, and have sought to obtain, no
information whatever. There is the question of the lady's feelings--and
in this case I gather they are of a peculiarly complex sort. Quite
naturally they would be. At any rate, the natural ruthlessness of the
literary calling has failed me. I have not ventured to touch them....
The villa residences to the east of Sandgate Castle, you must
understand, are particularly lucky in having gardens that run right
down to the beach. There is no intervening esplanade or road or path
such as cuts off ninety-nine out of the hundred of houses that face the
sea. As you look down on them from the western end of the Leas, you see
them crowding the very margin. And as a great number of high groins
stand out from the shore along this piece of coast, the beach is
practically cut off and made private except at very low water, when
people can get around the ends of the groins. These houses are
consequently highly desirable during the bathing season, and it is the
custom of many of their occupiers to let them furnished during the
summer to persons of fashion and affluence.
The Randolph Buntings were such persons--indisputably. It is true of
course that they were not Aristocrats, or indeed what an unpaid herald
would freely call "gentle." They had no right to any sort of arms. But
then, as Mrs. Bunting would sometimes remark, they made no pretence of
that sort; they were quite free (as indeed everybody is nowadays) from
snobbery. They were simple homely Buntings--Randolph Buntings--"good
people" as the saying is--of a widely diffused Hampshire stock addicted
to brewing, and whether a suitably remunerated herald could or could not
have proved them "gentle" there can be no doubt that Mrs. Bunting was
quite justified in taking in the _Gentlewoman_, and that Mr. Bunting and
Fred were sedulous gentlemen, and that all their ways and thoughts were
delicate and nice. And they had staying with them the two Miss
Glendowers, to whom Mrs. Bunting had been something of a mother, ever
since Mrs. Glendower's death.
The two Miss Glendowers were half sisters, and gentle beyond dispute, a
county family race that had only for a generation stooped to trade, and
risen at once Antaeus-like, refreshed and enriched. The elder, Adeline,
was the rich one--the heiress, with the commercial blood in her veins.
She was really very rich, and she had dark hair and grey eyes and
serious views, and when her father died, which he did a little before
her step-mother, she had only the later portion of her later youth left
to her. She was nearly seven-and-twenty. She had sacrificed her earlier
youth to her father's infirmity of temper in a way that had always
reminded her of the girlhood of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. But after
his departure for a sphere where his temper has no doubt a wider
scope--for what is this world for if it is not for the Formation of
Character?--she had come out strongly. It became evident she had always
had a mind, and a very active and capable one, an accumulated fund of
energy and much ambition. She had bloomed into a clear and critical
socialism, and she had blossomed at public meetings; and now she was
engaged to that really very brilliant and promising but rather
extravagant and romantic person, Harry Chatteris, the nephew of an earl
and the hero of a scandal, and quite a possible Liberal candidate for
the Hythe division of Kent. At least this last matter was under
discussion and he was about, and Miss Glendower liked to feel she was
supporting him by being about too, and that was chiefly why the Buntings
had taken a house in Sandgate for the summer. Sometimes he would come
and stay a night or so with them, sometimes he would be off upon
affairs, for he was known to be a very versatile, brilliant, first-class
political young man--and Hythe very lucky to have a bid for him, all
things considered. And Fred Bunting was engaged to Miss Glendower's less
distinguished, much less wealthy, seventeen-year old and possibly
altogether more ordinary half-sister, Mabel Glendower, who had discerned
long since when they were at school together that it wasn't any good
trying to be clear when Adeline was about.
The Buntings did not bathe "mixed," a thing indeed that was still only
very doubtfully decent in 1898, but Mr. Randolph Bunting and his son
Fred came down to the beach with them frankly instead of hiding away or
going for a walk according to the older fashion. (This, notwithstanding
that Miss Mabel Glendower, Fred's _fiancee_ to boot, was of the bathing
party.) They formed a little procession down under the evergreen oaks in
the garden and down the ladder and so to the sea's margin.
Mrs. Bunting went first, looking as it were for Peeping Tom with her
glasses, and Miss Glendower, who never bathed because it made her feel
undignified, went with her--wearing one of those simple, costly "art"
morning costumes Socialists affect. Behind this protecting van came, one
by one, the three girls, in their beautiful Parisian bathing dresses and
headdresses--though these were of course completely muffled up in huge
hooded gowns of towelling--and wearing of course stockings and
shoes--they bathed in stockings and shoes. Then came Mrs. Bunting's maid
and the second housemaid and the maid the Glendower girls had brought,
carrying towels, and then at a little interval the two men carrying
ropes and things. (Mrs. Bunting always put a rope around each of her
daughters before ever they put a foot in the water and held it until
they were safely out again. But Mabel Glendower would not have a rope.)
Where the garden ends and the beach begins Miss Glendower turned aside
and sat down on the green iron seat under the evergreen oak, and having
found her place in "Sir George Tressady"--a book of which she was
naturally enough at that time inordinately fond--sat watching the others
go on down the beach. There they were a very bright and very pleasant
group of prosperous animated people upon the sunlit beach, and beyond
them in streaks of grey and purple, and altogether calm save for a
pattern of dainty little wavelets, was that ancient mother of surprises,
the Sea.
As soon as they reached the high-water mark where it is no longer
indecent to be clad merely in a bathing dress, each of the young ladies
handed her attendant her wrap, and after a little fun and laughter Mrs.
Bunting looked carefully to see if there were any jelly fish, and then
they went in. And after a minute or so, it seems Betty, the elder Miss
Bunting, stopped splashing and looked, and then they all looked, and
there, about thirty yards away was the Sea Lady's head, as if she were
swimming back to land.
Naturally they concluded that she must be a neighbour from one of the
adjacent houses. They were a little surprised not to have noticed her
going down into the water, but beyond that her apparition had no shadow
of wonder for them. They made the furtive penetrating observations usual
in such cases. They could see that she was swimming very gracefully and
that she had a lovely face and very beautiful arms, but they could not
see her wonderful golden hair because all that was hidden in a
fashionable Phrygian bathing cap, picked up--as she afterwards admitted
to my second cousin--some nights before upon a Norman _plage_. Nor could
they see her lovely shoulders because of the red costume she wore.
They were just on the point of feeling their inspection had reached the
limit of really nice manners and Mabel was pretending to go on splashing
again and saying to Betty, "She's wearing a red dress. I wish I could
see--" when something very terrible happened.
The swimmer gave a queer sort of flop in the water, threw up her arms
and--vanished!
It was the sort of thing that seems for an instant to freeze everybody,
just one of those things that everyone has read of and imagined and very
few people have seen.
For a space no one did anything. One, two, three seconds passed and then
for an instant a bare arm flashed in the air and vanished again.
Mabel tells me she was quite paralysed with horror, she did nothing all
the time, but the two Miss Buntings, recovering a little, screamed out,
"Oh, she's drowning!" and hastened to get out of the sea at once, a
proceeding accelerated by Mrs. Bunting, who with great presence of mind
pulled at the ropes with all her weight and turned about and continued
to pull long after they were many yards from the water's edge and indeed
cowering in a heap at the foot of the sea wall. Miss Glendower became
aware of a crisis and descended the steps, "Sir George Tressady" in one
hand and the other shading her eyes, crying in her clear resolute voice,
"She must be saved!" The maids of course were screaming--as became
them--but the two men appear to have acted with the greatest presence of
mind. "Fred, Nexdoors ledder!" said Mr. Randolph Bunting--for the
next-door neighbour instead of having convenient stone steps had a high
wall and a long wooden ladder, and it had often been pointed out by Mr.
Bunting if ever an accident should happen to anyone there was _that_! In
a moment it seems they had both flung off jacket and vest, collar, tie
and shoes, and were running the neighbour's ladder out into the water.
"Where did she go, Ded?" said Fred.
"Right out hea!" said Mr. Bunting, and to confirm his word there flashed
again an arm and "something dark"--something which in the light of all
that subsequently happened I am inclined to suppose was an unintentional
exposure of the Lady's tail.
Neither of the two gentlemen are expert swimmers--indeed so far as I can
gather, Mr. Bunting in the excitement of the occasion forgot almost
everything he had ever known of swimming--but they waded out valiantly
one on each side of the ladder, thrust it out before them and committed
themselves to the deep, in a manner casting no discredit upon our nation
and race.
Yet on the whole I think it is a matter for general congratulation that
they were not engaged in the rescue of a genuinely drowning person. At
the time of my enquiries whatever soreness of argument that may once
have obtained between them had passed, and it is fairly clear that while
Fred Bunting was engaged in swimming hard against the long side of the
ladder and so causing it to rotate slowly on its axis, Mr. Bunting had
already swallowed a very considerable amount of sea-water and was
kicking Fred in the chest with aimless vigour. This he did, as he
explains, "to get my legs down, you know. Something about that ladder,
you know, and they _would_ go up!"
And then quite unexpectedly the Sea Lady appeared beside them. One
lovely arm supported Mr. Bunting about the waist and the other was over
the ladder. She did not appear at all pale or frightened or out of
breath, Fred told me when I cross-examined him, though at the time he
was too violently excited to note a detail of that sort. Indeed she
smiled and | 2,022.307282 |
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Produced by Christy Phillips and John Hamm. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Arabian Nights Entertainments,
Selected and Edited
by
Andrew Lang
after the edition of
Longmans, Green and Co, 1918 (1898)
Contents
Preface
The Arabian Nights
The Story of the Merchant and the Genius
The Story of the First Old Man and of the Hind
The Story of the Second Old Man, and of the Two Black Dogs
The Story of the Fisherman
The Story of the Greek King and the Physician Douban
The Story of the Husband and the Parrot
The Story of the Vizir Who Was Punished
The Story of the Young King of the Black Isles
The Story of the Three Calenders, Sons of Kings,
and of Five Ladies of Bagdad
The Story of the First Calender, Son of a King
The Story of the Envious Man and of Him Who Was Envied
The Story of the Second Calendar, Son of a King
The Story of the Third Calendar, Son of a King
The Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor
First Voyage
Second Voyage
Third Voyage
Fourth Voyage
Fifth Voyage
Sixth Voyage
Seventh and Last Voyage
The Little Hunchback
The Story of the Barber's Fifth Brother
The Story of the Barber's Sixth Brother
The Adventures of Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura
Noureddin and the Fair Persian
Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp
The Adventures of Haroun-al-Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad
The Story of the Blind Baba-Abdalla
The Story of Sidi-Nouman
The Story of Ali Colia, Merchant of Bagdad
The Enchanted Horse
The Story of Two Sisters Who Were Jealous of Their Younger Sister
Preface
The stories in the Fairy Books have generally been such as old women in
country places tell to their grandchildren. Nobody knows how old they
are, or who told them first. The children of Ham, Shem and Japhet may
have listened to them in the Ark, on wet days. Hector's little boy may
have heard them in Troy Town, for it is certain that Homer knew them,
and that some of them were written down in Egypt about the time of
Moses.
People in different countries tell them differently, but they are
always the same stories, really, whether among little Zulus, at the
Cape, or little Eskimo, near the North Pole. The changes are only in
matters of manners and customs; such as wearing clothes or not, meeting
lions who talk in the warm countries, or talking bears in the cold
countries. There are plenty of kings and queens in the fairy tales,
just because long ago there were plenty of kings in the country. A
gentleman who would be a squire now was a kind of king in Scotland in
very old times, and the same in other places. These old stories, never
forgotten, were taken down in writing in different ages, but mostly in
this century, in all sorts of languages. These ancient stories are the
contents of the Fairy books.
Now "The Arabian Nights," some of which, but not nearly all, are given
in this volume, are only fairy tales of the East. The people of Asia,
Arabia, and Persia told them in their own way, not for children, but
for grown-up people. There were no novels then, nor any printed books,
of course; but there were people whose profession it was to amuse men
and women by telling tales. They dressed the fairy stories up, and
made the characters good Mahommedans, living in Bagdad or India. The
events were often supposed to happen in the reign of the great Caliph,
or ruler of the Faithful, Haroun al Raschid, who lived in Bagdad in
786-808 A.D. The vizir who accompanies the Caliph was also a real
person of the great family of the Barmecides. He was put to death by
the Caliph in a very cruel way, nobody ever knew why. The stories must
have been told in their present shape a good long while after the
Caliph died, when nobody knew very exactly what had really happened.
At last some storyteller thought of writing down the tales, and fixing
them into a kind of framework, as if they had all been narrated to a
cruel Sultan by his wife. Probably the tales were written down about
the time when Edward I. was fighting Robert Bruce. But changes were
made in them at different times, and a great deal that is very dull and
stupid was put in, and plenty of verses. Neither the verses nor the
dull pieces are given in this book.
People in France and England knew almost nothing about "The Arabian
Nights" till the reigns of Queen Anne and George I., when they were
translated into French by Monsieur Galland. Grown-up people were then
very fond of fairy tales, and they thought these Arab stories the best
that they had ever read. They were delighted with Ghouls (who lived
among the tombs) and Geni, who seemed to be a kind of ogres, and with
Princesses who work magic spells, and with Peris, who are Arab fairies.
Sindbad had adventures which perhaps came out of the Odyssey of Homer;
in fact, all the East had contributed its wonders, and sent them to
Europe in one parcel. Young men once made a noise at Monsieur
Galland's windows in the dead of night, and asked him to tell them one
of his marvellous tales. Nobody talked of anything but dervishes and
vizirs, rocs and peris. The stories were translated from French into
all languages, and only Bishop Atterbury complained that the tales were
not likely to be true, and had no moral. The bishop was presently
banished for being on the side of Prince Charlie's father, and had
leisure to repent of being so solemn.
In this book "The Arabian Nights" are translated from the French
version of Monsieur Galland, who dropped out the poetry and a great
deal of what the Arabian authors thought funny, though it seems
wearisome to us. In this book the stories are shortened here and
there, and omissions are made of pieces only suitable for Arabs and old
gentlemen. The translations are by the writers of the tales in the
Fairy Books, and the pictures are by Mr. Ford.
I can remember reading "The Arabian Nights" when I was six years old,
in dirty yellow old volumes of small type with no pictures, and I hope
children who read them with Mr. Ford's pictures will be as happy as I
was then in the company of Aladdin and Sindbad the Sailor.
The Arabian Nights
In the chronicles of the ancient dynasty of the Sassanidae, who reigned
for about four hundred years, from Persia to the borders of China,
beyond the great river Ganges itself, we read the praises of one of the
kings of this race, who was said to be the best monarch of his time.
His subjects loved him, and his neighbors feared him, and when he died
he left his kingdom in a more prosperous and powerful condition than
any king had done before him.
The two sons who survived him loved each other tenderly, and it was a
real grief to the elder, Schahriar, that the laws of the empire forbade
him to share his dominions with his brother Schahzeman. Indeed, after
ten years, during which this state of things had not ceased to trouble
him, Schahriar cut off the country of Great Tartary from the Persian
Empire and made his brother king.
Now the Sultan Schahriar had a wife whom he loved more than all the
world, and his greatest happiness was to surround her with splendour,
and to give her the finest dresses and the most beautiful jewels. It
was therefore with the deepest shame and sorrow that he accidentally
discovered, after several years, that she had deceived him completely,
and her whole conduct turned out to have been so bad, that he felt
himself obliged to carry out the law of the land, and order the
grand-vizir to put her to death. The blow was so heavy that his mind
almost gave way, and he declared that he was quite sure that at bottom
all women were as wicked as the sultana, if you could only find them
out, and that the fewer the world contained the better. So every
evening he married a fresh wife and had her strangled the following
morning before the grand-vizir, whose duty it was to provide these
unhappy brides for | 2,022.354928 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
LEONORE STUBBS
BY L. B. WALFORD
AUTHOR OF "MR. SMITH," "THE BABY'S GRANDMOTHER," ETC.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 & 93 FIFTH AVENUE,
NEW YORK LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908
CONTENTS
I. "SHE HAS NO SETTLEMENT, DAMN IT"
II. ON THE STATION PLATFORM
III. SPECULATIONS
IV. A DULL BREAKFAST-TABLE
V. OLD PLAYMATES MEET
VI. A REVELATION
VII. "I HAVE LOST SOMETHING THAT I NEVER HAD"
VIII. A CAT AND MOUSE GAME
IX. "I'D LIKE TO HAVE THINGS ON A SOUNDER BASIS"
X. THE THIRD CASE
XI. DR. CRAIG'S WISDOM
XII. THE PHOTOGRAPH AND THE ORIGINAL
XIII. "I AM TO GIVE YOU A WIDE BERTH, ALWAYS"
XIV. PAUL GOES--AND RETURNS
XV. "YOU'VE BROKEN MY HEART, I THINK"
XVI. TEMPTATION
XVII. A KNIGHT TO THE RESCUE
XVIII. "A TURN OF THE WHEEL"
XIX. EPILOGUE
CHAPTER I.
"SHE HAS NO SETTLEMENT, DAMN IT."
"She can't come."
"But, father----"
"She shan't come, then--if you like that better."
"But, father----"
"Aye, of course, it's 'But father'--I might have known it would be that.
However, you may 'But father' me to the end of my time, you don't move
me. I tell you, Sukey, you're a fool. You know no more than an unhatched
chicken--and if you think I'm going to give in to their imposition--for
it's nothing else--you are mistaken."
"I was only going to say----"
"Say what you will, say what you will; my mind's made up; and the sooner
you understand that, and Leonore understands that, the better. You can
write and tell her so."
"What am I to tell her?"
"What I say. That she has made her own bed and must lie upon it."
"But you gave your consent to her marriage, and never till now----"
"I tell you, girl, you're a fool. Consent? Of course I gave my consent.
I was cheated--swindled. I married my daughter to a rich man, and he
dies and leaves her a pauper! Never knew such a trick in my life. And
you to stand up for it!"
General Boldero and his eldest daughter were alone, as may have been
gathered, and the latter held in her hand, a black-edged letter at which
she glanced from time to time, it being obviously the apple of discord
between them.
It had come by the afternoon post; and the general, having met the
postman in the avenue, and himself relieved him of the old-fashioned
leathern postbag with which he was hastening on, and having further,
according to established precedent, unlocked the same and distributed
the contents, there had been no chance of putting off the present evil
hour.
Instead there had been an instant demand: "What says Leonore? What's the
figure, eh? She must know by this time. Eh, what? A hundred and fifty?
Two hundred? What? Two hundred thousand would be nothing out of the way
in these days. Poor Goff wasn't a millionaire, but money sticks to money
and he had no expensive tastes. He must have been quietly rolling
up,--all the better for his widow, poor child. Little Leonore will
scarcely know what to do with a princely income, and we must see
to it that she doesn't get into the hands of sharpers and
fortune-hunters----" and so on, and so on.
Then the bolt fell. The "princely income" vanished into the air. The
problematic two hundred thousand was neither here nor there, nor
anywhere. As for "Poor Goff," General Boldero was never heard to speak
of his defunct son-in-law in those terms again.
In his rage and disappointment at finding himself, as he chose to
consider it, outwitted by a man upon whom he had always secretly looked
down, the true feelings wherewith he had regarded an alliance welcomed
by his cupidity, but resented by his pride, escaped without let or
hindrance.
"What did we want with a person called Stubbs? What the deuce could we
want with him or any of his kind but their money?" demanded he, pacing
the room, black with wrath. "I never should have let the fellow set foot
within these doors if I had dreamed of this happening. I took him for
an honest man. What? What d'ye say? Humph! Don't believe a word of it;
he _must_ have known; and as for his expecting to pull things round,
that's all very fine. It's a swindle, the whole thing." Then suddenly
the speaker stopped short and his large lips shot out as he faced his
daughter: "Does Leonore say she hasn't a penny?"
"She says she will have to give up everything to the creditors. I
suppose," said Susan, hesitating, "everything may not mean--I thought
marriage settlements could not be touched by creditors?"
"No more they can, that's the deuce of it."
"Then----?" She looked inquiringly, and strange to say, the fierce
countenance before her beneath the look.
If he could have evaded it, General Boldero would have let the question
remain unanswered, although it was only Sue, Sue who knew her parent as
no one else knew him--before whom he made no pretences, assumed no
disguises--who had now to learn an ugly truth;--as it was, he shot it at
her with as good an air as he could assume.
"She has no settlement, damn it."
"No settlement?" In her amazement the open letter fell from the
listener's hands. She recollected, she could never forget, the glee
with which her father had rubbed his hands over the "clinking
settlement" he had anticipated from Leonore's wealthy suitor, nor the
manner in which it had insinuated itself into every announcement of the
match. No settlement? She simply stared in silence.
"If you will have it, it was my doing," owned General Boldero
reluctantly; "and I could bite my tongue off now to think of it! But
what with four of you on my hands, and the rents going down and
everything else going up, I had nothing to settle--that is, I had
nothing I could _conveniently_ settle, and it might have been awkward,
uncommonly awkward. I could hardly have got out of it if Godfrey had
expected a _quid pro quo_. And he might--he very well might. A man of
his class can't be expected to understand how a man of ours has to live
decently and keep up appearances while yet he hasn't a brass farthing to
spare. I'll say that for Godfrey Stubbs, he seemed sensible on the point
when I tried to explain; and--and somehow I was taken in and thought:
'You may be a bounder, but you are a very worthy fellow'."
He paused, and continued. "Then he suggested--it was his own idea, I
give you my word for it--that we should have no greedy lawyers lining
their pockets out of either of our purses. What he said was--I've as
clear a recollection of it as though it were yesterday--'Oh, bother the
settlement, I'll make a will leaving everything I possess to
Leonore,'--and I, like a numskull, jumped at the notion. It never
occurred to me that the will of a business man may be so much waste
paper. His creditors can snap their fingers at any will. That's what
Leonore means. She's found it out, and flies post haste to her desk to
write that she must come back here."
"So she must."
"So she must _not_. I won't have it. The whole neighbourhood would ring
with it."
"By your own showing," said Sue quietly, "in order to free yourself from
the necessity of making any provision on your part when the marriage
took place, you precluded----" but she got no further.
"Provision on my part?" burst forth her father, who was now himself
again, and ready to browbeat anybody; "what need had the girl of any
provision on my part? She was marrying a fellow with tenfold my income.
The little I could have contrived to spare would have been a mere drop
in the bucket to him, and I should have been ashamed to mention it. I
can tell you I felt monstrous uncomfortable having to approach the
subject at all; and never was more thankful than when the young man,
like the decent fellow I took him then to be, pitchforked the whole
business overboard."
"All the same, it is quite plain," persevered she, "that it was with
your consent and approbation that Leonore had no money settled on her,
so that it could not be taken from her now;--and that being the case,
you have no choice but to provide for her in the future."
"You mean to say that it's due to me your sister's left a pauper on our
hands?"
"That's exactly what I do mean. And you must either give her enough to
enable her to live properly elsewhere, or receive her back among us, as
she herself suggests. Besides which, you must make her the same
allowance you make the rest of us," and the speaker rose, closing the
controversy.
Only she could have carried it on to such a close, indeed only General
Boldero's eldest daughter--and only daughter by his first
marriage--would have engaged in it at all. The younger girls, of whom
there were still two unmarried and living at home, never, in common
parlance, stood up to their father--though, if he had not been as blind
as such an autocrat is wont to be, he would have easily detected that
they had their own ways of rendering his tyrannical rule tolerable, and
that while he fancied himself the sole dictator of his house, he had in
fact neither part nor lot in its real existence.
What is more easily satisfied than the vanity of stupid importance
always upon its perch? The general's habits and hours were known, also
the few points upon which he was really adamant. He was proud, and he
was mean. He liked to live pompously, and fare luxuriously,--he made it
his business to cut off every expense that did not affect his own
comfort, or dignity. But that done, other matters could go on as they
chose for him.
So that while it was not to be thought of that Boldero Abbey should
exist without a full staff of retainers without and within, it was all
that his eldest daughter--the family manager--could do to get her own
and her sisters' allowances paid with any regularity--and whereas the
stables were well supplied with horses, and a new carriage was no
uncommon purchase, it was as much as any one's place was worth to hire a
fly from the station on an unexpectedly wet day.
When, exactly three years before the date on which our story opens,
there had appeared on the scene a suitor for the hand of the | 2,022.400777 |
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Produced by Don Lainson
PEACE MANOEUVRES
By Richard Harding Davis
The scout stood where three roads cut three green tunnels in the pine
woods, and met at his feet. Above his head an aged sign-post pointed
impartially to East Carver, South Carver, and Carver Centre, and left
the choice to him.
The scout scowled and bit nervously at his gauntlet. The choice was
difficult, and there was no one with whom he could take counsel. The
three sun-shot roads lay empty, and the other scouts, who, with him,
had left the main column at sunrise, he had ordered back. They were to
report that on the right flank, so far, at least, as Middleboro, there
was no sign of the enemy. What lay beyond, it now was his duty to
discover. The three empty roads spread before him like a picture
puzzle, smiling at his predicament. Whichever one he followed left two
unguarded. Should he creep upon for choice Carver Centre, the enemy,
masked by a mile of fir trees, might advance from Carver or South
Carver, and obviously he could not follow three roads at the same time.
He considered the better strategy would be to wait where he was,
where the three roads met, and allow the enemy himself to disclose his
position. To the scout this course was most distasteful. He assured
himself that this was so because, while it were the safer course, it
wasted time and lacked initiative. But in his heart he knew that was not
the reason, and to his heart his head answered that when one's country
is at war, when fields and fire-sides are trampled by the iron heels
of the invader, a scout should act not according to the dictates of
his heart, but in the service of his native land. In the case of this
particular patriot, the man and scout were at odds. As one of the
Bicycle Squad of the Boston Corps of Cadets, the scout knew what, at
this momentous crisis in her history, the commonwealth of Massachusetts
demanded of him. It was that he sit tight and wait for the hated
foreigners from New York City, New Jersey, and Connecticut to show
themselves. But the man knew, and had known for several years, that
on the road to Carver was the summer home of one Beatrice Farrar. As
Private Lathrop it was no part of his duty to know that. As a man and
a lover, and a rejected lover at that, he could not think of anything
else. Struggling between love and duty the scout basely decided to leave
the momentous question to chance. In the front tire of his bicycle was
a puncture, temporarily effaced by a plug. Laying the bicycle on the
ground, Lathrop spun the front wheel swiftly.
"If," he decided, "the wheel stops with the puncture pointing at Carver
Centre, I'll advance upon Carver Centre. Should it point to either of
the two other villages, I'll stop here.
"It's a two to one shot against me, any way," he growled.
Kneeling in the road he spun the wheel, and as intently as at Monte
Carlo and Palm Beach he had waited for other wheels to determine his
fortune, he watched it come to rest. It stopped with the plug pointing
back to Middleboro.
The scout told himself he was entitled to another trial. Again he spun
the wheel. Again the spokes flashed in the sun. Again the puncture
rested on the road to Middleboro.
"If it does that once more," thought the scout, "it's a warning that
there is trouble ahead for me at Carver, and all the little Carvers."
For the third time the wheel flashed, but as he waited for the impetus
to die, the sound of galloping hoofs broke sharply on the silence. The
scout threw himself and his bicycle over the nearest stone wall, and,
unlimbering his rifle, pointed it down the road.
He saw approaching a small boy, in a white apron, seated in a white
wagon, on which was painted, "Pies and Pastry. East Wareham." The boy
dragged his horse to an abrupt halt.
"Don't point that at me!" shouted the boy.
"Where do you come from?" demanded the scout.
"Wareham," said the baker.
"Are you carrying any one concealed in that wagon?"
As though to make sure the baker's boy glanced apprehensively into
the depths of his cart, and then answered that in the wagon he carried
nothing but fresh-baked bread. To the trained nostrils of the scout this
already was evident. Before sunrise he had breakfasted on hard tack
and muddy coffee, and the odor of crullers and mince pie, still warm,
assailed him cruelly. He assumed a fierce and terrible aspect.
"Where are you going?" he challenged.
"To Carver Centre," said the boy.
To chance Lathrop had left the decision. He believed the fates had
answered.
Dragging his bicycle over the stone wall, he fell into the road.
"Go on," he commanded. "I'll use your cart for a screen. I'll creep
behind the enemy before he sees me."
The baker's boy frowned unhappily.
"But supposing," he argued, "they see you first, will they shoot?"
The scout waved his hand carelessly.
"Of course," he cried.
"Then," said the baker, "my horse will run away!"
"What of it?" demanded the scout. "Are Middleboro, South Middleboro,
Rock, Brockton, and Boston to fall? Are they to be captured because
you're afraid of your own horse? They won't shoot REAL bullets! This is
not a real war. Don't you know that?"
The baker's boy flushed with indignation.
"Sure, I know that," he protested; "but my horse--HE don't know that!"
Lathrop slung his rifle over his shoulder and his leg over his bicycle.
"If the Reds catch you," he warned, in parting, "they'll take everything
you've got."
"The Blues have took most of it already," wailed the boy. "And just as
they were paying me the battle begun, and this horse run away, and I
couldn't get him to come back for my money."
"War," exclaimed Lathrop morosely, "is always cruel to the innocent." He
sped toward Carver Centre. In his motor car, he had travelled the road
many times, and as always his goal had been the home of Miss Beatrice
Farrar, he had covered it at a speed unrecognized by law. But now he
advanced with stealth and caution. In every clump of bushes he saw an
ambush. Behind each rock he beheld the enemy.
In a clearing was a group of Portuguese cranberry pickers, dressed as
though for a holiday. When they saw the man in uniform, one of the women
hailed him anxiously.
"Is the parade coming?" she called.
"Have you seen any of the Reds?" Lathrop returned.
"No," complained the woman. "And we been waiting all morning. When will
the parade come?"
"It's not a parade," said Lathrop, severely. "It's a war!"
The summer home of Miss Farrar stood close to the road. It had been so
placed by the farmer who built it, in order that the women folk might
sit at the window and watch the passing of the stage-coach and the
peddler. Great elms hung over it, and a white fence separated the road
from the narrow lawn. At a distance of a hundred yards a turn brought
the house into view, and at this turn, as had been his manoeuvre at
every other possible ambush, Lathrop dismounted and advanced on foot. Up
to this moment the road had been empty, but now, in front of the Farrar
cottage, it was blocked by a touring-car and a station wagon. In the
occupants of the car he recognized all the members of the Farrar
family, except Miss Farrar. In the station wagon were all of the Farrar
servants. Miss Farrar herself was leaning upon the gate and waving them
a farewell. The touring-car moved off down the road; the station wagon
followed; Miss Farrar was alone. Lathrop scorched toward her, and when
he was opposite the gate, dug his toes in the dust and halted. When he
lifted his broad-brimmed campaign hat, Miss Farrar exclaimed both with
surprise and displeasure. Drawing back from the gate she held herself
erect. Her attitude was that of one prepared for instant retreat. When
she spoke it was in tones of extreme disapproval.
"You promised," said the girl, "you would not come to see me."
Lathrop, straddling his bicycle, peered anxiously down the road.
"This is not a social call," he said. "I'm on duty. Have you seen the
Reds?"
His tone was brisk and alert, his manner preoccupied. The ungraciousness
of his reception did not seem in the least to disconcert him.
But Miss Farrar was not deceived. She knew him, not only as a persistent
and irrepressible lover, but as one full of guile, adroit in tricks,
fertile in expedients. He was one who could not take "No" for an
answer--at least not from her. When she repulsed him she seemed to grow
in his eyes only the more attractive.
"It is not the lover who comes to woo," he was constantly explaining,
"but the lover's WAY of wooing."
Miss Farrar had assured him she did not like his way. She objected
to being regarded and treated as a castle that could be taken only by
assault. Whether she wished time to consider, or whether he and his
proposal were really obnoxious to her, he could not find out. His policy
of campaign was that she, also, should not have time to find out. Again
and again she had agreed to see him only on the condition that he would
not make love to her. He had promised again and again, and had failed
to keep that promise. Only a week before he had been banished from her
presence, to remain an exile until she gave him permission to see her
at her home in New York. It was not her purpose to return there for two
weeks, and yet here he was, a beggar at her gate. It might be that he
was there, as he said, "on duty," but her knowledge of him and of the
doctrine of chances caused her to doubt it.
"Mr. Lathrop!" she began, severely.
As though to see to whom she had spoken Lathrop glanced anxiously over
his shoulder. Apparently pained and surprised to find that it was to him
she had addressed herself, he regarded her with deep reproach. His eyes
were very beautiful. It was a fact which had often caused Miss Farrar
extreme annoyance.
He shook his head sadly.
"'Mr. Lathrop?'" he protested. "You know that to you I am always
'Charles--Charles the Bold,' because I am bold to love you; but never
'Mr. Lathrop,' unless," he went on briskly, "you are referring to a
future state, when, as Mrs. Lathrop, you will make me--"
Miss Farrar had turned her back on him, and was walking rapidly up the
path.
"Beatrice," he called. "I am coming after you!"
Miss Farrar instantly returned and placed both hands firmly upon the
gate.
"I cannot understand you!" she said. "Don't you see that when you act
as you do now, I can't even respect you? How do you think I could ever
care, when you offend me so? You jest at what you pretend is the most
serious thing in your life. You play with it--laugh at it!"
The young man interrupted her sharply.
"It's like this," he said. "When I am with you I am so happy I can't be
serious. When I am NOT with you, it is SO serious that I am utterly and
completely wretched. You say my love offends you, bores you! I am sorry,
but what, in heaven's name, do you think your NOT loving me is doing to
ME? I am a wreck! I am a skeleton! Look at me!"
He let his bicycle fall, and stood with his hands open at his sides, as
though inviting her to gaze upon the ruin she had caused.
Four days of sun and rain, astride of a bicycle, without food or sleep,
had drawn his face into fine, hard lines, had bronzed it with a healthy
tan. His uniform, made by the same tailor that fitted him with polo
breeches, clung to him like a jersey. The spectacle he presented was
that of an extremely picturesque, handsome, manly youth, and of that
fact no one was better aware than himself.
"Look at me," he begged, sadly.
Miss Farrar was entirely unimpressed.
"I am!" she returned, coldly. "I never saw you looking so well--and you
know it." She gave a gasp of comprehension. "You came here because you
knew your uniform was becoming!"
Lathrop regarded himself complacently.
"Yes, isn't it?" he assented. "I brought on this war in order to wear
it. If you don't mind," he added, "I think I'll accept your invitation
and come inside. I've had nothing to eat in four days."
Miss Farrar's eyes flashed indignantly.
"You're NOT coming inside," she declared; "but if you'll only promise to
go away at once, I'll bring you everything in the house."
"In that house," exclaimed Lathrop, dramatically, "there's only one
thing that I desire, and I want that so badly that 'life holds no charm
without you.'"
Miss Farrar regarded him steadily.
"Do you intend to drive me away from my own door, or will you go?"
Lathrop picked his wheel out of the dust.
"Good-by," he said. "I'll come back when you have made up your mind."
In vexation Miss Farrar stamped her foot upon the path.
"I HAVE made | 2,022.46474 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
SICILY IN SHADOW AND IN SUN
Books on Italy and Spain
_By_ MAUD HOWE
ROMA BEATA. Letters from the Eternal City. With illustrations from
drawings by JOHN ELLIOTT and from photographs. 8vo. In box. $2.50
_net_. _Popular Illustrated Edition._ Crown 8vo. In box. $1.50
_net_.
TWO IN ITALY. _Popular Illustrated Edition._ With six full-page
drawings by JOHN ELLIOTT. Crown 8vo. In box. $1.50 _net_.
SUN AND SHADOW IN SPAIN. With four plates in color and other
illustrations. 8vo. In box. $3.00 _net_.
SICILY IN SHADOW AND IN SUN. With twelve pictures from original
drawings and numerous illustrations from photographs taken by JOHN
ELLIOTT. 8vo. In box. $3.00 _net_.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
[Illustration: THE TELL TALE TOWER. _Frontispiece._
The clock stopped at the hour of the earthquake.]
SICILY IN SHADOW
AND IN SUN
THE EARTHQUAKE AND THE
AMERICAN RELIEF WORK
BY
MAUD HOWE
AUTHOR OF “ROMA BEATA,” “SUN AND SHADOW
IN SPAIN,” “TWO IN ITALY,” ETC.
_With numerous illustrations_
_Including pictures from photographs taken
in Sicily and original drawings by_
JOHN ELLIOTT
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1910
_Copyright, 1910_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published, November, 1910.
_LOUIS E. CROSSCUP_
_Printer_
_Boston, Mass., U. S. A._
TO
MRS. LLOYD C. GRISCOM
FOREWORD
Sicily, the “Four Corners” of that little ancient world that was bounded
on the west by the Pillars of Hercules, is to southern Europe what
Britain is to northern Europe, Chief of Isles, universal Cross-roads.
Sicily lies nearer both to Africa and to Europe than any other
Mediterranean island, and is the true connecting link between East and
West. Battle-ground of contending races and creeds, it has been soaked
over and over again in the blood of the strong men who fought each other
for its possession. There has never been a Sicilian nation. Perhaps that
is the reason the story of the island is so hard to follow, it’s all
snarled up with the history of first one, then another nation. The most
obvious way of learning something about Sicily is to read what
historians have to say about it; a pleasanter way is to listen to what
the poets from Homer to Goethe have sung of it, paying special heed to
Theocritus--he knew Sicily better than anybody else before his time or
since! Then there’s the geologist’s story--you can’t spare that; it’s
the key to all the rest. The best way of all is to go to Sicily, and
there fit together what little bits of knowledge you have or can lay
your hands upon,--scraps of history, poetry, geology. You will be
surprised how well the different parts of the picture-puzzle, now
knocking about loose in your mind, will fit together, and what a good
picture, once put together, they will give you of Sicily.
When a child in the nursery, you learned the story of the earliest time!
How Kronos threw down his scythe, and it sank into the earth and made
the harbor of Messina. (The geologists hint that the wonderful round,
land-locked harbor is the crater of a sunken volcano, but you and I
cling to the legend of Kronos.) In that golden age of childhood, you
learned the story of the burning mountain, Etna, and went wandering
through the purple fields of Sicily with Demeter, seeking her lost
daughter, Persephone. You raced with Ulysses and his men from the angry
Cyclops down to that lovely shore, put out to sea with them, and felt
the boat whirled from its course and twisted like a leaf in the
whirlpool current of Charybdis. When you left the nursery for the
schoolroom, you learned the names of the succeeding nations that have
ruled Sicily, every one of whom has left some enduring trace of their
presence. As you cross from the mainland of Italy to this Sicily, you
can, if you will use your memory and imagination, see in fancy the hosts
who have crossed before you, eager, as you are, to make this jewel of
the south their own.
First of all, look for the Sicans; some say they are of the same
pre-Aryan race as the Basques. After the Sicans come the Sikels. They
are Latins, people we feel quite at home with; their coming marks the
time when the age of fable ends and history begins. Next come the
Phoenicians, the great traders of the world, bringing the rich gift of
commerce. They set up their trading stations near the coasts, as they
did in Spain, and bartered with the natives--a peaceful people--as they
bartered with the Iberians of the Peninsula. The real fighting began
when the Greeks came, bringing their great gift of Art. Sicily now
became part of Magna Graecia, and rose to its apogee of power and glory.
Syracuse was the chief of the Greek cities of Sicily. The Greek rulers
were called Tyrants. They were great rulers indeed; the greatest of
them, Dionysius, ruled 406 B.C. | 2,022.559084 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.5802120 | 109 | 55 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Heroes of the Nations
A Series of Biographical Studies
presenting the lives and work
of certain representative
historical characters, about
whom have gathered the
traditions of the nations to
which they belong, and who
have, in the majority of
instances, been accepted | 2,022.600252 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.6398160 | 1,506 | 8 |
Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WORTH WHILE STORIES
FOR EVERY DAY
ARRANGED, COMPILED, AND EDITED
BY
LAWTON B. EVANS, A.M.
WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE TEACHERS OF THE
PRIMARY GRADES OF THE PUBLIC
SCHOOLS OF AUGUSTA, GA.
1923
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY,
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
_Bradley Quality Books_
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A WORD TO STORY TELLERS
In order to make story-telling most effective, the story-teller
should bear in mind certain conditions that are imposed by those
who listen.
1. _Know the story._ Know it well enough to tell it in your own
language, and in the language of the children who hear it. Know it
well enough to amplify, vary, improve, make all kinds of excursions
and side incidents, and yet return easily to the main body of the
story.
2. _Tell the story._ Do not read it. The speaker is free and
unbound by book or words; the reader is held by the formal page
before him. The stories in this book are condensed, too condensed
for reading and need the addition of words to make them of the
right consistency. Those words should be the narrator’s own; the
story then becomes the narrator’s story and not the author’s, and
that is as it should be.
3. _Act the story._ Do not be afraid of the dramatic side of
narration. Imitate all the sounds that belong to the story, such
as the winds blowing, the thunder rolling, a bear growling, a dog
barking, etc. Change your voice to meet the requirements of youth
and age. Throw yourself heart and soul into the spirit of the
narrative and do not be afraid to take all the parts, and to act
each one in turn.
4. _Impress the story._ Remember that the story is the main thing
and that the moral point is secondary. Do not make the story a
sermon, and do not dwell severely upon its ethical features. If the
story is amusing let it be without moral value. If it is historical
let it remain so. Generally speaking you can bring out the moral
features in a few words at the close. Children do not like too much
sermonizing.
5. _Use the story._ If the story lends itself to dramatization, by
all means let the children act the parts; if it is a good language
exercise, let them tell it or write it in their own words; if it
can be illustrated let them draw pictures on the board or at their
seats; if it can be used for handwork in any way, let them make
what they can.
6. _Enjoy the story._ Make it worth while for pupils to be punctual
in order to hear the story; recur often to past stories when
occasion recalls them to mind; let the imagination play around all
the incidents so that the mind will be filled with those images
that have been the joy of childhood since the world began.
Augusta. Ga. LAWTON B. EVANS.
CONTENTS
PAGE
ABRAHAM AND ISAAC 185
ABRAHAM LINCOLN (FEB. 12TH) 281
ABSALOM 322
ADVENTURES OF PERSEUS, THE, PART ONE 43
ADVENTURES OF PERSEUS, THE, PART TWO 46
ADVENTURES OF THESEUS, THE, PART ONE 92
ADVENTURES OF THESEUS, THE, PART TWO 94
ADVENTURES OF THOR, THE 103
ALL FOOLS’ DAY (APRIL 1ST) 346
AN ARMY OF TWO 130
ANDROCLUS AND THE LION 17
ANTONIO CANOVA 196
APPLE TREE’S CHILDREN, THE 39
BAD-TEMPERED SQUIRREL, THE 8
BAKER BOYS AND THE BEES, THE 409
BARMECIDE FEAST, THE 353
BEAUTIFUL HAND, THE 1
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, PART ONE 260
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, PART TWO 262
BELL OF ATRI, THE 344
BENNY IN BEASTLAND 269
BEOWULF CONQUERS THE MARSH MONSTER 187
BEOWULF SLAYS THE FIRE DRAGON 192
BEOWULF SLAYS THE WATER WITCH 189
BINDING OF FENRIR, THE 110
BIRTH OF JESUS, THE 156
BLIND MAN AND THE ELEPHANT, THE 5
BLUE RIBBON, THE 41
BOBBIE, THE POWDER BOY 89
BOYHOOD OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, THE (FEB. 22ND) 315
BOY WHO CRIED WOLF, THE 279
BOY WHO WANTED TO PLAY ALWAYS, THE 34
BRUCE AND THE SPIDER 21
CERES AND HER DAUGHTER 218
CINDERELLA 383
COLUMBUS (DISCOVERY DAY, OCT. 12TH) 48
COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE, THE 405
DAMON AND PYTHIAS 133
DAVID AND GOLIATH 50
DEATH OF BEOWULF, THE 194
DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT, PART ONE 369
DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT, PART TWO 371
DIRTY TOM 19
DISCONTENTED MEMBERS, THE 3
DISCONTENTED TAILOR, THE 180
DISOBEDIENT DICKY BIRD, A 237
DOG’S GRATITUDE, A 412
DOROTHY’S DREAM OF HAPPINESS 255
DRAGON SLAYER, THE 161
DUMMLING’S GOOSE 381
DUMMLING’S REQUEST 378
EGYPTIANS ARE DROWNED IN THE RED SEA, THE 140
ELEPHANT’S TRUNK, THE 82
FAIRY FISH QUEEN, THE 416
FAITHFUL BRUNO | 2,022.659856 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.7793660 | 2,361 | 8 | WORCESTER FIRE SOCIETY***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, ellinora, 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: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/sketchesoffiftee00davi
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
SKETCHES OF FIFTEEN MEMBERS OF WORCESTER FIRE SOCIETY,
by
ISAAC DAVIS.
Worcester:
Printed by Charles Hamilton,
Palladium Office.
1874.
ADDRESS BY HON. ISAAC DAVIS,
AT THE QUARTERLY MEETING, APRIL, 1874.
The history of the Worcester Fire Society is intimately connected with
the history of Worcester, of Massachusetts, and the United States. Ten
of its members have been Mayors of Worcester, three have been Governors
of the State, three have been Speakers of the House of Representatives,
and many have been Councillors, Senators and Representatives. Five have
been judges of the Supreme Judicial Court, five have been judges of the
Superior Court or Court of Common Pleas, ten have been Members of
Congress, and many have held office under the United States Government,
and one has been a Foreign Minister.
This Fire Society, organized in 1793, was precisely like one formed by
Benjamin Franklin, in the city of Philadelphia, in 1735:—The number of
members limited to thirty, the same equipments, the same rules and
regulations. No person could be admitted under thirty years of age, and
none over sixty. The Fire Society in Philadelphia was in existence when
this was formed.
Governor Lincoln gave his reminiscences of the twenty-two original
members in 1862. Eight years after, in 1870, a member of this society
gave a written account of the next _fifteen_ members. Both of these
historic papers were published by this society. Subsequently Judge
Thomas, in his fascinating language, gave a graphic biography of the
_next_ fifteen members, commencing with Governor Lincoln, and ending
with Edward D. Bangs. The object of the present historic sketch is to
give some account of the members from Edward D. Bangs to the oldest
living member, all of whom have long since passed to the “spirit land.”
Among them were distinguished scholars, statesmen, lawyers and
physicians, and five of them were graduates of Dartmouth College.
SAMUEL JENNISON
Was no ordinary man. He did not enjoy the advantages of a college
education, still he became a learned man and a very able writer. Some of
the choicest articles in periodical literature were from his pen. He was
born in the town of Brookfield, in 1788, and at the age of twelve years
came to Worcester to reside with his uncle, Hon. Oliver Fiske. In April,
1810, he was elected accountant in the Worcester Bank. In August, 1812,
he was elected cashier of said Bank, and continued to hold the office
and discharge the duties with promptness, fidelity and accuracy, for
more than thirty-four years. During much of the time while he was
cashier he was treasurer of the American Antiquarian Society, treasurer
of the State Lunatic Hospital, treasurer of the Worcester County
Institution for Savings, treasurer of the town of Worcester, and clerk
of the town, discharging all the duties of these offices, much of the
time without any assistant. No _irregularities_ were ever found in his
accounts. He was one of the Council of the American Antiquarian Society,
and was a member of many historical and literary societies. He was
admitted a member of this Society in October, 1816, and remained an
active member more than forty years, till his death, March 11th, 1860.
Mr. Jennison was a modest, unassuming man, a gentleman in his
deportment, a man of rare taste and discrimination, and of wonderful
executive talent. He would accomplish more business in a given time than
any man I ever saw; yet it was done quietly. He was loved and respected
by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. He wrote much in prose
and verse; his style was clear and lucid as a mirror. He gathered much
valuable biographical material, part of which he passed over to the Rev.
Dr. Allen just before the publication of the second edition of his
Biographical Dictionary. The large remainder is now in possession of the
American Antiquarian Society.
REJOICE NEWTON
Was born in Greenfield, October 18th, 1782. He was graduated at
Dartmouth College, in 1807, and was a classmate of George Ticknor and
Sylvanus Thayer. He commenced the study of the law with Judge Newcomb,
of Greenfield, and finished his studies in the office of Hon. Elijah H.
Mills, of Northampton, in 1810.
Mr. Newton then removed to Worcester, and formed a co-partnership in law
with Hon. Francis Blake, which continued till April, 1814. He was
selected by the citizens of Worcester, in 1814, to deliver an oration on
the fourth of July. This oration was published, and accelerated his
rising fame. Soon after, he was appointed County Attorney, which office
he held for ten years, when he resigned the position. In 1825 he formed
a co-partnership in law with William Lincoln. His talents and capacity
were appreciated by his fellow citizens, and he was elected to the House
of Representatives in Massachusetts, in the years of 1829, 1830, and
1831, and a State Senator in 1834. He had great equanimity of character,
and never lost or gained a case but the result was precisely what he
expected. Hence he was perfectly satisfied with the result of every
case. He was honest, confiding and capable. He became a member of this
society in October, 1816, and remained an active member for forty-seven
years, when his health became poor and he withdrew. He was long a member
and officer in the American Antiquarian Society. He died in Worcester,
February 4th, 1868. Major Newton married a sister of the late Governor
Lincoln, and was a resident in Worcester for more than half a century.
He was honored with important and responsible positions in the military,
legislative, and executive departments of the government of the State;
all the duties pertaining to these offices he discharged with ability
and fidelity, and to the entire satisfaction of his constituents.
SAMUEL M. BURNSIDE.
His ancestors were Scots. He was a son of Thomas Burnside, and was born
in Northumberland, New Hampshire, July 18th, 1783. His education was at
the common schools in New Hampshire, except nine months at an academy,
preparatory to his entering Dartmouth College.
After he was graduated from college, in 1805, he took charge of a Female
Academy in Andover, Mass., for two years. He read law with Hon. Artemas
Ward, so long Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas. He was
admitted to practice in 1810, commenced the practice of the law in the
Spring of 1810, in the town of Westborough, in this County, and removed
to Worcester in the autumn of the same year. He married the daughter of
Judge Foster of Brookfield.
Mr. Burnside was a well read lawyer, and it is no disparagement to any
lawyer of the Worcester Bar to say that none excelled him in his
extensive knowledge of the law. He was also well posted in theology, and
took a deep interest in our public schools. He was trustee in Leicester
Academy, and for many years was a member of the School Committee of
Worcester, a member of the American Antiquarian Society, and one of the
Council of said Society at the time of his death. He delivered an able
address before the schools of Worcester in 1826, and represented the
town in the Legislature the same year. In 1831 he was selected by the
citizens of Worcester to deliver an oration on the fourth of July, which
was considered a very able production. He was admitted to this society
in January, 1817, and remained an active member for thirty-three years.
He died in Worcester, July 25th, 1850, much respected by a large circle
of friends.
Mr. Burnside was a good classical scholar, an upright and honored
citizen, and a kind christian gentleman.
REUBEN WHEELER
Was a member of this society from 1817 to 1822. He came from Rutland,
where he was born, to Worcester, to execute the purposes of certain
members of the Fire Society, who had become convinced that the business
of _tanning_ was very profitable. They raised thirty thousand dollars to
put into the business—Mr. Wheeler was superintendent and manager—a large
yard was built on Market street, the largest in the county—Mr. Wheeler
built a spacious house on the corner of Main and Thomas streets, and
business went on swimmingly for five or six years, Mr. Wheeler always
assuring the proprietors that the business was very profitable. Some of
the proprietors having had no dividends for several years, succeeded in
raising a committee to investigate the affairs of the company, when it
turned out that the concern was bankrupt. It was a South Sea bubble on a
small scale. Wheeler left town, and the tannery rotted down. “_Sic
transit gloria mundi._”
BENJAMIN F. HEYWOOD
Was the son of Hon. Benjamin Heywood, of Worcester, who was judge of the
Court of Common Pleas for nine years.
Benjamin F. was born in Worcester, April 24th, 1792, and graduated at
Dartmouth College, in the class of 1812. He attended the medical
lectures at Dartmouth College, and at Yale College, and took his degree
of M. D. at Yale, in 1815. He formed a co-partnership with Dr. John
Green, in the practice of medicine, which existed for twenty years. Dr.
Heywood was councillor and censor in the Massachusetts Medical Society,
and became a member of the Society of Cincinnati in 1859, in the right
of his father, who was an original member. As a physician he was very
popular among his patients. He had the confidence of his fellow
citizens, being repeatedly elected to both branches of the City
Government. His manners were pleasant and agree | 2,022.799406 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.8788330 | 2,114 | 29 |
Produced by John Bickers; and Dagny
RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT CHINA
by Herbert A. Giles
Professor of Chinese at the University of Cambridge,
Author of "Historic China," "A History of Chinese
Literature," "China and the Chinese," etc., etc.
First Published 1906 by Constable and Company Ltd., London.
PREPARER'S NOTE
This book was published as part of the series Religions: Ancient
and Modern.
The Psychological Origin and Nature of Religion, by J. H. Leuba.
Judaism, by Israel Abraham.
Celtic Religion, by Professor E. Anwye.
Shinto: The Ancient Religion of Japan, by W. G. Aston, C.M.G.
The Religion of Ancient Rome, by Cyril Bailey, M.A.
Hinduism, by Dr. L. D. Barnett.
The Religion of Ancient Palestine, by Stanley A. Cook.
Animism, by Edward Clodd.
Scandinavian Religion, by William A. Craigie.
Early Buddhism, by Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, LL.D.
The Religions of Ancient China, by Prof. Giles, LL.D.
Magic and Fetishism, by Dr. A. C. Haddon, F.R.S.
The Religion of Ancient Greece, by Jane Harrison.
The Religion of Ancient Egypt, by W. M. Flinders Petrie, F.R.S.
Pantheism, by James Allanson Picton.
The Religion of Babylonia and Assyria, by Theophilus G. Pinches.
Early Christianity (Paul to Origen), by S. B. Slack.
The Mythologies of Ancient Mexico and Peru, by Lewis Spence, M.A.
The Mythology of Ancient Britain and Island, by Charles Squire.
Islam, by Ameer Ali, Syed, M.A., C.I.E.
Mithraism, by W. G. Pythian-Adams.
The publishers were: Constable and Company Ltd, London; Open Court
Company, Chicago. The 1918 edition was printed in Great Britain by
Butler & Tanner, Frome and London.
RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT CHINA
CHAPTER I -- THE ANCIENT FAITH
Philosophical Theory of the Universe.--The problem of the universe has
never offered the slightest difficulty to Chinese philosophers. Before
the beginning of all things, there was Nothing. In the lapse of ages
Nothing coalesced into Unity, the Great Monad. After more ages, the
Great Monad separated into Duality, the Male and Female Principles in
nature; and then, by a process of biogenesis, the visible universe was
produced.
Popular Cosmogeny.--An addition, however, to this simple system had to
be made, in deference to, and on a plane with, the intelligence of the
masses. According to this, the Male and Female Principles were each
subdivided into Greater and Lesser, and then from the interaction of
these four agencies a being, named P'an Ku, came into existence. He
seems to have come into life endowed with perfect knowledge, and his
function was to set the economy of the universe in order. He is often
depicted as wielding a huge adze, and engaged in constructing the world.
With his death the details of creation began. His breath became the
wind; his voice, the thunder; his left eye, the sun; his right eye, the
moon; his blood flowed in rivers; his hair grew into trees and plants;
his flesh became the soil; his sweat descended as rain; while the
parasites which infested his body were the origin of the human race.
Recognition and Worship of Spirits.--Early Chinese writers tell us that
Fu Hsi, B.C. 2953-2838, was the first Emperor to organize sacrifices to,
and worship of, spirits. In this he was followed by the Yellow Emperor,
B.C. 2698-2598, who built a temple for the worship of God, in which
incense was used, and first sacrificed to the Mountains and Rivers. He
is also said to have established the worship of the sun, moon, and five
planets, and to have elaborated the ceremonial of ancestral worship.
God the Father, Earth the Mother.--The Yellow Emperor was followed by
the Emperor Shao Hao, B.C. 2598-2514, "who instituted the music of the
Great Abyss in order to bring spirits and men into harmony." Then
came the Emperor Chuan Hsu, B.C. 2514-2436, of whom it is said that he
appointed an officer "to preside over the worship of God and Earth,
in order to form a link between the spirits and man," and also "caused
music to be played for the enjoyment of God." Music, by the way, is said
to have been introduced into worship in imitation of thunder, and was
therefore supposed to be pleasing to the Almighty. After him followed
the Emperor Ti K'u, B.C. 2436-2366, who dabbled in astronomy, and "came
to a knowledge of spiritual beings, which he respectfully worshipped."
The Emperor Yao, B.C. 2357-2255, built a temple for the worship of
God, and also caused dances to be performed for the enjoyment of God
on occasions of special sacrifice and communication with the spiritual
world. After him, we reach the Emperor Shun, B.C. 2255-2205, in whose
favour Yao abdicated.
Additional Deities.--Before, however, Shun ventured to mount the throne,
he consulted the stars, in order to find out if the unseen Powers were
favourable to his elevation; and on receiving a satisfactory reply, "he
proceeded to sacrifice to God, to the Six Honoured Ones (unknown), to
the Mountains and Rivers, and to Spirits in general.... In the second
month of the year, he made a tour of inspection eastwards, as far as
Mount T'ai (in modern Shantung), where he presented a burnt offering to
God, and sacrificed to the Mountains and Rivers."
God punishes the wicked and rewards the good.--The Great Yu, who drained
the empire, and came to the throne in B.C. 2205 as first Emperor of the
Hsia dynasty, followed in the lines of his pious predecessors. But the
Emperor K'ung Chia, B.C. 1879-1848, who at first had treated the Spirits
with all due reverence, fell into evil ways, and was abandoned by God.
This was the beginning of the end. In B.C. 1766 T'ang the Completer,
founder of the Shang dynasty, set to work to overthrow Chieh Kuei, the
last ruler of the Hsia dynasty. He began by sacrificing to Almighty
God, and asked for a blessing on his undertaking. And in his subsequent
proclamation to the empire, he spoke of that God as follows: "God has
given to every man a conscience; and if all men acted in accordance with
its dictates, they would not stray from the right path.... The way of
God is to bless the good and punish the bad. He has sent down calamities
on the House of Hsia, to make manifest its crimes."
God manifests displeasure.--In B.C. 1637 the Emperor T'ai Mou succeeded.
His reign was marked by the supernatural appearance in the palace of two
mulberry-trees, which in a single night grew to such a size that
they could hardly be spanned by two hands. The Emperor was terrified;
whereupon a Minister said, "No prodigy is a match for virtue. Your
Majesty's government is no doubt at fault, and some reform of conduct
is necessary." Accordingly, the Emperor began to act more circumspectly;
after which the mulberry-trees soon withered and died.
Revelation in a dream.--The Emperor Wu Ting, B.C. 1324-1264, began his
reign by not speaking for three years, leaving all State affairs to be
decided by his Prime Minister, while he himself gained experience.
Later on, the features of a sage were revealed to him in a dream; and
on waking, he caused a portrait of the apparition to be prepared and
circulated throughout the empire. The sage was found, and for a long
time aided the Emperor in the right administration of government. On the
occasion of a sacrifice, a pheasant perched upon the handle of the great
sacrificial tripod, and crowed, at which the Emperor was much alarmed.
"Be not afraid," cried a Minister; "but begin by reforming your
government. God looks down upon mortals, and in accordance with their
deserts grants them many years or few. God does not shorten men's
lives; they do that themselves. Some are wanting in virtue, and will not
acknowledge their transgressions; only when God chastens them do they
cry, What are we to do?"
Anthropomorphism and Fetishism.--One of the last Emperors of the Shang
dynasty, Wu I, who reigned B.C. 1198-1194, even went so far as "to make
an image in human form, which he called God. With this image he used
to play at dice, causing some one to throw for the image; and if 'God'
lost, he would overwhelm the image with insult. He also made a bag of
leather, which he filled with blood and hung up. Then he would shoot at
it, saying that he was shooting God. By and by, when he was out hunting,
he was struck down by a violent thunderclap, and killed."
God indignant.--Finally | 2,022.898873 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.8789570 | 368 | 43 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Mark Young 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: THE MOST IMPORTANT "TOOL" IN THE BUILDING OF MODEL
AEROPLANES.
[_Illustration by permission from_ MESSRS. A. GALLENKAMP & CO'S.
CHEMICAL CATALOGUE.]]
THE THEORY AND PRACTICE
OF
MODEL AEROPLANING
BY
V.E. JOHNSON, M.A.
AUTHOR OF
'THE BEST SHAPE FOR AN AIRSHIP,' 'SOARING FLIGHT,'
'HOW TO ADVANCE THE SCIENCE OF AERONAUTICS,'
'HOW TO BUILD A MODEL AEROPLANE,' ETC.
"Model Aeroplaning is an Art in itself"
[Illustration]
London
E. & F.N. SPON, LTD., 57 HAYMARKET
New York
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1910
PREFACE
The object of this little book is not to describe how to construct
some particular kind of aeroplane; this has been done elsewhere: but
to narrate in plain language the general practice and principles of
model aeroplaning.
There is a _science_ of model aeroplaning--just as there is a science
of model yachting and model steam and electric traction, and an
endeavour is made in the following pages to do in some measure for
model aeroplanes what has already been done for model yachts and
| 2,022.898997 |
2023-11-16 18:50:46.8811070 | 2,134 | 7 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
The underscore character "_" is used in this book to indicate italics
markup in the original, as in "Then he _must_ hold on." The only
exception to this is where it is used to indicate a subscript,
specifically in H_20 and CO_2, the common chemical formulas for water
and carbon dioxide referenced in the text.
[Illustration: "DON DEAR, YOU'RE LIVING TOO MUCH DOWNTOWN"]
THE WALL STREET GIRL
BY
FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GEORGE ELLIS WOLFE
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915 AND 1916, BY EVERY WEEK CORPORATION
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1916
TO
THALIA
CONTENTS
I. Don Receives a Jolt 1
II. It Becomes Necessary to Eat 11
III. The Queen Was in the Parlor 20
IV. Concerning Sandwiches 27
V. Business 43
VI. Two Girls 64
VII. Roses 71
VIII. A Man of Affairs 80
IX. It Will Never Do 93
X. Dictation 100
XI. Steak, With Mushrooms and Advice 111
XII. A Social Widow 123
XIII. Dear Sir-- 129
XIV. In Reply 138
XV. Cost 144
XVI. A Memorandum 153
XVII. On the Way Home 161
XVIII. A Discourse on Salaries 171
XIX. A Letter 184
XX. Stars 185
XXI. In the Dark 193
XXII. The Sensible Thing 200
XXIII. Looking Ahead 207
XXIV. Vacations 215
XXV. In the Park 223
XXVI. One Stuyvesant 238
XXVII. The Stars Again 247
XXVIII. Seeing 256
XXIX. Mostly Sally 264
XXX. Don Explains 275
XXXI. Sally Decides 295
XXXII. Barton Appears 305
XXXIII. A Bully World 317
XXXIV. Don Makes Good 321
XXXV. "Home, John" 330
THE WALL STREET GIRL
CHAPTER I
DON RECEIVES A JOLT
Before beginning to read the interesting document in front of him,
Jonas Barton, senior member of Barton & Saltonstall, paused to clean
his glasses rather carefully, in order to gain sufficient time to
study for a moment the tall, good-looking young man who waited
indifferently on the other side of the desk. He had not seen his late
client's son since the latter had entered college--a black-haired,
black-eyed lad of seventeen, impulsive in manner and speech. The
intervening four years had tempered him a good deal. Yet, the
Pendleton characteristics were all there--the square jaw, the rather
large, firm mouth, the thin nose, the keen eyes. They were all there,
but each a trifle subdued: the square jaw not quite so square as the
father's, the mouth not quite so large, the nose so sharp, or the
eyes so keen. On the other hand, there was a certain fineness that the
father had lacked.
In height Don fairly matched his father's six feet, although he still
lacked the Pendleton breadth of shoulder.
The son was lean, and his cigarette--a dilettante variation of honest
tobacco-smoking that had always been a source of irritation to his
father--did not look at all out of place between his long, thin
fingers; in fact, nothing else would have seemed quite suitable.
Barton was also forced to admit to himself that the young man, in some
miraculous way, managed to triumph over his rather curious choice of
raiment, based presumably on current styles. In and of themselves the
garments were not beautiful. From Barton's point of view, Don's straw
hat was too large and too high in the crown. His black-and-white check
suit was too conspicuous and cut close to the figure in too feminine a
fashion. His lavender socks, which matched a lavender tie, went well
enough with the light stick he carried; but, in Barton's opinion, a
young man of twenty-two had no business to carry a light stick. By no
stretch of the imagination could one picture the elder Pendleton in
such garb, even in his jauntiest days. And yet, as worn by Don, it
seemed as if he could not very well have worn anything else. Even the
mourning-band about his left arm, instead of adding a somber touch,
afforded an effective bit of contrast. This, however, was no fault of
his. That mourning has artistic possibilities is a happy fact that has
brought gentle solace to many a widow.
On the whole, Barton could not escape the deduction that the son
reflected the present rather than the past. Try as he might, it was
difficult for him to connect this young man with Grandfather
Pendleton, shipbuilder of New Bedford, or with the father who in his
youth commanded the Nancy R. But that was by no means his duty--as Don
faintly suggested when he uncrossed his knees and hitched forward
impatiently.
"Your father's will is dated three years ago last June," began
Barton.
"At the end of my freshman year," Don observed.
Jonas Barton adjusted his spectacles and began to read. He read slowly
and very distinctly, as if anxious to give full value to each
syllable:
"New York City, borough of Manhattan, State of New York. I, Donald
Joshua Pendleton, being of sound mind and--"
Donald Pendleton, Jr., waved an objection with his cigarette.
"Can't you cut out all the legal stuff and just give me the gist of
it? There's no doubt about father having been of sound mind and so
forth."
"It is customary--" began the attorney.
"Well, we'll break the custom," Don cut in sharply.
Barton glanced up. It might have been his late client speaking; it
gave him a start.
"As you wish," he assented. "Perhaps, however, I may be allowed to
observe that in many ways your father's will is peculiar."
"It wouldn't be father's will if it wasn't peculiar," declared Don.
Barton pushed the papers away from him.
"Briefly, then," he said, "your father leaves his entire estate to
you--in trust."
Don leaned forward, his stick grasped in his gloved hands.
"I don't get that last."
"In trust," repeated Barton with emphasis. "He has honored our firm
with the commission of serving as a board of trustees for carrying out
the terms of the will."
"You mean to fix my allowance?"
"To carry out the terms of the will, which are as follows: namely, to
turn over to you, but without power of conveyance, the paternal
domicile on West Sixtieth Street with all its contents."
Don frowned.
"Paternal domicile--I can translate that all right. I suppose you mean
the house. But what's that line 'without power of conveyance'?"
"It means that you are at liberty to occupy the premises, but that you
are to have no power to sell, to rent, or to dispose of the property
in any way whatsoever."
Don appeared puzzled.
"That's a bit queer. What do you suppose Dad thought I wanted of a
place that size to live in?"
"I think your father was a man of considerable sentiment."
"Eh?"
"Sentiment," Barton repeated. "It was there you were born, and there
your mother died."
"Yes, that's all correct; but--well, go on."
"The rest of the document, if you insist upon a digest, consists
principally of directions to the trustees. Briefly, it provides that
we invest the remainder of the property in safe bonds and apply the
interest to meet taxes on the aforesaid paternal domicile, to retain
and pay the wages of the necessary servants, to furnish fuel and
water, and to maintain the house in proper repair."
"Well, go on."
"In case of your demise--"
"You may skip my demise; I'm not especially interested in that."
"Then I think we have covered all the more important provisions,"
Barton concluded.
"All?" exclaimed Don. "What do you think I'm going to live on?"
Here was the clash for which Barton had been waiting. His face
hardened, and he shoved back his chair a little.
"I am not able to find any provision in the will relating to that," he
answered.
"Eh? But what the deuce--"
For a moment Don stared open-mouthed at the lawyer. Then he reached in
his pocket for his cigarettes, selected one with some deliberation,
and tapped an end upon the case.
"You said Dad had considerable sentiment," he observed. "It strikes me
he has shown more humor than sentiment."
Barton was still aggressive. To tell the truth, he expected some
suggestion as to the possibility of breaking the will; but if ever he
had drawn a paper all snug and tight, it was the one in question.
"Damme," Pendleton, Sr., had said. "Damme, | 2,022.901147 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE WRECK OF THE RED BIRD
A STORY OF THE CAROLINA COAST
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
_Author of "The Big Brother," "Captain Sam," "The Signal Boys,"
etc., etc._
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET
1882
COPYRIGHT BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
1882
_Press of
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York_
[Illustration: THE "BONES" OF THE RED BIRD]
I intended to dedicate this book to my son, GUILFORD DUDLEY EGGLESTON,
to whom it belonged in a peculiar sense. He was only nine years old, but
he was my tenderly loved companion, and was in no small degree the
creator of this story. He gave it the title it bears; he discussed with
me every incident in it; and every page was written with reference to
his wishes and his pleasure. There is not a paragraph here which does
not hold for me some reminder of the noblest, manliest, most unselfish
boy I have ever known. Ah, woe is me! He who was my companion is my dear
dead boy now, and I am sure that I only act for him as he would wish, in
inscribing the story that was so peculiarly his to the boy whom he loved
best, and who loved him as a brother might have done. It is in memory of
GUILFORD that I dedicate "The Wreck of the Red Bird" to CHARLES PELTON
HUTCHINS.
G. C. E.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. MAUM SALLY'S MANNERS 1
CHAPTER II. ON THE JOGGLING BOARDS 10
CHAPTER III. AFLOAT 15
CHAPTER IV. PLANS AND PREPARATIONS 28
CHAPTER V. THE SAILING OF THE "RED BIRD" 35
CHAPTER VI. ODD FISH 40
CHAPTER VII. AN ENEMY IN THE CAMP 52
CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNING AND END OF A VOYAGE 59
CHAPTER IX. THE SITUATION 68
CHAPTER X. PLANS AND DEVICES 79
CHAPTER XI. SOME OF NED'S SCIENCE 88
CHAPTER XII. JACK'S DISCOVERY 101
CHAPTER XIII. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT 109
CHAPTER XIV. IN THE GRAY OF THE MORNING 120
CHAPTER XV. CHARLEY BLACK'S ADVENTURES 125
CHAPTER XVI. ON GUARD 134
CHAPTER XVII. A NEW DANGER 147
CHAPTER XVIII. A CAMP-FACTORY 155
CHAPTER XIX. A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE 166
CHAPTER XX. A CALCULATION OF PROFIT AND LOSS 177
CHAPTER XXI. CHARLEY'S SECRET EXPEDITION 184
CHAPTER XXII. THE LAUNCH OF THE "APHRODITE" 193
CHAPTER XXIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE "APHRODITE" 201
CHAPTER XXIV. MAUM SALLY 212
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE "BONES" OF THE RED BIRD _Frontispiece._
"LOOK OUT! HOLD THAT FELLOW AWAY FROM YOU!" 23
THE ELOQUENT LANGUAGE OF GESTURE 128
"GIVE HIM A VOLLEY AND THEN CHARGE!" 150
THE END OF CHARLEY'S ADVENTURE 190
"HI! MAUM SALLY" 214
The Wreck of the Red Bird
CHAPTER I.
MAUM SALLY'S MANNERS.
"Bress my heart, honey, wha'd you come from?"
It was old "Maum" Sally who uttered this exclamation as she came out of
her kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, and warmly greeting one of
the three boys who stood just outside the door.
"Is you done come to visit de folks? Well, I do declar'!"
"Now, Maum Sally," replied Ned Cooke, "stop 'declaring' and stop asking
me questions till you answer mine. Or, no, you won't do that, so I'll
answer yours first. Where did I come from? Why from Aiken, by way of
Charleston and Hardeeville. Did I come to visit the folks? Well, no, not
exactly that. You see, I didn't set out to come here at all. I have
spent part of the summer up at Aiken with these two school-mates of
mine, and they were to spend the rest of it with me in Savannah. We were
on our way down there when I got a despatch from father, saying that as
yellow fever has broken out there I mustn't come home, but must come
down here to Bluffton and stay with Uncle Edward till frost or school
time. So we got off the train, hired a man with an ox-cart to bring our
trunks down, and walked the eighteen miles. The man with the trunks will
get here sometime, I suppose. There! I've made a long speech at you.
Now, answer my questions, please. Where is Uncle Edward? and where is
Aunt Helen? and why is the house shut up? and when will they be back
again? and can't you give us something to eat, for we're nearly
starved?"
Ned laughed as he delivered this volley of questions, but Maum Sally
remained perfectly solemn, as she always did. When he finished, she
said:
"Yaller fever! Bress my heart! It'll be heah nex' thing we knows. Walked
all de way from Hardeeville! an' dis heah hot day too! e'en a'most
starved! Well, I reckon ye is, an' I'll jes mosey roun' heah an' git you
some supper."
It must be explained that Maum Sally, although she lived on the coast of
South Carolina, and was called "Maum" instead of "Aunt," was born and
"raised," as she would have said, in "Ole Firginny," and her dialect was
therefore somewhat as represented here. The <DW64>s of the coast speak a
peculiar jargon, which would be wholly unintelligible to other than
South Carolinian readers, even if I could render it faithfully by
phonetic spelling.
As Maum Sally ceased speaking, she turned to go into her kitchen, which,
as is usual in the South, was a detached building, standing some
distance from the main house.
"But wait, Maum Sally," cried Ned, seizing her hand; "I'm not going to
let you off that way. You haven't answered my questions yet."
"Now, look heah, young Ned," she said, with great solemnity, "does you
s'pose Ole Sally was bawn and raised in Ole Firginny for nothin'? I aint
forgot my manners nor hospitality, ef I _is_ lived nigh onto twenty-five
years in dis heah heathen coast country whah de niggas talks monkey
language. I'se a gwine to git you'n your fr'en's--ef you'll interduce
'em--some supper, fust an' foremost. Den I'll answer all de questions
you're a mind to ax, ef you don't git to conundrumin'."
Ned acknowledged Maum Sally's rebuke promptly.
"I did forget my manners," he said, "but you see I was badly flustered.
This is my friend Jack Farnsworth, Maum Sally, and this," turning to the
other boy, "is Charley Black. Boys, let me make you acquainted with Maum
Sally, the best cook in South Carolina, or anywhere else, and the best
Maum Sally in the world. She used to give me all sorts of good things to
eat out here when I didn't get up to breakfast, and was expected to get
on till dinner with a cold bite from the store-room. I'll bet she'll
cook us a supper that will make your mouths water, and have it ready by
the time we get the dust out of our eyes."
"Git de dus' out'n de all over you, more like. Heah's de key to de
bath-house. You jes run down an' take a dip in de salt water, an' den
git inter yer clo'es as fas' as you kin, an' when you's done dat, you'll
fin' somethin' to eat awaitin' for you in de piazza. Git, now, quick. Ef
I'se got to plan somethin' for supper, I'se got to hab my wits about me
an' don' want no talkin' boys aroun'."
"It's of no use, boys," said Ned. "I know Maum Sally, and we're not
going to get a word more out of her till supper is ready, so come on,
let | 2,023.002551 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
THE DEPUTY OF ARCIS
By Honore de Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
PART I. THE ELECTION
I. ALL ELECTIONS BEGIN WITH A BUSTLE
Before beginning to describe an election in the provinces, it is proper
to state that the town of Arcis-sur-Aube was not the theatre of the
events here related.
The arrondissement of Arcis votes at Bar-sur-Aube, which is forty miles
from Arcis; consequently there is no deputy from Arcis in the Chamber.
Discretion, required in a history of contemporaneous manners and morals,
dictates this precautionary word. It is rather an ingenious contrivance
to make the description of one town the frame for events which happened
in another; and several times already in the course of the Comedy of
Human Life, this means has been employed in spite of its disadvantages,
which consist chiefly in making the frame of as much importance as the
canvas.
Toward the end of the month of April, 1839, about ten o'clock in the
morning, the salon of Madame Marion, widow of a former receiver-general
of the department of the Aube, presented a singular appearance. All
the furniture had been removed except the curtains to the windows,
the ornaments on the fireplace, the chandelier, and the tea-table. An
Aubusson carpet, taken up two weeks before the usual time, obstructed
the steps of the portico, and the floor had been violently rubbed and
polished, though without increasing its usual brightness. All this was
a species of domestic premonition concerning the result of the elections
which were about to take place over the whole surface of France. Often
things are as spiritually intelligent as men,--an argument in favor of
the occult sciences.
The old man-servant of Colonel Giguet, Madame Marion's older brother,
had just finished dusting the room; the chamber-maid and the cook were
carrying, with an alacrity that denoted an enthusiasm equal to their
attachment, all the chairs of the house, and piling them up in the
garden, where the trees were already unfolding their leaves, through
which the cloudless blue of the sky was visible. The springlike
atmosphere and sun of May allowed the glass door and the two windows of
the oblong salon to be kept open.
An old lady, Madame Marion herself, now ordered the two maids to place
the chairs at one end of the salon, four rows deep, leaving between the
rows a space of about three feet. When this was done, each row presented
a front of ten chairs, all of divers species. A line of chairs was also
placed along the wall, under the windows and before the glass door.
At the other end of the salon, facing the forty chairs, Madame Marion
placed three arm-chairs behind the tea-table, which was covered with a
green cloth, on which she placed a bell.
Old Colonel Giguet arrived on this battle-field at the moment when his
sister bethought herself of filling the empty spaces on either side
of the fireplace with benches from the antechamber, disregarding
the baldness of their velvet covers which had done good service for
twenty-four years.
"We can seat seventy persons," she said to her brother triumphantly.
"God grant that we may have seventy friends!" replied the colonel.
"If, after receiving every night, for twenty-four years, the whole
society of Arcis-sur-Aube, a single one of my regular visitors fails us
on this occasion--" began the old lady, in a threatening manner.
"Pooh, pooh!" replied the colonel, interrupting his sister, "I'll name
you ten who cannot and ought not to come. First," he said, beginning to
count on his fingers, "Antonin Goulard, sub-prefect, for one; Frederic
Marest, _procureur-du-roi_, there's two; Monsieur Olivier Vinet, his
substitute, three; Monsieur Martener, examining-judge, four; the justice
of peace--"
"But I am not so silly," said the old lady, interrupting her brother in
her turn, "as to expect office-holders to come to a meeting the object
of which is to give another deputy to the Opposition. For all that,
Antonin Goulard, Simon's comrade and schoolmate, would be very well
pleased to see him a deputy because--"
"Come, sister, leave our own business of politics to us men. Where is
Simon?"
"He is dressing," she answered. "He was wise not to breakfast, for he is
very nervous. It is queer that, though he is in the habit of speaking in
court, he dreads this meeting as if he were certain to meet enemies."
"Faith! I have often had to face masked batteries, and my soul--I won't
say my body--never quailed; but if I had to stand there," said the old
soldier, pointing to the tea-table, "and face forty bourgeois gaping
at me, their eyes fixed on mine, and expecting sonorous and correct
phrases, my shirt would be wringing wet before I could get out a word."
"And yet, my dear father," said Simon Giguet, entering from the smaller
salon, "you really must make that effort for me; for if there is a
man in the department of the Aube whose voice is all-powerful it is
assuredly you. In 1815--"
"In 1815," said the little old man, who was wonderfully well preserved,
"I did not have to speak; I simply wrote out a little proclamation
which brought us two thousand men in twenty-four hours. But it is a
very different thing putting my name to a paper which is read by a
department, and standing up before a meeting to make a speech. Napoleon
himself failed there; at the 18th Brumaire he talked nothing but
nonsense to the Five Hundred."
"But, my dear father," urged Simon, "it concerns my life, my fortune, my
happiness. Fix your eyes on some one person and think you are talking to
him, and you'll get through all right."
"Heavens!" cried Madame Marion, "I am only an old woman, but under
such | 2,023.120723 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DEAD ARE SILENT
By Arthur Schnitzler
Copyright, 1907, by Courtland H. Young
HE could endure the quiet waiting in the carriage no longer; it was
easier to get out and walk up and down. It was now dark; the few
scattered lamps in the narrow side street quivered uneasily in the wind.
The rain had stopped, the sidewalks were almost dry, but the rough-paved
roadway was still moist, and little pools gleamed here and there.
"Strange, isn't it?" thought Franz. "Here we are scarcely a hundred
paces from the Prater, and yet it might be a street in some little
country town. Well, it's safe enough, at any rate. She won't meet any of
the friends she dreads so much here."
He looked at his watch. "Only just seven, and so dark already! It is an
early autumn this year... and then this confounded storm I..." He turned
his coat-collar up about his neck and quickened his pacing. The glass in
the street lamps rattled lightly.
"Half an hour more," he said to himself, "then I can go home. I could
almost wish--that that half-hour were over." He stood for a moment
on the corner, where he could command a view of both streets. "She'll
surely come to-day," his thoughts ran on, while he struggled with his
hat, which threatened to blow away. "It's Friday.... Faculty meeting
at the University; she needn't hurry home." He heard the clanging of
street-car gongs, and the hour chimed from a nearby church tower. The
street became more animated. Hurrying figures passed him, clerks of
neighboring shops; they hastened onward, fighting against the storm.
No one noticed him; a couple of half-grown girls glanced up in idle
curiosity as they went by. Suddenly he saw a familiar figure coming
toward him. He hastened to meet her.... Could it be she? On foot?
She saw him, and quickened her pace.
"You are walking?" he asked.
"I dismissed the cab in front of the theatre. I think I've had that
driver before."
A man passed them, turning to look at the lady. Her companion glared at
him, and the other passed on hurriedly. The lady looked after him. "Who
was it?" she asked, anxiously.
"Don't know him. We'll see no one we know here, don't worry. But come
now, let's get into the cab."
"Is that your carriage?"
"Yes."
"An open one?"
"It was warm and pleasant when I engaged it an hour ago."
They walked to the carriage; the lady stepped in.
"Driver!" called the man.
"Why, where is he?" asked the lady.
Franz looked around. "Well, did you ever? I don't see him anywhere."
"Oh--" her tone was low and timid.
"Wait a moment, child, he must be around here somewhere."
The young man opened the door of a little saloon, and discovered his
driver at a table with several others. The man rose hastily. "In a
minute, sir," he explained, swallowing his glass of wine.
"What do you mean by this?"
"All right, sir... Be there in a minute." His step was a little unsteady
as he hastened to his horses. "Where'll you go, sir?"
"Prater--Summer-house."
Franz entered the carriage. His companion sat back in a corner,
crouching fearsomely under the shadow of the cover.
He took both her hands in his. She sat silent. "Won't you say good
evening to me?"
"Give me a moment to rest, dear. I'm still out of breath."
He leaned back in his corner. Neither spoke for some minutes. The
carriage turned into the Prater Street, passed the Tegethoff Monument,
and a few minutes later was rolling swiftly through the broad, dark
Prater Avenue.
Emma turned suddenly and flung both arms around her lover's neck. He
lifted the veil that still hung about her face, and kissed her.
"I have you again--at last!" she exclaimed.
"Do you know how long it is since we have seen each other?" he asked.
"Since Sunday."
"Yes, and that wasn't good for much."
"Why not? You were in our house."
"Yes--in your house. That's just it. This can't go on. I shall not enter
your house again.... What's the matter?"
"A carriage passed us."
"Dear girl, the people who are driving in the Prater at such an hour,
and in such weather, aren't noticing much what other people are doing."
"Yes--that's so. But some one might look in here, by chance."
"We couldn't be recognized. It's too dark."
"Yes--but can't we drive somewhere else?"
"Just as you like." He called to the driver, who did not seem to hear.
Franz leaned forward and touched the man.
"Turn around again. What are you whipping your horses like that for?
We're in no hurry, I tell you. Drive--let me see--yes--drive down the
avenue that leads to the Reichs Bridge."
"The Reichsstrasse?"
"Yes. But don't hurry so, there's no need of it."
"All right, sir. But it's the wind that makes the horses so crazy."
Franz sat back again as the carriage turned in the other direction.
"Why didn't I see you yesterday?"
"How could I?"...
"You were invited to my sister's."
"Oh--yes."
"Why weren't you there?"
"Because I can't be with you--like that--with others around. No, I just
can't." She shivered. "Where are we now?" she asked, after a moment.
They were passing under the railroad bridge at the entrance to the
Reichsstrasse.
"On the way to the Danube," replied Franz. "We're driving toward the
Reichs Bridge. We'll certainly not meet any of our friends here," he
added, with a touch of mockery.
"The carriage jolts dreadfully."
"We're on cobblestones again."
"But he drives so crooked."
"Oh, you only think so."
He had begun to notice himself that the vehicle was swaying to and
fro more than was necessary, even on the rough pavement. But he said
nothing, not wishing to alarm her.
"There's a great deal I want to say to you today, Emma."
"You had better begin then; I must be home at nine o'clock."
"A few words may decide everything."
"Oh, goodness, what was that!" she screamed. The wheels had caught in a
car-track, and the carriage turned partly over as the driver attempted
to free it. Franz caught at the man's coat. "Stop that!" he cried. "Why,
you're drunk, man!"
The driver halted his horses with some difficulty. "Oh, no--sir--"
"Let's get out here, Emma, and walk."
"Where are we?"
"Here's the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong as
it was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It's so hard to talk in the
carriage."
Emma drew down her veil and followed him. "Don't you call this windy?"
she exclaimed as she struggled against the gust that met her at the
corner.
He took her arm, and called to the driver to follow them.
They walked on slowly. Neither spoke as they mounted the ascent of the
bridge; and they halted where they could hear the flow of the water
below them. Heavy darkness surrounded them. The broad stream stretched
itself out in gray, indefinite outlines; red lights in the distance,
floating above the water, awoke answering gleams from its surface.
Trembling stripes of light reached down from the shore they had just
left; on the other side of the bridge the river lost itself in the
blackness of open fields. Thunder rumbled in the distance; they looked
over to where the red lights soared. A train with lighted windows rolled
between iron arches that seemed to spring up out of the night for an
instant, to sink back into darkness again. The thunder grew fainter and
more distant; silence fell again; only the wind moved, in sudden gusts.
Franz spoke at last, after a long silence. "We must go away."
"Of course," Emma answered, softly.
"We must go away," he continued, with more animation. "Go away
altogether, I mean | 2,023.160163 |
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Produced by K. Nordquist, Greg Bergquist | 2,023.161205 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.2784140 | 238 | 13 |
Produced by Lisa Reigel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded
with _underscores_. Variations in spelling and hyphenation remain as in
the original. A row of asterisks represents a thought break. A complete
list of corrections follows the text.
MEDICAL JURISPRUDENCE,
AS IT RELATES TO
INSANITY,
ACCORDING TO
THE LAW OF ENGLAND.
BY JOHN HASLAM, M.D.
LATE OF PEMBROKE HALL, CAMBRIDGE.
FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL MEDICAL, NATURAL HISTORY
AND CHEMICAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH.
London:
PRINTED FOR C. HUNTER, LAW BOOKSELLER, BELL YARD;
J. HUNTER, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH YARD; AND TAYLOR AND | 2,023.298454 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Cathy Maxam, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN NURSERY RHYMES
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN
NURSERY RHYMES
BY
LINA ECKENSTEIN
AUTHOR OF "WOMAN UNDER MONASTICISM"
_There were more things in Mrs. Gurton's eye,
Mayhap, than are dreamed of in our philosophy_
C. S. CALVERLEY
[Illustration]
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1906
TO THE GENTLE READER
The walls of the temple of King Sety at Abydos in Upper Egypt are
decorated with sculptured scenes which represent the cult of the gods
and the offerings brought to them. In a side chapel there is depicted
the following curious scene. A dead figure lies extended on a bier;
sorrowing hawks surround him; a flying hawk reaches down a seal amulet
from above. Had I succeeded in procuring a picture of the scene, it
would stand reproduced here; for the figure and his mourners recalled
the quaint little woodcut of a toy-book which told the tale of the Death
and Burial of Cock Robin. The sculptures of Sety date from the
fourteenth century before Christ; the knell of the robin can be traced
back no further than the middle of the eighteenth century A.D. Can the
space that lies between be bridged over, and the conception of the dead
robin be linked on to that of the dead hawk? However that may be, the
sight of the sculptured scene strengthened my resolve to place some of
the coincidences of comparative nursery lore before the gentle reader.
It lies with him to decide whether the wares are such as to make a
further instalment desirable.
_23 September, 1906._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FIRST APPEARANCE OF RHYMES IN PRINT 1
II. EARLY REFERENCES 13
III. RHYMES AND POPULAR SONGS 23
IV. RHYMES IN TOY-BOOKS 36
V. RHYMES AND BALLADS 45
VI. RHYMES AND COUNTRY DANCES 57
VII. THE GAME OF "SALLY WATERS" 67
VIII. "THE LADY OF THE LAND" 78
IX. CUSTOM RHYMES 89
X. RIDDLE-RHYMES 104
XI. CUMULATIVE PIECES 115
XII. CHANTS OF NUMBERS 134
XIII. CHANTS OF THE CREED 143
XIV. HEATHEN CHANTS OF THE CREED 152
XV. SACRIFICIAL HUNTING 171
XVI. BIRD SACRIFICE 185
XVII. THE ROBIN AND THE WREN 200
XVIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS 215
LIST OF FOREIGN COLLECTIONS 221
ALPHABETICAL INDEX 223
_... To my gaze the phantoms of the Past,
The cherished fictions of my boyhood, rise:_
* * * * *
_The House that Jack built--and the Malt that lay
Within the House--the Rat that ate the Malt--
The Cat, that in that sanguinary way
Punished the poor thing for its venial fault--
The Worrier-Dog--the Cow with crumpled horn--
And then--ah yes! and then--the Maiden all forlorn!_
_O Mrs. Gurton--(may I call thee Gammer?)
Thou more than mother to my infant mind!
I loved thee better than I loved my grammar--
I used to wonder why the Mice were blind,
And who was gardener to Mistress Mary,
And what--I don't know still--was meant by "quite contrary."_
C. S. C.
The dates that stand after the separate rhymes refer to the list of
English collections on p. 11; the capital letters in brackets refer
to the list of books on p. 221.
COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN NURSERY RHYMES
CHAPTER I
FIRST APPEARANCE OF RHYMES IN PRINT
The study of folk-lore has given a new interest to much that seemed
insignificant and trivial. Among the unheeded possessions of the past
that have gained a fresh value are nursery rhymes. A nursery rhyme I
take to be a rhyme that was passed on by word of mouth and taught to
children before it was set down in writing and put into print. The use
of the term in this application goes back to the early part of the
nineteenth century. In 1834 John Gawler, afterwards Bellenden Ker,
published the first volume of his _Essay on the Archaiology of Popular
English Phrases and Nursery Rhymes_, a fanciful production. Prior to
this time nursery rhymes were usually spoken of as nursery songs.
The interest in these "unappreciated trifles of the nursery," as
Rimbault called them, was aroused towards the close of the eighteenth
century. In a letter which Joseph Ritson wrote to his little nephew, he
mentioned the collection of rhymes known as _Mother Goose's Melody_, and
assured him that he also would set about collecting rhymes.[1] His
collection of rhymes is said, in the _Dictionary of National Biography_,
to have been published at Stockton in 1783 under the title _Gammer
Gurton's Garland_. A copy of an anonymous collection of rhymes published
by Christopher and Jennett at Stockton, which is called _Gammer Gurton's
Garland or the Nursery Parnassus_, is now at the British Museum, and is
designated as a "new edition with additions." It bears no name and no
date, but its contents, which consist of over seventy rhymes, agree with
parts 1 and 2 of a large collection of nursery rhymes, including over
one hundred and forty pieces, which were published in 1810 by the
publisher R. Triphook, of 37 St. James Street, London, who also issued
other collections made by Ritson.
[1] _Letters of Joseph Ritson_, edited by his Nephew, 1833. 27
April, 1781.
The collection of rhymes known as _Mother Goose's Melody_, which aroused
the interest of Ritson, was probably the toy-book which was entered for
copyright in London on 28 December, 1780. Its title was _Mother Goose's
Melody or Sonnets for the Cradle_, and it was entered by John Carnan,
the stepson of the famous publisher John Newbery, who had succeeded to
the business in partnership with Francis Newbery.[2] Of this book no
copy is known to exist. Toy-books, owing to the careless way in which
they are handled, are amongst the most perishable literature. Many
toy-books are known to have been issued in hundreds of copies, yet of
some of these not a single copy can now be traced.
[2] Welsh, Ch., _A Publisher of the Last Century_, 1885, p. 272.
The name Mother Goose, its connection with nursery rhymes, and the date
of issue of _Mother Goose's Melody_, have been the subject of some
contention. Thomas Fleet, a well-known printer of Boston, Mass., who was
from Shropshire, is said to have issued a collection of nursery rhymes
under the following title, _Songs for the Nursery, or Mother Goose's
Melodies for Children_, printed by Thomas Fleet at his printing-house,
Pudding Lane, 1719, price two coppers.[3] The existence of this book at
the date mentioned has been both affirmed and denied.[4] John Fleet
Eliot, a great-grandson of the printer, accepted its existence, and in
1834 wrote with regard to it as follows: "It is well known to
antiquaries that more than a hundred years ago there was a small book in
circulation in London bearing the name of _Rhymes for the Nursery or
Lulla-Byes for Children_, which contained many of the identical pieces
of _Mother Goose's Melodies_ of the present day. It contained also other
pieces, more silly if possible, and some that the American types of the
present day would refuse to give off an impression. The cuts or
illustrations thereof were of the coarsest description." On the other
hand, the date of 1719 in connection with the expression "two coppers,"
has been declared impossible. However this may be, no copy of the book
of Fleet or of its presumed prototype has been traced.
[3] Appleton, _Cyclopaedia of American Biography_, 1887: Fleet,
Thomas.
[4] Whitmore, W. H., _The original Mother Goose's Melody_, 1892, p.
40 ff.
The name Mother Goose, which John Newbery and others associated with
nursery rhymes, may have been brought into England from France, where
_La Mere Oie_ was connected with the telling of fairy tales as far back
as 1650.[5] _La Mere Oie_ is probably a lineal descendant of _La Reine
Pedauque_, otherwise _Berthe au grand pied_, but there is the
possibility also of the relationship to _Fru Gode_ or _Fru Gosen_ of
German folk-lore. We first come across Mother Goose in England in
connection with the famous puppet-showman Robert Powell, who set up his
show in Bath and in Covent Garden, London, between 1709 and 1711. The
repertory of his plays, which were of his own composing, included
_Whittington and his Cat_, _The Children in the Wood_, _Friar Bacon and
Friar Bungay_, _Robin Hood and Little John_, _Mother Shipton_, and
_Mother Goose_.[6] A play or pantomime called _Mother Goose_ was still
popular at the beginning of the nineteenth century, for the actor
Grimaldi obtained his greatest success in it in 1806.[7]
[5] Lang, A., _Perrault's Popular Tales_, 1888. Introduction, XXIV.
[6] Collier, J. P., _Punch and Judy, citing "A Second Tale of a Tub
or the History of Robert Powell, the puppet-showman, 1715."_
[7] _Dictionary of National Biography_, Grimaldi.
The name Gammer Gurton which Ritson chose for his collection of rhymes,
was traditional also. _Gammer Gurton's Needle_ is the name of a famous
old comedy which dates from about the year 1566. The name also appears
in connection with nursery rhymes in a little toy-book, issued by
Lumsden in Glasgow, which is called _Gammer Gurton's Garland of Nursery
Songs, and Toby Tickle's Collection of Riddles_. This is undated. It
occurs also in an insignificant little toy-book called _The Topbook of
all_, in connection with Nurse Lovechild, Jacky Nory, and Tommy Thumb.
This book is also undated, but contains the picture of a shilling of
1760 which is referred to as "a new shilling."
The date at which nursery rhymes appeared in print yields one clue to
their currency at a given period. The oldest dated collection of rhymes
which I have seen bears the title _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_, vol.
II, "sold by M. Cooper according to Act of Parliament." It is printed
partly in red, partly in black, and on its last page bears the date
1744. A copy of this is at the British Museum.
Next to this in date is a toy-book which is called _The Famous Tommy
Thumb's Little Story-Book_, printed and sold at the printing office in
Marlborough Street, 1771. A copy of this is in the library of Boston,
Mass. It contains nine nursery rhymes at the end, which have been
reprinted by Whitmore.
Other collections of rhymes issued in America have been preserved which
are reprints of earlier English collections. Among these is _Tommy
Thumb's Song Book for all Little Masters and Misses_, by Nurse
Lovechild, which is dated 1788, and was printed by Isaiah Thomas at
Worcester, Mass. A copy is at the British Museum.
Isaiah Thomas was in direct connection with England, where he procured,
in 1786, the first fount of music type that was carried to America.
Among many toy-books of his that are reprints from English publications,
he issued _Mother Goose's Melody, Sonnets for the Cradle_. A copy of
this book which is designated as the third Worcester edition, bears the
date 1799, and has been reprinted in facsimile by Whitmore. It was
probably identical with the collection of rhymes for which the firm of
Newberry received copyright in 1780, and which was mentioned by Ritson.
Other copies of _Mother Goose's Melody_, one bearing the watermark of
1803, and the other issued by the firm of John Marshall, which is
undated, are now at the Bodleian.[8] Thus the name of Mother Goose was
largely used in connection with nursery rhymes.
[8] Whitmore, loc. cit., p. 6.
The second half of the eighteenth century witnessed a great development
in toy-book literature. The leader of the movement was John Newbery, a
man of considerable attainments, who sold drugs and literature, and who
came from Reading to London in 1744, and settled in St. Paul's
Churchyard, where his establishment became a famous centre of the book
trade. Among those whom he had in his employ were Griffith Jones (d.
1786) and Oliver Goldsmith (d. 1774), whose versatility and delicate
humour gave a peculiar charm to the books for children which they helped
to produce.
In London Newbery had a rival in John Marshall, whose shop in Aldermary
Churchyard was known already in 1787 as the _Great A, and Bouncing B Toy
Factory_. This name was derived from a current nursery rhyme on the
alphabet, which occurs as follows:--
Great A, little a, Bouncing B,
The cat's in the cupboard, and she can't see. (1744, p. 22.)
A number of provincial publishers followed their example. Among them
were Thomas Saint, in Newcastle, who between 1771 and 1774 employed the
brothers Bewick; Kendrew, in York; Lumsden, in Glasgow; Drewey, in
Derby; Rusher, in Banbury; and others. The toy-books that were issued by
these firms have much likeness to one another, and are often illustrated
by the same cuts. Most of them are undated. Among the books issued by
Rusher were _Nursery Rhymes from the Royal Collections_, and _Nursery
Poems from the Ancient and Modern Poets_, which contain some familiar
rhymes in versions which differ from those found elsewhere.
Besides these toy-book collections, there is a large edition of _Gammer
Gurton's Garland_, of the year 1810, which contains the collections of
1783 with considerable additions. In the year 1826, Chambers published
his _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_, which contained some fireside stories
and nursery rhymes, the number of which was considerably increased in
the enlarged edition of 1870. In the year 1842, Halliwell, under the
auspices of the Percy Society, issued the _Nursery Rhymes of England_,
which were reprinted in 1843, and again in an enlarged edition in 1846.
Three years later he supplemented this book by a collection of _Popular
Rhymes_ which contain many traditional game rhymes and many valuable
remarks and criticisms.
These books, together with the rhymes of Gawler, and a collection of
_Old Nursery Rhymes with Tunes_, issued by Rimbault in 1864, exhaust
the collections of nursery rhymes which have a claim on the attention of
the student. Most of their contents were subsequently collected and
issued by the firm of Warne & Co., under the title _Mother Goose's
Nursery Rhymes, Tales and Jingles_, of which the issue of 1890 contains
over seven hundred pieces. In the list which follows, I have arranged
these various collections of rhymes in the order of their issue, with a
few modern collections that contain further rhymes. Of those which are
bracketed I have not succeeded in finding a copy.
(1719. _Songs for the Nursery, or Mother Goose's Melodies._ Printed by
T. Fleet.)
1744. _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book._
_c._ 1760. _The Topbook of all._
(1771. _Tommy Thumb's Little Story Book._ The nine rhymes which this
contains are cited by Whitmore.)
(1780. _Mother Goose's Melody_, for which copyright was taken by John
Carnan.)
_c._ 1783. _Gammer Gurton's Garland._
1788. _Tommy Thumb's Song Book_, issued by Isaiah Thomas.
(1797. _Infant Institutes_, cited by Halliwell and Rimbault.)
1799. _Mother Goose's Melody._ Facsimile reprint by Whitmore.
1810. _Gammer Gurton's Garland._ The enlarged edition, published by R.
Triphook, 37 St. James Street, London.
1826. Chambers, _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_.
1834-9. Ker, _Essays on the Archaiology of Nursery Rhymes_.
1842-3. Halliwell, _The Nursery Rhymes of England_.
1846. Halliwell, ditto. Enlarged and annotated edition.
1849. Halliwell, _Popular Rhymes_.
1864. Rimbault, _Old Nursery Rhymes with tunes_.
1870. Chambers, _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_. Enlarged edition.
1876. Thiselton Dyer, _British Popular Customs_.
1890. _Mother Goose's Nursery Rhymes, Tales and Jingles._ Issued by
Warne & Co.
1892. Northall, G. F., _English Folk Rhymes_.
1894. Gomme, A. B., _The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and
Ireland_.
In the studies which follow, the rhymes cited have attached to them the
date of the collection in which they occur.
CHAPTER II
EARLY REFERENCES
Independently of these collections of nursery rhymes, many rhymes are
cited in general literature. This yields a further clue to their
currency at a given period. Thus Rimbault describes a book called
_Infant Institutes, part the first, or a Nurserical Essay on the Poetry
Lyric and Allegorical of the Earliest Ages_, 1797, perhaps by B. N.
Turner, the friend of Dr. Johnson, which was intended to ridicule the
Shakespeare commentators (_N. & Q._, 5, 3, 441). In the course of his
argument, the author cites a number of nursery rhymes.
Again, the poet Henry Carey, about the year 1720, ridiculed the odes
addressed to children by Ambrose Philips by likening these to a jumble
of nursery rhymes. In doing so he cited the rhymes, "Namby Pamby Jack a
Dandy," "London Bridge is broken down," "Liar Lickspit," "Jacky
Horner," "See-saw," and others, which nowadays are still included among
the ordinary stock of our rhymes.
Again, in the year 1671, John Eachard, the divine, illustrated his
argument by quoting the alphabet rhyme "A was an apple pie," as far as
"G got it."[9] Instances such as these do not, however, carry us back
farther than the seventeenth century.
[9] Eachard, _Observations, etc._, 1671, cited. Halliwell, _Popular
Rhymes_, 1849, p. 137.
Another clue to the date of certain rhymes is afforded by their mention
of historical persons, in a manner which shows that the rhyme in this
form was current at the time when the individual whom they mention was
prominently before the eyes of the public. Halliwell recorded from oral
tradition the following verse:--
Doctor Sacheverel
Did very well,
But Jacky Dawbin
Gave him a warning. (1849, p. 12.)
The verse refers to Dr. Sacheverel, the nonconformist minister who
preached violent sermons in St. Paul's, pointing at the Whig members as
false friends and real enemies of the Church. John Dolben (1662-1710)
called attention to them in the House of Commons, and they were declared
"malicious, scandalous, and seditious libels."
Again there is the rhyme:--
Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it,
But the devil a penny was there in it,
Except the binding round it. (1849, p. 48.)
This is said to preserve the names of two celebrated courtesans of the
reign of Charles II (1892, p. 330).
The first name in the following rhyme is that of a famous border hero
who was hanged between 1529 and 1530:--
Johnny Armstrong killed a calf;
Peter Henderson got half;
Willy Wilkinson got the head,--
Ring the bell, the calf is dead. (1890, p. 358.)
Among the pieces collected by Halliwell, and told in cumulative form,
one begins and ends with the following line, which recurs at the end of
every verse:--
John Ball shot them all.
Halliwell is of opinion that this may refer to the priest who took a
prominent part in the rebellion at the time of Richard II, and who was
hanged, drawn, and quartered in 1381.
But a historical name does not necessarily indicate the date of a rhyme.
For a popular name is sometimes substituted for one that has fallen into
contempt or obscurity. Moreover, a name may originally have indicated a
person other than the one with whom it has come to be associated.
A familiar nursery song printed in the collection of c. 1783, and extant
in several variants, is as follows:--
When good King Arthur rul'd the land,
He was a goodly king,
He stole three pecks of barley meal
To make a bag pudding.
A bag pudding the king did make
And stuff'd it well with plumbs,
And in it put great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs.
The king and queen did eat thereof,
And noblemen beside,
And what they could not eat that night
The queen next morning fry'd. (_c._ 1783, p. 32.)
Mr. Chappell, as cited by Halliwell, considered that this version is
not the correct one, but the one which begins:--
King Stephen was a worthy king
As ancient bards do sing....
The same story related in one verse only, and in simpler form, connects
it with Queen Elizabeth, in a version recovered in Berkshire.
Our good Quane Bess, she maayde a pudden,
An stuffed un well o' plumes;
And in she put gurt dabs o' vat,
As big as my two thumbs. (1892, p. 289.)
On the face of it the last variant appears to be the oldest.
An interesting example of a change of name, and of the changing meaning
of a name, is afforded by the nursery song that is told of King Arthur,
and _mutatis mutandis_ of Old King Cole. The poem of King Arthur is as
follows:--
When Arthur first in Court began
To wear long hanging sleeves,
He entertained three serving men
And all of them were thieves.
The first he was an Irishman,
The second was a Scot,
The third he was a Welshman,
And all were knaves, I wot.
The Irishman loved usquebaugh,
The Scot loved ale called blue-cap.
The Welshman he loved toasted cheese,
And made his mouth like a mouse-trap.
Usquebaugh burnt the Irishman,
The Scot was drowned in ale,
The Welshman had liked to be choked by a mouse,
But he pulled it out by the tail.
In this form the piece is designated as a glee, and is printed in the
_New Lyric_ by Badcock of about 1720, which contains "the best songs now
in vogue."
In the nursery collection of Halliwell of 1842 there is a parallel piece
to this which stands as follows:--
Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he;
Old King Cole he sat in his hole,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
The first he was a miller,
The second he was a weaver,
The third he was a tailor,
And all were rogues together.
The miller he stole corn,
The weaver he stole yarn,
The little tailor stole broadcloth
To keep these three rogues warm.
The miller was drowned in his dam,
The weaver was hung in his loom,
The devil ran away with the little tailor
With the broadcloth under his arm. (1842, p. 3.)
Chappell printed the words of the song of Old King Cole in several
variations, and pointed out that _The Pleasant Historie of Thomas of
Reading, or the Six Worthie Yeomen of the West_ of 1632, contains the
legend of one Cole, a cloth-maker of Reading at the time of King Henry
I, and that the name "became proverbial owing to the popularity of this
book." "There was some joke or conventional meaning among Elizabethan
dramatists," he says, "when they gave the name of Old Cole, which it is
now difficult to recover." Dekker in the _Satiromatrix_ of 1602, and
Marston in _The Malcontent_ of 1604, applied the name to a woman. On the
other hand, Ben Jonson in _Bartholomew Fair_ gave the name of Old Cole
to the sculler in the puppet-play _Hero and Leander_ which he there
introduces.[10] In face of this information, what becomes of the
identity of the supposed king?
[10] Chappell, _Popular Music of the Olden Time_, 1893, p. 633.
On the other hand a long ancestry is now claimed for certain characters
of nursery fame who seemed to have no special claim to attention. The
following verse appears in most collections of rhymes, and judging from
the illustration which accompanies it in the toy-books, it refers
sometimes to a boy and a girl, sometimes to two boys.
Jack and Gill went up the hill
To fetch a bottle of water;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Gill came tumbling after. (_c._ 1783, p. 51.)
[Later collections have _Jill_ and _pail_.]
This verse, as was first suggested by Baring-Gould,[11] preserves the
Scandinavian myth of the children Hjuki and Bill who were caught up by
Mani, the Moon, as they were taking water from the well Byrgir, and they
can be seen to this day in the moon carrying the bucket on the pole
between them.
[11] Baring-Gould, _Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_, 1866, p.
189.
Another rhyme cited by Halliwell from _The New Mad Tom o'Bedlam_
mentions Jack as being the Man in the Moon:--
The Man in the Moon drinks claret,
But he is a dull Jack-a-dandy;
Would he know a sheep's head from a carrot,
He should learn to drink cider or brandy. (1842, p. 33.)
According to North German belief, a man stands in the moon pouring water
out of a pail (K., p. 304), which agrees with expressions such as "the
moon holds water." In a Norse mnemonic verse which dates from before the
twelfth century, we read, "the pail is called Saeg, the pole is called
Simul, Bil and Hiuk carry them" (C. P., I, 78).
The view that Jack and Jill are mythological or heroic beings finds
corroboration in the expression "for Jak nor for Gille," which occurs in
the Townley Mysteries of about the year 1460.[12] By this declaration a
superhuman power is called in as witness. The same names are coupled
together also in an ancient divination rhyme used to decide in favour of
one of two courses of action. Two scraps of paper slightly moistened
were placed on the back of the hand, and the following invocation was
pronounced before and after breathing upon them to see which would fly
first. The sport was taught by Goldsmith to Miss Hawkins when a child,
as she related to Forster.[13]
[12] Cited _Murray's Dictionary_: Jack.
[13] Forster, J., _Life of Goldsmith_, II, p. 71.
There were two blackbirds sat upon a hill
The one was named Jack, the other named Jill.
Fly away Jack! Fly away Jill!
Come again Jack! Come again Jill! (1810, p. 45.)
The lines suggest the augur's action with regard to the flight of birds.
The same verse has been recited to me in the following variation:--
Peter and Paul sat on the wall,
Fly away Peter! Fly away Paul!
Come again Peter! Come again Paul!
In this case the names of Christian apostles have been substituted for
heathen names which, at the time when the _names_ were changed, may
still have carried a suggestion of profanity. The following rhyme on
Jack and Gill occurs in an early nursery collection:--
I won't be my father's Jack,
I won't be my mother's Gill,
I will be the fiddler's wife
And have music when I will.
T'other little tune, t'other little tune,
Pr'ythee, love, play me, t'other little tune. (_c._ 1783, p. 25.)
CHAPTER III
RHYMES AND POPULAR SONGS
On looking more closely at the contents of our nursery collections, we
find that a large proportion of so-called nursery rhymes are songs or
snatches of songs, which are preserved also as broadsides, or appeared
in printed form in early song-books. These songs or parts of songs were
included in nursery collections because they happened to be current at
the time when these collections were made, and later compilers
transferred into their own collections what they found in earlier ones.
Many songs are preserved in a number of variations, for popular songs
are in a continual state of transformation. Sometimes new words are
written to the old tune, and differ from those that have gone before in
all but the rhyming words at the end of the lines; sometimes new words
are introduced which entirely change the old meaning. Many variations
of songs are born of the moment, and would pass away with it, were it
not that they happen to be put into writing and thereby escape falling
into oblivion.
In _Mother Goose's Melody_ stands a song in six verses which begins:--
There was a little man who woo'd a little maid,
And he said: "Little maid, will you wed, wed, wed?
I have little more to say, will you? Aye or nay?
For little said is soonest | 2,023.307091 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.3373940 | 1,334 | 11 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and PG
Distributed Proofreaders. This file was produced from
images generously made available by the Canadian Institute
for Historical Microreproductions. HTML version by Al
Haines.
A WOMAN INTERVENES
BY
ROBERT BARR
AUTHOR OF
'IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS,' 'IN A STEAMER CHAIR,' 'FROM WHOSE BOURNE,'
ETC.
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY HAL HURST
1896
TO
MY FRIEND
HORACE HART
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
'I HAD NO INTENTION OF INSULTING YOU' _Frontispiece_
WENTWORTH SHOWED HER HOW TO TURN IT ROUND
MISS JENNIE ALLOWED HIM TO ADJUST THE WRAPS AROUND HER
'OH, YES! YOU WILL STAY,' CRIED THE OTHER
SHE WALKED ALONE UP AND DOWN THE PROMENADE
SHE SPRANG SUDDENLY TO HER FEET
'YOU HAVE A PRODIGIOUS HEAD FOR BUSINESS'
EDITH LONGWORTH HAD SAT DOWN BESIDE HIM
CHAPTER I.
The managing editor of the _New York Argus_ sat at his desk with a deep
frown on his face, looking out from under his shaggy eyebrows at the
young man who had just thrown a huge fur overcoat on the back of one
chair, while he sat down himself on another.
'I got your telegram,' began the editor. 'Am I to understand from it that
you have failed?'
'Yes, sir,' answered the young man, without the slightest hesitation.
'Completely?'
'Utterly.'
'Didn't you even get a synopsis of the documents?'
'Not a hanged synop.'
The editor's frown grew deeper. The ends of his fingers drummed nervously
on the desk.
'You take failure rather jauntily, it strikes me,' he said at last.
'What's the use of taking it any other way? I have the consciousness of
knowing that I did my best.'
'Um, yes. It's a great consolation, no doubt, but it doesn't count in
the newspaper business. What did you do?'
'I received your telegram at Montreal, and at once left for Burnt
Pine--most outlandish spot on earth. I found that Kenyon and
Wentworth were staying at the only hotel in the place. Tried to worm
out of them what their reports were to be. They were very polite, but
I didn't succeed. Then I tried to bribe them, and they ordered me out
of the room.'
'Perhaps you didn't offer them enough.'
'I offered double what the London Syndicate was to pay them for making
the report, taking their own word for the amount. I couldn't offer more,
because at that point they closed the discussion by ordering me out of
the room. I tried to get the papers that night, on the quiet, out of
Wentworth's valise, but was unfortunately interrupted. The young men
were suspicious, and next morning they left for Ottawa to post the
reports, as I gathered afterwards, to England. I succeeded in getting
hold of the reports, but I couldn't hang on. There are too many police
in Ottawa to suit me.'
'Do you mean to tell me,' said the editor, 'that you actually had the
reports in your hands, and that they were taken from you?'
'Certainly I had; and as to their being taken from me, it was either that
or gaol. They don't mince matters in Canada as they do in the United
States, you know.'
'But I should think a man of your shrewdness would have been able to get
at least a synopsis of the reports before letting them out of his
possession.'
'My dear sir,' said the reporter, rather angry, 'the whole thing covered
I forget how many pages of foolscap paper, and was the most mixed-up
matter I ever saw in my life. I tried--I sat in my room at the hotel, and
did my best to master the details. It was full of technicalities, and I
couldn't make it out. It required a mining expert to get the hang of
their phrases and figures, so I thought the best thing to do was to
telegraph it all straight through to New York. I knew it would cost a lot
of money, but I knew, also, you didn't mind that; and I thought, perhaps,
somebody here could make sense out of what baffled me; besides, I wanted
to get the documents out of my possession just as quickly as possible.'
'Hem!' said the editor. 'You took no notes whatever?'
'No, I did not. I had no time. I knew the moment they missed the
documents they would have the detectives on my track. As it was, I was
arrested when I entered the telegraph-office.'
'Well, it seems to me,' said the managing editor, 'if I had once had the
papers in my hand, I should not have let them go until I had got the gist
of what was in them.'
'Oh, it's all very well for you to say so,' replied the reporter, with
the free and easy manner in which an American newspaper man talks to his
employer; 'but I can tell you, with a Canadian gaol facing a man, it is
hard to decide what is best to do. I couldn't get out of the town for
three hours, and before the end of that time they would have had my
description in the hands of every policeman in the place. They knew well
enough who took the papers, so my only hope lay in getting the thing
telegraphed through; and if that had been accomplished, everything would
have been all right. I would have gone to gaol with pleasure if I had
got the particulars through to New York.'
'Well, what are we to do now?' asked the editor.
'I'm sure I don't know. The two men will be in New York very shortly.
They sail, I understand, on the _Caloric_, which leaves in a week. If | 2,023.357434 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.3384550 | 1,002 | 7 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
BY
ROSE LUCIA
Formerly Principal of the Primary School
Montpelier, Vermont
_Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in
Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."_
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO
BOSTON ATLANTA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
ROSE LUCIA.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.
E. P. 21
To
C. M. G.
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MAP]
CONTENTS
PETER AND POLLY
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
"HOW THE LEAVES COME DOWN"
THE BONFIRE
THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER
THE FIRST ICE
THE THREE GUESSES
THE FIRST SNOWSTORM
THE STAR SNOWFLAKE
HOW PETER HELPED GRANDMOTHER
THE SNOW MAN
PETER'S DREAM
CUTTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE
THE GIVE-AWAY BOX
CHRISTMAS MORNING
THE SNOW HOUSE
THE FALL OF THE IGLOO
PULLING PETER'S TOOTH
DRIVING WITH FATHER
THE STAG
POLLY'S BIRD PARTY
THE NEW SLED
BROWNIE
DISH-PAN SLEDS
CAT AND COPY-CAT
POLLY'S SNOWSHOES
THE WOODS IN WINTER
THE WINTER PICNIC
THE SEWING LESSON
FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
AROUND THE OPEN FIRE
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
PETER AND POLLY
Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than
Peter.
They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the
city. It is in the country.
There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields
around it.
In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.
The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun
playing in the snow.
Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies."
But he knows what they are.
His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.
Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can
sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than
summer."
"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things
must happen first.
"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they
will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for
nuts.
"All these things will happen before winter comes."
"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick
stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must
knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."
"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."
"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It
will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."
"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And
when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will
take his picture."
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has
not yet begun his work.
Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen
great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.
One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.
Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."
"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling
something to the bird he tags."
| 2,023.358495 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.3782380 | 2,363 | 9 | ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
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| 2,023.398278 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.4807590 | 21 | 22 |
Produced by David Widger
PECK'S BAD BOY AND HIS PA.
By Geo | 2,023.500799 |
2023-11-16 18:50:47.4842180 | 323 | 34 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Jana Srna and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was made using scans of public domain works in
the International Children's Digital Library.)
[Illustration: NETTIE COMFORTS HER MOTHER.]
THE
CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER.
"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called
the children of God."
BY THE AUTHORS OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD," ETC. ETC.
WITH FRONTISPIECE.
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS,
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE.
BY THE AUTHORS OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD."
Price ONE SHILLING each, with Frontispiece
THE TWO SCHOOLGIRLS.
THE CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER.
THE PRINCE IN DISGUISE.
GERTRUDE AND HER BIBLE.
MARTHA AND RACHEL.
THE WIDOW AND HER DAUGHTER.
THE LITTLE BLACK HEN.
THE ROSE IN THE DESERT.
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS.
London: Savill, Edwards & Co., Printers, Chandos Street.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. SATURDAY EVENING'S WORK 1
II. SUNDAY'S REST | 2,023.504258 |
2023-11-16 18:50:48.0386690 | 1,843 | 8 |
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Story of the Nations
A Series of Historical Studies intended to present
in graphic narratives the stories of the different
nations that have attained prominence in history.
In the story form the current of each national life is distinctly
indicated, and its picturesque and noteworthy periods and episodes
are presented for the reader in their philosophical relations to
each other as well as to universal history.
12º, Illustrated, cloth, each net $1.50
FOR FULL LIST SEE END OF THIS VOLUME.
[Illustration: CAPE HORN.
_Frontispiece_ [From a steel engraving.]]
THE STORY OF THE NATIONS
THE SOUTH AMERICAN
REPUBLICS
BY
THOMAS C. DAWSON
Secretary of the United States Legation to Brazil
IN TWO PARTS
_PART I_
ARGENTINA, PARAGUAY, URUGUAY, BRAZIL
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
COPYRIGHT 1903
BY
THOMAS C. DAWSON
Eighth Printing
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
TO MY WIFE
I DEDICATE THIS STUDY OF THE HISTORY
OF HER NATIVE CONTINENT
PREFACE
The question most frequently asked me since I began my stay in South
America has been: "Why do they have so many revolutions there?" Possibly
the events recounted in the following pages may help the reader to
answer this for himself. I hope that he will share my conviction that
militarism has already definitely disappeared from more than half the
continent and is slowly becoming less powerful in the remainder.
Constitutional traditions, inherited from Spain and Portugal, implanted
a tendency toward disintegration; Spanish and Portuguese tyranny bred
in the people a distrust of all rulers and governments; the war of
independence brought to the front military adventurers; civil disorders
were inevitable, and the search for forms of government that should be
final and stable has been very painful. On the other hand, the generous
impulse that prompted the movement toward independence has grown into an
earnest desire for ordered liberty, which is steadily spreading among
all classes. Civic capacity is increasing among the body of South
Americans and immigration is raising the industrial level. They are
slowly evolving among themselves the best form of government for their
special needs and conditions, and a citizen of the United States must
rejoice to see that that form is and will surely remain republican.
It is hard to secure from the tangle of events called South American
history a clearly defined picture. At the risk of repetition I have
tried to tell separately the story of each country, because each has its
special history and its peculiar characteristics. All of these states
have, however, had much in common and it is only in the case of the
larger nations that social and political conditions have been described
in detail. A study of either Argentina, Brazil, Chile, or Venezuela
is likely to throw most light on the political development of the
continent, while Peru, Bolivia, and Colombia are more interesting to the
seeker for local colour and the lover of the dramatic.
The South American histories so far written treat of special periods,
and few authorities exist for post-revolution times. Personal
observations through a residence of six years in South America;
conversations with public men, scholars, merchants, and proprietors;
newspapers and reviews, political pamphlets, books of travel, and
official publications, have furnished me with most of my material for
the period since 1825. The following books have been of use in the
preparation of the first volume, and are recommended to those who care
to follow up the subject:
ARGENTINA: Mitre's _Historia de Belgrano and Historia de San Martin_,
in Spanish; Torrente's _Revolucion Hispano-Americano_, in Spanish;
Lozano's _Conquista del Paraguay, La Plata y Tucuman_, in Spanish;
Funes's _Historia de Buenos Aires y Tucuman_, in Spanish; Lopez's
_Manuel de Historia Argentina_, in Spanish; Page's _La Plata_, in
English; Graham's _A Vanished Arcadia_, in English.
PARAGUAY: All of the above and Thompson's _Paraguayan War_, in English;
Washburn's _History of Paraguay_, in English; Fix's _Guerra de
Paraguay_, in Portuguese.
URUGUAY: Bauza's _Dominacion Espanola_, in Spanish; Berra's _Bosquejo
Historico_, in Spanish; Saint-Foix's _L'Uruguay_, in French.
BRAZIL: Southey's _History of the Brazil_, in English; Varnhagem's
_Historia do Brasil_, in Portuguese; Pereira da Silva's _Fundacao do
Imperio, Segundo Periodo, Historia do Brasil, e Historia do Meu Tempo_,
in Portuguese; Nabuco's _Estadista do Imperio_, in Portuguese; Rio
Branco's sketch in _Le Bresil en 1889_, in French; Oliveira Lima's
_Pernambuco_, in Portuguese.
All of the above books may be found in the Columbian Memorial Library of
the Bureau of American Republics at Washington, which, taken as a whole,
is one of the best collections on South America in existence.
T. C. D.
WASHINGTON, January 22, 1903.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTORY: THE DISCOVERIES AND THE CONQUEST 3
_ARGENTINA_
I. THE ARGENTINE LAND 37
II. THE SPANISH COLONIAL SYSTEM 47
III. THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 58
IV. THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 70
V. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE REVOLUTION 80
VI. COMPLETION OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 97
VII. THE ERA OF CIVIL WARS 115
VIII. CONSOLIDATION 130
IX. THE MODERN ARGENTINE 141
_PARAGUAY_
I. PARAGUAY UNTIL 1632 165
II. THE JESUIT REPUBLIC AND COLONIAL PARAGUAY 177
III. FRANCIA'S REIGN 188
IV. THE REIGN OF THE ELDER LOPEZ 198
V. THE WAR 206
VI. PARAGUAY SINCE 1870 220
_URUGUAY_
I. INTRODUCTION 227
II. PORTUGUESE AGGRESSIONS AND THE SETTLEMENT OF THE COUNTRY 239
III. THE REVOLUTION 247
IV. INDEPENDENCE AND CIVIL WAR 259
V. CIVIL WAR AND ARGENTINE INTERVENTION 265
VI. COLORADOS AND BLANCOS 272
_BRAZIL_
I. PORTUGAL 287
II. DISCOVERY 295
III. DESCRIPTION 305
IV. EARLY COLONISATION 316
V. THE JESUITS 326
VI. FRENCH OCCUPATION OF RIO 333
VII. EXPANSION 342
VIII. THE DUTCH CONQUEST 350
IX. EXPULSION OF THE DUTCH 361
X. THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 371
XI. GOLD DISCOVERIES--REVOLTS--FRENCH ATTACKS 378
XII. THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 386
XIII. THE PORTUGUESE COURT IN RIO 401
XIV. INDEPENDENCE 411
XV. REIGN OF PEDRO I. 421
XVI. THE REGENCY 436
XVII. PEDRO II. 449
XVIII. EVENTS OF 1849 TO 1864 | 2,024.058709 |
2023-11-16 18:50:48.1409960 | 1,374 | 109 |
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STORIES AND PICTURES
BY
ISAAC LOEB PEREZ
TRANSLATED FROM THE YIDDISH BY
HELENA FRANK
[Illustration: colophon]
PHILADELPHIA
THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA
1906
COPYRIGHT, 1906,
BY THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA
PREFACE
My heartfelt thanks are due to all those who, directly or indirectly,
have helped in the preparation of this book of translations; among the
former, to Professor Israel Abrahams, for invaluable help and advice at
various junctures; and to Mr. B. B., for his detailed and scholarly
explanations of difficult passages--explanations to which, fearing to
overload a story-book with notes, I have done scant justice.
The sympathetic reader who wishes for information concerning the author
of these tales will find it in Professor Wiener's "History of Yiddish
Literature in the Nineteenth Century," together with much that will help
him to a better appreciation of their drift.
To fully understand any one of them, we should need to know intimately
the life of the Russian Jews who figure in their pages, and to be
familiar with the lore of the Talmud and the Kabbalah, which colors
their talk as the superstitions of Slav or Celtic lands color the talk
of their respective peasants.
A Yiddish writer once told me, he feared these tales would be too
_tief-juedisch_ (intensely Jewish) for Gentile readers; and even in the
case of the Jewish English-reading public, the "East (of Europe) is
East, and West is West."
Perez, however, is a distinctly modern writer, and his views and
sympathies are of the widest.
He was born in 1855, and these stories were all written, quite broadly
speaking, between 1875 and 1900. They were all published in Russia,
under the censorship--a fact to be borne in mind when reading such pages
as "Travel-Pictures" (which, by the way, is not a story at all), "In the
Post-Chaise," and others.
We may hope that conditions of life such as are depicted in "The Dead
Town" will soon belong entirely to history. It is for those who have
seen to tell us whether or not the picture is correct.
The future of Yiddish in a Free Russia is hard to tell. There are some
who consider its early disappearance by no means a certainty. However
that may be, it is at present the only language by which the masses of
the Russian Jews can be reached, and Perez's words of 1894, in which he
urges the educated writers to remember this fact, have lost none of
their interest:
"Nowadays everyone must work for his own, must plough and sow his
own particular plot of land, although, or rather _because_ we
believe that the future will represent one universal store, whither
shall be carried all the corn of all the harvests....
"We do not wish to desert the flag of universal humanity.
"We do not wish to sow the weeds of Chauvinism, the thorns of
fanaticism, the tares of scholastic philosophy.
"We want to pull up the weeds by the roots, to cut down the briars,
to burn the tares, and to sow the pure grain of human ideas, human
feelings, and knowledge.
"We will break up our bit of land, and plough and sow, because we
firmly believe that some day there will be a great common store,
out of which all the hungry will be fed alike.
"We believe that storm and wind and rain will have an end, that a
day is coming when earth shall yield her increase, and heaven give
warmth and light!
"And we do not wish _our_ people, in the day of harvest, to stand
apart, weeping for misspent years, while the rest make holiday,
forced to beg, with shame, for bread that was earned by the sweat
and toil of others.
"We want to bring a few sheaves to the store as well as they; we
want to be husbandmen also."
Whenever, in the course of translation, I have come across a Yiddish
proverb or idiomatic expression of which I knew an English equivalent, I
have used the latter without hesitation. To avoid tiresome
circumlocutions, some of the more important Yiddish words (most of them
Hebrew) have been preserved in the translation. A list of them with
brief explanations will be found on page 453. Nevertheless footnotes had
to be resorted to in particular cases.
To conclude: I have frequently, in this preface, used the words "was"
and "were," because I do not know what kaleidoscopic changes may not
have taken place in Russo-Jewish life since these tales were written.
But they are all, with exception of the legend "The Image," tales of the
middle or the end of the nineteenth century, and chiefly the latter.
HELENA FRANK
January, 1906
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 5
I. IF NOT HIGHER 13
II. DOMESTIC HAPPINESS 21
III. IN THE POST-CHAISE 29
IV. THE NEW TUNE 53
V. MARRIED 59
VI. THE SEVENTH CANDLE OF BLESSING 89
VII. THE WIDOW 95
VIII. THE MESSENGER 101
IX. WHAT IS THE SOUL? 117
X. IN TIME OF PESTILENCE 135
XI. BONTZYE SHWEIG 171
XII. THE DEAD TOWN 185
XIII. T<sub>HE</sub> DAYS OF THE MESSIAH 201
XIV. KABBALISTS 213
XV. TR | 2,024.161036 |
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Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) [root] stands for the root symbol; [alpha], [beta], etc. for greek
letters.
(6) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE KIU-KIANG FU: "Unfortunately, however, it stands above
instead of below the outlet of the Po-yang lake, and this has
proved to be a decided drawback to its success as a commercial
port." ''commercial'' amended from ''commerical''.
ARTICLE KLONDIKE: "Gold is practically the only economic product of
the Klondike, though small amounts of tin ore occur, and lignite
coal has been mined lower down on the Yukon." ''practically''
amended from ''practially''.
ARTICLE KNARESBOROUGH: "In 1317 John de Lilleburn, who was holding
the castle of Knaresborough for Thomas duke of Lancaster against
the king, surrendered under conditions to William de Ros of Hamelak
..." ''Knaresborough'' amended from ''Knaresburgh''.
ARTICLE KNUTSFORD: "... on the Cheshire Lines and London &
North-Western railway. Pop. of urban district (1901), 5172."
''Cheshire'' amended from ''Chesire''.
ARTICLE KOREA: "Buddhism, a forceful civilizing element, reached
Hiaksai in A.D. 384, and from it the sutras and images of northern
Buddhism were carried to Japan, as well as Chinese letters and
ethics." ''Buddhism'' amended from ''Buddism''.
ARTICLE KUEN-LUN: "... have the appearance of comparatively gentle
swellings of the earth's surface rather than of well-defined
mountain ranges." ''surface'' amended from ''service''.
ARTICLE KURDISTAN: "... like another Saladin, the bey ruled in
patriarchal state, surrounded by an hereditary nobility, regarded
by his clansmen with reverence and affection, and attended by a
bodyguard of young Kurdish warriors..." ''patriarchal'' amended
from ''partriarchal''..
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME XV, SLICE VIII
Kite-Flying to Kyshtym
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
KITE-FLYING KOSTER, LAURENS
KIT-FOX KOSTROMA (government of Russia)
KITTO, JOHN KOSTROMA (town of Russia)
KITTUR KOSZEG
KITZINGEN KOTAH
KIU-KIANG FU KOTAS
KIUSTENDIL KOTKA
KIVU KOTRI
KIWI KOTZEBUE, AUGUST FRIEDRICH VON
KIZILBASHES KOTZEBUE, OTTO VON
KIZIL IRMAK KOUMISS
KIZLYAR KOUMOUNDOUROS, ALEXANDROS
KIZYL-KUM KOUSSO
KJERULF, HALFDAN KOVALEVSKY, SOPHIE
KJERULF, THEODOR KOVNO (government of Russia)
KLADNO KOVNO (town of Russia)
KLAFSKY, KATHARINA KOVROV
KLAGENFURT KOWTOW
KLAJ, JOHANN KOZLOV
KLAMATH KRAAL
KLAPKA, GEORG KRAFFT, ADAM
KLAPROTH, HEINRICH JULIUS KRAGUYEVATS
KLAPROTH, MARTIN HEINRICH KRAKATOA
KLEBER, JEAN BAPTISTE KRAKEN
KLEIN, JULIUS LEOPOLD KRALYEVO
KLEIST, BERND HEINRICH VON KRANTZ, ALBERT
KLEIST, EWALD CHRISTIAN VON KRASNOVODSK
KLERKSDORP KRASNOYARSK
KLESL, MELCHIOR KRASZEWSKI, JOSEPH IGNATIUS
KLINGER, FRIEDRICH VON KRAUSE, KARL CHRISTIAN FRIEDRICH
KLINGER, MAX KRAWANG
KLIPSPRINGER KRAY VON KRAJOVA, PAUL
KLONDIKE KREMENCHUG
KLOPP, ONNO KREMENETS
KLOPSTOCK, GOTTLIEB FRIEDRICH KREMS
KLOSTERNEUBURG KREMSIER
KLOTZ, REINHOLD KREUTZER, KONRADIN
KNARESBOROUGH KREUTZER, RUDOLPH
KNAVE KREUZBURG
KNEBEL, KARL LUDWIG VON KREUZNACH
KNEE KRIEGSPIEL
KNELLER, SIR GODFREY KRIEMHILD
KNICKERBOCKER, HARMEN JANSEN KRILOFF, IVAN ANDREEVICH
KNIFE KRISHNA
KNIGGE, ADOLF FRANZ FRIEDRICH KRISHNAGAR
KNIGHT, CHARLES KRISTIANSTAD
KNIGHT, DANIEL RIDGWAY KRIVOY ROG
KNIGHT, JOHN BUXTON KROCHMAL, NAHMAN
KNIGHTHOOD and CHIVALRY KRONENBERG
KNIGHT-SERVICE KRONSTADT
KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE KROONSTAD
KNIPPERDOLLINCK, BERNT KROPOTKIN, PETER ALEXEIVICH
KNITTING KROTOSCHIN
KNOBKERRIE KRUDENER, BARBARA JULIANA
KNOLLES, RICHARD KRUG, WILHELM TRAUGOTT
KNOLLES, SIR ROBERT KRUGER, STEPHANUS JOHANNES PAULUS
KNOLLYS KRUGERSDORP
KNOT (bird) KRUMAU
KNOT (loop of rope) KRUMBACHER, CARL
KNOUT KRUMEN
KNOWLES, SIR JAMES KRUMMACHER, FRIEDRICH ADOLF
KNOWLES, JAMES SHERIDAN KRUPP, ALFRED
KNOW NOTHING PARTY KRUSENSTERN, ADAM IVAN
KNOX, HENRY KRUSHEVATS
KNOX, JOHN KSHATTRIYA
KNOX, PHILANDER CHASE KUBAN (river of Russia)
KNOXVILLE KUBAN (province of Russia)
KNUCKLE KUBELIK, JAN
KNUCKLEBONES KUBERA
KNUTSFORD KUBLAI KHAN
KOALA KUBUS
KOBDO KUCHAN
KOBELL, WOLFGANG XAVER FRANZ KUCH BEHAR
KOCH, ROBERT KUDU
KOCH (tribe) KUENEN, ABRAHAM
KOCK, CHARLES PAUL DE KUEN-LUN
KODAIKANAL KUFA
KODAMA, GENTARO KUHN, FRANZ FELIX ADALBERT
KODUNGALUR KUHNE, WILLY
KOENIG, KARL DIETRICH EBERHARD KUKA
KOESFELD KU KLUX KLAN
KOHAT KUKU KHOTO
KOHAT PASS KULJA
KOHISTAN KULM
KOHL KULMBACH
KOHLHASE, HANS KULMSEE
KOKOMO KULP
KOKO-NOR KULU
KOKSHAROV, NIKOLAI VON KUM
KOKSTAD KUMAIT IBN ZAID
KOLA KUMAON
KOLABA KUMASI
KOLAR KUMISHAH
KOLBE, ADOLPHE WILHELM HERMANN KUMQUAT
KOLBERG KUMTA
KOLCSEY, FERENCZ KUMYKS
KOLDING KUNAR
KOLGUEV KUNBIS
KOLHAPUR KUNDT, AUGUST ADOLPH EDUARD EBERHARD
KOLIN KUNDUZ
KOLIS KUNENE
KOLLIKER, RUDOLPH ALBERT VON KUNERSDORF
KOLLONTAJ, HUGO KUNGRAD
KOLOMEA KUNGUR
KOLOMNA KUNKEL VON LOWENSTJERN, JOHANN
KOLOZSVAR KUNLONG
KOLPINO KUNZITE
KOLS KUOPIO (province of Finland)
KOLYVAN KUOPIO (city of Finland)
KOMAROM KUPRILI
KOMATI KURAKIN, BORIS IVANOVICH
KOMOTAU KURBASH
KOMURA, JUTARO KURDISTAN (country)
KONARAK KURDISTAN (province of Persia)
KONG KURGAN
KONGSBERG KURIA MURIA ISLANDS
KONIA KURILES
KONIECPOLSKI, STANISLAUS KURISCHES HAFF
KONIG, KARL RUDOLPH KURNOOL
KONIGGRATZ KUROKI, ITEI
KONIGINHOF KUROPATKIN, ALEXEI NIKOLAIEVICH
KONIGSBERG KURO SIWO
KONIGSBORN KURRAM
KONIGSHUTTE KURSEONG
KONIGSLUTTER KURSK (government of Russia)
KONIGSMARK, MARIA AURORA KURSK (town of Russia)
KONIGSMARK, PHILIPP CHRISTOPH KURTZ, JOHANN HEINRICH
KONIGSSEE KURUMAN
KONIGSTEIN KURUMBAS and KURUBAS
KONIGSWINTER KURUNEGALA
KONINCK, LAURENT GUILLAUME DE KURUNTWAD
KONINCK, PHILIP DE KURZ, HERMANN
KONITZ KUSAN
KONKAN KUSHALGARH
KONTAGORA KUSHK
KOORINGA KUSTANAISK
KOPENICK KUSTENLAND
KOPISCH, AUGUST KUTAIAH
KOPP, HERMANN FRANZ MORITZ KUTAIS (government of Russia)
KOPRULU KUTAIS (town of Russia)
KORA KUT-EL-AMARA
KORAN KUTENAI
KORAT KUTTALAM
KORDOFAN KUTTENBERG
KOREA (country) KUTUSOV, MIKHAIL LARIONOVICH
KOREA (Indian tributary state) KUWET
KORESHAN ECCLESIA, THE KUZNETSK
KORIN, OGATA KVASS
KORKUS KWAKIUTL
KORMOCZBANYA KWANGCHOW BAY
KORNER, KARL THEODOR KWANG-SI
KORNEUBURG KWANG-TUNG
KOROCHA KWANZA
KORSOR KWEI-CHOW
KORTCHA KYAUKPYU
KORYAKS KYAUKSE
KOSCIUSCO KYD, THOMAS
KOSCIUSZKO, TADEUSZ BONAWENTURA KYFFHAUSER
KOSEN KYNASTON, EDWARD
KOSHER KYNETON
KOSLIN KYOSAI, SHO-FU
KOSSOVO KYRIE
KOSSUTH, FERENCZ LAJOS AKOS KYRLE, JOHN
KOSSUTH, LAJOS KYSHTYM
KITE-FLYING, the art of sending up into the air, by means of the wind,
light frames of varying shapes covered with paper or cloth (called
kites, after the bird--in German _Drache_, dragon), which are attached
to long cords or wires held in the hand or wound on a drum. When made in
the common diamond form, or triangular with a semicircular head, kites
usually have a pendulous tail appended for balancing purposes. The
tradition is that kites were invented by Archytas of Tarentum four
centuries before the Christian era, but they have been in use among
Asiatic peoples and savage tribes like the Maoris of New Zealand from
time immemorial. Kite-flying has always been a national pastime of the
Koreans, Chinese, Japanese, Tonkinese, Annamese, Malays and East
Indians. It is less popular among the peoples of Europe. The origin of
the sport, although obscure, is usually ascribed to religion. With the
Maoris it still retains a distinctly religious character, and the ascent
of the kite is accompanied by a chant called the kite-song. The Koreans
attribute its origin to a general, who, hundreds of years ago,
inspirited his troops by sending up a kite with a lantern attached,
which was mistaken by his army for a new star and a token of divine
succour. Another Korean general is said to have been the first to put
the kite to mechanical uses by employing one to span a stream with a
cord, which was then fastened to a cable and formed the nucleus of a
bridge. In Korea, Japan and China, and indeed throughout Eastern Asia,
even the tradespeople may be seen indulging in kite-flying while waiting
for customers. Chinese and Japanese kites are of many shapes, such as
birds, dragons, beasts and fishes. They vary in size, but are often as
much as 7 ft. in height or breadth, and are constructed of bamboo strips
covered with rice paper or very thin silk. In China the ninth day of the
ninth month is "Kites' Day," when men and boys of all classes betake
themselves to neighbouring eminences and fly their kites. Kite-fighting
is a feature of the pastime in Eastern Asia. The cord near the kite is
usually stiffened with a mixture of glue and crushed glass or porcelain.
The kite-flyer manoeuvres to get his kite to windward of that of his
adversary, then allows his cord to drift against his enemy's, and by a
sudden jerk to cut it through and bring its kite to grief. The Malays
possess a large variety of kites, mostly without tails. The Sultan of
Johor sent to the Columbian Exposition at Chicago in 1893 a collection
of fifteen different kinds. Asiatic musical kites bear one or more
perforated reeds or bamboos which emit a plaintive sound that can be
heard for great distances. The ignorant, believing that these kites
f | 2,024.161116 |
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A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT
AND OTHER STORIES
[Illustration]
BY
ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL
A Christmas Accident
STORIES BY
ANNIE ELIOT TRUMBULL
[Illustration: Leaf]
A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT AND OTHER
STORIES. 16mo. Cloth $1.00
ROD'S SALVATION AND OTHER STORIES.
16mo. Cloth 1.00
A CAPE COD WEEK. 16mo. Cloth 1.00
MISTRESS CONTENT CRADOCK.
Cloth. 16mo. 1.00
[Illustration: Leaf]
A. S. BARNES & CO., PUBLISHERS,
_New York_.
A Christmas Accident
_And Other Stories_
By
Annie Eliot Trumbull
Author of "White Birches," "A Masque of Culture," etc.
[Illustration: Emblem]
New York
A. S. Barnes and Company
1900
_Copyright, 1897_,
BY A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY.
=University Press:=
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
OF the stories included in this volume, the first originally appeared in
the _Hartford Courant_; "After--the Deluge," in the _Atlantic Monthly_;
"Mary A. Twining," in the _Home Maker_; "A Postlude" and "Her Neighbor's
Landmark," in the _Outlook_; "The 'Daily Morning Chronicle,'" in _The
New England Magazine_; and "Hearts Unfortified," in _McClure's
Magazine_. To the courtesy of the editors of these periodicals I am
indebted for permission to reprint them.
A. E. T.
Contents
Page
A CHRISTMAS ACCIDENT 1
AFTER--THE DELUGE 32
MEMOIR OF MARY TWINING 67
A POSTLUDE 99
THE "DAILY MORNING CHRONICLE" 139
HEARTS UNFORTIFIED 177
HER NEIGHBOR'S LANDMARK 210
A Christmas Accident
[Illustration: Leaf]
AT first the two yards were as much alike as the two houses, each house
being the exact copy of the other. They were just two of those little
red brick dwellings that one is always seeing side by side in the
outskirts of a city, and looking as if the occupants must be alike too.
But these two families were quite different. Mr. Gilton, who lived in
one, was a pretty cross sort of man, and was quite well-to-do, as cross
people sometimes are. He and his wife lived alone, and they did not have
much going out and coming in, either. Mrs. Gilton would have liked more
of it, but she had given up thinking about it, for her husband had said
so many times that it was women's tomfoolery to want to have people,
whom you weren't anything to and who weren't anything to you, ringing
your doorbell all the time and bothering around in your
dining-room,--which of course it was; and she would have believed it if
a woman ever did believe anything a man says a great many times.
In the other house there were five children, and, as Mr. Gilton said,
they made too large a family, and they ought to have gone somewhere
else. Possibly they would have gone had it not been for the fence; but
when Mr. Gilton put it up and Mr. Bilton told him it was three inches
too far on his land, and Mr. Gilton said he could go to law about it,
expressing the idea forcibly, Mr. Bilton was foolish enough to take his
advice. The decision went against him, and a good deal of his money went
with it, for it was a long, teasing lawsuit, and instead of being three
inches of made ground it might have been three degrees of the Arctic
Circle for the trouble there was in getting at it. So Mr. Bilton had to
stay where he was.
It was then that the yards began to take on those little differences
that soon grew to be very marked. Neither family would plant any vines
because they would have been certain to heedlessly beautify the other
side, and consequently the fence, in all its primitive boldness, stood
out uncompromisingly, and the one or two little bits of trees grew
carefully on the farther side of the enclosure so as not to be mixed up
in the trouble at all. But Mr. Gilton's grass was cut smoothly by the
man who made the fires, while Mr. Bilton only found a chance to cut his
himself once in two weeks. Then, by and by, Mr. Gilton bought a red
garden bench and put it under the tree that was nearest to the fence. No
one ever went out and sat on it, to be sure, but to the Bilton children
it represented the visible flush of prosperity. Particularly was Cora
Cordelia wont to peer through the fence and gaze upon that red bench,
thinking it a charming place in which to play house, ignorant of the
fact that much of the red paint would have come off on her back. Cora
Cordelia was the youngest of the five. All the rest had very simple
names,--John, Walter, Fanny, and Susan,--but when it came to Cora
Cordelia, luxuries were beginning to get very scarce in the Bilton
family, and Mrs. Bilton felt that she must make up for it by being
lavish, in one direction or another. She had wished to name Fanny, Cora,
and Susan, Cordelia, but she had yielded to her husband, and called one
after his mother and one after herself, and then gave both her favorite
names to the youngest of all. Cora Cordelia was a pretty little girl,
prettier even than both her names put together.
After the red bench came a quicksilver ball, that was put in the middle
of the yard and reflected all the glory of its owner, albeit in a
somewhat distorted form. This effort of human ingenuity filled the
Bilton children with admiration bordering on awe; Cora Cordelia spent
hours gazing at it, until called in and reproved by her mother for
admiring so much things she could not afford to have. After this, she
only admired it covertly.
Small distinctions like these barbed the arrows of contrast and
comparison and kept the disadvantages of neighborhood ever present.
Then, it was a constant annoyance to have their surnames so much alike.
Matters were made more unpleasant by mistakes of the butcher, the
grocer, and so on,--Gilton, 79 Holmes Avenue, was so much like Bilton,
77 Holmes Avenue. Gilton changed his butcher every time he sent his
dinner to Bilton; and though the mistakes were generally rectified,
neither of the two families ever forgot the time the Biltons ate,
positively ate, the Gilton dinner, under a misapprehension. Mrs. Bilton
apologized, and Mrs. Gilton boldly told her husband that she was glad
they'd had it, and she hoped they'd enjoyed it, which only made matters
worse; and altogether it was a dark day, the only joy of it being that
fearful one snatched by John, Walter, Susan, Fanny, and Cora Cordelia
from the undoubted excellence of the roast.
Of course there was an assortment of minor difficulties. The smoke from
the Biltons' kitchen blew in through the windows of the Giltons'
sitting-room when the wind was in one direction, and, when it was in the
other, many of the clothes from the Giltons' clothesline were blown into
the Biltons' yard, and Fanny, Susan, or Cora Cordelia had to be sent out
to pick them up and drop them over the fence again, which Mrs. Bilton
said was very wearing, as of course it must have been. Things like this
were always happening, but matters reached a climax when it came to the
dog. It wasn't a large dog, but it was a tiresome one. It got up early
in the morning and barked. Now we all know that early rising is a good
thing and honorable among all men, but it is something that ought to be
done quietly, out of regard to the weaker vessels; and a dog that barks
between five and seven in the morning, continuously, certainly ought to
be suppressed, even if it be necessary to use force. Everybody agreed
with the Biltons about that,--everybody except the Giltons themselves,
who | 2,024.25626 |
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A SLAV SOUL
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ALEXANDER KUPRIN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
STEPHEN GRAHAM
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
1916
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: ALEXANDER KUPRIN
I. A SLAV SOUL
II. THE SONG AND THE DANCE
III. EASTER DAY
IV. THE IDIOT
V. THE PICTURE
VI. HAMLET
VII. MECHANICAL JUSTICE
VIII. THE LAST WORD
IX. THE WHITE POODLE
X. THE ELEPHANT
XI. DOGS' HAPPINESS
XII. A CLUMP OF LILACS
XIII. ANATHEMA
XIV. TEMPTING PROVIDENCE
XV. CAIN
INTRODUCTION
ALEXANDER KUPRIN
"Oh how incomprehensible for us, how mysterious, how strange are the
very simplest happenings in life. And we, not understanding them,
unable to penetrate their significance, heap one event upon another,
plait them together, join them, make acquaintances and marriages,
write books, say sermons, found ministries, carry on war or trade,
make new inventions and then after all, create history! And yet every
time I think of the immensity and complexity, the incomprehensible and
elemental accidentoriness of the whole hurly-burly of life, then my own
little life seems but a miserable speck of dust lost in the whirl of a
hurricane."
So in a paragraph in one of his sketches Alexander Kuprin gives his
feelings about his life and his work, and in that expression perhaps we
see his characteristic attitude towards the world of which he writes.
One of the strongest tales in this collection, "Tempting Providence,"
is very representative of Kuprin in this vein.
After Chekhof the most popular tale-writer in Russia is Kuprin, the
author of fourteen volumes of effusive, touching and humorous stories.
He is read by the great mass of the Russian reading public, and his
works can be bought at any railway bookstall in the Empire. He is
devoured by the students, loved by the bourgeois, and admired even by
intellectual and fastidious Russians. It is impossible not to admire
this natural torrent of Russian thoughts and words and sentiments. His
lively pages are a reflection of Russia herself, and without having
been once in the country it would be possible to get a fair notion of
its surface life by reading these tales in translation. Perhaps the
greatest of living Russian novelists is Kuprin--exalted, hysterical,
sentimental, Rabelaisian Kuprin. He comes to you with a handful of
wild flowers in one red, hairy hand and a shovelful of rubbish in the
other--his shiny, lachrymose but unfathomable features pouring floods
of tears or rolling and bursting in guffaws of laughter. His is a rank
verbiage--he gives birth to words, ideas, examples in tens where other
writers go by units and threes.
He is occasionally coarse, occasionally sentimental, but he gives great
delight to his readers; his are rough-hewn lumps of conversation and
life. With him everything is taken from life. He seems to be a master
of detail, and the characteristic of his style is a tendency to give
the most diverting lists. Often paragraph after paragraph, if you
look into the style, would be found to be lists of delicious details
reported in a conversational manner. Thus, opening a volume at random,
you can easily find an example:--
"Imagine the village we had reached--all overblown with snow; the
inevitable village idiot, Serozha, walking almost naked in the snow;
the priest, who won't play cards the day before a festival but writes
denunciations to the village starosta instead--a stupid, artful man,
and an adept at getting alms, speaking an atrocious Petersburg Russian.
If you have grasped what society was like in the village you know to
what point of boredom and stupefaction we attained. We had already
got tired of bear-hunting, hare-hunting with hounds, pistol-shooting
at a target through three rooms, writing humorous verses. It must be
confessed we quarrelled."
He is also the inventor of amusing sentences which can almost be used
as proverbs:--
He knew which end of the asparagus to eat.
Or,
We looked at our neighbours through a microscope; they at us through a
telescope.
Every one of Kuprin's stories has the necessary Attic salt. He is like
our English Kipling, whom he greatly admires, and about whom he has
written in one of his books an appreciative essay. He is also something
like the American O. Henry, especially in the matter of his lists of
details and his apt metaphors, but he has not the artifice nor the
everlasting American smile. Kuprin, moreover, takes his matter from
life and writes with great ease and carelessness; O. Henry put together
from life and re-wrote twelve times.
Above all things Kuprin is a sentimental author, preferring an impulse
to a reason, and abandoning logic whenever his feelings are touched.
He likes to feel the reader with the tears in his eyes and then to
go forward with him in the unity of emotional friendship. There is,
however, under this excitement a rather self-centred cynic despising
the things he does not love, a satirical genius. His humour is nearly
always at the expense of some person, institution or class of society.
Thus "The Song and the Dance" is at the expense of the peasantry, "The
Last Word" at the expense of the lower _intelligentia,_ "The White
Poodle" at the expense of those rich bourgeois who have villas on the
Crimean shores, "Anathema" at the expense of the Church, "Mechanical
Justice" at the expense of the professor, and so on. And it is part of
Kuprin's sentiment to love dogs almost as much as men, and he tells no
tales at dogs' expense. "The White Poodle" and "Dogs' Happiness" are
two of his dog tales.
The tales selected are taken from various volumes, | 2,024.259544 |
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HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
Published April, 1897,
in
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science
HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
IT may be said of Purgatory that if it did not exist it would have to be
created, so eminently is it in accord with the dictates of | 2,025.058728 |
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[Illustration: Painted by Blythe Engraved by O. Pelton
From a Portrait taken at the age of 21]
FAMILIAR LETTERS OF JOHN ADAMS
AND HIS WIFE ABIGAIL ADAMS,
DURING THE REVOLUTION.
WITH A
MEMOIR OF MRS. ADAMS.
BY
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS.
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON.
CAMBRIDGE: THE RIVERSIDE PRESS.
1876.
Copyright, 1875,
BY CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
PREFACE.
Thirty-five years ago a collection of letters written during the period
of the Revolution and later, by John Adams and his wife, Abigail Adams,
came into my hands. They interested me so much that I thought they might
possibly interest others also, especially the growing generations not
familiar with the history of the persons and events connected with the
great struggle. The result was an experiment in publication, first, of a
selection from the letters of Mrs. Adams addressed to her husband; and,
at a later moment, of a selection from his replies. The first series
proved so acceptable to the public that it ran through four large
editions in eight years. The second, though slower of sale, has likewise
been long since exhausted. Applications have been made to me from time
to time for information where copies of either might be had, to which I
could give no satisfactory answer. I purchased one copy, whilst residing
in London several years ago, which I found by chance advertised in a
sale catalogue of old books in that city. I know not now where I could
get another.
Reflecting on these circumstances, in connection with the approaching
celebration of the Centenary year of the national existence, it
occurred to me that a reproduction of some portion of the papers, with
such additions as could be made from letters not then included, might
not prove unacceptable now. To that end I have ventured to embrace, in a
single volume, so much of the correspondence that took place between
these persons as was written during the period of the Revolutionary
struggle, and terminating with the signature of the preliminary articles
of the great Treaty which insured pacification and independence to the
people of the United States.
The chief alteration made in the mode of publication will be perceived
at once. Instead of printing the letters of the respective parties in
separate volumes, it has now been deemed more judicious to collect them
together and arrange them in the precise order of their respective
dates, to the end that the references to events or sentiments constantly
made on the one side or the other may be more readily gathered and
understood. This will show more distinctly the true shape of familiar
letters which properly belongs to them. It is not likely that either
correspondent, in writing them, ever dreamed that they might ultimately
be shown to the world, and perhaps transmitted to the latest posterity.
May I be permitted to add an humble opinion that it is this feature in
them which constitutes their chief attraction?
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS.
MEMOIR.
The memorials of that generation by whose efforts the independence of
the United States was achieved are in great abundance. There is hardly
an event of importance, from the year 1765 to the date of the definitive
treaty of peace with Great Britain, in September, 1783, which has not
been recorded, either by the industry of actors upon the scene or by the
indefatigable labors of a succeeding class of students. These persons
have devoted themselves, with a highly commendable zeal, to the
investigation of all particulars, even the most minute, that relate to
this interesting period. The individuals called to appear most
conspicuously in the Revolution have many of them left voluminous
collections of papers, which, as time passes, find their way to the
light by publication, and furnish important illustrations of the
feelings and motives under which the contest was carried on. The actors
are thus made to stand in bold relief before us. We not only see the
public record, but the private commentary also; and these, taken in
connection with the contemporaneous histories, all of which, however
defective in philosophical analysis, are invaluable depositories of
facts related by living witnesses, will serve to transmit to posterity
the details for a narration in as complete a form as will in all
probability ever be attained by the imperfect faculties of man.
Admitting these observations to be true, there is, nevertheless, a
distinction to be drawn between the materials for a history of action
and those for one of feeling; between the labors of men aiming at
distinction among their fellow-beings, and the private, familiar
sentiments that run into the texture of the social system, without
remark or the hope of observation. Here it is that something like a void
in our annals appears still to exist. Our history is for the most part
wrapped up in the forms of office. The great men of the Revolution, in
the eyes of posterity, are many of them like heroes of a mythological
age. They are seen, chiefly, when conscious that they are upon a
theatre, where individual sentiment must be sometimes disguised, and
often sacrificed, for the public good. Statesmen and Generals rarely say
all they think or feel. The consequence is that, in the papers which
come from them, they are made to assume a uniform of grave hue, which,
though it doubtless exalts the opinion entertained of their perfections,
somewhat diminishes the interest with which later generations scan their
character. Students of human nature seek for examples of man under
circumstances of difficulty and trial; man as he is, not as he would
appear; but there are many reasons why they may be often baffled in the
search. We look for the workings of the heart, when those of the head
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ELSIE DINSMORE
BY
MARTHA FINLEY
CHAPTER FIRST
"I never saw an eye so bright,
And yet so soft as hers;
It sometimes swam in liquid light,
And sometimes swam in tears;
It seemed a beauty set apart
For softness and for sighs."
--MRS. WELBY.
The school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment; the
ceiling, it is true, was somewhat lower than in the more modern portion
of the building, for the wing in which it was situated dated back to
the old-fashioned days prior to the Revolution, while the larger part
of the mansion had not stood more than twenty or thirty years; but the
effect was relieved by windows reaching from floor to ceiling, and
opening on a veranda which overlooked a lovely flower-garden, beyond
which were fields and woods and hills. The view from the veranda was
very beautiful, and the room itself looked most inviting, with its neat
matting, its windows draped with snow-white muslin, its comfortable
chairs, and pretty rosewood desks.
Within this pleasant apartment sat Miss Day with her pupils, six in
number. She was giving a lesson to Enna, the youngest, the spoiled
darling of the family, the pet and plaything of both father and mother.
It was always a trying task to both teacher and scholar, for Enna was
very wilful, and her teacher's patience by no means inexhaustible.
"There!" exclaimed Miss Day, shutting the book and giving it an
impatient toss on to the desk; "go, for I might as well try to teach
old Bruno. I presume he would learn about as fast."
And Enna walked away with a pout on her pretty face, muttering that she
would "tell mamma."
"Young ladies and gentlemen," said Miss Day, looking at her watch, "I
shall leave you to your studies for an hour; at the end of which time I
shall return to hear your recitations, when those who have attended
properly to their duties will be permitted to ride out with me to visit
the fair."
"Oh! that will be jolly!" exclaimed Arthur, a bright-eyed,
mischief-loving boy of ten.
"Hush!" said Miss Day sternly; "let me hear no more such exclamations;
and remember that you will not go unless your lessons are thoroughly
learned. Louise and Lora," addressing two young girls of the respective
ages of twelve and fourteen, "that French exercise must be perfect, and
your English lessons as well. Elsie," to a little girl of eight,
sitting alone at a desk near one of the windows, and bending over a
slate with an appearance of great industry, "every figure of that
example must be correct, your geography lesson recited perfectly, and a
page in your copybook written without a blot."
"Yes, ma'am," said the child meekly, raising a pair of large soft eyes
of the darkest hazel for an instant to her teacher's face, and then
dropping them again upon her slate.
"And see that none of you leave the room until I return," continued the
governess. "Walter, if you miss one word of that spelling, you will
have to stay at home and learn it over."
"Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty sure to do," muttered
Arthur, as the door closed on Miss Day, and her retreating footsteps
were heard passing down the hall.
For about ten minutes after her departure, all was quiet in the
school-room, each seemingly completely absorbed in study. But at the
end of that time Arthur sprang up, and flinging his book across the
room, exclaimed, "There! I know my lesson; and if I didn't, I shouldn't
study another bit for old Day, or Night either."
"Do be quiet, Arthur," said his sister Louise; "I can't study in such a
racket."
Arthur stole on tiptoe across the room, and coming up behind Elsie,
tickled the back of her neck with a feather.
She started, saying in a pleading tone, "Please, Arthur, don't."
"It pleases me to do," he said, repeating the experiment.
Elsie changed her position, saying in the same gentle, persuasive tone,
"O Arthur! _please_ let me alone, or I never shall be able to do this
example."
"What! all this time on one example! you ought to be ashamed. Why, I
could have done it half a dozen times over."
"I have been over and over it," replied the little girl in a tone of
despondency, "and still there are two figures that will not come right."
"How do you know they are not right, little puss?" shaking her curls as
he spoke.
"Oh! please, Arthur, don't pull my hair. I have the answer--that's the
way I know."
"Well, then, why don't you just set the figures down. I would."
"Oh! no, indeed; that would not be honest."
"Pooh! nonsense! nobody would be the wiser, nor the poorer."
"No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I can never get it
right while you are bothering me so," said Elsie, laying her slate
aside in despair. Then taking out her geography, she began studying
most diligently. But Arthur continued his persecutions--tickling her,
pulling her hair, twitching the book out of her hand, and talking
almost incessantly, making remarks, and asking questions; till at last
Elsie said, as if just ready to cry, "Indeed, Arthur, if you don't let
me alone, I shall never be able to get my lessons."
"Go away then; take your book out on the veranda, and learn your
lessons there," said Louise. "I'll call you when Miss Day comes."
"Oh! no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it would be disobedience,"
replied Elsie, taking out her writing materials.
Arthur stood over her criticising every letter she made, and finally
jogged her elbow in such a way as to cause her to drop all the ink in
her pen upon the paper, making quite a large blot.
"Oh!" cried the little girl, bursting into tears, "now I shall lose my
ride, for Miss Day will not let me go; and I was so anxious to see all
those beautiful flowers."
Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some compunction when he
saw the mischief he had done. "Never mind, Elsie," said he. "I can fix
it yet. Just let me tear out this page, and you can begin again on the
next, and I'll not bother you. I'll make these two figures come right
too," he added, taking up her slate.
"Thank you, Arthur," said the little girl, smiling through her tears;
"you are very kind, but it would not be honest to do either, and I had
rather stay at home than be deceitful."
"Very well, miss," said he, tossing his head, and walking away, "since
you won't let me help you, it is all your own fault if you have to stay
at home."
"Elsie," exclaimed Louise, "I have no patience with you! such
ridiculous scruples as you are always raising. I shall not pity you one
bit, if you are obliged to stay at home."
Elsie made no reply, but, brushing away a tear, bent over her writing,
taking great pains with every letter, though saying sadly to herself
all the time, "It's of no use, for that great ugly blot will spoil it
all."
She finished her page, and, excepting the unfortunate blot, it all
looked very neat indeed, showing plainly that it had been written with
great care. She then took up her slate and patiently went over and over
every figure of the troublesome example, trying to discover where her
mistake had been. But much time had been lost through Arthur's teasing,
and her mind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing that she
tried in vain to fix it upon the business in hand; and before the two
troublesome figures had been made right, the hour was past and Miss Day
returned.
"Oh!" thought Elsie, "if she will only hear the others first, I may be
able to get this and the geography ready yet; and perhaps, if Arthur
will be generous enough to tell her about the blot, she may excuse me
for it."
But it was a vain hope. Miss Day had no sooner seated herself at her
desk, than she called, "Elsie, come here and say that lesson; and bring
your copybook and slate, that I may examine your work."
Elsie tremblingly obeyed.
The lesson, though a difficult one, was very tolerably recited; for
Elsie, knowing Arthur's propensity for teasing, had studied it in her
own room before school hours. But Miss Day handed back the book with a
frown, saying, "I told you the recitation must be perfect, and it was
not."
She was always more severe with Elsie than with any other of her
pupils. The reason the reader will probably be able to divine ere long.
"There are two incorrect figures in this example," said she, laying
down the slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking up the
copy-book, she exclaimed, "Careless, disobedient child! did I not
caution you to be careful not to blot your book! There will be no ride
for you this morning. You have failed in everything. Go to your seat.
Make that example right, and do the next; learn your geography lesson
over, and write another page in your copy-book; and, mind, if there is
a blot on it, you will get no dinner."
Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and obeyed.
During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretending to study, but
glancing every now and then at Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill
at ease. She cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to her
seat; but he turned away his head, muttering, "It's all her own fault,
for she wouldn't let me help her."
As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora's eyes fixed on him
with an expression of scorn and contempt. He violently, and
dropped his eyes upon his book.
"Miss Day," said Lora, indignantly, "I see Arthur does not mean to
speak, and as I cannot bear to see such injustice, I must tell you that
it is all his fault that Elsie has failed in her lessons; for she tried
her very best, but he teased her incessantly, and also jogged her elbow
and made her spill the ink on her book; and to her credit she was too
honorable to tear out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make
her example right; both which he very generously proposed doing after
causing all the mischief."
"Is this so, Arthur?" asked Miss Day, angrily.
The boy hung his head, but made no reply.
"Very well, then," said Miss Day, "you too must stay at home."
"Surely," said Lora, in surprise, "you will not keep Elsie, since I
have shown you that she was not to blame."
"Miss Lora," replied her teacher, haughtily, "I wish you to understand
that I am not to be dictated to by my pupils."
Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day went on hearing the
lessons without further remark.
In the meantime the little Elsie sat at her desk, striving to conquer
the feelings of anger and indignation that were swelling in her breast;
for Elsie, though she possessed much of "the ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit," was not yet perfect, and often had a fierce contest with
her naturally quick temper. Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or
tone or look betrayed the existence of such feelings; and it was a
common remark in the family that Elsie had no spirit.
The recitations were scarcely finished when the door opened and a lady
entered dressed for a ride.
"Not through yet, Miss Day?" she asked.
"Yes, madam, we are just done," replied the teacher, closing the French
grammar and handing it to Louise.
"Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty this morning, and
are ready to accompany us to the fair," said Mrs. Dinsmore. "But what
is the matter with Elsie?"
"She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore has been told that
she must remain at home," replied Miss Day with heightened color and in
a tone of anger; "and as Miss Lora tells me that Master Arthur was
partly the cause, I have forbidden him also to accompany us."
"Excuse me, Miss Day, for correcting you," said Lora, a little
indignantly; "but I did not say _partly,_ for I am sure it was
_entirely_ his fault."
"Hush, hush, Lora," said her mother, a little impatiently; "how can you
be sure of any such thing; Miss Day, I must beg of you to excuse Arthur
this once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him along. He is
fond of mischief, I know, but he is only a child, and you must not be
too hard upon him."
"Very well, madam," replied the governess stiffly, "you have of course
the best right to control your own children."
Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave the room.
"Mamma," asked Lora, "is not Elsie to be allowed to go too?"
"Elsie is not my child, and I have nothing to say about it. Miss Day,
who knows all the circumstances, is much better able than I to judge
whether or no she is deserving of punishment," replied Mrs. Dinsmore,
sailing out of the room.
"You will let her go, Miss Day?" said Lora, inquiringly.
"Miss Lora," replied Miss Day, angrily, "I have already told you I was
not to be dictated to. I have said Elsie must remain at home, and I
shall not break my word."
"Such injustice!" muttered Lora, turning away.
"Lora," said Louise, impatiently, "why need you concern yourself with
Elsie's affairs? for my part, I have no pity for her, so full as she is
of nonsensical scruples."
Miss Day crossed the room to where Elsie was sitting leaning her head
upon the desk, struggling hard to keep down the feelings of anger and
indignation aroused by the unjust treatment she had received.
"Did I not order you to learn that lesson over?" said the governess,
"and why are you sitting here idling?"
Elsie dared not speak lest her anger should show itself in words; so
merely raised her head | 2,030.158399 |
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Transcriber’s notes:
In this e-text, paired underscores denote _italicised text_, and a
^ (caret) indicates superscripted text. Footnotes have been positioned
below the relevant paragraphs. A small number of spelling and
typographic errors have been corrected silently.
_Some Eccentrics
& a Woman_
_First Published in 1911_
[Illustration: A VIEW from the PUMP ROOM, BATH.]
_Some Eccentrics
& a Woman_
_By Lewis Melville_
_London_
_Martin Secker_
_Number Five John Street_
_Adelphi_
NOTE
Of the eight papers printed here, “Some Eighteenth-Century Men About
Town,” “A Forgotten Satirist: ‘Peter Pindar’,” “Sterne’s Eliza,”
and “William Beckford, of Fonthill Abbey,” have appeared in the
_Fortnightly Review_; “Charles James Fox” appeared in the _Monthly
Review_, “Exquisites of the Regency” in _Chambers’s Journal_, and
“The Demoniacs” in the American _Bookman_. To the editors of these
periodicals I am indebted either for permission to reprint, or
for their courtesy in having permitted me to reserve the right of
publication in book form. “Philip, Duke of Wharton” is now printed for
the first time.
LEWIS MELVILLE
_Contents_
PAGE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MEN ABOUT TOWN 13
SOME EXQUISITES OF THE REGENCY 47
A FORGOTTEN SATIRIST: “PETER PINDAR” 103
STERNE’S ELIZA 129
THE DEMONIACS 161
WILLIAM BECKFORD OF FONTHILL ABBEY 189
CHARLES JAMES FOX 219
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON 253
INDEX 283
_List of Illustrations_
“A VIEW FROM THE PUMP ROOM, BATH” _Frontispiece_
_A Facsimile Reproduction of a Drawing by Richard Deighton_
SIR JOHN LADE _To face page_ 16
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
THE PRINCE OF WALES " " 48
_From the Miniature by Cosway_
LUMLEY SKEFFINGTON " " 80
_From a Contemporary Miniature_
PETER PINDAR " " 112
_From the Painting by John Opie_
LAURENCE STERNE " " 144
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
WILLIAM BECKFORD " " 192
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
CHARLES JAMES FOX " " 224
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON " " 256
_From a Contemporary Painting_
Some Eighteenth-Century Men about Town
When his Royal Highness George, Prince of Wales, afterwards George
IV., freed himself from parental control, and, an ill-disciplined lad,
launched himself upon the town, it is well known that he was intimate
with Charles James Fox, whom probably he admired more because the King
hated the statesman than for any other reason. Doubtless the Prince
drank with Fox, and diced with him, and played cards with him, but
from his later career it is obvious he can never have touched Fox
on that great man’s intellectual side; and, after a time, the royal
scapegrace, who would rather have reigned in hell than have served in
heaven, sought companions to whom he need not in any way feel inferior.
With this, possibly sub-conscious, desire, he gathered around him a
number of men about town, notorious for their eccentricities and for
the irregularity of their lives. With these George felt at home; but,
though he was nominally their leader, there can be little doubt that
he was greatly influenced by them at the most critical time of a young
man’s life, to his father’s disgust and to the despair of the nation.
Of these men the most remarkable were Sir John Lade, George Hanger
(afterwards fourth Lord Coleraine of the second creation), and Sir
Lumley Skeffington; and, by some chance, it happens that little has
been written about them, perhaps because what has been recorded is for
the most part hidden in old magazines and newspapers and the neglected
memoirs of forgotten worthies. Yet, as showing the temper of the times,
it may not be uninteresting to reconstruct their lives, and, as far as
the material serves, show them in their habit as they lived.
Sir John Lade, the son of John Inskipp, who assumed the name of Lade,
and in whose person the baronetcy that had been in the family was
revived, was born in 1759, and at an early age plunged into the fast
society of the metropolis with such vigour that he had earned a most
unenviable reputation by the time he came of age, on which auspicious
occasion, Dr Johnson, who knew him as the ward of Mr Thrale, greeted
him savagely in the satirical verses which conclude:
“Wealth, my lad, was made to wander:
Let it wander at its will;
Call the jockey, call the pander,
Bid them come and take their fill.
When the bonnie blade carouses,
Pockets full and spirits high--
What are acres? what are houses?
Only dirt, or wet and dry.
Should the guardian friend or mother
Tell the woes of wilful waste,
Scorn their counsels, scorn their pother,
You can hang, or drown, at last.”
Sir John became one of the Prince of Wales’s cronies, and for a while
had the management of his Royal Highness’s racing stable; but while it
has been hinted of him, as of George Hanger, that during his tenure
of that office he had some share in the transactions that resulted in
Sam Chifney, the Prince’s jockey, being warned off the turf, it is but
fair to state that there is no evidence in existence to justify the
suspicion. Indeed, he seems to have been honest, except in incurring
tradesmen’s debts that he could never hope to discharge; but this
was a common practice in fashionable circles towards the end of the
eighteenth century, and was held to throw no discredit on the man who
did so--for was it not a practice sanctioned by the example of “The
First Gentleman of Europe” himself?
Sir John’s ambition, apparently, was to imitate a groom in dress and
language. It was his pleasure to take the coachman’s place, and drive
the Prince’s “German Waggon,”[1] and six bay horses from the Pavilion
at Brighton to the Lewes racecourse; and, in keeping with his _pose_,
he was overheard on Egham racecourse to invite a friend to return to
dinner in these terms:--“I can give you a trout spotted all over like
a coach dog, a fillet of veal as white as alabaster, a ‘pantaloon’
cutlet, and plenty of pancakes as big as coach-wheels--so help me.”
[1] Barouches were so described on their first introduction into
England.
Dr Johnson naturally took an interest in Sir John, and, when Lady Lade
consulted him about the training of her son, “Endeavour, madam,” said
he, “to procure him knowledge, for really ignorance to a rich man is
like fat to a sick sheep, it only serves to call the rooks round him.”
It is easier, however, to advocate the acquisition of knowledge than
to inculcate it, and knowledge, except of horses, Sir John Lade never
obtained in any degree. Indeed, his folly was placed on record by
“Anthony Pasquin” in
AN EPIGRAMMATIC COLLOQUY,
Occasioned by Sir John Lade’s Ingenious Method of
Managing his Estates.
Said Hope to Wit, with eager looks,
And sorrow streaming eyes:
“In pity, Jester, tell me when,
Will Johnny Lade be--wise?”
“Thy sighs forego,” said Wit to Hope,
“And be no longer sad;
Tho’ other foplings grow to men,
He’ll always be--a _Lad_.”
[Illustration: _Sir John Lade_]
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THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE
IN AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION
EDITED BY FREDERIC CHAPMAN
THE WHITE STONE
THE WHITE STONE
BY ANATOLE FRANCE
A TRANSLATION BY
CHARLES E. ROCHE
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMX
Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO, LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. 9
II. GALLIO 29
III. 107
IV. 147
V. THROUGH THE HORN
OR THE IVORY GATE 183
VI. 237
Καὶ ἔμοιγε δοκεῖτε ἐπὶ λευκάδα πέτρην καὶ δῆμον ὀνείρων
καταδαρθέντες τοσαῦτα ὀνειροπολεῖν ἐν ἀκαρεῖ τῆς νυκτὸς
οὔσης.
(Philopatris, xxi.)
And to me it seems that you have fallen asleep
upon a white rock, and in a parish of dreams, and
have dreamt all this in a moment while it was
night.
THE WHITE STONE
I
A few Frenchmen, united in friendship, who were spending the spring in
Rome, were wont to meet amid the ruins of the disinterred Forum. They
were Joséphin Leclerc, an Embassy Attaché on leave; M. Goubin, licencié
ès lettres, an annotator; Nicole Langelier, of the old Parisian family
of the Langeliers, printers and classical scholars; Jean Boilly, a
civil engineer, and Hippolyte Dufresne, a man of leisure, and a lover
of the fine arts.
Towards five o’clock of the afternoon of the first day of May, they
wended their way, as was their custom, through the northern door,
closed to the public, where Commendatore Boni, who superintended the
excavations, welcomed them with quiet amenity, and led them to the
threshold of his house of wood nestling in the shadow of laurel bushes,
privet hedges and cytisus, and rising above the vast trench, dug down
to the depth of the ancient Forum, in the cattle market of pontifical
Rome.
Here, they pause awhile, and look about them.
Facing them rise the truncated shafts of the Columnæ Honorariæ, and
where stood the Basilica of Julia, the eye rested on what bore the
semblance of a huge draughts-board and its draughts. Further south, the
three columns of the Temple of the Dioscuri cleave the azure of the
skies with their blue-tinted volutes. On their right, surmounting the
dilapidated Arch of Septimus Severus, the tall columns of the Temple
of Saturn, the dwellings of Christian Rome, and the Women’s Hospital
display in tiers, their facings yellower and muddier than the waters of
the Tiber. To their left stands the Palatine flanked by huge red arches
and crowned with evergreen oaks. At their feet, from hill to hill,
among the flagstones of the Via Sacra, narrow as a village street,
spring from the earth an agglomeration of brick walls and marble
foundations, the remains of buildings which dotted the Forum in the
days of Rome’s strength. Trefoil, oats, and the grasses of the field
which the wind has sown on their lowered tops, have covered them with
a rustic roof illumined by the crimson poppies. A mass of _débris_,
of crumbling entablatures, a multitude of pillars and altars, an
entanglement of steps and enclosing walls: all this indeed not stunted
but of a serried vastness and within limits.
Nicole Langelier was doubtless reviewing in his mind the host of
monuments confined in this famed space:
“These edifices of wise proportions and moderate dimensions,” he
remarked, “were separated from one another by narrow streets full of
shade. Here ran the _vicoli_ beloved in countries where the sun shines,
while the generous descendants of Remus, on their return from hearing
public speakers, found, along the walls of the temples, cool yet
foul-smelling corners, whence the rinds of water-melons and castaway
shells were never swept away, and where they could eat and enjoy their
siesta. The shops skirting the square must certainly have emitted the
pungent odour of onions, wine, fried meats, and cheese. The butchers’
stalls were laden with meats, to the delectation of the hardy citizens,
and it was from one of those butchers that Virginius snatched the knife
with which he killed his daughter. There also were doubtless jewellers
and vendors of little domestic tutelary deities, protectors of the
hearth, the ox-stall, and the garden. The citizens’ necessaries of life
were all centred in this spot. The market and the shops, the basilicas,
_i.e._, the commercial Exchanges and the civil tribunals; the Curia,
that municipal council which became the administrative power of the
universe; the prisons, whose vaults emitted their much dreaded and
fetid effluvia, and the temples, the altars, of the highest necessity
to the Italians who have ever some thing to beg of the celestial powers.
“Here it was, lastly, that during a long roll of centuries were
accomplished the vulgar or strange deeds, almost ever flat and dull,
oftentimes odious and ridiculous, at times generous, the agglomeration
of which constitutes the august life of a people.”
“What is it that one sees, in the centre of the square, fronting the
commemorative pedestals?” inquired M. Goubin, who, primed with an
eye-glass, had noticed a new feature in the ancient Forum, and was
thirsting for information concerning it.
Joséphin Leclerc obligingly answered him that they were the foundations
of the recently unearthed colossal statue of Domitian.
Thereupon he pointed out, one after the other, the monuments laid bare
by Giacomo Boni in the course of his five years’ fruitful excavations:
the fountain and the well of Juturna, under the Palatine Hill; the
altar erected on the site of Cæsar’s funeral pile, the base of which
spread itself at their feet, opposite the Rostra; the archaic stele and
the legendary tomb of Romulus over which lies the black marble slab of
the Comitium; and again, the Lacus Curtius.
The sun, which had set behind the Capitol, was striking with its
last shafts the triumphal arch of Titus on the towering Velia. The
heavens, where to the West the pearl-white moon floated, remained as
blue as at midday. An even, peaceful, and clear shadow spread itself
over the silent Forum. The bronzed navvies were delving this field of
stones, while, pursuing the work of the ancient Kings, their comrades
turned the crank of a well, for the purpose of drawing the water which
still forms the bed where slumbered, in the days of pious Numa, the
reed-fringed Velabrum.
They were performing their task methodically and with vigilance.
Hippolyte Dufresne, who had for several months been a witness of their
assiduous labour, of their intelligence and of their prompt obedience
to orders, inquired of the director of the excavations how it was that
he obtained such yeoman’s work from his labourers.
“By leading their life,” replied Giacomo Boni. “Together with them do I
turn over the soil; I impart to them what we are together seeking for,
and I impress on their minds the beauty of our common work. They feel
an interest in an enterprise the grandeur of which they apprehend but
vaguely. I have seen their faces pale with enthusiasm when unearthing
the tomb of Romulus. I am their everyday comrade, and if one of them
falls ill, I take a seat at his bedside. I place as great faith in them
as they do in me. And so it is that I boast of faithful workmen.”
“Boni, my dear Boni,” exclaimed Joséphin Leclerc, “you know full well
that I admire your labours, and that your grand discoveries fill me
with emotion, and yet, allow me to say so, I regret the days when
flocks grazed over the entombed Forum. A white ox, from whose massive
head branched horns widely apart, chewed the cud in the unploughed
field; a hind dozed at the foot of a tall column which sprang from the
sward, and one mused: Here was debated the fate of the world. The Forum
has been lost to poets and lovers from the day that it ceased to be the
Campo Formio.”
Jean Boilly dwelt on the value of these excavations, so methodically
carried out, as a contribution towards a knowledge of the past. Then,
the conversation having drifted towards the philosophy of the history
of Rome:
“The Latins,” he remarked, “displayed reason even in the matter of
their religion. Their gods were commonplace and vulgar, but full of
common sense and occasionally generous. If a comparison be drawn
between this Roman Pantheon composed of soldiers, magistrates, virgins,
and matrons and the deviltries painted on the walls of Etruscan tombs,
reason and madness will be found in juxtaposition. The infernal scenes
depicted in the mortuary chambers of Corneto represent the monstrous
creations of ignorance and fear. They seem to us as grotesque as
Orcagna’s _Day of Judgment_ in Santa Maria Novella at Florence, and the
_Dantesque Hell_ of the Campo Santo of Pisa, whereas the Latin Pantheon
reflects for ever the image of a well-organised society. The gods of
the Romans were like themselves, industrious and good citizens. They
were useful deities, each one having its proper function. The very
nymphs held civil and political offices.
“Look at Juturna, whose altar at the foot of the Palatine we have so
frequently contemplated. She did not seem fated by her birth, her
adventures, and her misfortunes to occupy a permanent post in the
city of Romulus. An incensed Rutula, beloved by Jupiter, who rewarded
her with immortality, when King Turnus fell by the hand of Æneas, as
decreed by the Fates, she flung herself into the Tiber, to escape thus
from the light of day, since it was denied her to perish with her royal
brother. Long did the shepherds of Latium tell the story of the living
nymph’s lamentations from the depths of the river | 2,030.461982 |
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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
A SELECT PARTY
The man of fancy made an entertainment at one of his castles in the
air, and invited a select number of distinguished personages to
favor him with their presence. The mansion, though less splendid
than many that have been situated in the same region, was
nevertheless of a magnificence such as is seldom witnessed by those
acquainted only with terrestrial architecture. Its strong
foundations and massive walls were quarried out of a ledge of heavy
and sombre clouds which had hung brooding over the earth, apparently
as dense and ponderous as its own granite, throughout a whole
autumnal day. Perceiving that the general effect was gloomy,--so
that the airy castle looked like a feudal fortress, or a monastery
of the Middle Ages, or a state prison of our own times, rather than
the home of pleasure and repose which he intended it to be,--the
owner, regardless of expense, resolved to gild the exterior from top
to bottom. Fortunately, there was just then a flood of evening
sunshine in the air. This being gathered up and poured abundantly
upon the roof and walls, imbued them with a kind of solemn
cheerfulness; while the cupolas and pinnacles were made to glitter
with the purest gold, and all the hundred windows gleamed with a
glad light, as if the edifice itself were rejoicing in its heart.
And now, if the people of the lower world chanced to be looking
upward out of the turmoil of their petty perplexities, they probably
mistook the castle in the air for a heap of sunset clouds, to which
the magic of light and shade had imparted the aspect of a
fantastically constructed mansion. To such beholders it was unreal,
because they lacked the imaginative faith. Had they been worthy to
pass within its portal, they would have recognized the truth, that
the dominions which the spirit conquers for itself among unrealities
become a thousand times more real than the earth whereon they stamp
their feet, saying, "This is solid and substantial; this may be
called a fact."
At the appointed hour, the host stood in his great saloon to receive
the company. It was a vast and noble room, the vaulted ceiling of
which was supported by double rows of gigantic pillars that had been
hewn entire out of masses of variegated clouds. So brilliantly were
they polished, and so exquisitely wrought by the sculptor's skill,
as to resemble the finest specimens of emerald, porphyry, opal, and
chrysolite, thus producing a delicate richness of effect which their
immense size rendered not incompatible with grandeur. To each of
these pillars a meteor was suspended. Thousands of these ethereal
lustres are continually wandering about the firmament, burning out
to waste, yet capable of imparting a useful radiance to any person
who has the art of converting them to domestic purposes. As managed
in the saloon, they are far more economical than ordinary lamplight.
Such, however, was the intensity of their blaze that it had been
found expedient to cover each meteor with a globe of evening mist,
thereby muffling the too potent glow and soothing it into a mild and
comfortable splendor. It was like the brilliancy of a powerful yet
chastened imagination,--a light which seemed to hide whatever was
unworthy to be noticed and give effect to every beautiful and noble
attribute. The guests, therefore, as they advanced up the centre of
the saloon, appeared to better advantage than ever before in their
lives.
The first that entered, with old-fashioned punctuality, was a
venerable figure in the costume of bygone days, with his white hair
flowing down over his shoulders and a reverend beard upon his
breast. He leaned upon a staff, the tremulous stroke of which, as
he set it carefully upon the floor, re-echoed through the saloon at
every footstep. Recognizing at once this celebrated personage, whom
it had cost him a vast deal of trouble and research to discover, the
host advanced nearly three fourths of the distance down between the
pillars to meet and welcome him.
"Venerable sir," said the Man of Fancy, bending to the floor, "the
honor of this visit would never be forgotten were my term of
existence to be as happily prolonged as your own."
The old gentleman received the compliment with gracious
condescension. He then thrust up his spectacles over his forehead
and appeared to take a critical survey of the saloon.
"Never within my recollection," observed he, "have I entered a more
spacious and noble hall. But are you sure that it is built of solid
materials and that the structure will be permanent?"
"O, never fear, my venerable friend," replied the host. "In
reference to a lifetime like your own, it is true my castle may well
be called a temporary edifice. But it will endure long enough to
answer all the purposes for which it was erected."
But we forget that the reader has not yet been made acquainted with
the guest. It was no other than that universally accredited
character so constantly referred to in all seasons of intense cold
or heat; he that, remembers the hot Sunday and the cold Friday; the
witness of a past age whose negative reminiscences find their way
into every newspaper, yet whose antiquated and dusky abode is so
overshadowed by accumulated years and crowded back by modern
edifices that none but the Man of Fancy could have discovered it;
it was, in short, that twin brother of Time, and great-grandsire of
mankind, and hand-and-glove associate of all forgotten men and
things,--the Oldest Inhabitant. The host would willingly have drawn
him into conversation, but succeeded only in eliciting a few remarks
as to the oppressive atmosphere of this present summer evening
compared with one which the guest had experienced about fourscore
years ago. The old gentleman, in fact, was a good deal overcome by
his journey among the clouds, which, to a frame so earth-incrusted
by long continuance in a lower region, was unavoidably more
fatiguing than to younger spirits. He was therefore conducted to an
easy-chair, well cushioned and stuffed with vaporous softness, and
left to take a little repose.
The Man of Fancy now discerned another guest, who stood so quietly
in the shadow of one of the pillars that he might easily have been
overlooked.
"My dear sir," exclaimed the host, grasping him warmly by the hand,
"allow me to greet you as the hero of the evening. Pray do not take
it as | 2,030.555114 |
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Digital Library.)
Our Little Swedish Cousin
The Little Cousin Series
[Illustration]
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents.
[Illustration]
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless | 2,030.755205 |
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HISTORY
OF THE
THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT
MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS.
1862-1865.
_BY A COMMITTEE OF THE REGIMENT._
BOSTON:
PRESS OF ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL.
89 ARCH STREET.
1884.
TO
Our Comrades
OF THE
_THIRTY-SIXTH MASSACHUSETTS VOLUNTEERS_
THIS RECORD OF A COMMON EXPERIENCE
IS
_AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED_.
_Ah, never shall the land forget_
_How gushed the life-blood of her brave,--_
_Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,--_
_Upon the soil they sought to save._
_Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;_
_Alone the chirp of flitting bird,_
_And talk of children on the hill,_
_And bell of wand'ring kine, are heard._
_No solemn host goes trailing by,_
_The black-mouthed gun and stag'ring wain;_
_Men start not at the battle-cry;_
_Oh, be it never heard again!_
--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
PREFACE.
Not long after the close of the war a plan was proposed, by some of
the officers of the regiment, for the preparation of a history of the
Thirty-sixth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers; but the plan was
not carried into execution. At the regimental reunions, in subsequent
years, parts of such a history were read by Comrades White, Ranlett,
and Hodgkins, and the desire for a complete history of the regiment,
which found expression on these occasions, was so strong that, at the
reunion of the regiment at Worcester, in September, 1876, a committee,
consisting of Comrades White, Ranlett, Burrage, and Hodgkins, was
appointed to procure materials for a history of the regiment.
Some progress was made by the committee in the performance of the
work thus assigned to them; but it was not so great as they, or their
comrades of the Thirty-sixth, desired. At the reunion, September 2,
1879, the matter was again considered, and it was finally voted, "that
Comrades White, Ranlett, Hodgkins, Burrage, and Noyes, be chosen a
committee to have charge of the compiling, revising, and printing the
history of the regiment, to be ready for delivery at our next reunion;
and that the committee have power to procure any help they may need."
Many difficulties were encountered in the progress of the work, and it
was found that it would be impossible to prepare, within the limit of
time prescribed, such a history as would be worthy of the regiment. The
different members of the committee, amid the activities of busy lives,
could give to the work only such intervals of leisure as they could
find amid their daily tasks. At the annual reunions of 1880, 1881, and
1882,--testing the patience of their comrades who had entrusted to them
this important task,--they were compelled to report progress only. In
September, 1883,--the last reunion,--however, they were able to say
that the work was already in press, and would be ready for delivery in
the course of a few weeks.
In the table of contents will be found the names of the authors of
the different chapters. The work of Comrades White, Ranlett, Olin,
and Noyes, entitles them to the hearty thanks of all their companions
in arms. Especially, however, are such thanks due to Comrade W. H.
Hodgkins, not only for his own contribution to the history, but
also for his careful attention to the innumerable details which the
preparation of such a work required. Indeed, without his unwearied
endeavors in gathering materials, securing the coöperation of others,
and attending to the business of publication, the history would not so
soon, and might never, have been completed.
To the writer of these lines was assigned the editorial supervision
of the work. From the materials placed in his hands he arranged the
history of the regiment as it now appears. Two proofs of the entire
work have passed under his eye, and in this part of his task he has had
the invaluable assistance of Major Hodgkins. The history, of course,
is not free from errors of statement; and it will doubtless be found
that there are omissions which the writers of the different chapters,
as well as their comrades, will deeply deplore. Yet, with all its
imperfections, this volume is believed to be substantially a faithful
history of the part which the regiment had in the great conflict for
the preservation of the National Union, which was waged during the
years 1862-1865; and, as such, it is certainly a history of which all
those who participated in it may well be proud.
H. S. B.
PORTLAND, ME., Sept. 26, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
ORGANIZATION OF THE REGIMENT.--ALONZO A. WHITE 1-10
CHAPTER II.
TO THE FRONT.--ALONZO A. WHITE 11-18
CHAPTER III.
IN VIRGINIA.--ALONZO A. WHITE 19-36
CHAPTER IV.
THE KENTUCKY CAMPAIGN.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 37-48
CHAPTER V.
IN THE REAR OF VICKSBURG.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 49-57
CHAPTER VI.
THE MOVEMENT ON JACKSON.--S. ALONZO RANLETT 58-72 | 2,030.760466 |
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INDEX
Aberdare, Lord (Henry Austin Bruce), home secretary (1868), ii. 644;
on Collier affair, ii. 385;
on Ewelmcase, ii. 387;
Licensing bill of, ii. 389-390;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 409 _note_;
on Irish University bill, ii. 439;
Gladstone's appreciation of, ii. 462;
president of the council (1873), ii. 463 _note_, 645;
describes last cabinet meeting (1874), ii. 497;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 421, 504; iii. 386.
---- papers, extract from, on position in 1872, ii. 389.
Aberdeen, Gladstone presented with freedom of, ii. 378.
Aberdeen, 4th Earl of:--
_Chronology_--on Wellington's anti-reform speech, i. 69;
Gladstone's visit to (1836), i. 137;
at Canada meeting, i. 641;
party meetings, i. 239;
on Maynooth resignation, i. 273;
Gladstone's relations with, i. 280;
estimate of Peel, i. 283;
on Peel's eulogium of Cobden, i. 292;
on freedom in official position, i. 298;
home and foreign policy of, contrasted, i. 367;
learns Gladstone's views of Neapolitan tyranny, i. 390, 393-395;
on Don Pacifico case, i. 395;
Gladstone's Letters to, i. 392, 394 _and note_, 396, 398, 399
_note 2_, 400, 401 _note 3_, 641, 642;
views on papal aggression question, i. 405, 407;
asked to form a government (1851), i. 405 _and note_;
leader of Peelites, i. 408;
Reform bill of (1852), ii. 238;
attitude of, towards first Derby administration, i. 417,
419, 429;
on Gladstone's attitude towards Disraeli, i. 432;
on possible heads for Peelite government, i. 443;
Irish attitude towards, i. 444;
undertakes to form a government, i. 445;
Gladstone's budget, i. 464-466;
letter to Prince Albert on Gladstone's speech, i. 468;
letter to Gladstone, i. 469;
attitude towards Turkey in 1828, i. 480;
Crimean war, preliminary negotiations, i. 481-484, 487, 490;
on Gladstone's Manchester speech, i. 483;
on effect of Crimean war, i. 484;
suggests retirement, i. 491-492;
opposes postponement of Reform bill, i. 648;
regrets of, regarding the war, i. 494, 536-537;
defeat of, ii. 653;
Gladstone's consultations with, in ministerial crisis (1855),
i. 526, 530-535;
on position of premier, ii. 416;
Gladstone's projected letters to, on Sebastopol committee,
i. 542 _note_;
discourages Gladstone's communicating with Derby, i. 556;
Lewis's budget, i. 560;
Divorce bill, i. 570;
Conspiracy bill, i. 575;
approves Gladstone's refusals to join Derby, i. 578, 586;
uneasiness regarding Gladstone's position, i. 581;
Gladstone's visit to, i. 594;
discourages Ionian project, i. 595;
desires closer relations between Gladstone and government,
i. 596;
Arthur Gordon's letter to, i. 604;
Bright's visit to, i. 626 _note 2_;
death of, ii. 87.
Foreign influence of, i. 392, 529;
foreign estimate of, ii. 351; iii. 321.
Gladstone's estimate of, i. 124, 393, 417; ii. 87, 639-644;
his estimate of Gladstone, i. 613; ii. 170, 203;
Gladstone's letters to, i. 425-426, 429, 463, 549; ii. 3.
Palmerston contrasted with, i. 530.
Patience of, with colleagues' quarrels, i. 520;
loyalty to colleagues, ii. 639-640.
Sobriquet of, i. 177.
Trustfulness of, i. 197; ii. 113, 640, 642-643,
Otherwise mentioned, i. 139, 142 _note_, 270, 293, 294, 367,
420, 437, 458, 460, 482 _note_, 520, 539, 543, 548, 584;
ii. 184, 194; iii. 228.
Aberdeen, 7th Earl of, iii. 385, 517.
Abeken, H., ii. 332-333 _and note_.
Abercromby, Sir Ralph, iii. 314.
Abolition, _see_ slave-holding.
Acland, A. H. D., iii. 495 _and note_.
---- Arthur, i. 54, 59 _note_, 74.
---- Sir H. W., iii. 421.
---- Sir Thomas, member of W E G, i. 59 _note_;
brotherhood formed by Gladstone and, i. 99;
advice to Gladstone on Jewish disabilities question, i. 376;
correspondence with Gladstone on popular discontent, ii. 172-174;
on Gladstone's position (1867), ii. 227;
otherwise mentioned, i. 54, 74, 148;
ii. 280, 430, 431;
iii, 495.
Act of Uniformity bill (1872), ii. 410.
Acton, Lord, recommended by Gladstone for a peerage, ii. 430;
correspondence with Gladstone on Vaticanism, ii. 509, 511, 515,
519-521;
compared with Doellinger, ii. 558;
letter on Gladstone's proposed retirement, iii. 172;
elected fellow of All Souls', iii. 421;
Gladstone's letters to, i. 481, 628; ii. 1, 214;
iii. 355-359, 413-416, 422, 456, 457, 544;
criticism of Gladstone, iii. 360-361;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 254, 617;
iii. 103, 351, 462.
Adam, W. P., commissioner of public works, ii. 463 _note_;
supports Gladstone's Midlothian candidature, ii. 584-585;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 586, 602, 620.
Adams, Charles Francis (American minister), hints withdrawal,
ii. 80 and _note 2_, 83;
Evarts coadjutor to, ii. 189;
breakfasts with Gladstone, ii. 212-213;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 395-396;
work on the arbitration board, ii. 411-412.
Adderley, C. B., quoted, i. 362 _note 2_.
Adullamites, ii. 205, 211, 224, 225.
Advertisements, tax on, i. 459, 462 _and note_.
Affirmation bill (1883), i. 414 _note_; iii. 14, 18-20,
107 note, 312.
Afghanistan:--
Cavagnari in, iii. 151.
Reversal of conservative policy in, iii. 10.
Russian action in (1885), iii. 178, 183-185, 208 _note_.
War with, ii. 583;
Gladstone's references to, ii. 592, 595.
Africa South:--
Cape Colony--
Dutch sympathy in, with Transvaal, iii. 39-40 _and note 2_,
42 _note 2_, 43.
Representatives from, on South African situation, iii. 33.
Cape of Good Hope petition, ii. 545.
Confederation scheme, iii. 22-24, 31.
Frere in, iii. 2, 6.
Native affairs in, committee on, i. 358.
Orange Free State--
Advice from, iii. 32-33.
Sympathy in with Transvaal, iii. 39-40 _and note 2_, 43.
Transvaal--
Administration of, by Great Britain, iii. 31 _and note 1_.
Annexation of (1877), iii. 25;
Boer resistance to annexation, iii. 25-26, 31;
Gladstone's attitude towards, iii. 27;
Hartington's attitude to, iii. 27.
Cabinet abstentions on division regarding, iii. 35.
Commission suggested by Boers, iii. 35;
suggestion accepted, iii. 36 _and note 1_, 40;
constitution of commission, iii. 41;
Boer requests regarding, refused, iii. 41;
parliamentary attack on appointment, iii. 41-42;
Boer attitude towards, iii. 44;
Pretoria convention concluded by, iii. 44-45.
Conventions with, iii. 45 _and note_.
Forces in, iii. 31, _note 2_.
Midlothian reference to (1879), ii. 595;
(1885), iii. 248.
Misrepresentations regarding Boers, iii. 31.
Native struggles with Boers in, iii. 24.
Rising of, iii. 31-32;
course of hostilities, iii. 34-37;
armistice, iii. 39.
Self-government promised to, iii. 25, 28 _and note 2_, 29,
30 _and note 2_;
promises evaded, iii. 30, 33.
W. H. Smith's view of proceedings in, ii. 601.
Suzerainty question, iii. 45 _and note_.
Sympathy with, from South African Dutch, iii. 39-40 _and
note 2_, 42 _note 2_, 43.
Ailesbury, Lord, ii. 556.
Airey, Sir Richard, i. 651.
_Alabama_ claims--
Arbitration accepted on, ii. 405.
Gladstone's views on, ii. 394, 396-397, 406, 409, 538.
Indirect damages claimed by Sumner, ii. 399, 406-412.
Mixed commission proposed to deal with, ii. 397;
refused by United States, ii. 398;
accepted, ii. 400;
constitution of, ii. 400-401;
work of, ii. 401-405.
Origin of, ii. 393-394.
Parliamentary anxieties regarding, ii. 390.
Soreness regarding, ii. 392.
Albania, i. 605-608.
Albert, Prince, speeches at Suppression of Slave Trade meeting,
i. 227;
on Peel's retirement, i. 293;
presented with Gladstone's translation of _Farini_, i. 403 _note_;
Gladstone's budget submitted to, i. 464;
on Gladstone's budget speech, i. 469;
unpopularity of, ii. 426, 652;
views on Roebuck committee, i. 537;
estimate of Gladstone, ii. 28;
on _Trent_ affair, ii. 74;
on Danish question, ii. 93, 102;
death of, ii. 89;
Gladstone's estimate of, ii. 90-91;
effect of his death on Gladstone's relations with the Queen,
ii. 91;
statue to, at Aberdeen, ii. 100;
otherwise mentioned, i. 242, 274, 541; ii. 14, 92.
Albert Victor, Prince, iii. 322.
Alderson, Baron, i. 381.
Alfred, Prince, ii. 98, 99, 105.
Alexander II., Emperor of Russia, ii. 499.
Alexander III., | 2,030.858637 |
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THE WIDOW BARNABY.
BY FRANCES TROLLOPE,
AUTHOR OF "THE VICAR OF WREXHILL," "A ROMANCE OF VIENNA," ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1839.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
THE WIDOW BARNABY.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION TO THE FAMILY OF THE FUTURE MRS. BARNABY.--FINANCIAL
DIFFICULTIES.--MATERNAL LOVE.--PREPARATIONS FOR A FETE.
Miss Martha Compton, and Miss Sophia Compton, were, some five-and-twenty
years ago, the leading beauties of the pretty town of Silverton in
Devonshire.
The elder of these ladies is the person I propose to present to my
readers as the heroine of my story; but, ere she is placed before them
in the station assigned her in my title-page, it will be necessary to
give some slight sketch of her early youth, and also such brief notice
of her family as may suffice to make the subsequent events of her life,
and the persons connected with them, more clearly understood.
The Reverend Josiah Compton, the father of my heroine and her sister,
was an exceedingly worthy man, though more distinguished for the
imperturbable tranquillity of his temper, than either for the brilliance
of his talents or the profundity of his learning. He was the son of a
small landed proprietor at no great distance from Silverton, who farmed
his own long-descended patrimony of three hundred acres with skilful and
unwearied industry, and whose chief ambition in life had been to see his
only son Josiah privileged to assume the prefix of _reverend_ before his
name. After three trials, and two failures, this blessing was at last
accorded, and his son ordained, by the help of a very good-natured
examining chaplain of the then Bishop of Exeter.
This rustic, laborious, and very happy Squire lived to see his son
installed Curate of Silverton, and blessed with the hand of the dashing
Miss Martha Wisett, who, if her pedigree was not of such respectable
antiquity as that of her bridegroom, had the glory of being accounted
the handsomest girl at the Silverton balls; and if her race could not
count themselves among the landed gentry, she enjoyed all the
consideration that a fortune of one thousand pounds could give, to atone
for any mortification which the accident of having a _ci-devant_
tallow-chandler for her parent might possibly occasion.
But, notwithstanding all the pride and pleasure which the Squire took in
the prosperity of this successful son, the old man could never be
prevailed upon by all Mrs. Josiah's admirable reasonings on the rights
of primogeniture, to do otherwise than divide his three hundred acres of
freehold in equal portions between the Reverend Josiah Compton his son,
and Elizabeth Compton, spinster, his daughter.
It is highly probable, that had this daughter been handsome, or even
healthy, the proud old yeoman might have been tempted to reduce her
portion to the charge of a couple of thousand pounds or so upon the
estate; but she was sickly, deformed, and motherless; and the tenderness
of the father's heart conquered the desire which might otherwise have
been strong within him, to keep together the fields which for so many
generations had given credit and independence to his race. To leave his
poor little Betsy in any degree dependent upon her fine sister-in-law,
was, in short, beyond his strength; so the home croft, and the long
fourteen, the three linny crofts, the five worthies, and the ten-acre
clover bit, together with the farm-house and all its plenishing, and one
half of the live and dead farming stock, were bequeathed to Elizabeth
Compton and her heirs for ever--not perhaps without some hope, on the
part of her good father, that her heirs would be those of her reverend
brother, also; and so he died, with as easy a conscience as ever rocked
a father to sleep.
But Mrs. Josiah Compton, when she became Mrs. Compton, with just one
half of the property she anticipated, waxed exceeding wroth; and though
her firm persuasion, that "the hideous little crook-back could not live
for ever," greatly tended to console and soothe her, it was not without
very constant reflections on the necessity of keeping on good terms with
her, lest she might make as "unnatural a will as her father did before
her," that she was enabled to resist the temptation of abusing her
openly every time they met; a temptation increased, perhaps, by the
consciousness that Miss Betsy held her and all her race in the most
sovereign contempt.
Betsy Compton was an odd little body, with some vigour of mind, and
frame too, notwithstanding her deformity; and as the defects in her
constitution shewed themselves more in her inability to endure fatigue,
than in any pain or positive suffering, she was likely to enjoy her
comfortable independence considerably longer, and considerably more,
than her sister thought it at all reasonable in Providence to permit.
The little lady arranged her affairs, and settled her future manner of
life, within a very few weeks after her father's death, and that without
consulting brother, sister, or any one else; yet it may be doubted if
she could have done it better had she called all the parish to counsel.
She first selected the two pleasantest rooms in the house for her
bed-room and sitting-room, and then skilfully marked out the warmest
and prettiest corner of the garden, overlooking some of her own rich
pastures, with the fine old grey tower of Silverton in the distance, as
the place of her bower, her flower-garden, and her little apiary. She
then let the remainder of her house, and the whole of her
well-conditioned dairy-farm, for three hundred pounds a-year, with as
much waiting upon as she might require, as much cream, butter, milk, and
eggs, as she should use, and as much fruit and vegetables as her tenants
could spare--together with half a day's labour every week for her tiny
flower-garden.
She had no difficulty in finding a tenant upon these terms; the son of a
wealthy farmer in the neighbourhood had a bride ready as soon as he
could find a farm-house to put her into, and a sufficient dairy upon
which to display her well-learned science. Miss Betsy's homestead was
the very thing for them. The bride's portion was five hundred pounds for
the purchase of the late Squire Compton's furniture and the half of his
fine stock of cows, &c. &c. the which was paid down in Bank of England
notes within ten minutes after the lease was signed, and being carefully
put into the funds by Miss Betsy, became, as she said to herself (but to
nobody else), a sort of nest egg, which, as she should only draw out the
interest to lay it in again in the shape of principal, would go on
increasing till she might happen to want it; so that, upon the whole,
the style and scale of her expenses being taken into consideration, it
would have been difficult to find any lady, of any rank, more really and
truly independent than Miss Betsy.
She felt this, and enjoyed it greatly. Now and then, indeed, as she
remembered her old father, and his thoughtful care for her, her sharp
black eyes would twinkle through a tear; but there was more softness
than sorrow in this; and a more contented, or, in truth, a more happy
spinster might have been sought in vain, far and near, notwithstanding
her humped back.
Far different was the case of those who inherited the other moiety of
the estate called Compton Basett. The reverend Josiah, indeed, was
himself too gentle and kind-hearted to feel anger against his father, or
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_Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Samma Sambuddhassa_
THE
BUDDHIST CATECHISM
BY
HENRY S. OLCOTT
PRESIDENT-FOUNDER OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
_Approved and recommended for use in Buddhist schools by H. Sumangala,
Pradhana Nayaka Sthavira, High Priest of Sripada and the Western
Province and Principal of the Vidyodaya Parivena_
FORTY-FOURTH EDITION. (Corrected)
Theosophical Publishing House, Adyar, Madras
LONDON AND BENARES: THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY
1915
DEDICATION
In token of respect and affection I dedicate to my counsellor and
friend of many years, Hikkaduwe Sumangala, Pradhana Nayaka
Sthavira and High Priest of Adam's Peak (Sripada) and the Western
Province, THE BUDDHIST CATECHISM, in its revised form.
H. S. OLCOTT
_Adyar_, 1903.
CONTENTS
THE LIFE OF THE BUDDHA
THE DHARMA OR DOCTRINE
THE SANGHA
THE RISE AND SPREAD OF BUDDHISM
BUDDHISM AND SCIENCE
APPENDIX--The Fourteen Propositions accepted by the Northern and
Southern Buddhists as a Platform of Unity
CERTIFICATE TO THE FIRST EDITION
VIDYODAYA COLLEGE,
_Colombo_, 7_th July_, 1881.
I hereby certify that I have carefully examined the Sinhalese version
of the Catechism prepared by Colonel H. S. Olcott, and that the same is
in agreement with the Canon of the Southern Buddhist Church. I
recommend the work to teachers in Buddhist schools, mid to all others
who may wish to impart information to beginners about the essential
features of our religion.
H. SUMANGALA,
_High Priest of Sripada and Galle, and Principal of the Vidyodaya
Parivena._
VIDYODAYA COLLEGE,
_April_ 7, 1897.
I have gone over the thirty-third (English) edition of the Catechism,
with the help of interpreters, and confirm my recommendation for its
use in Buddhist schools.
H. SUMANGALA.
PREFACE
TO THE THIRTY-THIRD EDITION
In the working out of my original plan, I have added more questions and
answers in the text of each new English edition of the Catechism,
leaving it to its translators to render them into whichever of the
other vernaculars they may be working in. The unpretending aim in view
is to give so succinct and yet comprehensive a digest of Buddhistic
history, ethics and philosophy as to enable beginners to understand and
appreciate the noble ideal taught by the Buddha, and thus make it
easier for them to follow out the Dharma in its details. In the
present edition a great many new questions and answers have been
introduced, while the matter has been grouped within five categories,
_viz._: (1) The Life of the Buddha; (2) the Doctrine; (3) the Sangha,
or monastic order; (4) a brief history of Buddhism, its Councils and
propaganda; (5) some reconciliation of Buddhism with science. This, it
is believed, will largely increase the value of the little book, and
make it even more suitable for use in Buddhist schools, of which, in
Ceylon, over one hundred have already been opened by the Sinhalese
people under the general supervision of the Theosophical Society. In
preparing this edition I have received valuable help from some of my
oldest and best qualified Sinhalese colleagues. The original edition
was gone over with me word by word, by that eminent scholar and
bhikkhu, H. Sumangala, Pradhana Nayaka, and the Assistant
Principal of his Pali College at Colombo, Hyeyantuduve Anunayaka
Terunnanse; and the High Priest has also kindly scrutinised the present
revision and given me invaluable points to embody. It has the merit,
therefore, of being a fair presentation of the Buddhism of the
"Southern Church," chiefly derived from first-hand sources. The
Catechism has been published in twenty languages, mainly by Buddhists,
for Buddhists.
H. S. O.
ADYAR, 17_th May_, 1897.
PREFACE
TO THE THIRTY-SIXTH EDITION
The popularity of this little work seems undiminished, edition after
edition being called for. While the present one was in the press a
second German edition, re-translated by the learned Dr. Erich Bischoff,
was published at Leipzig, by the Griebens Co., and a third translation
into French, by my old friend and colleague, Commandant D. A. Courmes,
was being got ready at Paris. A fresh version in Sinhalese is also
preparing at Colombo. It is very gratifying to a declared Buddhist
like myself to read what so ripe a scholar as Mr. G. R. S. Mead, author
of _Fragments of of a Faith Forgotten_, _Pistis Sophia_, and many other
works on Christian origins, thinks of the value of the compilation. He
writes in the _Theosophical Review_: "It has been translated into no
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SONNETS
AND SONGS
BY
HELEN HAY WHITNEY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMV
Copyright, 1905, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published August, 1905.
TO
P. W.
_Contents_
SONNETS
PAGE
Ave atque Vale 3
"Chaque baiser vaut un roman" 4
As a Pale Child 5
Flower of the Clove 6
Too Late 7
The Supreme Sacrifice 8
Malua 9
Love's Legacy 10
How we would Live! 11
In Extremis 12
The Forgiveness 13
With Music 14
Alpha and Omega 15
Flowers of Ice 16
Love and Death 17
The Message 18
Tempest and Calm 19
After Rain 20
Not through this Door 21
Pot-Pourri 22
Eadem Semper 23
To a Woman 24
Aspiration--I 25
Aspiration--II 26
The Gypsy Blood 27
Not Dead but Sleeping 28
The Last Gift 29
Amor Mysticus 30
The Pattern of the Earth 31
Disguised 32
SONGS
On the White Road 35
The Wanderer 36
False 37
A Song of the Oregon Trail 38
The Apple-Tree 39
Silver and Rose 40
To-Morrow 41
The Greater Joy 42
The Rose-Colored Camelia-Tree 43
Good-Bye Sorrow 44
In Harbor 45
Rosa Mundi 46
The Ribbon 47
The Aster 48
Heart and Hand 49
The Golden Fruit 50
To a Moth 52
Winter Song 53
Youth 54
Persephone 55
Etoiles d'Enfer 57
Enough of Singing 58
Truth 59
The Philosopher 60
Prayers 61
A South-Sea Lover Scorned 62
In May 64
For Your Sake 65
Lyric Love 67
Be Still 68
Butterfly Words 69
Music 70
The Ghost 72
Fight! 74
In Tonga 75
This was the Song 76
To E. D. 78
The Dance 79
Vanquished 80
Tranquillity 81
SONNETS
I
_Ave atque Vale_
As a blown leaf across the face of Time
Your name falls emptily upon my heart.
In this new symmetry you have no part,
No lot in my fair life. The stars still chime
Autumn and Spring in ceaseless pantomime.
I play with Beauty, which is kin to Art,
Forgetting Nature. Nor do pulses start
To hear your soul remembered in a rhyme.
You may not vex me any more. The stark
Terror of life has passed, and all the stress.
Winds had their will of me, and now caress,
Blown from bland groves I know. Time dreams, and I,
As on a mirror, see the days go by
In nonchalant procession to the dark.
II
"_Chaque baiser vaut un roman._"
I, living love and laughter, have forgot
The way the heart has uttered melody.
As sobbing, plaintive cadence of the sea
A poet's soul should rest, remembering not
The inland paths of green, the flowers, the spot
Where fairies ring. In hermit ecstasy
Music is born, and gay or wofully
Lovers of Poesy share her lonely lot.
For you and me, Beloved, crowned with Spring,
Catching Love's flowers from off the lap of Time,
What are the songs my voice has scorned to sing?
Ghostly they hover round my heart-wise lips;
Into a kiss I fold my rose of Rhyme,
Laid like a martyr on your finger-tips.
III
_As a Pale Child_
As a pale child, hemmed in by windy rain,
Patiently turns to touch his well-known toys,
Playing as children play who make no noise,
Yet happy in a way; then sighs again,
To watch the world across the storm-dim pane,
And sees with wistful eyes glad girls and boys
Who romp beneath the rain's unlicensed joys,
And feels wild longings sweep his gentle brain.
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ANNALS OF A FORTRESS.
[Illustration: MAP OF THE LAND OF OHET.]
ANNALS OF A FORTRESS.
BY
E. VIOLLET-LE-DUC.
TRANSLATED BY BENJAMIN BUCKNALL,
ARCHITECT.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
1876.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
The Fortress whose transmutations during successive ages are so vividly
described in the following pages is an ideal one; its supposed situation
is on the Cousin, an affluent of the Saone. The practical genius of the
author indicates the position which, in view of the new eastern
frontier, should be fortified in order to command the Saone.
To his unrivalled talent as an architect, Monsieur Viollet-le-Duc adds
the highest qualifications of the military engineer. In this branch of
applied science he is a recognised authority; and it may not be out of
place to notice here that he was frequently consulted by the late
Emperor respecting the permanent defences of the country. It is not too
much to assert that if his recommendations had been carried out the
investment of Paris would have been rendered impossible, whilst the
progress of the German invasion elsewhere would have been attended with
greater difficulties. As colonel of engineers, no officer displayed
greater energy, skill, or bravery, in the defence of the city; and every
operation planned and directed by him during the siege was successful.
Within two or three days after the signing of the armistice, the
Germans had done their utmost to destroy all evidences of their works of
investment. Nothing, however, had escaped the vigilant eye of M.
Viollet-le-Duc. In that brief space of time he had surveyed and
accurately noted all these works of investment; plans and descriptions
of which are given in his interesting memoir of the siege. Upon the
outbreak of the Commune, he was solicited by its chiefs to take the
military command; and had he not made a timely escape would probably
have paid the penalty of his life for refusing that questionable honour.
From his retreat at Pierrefonds he was recalled by General MacMahon, to
assist the Versailles troops in re-entering Paris. It is deserving of
mention that in his absence a devoted band of craftsmen thrice gallantly
defended his house from being burnt and pillaged.
In presenting the _Histoire d'une Forteresse_ in an English form, the
translator has considered it impossible to do justice to the original
without adhering to its archaic style and manner; and aware that a
translation must lose something either in point of sense or style, his
chief aim has been to give a faithful rendering of the sense.
BENJAMIN BUCKNALL,
_Architect._
OYSTERMOUTH, SWANSEA,
_February 11, 1875._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE FIRST RETREAT 1
CHAPTER II.
THE OPPIDUM 11
CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST SIEGE 26
CHAPTER IV.
THE COST OF DEFENDERS 65
CHAPTER V.
THE SECOND SIEGE 69
CHAPTER VI.
THE PERMANENT CAMP--FOUNDATION OF A CITE 90
CHAPTER VII.
THE FORTIFIED CITE 97
CHAPTER VIII.
THE THIRD SIEGE 108
CHAPTER IX.
THE FEUDAL CASTLE 157
CHAPTER X.
THE FOURTH SIEGE 178
CHAPTER XI.
THE FIRST DEFENCES AGAINST FIRE ARTILLERY 226
CHAPTER XII.
THE FIFTH SIEGE 239
CHAPTER XIII.
THE CITE OF LA ROCHE-PONT IS FORTIFIED BY ERRARD DE BAR-LE-DUC,
ENGINEER TO THE MOST CHRISTIAN KING OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE 275
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SIXTH SIEGE 282
CHAPTER XV.
THE TOWN OF LA ROCHE-PONT IS FORTIFIED BY M. DE VAUBAN 304
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SEVENTH SIEGE 315
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION 354
EXPLANATION OF SOME OF THE TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN THIS BOOK 385
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FIG. PAGE
1. MAP OF THE LAND OF OHET _Frontispiece_.
THE SAPPER _Vignette_.
2. THE OPPIDUM 14
3. RAMPART OF THE OPPIDUM 15
4. GATES OF THE OPPIDUM 16
5. THE NEMEDE AND THE DRUIDS' DWELLINGS 16
FIRST SIEGE.--SIGILD AND TOMAR 32
6. " " WOODEN TOWERS OF THE OPPIDUM 35
7. " " ADVANCED WORK OF THE OPPIDUM 46
8. " " ASSAULT ON THE OPPIDUM 55
9. THE TOWN AND CITE D'AVON (WAR OF THE GAULS) 70
10. SECOND SIEGE.--THE ROMAN 'AGGER' AND 'VINEAE' 79
11. " " A STIMULUS 80
12. " " THE MOVABLE TOWER 82
13. " " ATTACK ON THE STRONGHOLD OF THE OPPIDUM 86
14. THE ROMAN PERMANENT CAMP 91
15. GATES | 2,031.357636 |
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The
Myrtle Reed
Cook Book
[Illustration]
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1911
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Copyright, 1916
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
_Over One Million Copies Sold_
MYRTLE REED
_Miss Reed's books are peculiarly adapted for dainty yet
inexpensive gifts. They are printed in two colors, on
deckle-edge paper, and beautifully bound in four distinct
styles: each, cloth, $1.50 net; red leather, $2.00 net;
antique calf, $2.50 net; lavender silk, $3.50 net._
_If sent by mail add 8 per cent. of the retail price for
postage_
LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
THE SPINSTER BOOK
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN
AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERN
A SPINNER IN THE SUN
LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN
FLOWER OF THE DUSK
OLD ROSE AND SILVER
MASTER OF THE VINEYARD
A WEAVER OF DREAMS
THE WHITE SHIELD
THREADS OF GREY AND GOLD
HAPPY WOMEN
16 Illus.
THE SHADOW OF VICTORY
Cr. 8vo. $1.50 net
SONNETS TO A LOVER
Cr. 8vo. $1.50 net
THE MYRTLE REED YEAR BOOK
$1.50 net
THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS
Illustrated by Peter Newell. $1.50
PICKABACK SONGS
Words by Myrtle Reed. Music by Eva Cruzen Hart.
Pictures by Ike Morgan. 4to. Boards, $1.50
_Send for Descriptive Circular_
EXPLANATION
The only excuse the author and publishers have to offer for the
appearance of this book is that, so far as they know, there is no
other like it.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Philosophy of Breakfast 1
How to Set the Table 9
The Kitchen Rubaiyat 15
Fruits 20
Cereals 39
Salt Fish 58
Breakfast Meats 72
Substitutes for Meat 87
Eggs 91
Omelets 111
Quick Breads 121
Raised Breakfast Breads 147
Pancakes 160
Coffee Cakes, Doughnuts, and Waffles 173
Breakfast Beverages 186
Simple Salads 191
One Hundred Sandwich Fillings 228
Luncheon Beverages 235
Eating and Dining 241
Thirty-five Canapes 244
One Hundred Simple Soups 252
Fifty Ways to Cook Shell-Fish 281
Sixty Ways to Cook Fish 297
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Meat and
Poultry 316
Twenty Ways to Cook Potatoes 366
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Other
Vegetables 373
Thirty Simple Sauces 423
One Hundred and Fifty Salads 431
Simple Desserts 459
Index 531
The Myrtle Reed Cook Book
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BREAKFAST
The breakfast habit is of antique origin. Presumably the primeval man
arose from troubled dreams, in the first gray light of dawn, and set
forth upon devious forest trails, seeking that which he might devour,
while the primeval woman still slumbered in her cave. Nowadays, it is
the lady herself who rises while the day is yet young, slips into a
kimono, and patters out into the kitchen to light the gas flame under
the breakfast food.
In this matter of breaking the fast, each house is law unto itself.
There are some who demand a dinner at seven or eight in the morning,
and others who consider breakfast utterly useless. The Englishman, who
is still mighty on the face of the earth, eats a breakfast which would
seriously tax the digestive apparatus of an ostrich or a goat, and
goes on his way rejoicing.
In an English cook-book only seven years old, menus for "ideal"
breakfasts are given, which run as follows:
"Devilled Drum-sticks and Eggs on the dish, Pigs Feet, Buttered
Toast, Dry Toast, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Marmalade and
Porridge."
"Bloaters on Toast, Collared Tongue, Hot Buttered Toast, Dry Toast,
Marmalade, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Bread and Milk."
"Pigeon Pie, Stewed Kidney, Milk Rolls, Dry Toast, Brown and White
Bread and Butter, Mustard and Cress, Milk Porridge."
And for a "simple breakfast,"--in August, mind you!--this is
especially recommended:
"Bloaters on Toast, Corned Beef, Muffins, Brown and White Bread and
Butter, Marmalade, and Boiled Hominy."
An American who ate a breakfast like that in August probably would not
send his collars to the laundry more than once or twice more, but it
takes all kinds of people to make up a world.
Across the Channel from the brawny Briton is the Frenchman, who, with
infinitely more wisdom, begins his day with a cup of coffee and a
roll. So far, so good, but his _dejeuner a la fourchette_ at eleven or
twelve is not always unobjectionable from a hygienic standpoint. The
"uniform breakfast," which is cheerfully advocated by some, may be
hygienic but it is not exciting. Before the weary mental vision
stretches an endless procession of breakfasts, all exactly alike, year
in and year out. It is quite possible that the "no-breakfast" theory
was first formulated by some one who had been, was, or was about to be
a victim of this system.
The "no-breakfast" plan has much to recommend it, however. In the
first place, it saves a deal of trouble. The family rises, bathes
itself, puts on its spotless raiment in leisurely and untroubled
fashion, and proceeds to the particular business of the day. There are
no burnt toast, soggy waffles, muddy coffee, heavy muffins, or pasty
breakfast food to be reckoned with. Theoretically, the energy supplied
by last night's dinner is "on tap," waiting to be called upon. And,
moreover, one is seldom hungry in the morning, and what is the use of
feeding a person who is not hungry?
It has been often said, and justly, that Americans eat too much.
Considering the English breakfast, however, we may metaphorically pat
ourselves upon the back, for there is no one of us, surely, who taxes
the Department of the Interior thus.
"What is one man's meat is another man's poison" has been held
pointedly to refer to breakfast, for here, as nowhere else, is the
individual a law unto himself. Fruit is the satisfaction of one and
the distress of another; cereal is a life-giving food to one and a
soggy mass of indigestibility to some one else; and coffee, which is
really most innocent when properly made, has lately taken much blame
for sins not its own.
Quite often the discomfort caused by the ill-advised combination of
acid fruit with a starchy cereal has been attributed to the clear,
amber beverage which probably was the much-vaunted "nectar of the
gods." Coffee with cream in it may be wrong for some people who could
use boiling milk with | 2,031.460501 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.5386460 | 1,321 | 7 |
Produced by Neville Allen, 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)
MR. PUNCH'S RAILWAY BOOK
[Illustration]
PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON
Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch," from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "READING BETWEEN THE LINES"]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S RAILWAY BOOK
_WITH 160 ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY PHIL MAY,
GEORGE DU MAURIER,
CHARLES KEENE,
JOHN LEECH,
SIR JOHN TENNIEL,
E. T. REED,
L. RAVENHILL,
J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE,
REGINALD CLEAVER,
AND MANY OTHER HUMOROUS ARTISTS
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
* * * * *
PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated_
LIFE IN LONDON COUNTRY
LIFE IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN
* * * * *
A WORD AT STARTING
[Illustration]
ONLY a few years before MR. PUNCH began his long and brilliant career
had passenger trains and a regular system of railway travelling come
into existence. In his early days it was still very much of a novelty to
undertake a journey of any length by train; a delightful uncertainty
prevailed not only as to the arrival at a given destination, but equally
as to getting away from a starting-place. Naturally, the pens and
pencils of his clever contributors were then frequently in use to
illustrate the humours of railway travel, and even down to the present
time MR. PUNCH has not failed to find in the railway and its
associations "a source of innocent merriment."
It must be admitted that some thirty years ago the pages of PUNCH
literally teemed with biting satires on the management of our railways,
and the fact that his whole-hearted denunciations of the inefficient
service, the carelessness which resulted in frequent accidents, the
excessive charges, the inadequate accommodation, could have been allowed
to pass without numerous actions for libel, is proof of the enormous
advantages which the present generation enjoys in this great matter of
comfortable, rapid and inexpensive transit. Where MR. PUNCH in his
wrath, as voicing the opinion of the public, was wont to ridicule and
condemn the railways and all associated therewith, we to-day are as
ready, and with equal reason, to raise our voice in praise. But ridicule
is ever a stronger impulse to wit than is appreciation, and in these
later days when we are all alive to the abounding merits of our railway
system MR. PUNCH has had less to say about it. If we were to cull from
his pages written in the days of his wrath we might be held guilty of
presenting a gross travesty of the conditions now obtaining. Thus it is
that in one or two cases only have we retained passages from his earlier
chronicles, such as "Rules for the Rail" and "The Third-Class
Traveller's Petition," which have some historical value as reminders
that the railway comfort of the present day presents a remarkable
contrast to the not very distant past.
To-day every member of the community may be regarded as a railway
traveller, so large a part does the railway play in modern life; and it
will be admitted that, with all our improvements, the element of humour
has not been eliminated from our comings and goings by train. We trust
it never may. Here, then, is a compilation of the "best things,"
literary and pictorial, that have appeared in MR. PUNCH'S pages on the
subject, and with his cheery presence as our guard, let us set forth
upon our excursion into the Realm of Fun!
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S RAILWAY BOOK
RAILWAY JOKES
_As Played Daily on the Principal Lines_
_Turning Business into Pleasure._--Take a traveller pressed for time,
and induce him to enter a train supposed to be in correspondence with
another train belonging to another line, and by which other train the
traveller proposes to proceed to his destination. As the first train
arrives at the junction, start off the second train _en route_ for Town.
The dismay of the traveller when he finds his journey interrupted will
be, to say the least, most mirth-moving.
_The Panic-stricken Passengers._--Allow an express train to arrive at
the station of a rival company two hours behind its time. The travellers
will, of course, be anxious to learn the cause of the delay, and will
(again of course) receive no sort of information on the subject from
the servants of the rival company. Should there be any nervous ladies in
the train, the fun will become fast and furious | 2,031.558686 |
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Produced by William McClain
TALES OF WAR
By Lord Dunsany
1918
The Prayer of the Men of Daleswood
He said: "There were only twenty houses in Daleswood. A place you
would scarcely have heard of. A village up top of the hills.
"When the war came there was no more than thirty men there between
sixteen and forty-five. They all went.
"They all kept together; same battalion, same platoon. They was like
that in Daleswood. Used to call the hop pickers foreigners, the ones
that come from London. They used to go past Daleswood, some of them,
every year, on their way down to the hop fields. Foreigners they used
to call them. Kept very much to themselves, did the Daleswood people.
Big woods all round them.
"Very lucky they was, the Daleswood men. They'd lost no more than
five killed and a good sprinkling of wounded. But all the wounded was
back again with the platoon. This was up to March when the big
offensive started.
"It came very sudden. No bombardment to speak of. Just a burst of Tok
Emmas going off all together and lifting the front trench clean out of
it; then a barrage behind, and the Boche pouring over in thousands.
'Our luck is holding good,' the Daleswood men said, for their trench
wasn't getting it at all. But the platoon on their right got it. And
it sounded bad too a long way beyond that. No one could be quite sure.
But the platoon on their right was getting it: that was sure enough.
"And then the Boche got through them altogether. A message came to
say so. 'How are things on the right?' they said to the runner. 'Bad,'
said the runner, and he went back, though Lord knows what he went back
to. The Boche was through right enough. 'We'll have to make a
defensive flank,' said the platoon commander. He was a Daleswood man
too. Came from the big farm. He slipped down a communication trench
with a few men, mostly bombers. And they reckoned they wouldn't see
any of them any more, for the Boche was on the right, thick as
starlings.
"The bullets were snapping over thick to keep them down while the
Boche went on, on the right: machine guns, of course. The barrage was
screaming well over and dropping far back, and their wire was still
all right just in front of them, when they put up a head to look.
There was the left platoon of the battalion. One doesn't bother,
somehow, so much about another battalion as one's own. One's own gets
sort of homely. And there they were wondering how their own officer
was getting on, and the few fellows with them, on his defensive flank.
The bombs were going off thick. All the Daleswood men were firing half
right. It sounded from the noise as if it couldn't last long, as if it
would soon be decisive, and the battle be won, or lost, just there on
the right, and perhaps the war ended. They didn't notice the left.
Nothing to speak of.
"Then a runner came from the left. 'Hullo!' they said, 'How are
things over there?'
"'The Boche is through,' he said. 'Where's the officer?' 'Through!'
they said. It didn't seem possible. However did he do that? they
thought. And the runner went on to the right to look for the officer.
"And then the barrage shifted further back. The shells still screamed
over them, but the bursts were further away. That is always a relief.
Probably they felt it. But it was bad for all that. Very bad. It meant
the Boche was well past them. They realized it after a while.
"They and their bit of wire were somehow just between two waves of
attack. Like a bit of stone on the beach with the sea coming in. A
platoon was nothing to the Boche; nothing much perhaps just then to
anybody. But it was the whole of Daleswood for one long generation.
"The youngest full-grown man they had left behind was fifty, and some
one had heard that he had died since the war. There was no one else in
Daleswood but women and children, and boys up to seventeen.
"The bombing had stopped on their right; everything was quieter, and
the barrage further away. When they began to realize what that meant
they began to | 2,031.659966 |
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Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed | 2,031.66083 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.6459160 | 1,337 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger
THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD
By William Dean Howells
Part I.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
In those dim recesses of the consciousness where things have their
beginning, if ever things have a beginning, I suppose the origin of this
novel may be traced to a fact of a fortnight's sojourn on the western
shore of lake Champlain in the summer of 1891. Across the water in the
State of Vermont I had constantly before my eyes a majestic mountain form
which the earlier French pioneers had named "Le Lion Couchant," but which
their plainer-minded Yankee successors preferred to call "The Camel's
Hump." It really looked like a sleeping lion; the head was especially
definite; and when, in the course of some ten years, I found the scheme
for a story about a summer hotel which I had long meant to write, this
image suggested the name of 'The Landlord at Lion's Head.' I gave the
title to my unwritten novel at once and never wished to change it, but
rejoiced in the certainty that, whatever the novel turned out to be, the
title could not be better.
I began to write the story four years later, when we were settled for the
winter in our flat on Central Park, and as I was a year in doing it, with
other things, I must have taken the unfinished manuscript to and from
Magnolia, Massachusetts, and Long Beach, Long Island, where I spent the
following summer. It was first serialized in Harper's Weekly and in the
London Illustrated News, as well as in an Australian newspaper--I forget
which one; and it was published as a completed book in 1896.
I remember concerning it a very becoming despair when, at a certain
moment in it, I began to wonder what I was driving at. I have always had
such moments in my work, and if I cannot fitly boast of them, I can at
least own to them in freedom from the pride that goes before a fall. My
only resource at such times was to keep working; keep beating harder and
harder at the wall which seemed to close me in, till at last I broke
through into the daylight beyond. In this case, I had really such a very
good grip of my characters that I need not have had the usual fear of
their failure to work out their destiny. But even when the thing was done
and I carried the completed manuscript to my dear old friend, the late
Henry Loomis Nelson, then editor of the Weekly, it was in more fear of
his judgment than I cared to show. As often happened with my manuscript
in such exigencies, it seemed to go all to a handful of shrivelled
leaves. When we met again and he accepted it for the Weekly, with a
handclasp of hearty welcome, I could scarcely gasp out my unfeigned
relief. We had talked the scheme of it over together; he had liked the
notion, and he easily made me believe, after my first dismay, that he
liked the result even better.
I myself liked the hero of the tale more than I have liked worthier men,
perhaps because I thought I had achieved in him a true rustic New England
type in contact with urban life under entirely modern conditions. What
seemed to me my esthetic success in him possibly softened me to his
ethical shortcomings; but I do not expect others to share my weakness for
Jeff Durgin, whose strong, rough surname had been waiting for his
personality ever since I had got it off the side of an ice-cart many
years before.
At the time the story was imagined Harvard had been for four years much
in the direct knowledge of the author, and I pleased myself in realizing
the hero's experience there from even more intimacy with the university
moods and manners than had supported me in the studies of an earlier
fiction dealing with them. I had not lived twelve years in Cambridge
without acquaintance such as even an elder man must make with the
undergraduate life; but it is only from its own level that this can be
truly learned, and I have always been ready to stand corrected by
undergraduate experience. Still, I have my belief that as a jay--the word
may now be obsolete--Jeff Durgin is not altogether out of drawing; though
this is, of course, the phase of his character which is one of the least
important. What I most prize in him, if I may go to the bottom of the
inkhorn, is the realization of that anti-Puritan quality which was always
vexing the heart of Puritanism, and which I had constantly felt one of
the most interesting facts in my observation of New England.
As for the sort of summer hotel portrayed in these pages, it was
materialized from an acquaintance with summer hotels extending over
quarter of a century, and scarcely to be surpassed if paralleled. I had a
passion for knowing about them and understanding their operation which I
indulged at every opportunity, and which I remember was satisfied as to
every reasonable detail at one of the pleasantest seaside hostelries by
one of the most intelligent and obliging of landlords. Yet, hotels for
hotels, I was interested in those of the hills rather than those of the
shores.
I worked steadily if not rapidly at the story. Often I went back over it,
and tore it to pieces and put it together again. It made me feel at times
as if I should never learn my trade, but so did every novel I have
written; every novel, in fact, has been a new trade. In, the case of this
one the publishers were hurrying me in the revision for copy to give the
illustrator, who was hurrying his pictures for the English and Australian
serializations.
KITTERY POINT, MAINE, July, 1909.
THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD
I.
If you looked at the mountain from the west, the line of the summit was
wandering and uncertain, like that of most mountain-tops; but, seen from
the east, the mass of granite showing above the dense forests of the
lower <DW72>s had the form of a sleeping | 2,031.665956 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.7363430 | 3,488 | 10 |
Produced by Susan Skinner, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
For the reader: Things that were handwritten are denoted in the text as
HW:
Asterisms in the text are denoted by [asterism]
THE LETTERS
OF
[HW: Charles Dickens]
THE LETTERS
OF
CHARLES DICKENS.
EDITED BY
HIS SISTER-IN-LAW AND HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
1833 to 1856.
London:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1880.
[_The Right of Translation is Reserved._]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
TO
KATE PERUGINI,
THIS MEMORIAL OF HER FATHER
IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED
BY HER AUNT AND SISTER.
PREFACE.
We intend this Collection of Letters to be a Supplement to the "Life of
Charles Dickens," by John Forster. That work, perfect and exhaustive as
a biography, is only incomplete as regards correspondence; the scheme of
the book having made it impossible to include in its space any letters,
or hardly any, besides those addressed to Mr. Forster. As no man ever
expressed _himself_ more in his letters than Charles Dickens, we believe
that in publishing this careful selection from his general
correspondence we shall be supplying a want which has been universally
felt.
Our request for the loan of letters was so promptly and fully responded
to, that we have been provided with more than sufficient material for
our work. By arranging the letters in chronological order, we find that
they very frequently explain themselves and form a narrative of the
events of each year. Our collection dates from 1833, the commencement of
Charles Dickens's literary life, just before the starting of the
"Pickwick Papers," and is carried on up to the day before his death, in
1870.
We find some difficulty in being quite accurate in the arrangements of
letters up to the end of 1839, for he had a careless habit in those days
about dating his letters, very frequently putting only the day of the
week on which he wrote, curiously in contrast with the habit of his
later life, when his dates were always of the very fullest.
A blank is made in Charles Dickens's correspondence with his family by
the absence of any letter addressed to his daughter Kate (Mrs.
Perugini), to her great regret and to ours. In 1873, her furniture and
other possessions were stored in the warehouse of the Pantechnicon at
the time of the great fire there. All her property was destroyed, and,
among other things, a box of papers which included her letters from her
father.
It was our intention as well as our desire to have thanked,
individually, every one--both living friends and representatives of dead
ones--for their readiness to give us every possible help to make our
work complete. But the number of such friends, besides correspondents
hitherto unknown, who have volunteered contributions of letters, make it
impossible in our space to do otherwise than to express, collectively,
our earnest and heartfelt thanks.
A separate word of gratitude, however, must be given by us to Mr. Wilkie
Collins for the invaluable help which we have received from his great
knowledge and experience, in the technical part of our work, and for
the deep interest which he has shown from the beginning, in our
undertaking.
It is a great pleasure to us to have the name of Henry Fielding Dickens
associated with this book. To him, for the very important assistance he
has given in making our Index, we return our loving thanks.
In writing our explanatory notes we have, we hope, left nothing out
which in any way requires explanation from us. But we have purposely
made them as short as possible; our great desire being to give to the
public another book from Charles Dickens's own hands--as it were, a
portrait of himself by himself.
Those letters which need no explanation--and of those we have many--we
give without a word from us.
In publishing the more private letters, we do so with the view of
showing him in his homely, domestic life--of showing how in the midst of
his own constant and arduous work, no household matter was considered
too trivial to claim his care and attention. He would take as much pains
about the hanging of a picture, the choosing of furniture, the
superintending any little improvement in the house, as he would about
the more serious business of his life; thus carrying out to the very
letter his favourite motto of "What is worth doing at all is worth doing
well."
MAMIE DICKENS.
GEORGINA HOGARTH.
LONDON: _October_, 1879.
ERRATA.
VOL. I.
Page 111, line 6. For "because if I hear of you," _read_ "because I hear
of you."
" 114, line 24. For "any old end," _read_ "or any old end."
" 137. First paragraph, second sentence, _should read_, "All the
ancient part of Rome is wonderful and impressive in the
extreme, far beyond the possibility of exaggeration. As to
the," etc.
" 456, line 11. For "Mr." _read_ "Mrs."
Book I.
1833 TO 1842.
THE
LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.
1833 OR 1834, AND 1835, 1836.
NARRATIVE.
We have been able to procure so few early letters of any general
interest that we put these first years together. Charles Dickens was
then living, as a bachelor, in Furnival's Inn, and was engaged as a
parliamentary reporter on _The Morning Chronicle_. The "Sketches by Boz"
were written during these years, published first in "The Monthly
Magazine" and continued in _The Evening Chronicle_. He was engaged to be
married to Catherine Hogarth in 1835--the marriage took place on the 2nd
April, 1836; and he continued to live in Furnival's Inn with his wife
for more than a year after their marriage. They passed the summer months
of that year in a lodging at Chalk, near Gravesend, in the neighbourhood
associated with all his life, from his childhood to his death. The two
letters which we publish, addressed to his wife as Miss Hogarth, have no
date, but were written in 1835. The first of the two refers to the offer
made to him by Chapman and Hall to edit a monthly periodical, the
emolument (which he calls "too tempting to resist!") to be fourteen
pounds a month. The bargain was concluded, and this was the starting of
"The Pickwick Papers." The first number was published in March, 1836.
The second letter to Miss Hogarth was written after he had completed
three numbers of "Pickwick," and the character who is to "make a decided
hit" is "Jingle."
The first letter of this book is addressed to Henry Austin, a friend
from his boyhood, who afterwards married his second sister Letitia. It
bears no date, but must have been written in 1833 or 1834, during the
early days of his reporting for _The Morning Chronicle_; the journey on
which he was "ordered" being for that paper.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]
FURNIVAL'S INN, _Wednesday Night, past 12._
DEAR HENRY,
I have just been ordered on a journey, the length of which is at present
uncertain. I may be back on Sunday very probably, and start again on the
following day. Should this be the case, you shall hear from me before.
Don't laugh. I am going (alone) in a gig; and, to quote the eloquent
inducement which the proprietors of Hampstead _chays_ hold out to Sunday
riders--"the gen'l'm'n drives himself." I am going into Essex and
Suffolk. It strikes me I shall be spilt before I pay a turnpike. I have
a presentiment I shall run over an only child before I reach Chelmsford,
my first stage.
Let the evident haste of this specimen of "The Polite Letter Writer" be
its excuse, and
Believe me, dear Henry, most sincerely yours,
[HW: Charles Dickens]
NOTE.--To avoid the monotony of a constant repetition, we propose to
dispense with the signature at the close of each letter, excepting to
the first and last letters of our collection. Charles Dickens's
handwriting altered so much during these years of his life, that we have
thought it advisable to give a facsimile of his autograph to this our
first letter; and we reproduce in the same way his latest autograph.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
FURNIVAL'S INN, _Wednesday Evening, 1835._
MY DEAREST KATE,
The House is up; but I am very sorry to say that I must stay at home. I
have had a visit from the publishers this morning, and the story cannot
be any longer delayed; it must be done to-morrow, as there are more
important considerations than the mere payment for the story involved
too. I must exercise a little self-denial, and set to work.
They (Chapman and Hall) have made me an offer of fourteen pounds a
month, to write and edit a new publication they contemplate, entirely by
myself, to be published monthly, and each number to contain four
woodcuts. I am to make my estimate and calculation, and to give them a
decisive answer on Friday morning. The work will be no joke, but the
emolument is too tempting to resist.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: The same.]
_Sunday Evening._
* * * * *
I have at this moment got Pickwick and his friends on the Rochester
coach, and they are going on swimmingly, in company with a very
different character from any I have yet described, who I flatter myself
will make a decided hit. I want to get them from the ball to the inn
before I go to bed; and I think that will take me until one or two
o'clock at the earliest. The publishers will be here in the morning, so
you will readily suppose I have no alternative but to stick at my desk.
* * * * *
1837.
NARRATIVE.
From the commencement of "The Pickwick Papers," and of Charles Dickens's
married life, dates the commencement of his literary life and his sudden
world-wide fame. And this year saw the beginning of many of those
friendships which he most valued, and of which he had most reason to be
proud, and which friendships were ended only by death.
The first letters which we have been able to procure to Mr. Macready and
Mr. Harley will be found under this date. In January, 1837, he was
living in Furnival's Inn, where his first child, a son, was born. It was
an eventful year to him in many ways. He removed from Furnival's Inn to
Doughty Street in March, and here he sustained the first great grief of
his life. His young sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, to whom he was
devotedly attached, died very suddenly, at his house, on the 7th May. In
the autumn of this year he took lodgings at Broadstairs. This was his
first visit to that pleasant little watering-place, of which he became
very fond, and whither he removed for the autumn months with all his
household, for many years in succession.
Besides the monthly numbers of "Pickwick," which were going on through
this year until November, when the last number appeared, he had
commenced "Oliver Twist," which was appearing also monthly, in the
magazine called "Bentley's Miscellany," long before "Pickwick" was
completed. And during this year he had edited, for Mr. Bentley, "The
Life of Grimaldi," the celebrated clown. To this book he wrote himself
only the preface, and altered and rearranged the autobiographical MS.
which was in Mr. Bentley's possession.
The letter to Mr. Harley, which bears no date, but must have been
written either in 1836 or 1837, refers to a farce called "The Strange
Gentleman" (founded on one of the "Sketches," called the "Great
Winglebury Duel"), which he wrote expressly for Mr. Harley, and which
was produced at the St. James's Theatre, under the management of Mr.
Braham. The only other piece which he wrote for that theatre was the
story of an operetta, called "The Village Coquettes," the music of which
was composed by Mr. John Hullah.
[Sidenote: Mr. J. P. Harley.]
48, DOUGHTY STREET, _Saturday Morning._
MY DEAR SIR,
I have considered the terms on which I could afford just now to sell Mr.
Braham the acting copyright in London of an entirely new piece for the
St. James's Theatre; and I could not sit down to write one in a single
act of about one hour long, under a hundred pounds. For a new piece in
two acts, a hundred and fifty pounds would be the sum I should require.
I do not know whether, with reference to arrangements that were made
with any other writers, this may or may not appear a large item. I state
it merely with regard to the value of my own time and writings at this
moment; and in so doing I assure you I place the remuneration below the
mark rather than above it.
As you begged me to give you my reply upon this point, perhaps you will
lay it before Mr. Braham. If these terms exceed his inclination or the
ability of the theatre, there is an end of the matter, and no harm done.
Believe me ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
48, DOUGHTY STREET, _Wednesday Evening._
MY DEAR SIR,
There is a semi-business, semi-pleasure little dinner which I intend to
give at The Prince of Wales, in Leicester Place, Leicester Square, on
Saturday, at five for half-past precisely, at which only Talfourd,
Forster, Ainsworth, Jerdan, and the publishers will be present. It is
to celebrate (that is too great a word, but I can think of no better)
the conclusion of my "Pickwick" labours; and so I intend, before you
take that roll upon the grass you spoke of, to beg your acceptance of
one of the first complete copies of the work. I shall be much delighted
if you would join us.
I know too well the many anxieties that press upon you just now to seek
to persuade you to come if you would prefer a night's repose and quiet.
Let me assure you, notwithstanding, most honestly and heartily that
there is no one I should be more happy or gratified to see, and that
among your brilliant circle of well-wishers and admirers you number none
more unaffectedly and faithfully yours than,
My dear Sir, yours most truly.
1838.
NARRATIVE.
In February of this year Charles Dickens made an expedition with his
friend, and the illustrator of most of his books, Mr. Hablot K. Browne
("Phiz"), to investigate for himself the real facts as to the condition
of the Yorkshire schools, and it may be observed that portions of a
letter to his wife, dated Greta Bridge, Yorkshire, which will be found
among the following letters, were reproduced in "Nicholas Nickleby." In
the early summer he had a cottage at Twickenham Park. | 2,031.756383 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.7423960 | 1,405 | 14 | SCHOOL ***
Produced by Al Haines.
BOBBY BLAKE
at Rockledge School
_By_
FRANK A. WARNER
_Author of_
"BOBBY BLAKE AT BASS COVE"
"BOBBY BLAKE ON A CRUISE," Etc.
WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
RACINE, WISCONSIN
Copyright, MCMXV, by
BARSE & CO.
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. "The Overland Limited"
II. Apples and Applethwaite Plunkit
III. Fred in Trouble
IV. An Eventful Afternoon
V. The Tale of a Scarecrow
VI. A Fish Fry and a Startling Announcement
VII. Financial Affairs
VIII. The Peep-Show
IX. Off for Rockledge
X. New Surroundings
XI. Getting Acquainted
XII. In the Dormitory
XIII. The Poguey Fight
XIV. The Honor Medal
XV. Getting Into Step
XVI. Hot Potatoes
XVII. Lost at Sea
XVIII. The Bloody Corner
XIX. The Result
XX. On the Brink of War
XXI. Give and Take
XXII. What Bobby Said
XXIII. Good News Travels Slowly
XXIV. Red Hair Stands for More Than Temper
XXV. The Winner
BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL
CHAPTER I
"THE OVERLAND LIMITED"
A boy of about ten, with a freckled face and fiery red hair cropped
close to his head, came doubtfully up the side porch steps of the Blake
house in Clinton and peered through the screen door at Meena, the
Swedish girl.
Meena was tall and rawboned, with very red elbows usually well
displayed, and her straw- hair was bound in a tight "pug" on top
of her long, narrow head. Meena had sharp blue eyes and she could see
boys a great way off.
"Mis' Blake--she ban gone out," said Meena, before the red-haired boy
could speak. "You vant somet'ing? No?"
"I--I was looking for Bobby," said the visitor, stammeringly. He and
Mrs. Blake's Swedish girl were not on good terms.
"I guess he ban gone out, too," said Meena, who did not want to be
"bothered mit boys."
The boy looked as though he thought she was a bad guesser! Somewhere
inside the house he heard a muffled voice. It shouted:
"Whoo! whoo! whoo-whoo-who-o-o-o!"
The imitation of a steam whistle grew rapidly nearer. It seemed to be
descending from the roof of the house--and descending very swiftly.
Finally there came a decided bang--the landing of a pair of well-shod
feet on the rug--and the voice rang out:
"All out! All out for last stop! All out!"
"_That's_ Bobby," suggested the boy with the red hair, looking wistfully
into Meena's kitchen.
"Vell!" ejaculated the girl. "You go in by the dining-room door, I
guess. You not go to trapse through my clean kitchen. Vipe your feet,
boy!"
The boy did as he was bade, and opened the dining-room door. A steady
footstep was thumping overhead, rising into the upper regions of the
three-story house.
The red-haired youngster knew his way about this house just as well as
he knew his own. Only he tripped over a corner of the dining-room rug
and bumped into two chairs in the darkened living-room before he reached
the front hall.
This was wide and was lighted above by ground-glass oval windows on all
three flights of stairs. The mahogany balustrade was in a single smooth
spiral, broken by no ornament. It offered a tempting course from garret
to ground floor to any venturesome small boy.
"All aboard!" shouted the voice overhead.
"The Overland Limited," said the red-haired boy, grinning, and squinting
up the well.
"Ding-dong! ding-dong! All aboard for the Overland Limited! This way!
No stop between Denver and Chicago! All aboard!"
There was a scramble above and then the exhaust of the locomotive was
imitated in a thin, boyish treble:
"Sh-h! sh-h! sh-h! Choo! choo! choo! Ding-dong-ding! We're off--"
A figure a-straddle the broad banister-rail shot into view on the upper
flight. The momentum carried the boy around the first curve and to the
brink of the second pitch. Down that he sped like an arrow, and so
around to the last slant of the balustrade.
"Next stop, Chi-ca-_go_!" yelled the boy on the rail. "All o-o-out! all
out for Chicago!"
And then, bang! he landed upon the hall rug.
"How'd you know the board wasn't set against you, Bobby?" demanded the
red-haired one. "You might have had a wreck."
"Hello, Fred Martin. If I'd looked around and seen your red head, I'd
sure thought they'd flashed a danger signal on me--though the Overland
Limited is supposed to have a clear track, you know."
Fred jumped on him for that and the two chums had a wrestling match on
the hall rug. It was, however, a good-natured bout, and soon they sat
side by side on the lower step of the first flight, panting, and grinned
at each other.
Bobby's hair was black, and he wore it much longer than Fred. To tell
the truth, Fred had the "Riley cut," as the boys called it, so that his
hair would not attract so much attention.
Fred had all the temper that is supposed to go with red hair. Perhaps
red-haired people only seem more quick tempered because everybody "picks
on them" so! Bobby was quite as boisterous as his chum, but he was more
cautious and had some control over his emotions. Nobody ever called
Bobby | 2,031.762436 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.8342980 | 1,201 | 9 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
At the Earth's Core
By
Edgar Rice Burroughs
CONTENTS
PROLOG
I TOWARD THE ETERNAL FIRES
II A STRANGE WORLD
III A CHANGE OF MASTERS
IV DIAN THE BEAUTIFUL
V SLAVES
VI THE BEGINNING OF HORROR
VII FREEDOM
VIII THE MAHAR TEMPLE
IX THE FACE OF DEATH
X PHUTRA AGAIN
XI FOUR DEAD MAHARS
XII PURSUIT
XIII THE SLY ONE
XIV THE GARDEN OF EDEN
XV BACK TO EARTH
PROLOG
IN THE FIRST PLACE PLEASE BEAR IN MIND THAT I do not expect you to
believe this story. Nor could you wonder had you witnessed a recent
experience of mine when, in the armor of blissful and stupendous
ignorance, I gaily narrated the gist of it to a Fellow of the Royal
Geological Society on the occasion of my last trip to London.
You would surely have thought that I had been detected in no less a
heinous crime than the purloining of the Crown Jewels from the Tower,
or putting poison in the coffee of His Majesty the King.
The erudite gentleman in whom I confided congealed before I was half
through!--it is all that saved him from exploding--and my dreams of an
Honorary Fellowship, gold medals, and a niche in the Hall of Fame faded
into the thin, cold air of his arctic atmosphere.
But I believe the story, and so would you, and so would the learned
Fellow of the Royal Geological Society, had you and he heard it from
the lips of the man who told it to me. Had you seen, as I did, the
fire of truth in those gray eyes; had you felt the ring of sincerity in
that quiet voice; had you realized the pathos of it all--you, too,
would believe. You would not have needed the final ocular proof that I
had--the weird rhamphorhynchus-like creature which he had brought back
with him from the inner world.
I came upon him quite suddenly, and no less unexpectedly, upon the rim
of the great Sahara Desert. He was standing before a goat-skin tent
amidst a clump of date palms within a tiny oasis. Close by was an Arab
douar of some eight or ten tents.
I had come down from the north to hunt lion. My party consisted of a
dozen children of the desert--I was the only "white" man. As we
approached the little clump of verdure I saw the man come from his tent
and with hand-shaded eyes peer intently at us. At sight of me he
advanced rapidly to meet us.
"A white man!" he cried. "May the good Lord be praised! I have been
watching you for hours, hoping against hope that THIS time there would
be a white man. Tell me the date. What year is it?"
And when I had told him he staggered as though he had been struck full
in the face, so that he was compelled to grasp my stirrup leather for
support.
"It cannot be!" he cried after a moment. "It cannot be! Tell me that
you are mistaken, or that you are but joking."
"I am telling you the truth, my friend," I replied. "Why should I
deceive a stranger, or attempt to, in so simple a matter as the date?"
For some time he stood in silence, with bowed head.
"Ten years!" he murmured, at last. "Ten years, and I thought that at
the most it could be scarce more than one!" That night he told me his
story--the story that I give you here as nearly in his own words as I
can recall them.
I
TOWARD THE ETERNAL FIRES
I WAS BORN IN CONNECTICUT ABOUT THIRTY YEARS ago. My name is David
Innes. My father was a wealthy mine owner. When I was nineteen he
died. All his property was to be mine when I had attained my
majority--provided that I had devoted the two years intervening in
close application to the great business I was to inherit.
I did my best to fulfil the last wishes of my parent--not because of
the inheritance, but because I loved and honored my father. For six
months I toiled in the mines and in the counting-rooms, for I wished to
know every minute detail of the business.
Then Perry interested me in his invention. He was an old fellow who
had devoted the better part of a long life to the perfection of a
mechanical subterranean prospector. As relaxation he studied
paleontology. I looked over his plans, listened to his arguments,
inspected his working model--and then, convinced, I advanced the funds
necessary to construct a full-sized, practical prospector.
I shall not go into the details of its construction--it lies out there
in the desert now--about two miles from here. Tomorrow you may care to
ride out and see it. Roughly, it is a steel cylinder a hundred feet
long, and jointed so that it may turn and twist through solid rock if
need be. At one end is a mighty revolving drill operated by an engine | 2,031.854338 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.8352820 | 1,322 | 7 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Notes: Mathematical problems could not be represented as
in the original as we cannot stack numbers. The following rules were
used:
Parentheses added to groupings of numbers.
Bracket and "rt" square roots. [3rt]
Carets and curly brackets indicate a superscripted number, letter or
symbol. 4^{3}
An underscore and curly brackets indicate a subscript. H_{2}O
Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded
by _underscores_.]
[Illustration: _The "Suna" before the Explosion._]
[Illustration: _The Torpedo._]
[Illustration: _The "Suna" after the Explosion._]
Griffin & C^{o.} Portsmouth. W.F. Mitchell del.
TORPEDOES
AND
TORPEDO WARFARE:
CONTAINING A
COMPLETE AND CONCISE ACCOUNT OF THE
RISE AND PROGRESS OF SUBMARINE WARFARE;
ALSO A
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF ALL MATTERS APPERTAINING THERETO,
INCLUDING THE LATEST IMPROVEMENTS.
BY
C. W. SLEEMAN, ESQ.,
LATE LIEUT. R.N., AND LATE COMMANDER IMPERIAL OTTOMAN NAVY.
_WITH FIFTY-SEVEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS, DIAGRAMS,
WOODCUTS, &c._
PORTSMOUTH:
GRIFFIN & CO., 2, THE HARD,
(_Publishers by Appointment to H.R.H. The Duke of Edinburgh._)
LONDON AGENTS: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.
1880.
_All Rights reserved._]
PREFACE.
IN the following pages the Author has endeavoured to supply a want,
viz. a comprehensive work on Torpedo Warfare, brought down to the
latest date.
The information has been obtained while practically engaged in torpedo
work at home and abroad, and from the study of the principal books
which have already appeared on the subject, and to the authors of which
he would now beg to express his acknowledgments, viz.: "Submarine
Warfare," by Lieut.-Commander Barnes, U.S.N.; "Notes on Torpedoes," by
Major Stotherd, R.E.; "Art of War in Europe," by General Delafield,
U.S.A.; "Life of Fulton," by C. D. Colden; "Torpedo War," by R.
Fulton; "Armsmear," by H. Barnard; "Treatise on Coast Defence," by
Colonel Von Scheliha; Professional Papers of the Royal Engineers; "The
Engineering"; "The Engineer"; "Scientific American"; "Iron"; &c., &c.
The Author is also desirous of thanking the following gentlemen, to
whom he is indebted for much of the valuable information contained
herein:--
Messrs. Siemens Brothers, Messrs. Thornycroft and Co., Messrs. Yarrow
and Co., Captain C. A. McEvoy, 18 Adam Street, W.C., Mr. L. Lay,
Messrs. J. Vavaseur and Co.
LONDON, 1879.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Preface iii
CHAPTER I.
The early History of the Torpedo--Remarks on the existing
State of Torpedo Warfare 1
CHAPTER II.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare--Mechanical Submarine
Mines--Mechanical Fuzes--Mooring Mechanical Mines 13
CHAPTER III.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare (_continued_)--Electrical
Submarine Mines--Electrical Fuzes--Insulated Electric
Cables--Electric Cable Joints--Junction Boxes--Mooring
Electrical Submarine Mines 27
CHAPTER IV.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare (_continued_)--Circuit
Closers--Firing by Observation--Voltaic
Batteries--Electrical Machines--Firing Keys and Shutter
Apparatus--Testing Submarine Mines--Clearing a Passage
through Torpedo Defences 60
CHAPTER V.
Offensive Torpedo Warfare--Drifting Torpedoes--Towing
Torpedoes--Locomotive Torpedoes--Spar Torpedoes--General
Remarks on Offensive Torpedoes 115
CHAPTER VI.
Torpedo Vessels and Boats--The _Uhlan_--The _Alarm_--The
_Destroyer_--Thornycroft's Torpedo Boats--Yarrow's
Torpedo Boats--Schibau's Torpedo Boats--Herreshoff's
Torpedo Boats--Torpedo Boat Attacks--Submarine Boats 158
CHAPTER VII.
Torpedo Operations--The Crimean War (1854-56)--The
Austro-Italian War (1859)--The American Civil War
(1861-65)--The Paraguayan War (1864-68)--The Austrian
War (1866)--The Franco-German War (1870-71)--The
Russo-Turkish War (1877-78) 187
CHAPTER VIII.
On Explosives--Definitions--Experiments--Gunpowder--Picric
Powder--Nitro-Glycerine--Dynamite--Gun-cotton--Fulminate
of Mercury--Dualin--Lithofracteur--Horsley's
Powder--Torpedo Explosive Agents--Torpedo Explosions 204
CHAPTER IX.
Torpedo Experiments--Chatham, England,
1865--Austria--Carlscrona, Sweden, 1868--Kiel,
Prussia--England, 1874--Copenhagen, Denmark,
1874--Carlscrona | 2,031.855322 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.8427200 | 1,598 | 18 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Books project.)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTICE
The medical knowledge represented in this book is several centuries
old. The publication of this book is for historical interest only,
and is not to be construed as medical advice by Project Gutenberg
or its volunteers. Medicinal plants should not be used without
consulting a trained medical professional. Medical science has made
considerable progress since this book was written. Recommendations
or prescriptions have been superseded by better alternatives, or
invalidated altogether. This book contains a number of prescriptions
that are very dangerous.
THE
TALEEF SHEREEF,
OR
INDIAN MATERIA MEDICA;
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL.
BY
GEORGE PLAYFAIR, Esq.
SUPERINTENDING SURGEON, BENGAL SERVICE.
PUBLISHED BY
The Medical and Physical Society of Calcutta.
Calcutta:
PRINTED AT THE BAPTIST MISSION PRESS, CIRCULAR ROAD.
SOLD BY MESSRS. THACKER & CO. CALCUTTA; & BY MESSRS. PARBURY, ALLEN
& CO.
1833.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
In the course of a practice of upwards of twenty-six years in India,
I have often had occasion to regret, that I had no publication to
guide me, in my wish to become acquainted with the properties of
native medicines, which I had frequently seen, in the hands of the
Physicians of Hindoostan, productive of the most beneficial effects
in many diseases, for the cure of which our Pharmacopeia supplied no
adequate remedy; and the few which I had an opportunity of becoming
acquainted with, so far exceeded my expectations, that I determined
to make a Translation of the present work, for my own gratification
and future guidance.
Having finished the translation, I became convinced, that I should
not have fulfilled the whole of my duty if I did not make it public;
and ill calculated as I know myself for such an undertaking, I have
ventured to offer it to the world, with all its imperfections.
Conscious, that the liberal minded will give me credit for the best
of motives, I shall not dread criticism; and if it has the effect
of inducing those more competent to the task to an inquiry into
the properties of native medicines, my views will have been fully
accomplished.
In writing the names of the different medicines, I have followed the
Author's example, and have been guided solely by the pronunciation,
without altering the sound given to the letters in English, and have
not borrowed a single name from any work of Oriental literature. In
this I may have acted wrong, but I did so from the conviction, that by
this method, the names would be more familiar, and better understood,
by the Natives in researches after the different drugs.
I have inserted as many of the systematic names as I could trace,
both from Dr. Fleming's work, and those of others; but I regret,
that I was not honored in the acquaintance of any Botanist who could
have assisted me with more.
To the youth of the profession, I trust the work may be acceptable, by
leading them to the knowledge, that such medicines are in existence;
and my medical brethren of the higher grades may not deem further
inquiry into the properties of native drugs beneath their notice.
To the profession at large, then, I beg leave to dedicate this
Translation, with the hope, that they will make due allowance for
all faults, and that some of the more experienced will favor us with
another and better edition.
To my respected friends Messrs. Wilson and Twining, the profession is
indebted, that this little work ever saw light; and though they are
godfathers to none of its errors, yet without their encouragement and
aid, it must have slumbered in oblivion, and remained as was intended,
(after the failure of an attempt on the part of the translator,)
a manual for his own private use.
GLOSSARY.
Acouta, Herpes.
Aruk, Distilled liquid.
Boolbul, Indian Nightingale.
Badgola, Splenitis.
Coir, Fibrous substance surrounding the Cocoanut.
Daad, Impetigo.
Dhats, Component parts of the human frame.
Elaous, Disease of the Intestines. Introsusception.
Fetuck, Hernia.
Goor, Unrefined Sugar.
Juzam, Black Leprosy.
Jow, Barley.
Junglie Chuha, The Forest Rat.
Khoonadeer, Khoonazeer? Lupus, Cancer.
Kunzeer, Cancer.
Mootiabin, Total blindness, Gutta Serena.
Naringee, The Orange.
Nachoona, Opacity of the Cornea.
Neela Totha, Sulphate of Copper.
Nuffsoodum, Hæmoptysis.
Pilau, Poolau, Dish made of meat and rice, seasoned with spices.
Peshanee, The Forehead.
Paddy, Rice in the husk.
Panroque, Cold with Fever, also Jaundice.
Peendie, A formula for females.
Paan, A leaf, chewed by the Natives, with Catechu, Betel,
and Lime.
Raal, Gum Resin.
Rajerogue, Carbuncle.
Soonpat, Loss of sensation in parts of the body.
Soorkhbad, Erythema.
THE TALEEF SHEREEF,
OR
INDIAN MATERIA MEDICA.
TRANSLATED FROM
THE ORIGINAL, WITH ADDITIONS.
1 Am, Ambe, Anbe.--The Fruit, Mangifera Indica.
The produce of a large tree very common in Hindostan. The fruit is
about the size of, and very much resembling in shape, a goat's kidney,
and having the external appearance of an apple. When ripe, it sometimes
retains the green color, but oftener becomes yellow, or red and yellow.
The virtues ascribed to this tree, are as follows:--The bruised
leaves and young shoots applied to the hair, expedite its growth,
and considerably darken its color.
The bark of the trunk of the tree, and of its roots, is cooling and
astringent; the former powerfully so. The leaves are astringent,
and promote digestion; their ashes styptic.
The young flowers are cool and drying; have a pleasant aromatic scent,
and when taken internally, are cooling and astringent; recommended
for the cure of chronic Gonorrhoea or Gleet, purulent expectoration,
bilious foulness of the blood and boils. The young unripe fruit has
much acidity, and is drying; moderately used, it increases all the
animal secretions, and is beneficial in chronic affections of the
liver; it promotes appetite, and is lithonthriptic. The fruit, when
ripe, is sweet, cooling, mucilaginous and heavy, tending to allay
thirst, and useful in nervous affections | 2,031.86276 |
2023-11-16 18:50:55.9416530 | 3,118 | 10 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Print project.)
LUDWIG THE SECOND
KING OF BAVARIA
BY
CLARA TSCHUDI
AUTHOR OF "MARIE ANTOINETTE," "EUGÉNIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH,"
"MARIA SOPHIA, QUEEN OF NAPLES," ETC. ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN
BY
ETHEL HARRIET HEARN
"Certains caractères échappent à l'analyse logique."
George Sand.
WITH PORTRAIT
London
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LIM.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1908
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Descent and Education 1
II. Fundamental Traits of Ludwig's Character 11
III. "Le Roi est mort! Vive le Roi!" 17
IV. A Plan of Marriage 22
V. King Ludwig and Richard Wagner 25
VI. Ludwig's First Visit to Switzerland--Richard Wagner
leaves Munich 40
VII. The Political Situation--The Schleswig-Holstein Question
--The War of 1866 53
VIII. The King makes the Tour of his Kingdom 58
IX. Ludwig's Betrothal 63
X. The King goes to Paris--Disharmonies between the
Engaged Couple--Ludwig meets the Emperor Napoleon and the
Empress Eugénie in Augsburg--The King breaks his Promise
of Marriage 75
XI. After the Parting with Sophie--Episodes from the King's
Excursions in the Highlands 81
XII. The Empress of Russia visits Bavaria--The Duchess Sophie's
Engagement and Marriage--An Unexpected Meeting with the
Duchesse d'Alençon--A Last Attempt to forge the Links of
Hymen around Ludwig 86
XIII. Ludwig and the Artistes of the Stage--Josephine Schefzky 92
XIV. Prince Hohenlohe--Political Frictions 99
XV. A Meeting between Bismarck and Ludwig 108
XVI. Outbreak of the War with France 111
XVII. During the War--The German Empire is Proclaimed 118
XVIII. The Bavarian Troops Return to Munich--King Ludwig and
the Crown Prince of Germany 131
XIX. A Visit from the Emperor Wilhelm--Ludwig Withdraws more
and more from the World 138
XX. Prince Otto's Insanity--The King's Morbid Sensations 145
XXI. The Review of the Troops in 1875--Crown Prince Friedrich
of Prussia 151
XXII. King Ludwig and the Empress Elizabeth 158
XXIII. King Ludwig and Queen Marie 164
XXIV. State and Church--Ignaz von Döllinger--Ludwig's Letters
to his old Tutor 168
XXV. Ludwig II. in Daily Life 175
XXVI. Ludwig and Richard Wagner--The King's Visit to Bayreuth 180
XXVII. King Ludwig and the Artists of the Stage and Canvas 187
XXVIII. Private Performances at the Hof Theater at Munich 193
XXIX. King Ludwig and his Palaces 197
XXX. King Ludwig's Friendships 204
XXXI. The Actor Kainz 209
XXXII. A Journey to Switzerland 214
XXXIII. King Ludwig and his Servants 221
XXXIV. The Mad King 225
XXXV. The Last Meeting between Mother and Son 230
XXXVI. Pecuniary Distress 234
XXXVII. Plots 239
XXXVIII. Preparations to Imprison the King--The Peasantry Assemble
to his Rescue 244
XXXIX. A Friend in Need--Ludwig's Proclamation 250
XL. The King's Last Hours at Neuschwanstein 257
XLI. Schloss Berg--The King's Death 265
XLII. Conclusion 272
LUDWIG THE SECOND
KING OF BAVARIA
CHAPTER I
Descent and Education
At the birth of Ludwig II., enigmatic as he was unfortunate, of whom
I propose to give a sketch, his grandfather, the eccentric Ludwig I.,
was still King of Bavaria. His father, Maximilian Joseph, was the
Crown Prince. The latter had wedded, in 1842, the beautiful Princess
Marie of Prussia, who was only sixteen years of age at the time of
her marriage, her husband being twenty years her senior.
To all appearance the marriage was a very happy one. Maximilian was
an intelligent and right-thinking man, devoted to public duty, but
he had indifferent health, and, like the greater number of his race,
was the possessor of a sensitive nervous system. For some years it
appeared as if the marriage would be childless. At the beginning
of the year 1845, however, the people of Bavaria were informed that
the Crown Princess was enceinte, and on the 25th of August, on the
birthday of the reigning King, a hundred and one guns proclaimed the
birth of a prince at the château of Nymphenburg.
As a matter of fact, the princely infant had seen the light two
days earlier, but the event had been kept a secret in order to give
Ludwig I. a pleasant surprise, the King having expressed a wish that a
possible hereditary prince might come into the world on that day. The
child was named after him, and he held it himself at the font.
The old King at that time was at the height of his popularity. Soon,
however, a turning-point set in: the dancer Lola Montez invaded
the lovesick Monarch's life, causing a violent insurrection in the
Bavarian capital. Then came the democratic rising of 1848, general
all over Europe, which threw fuel on the fire. Ludwig was compelled
to abdicate, and was succeeded by his son, Maximilian Joseph, who
ascended the throne under the title of Maximilian II.
Shortly after these political disturbances took place the young Queen
was brought to bed of another son, who was named Otto. [1] The effect
on her of the alarm and excitement caused by the aforesaid events,
was such that he came into the world three months too early. The
physicians declared that it was impossible for the child to live,
but they proved to be mistaken in their opinion.
Both the Crown Prince and his brother were unusually good-looking,
and it was a brilliant sight when the popular and beautiful Queen
walked about the streets of Munich, with her handsome boys beside
her. Maternal joy and pride shone from her eyes, and the glance
of the people was directed with genuine admiration on her and her
children. Otto was the one who most resembled his mother. Being,
moreover, lighthearted and accessible, he was also the one to whom
the prize of beauty was awarded by popular opinion. Ludwig's beauty
was of a more uncommon and intellectual type, a noteworthy feature
of his face being the large, brilliant, and dark-blue eye. The boys
were always dressed each in his particular colour, which the Queen
herself had chosen. Otto in red, and Ludwig in blue--the national
colours of Bavaria. Not only were Ludwig's clothes blue in tint, but
also, as far as was possible, his various other small possessions
and necessities; such, for instance, as the binding of his books,
his drawing portfolios, and his volumes of music. This hue always
continued to be his favourite colour.
Possessed of good sense in many ways, Ludwig's parents seem to
have been deficient in their insight into the difficult matter of
bringing up their eldest son. The father was too strict, and made
demands on the Crown Prince with which his abilities and strength did
not allow of his complying. In season and out of season he reminded
him that some time or other he would be a king. He was thoughtlessly
punished whether he deserved it or whether his delinquencies were of
so insignificant a nature as to demand a certain indulgence. Ludwig
was not allowed to be a child. All his toys were early taken from
him. He had, for instance, a tortoise of which he was particularly
fond, but it was not long before this too was removed by the King's
especial order. The Queen made no attempt independently to combat
this unnatural bringing up; nor does she or the King seem to have
been alive to the fact that the peculiarities of the Crown Prince's
character required handling with caution.
He was simultaneously the object in other quarters of a directly
opposite and still more pernicious treatment. His nurse "Liesi"
adored and spoiled him. When he became a little older he was given
a French governess, who seems to have had a positively unfortunate
influence upon him. Her great admiration was the French Roi Soleil,
Louis XIV., and she made no secret of forming her pupil upon this
model. Well-known utterances of the Grand Monarque, such as "L'état
c'est moi!" "Tel est notre bon plaisir," and the like, were held up
to the royal pupil as models of parlance which ought to be copied;
while at the same time the governess gave expression in her looks
and words to the subservience which she considered becoming for a
subject to show to a future monarch. She never asked if he had been
diligent and good. "The Crown Prince is always the first," she repeated
invariably. A teacher of the French language, who succeeded this lady,
acted and comported himself in a similar spirit, and contributed
further to pervert the childish mind. As an example of his method of
education may be mentioned the fact that le très gracieux prince royal,
among other things, was allowed to roll his teacher on the floor like
a barrel.
In such circumstances Ludwig's egotism could not but be
developed. Episodes from his childhood bear witness that a decided vein
of caprice and sense of his own importance were early to be noticed in
him. The following is a trait from the time when he was twelve years
of age, during a sojourn at Berchtesgaden. He was at play in the park,
with his brother. Without the slightest provocation he suddenly threw
Otto, three years younger than himself, on to the grass, planted his
knee firmly on the latter's chest, stuffed his handkerchief into his
mouth, and shouted commandingly: "You are my subject; you must obey
me! Some time I shall be your king!" Happily a courtier was witness
of this scene, and running forward, he dragged Otto, who was almost
suffocated, from his brother's violent grasp. The incident came to
the ears of the King. He gave his first-born a sound thrashing in
true burgher fashion. This corporal punishment had not, however,
the desired effect on the exceedingly sensitive boy; and its result
seems solely to have been embitterment against his father. So much,
indeed, did he take the mortification of it to heart, that later he
literally shunned Berchtesgaden.
One winter day in 1859 the two princes were together in the so-called
"English Garden," in Munich. Otto was rolling a large snowball, and
called out to his brother, in glee: "See, Ludwig, I have a snowball
that is bigger than your head!" Ludwig took it from him. Otto began
to cry. Their tutor came up and asked what was the matter. "Ludwig has
taken my snowball," sobbed Otto. "Your Royal Highness," said the tutor,
"if Prince Otto has made a snowball it belongs to him, and you have
no right to take it." "Have I no right to take the snowball? What am
I Crown Prince for, then?" asked Ludwig in dudgeon.
A gentleman well known to Maximilian, and who was frequently invited
to his shooting parties, informs me that he very seldom saw the
little princes when he visited the King. Once when he was walking in
the gardens of the castle of Hohenschwangau, however, he came upon
an open space where the King's sons happened to be playing. Ludwig
had swung himself up on to a paling, and was running backwards and
forwards on it. The visitor reminded him that he might fall and hurt
himself. The boy, however, took no notice of the well-meant warning,
and its only result was that he increased his antics. The gentleman,
who was really afraid that an accident might happen, now took him
by force in his arms and lifted him down. The Crown Prince glanced
proudly at him; then began to play with his brother, as if no third
person was present. Many years afterwards, long after Ludwig had
become King, the same gentleman reminded him of this occurrence. "I
remember very well," answered his Majesty coldly, "that you touched
me at that time," and then turned the subject of conversation.
A strict system of economy formed a part of Maximilian's
curriculum. The royal princes were only allowed the plainest
food. Sweetmeats the Crown Prince tasted only through the generosity
of his nurse Liesi, who was in the habit of buying sweets for her
favourite out of her own pocket--a kindness which Ludwig always
remembered, and which he rewarded as soon as he became King. When the
princes grew bigger they were allowed pocket-money, to the amount of
about a shilling a | 2,031.961693 |
2023-11-16 18:50:56.0378800 | 163 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Al Haines
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 18894-h.htm or 18894-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/8/9/18894/18894-h/18894-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/8/9/18894/18894-h.zip)
THEN I'LL COME BACK TO YOU
by
LARRY EVANS
Author of
Once to Every Man
Illustrated by Will Stevens
[Frontispiece: "I Ain't Never Seen Nothin'," He Stated Patiently. "I
Ain't | 2,032.05792 |
2023-11-16 18:50:56.7413340 | 1,336 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Guus van Baalen
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Words which may seem to be transcriber's typos, or otherwise
suspect, but which are reproduced faithfully (archaic spellings,
printer's typos--sometimes I couldn't tell):
Ch. I: befel, undigged
Ch. III: chaperon
Ch. IV: babby, mun, valtz
Ch. V: zounded, dimpsey, after'n, ax'n, ax
Ch. VI: picquet, damitol
Ch. XI: alwaies, Desarts, Eternitie
2. Diphthongs, given as single characters in the printed copy, are
transcribed as two separate characters.
THE WESTCOTES
by
ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH
DEDICATION
MY DEAR HENRY JAMES,
A spinster, having borrowed a man's hat to decorate her front hall,
excused herself on the ground that the house 'wanted a something.'
By inscribing your name above this little story I please myself at
the risk of helping the reader to discover not only that it wants a
something, but precisely what that something is. It wants--to confess
and have done with it--all the penetrating subtleties of insight, all
the delicacies of interpretation, you would have brought to Dorothea's
aid, if for a moment I may suppose her worth your championing. So I
invoke your name to stand before my endeavour like a figure outside
the brackets in an algebraical sum, to make all the difference by
multiplying the meaning contained.
But your consent gives me another opportunity even more warmly desired.
And I think that you, too, will take less pleasure in discovering how
excellent your genius appears to one who nevertheless finds it a
mystery in operation, than in learning that he has not missed to
admire, at least, and with a sense almost of personal loyalty, the
sustained and sustaining pride in good workmanship by which you have
set a common example to all who practise, however diversely, the art
in which we acknowledge you a master.
A. T. QUILLER-COUCH
October 25th, 1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I THE WESTCOTES OF BAYFIELD
CHAPTER II THE ORANGE ROOM
CHAPTER III A BALL, A SNOWSTORM, AND A SNOWBALL
CHAPTER IV ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A HIGH HORSE AND A HOBBY
CHAPTER V BEGINS WITH ANCIENT HISTORY AND ENDS WITH AN OLD STORY
CHAPTER VI FATE IN A LAURELLED POST-CHAISE
CHAPTER VII LOVE AND AN OLD MAID
CHAPTER VIII CORPORAL ZEALLY INTERVENES
CHAPTER IX DOROTHEA CONFESSES
CHAPTER X DARTMOOR
CHAPTER XI THE NEW DOROTHEA
CHAPTER XII GENERAL ROCHAMBEAU TELLS A STORY; AND THE TING-TANG RINGS
FOR THE LAST TIME
CHAPTER I
THE WESTCOTES OF BAYFIELD
A mural tablet in Axcester Parish Church describes Endymion Westcote as
"a conspicuous example of that noblest work of God, the English Country
Gentleman." Certainly he was a typical one.
In almost every district of England you will find a family which,
without distinguishing itself in any particular way, has held fast to
the comforts of life and the respect of its neighbours for generation
after generation. Its men have never shone in court, camp, or senate;
they prefer tenacity to enterprise, look askance upon wit (as a
dangerous gift), and are even a little suspicious of eminence. On the
other hand they make excellent magistrates, maintain a code of manners
most salutary for the poor in whose midst they live and are looked up
to; are as a rule satisfied, like the old Athenian, if they leave to
their heirs not less but a little more than they themselves inherited,
and deserve, as they claim, to be called the backbone of Great Britain.
Many of the women have beauty, still more have an elegance which may
pass for it, and almost all are pure in thought, truthful, assiduous in
deeds of charity, and marry for love of those manly qualities which
they have already esteemed in their brothers.
Such a family were the Westcotes of Bayfield, or Bagvil, in 1810. Their
"founder" had settled in Axcester towards the middle of the seventeenth
century, and prospered--mainly, it was said, by usury. A little before
his death, which befel in 1668, he purchased Bayfield House from a
decayed Royalist who had lost his only son in the Civil Wars; and to
Bayfield and the ancestral business (exalted now into Banking) his
descendants continued faithful. One or both of the two brothers who,
with their half-sister, represented the family in 1810, rode in on
every week-day to their Bank-office in Axcester High Street,--a
Georgian house of brick, adorned with a porch of plaster fluted to the
shape of a sea-shell, out of which a. Cupid smiled down upon a brass
plate and the inscription "WESTCOTE AND WESTCOTE," and on the first
floor, with windows as tall as the rooms, so that from the street you
could see through one the shapely legs of Mr. Endymion Westcote at his
knee-hole table, and through another the legs of Mr. Narcissus. The
third and midmost window was a dummy, having been bricked up to avoid
the window-tax imposed by Mr. Pitt--in whose statesmanship, however,
the brothers had firmly believed. Their somewhat fantastic names were
traditional in the Westcote pedigree and dated from, the seventeenth
century.
Endymion, the elder, (who took the lead of Narcissus in all, things),
was the fine flower of the Westcote stocks, and, out of question, | 2,032.761374 |
2023-11-16 18:50:56.8349940 | 4,491 | 6 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Many spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected. A list of the
etext transcriber's spelling corrections follows the text. Consistent
archaic spellings have not been changed. (courtseyed, hight, gallopped,
befel, spirted, drily, abysm, etc.)
PRICE, 25 CENTS. No. 77.
THE SUNSET SERIES.
By Subscription, per Year, Nine Dollars. January 25, 1894.
Entered at the New York Post Office as second-class matter.
Copyright 1892, by J. S. OGILVIE.
THE
MESMERIST'S VICTIM.
BY
ALEX. DUMAS.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET.
A WONDERFUL OFFER!
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[Illustration]
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instructions =_How to Build_= 70 Cottages, Villas, Double Houses, Brick
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and employment of architects, prepared by Palliser, Palliser & Co., the
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This book will save you hundreds of dollars.
There is not a Builder, nor anyone intending to build or otherwise
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It is worth $5.00 to anyone, but we will send it bound in paper cover,
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Address all orders to
_J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING CO.,_
_Lock Box 2767. 57 Rose Street, New York._
THE MESMERIST'S VICTIM;
OR,
ANDREA DE TAVERNEY.
A HISTORICAL ROMANCE
BY ALEX. DUMAS.
Author of "Monte Cristo," "The Three Musketeers _Series_," "Chicot
the Jester _Series_," etc.
TRANSLATED FROM THE LATEST PARIS EDITION.
BY
HENRY LLEWELLYN WILLIAMS.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET.
_Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1892, by A. E. Smith &
Co, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington._
THE MESMERIST'S VICTIM;
OR,
ANDREA DE TAVERNEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESPERATE RESCUE.
On the thirteenth of May, 1770, Paris celebrated the wedding of the
Dauphin or Prince Royal Louis Aguste, grandson of Louis XV. still
reigning, with Marie-Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria.
The entire population flocked towards Louis XV. Place, where fireworks
were to be let off. A pyrotechnical display was the finish to all grand
public ceremonies, and the Parisians were fond of them although they
might make fun.
The ground was happily chosen, as it would hold six thousand spectators.
Around the equestrian statue of the King, stands were built circularly
to give a view of the fireworks, to be set off at ten or twelve feet
elevation.
The townsfolk began to assemble long before seven o'clock when the City
Guard arrived to keep order. This duty rather belonged to the French
Guards, but the Municipal government had refused the extra pay their
Commander, Colonel, the Marshal Duke Biron, demanded, and these warriors
in a huff were scattered in the mob, vexed and quarrelsome. They sneered
loudly at the tumult, which they boasted they would have quelled with
the pike-stock or the musket-butt if they had the ruling of the
gathering.
The shrieks of the women, squeezed in the press, the wailing of the
children, the swearing of the troopers, the grumbling of the fat
citizens, the protests of the cake and candy merchants whose goods were
stolen, all prepared a petty uproar preceding the deafening one which
six hundred thousand souls were sure to create when collected. At eight
at evening, they produced a vast picture, like one after Teniers, but
with French faces.
About half past eight nearly all eyes were fastened on the scaffold
where the famous Ruggieri and his assistants were putting the final
touches to the matches and fuses of the old pieces. Many large
compositions were on the frames. The grand bouquet, or shower of stars,
girandoles and squibs, with which such shows always conclude, was to go
off from a rampart, near the Seine River, on a raised bank.
As the men carried their lanterns to the places where the pieces would
be fired, a lively sensation was raised in the throng, and some of the
timid drew back, which made the whole waver in line.
Carriages with the better class still arrived but they could not reach
the stand to deposit their passengers. The mob hemmed them in and some
persons objected to having the horses lay their heads on their shoulder.
Behind the horses and vehicles the crowd continued to increase, so that
the conveyances could not move one way or another. Then were seen with
the audacity of the city-bred, the boys and the rougher men climb upon
the wheels and finally swarm upon the footman's board and the coachman's
box.
The illumination of the main streets threw a red glare on the sea of
faces, and flashed from the bayonets of the city guardsmen, as
conspicuous as a blade of wheat in a reaped field.
About nine o'clock one of these coaches came up, but three rows of
carriages were before the stand, all wedged in and covered with the
sightseers. Hanging onto the springs was a young man, who kicked away
those who tried to share with him the use of this locomotive to cleave a
path in the concourse. When it stopped, however, he dropped down but
without letting go of the friendly spring with one hand. Thus he was
able to hear the excited talk of the passengers.
Out of the window was thrust the head of a young and beautiful girl,
wearing white and having lace on her sunny head.
"Come, come, Andrea," said a testy voice of an elderly man within to
her, "do not lean out so, or you will have some rough fellow snatch a
kiss. Do you not see that our coach is stuck in this mass like a boat in
a mudflat? we are in the water, and dirty water at that; do not let us
be fouled."
"We can't see anything, father," said the girl, drawing in her head: "if
the horse turned half round we could have a look through the window, and
would see as well as in the places reserved for us at the governor's."
"Turn a bit, coachman," said the man.
"Can't be did, my lord baron," said the driver; "it would crush a dozen
people."
"Go on and crush them, then!"
"Oh, sir," said Andrea.
"No, no, father," said a young gentleman beside the old baron inside.
"Hello, what baron is this who wants to crush the poor?" cried several
threatening voices.
"The Baron of Taverney Redcastle--I," replied the old noble, leaning out
and showing that he wore a red sash crosswise.
Such emblems of the royal and knightly orders were still respected, and
though there was grumbling it was on a lessening tone.
"Wait, father," said the young gentleman, "I will step out and see if
there is some way of getting on."
"Look out, Philip," said the girl, "you will get hurt. Only hear the
horses neighing as they lash out."
Philip Taverney, Knight of Redcastle, was a charming cavalier and,
though he did not resemble his sister, he was as handsome for a man as
she for her sex.
"Bid those fellows get out of our way," said the baron, "so we can
pass."
Philip was a man of the time and like many of the young nobility had
learnt ideas which his father of the old school was incapable of
appreciating.
"Oh, you do not know the present Paris, father," he returned. "These
high-handed acts of the masters were all very well formerly; but they
will hardly go down now, and you would not like to waste your dignity,
of course."
"But since these rascals know who I am---- "
"Were you a royal prince," replied the young man smiling, "they would
not budge for you, I am afraid; at this moment, too, when the fireworks
are going off."
"And we shall not see them," pouted Andrea.
"Your fault, by Jove--you spent more than two hours over your attire,"
snarled the baron.
"Could you not take me through the mob to a good spot on your arm,
brother?" asked she.
"Yes, yes, come out, little lady," cried several voices; for the men
were struck by Mdlle. Taverney's beauty: "you are not stout, and we will
make room for you."
Andrea sprang lightly out of the vehicle without touching the steps.
"I think little of the crackers and rockets, and I will stay here,"
growled the baron.
"We are not going far, father," responded Philip.
Always respectful to the queen called Beauty, the mob opened before the
Taverneys, and a good citizen made his wife and daughter give way on a
bench where they stood, for the young lady. Philip stood by his sister,
who rested a hand on his shoulder. The young man who had "cut behind"
the carriage, had followed them and he looked with fond eyes on the
girl.
"Are you comfortable, Andrea?" said the chevalier; "see what a help good
looks are!"
"Good looks," sighed the strange young man; "why, she is lovely, very
lovely. She is lovelier here, in Parisian costume, than when I used to
see her on their country place, where I was but Gilbert the humble
retainer on my lord Baron's lands.'"
Andrea heard the compliment; but she thought it came not from an
acquaintance so far as a dependent could be the acquaintance of a young
lady of title, and she believed it was a common person who spoke.
Infinitely proud, she heeded it no more than an East Indian idol
troubles itself about the adorer who places his tribute at its feet.
Hardly were the two young Taverneys established on and by the bench than
the first rockets serpentined towards the clouds, and a loud "Oh!" was
roared by the multitude henceforth absorbed in the sight.
Andrea did not try to conceal her impressions in her astonishment at the
unequalled sight of a population cheering with delight before a palace
of fire. Only a yard from her, the youth who had named himself as
Gilbert, gazed on her rather than at the show, except because it charmed
her. Every time a gush of flame shone on her beautiful countenance, he
thrilled; he could fancy that the general admiration sprang from the
adoration which this divine creature inspired in him who idolized her.
Suddenly, a vivid glare burst and spread, slanting from the river: it
was a bomshell exploding fiercely, but Andrea merely admired the
gorgeous play of light.
"How splendid," she murmured.
"Goodness," said her brother, disquieted, "that shot was badly aimed for
it shoots almost on the level instead of taking an upward curve. Oh,
God, it is an accident! Come away--it is a mishap which I dreaded. A
stray cracker has set fire to the powder on the bastion. The people are
trampling on each other over there to get away. Do you not hear those
screams--not cheers but shrieks of distress. Quick, quick, to the coach!
Gentlemen, gentlemen, please let us through."
He put his arms around his sister's slender waist, to drag her in the
direction of her father. Also made uneasy by the clamor, the danger
being evident though not distinguished yet by him, he put his head out
of the window to look for his dear ones.
It was too late!
The final display of fifteen thousand rockets-burst, darting off in all
directions, and chasing the spectators like those squibs exploded in the
bull-fighting ring to stir up the bull.
At first surprised but soon frightened, the people drew back without
reflection. Before this invincible retreat of a hundred thousand,
another mass as numerous gave the same movement when squeezed to the
rear. The wooden work at the bastion took fire; children cried, women
tossed their arms; the city guardsmen struck out to quiet the brawlers
and re-establish order by violence.
All these causes combined to drive the crowd like a waterspout to the
corner where Philip of Taverney stood. Instead of reaching the baron's
carriage as he reckoned, he was swept on by the resistless tide, of
which no description can give an idea. Individual force, already doubled
by fear and pain, was increased a hundredfold by the junction of the
general power.
As Philip dragged Andrea away, Gilbert was also carried off by the human
current: but at the corner of Madeline Street, a band of fugitives
lifted him up and tore him away from Andrea, in spite of his struggles
and yelling.
Upon the Taverneys charged a team of runaway horses. Philip saw the
crowd part; the smoking heads of the animals appeared and they rose on
their haunches for a leap. He leaped, too, and being a cavalry officer,
captain in the Dauphiness's Dragoons, knew how to deal with them. He
caught the bit of one and was lifted with it.
Andrea saw him flung and fall; she screamed, threw up her arms, was
buffeted, reeled, and in an instant was tossed hence alone, like a
feather, without the strength to offer resistance.
Deafening calmor, more dreadful than shouts of battle, the horses
neighing, the clatter of the vehicles on the pavement cumbered with the
crippled, and livid glare of the burning stands, the sinister flashing
of swords which some of the soldiers had drawn, in their fury and above
the bloody chaos, the bronze statue gleaming with the light as it
presided over the carnage--here was enough to drive the girl mad.
She uttered a despairing cry; for a soldier in cutting a way for himself
in the crowd had waved the dripping blade over her head. She clasped her
hands like a shipwrecked sailor as the last breaker swamps him, and
gasping "God have mercy" fell.
Yet to fall here was to die.
One had heard this final, supreme appeal. It was Gilbert who had been
snaking his way up to her. Though the same rush bent him down, he rose,
seized the soldier by the throat and upset him.
Where he felled him, lay the white-robed form: he lifted it up with a
giant's strength.
When he felt this beautiful body on his heart, though it might be a
corpse, a ray of pride illuminated his face.
The sublime situation made him the sublimation of strength and courage
extreme; he dashed with his burden into the torrent of men. This would
have broken a hole through a wall. It sustained him and carried them
both. He just touched the ground with his feet, but her weight began to
tell on him. Her heart beat against his.
"She is saved," he said, "and I have saved her," he added, as the mass
brought up against the Royal Wardrobe Building, and he was sheltered in
the angle of masonry.
But looking towards the bridge over the Seine, he did not see the twenty
thousand wretches on his right, mutilated, welded together, having
broken through the barrier of the carriages and mixed up with them as
the drivers and horses were seized with the same vertigo.
Instinctively they tried to get to the wall against which the closest
were mashed.
This new deluge threatened to grind those who had taken refuge here by
the Wardrobe building, with the belief they had escaped. Maimed bodies
and dead ones piled up by Gilbert. He had to back into the recess of the
gateway, where the weight made the walls crack.
The stifled youth felt like yielding; but collecting all his powers by a
mighty effort, he enclasped Andrea with his arms, applying his face to
her dress as if he meant to strangle her whom he wished to protect.
"Farewell," he gasped as he bit her robe in kissing it.
His eyes glancing about in an ultimate call to heaven, were offered a
singular vision.
A man was standing on a horseblock, clinging by his right hand to an
iron ring sealed in the wall: while with his left he seemed to beckon an
army in flight to rally.
He was a tall dark man of thirty, with a figure muscular but elegant.
His features had the mobility of Southerners', strangely blending power
and subtlety. His eyes were piercing and commanding.
As the mad ocean of human beings poured beneath him he cast out a word
or a cabalistic token. On these, some individual in the throng was seen
to stop, fight clear and make his way towards the beckoner to fall in at
his rear. Others, called likewise, seemed to recognize brothers in each
other, and all lent their hands to catch still more of the swimmers in
this tide of life. Soon this knot of men were formed into the head of a
breakwater, which divided the fugitives and served to stay and stem the
rush.
At every instant new recruits seemed to spring out of the earth at these
odd words and weird gestures, to form the backers of this wondrous man.
Gilbert nerved himself. He felt that here alone was safety, for here was
calm and power.
A last flicker of the burning staging, irradiated this man's visage and
Gilbert uttered an outcry of surprise.
"I know who that is," he said, "he visited my master down at Taverney.
It is Baron Balsamo. Oh, I care not if I die provided she lives. This
man has the power to save her."
In perfect self-sacrifice, he raised the girl up in both hands and
shouted:
"Baron Balsamo, save Andrea de Taverney!"
Balsamo heard this voice from the depths; he saw the white figure lifted
above the matted beings; he used the phalanx he had collected to cover
his charge to the spot. Seizing the girl, still sustained by Gilbert
though his arms were weakening, he snatched her away, and let the crowd
carry them both afar.
He had not time to turn his head.
Gilbert had not the breath to utter a word. Perhaps, after having Andrea
aided, he would have supplicated assistance for himself; but all he
could do was clutch with a hand which tore a scrap of the dress of the
girl. After this grasp, a last farewell, the young man tried no longer
to struggle, as though he were willing to die. He closed his eyes and
fell on a heap of the dead.
CHAPTER II.
THE FIELD OF THE DEAD.
To great tempests succeeds calm, dreadful but reparative.
At two o'clock in the morning a wan moon was playing through the
swift-driving white clouds upon the fatal scene where the merry-makers
had trampled and buried one another in the ditches.
The corpses stuck out arms lifted in prayers and legs broken and
entangled, while the clothes were ripped and the faces livid.
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[Illustration: AT THE FOOT OF THE CHILKOOT PASS]
ALONG
ALASKA'S GREAT RIVER
A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE TRAVELS OF AN ALASKA
EXPLORING EXPEDITION ALONG THE GREAT
YUKON RIVER, FROM ITS SOURCE TO ITS
MOUTH, IN THE BRITISH NORTH-WEST
TERRITORY, AND IN
THE TERRITORY OF
ALASKA.
BY
FREDERICK SCHWATKA,
LAURENTE OF THE PARIS GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY AND OF THE IMPERIAL
GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY OF RUSSIA; HONORARY MEMBER
BREMEN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY, ETC., ETC., COMMANDER
OF THE EXPEDITION.
TOGETHER WITH THE LATEST INFORMATION ON THE
KLONDIKE COUNTRY.
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED._
CHICAGO NEW YORK
GEORGE M. HILL COMPANY
MDCCCC
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
GEO. M. HILL CO.
PREFACE.
These pages narrate the travels, in a popular sense, of an Alaskan
exploring expedition. The expedition was organized with seven members
at Vancouver Barracks, Washington, and left Portland, Oregon, ascending
through the inland passage to Alaska, as far as the Chilkat country. At
that point the party employed over three score of the Chilkat Indians,
the hardy inhabitants of that ice-bound country, to pack its effects
across the glacier-clad pass of the Alaskan coast range of mountains to
the headwaters of the Yukon. Here a large raft was constructed, and on
this primitive craft, sailing through nearly a hundred and fifty miles
of lakes, and shooting a number of rapids, the party floated along the
great stream for over thirteen hundred miles; the longest raft journey
ever made on behalf of geographical science. The entire river, over two
thousand miles, was traversed, the party returning home by Bering Sea,
and touching the Aleutian Islands.
The opening up of the great gold fields in the region of the upper
Yukon, has added especial interest to everything pertaining to the
great North-west. The Klondike region is the cynosure of the eyes
of all, whether they be in the clutches of the gold fever or not.
The geography, the climate, the scenery, the birds, beasts, and even
flowers of the country make fascinating subjects. In view of the new
discoveries in that part of the world, a new chapter, Chapter XIII, is
given up to a detailed description of the Klondike region. The numerous
routes by which it may be reached are described, and all the details as
to the possibilities and resources of the country are authoritatively
stated.
CHICAGO, March, 1898.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. INTRODUCTORY 9
II. THE INLAND PASSAGE TO ALASKA 12
III. IN THE CHILKAT COUNTRY 36
IV. OVER THE MOUNTAIN PASS 53
V. ALONG THE LAKES 90
VI. A CHAPTER ABOUT RAFTING 131
VII. THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE YUKON 154
VIII. DOWN THE RIVER TO SELKIRK 175
IX. THROUGH THE UPPER RAMPARTS 207
X. THROUGH THE YUKON FLAT-LANDS 264
XI. THROUGH THE LOWER RAMPARTS AND END OF RAFT JOURNEY 289
XII. DOWN THE RIVER AND HOME 313
XIII. THE KLONDIKE REGIONS 346
XIV. DISCOVERY AND HISTORY 368
XV. The People and Their Industries 386
XVI. GEOGRAPHICAL FEATURES 413
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
FRONTISPIECE (DRAWN BY WM. SCHMEDTGEN)
THE INLAND PASSAGE 12
SCENES IN THE INLAND PASSAGE 19
SITKA, ALASKA 29
CHILKAT BRACELET 36
PYRAMID HARBOR, CHILKAT INLET 43
CHILKAT INDIAN PACKER 53
METHODS OF TRACKING A CANOE UP A RAPID 64
CANOEING UP THE DAYAY 65
DAYAY VALLEY, NOURSE RIVER 73
SALMON SPEARS 76
DAYAY VALLEY, FROM CAMP 4 77
WALKING A LOG 80
CHASING A MOUNTAIN GOAT 82
ASCENDING THE PERRIER PASS 85
SNOW SHOES 87
IN A STORM ON THE LAKES 90
LAKE LINDEMAN 93
LAKE BENNETT 101
PINS FOR FASTENING MARMOT SNARES 112
LAKE BOVE 116
LAKE MARSH 121
"STICK" INDIANS 127
"SNUBBING" THE RAFT 131
AMONG THE "SWEEPERS" 134
BANKS OF THE YUKON 135
SCRAPING ALONG A BANK 140
PRYING THE RAFT OFF A BAR 145
COURSE OF RAFT AND AXIS OF STREAM 152
WHIRLPOOL AT LOWER END OF ISLAND 153
GRAYLING 154
GRAND CAÑON 163
THE CASCADES 169
ALASKA BROWN BEAR FIGHTING MOSQUITOS 174
IN THE RINK RAPIDS 175
CLAY BLUFFS ON THE YUKON 176
OUTLET OF LAKE KLUK-TAS-SI 184
THE RINK RAPIDS 191
LORING BLUFF 193
KITL-AH-GON INDIAN VILLAGE 197
INGERSOLL ISLANDS 201
THE RUINS OF SELKIRK 205
IN THE UPPER RAMPARTS 207
MOUTH OF PELLY RIVER 209
LOOKING UP YUKON FROM SELKIRK 213
AYAN GRAVE AT SELKIRK 217
AYAN INDIANS IN CANOES 221
AYAN AND CHILKAT GAMBLING TOOLS 227
PLAN OF AYAN SUMMER HOUSE 229
KON-IT'L AYAN CHIEF 230
AYAN MOOSE ARROW 231
AYAN WINTER TENT 233
A GRAVEL BANK 236
MOOSE-SKIN MOUNTAIN 243
ROQUETTE ROCK 250
KLAT-OL-KLIN VILLAGE 253
FISHING NETS 258
SALMON KILLING CLUB 259
BOUNDARY BUTTE 261
A MOOSE HEAD 264
MOSS ON YUKON RIVER 267
STEAMER "YUKON" 276
INDIAN "CACHE" 289
LOWER RAMPARTS RAPIDS 295
MOUTH OF TANANA 303
NUKLAKAYET 307
THE RAFT, AT END OF ITS JOURNEY 312
INDIAN OUT-DOOR GUN COVERING 313
FALLING BANKS OF YUKON 319
ANVIK 330
OONALASKA 344
THE KLONDIKE GOLD DISCOVERIES 348
AT THE FOOT OF CHILKOOT PASS 350
THE DESCENT OF CHILKOOT PASS 354
A MID-DAY MEAL 358
AT THE HEAD OF LAKE LA BARGE 360
INDIAN PACKERS FORDING A RIVER 364
THE WHITE HORSE RAPIDS 366
ALONG ALASKA'S GREAT RIVER.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
This Alaskan exploring expedition was composed of the following
members: Lieut. Schwatka, U.S.A., commanding; Dr. George F. Wilson,
U.S.A., Surgeon; Topographical Assistant Charles A. Homan, U.S.
Engineers, Topographer and Photographer; Sergeant Charles A. Gloster,
U.S.A., Artist; Corporal Shircliff, U.S.A., in charge of stores;
Private Roth, assistant, and Citizen J. B. McIntosh, a miner, who had
lived in Alaska and was well acquainted with its methods of travel.
Indians and others were added and discharged from time to time as
hereafter noted.
The main object of the expedition was to acquire such information of
the country traversed and its wild inhabitants as would be valuable to
the military authorities in the future, and as a map would be needful
to illustrate such information well, the party's efforts were rewarded
with making the expedition successful in a geographical sense. I
had hoped to be able, through qualified subordinates, to extend our
scientific knowledge of the country explored, especially in regard
to its botany, geology, natural history, etc.; and, although these
subjects would not in any event have been adequately discussed in a
popular treatise like the present, it must be admitted that little was
accomplished in these branches. The explanation of this is as follows:
When authority was asked from Congress for a sum of money to make such
explorations under military supervision and the request was disapproved
by the General of the Army and Secretary of War. This disapproval,
combined with the active opposition of government departments which
were assigned to work of the same general character and coupled with
the reluctance of Congress to make any appropriations whatever that
year, was sufficient to kill such an undertaking. When the military
were withdrawn from Alaska by the President, about the year 1878, a
paragraph appeared at the end of the President's order stating that
no further control would be exercised by the army in Alaska; and this
proviso was variously interpreted by the friends of the army and its
enemies, as a humiliation either to the army or to the President,
according to the private belief of the commentator. It was therefore
seriously debated whether any military expedition or party sent into
that country for any purpose whatever would not be a direct violation
of the President's proscriptive order, and when it was decided to
waive that consideration, and send in a party, it was considered too
much of a responsibility to add any specialists in science, with
the disapproval of the General and the Secretary hardly dry on the
paper. The expedition was therefore, to avoid being recalled, kept as
secret as possible, and when, on May 22d, it departed from Portland,
Oregon, upon the _Victoria_, a vessel which had been specially put on
the Alaska route, only a two or three line notice had gotten into
the Oregon papers announcing the fact; a notice that in spreading
was referred to in print by one government official as "a junketing
party," by another as a "prospecting" party, while another bitterly
acknowledged that had he received another day's intimation he could
have had the party recalled by the authorities at Washington. Thus the
little expedition which gave the first complete survey to the third[1]
river of our country stole away like a thief in the night and with far
less money in its hands to conduct it through its long journey than was
afterward appropriated by Congress to publish its report.
[1] The largest river on the North American continent so far as this
mighty stream flows within our boundaries.... The people of the United
States will not be quick to take to the idea that the volume of water
in an Alaskan river is greater than that discharged by the mighty
Mississippi; but it is entirely within the bounds of honest statement
to say that the Yukon river... discharges every hour one-third more
water than the "Father of Waters."--Petroff's Government Report on
Alaska.
Leaving Portland at midnight on the 22d, the _Victoria_ arrived at
Astoria at the mouth of the Columbia the forenoon of the 23d, the
remaining hours of daylight being employed in loading with supplies for
a number of salmon canneries in Alaska, the large amount of freight for
which had necessitated this extra steamer. That night we crossed the
Columbia River bar and next morning entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca,
the southern entrance from the Pacific Ocean which leads to the inland
passage to Alaska.
CHAPTER II.
THE INLAND PASSAGE TO ALASKA.
[Illustration]
"The Inland Passage" to Alaska is the fjörd-like channel, resembling a
great river, which extends from the north-western part of Washington
Territory, through British Columbia, into south-eastern Alaska.
Along this coast line for about a thousand miles, stretches a vast
archipelago closely hugging the mainland of the Territories named
above, the southernmost important island being Vancouver, almost a
diminutive continent in itself, while to the north Tchichagoff Island
limits it on the seaboard.
From the little town of Olympia at the head of Puget Sound, in
Washington Territory, to Chilkat, Alaska, at the head of Lynn Channel,
or Canal, one sails as if on a grand river, and it is really hard to
comprehend that it is a portion of the ocean unless one can imagine
some deep fjörd in Norway or Greenland, so deep that he can sail on its
waters for a fortnight, for the fjörd-like character is very prominent
in these channels to which the name of "Inland Passage" is usually
given.
These channels between the islands and mainland are strikingly uniform
in width, and therefore river-like in appearance as one steams or
sails through, them. At occasional points they connect with the Pacific
Ocean, and if there be a storm on the latter, a few rolling swells may
enter at these places and disturb the equilibrium of sensitive stomachs
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THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one has to submit, is irreligious...
It is Christian to pray that God would give the Spirit to make us strong
to overcome the feelings and the doubts of nature... Where this
faith, obtained in this way, exists, it has always been supported by the
conviction that the Man lives who brought life and immortality to light.
To hold fast this faith is the goal of life, for only what we consciously
strive for is in this matter our own. What we think we possess is very
soon lost."
"The feelings and the doubts of nature!" The Divine Discontent, the
striving against the doubt that every honest soul experiences and admits.
Thus the contrast between her and these others who accepted and went
their several ways was brought home to him.
He longed to talk to her, but his days were full. Yet the very thought
of her helped to bear him up as his trials, his problems accumulated; nor
would he at any time have exchanged them for the former false peace which
had been bought (he perceived more and more clearly) at the price of
compromise.
The worst of these trials, perhaps, was a conspicuous article in a
newspaper containing a garbled account of his sermon and of the sensation
it had produced amongst his fashionable parishioners. He had refused to
see the reporter, but he had been made out a hero, a socialistic champion
of the poor. The black headlines were nauseating; and beside them, in
juxtaposition, were pen portraits of himself and of Eldon Parr. There
were rumours that the banker had left the church until the recalcitrant
rector should be driven out of it; the usual long list of Mr. Parr's
benefactions was included, and certain veiled paragraphs concerning his
financial operations. Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Plimpton, Mr. Constable, did not
escape,--although they, too, had refused to be interviewed....
The article brought to the parish house a bevy of reporters who had to be
fought off, and another batch of letters, many of them from ministers, in
approval or condemnation.
His fellow-clergymen called, some to express sympathy and encouragement,
more of them to voice in person indignant and horrified protests. Dr.
Annesley of Calvary--a counterpart of whose rubicund face might have
been found in the Council of Trent or in mediaeval fish-markets
--pronounced his anathemas with his hands folded comfortably over his
stomach, but eventually threw to the winds every vestige of his
ecclesiastical dignity....
Then there came a note from the old bishop, who was traveling. A kindly
note, withal, if non-committal,--to the effect that he had received
certain communications, but that his physician would not permit him to
return for another ten days or so. He would then be glad to see Mr.
Holder and talk with him.
What would the bishop do? Holder's relations with him had been more than
friendly, but whether the bishop's views were sufficiently liberal to
support him in the extreme stand he had taken he could not surmise. For
it meant that the bishop, too, must enter into a conflict with the first
layman of his diocese, of whose hospitality he had so often partaken,
whose contributions had been on so lordly a scale. The bishop was in his
seventieth year, and had hitherto successfully fought any attempt to
supply him with an assistant,--coadjutor or suffragan.
At such times the fear grew upon Hodder that he might be recommended for
trial, forced to abandon his fight to free the Church from the fetters
that bound her: that the implacable hostility of his enemies would rob
him of his opportunity.
Thus ties were broken, many hard things were said and brought to his
ears. There were vacancies in the classes and guilds, absences that
pained him, silences that wrung him....
Of all the conversations he held, that with Mrs. Constable was perhaps
the most illuminating and distressing. As on that other occasion, when
he had gone to her, this visit was under the seal of confession, unknown
to her husband. And Hodder had been taken aback, on seeing her enter his
office, by the very tragedy in her face--the tragedy he had momentarily
beheld once before. He drew up a chair for her, and when she had sat
down she gazed at him some moments without speaking.
"I had to come," she said; "there are some things I feel I must ask you.
For I have been very miserable since I heard you on Sunday."
He nodded gently.
"I knew that you would change your views--become broader, greater. You
may remember that I predicted it."
"Yes," he said.
"I thought you would grow more liberal, less bigoted, if you will allow
me to say so. But I didn't anticipate--" she hesitated, and looked up at
him again.
"That I would take the extreme position I have taken," he assisted her.
"Oh, Mr. Hodder," she cried impulsively, "was it necessary to go so far?
and all at once. I am here not only because I am miserable, but I am
concerned on your account. You hurt me very much that day you came to
me, but you made me your friend. And I wonder if you really understand
the terrible, bitter feeling you have aroused, the powerful enemies you
have made by speaking so--so unreservedly?"
"I was prepared for it," he answered. "Surely, Mrs. Constable, once I
have arrived at what I believe to be the truth, you would not have me
temporize?"
She gave him a wan smile.
"In one respect, at least, you have not changed," she told him. "I am
afraid you are not the temporizing kind. But wasn't there,--mayn't there
still be a way to deal with this fearful situation? You have made it
very hard for us--for them. You have given them no loophole of escape.
And there are many, like me, who do not wish to see your career ruined,
Mr. Hodder."
"Would you prefer," he asked, "to see my soul destroyed? And your own?"
Her lips twitched.
"Isn't there any other way but that? Can't this transformation, which
you say is necessary and vital, come gradually? You carried me away as
I listened to you, I was not myself when I came out of the church.
But I have been thinking ever since. Consider my husband, Mr. Hodder,"
her voice faltered. "I shall not mince matters with you--I know you will
not pretend to misunderstand me. I have never seen him so upset since
since that time Gertrude was married. He is in a most cruel position.
I confessed to you once that Mr. Parr had made for us all the money we
possess. Everett is fond of you, but if he espouses your cause, on the
vestry, we shall be ruined."
Hodder was greatly moved.
"It is not my cause, Mrs. Constable," he said.
"Surely, Christianity is not so harsh and uncompromising as that! And do
you quite do justice to--to some of these men? There was no one to tell
them the wrongs they were committing--if they were indeed wrongs. Our
civilization is far from perfect."
"The Church may have been remiss, mistaken," the rector replied. "But
the Christianity she has taught, adulterated though it were, has never
condoned the acts which have become commonplace in modern finance. There
must have been a time, in the life of every one of these men, when they
had to take that first step against which their consciences revolted,
when they realized that fraud and taking advantage of the ignorant and
weak were wrong. They have deliberately preferred gratification in this
life to spiritual development--if indeed they believe in any future
whatsoever. For 'whosoever will save his life shall lose it' is as true
to-day as it ever was. They have had their choice--they still have it."
"I am to blame," she cried. "I drove my husband to it, I made him think
of riches, it was I who cultivated Mr. Parr. And oh, I suppose I am
justly punished. I have never been happy for one instant since that
day."
He watched her, pityingly, as she wept. But presently she raised her
face, wonderingly.
"You do believe in the future life after--after what you have been
through?"
"I do," he answered simply.
"Yes--I am sure you do. It is that, what you are, convinces me you do.
Even the remarkable and sensible explanation you gave of it when you
interpreted the parable of the talents is not so powerful as the
impression that you yourself believe after thinking it out for yourself
--not accepting the old explanations. And then," she added, with a note
as of surprise, "you are willing to sacrifice everything for it!"
"And you?" he asked. "Cannot you, too, believe to that extent?"
"Everything?" she repeated. "It would mean--poverty. No--God help me
--I cannot face it. I have become too hard. I cannot do without the
world. And even if I could! Oh, you cannot know what you ask Everett,
my husband--I must say it, you make me tell you everything--is not free.
He is little better than a slave to Eldon Parr. I hate Eldon Parr," she
added, with startling inconsequence.
"If I had only known what it would lead to when I made Everett what he
is! But I knew nothing of business, and I wanted money, position to
satisfy my craving at the loss of--that other thing. And now I couldn't
change my husband if I would. He hasn't the courage, he hasn't the
vision. What there was of him, long ago, has been killed--and I killed
it. He isn't--anybody, now."
She relapsed again into weeping.
"And then it might not mean only poverty--it might mean disgrace."
"Disgrace!" the rector involuntarily took up the word.
"There are some things he has done," she said in a low voice, "which he
thought he was obliged to do which Eldon Parr made him do."
"But Mr. Parr, too--?" Hodder began.
"Oh, it was to shield Eldon Parr. | 2,032.957204 |
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[Illustration: ON THE MISSOURI STEAMER. Page 11.]
ONWARD
AND
UPWARD
SERIES
PLANE AND PLANK
FIELD & FOREST-PLANE & PLANK-DESK & DEBIT
CRINGLE & CROSS-TREE-BIVOUAC & BATTLE-SEA & SHORE
Illustrated
LEE & SHEPARD
BOSTON
_THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES._
PLANE AND PLANK;
OR,
THE MISHAPS OF A MECHANIC.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," "THE STARRY
FLAG STORIES," "THE LAKE-SHORE
SERIES," ETC.
WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
19 Spring Lane.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND
_GEORGE W. HILLS_
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"PLANE AND PLANK" is the second of THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES, in
which the hero, Phil Farringford, appears as a mechanic. The events
of the story are located on the Missouri River and in the city of St.
Louis. Phil learns the trade of a carpenter, and the contrast between a
young mechanic of an inquiring mind, earnestly laboring to master his
business, and one who feels above his calling, and overvalues his own
skill, is presented to the young reader, with the hope that he will
accept the lesson.
Incidentally, in the person and history of Phil's father the terrible
evils of intemperance are depicted, and the value of Christian love
and earnest prayer in the reformation of the unfortunate inebriate is
exhibited.
Though the incidents of the hero's career are quite stirring, and
some of the situations rather surprising, yet Phil is always true to
himself; and those who find themselves in sympathy with him cannot
possibly be led astray, while they respect his Christian principles,
reverence the Bible, and strive with him to do their whole duty to God
and man.
HARRISON SQUARE, BOSTON,
_June 7, 1870._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page
IN WHICH PHIL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MR. LEONIDAS
LYNCHPINNE. 11
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS WITH HIS FIRST MISHAP. 22
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH PHIL SLIPS OFF HIS COAT, AND RETREATS IN
GOOD ORDER. 33
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH PHIL ENDEAVORS TO REMEDY HIS FIRST MISHAP. 44
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH PHIL VAINLY SEARCHES FOR THE GRACEWOODS. 55
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH PHIL WANDERS ABOUT ST. LOUIS AND HAS A
GLEAM OF HOPE. 66
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH PHIL HEARS FROM HIS FRIENDS AND VISITS MR.
CLINCH. 77
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH PHIL GOES TO WORK, AND MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 88
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS A SEEDY GENTLEMAN BY THE NAME
OF FARRINGFORD. 100
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH PHIL LISTENS TO A VERY IMPRESSIVE TEMPERANCE
LECTURE. 112
CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH PHIL TAKES HIS FATHER TO HIS NEW HOME. 123
CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH PHIL LISTENS TO A DISCUSSION, AND TAKES
PART IN A STRUGGLE. 135
CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH PHIL HAS ANOTHER MISHAP, AND IS TAKEN TO A
POLICE STATION. 147
CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH PHIL RECOVERS HIS MONEY. 160
CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH PHIL PRODUCES THE RELICS OF HIS CHILDHOOD. 172
CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH PHIL STRUGGLES EARNESTLY TO REFORM HIS
FATHER. 183
CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS THE LAST OF THE ROCKWOODS. 195
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH PHIL CALLS UPON MR. LAMAR, AND DOES NOT
FIND HIM. 207
CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER IN THE GAMBLERS'
ROOM. 219
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH PHIL IS STARTLED BY THE SIGHT OF A FAMILIAR
FACE. 231
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS HIMSELF SIXTY-FIVE DOLLARS OUT. 243
CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH PHIL RETURNS TO THE DEN OF THE ENEMY. 256
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH PHIL'S MEETS A PALE GENTLEMAN WITH ONE
ARM IN A SLING. 268
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS AN OLD FRIEND, AND MR. LEONIDAS
LYNCHPINNE COMES TO GRIEF. 280
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE PROSPECT GROWING BRIGHTER. 292
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH PHIL LISTENS TO THE CONFESSION OF HIS PERSECUTOR,
AND ENDS PLANE AND PLANK. 304
PLANE AND PLANK;
OR,
THE MISHAPS OF A MECHANIC.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH | 2,032.959992 |
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THE
HISTORY OF ANTIQUITY.
FROM THE GERMAN
OF
PROFESSOR MAX DUNCKER,
BY
EVELYN ABBOTT, M.A., LL.D.,
_FELLOW AND TUTOR OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD._
VOL. V.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1881.
Bungay:
CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
BOOK VII.
_THE ARIANS OF EASTERN IRAN._
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE LAND AND THE TRIBES 3
CHAPTER II.
THE KINGDOM OF THE BACTRIANS 19
CHAPTER III.
THE SCRIPTURES OF IRAN 49
CHAPTER IV.
ZARATHRUSTRA AND THE DATE OF THE COMPOSITION OF THE AVESTA 68
CHAPTER V.
THE GODS OF THE ARIANS IN IRAN 106
CHAPTER VI.
THE REFORM OF THE FAITH 129
CHAPTER VII.
THE DOCTRINE OF THE AVESTA 149
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PRIESTHOOD OF IRAN 184
CHAPTER IX.
THE LAW OF THE PRIESTS 201
CHAPTER X.
THE LATER DEVELOPMENT OF EASTERN IRAN 239
BOOK VIII.
_THE EMPIRE OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS._
CHAPTER I.
THE FOUNDATION OF THE MEDIAN KINGDOM 267
CHAPTER II.
THE EMPIRE OF THE MEDES 292
CHAPTER III.
THE TRIBES OF THE PERSIANS 319
CHAPTER IV.
THE FALL OF THE MEDIAN KINGDOM 335
CHAPTER V.
THE RISE OF THE PERSIAN KINGDOM 382
BOOK VII.
THE ARIANS OF EASTERN IRAN.
EASTERN IRAN.
CHAPTER I.
THE LAND AND THE TRIBES.
Between the valley of the Indus and the land of the Euphrates and
Tigris, bounded on the south by the ocean and the Persian Gulf, on the
north by the broad steppes which the Oxus and Jaxartes vainly attempt
to fertilise, by the Caspian Sea and the valley of the Aras, lies the
table-land of Iran. Rising to an average height of 4000 feet above the
level of the sea, it forms an oblong, the length of which from east to
west is something more than 1500 miles. The breadth in the east is about
1000 miles, but at the narrowest point, from the Caspian Sea to the
Persian Gulf, it is not much more than 500 miles; while the western
edge, reaching from the Persian Gulf to the mountains of Aderbeijan,
again extends over a distance of about 750 miles.
In this seclusion, neither penetrated by bays of the sea nor traversed
by mighty rivers, the region exhibits a certain similarity to the
highlands of Arabia. The centre of the Iranian land, like that of
Arabia, is occupied by a great desert where only nomadic life is
possible. But the soil of Iran is more diversified in regard to
elevation and depression. The northern half of the land is higher than
the southern, the centre is hollowed out in the form of a trough, so
that in the east, at any rate, the waters from the inner <DW72>s of the
mountainous rim fall into the depression, and collect in fructifying
lakes. The oases and fertile valleys are more numerous and extensive
than in Arabia, and though the rivers of the inner table-land, like the
streams of the northern edge, which flow to the north, are lost in the
sand or end in unimportant lakes, they nevertheless render agriculture
possible over wide tracts of country.
The northern side is more diversified and superior in formation to
the south. The southern edge, which sinks down to the ocean, closely
resembles Arabia in the climate and the nature of the country; the
mountains of the north, on the other hand, exhibit green pastures and
splendid forests where Arabia has nothing but bare peaks: in the Hindu
Kush, and Elburz on the Caspian Sea, as well as in Aderbeijan, they rise
into vast Alpine districts. The eastern edge, extending over a distance
of 900 miles, rises like a steep wall out of the valley of the Indus; a
few long and difficult passes lead from the Indus to the high ground,
which on the north commences with cold bare flats, and on the south with
<DW72>s still more desolate and barren, and at the same time intolerably
hot. Only the terraces of the valley of the Cabul, which flows down into
the Indus, allow a convenient exit towards the north, and present a soil
to a great extent so fertile that three harvests can be reaped in the
year. The western edge of Iran, on the other hand, is formed by parallel
ridges running from the north-west to the south-east, between which,
beside extensive mountain pastures, lie narrow and well-watered valleys.
In the north-west the low-lying regions are rich in meadows and forest;
while those between the abutting ridges of the western and southern edge
are warm, and even hot, in climate, rich and luxuriant in vegetation.
On this table-land the heat is softened, though not entirely, by the
elevation of the soil. After violent storms in the spring, no cloud
darkens the sky from May to September; the atmosphere is peculiarly dry
and clear, and through the fine air can be seen, bright and sharp, the
outlines of the mountains and the whole country, while at night the
star-lit sky almost replaces the light of day. The changes in
temperature are sudden and severe. From cold, snow-covered terraces,
8000 feet in height, we suddenly descend to the glowing heat of the
plains, lying barely 2000 feet above the sea. In the north-east
oppressive heat alternates with great cold; the north suffers from a
severe winter, with heavy falls of snow and icy storms, blowing over the
Caspian Sea and the broad steppes; in the south the air is filled with
the dust of the desert, here extraordinarily fine, and the hot winds
give the heaps of sand the appearance of changing waves, and roll masses
of it to the sky.[1]
As far back as our information extends, we find the table-land of Iran
occupied by a group of nations closely related to each other, and
speaking dialects of the same language. On the edges of that great
desert, which occupies the centre of the land, are tracts of pasture,
and further inland, treeless steppes, which, however, are watered here
and there by brackish pools, and produce a salt vegetation barely
sufficient to provide buffaloes and camels with sustenance, until the
soil becomes entirely barren. In the western part of these steppes
wandered a pastoral people, whom Herodotus calls Sagartians. They were
horsemen, but, according to the historian's statement, carried no
weapons of attack beyond a dagger and a rope of twisted straps, at one
end of which was a loop. In this they placed their confidence in battle;
they threw it over men and horses, and so dragged them down and
strangled them. In the inscriptions of the Achaemenids this nation is
called _Acagarta_.[2]
Close to the Indus, and beyond the bare, hot, treeless shores of the
ocean, the southern part of the plain consists of sandy flats, in which
nothing grows but prickly herbs and a few palms. The springs are a day's
journey from each other, and often more. This region was possessed by a
people whom Herodotus calls Sattagydae, and the companions of Alexander
of Macedonia, Gedrosians.[3] Among the nations of the East who were
subject to them, the inscriptions of the Achaemenids mention the
"_Thataghus_," which the Greeks understood as Sattagush and Gadrush.
Neighbours of the Gandarians, who, as we know, dwelt on the right bank
of the Indus down to the Cabul, the Gedrosians led a wandering,
predatory life; under the Persian kings they were united into one
satrapy with the Gandarians.[4] To the south of the Gedrosians, on the
coast, there dwelt, according to the Greeks, a miserable race, eaters of
fish and tortoises, who built their houses of the bones of whales
thrown up by the sea. They wove their nets from the bark of palms, and
their weapons were javelins hardened in the fire.[5] The edge on the
south allows no streams of any size to flow to the sea, so that even to
this day this coast presents only a few small fertile spots. About
equally distant from the northern and southern edge of the table-land,
to the east of the desert of the interior, lies a considerable lake, now
called Hamun, but known to the Greeks as Areios. It forms the centre of
a cultivated district, though the storms from the west often drive the
sand of the desert to its shores. This basin is formed by and receives
important streams flowing from the inner <DW72>s of the northern and
eastern edge. From the southern spurs of the Hindu Kush comes the
Hilmend, the Haetumat of the Avesta, _i.e._ rich in bridges, the
Etymandros of the Greeks, which has a course of about 400 miles, and
before falling into the lake is joined by the Arghandab. The Lora, which
flows from the east, but further to the south, does not now reach the
lake. From the north flow the Harut and Chashrud. Round this lake, and
on the banks of the Hilmend, the Arghandab, and the Lora, lies a
fruitful region; higher up the walls of the valleys are covered with
forests, until towards the east the upper course of the rivers is
enclosed by bare cliffs. On the shores of the Hamun, and in the valley
of the Hilmend, dwelt a people whom the inscriptions of the Achaemenids
call _Zaraka_, i.e. dwellers on the lake. A lake in Old Persian is
_Daraya_; in the ancient language of the East, _Zarayanh_; in modern
Persian, _Zareh_. Hence we understand why Herodotus calls this nation
Sarangians, the later Greeks, Zarangians and Drangians. According to the
Greeks the Zarakas were a warlike nation, armed with Median bows and
spears, unsurpassed in battle on horseback; and a tribe of them which
lived under good and equitable laws bore the name of Ariacpians.[6] The
ruins of cities and works of irrigation testify to the former prosperity
of this region. East of the Zarakas, up the valley of the Arghandab,
dwelt the Arachoti. In the inscriptions of the Achaemenids they are
called _Harauvati_; in the Avesta, _Harahvaiti_, i.e. the rich in
water. These names the Arachoti received from the river on which they
were settled, the older name of which was Arachotus (_Sarasvati_).[7]
Herodotus does not designate the Arachoti by this name derived from the
river of their land, but by the tribal name of Pactyes; he tells us that
they wore peculiar bows, daggers, and skins.[8] The Afghans, who in
ancient times occupied the region from the Suleiman mountains on the
east as far as the Arghandab on the west, Shorawak on the south, the
Cabul and the range of the Sefid-Kuh on the north, and in the middle
ages forced their way to Cabul and Peshawur, still call themselves
Pashtun and Pakhtun, or Rohilo, _i.e._ mountaineers. They still speak
their old rough mountain language, which is closely connected with the
dialects of the Arian tribes on the Indus.[9]
Eastward of Elburz, the point where the northern edge of Iran again
rises into a lofty range to the west (Demavend is more than 18,000 feet
in height), and then sinks down to the Caspian Sea, lay the Hyrcanians.
In the inscriptions of the Achaemenids their land is known as _Varkana_;
the modern name is Jorjan. Here, according to the Greeks, the mountains
were covered with forests of oaks, where swarms of wild bees had their
hives; in the valleys vines and fig-trees flourished, and the soil down
to the sea was so luxuriant that corn grew from the fallen grains
without any special sowing.[10] The description is hardly exaggerated.
The waters pouring from the heights and snow-fields of Elburz water the
soil of the coast so thoroughly, that a tropical growth flourishes in
Jorjan, Taberistan, and Ghilan, the luxuriance of which is assisted by
the volcanic heat of the earth. The lagunes of the coast are succeeded
by marsh forests; higher up are fields of rice and plantations of
sugarcane, and beyond these fertile meadows, above which splendid
forests of oaks, planes, and elms clothe the heights of Elburz. There is
abundance of water fruits, figs and mulberries, olives and | 2,032.961123 |
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ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
A BOOK OF DISCOVERY
BY M. B. SYNGE
THE WORLD'S STORY
BY E. O'NEILL
[Illustration]
ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD
BY G. E. MITTON
AUTHOR OF
"THE BOOK OF LONDON" "IN THE GRIP OF THE WILD WA" ETC.
[Illustration]
WITH 12 DRAWINGS IN COLOUR AND 120 IN CRAYON BY
A. S. FORREST
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK, Ltd.
35 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
AND EDINBURGH
TO
JIM
CONTENTS
CHAP PAGE
I. WHICH WAY? 1
II. REALLY OFF! 20
III. FIERY MOUNTAINS 36
IV. THE STRANGEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD 51
V. THE HIGHWAY OF EGYPT 65
VI. A MIGHTY MAN 75
VII. THE CITY OF KINGS 85
VIII. ON THE NILE 95
IX. A MILLION SUNRISES 109
X. A WALK ABOUT JERUSALEM 120
XI. THE COUNTRY OF CHRIST'S CHILDHOOD 139
XII. AN ADVENTURE 147
XIII. THE GATEWAY OF THE EAST 153
XIV. THE DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN 168
XV. A TROPICAL THUNDERSTORM 179
XVI. A SACRED TREE 192
XVII. UNWELCOME INTRUDERS 203
XVIII. THE CAPITAL OF INDIA 218
XIX. TO THE DEATH! 235
XX. A CITY OF PRIESTS 242
XXI. THE GOLDEN PAGODA 250
XXII. THE KING'S REPRESENTATIVE 264
XXIII. THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE 271
XXIV. ON A CARGO BOAT 278
XXV. JIM'S STORY 291
XXVI. THROUGH EASTERN STRAITS AND ISLANDS 304
XXVII. THE LAND OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE 320
XXVIII. IN A JAPANESE INN 332
XXIX. THOUSANDS OF SALMON 345
XXX. THE GREAT DIVIDE 358
XXXI. ON A CATTLE RANCH 371
XXXII. THE GREAT LAKES 382
XXXIII. OLD FRIENDS AGAIN 388
INDEX 395
PLATES IN COLOUR
THE MIGHTY SEATED FIGURES AT ABU SIMBEL _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
SHE IS ON THE POINT OF LEAVING HER COUNTRY, PERHAPS FOR EVER 24
ENGLISH SOLDIERS CLIMBING THE PYRAMIDS 56
JEWS' WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM 128
SWAYING ITS LEAN UNLOVELY BODY TO AND FRO IN TIME WITH THE TUNE 200
A CARPET SHOP, DELHI 224
THE GOLDEN PAGODA 256
A BURMESE PLAY 288
A VILLAGE BUILT ON PILES, SUMATRA. LITTLE BROWN BOYS PLAY
ABOUT AND FISH 312
OUR DINNER IN A JAPANESE INN 336
INDIANS AS THEY ARE NOW 376
THE FALLS OF NIAGARA 388
[Illustration: STRANGE BRIDGE AT MARSEILLES.]
ROUND THE WONDERFUL WORLD
CHAPTER I
WHICH WAY?
When you have noticed a fly crawling on a ball or an orange has it ever
occurred to you how a man would look crawling about on the earth if seen
from a great height? Our world is, as everyone knows, like an orange in
shape, only it is very much larger in comparison with us than an orange
is in regard to a fly. In fact, to make a reasonable comparison, we
should have to picture the fly crawling about on a ball or globe fifty
miles in height; to get all round it he would have to | 2,043.08551 |
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[Illustration: [_To face the Title._]
CAPTAIN SWORD AND CAPTAIN PEN.
=A Poem.=
BY LEIGH HUNT.
WITH SOME REMARKS ON
WAR AND MILITARY STATESMEN.
--If there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be | 2,043.178966 |
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_Is Mars Habitable?_
A CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF PROFESSOR PERCIVAL LOWELL'S BOOK
"MARS AND ITS CANALS," WITH AN ALTERNATIVE EXPLANATION
BY ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE F.R.S., ETC.
PREFACE.
This small volume was commenced as a review article on Professor
Percival Lowell's book, _Mars and its Canals_, with the object of
showing that the large amount of new and interesting facts contained in
this work did not invalidate the conclusion I had reached in 1902, and
stated in my book on _Man's Place in the Universe_, that Mars was not
habitable.
But the more complete presentation of the opposite view in the volume
now under discussion required a more detailed examination of the various
physical problems involved, and as the subject is one of great, popular,
as well as scientific interest, I determined to undertake the task.
This was rendered the more necessary by the fact that in July last
Professor Lowell published in the _Philosophical Magazine_ an elaborate
mathematical article claiming to demonstrate that, notwithstanding its
much greater distance from the sun and its excessively thin atmosphere,
Mars possessed a climate on the average equal to that of the south of
England, and in its polar and sub-polar regions even less severe than
that of the earth. Such a contention of course required to be dealt
with, and led me to collect information bearing upon temperature in all
its aspects, and so enlarging my criticism that I saw it would be
necessary to issue it in book form.
Two of my mathematical friends have pointed out the chief omission which
vitiates Professor Lowell's mathematical conclusions--that of a failure
to recognise the very large conservative and _cumulative_ effect of a
dense atmosphere. This very point however I had already myself discussed
in Chapter VI., and by means of some remarkable researches on the heat
of the moon and an investigation of the causes of its very low
temperature, I have, I think, demonstrated the incorrectness of Mr.
Lowell's results. In my last chapter, in which I briefly summarise the
whole argument, I have further strengthened the case for very severe
cold in Mars, by adducing the rapid lowering of temperature universally
caused by diminution of atmospheric pressure, as manifested in the
well-known phenomenon of temperate climates at moderate heights even
close to the equator, cold climates at greater heights even on extensive
plateaux, culminating in arctic climates and perpetual snow at heights
where the air is still far denser than it is on the surface of Mars.
This argument itself is, in my opinion, conclusive; but it is enforced
by two others equally complete, neither of which is adequately met by
Mr. Lowell.
The careful examination which I have been led to give to the whole of
the phenomena which Mars presents, and especially to the discoveries of
Mr. Lowell, has led me to what I hope will be considered a satisfactory
physical explanation of them. This explanation, which occupies the whole
of my seventh chapter, is founded upon a special mode of origin for
Mars, derived from the Meteoritic Hypothesis, now very widely adopted by
astronomers and physicists. Then, by a comparison with certain
well-known and widely spread geological phenomena, I show how the great
features of Mars--the 'canals' and 'oases'--may have been caused. This
chapter will perhaps be the most interesting to the general reader, as
furnishing a quite natural explanation of features of the planet which
have been termed 'non-natural' by Mr. Lowell.
Incidentally, also, I have been led to an explanation of the highly
volcanic nature of the moon's surface. This seems to me absolutely to
require some such origin as Sir George Darwin has given it, and thus
furnishes corroborative proof of the accuracy of the hypothesis that our
moon has had an unique origin among the known satellites, in having been
thrown off from the earth itself.
I am indebted to Professor J. H. Poynting, of the University of
Birmingham, for valuable suggestions on some of the more difficult
points of mathematical physics here discussed, and also for the critical
note (at the end of Chapter V.) on Professor Lowell's estimate of the
temperature of Mars.
BROADSTONE, DORSET, _October_ 1907.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
EARLY OBSERVERS OF MARS,
--Mars the only planet the surface of which is
distinctly visible
--Early observation of the snow-caps and seas
--The 'canals' seen by Schiaparelli in 1877
--Double canals first seen in 1881
--Round spots at intersection of canals seen
by Pickering in 1892
--Confirmed by Lowell in 1894
--Changes of colour seen in 1892 and 1894
--Existence of seas doubted by Pickering and
Barnard in 1894.
CHAPTER II.
MR. LOWELL'S DISCOVERIES AND THEORIES,
--Observatory at Flagstaff, Arizona
--Illustrated book on his observations of
Mars
--Volume on Mars and its canals, 1906
--Non-natural features
--The canals as irrigation works of an intelligent
race
--A challenge to the thinking world
--The canals as described and mapped by Mr. Lowell
--The double canals
--Dimensions of the canals
--They cross the supposed seas
--Circular black spots termed oases
--An interesting volume.
CHAPTER III.
THE CLIMATE AND PHYSIOGRAPHY OF MARS,
--No permanent water on Mars
--Rarely any clouds and no rain
--Snow-caps the only source of water
--No mountains, hills, or valleys on Mars
--Two-thirds of the surface a desert
--Water from the | 2,043.280272 |
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ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
By William Makepeace Thackeray
CONTENTS
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
On a Lazy Idle Boy
On Two Children in Black
On Ribbons
On some late Great Victories
Thorns in the Cushion
On Screens in Dining-Rooms
Tunbridge Toys
De Juventute
On a Joke I once heard from the late Thomas Hood
Round about the Christmas Tree
On a Chalk-Mark on the Door
On being Found Out
On a Hundred Years Hence
Small-Beer Chronicle
Ogres
On Two Roundabout Papers which I intended to Write
A Mississippi Bubble
On Letts's Diary
Notes of a Week's Holiday
Nil Nisi Bonum
On Half a Loaf--A Letter to Messrs. Broadway, Battery and Co., of New
York, Bankers
The Notch on the Axe.--A Story a la Mode. Part I Part II Part III
De Finibus
On a Peal of Bells
On a Pear-Tree
Dessein's
On some Carp at Sans Souci
Autour de mon Chapeau
On Alexandrines--A Letter to some Country Cousins
On a Medal of George the Fourth
"Strange to say, on Club Paper"
The Last Sketch
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS.
ON A LAZY IDLE BOY.
I had occasion to pass a week in the autumn in the little old town
of Coire or Chur, in the Grisons, where lies buried that very ancient
British king, saint, and martyr, Lucius,* who founded the Church of St.
Peter, on Cornhill. Few people note the church now-a-days, and fewer
ever heard of the saint. In the cathedral at Chur, his statue appears
surrounded by other sainted persons of his family. With tight red
breeches, a Roman habit, a curly brown beard, and a neat little gilt
crown and sceptre, he stands, a very comely and cheerful image: and,
from what I may call his peculiar position with regard to Cornhill, I
beheld this figure of St. Lucius with more interest than I should have
bestowed upon personages who, hierarchically, are, I dare say, his
superiors.
* Stow quotes the inscription, still extant, from the table
fast chained in St. Peter's Church, Cornhill; and says, "he
was after some chronicle buried at London, and after some
chronicle buried at Glowcester"--but, oh! these incorrect
chroniclers! when Alban Butler, in the "Lives of the
Saints," v. xii., and Murray's "Handbook," and the Sacristan
at Chur, all say Lucius was killed there, and I saw his tomb
with my own eyes!
The pretty little city stands, so to speak, at the end of the world--of
the world of to-day, the world of rapid motion, and rushing railways,
and the commerce and intercourse of men. From the northern gate, the
iron road stretches away to Zurich, to Basle, to Paris, to home. From
the old southern barriers, before which a little river rushes, and
around which stretch the crumbling battlements of the ancient town, the
road bears the slow diligence or lagging vetturino by the shallow Rh | 2,043.379979 |
2023-11-16 18:51:07.5616870 | 427 | 10 |
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from the Google Print project.)
THE
YOUNG ALASKANS
ON THE TRAIL
BY
EMERSON HOUGH
AUTHOR OF
"THE YOUNG ALASKANS"
"THE STORY OF THE COWBOY"
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXI
BOOKS BY
EMERSON HOUGH
THE YOUNG ALASKANS. Ill'd. Post 8vo $1.25
YOUNG ALASKANS ON THE TRAIL. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.25
HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration: See page 75
AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. TAKING THE TRAIL 1
II. THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS 10
III. STUDYING OUT THE TRAIL 23
IV. THE GREAT DIVIDE 37
V. CROSSING THE HEIGHT OF LAND 43
VI. FOLLOWING MACKENZIE 53
VII. AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 69
VIII. A HUNT FOR BIGHORN 83
IX. A NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAINS 102
X. HOW THE SPLIT-STONE LAKE WAS NAMED 112
XI. LESSONS IN WILD LIFE 119
XII. WILD COUNTRY AND WILDERNESS WAYS 134
| 2,043.581727 |
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WORKS OF
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
I——THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. A Lawyer’s Story.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
II——A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
III——HAND AND RING.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
IV——THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. A Story of New York Life.
16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00
V——X. Y. Z. A Detective Story.
16mo, paper 25
VI——THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, and other Poems.
16mo, cloth $1 00
VII——THE MILL MYSTERY.
16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00
VIII——RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama.
16mo, cloth $1 00
IX——7 to 12. A Story.
16mo, paper 25
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK AND LONDON.
7 to 12
A DETECTIVE STORY
BY
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
AUTHOR OF “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE MILL MYSTERY,” ETC.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1887
COPYRIGHT BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1887
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
New York
CONTENTS
7 TO 12, A DETECTIVE STORY 1
ONE HOUR MORE 79
7 TO 12.
A DETECTIVE STORY.
“Clarke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Another entrance through a second-story window. A detective wanted
right off. Better hurry up there, —— East Seventy-third Street.”
“All right, sir.”
Clarke turned to go; but the next moment I heard the Superintendent
call him back.
“It is Mr. Winchester’s, you know; the banker.”
Clarke nodded and started again; but a suppressed exclamation from the
Superintendent made him stop for the second time.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, folding up the slip of paper
he held in his hand. “You can see what Halley has for you to do; I’ll
attend to this.” And giving me a look that was a summons, he whispered
in my ear: “This notification was written by Mr. Winchester himself,
and at the bottom I see hurriedly added, ‘Keep it quiet; send your
discreetest man.’ That means something more than a common burglary.”
I nodded, and the affair was put in my hands. As I was going out of the
door, a fellow detective came hurriedly in.
“Nabbed them,” cried he.
“Who?” asked more than one voice.
“The fellows who have been climbing into second-story windows, and
helping themselves while the family is at dinner.”
I stopped.
“Where did you catch them?” I asked.
“In Twenty-second Street.”
“To-night?”
“Not two hours ago.”
I looked at the Superintendent. He gave a curious lift of his brows,
which I answered with a short smile. In another moment I was in the
street.
My first ring at the bell of No. —— East Seventy-third Street brought
response in the shape of Mr. Winchester himself. Seeing me, his
countenance fell, but in another instant brightened as I observed:
“You sent for a detective, sir;” and quietly showed him my badge.
“Yes,” he murmured; “but I did not expect”——he paused. I was
used to these pauses; I do not suppose I look exactly like the
ordinary detective. “Your name?” he asked, ushering me into a small
reception-room.
“Byrd,” I replied. And taking as a compliment the look of satisfaction
which crossed his face as he finished a hasty but keen scrutiny of my
countenance and figure, I in turn subjected him to a respectful but
earnest glance of interrogation.
“There has been a robbery here,” I ventured.
He nodded, and a look of care replaced the affable expression which a
moment before had so agreeably illumined his somewhat stern features.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth,” he whispered, shortly. “Mrs.
Winchester’s diamonds.”
I started; not so much at the nature and value of the articles stolen,
as at the indefinable air with which this announcement was made by the
wealthy and potential broker and banker. If his all had been taken his
eye could not have darkened with a deeper shadow; if that all had been
lost through means which touched his personal pride and feelings, he
could not have given a sharper edge to his tones, business-like as he
endeavored to make them.
“A heavy loss,” I remarked. “Will you give me the details of the affair
as far as you know them?”
He shook his head and waved his hand with a slight gesture towards the
stairs.
“I prefer that you learn them from such inquiries as you will make
above,” said he. “My wife will tell you what she knows about it, and
there is a servant or two who may have something to say. I would speak
to no one else,” he added, with a deepening of the furrow in his brow;
“at least not at present. Only,”——and here his manner became markedly
impressive,——“understand this. Those diamonds _must_ be found in
forty-eight hours, no matter who suffers, or what consequences follow
a firm and determined pursuit of them. I will stop at nothing to
have them back in the time mentioned, and I do not expect you to. If
they are here by Thursday night——” and the hand he held out with its
fingers curved and grasping actually trembled with his vehemence——“I
will give you five hundred dollars Friday afternoon. If they are here
without noise, scandal, or——” his voice sank further——“disquietude to
my wife, I will increase the sum to a thousand. Isn’t that handsome?”
he queried, with an attempt at a lighter tone, which was not altogether
successful.
“Very,” was my short but deferential reply. And, interested enough by
this time, I turned towards the door, when he stopped me.
“One moment,” said he. “I have endeavored not to forestall your
judgment by any surmises or conclusions of my own. But, after you have
investigated the matter and come to some sort of theory in regard to
it, I should like to hear what you have to say.”
“I will be happy to consult with you,” was my reply; and, seeing
that he had no further remarks to offer, I prepared to accompany him
up-stairs.
The house was a superb one, and not the least handsome portion of it
was the staircase. As we went up, the eye rested everywhere on the
richest artistic effects of carved wood-work and tapestry hangings.
Nor was the glitter of brass lacking, nor the sensuous glow which is
cast by the light striking through ruby-colored glass. At the top was
a square hall fitted up with divans and heavily bespread with rugs. At
one end a half-drawn portière disclosed a suite of apartments furnished
with a splendor equal to that which marked the rest of the house, while
at the other was a closed door, towards which Mr. Winchester advanced.
I was hastily following him, when a young man, coming from above,
stepped between us. Mr. Winchester at once turned.
“Are you going out?” he asked this person, in a tone that lacked the
cordiality of a parent, while it yet suggested the authority of one.
The young gentleman, who was of fine height and carriage, paused with
a curious, hesitating air.
“Are you?” he inquired, ignoring my presence, or possibly not noticing
it, I being several feet from him and somewhat in the shadow.
“We may show ourselves at the Smiths for a few minutes, by and by,” Mr.
Winchester returned.
“No; I am not going out,” the young man said, and, turning, he went
again up-stairs.
Mr. Winchester’s eye followed him. It was only for a moment; but to
me, accustomed as I am to note the smallest details in the manner and
expression of a person, there was a language in that look which opened
a whole field of speculation.
“Your son?” I inquired, stepping nearer to him.
“My wife’s son,” he replied; and, without giving me an opportunity to
put another query, he opened the door before him and ushered me in.
A tall, elegant woman of middle age was seated before the mirror,
having the final touches given to her rich toilette by a young woman
who knelt on the floor at her side. A marked picture, and this not from
the accessories of wealth and splendor everywhere observable, but from
the character of the two faces, which, while of an utterly dissimilar
cast, and possibly belonging to the two extremes of society, were both
remarkable for their force and individuality of expression, as well as
for the look of trouble and suppressed anxiety, which made them both
like the shadows of one deep, dark thought.
The younger woman was the first to notice us and rise. Though occupying
a humble position and accustomed to defer to those around her, there
was extreme grace in her movement and a certain charm in her whole
bearing which made it natural for the eye to follow her. I did not
long allow myself this pleasure, however, for in another instant Mrs.
Winchester had caught sight of our forms in the mirror, and, rising
with a certain cold majesty, in keeping with her imposing figure and
conspicuous if mature beauty, stepped towards us with a slow step,
full of repose and quiet determination. Whatever _her_ feelings might
be, they were without the fierceness and acrimony which characterized
those of her husband. But were they less keen? At first glance I
thought not, but at the second I doubted. Mrs. Winchester was already a
riddle to me.
“Millicent,”——so her husband addressed her,——“allow me to introduce
to you a young man from the police force. If the diamonds are to be
recovered before the week is out, he is the man to do it. I pray you
offer him every facility for learning the facts. He may wish to speak
to the servants and to——” his eye roamed towards the young girl, who, I
thought, turned pale under his scrutiny——“to Philippa.”
“Philippa knows nothing,” the lady’s indifferent side-look seemed to
say, but her lips did not move, nor did she speak till he had left the
room and closed the door behind him. Then she turned to me and gave me
first a careless look and then a keener and more sustained one.
“You have been told how I lost my diamonds,” she remarked at length.
“They said at the station that a man had entered by your second-story
window while you were at dinner.”
“Not at dinner,” she corrected gravely. “I do not leave my jewel-box
lying open, while I go down to dinner. I was in the reception-room
below——Mr. Winchester had sent word that he wished to see me for an
instant——and being on the point of going to an evening party, my
diamonds were in their case on the mantel-piece. When I came back
the case was there, but no diamonds. They had been carried off in my
absence.”
I glanced at the mantel-shelf. On it lay the open jewel-case. “What
made you think a burglar took them?” I asked, my eyes on the lady I was
addressing, but my ears open to the quick, involuntary drawing in of
the breath which had escaped the young girl at the last sentence of her
mistress.
“The window was up——I had left it closed——and there was a sound of
scurrying feet on the pavement below. I had just time to see the forms
of two men hurrying down the street. You know there have been a series
of burglaries of this nature lately.”
I bowed, for her imperiousness seemed to demand it. Then I glanced at
Philippa. She was standing with her face half averted, trifling with
some object on the table, but her apparent unconcern was forced, and
her hand trembled so that she hastily dropped the article with which
she was toying and turned in such a manner that she hid it as well as
her countenance from view.
I made a note of this and allowed my attention to return to Mrs.
Winchester.
“At what time was this?” I inquired.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Late for a burglary of this kind.”
A flush sudden and deep broke out on the lady’s cheek.
“It was successful, however,” she observed.
Ignoring her anger, which may have arisen from sheer haughtiness and
a natural dislike to having any statement she chose to make commented
upon, I pursued my inquiries.
“And how long, madam, do you think you were down-stairs?”
“Some five minutes or so; certainly not ten.”
“And the window was closed when you left the room and open when you
returned?”
“I said so.”
I glanced at the windows. They were both closed now and the shades
drawn.
“May I ask you to show me which window, and also how wide it stood
open?”
“It was the window over the stoop, and it stood half-way open.”
I passed at once to the window.
“And the shade?” I asked, turning.
“Was——was down.”
“You are sure, madam?”
“Quite; it was by the noise it made as I opened the door that I noticed
the window was open.”
“Your first glance, then, was not at the mantel-piece?”
“No, sir, but my second was.” Her self-possession was almost cold.
This great lady evidently did not enjoy her position of witness,
notwithstanding the heavy loss she had sustained, and the fact that the
inquisition being made was all in her own interests. I was not to be
repelled by her manner, however, for a suspicion had seized me which
somewhat accounted for the words and method pursued by Mr. Winchester,
and a suspicion once formed, holds imperious sway over the mind of a
detective till it is either disproved by facts or confirmed in the same
manner into a settled belief.
“Madam,” I remarked, “your loss is very great, and demands the most
speedy and vigorous effort on the part of the police, that it may not
result in a permanent one. Has it struck you”——and I looked firmly at
the young girl whom, by my change of position, I had brought again into
view——“that it was in any way peculiar that chance thieves working in
this dangerous and conspicuous manner should know just the moment to
make the hazardous effort which resulted so favorably to themselves?
These burglaries which, as you say, have been so plentiful of late,
have hitherto all taken place at the hour the family are supposed to be
at dinner, while this occurred just when the family would reasonably
be supposed to be returning up-stairs. Besides, the gas was burning in
this room, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“And the shades down?”
“Yes.”
“So that, till the stoop had been climbed and the room entered, the
thief had every reason to believe it was occupied, unless he had
notification to the contrary from some one better situated than
himself?”
The lady’s eyes opened, and a slight, sarcastic smile parted her lips;
but I was not studying her at this moment, but the young Philippa.
Humble as she evidently was, and in a condition of mind that caused
her to place a restraint upon herself, she took a step forward as I
said this, and her mouth opened, as if she would fling some word into
the conversation that would neither bear the stamp of humility nor
sustain her previous rôle of indifference. But a moment’s thought was
sufficient to quell her passionate impulse, and in another instant she
was gliding quietly from the room, when I leaned toward Mrs. Winchester
and whispered:
“Request the young woman to wait in the hall outside, and suggest that
she leave the door open. I do not feel like letting out of my sight
just yet any person, no matter how reliable, who has listened to my
last remark.”
Mrs. Winchester looked surprised, and eyed me with something of the
expression she might have betrayed if I had begged her to stop a mouse
from escaping the conference we were holding. But she did what I asked
her, and that with a cold, commanding air which proved that, however
useful she found the deft and graceful Philippa, she had no real
liking for her or any interest in her beyond that which sprang from
the value of her services. Was this state of things the fault of Mrs.
Winchester or of Philippa? I had not time to determine. The docility of
the latter was not, perhaps, to be | 2,043.592877 |
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Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 286
NEW YORK, JUNE 25, 1881
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XI, No. 286.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--One Thousand Horse Power Corliss Engine.
5 figures, to scale, illustrating the construction of the new one
thousand horse power Corliss engine, by Hitch, Hargreaves & Co.
Opening of the New Workshop of the Stevens Institute of Technology.
Speech of Prof. R.W. Raymond, speech of Mr. Horatio Allen.
Light Steam Engine for Aeronautical Purposes. Constructed for Capt.
Mojoisky, of the Russian Navy.
Complete Prevention of Incrustation in Boilers. Arrangement for
purifying boiler water with lime and carbonate of soda.--The
purification of the water.--Examination of the purified
water.--Results of water purification.
Eddystone Lighthouse. Progress of the work.
Rolling Mill for Making Corrugated Iron. 1 figure. The new mill of
Schultz, Knaudt & Co., of Essen, Germany.
Railway Turntable in the Time of Louis XIV. 1 figure. Pleasure car.
Railway and turntable at Mary-le-Roy Chateau, France, in 1714.
New Signal Wire Compensator. Communication from A. Lyle, describing
compensators in use on the Nizam State Railway, East India.
Tangye's Hydraulic Hoist. 2 figures.
Power Loom for Delicate Fabrics. 1 figure.
How Veneering is Made.
II. TECHNOLOGY AND CHEMISTRY.--The Constituent Parts of Leather. The
composition of different leathers exhibited at the Paris
Exhibition.--Amount of leather produced by different tonnages of 100
pounds of hides.--Percentage of tannin absorbed under different
methods of tanning.--Amounts of gelatine and tannin in leather of
different tonnages, etc.
Progress in American Pottery.
Photographic Notes.--Mr. Waruerke's New Discovery.--Method of
converting negatives directly into positives.--Experiments of Capt.
Bing on the sensitiveness of coal oil--Bitumen plates.--Method of
topographic engraving. By Commandant DE LA NOE.--Succinate of Iron
Developer.--Method of making friable hydro-cellulose.
Photo-Tracings in Black and Color.
Dyeing Reds with Artificial Alizarin. By M. MAURICE PRUD'HOMME.
III. ELECTRICITY, PHYSICAL SCIENCE, ETC.--On Faure's Secondary Battery.
Physical Science in Our Common Schools.--An exceptionally strong
argument for the teaching of physical science by the experimental
method in elementary schools, with an outline of the method and the
results of such teaching.
On the Law of Avogadro and Ampere. By E. VOGEL.
IV. GEOGRAPHY, GEOLOGY, ETC.--Petroleum and Coal in Venezuela.
Geographical Society of the Pacific.
The Behring's Straits Currents.--Proofs of their existence.
Experimental Geology.--Artificial production of calcareous pisolites
and oolites.--On crystals of anhydrous lime.--4 figures.
V. NATURAL HISTORY, ETC.--Coccidae. By Dr. H. BEHR.--An important paper
read before the California Academy of Sciences.--The marvelous
fecundity of scale bugs.--Their uses.--Their ravages.--Methods of
destroying them.
Agricultural Items.
Timber Trees.
Blood Rains.
VI. MEDICINE AND HYGIENE.--Medical Uses of Figs.
Topical Medication in Phthisis.
VII. ARCHITECTURE, ETC.--Suggestions in Architecture.--Large
illustration.--The New High School for Girls, Oxford, England.
* * * * *
PETROLEUM AND COAL IN VENEZUELA.
MR. E. H. PLUMACHER, U. S. Consul at Maracaibo, sends to the State
Department the following information touching the wealth of coal and
petroleum probable in Venezuela:
The asphalt mines and petroleum fountains are most abundant in that part
of the country lying between the River Zulia and the River Catatumbo,
and the Cordilleras. The wonderful sand-bank is about seven kilometers
from the confluence of the Rivers Tara and Sardinarte. It is ten meters
high and thirty meters long. On its surface can be seen several round
holes, out of which rises the petroleum and water with a noise like that
made by steam vessels when blowing off steam, and above there ascends a
column of vapor. There is a dense forest around this sand-bank, and the
place has been called "El Inferno." Dr. Edward McGregor visited the
sand-bank, and reported to the Government that by experiment he had
ascertained that one of the fountains spurted petroleum and water at the
rate of 240 gallons per hour. Mr. Plumacher says that the petroleum is
of very good quality, its density being that which the British market
requires in petroleum imported from the United States. The river, up to
the junction of the Tara and Sardinarte, is navigable during the entire
year for flat-bottomed craft of forty or fifty tons.
Mr. Plumacher has been unable to discover that there are any deposits
of asphalt or petroleum in the upper part of the Department of Colon,
beyond the Zulia, but he has been told that the valleys of Cucuta and
the territories of the State of Tachira abound in coal mines. There are
coal mines near San Antonia, in a ravine called "La Carbonera," and
these supply coal for the smiths' forges in that place. Coal and asphalt
are also found in large quantities in the Department of Sucre. Mr.
Plumacher has seen, while residing in the State of Zulia, but one true
specimen of "lignite," which was given to him by a rich land-owner,
who is a Spanish subject. In the section where it was found there are
several fountains of a peculiar substance. It is a black liquid, of
little density, strongly impregnated with carbonic acid which it
transmits to the water which invariably accompanies it. Deposits of this
substance are found at the foot of the spurs of the Cordilleras, and are
believed to indicate the presence of great deposits of anthracite.
There are many petroleum wells of inferior quality between Escuque and
Bettijoque, in the town of Columbia. Laborers gather the petroleum in
handkerchiefs. After these become saturated, the oil is pressed out by
wringing. It is burned in the houses of the poor. The people thought, in
1824, that it was a substance unknown elsewhere, and they called it
the "oil of Columbia." At that time they hoped to establish a valuable
industry by working it, and they sent to England, France, and this
country samples which attracted much attention. But in those days no
method of refining the crude oil had been discovered, and therefore
these efforts to introduce petroleum to the world soon failed.
The plains of Ceniza abound in asphalt and petroleum. There is a large
lake of these substances about twelve kilometers east of St. Timoteo,
and from it some asphalt is taken to Maracaibo. Many deposits of asphalt
are found between these plains and the River Mene. The largest is that
of Cienega de Mene, which is shallow. At the bottom lies a compact
bed of asphalt, which is not used at present, except for painting
the bottoms of vessels to keep off the barnacles. There are wells of
petroleum in the State of Falcon.
Mr. Plumacher says that all the samples of coal submitted to him in
Venezuela for examination, with the exception of the "lignite" before
mentioned, were, in his opinion, asphalt in various degrees of
condensation. The sample which came from Tule he ranks with the coals
of the best quality. He believes that the innumerable fountains and
deposits of petroleum, bitumen, and asphalt that are apparent on the
surface of the region around Lake Maracaibo are proof of the existence
below of immense deposits of coal. These deposits have not been
uncovered because the territory remains for the most part as wild as it
was at the conquest.
* * * * *
ONE THOUSAND HORSE-POWER CORLISS ENGINE.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.
DIA. OF CYLINDER = 40''
STROKE = 10 ft.
REVS = 41
SCALE OF DIAGRAMS 40 LBS = 1 INCH
FIG. 2.]
We illustrate one of the largest Corliss engines ever constructed. It is
of the single cylinder, horizontal, condensing type, with one cylinder
40 inches diameter, and 10 feet stroke, and makes forty-five revolutions
per minute, corresponding to a piston speed of 900 feet per minute. At
mid stroke the velocity of the piston is 1,402 feet per minute nearly,
and its energy in foot pounds amounts to about 8.6 times its weight.
The cylinder is steam jacketed on the body and ends, and is fitted with
Corliss valves and Inglis & Spencer's automatic Corliss valve expansion
gear. Referring to the general drawing of the engine, it will be seen
that the cylinder is bolted directly to the end of the massive cast iron
frame, and the piston coupled direct to the crank by the steel piston
rod and crosshead and the connecting rod. The connecting rod is 28
feet long center to center, and 12 inches diameter at the middle. The
crankshaft is made of forged Bolton steel, and is 21 inches diameter at
the part where the fly-wheel is carried. The fly driving wheel is 35
feet in diameter, and grooved for twenty-seven ropes, which transmit the
power direct to the various line shafts in the mill. The rope grooves
are made on Hick, Hargreaves & Co.'s standard pattern of deep groove,
and the wheel, which is built up, is constructed on their improved plan
with separate arms and boss, and twelve segments in the rim with joints
planed to the true angle by a special machine designed and made by
themselves. The weight of the fly-wheel is about 60 tons. The condensing
apparatus is arranged below, so that there is complete drainage from the
cylinder to the condenser. The air pump, which is 36 inches diameter and
2 feet 6 inches stroke, is a vertical pump worked by wrought iron
plate levers and two | 2,043.712141 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lame and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
+-------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: |
| |
| |
|Formatting and coding information: |
| - Text in italics is marked with underscores as in _text_. |
| - Bold-face text is marked =text=. |
| - Superscript x and subscript x are represented as ^{x} and _{x},|
| respectively. |
| - sqrt(x) represents the square root of x. |
| - [oe] and [OE] represent the oe-ligatures. |
| - Greek letters are written between square brackets, as in [tau] |
| or [theta]. |
| - Overlined 1 is represented as [=1]. |
| - [<] represents a 'rotated [Delta]'. |
| |
|General remarks: |
| - Footnotes have been moved to directly below the paragraph they |
| refer to. |
| - In-line multiple line formulas have been changed to in-line |
| single-line formulas, with brackets added when needed. |
| - The Table of Contents has been corrected to conform to the text|
| rather than to the original Table of Contents. |
| - The table on operating costs of trains gives 'Other expenses |
| per square mile.' This has been changed to 'Per mile' the same |
| as the other expenses. |
| - The table on dimensions of farm and road locomotives gives the |
| diameter of the boiler shell as 30 feet, which seems unlikely. |
| - Feet are sometimes used as unit of area, both knots and knots |
| per hour as unit of speed. |
| |
|Changes in text: |
| - Reference letters in the text have in several cases been |
| changed to conform to the letters used in the illustrations. |
| - Minor typographical errors have been corrected. |
| - Except when mentioned here, inconsistencies in spelling |
| and hyphenation have not been corrected. Exceptions: |
| 'Desagulier' to 'Desaguliers' |
| 'Seguin' to 'Seguin' |
| 'Goldworthy Gurney' to 'Goldsworthy Gurney' |
| 'Ctesibus' to 'Ctesibius' |
| 'i.e.' to 'i. e.' |
| 'Warmetheorie' to 'Waermetheorie' |
| 'tour a tour' to 'tour a tour' |
| 'the beam passes to the' to 'the steam passes to the' |
| 'Desagulier' to 'Desaguliers' |
| 'elever' to 'elever'. |
| - 'As early as 1743' moved to new paragraph. |
| - 'A = 6.264035' changed to 'a = 6.264035.' |
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+-------------------------------------------------------------------+
THE INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES.
VOLUME XXIV.
THE
INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES.
EACH BOOK COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME, 12MO, AND BOUND IN CLOTH.
1. FORMS OF WATER: A Familiar Exposition of the Origin and Phenomena
of Glaciers. By J. TYNDALL, LL. D., F. R. S. With 25 Illustrations.
$1.50.
2. PHYSICS AND POLITICS; Or, Thoughts on the Application of the
Principles of "Natural Selection" and "Inheritance" to Political
Society. By WALTER BAGEHOT. $1.50.
3. FOODS. By EDWARD SMITH, M. D., LL. B., F. R. S. With numerous
Illustrations. $1.75.
4. MIND AND BODY: The Theories of their Relation. By ALEXANDER BAIN,
LL. D. With 4 Illustrations. $1.50.
5. THE STUDY OF SOCIOLOGY. By HERBERT SPENCER. $1.50.
6. THE NEW CHEMISTRY. By Professor J. P. COOKE, of Harvard University.
With 31 Illustrations. $2.00.
7. ON THE CONSERVATION OF ENERGY. By BALFOUR STEWART, M. A., LL. D.,
F. R. S. With 14 Illustrations. $1.50.
8. ANIMAL LOCOMOTION; or, Walking, Swimming, and Flying. By J. B.
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9. RESPONSIBILITY IN MENTAL DISEASE. By HENRY MAUDSLEY, M. D. $1.50.
10. THE SCIENCE OF LAW. By Professor SHELDON AMOS. $1.75.
11. ANIMAL MECHANISM: A Treatise on Terrestrial and Aerial Locomotion.
By Professor E. J. MAREY. With 117 Illustrations. $1.75.
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36. SUICIDE: An Essay in Comparative Moral Statistics. By HENRY
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38. THE CONCEPTS AND THEORIES OF MODERN PHYSICS. By J. B. STALLO.
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39. THE BRAIN AND ITS FUNCTIONS. By J. LUYS. $1.50.
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[Illustration: THE GRECIAN IDEA OF THE STEAM-ENGINE.]
THE INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES.
A HISTORY
OF THE
GROWTH OF THE STEAM-ENGINE.
BY
ROBERT H. THURSTON, A. M., C. E.,
PROFESSOR OF ENGINEERING STEVENS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, PAST
PRESIDENT AMERICAN SOCIETY MECHANICAL ENGINEERS, MEMBER OF SOCIETY
OF CIVIL ENGINEERS, SOCIETE DES INGENIEURS CIVILS, VEREIN
DEUTSCHE INGENIEURE, OESTERREICHISCHER INGENIEUR- UND
ARCHITEKTEN-VEREIN; ASSOCIATE BRITISH INSTITUTION
OF NAVAL ARCHITECTS, ETC., ETC.
_SECOND REVISED EDITION._
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1886.
COPYRIGHT, 1878, 1884,
BY ROBERT H. THURSTON.
PREFACE.
This little work embodies the more generally interesting portions of
lectures first written for delivery at the STEVENS INSTITUTE OF
TECHNOLOGY, in the winter of 1871-'72, to a mixed audience, composed,
however, principally of engineers by profession, and of mechanics; it
comprises, also, some material prepared for other occasions.
These lectures have been rewritten and considerably extended, and have
been given a form which is more appropriate to this method of
presentation of the subject. The account of the gradual development of
the philosophy of the steam-engine has been extended and considerably
changed, both in arrangement and in method. That part in which the
direction of improvement during the past history of the steam-engine,
the course which it is to-day taking, and the direction and limitation
of that improvement in the future, are traced, has been somewhat
modified to accord with the character of the revised work.
The author has consulted a large number of authors in the course of
his work, and is very greatly indebted to several earlier writers. Of
these, Stuart[1] is entitled to particular mention. His "History" is
the earliest deserving the name; and his "Anecdotes" are of
exceedingly great interest and of equally great historical value. The
artistic and curious little sketches at the end of each chapter are
from John Stuart, as are, usually, the drawings of the older forms of
engines.
[1] "History of the Steam-Engine," London, 1824. "Anecdotes of the
Steam-Engine," London, 1829.
Greenwood's excellent translation of Hero, as edited by Bennett
Woodcroft (London, 1851), can be consulted by those who are curious to
learn more of that interesting old Greek treatise.
Some valuable matter is from Farey,[2] who gives the most extended
account extant of Newcomen's and Watt's engines. The reader who
desires to know more of the life of Worcester, and more of the details
of his work, will find in the very complete biography of Dircks[3] all
that he can wish to learn of that great but unfortunate inventor.
Smiles's admirably written biography of Watt[4] gives an equally
interesting and complete account of the great mechanic and of his
partners; and Muirhead[5] furnishes us with a still more detailed
account of his inventions.
[2] "Treatise on the Steam-Engine," London, 1827.
[3] "Life, Times, and Scientific Labors of the Second Marquis of
Worcester," London, 1865.
[4] "Lives of Boulton and Watt," London, 1865.
[5] "Life of James Watt," D. Appleton & Co., New York, 1859.
"Mechanical Inventions of James Watt," London, 1854.
For an account of the life and work of John Elder, the great pioneer
in the introduction of the now standard double-cylinder, or
"compound," engine, the student can consult a little biographical
sketch by Prof. Rankine, published soon after the death of Elder.
The only published sketch of the history of the science of
thermo-dynamics, which plays so large a part of the philosophy of the
steam-engine, is that of Prof. Tait--a most valuable monograph.
The section of this work which treats of the causes and the extent of
losses of heat in the steam-engine, and of the methods available, or
possibly available, to reduce the amount of this now immense waste of
heat, is, in some respects, quite new, and is equally novel in the
method of its presentation. The portraits with which the book is well
furnished are believed to be authentic, and, it is hoped, will lend
interest, if not adding to the real value of the work.
Among other works which have been of great assistance to the author,
and will be found, perhaps, equally valuable to some of the readers of
this little treatise, are several to which reference has not been made
in the text. Among them the following are deserving of special
mention: Zeuner's "Waermetheorie," the treatises of Stewart and of
Maxwell, and McCulloch's "Mechanical Theory of Heat," a short but
thoroughly logical and exact mathematical treatise; Cotterill's
"Steam-Engine | 2,046.989663 |
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Produced by Dagny, John Bickers and David Widger
A SIMPLE SOUL
By Gustave Flaubert
CHAPTER I
For half a century the housewives of Pont-l'Eveque had envied Madame
Aubain her servant Felicite.
For a hundred francs a year, she cooked and did the housework, washed,
ironed, mended, harnessed the horse, fattened the poultry, made the
butter and remained faithful to her mistress--although the latter was by
no means an agreeable person.
Madame Aub | 2,047.081033 |
2023-11-16 18:51:11.1609810 | 427 | 17 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF THE NEW TOWNSHIP--1690-1731 32
VII. ECCLESIASTICAL AFFAIRS 36
| 2,047.181021 |
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Produced by John Bickers
NADA THE LILY
By H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
Sompseu:
For I will call you by the name that for fifty years has been honoured
by every tribe between Zambesi and Cape Agulbas,--I greet you!
Sompseu, my father, I have written a book that tells of men and matters
of which you know the most of any who still look upon the light;
therefore, I set your name within that book and, such as it is, I offer
it to you.
If you knew not Chaka, you and he have seen the same suns shine, you
knew his brother Panda and his captains, and perhaps even that very Mopo
who tells this tale, his servant, who slew him with the Princes. You
have seen the circle of the witch-doctors and the unconquerable Zulu
impis rushing to war; you have crowned their kings and shared their
counsels, and with your son's blood you have expiated a statesman's
error and a general's fault.
Sompseu, a song has been sung in my ears of how first you mastered this
people of the Zulu. Is it not true, my father, that for long hours you
sat silent and alone, while three thousand warriors shouted for your
life? And when they grew weary, did you not stand and say, pointing
towards the ocean: "Kill me if you wish, men of Cetywayo, but I tell
you that for every drop of my blood a hundred avengers shall rise from
yonder sea!"
Then, so it was told me, the regiments turned staring towards the Black
Water, as though the day of Ulundi had already come and they saw the
white slayers creeping across the plains.
Thus, Sompseu, your name became great among the people of the Zulu, as
already it was great among many another tribe, and their nobles did you
homage, and they gave you the Bayete, the royal salute, declaring by the
mouth of their Council that in you dwelt the spirit of Chaka.
Many years have gone by since then, and now you are old, my father. It
is many years even since I was a boy, and followed you when you went up
among the Boers and took their country for the Queen.
Why did you do this, my father? I will answer, who know the truth. You
did it because, had it not been done, the Zulus would have stamped out
the Boers. Were not Cetywayo's impis gathered against the land, and was
it not because it became the Queen's land that at your word he sent them
murmuring to their kraals? (1) To save bloodshed you annexed the country
beyond the Vaal. Perhaps it had been better to leave it, since "Death
chooses for himself," and after all there was killing--of our own
people, and with the killing, shame. But in those days we did not guess
what we should live to see, and of Majuba we thought only as a little
hill!
Enemies have borne false witness against you on this matter, Sompseu,
you who never erred except through over kindness. Yet what does that
avail? When you have "gone beyond" it will be forgotten, since the sting
of ingratitude passes and lies must wither like the winter veldt. Only
your name will not be forgotten; as it was heard in life so it shall be
heard in story, and I pray that, however humbly, mine may pass down with
it. Chance has taken me by another path, and I must leave the ways
of action that I love and bury myself in books, but the old days and
friends are in my mind, nor while I have memory shall I forget them and
you.
Therefore, though it be for the last time, from far across the seas I
speak to you, and lifting my hand I give your "Sibonga" (2) and that
royal salute, to which, now that its kings are gone and the "People of
Heaven" are no more a nation, with Her Majesty you are alone entitled:--
Bayete! Baba, Nkosi ya makosi!
Ngonyama! Indhlovu ai pendulwa!
Wen' o wa vela wasi pata!
Wen' o wa hlul' izizwe zonke za patwa nguive!
Wa geina nge la Mabun' o wa ba hlul' u yedwa!
Umsizi we zintandane e ziblupekayo!
Si ya kuleka Baba!
Bayete, T' Sompseu! (3)
and farewell!
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
To Sir Theophilus Shepstone, K.C.M.G., Natal. 13 September, 1891.
(1) "I thank my father Sompseu for his message. I am glad that he has
sent it, because the Dutch have tired me out, and I intended to
fight them once and once only, and to drive them over the Vaal.
Kabana, you see my impis are gathered. It was to fight the Dutch
I called them together; now I send them back to their homes."
--Message from Cetywayo to Sir. T. Shepstone, April, 1877.
(2) Titles of praise.
(3) Bayete, Father, Chief of Chiefs!
Lion! Elephant that is not turned!
You who nursed us from of old!
You who overshadowed all peoples and took charge of them,
And ended by mastering the Boers with your single strength!
Help of the fatherless when in trouble!
Salutation to you, Father!
Bayete, O Sompseu!
PREFACE
The writer of this romance has been encouraged to his task by a purpose
somewhat beyond that of setting out a wild tale of savage life. When he
was yet a lad,--now some seventeen years ago,--fortune took him to South
Africa. There he was thrown in with men who, for thirty or forty years,
had been intimately acquainted with the Zulu people, with their history,
their heroes, and their customs. From these he heard many tales and
traditions, some of which, perhaps, are rarely told nowadays, and in
time to come may cease to be told altogether. Then the Zulus were still
a nation; now that nation has been destroyed, and the chief aim of
its white rulers is to root out the warlike spirit for which it was
remarkable, and to replace it by a spirit of peaceful progress. The Zulu
military organisation, perhaps the most wonderful that the world has
seen, is already a thing of the past; it perished at Ulundi. It was
Chaka who invented that organisation, building it up from the smallest
beginnings. When he appeared at the commencement of this century, it was
as the ruler of a single small tribe; when he fell, in the year 1828,
beneath the assegais of his brothers, Umhlangana and Dingaan, and of his
servant, Mopo or Umbopo, as he is called also, all south-eastern Africa
was at his feet, and in his march to power he had slaughtered more than
a million human beings. An attempt has been made in these pages to set
out the true character of this colossal genius and most evil man,--a
Napoleon and a Tiberius in one,--and also that of his brother and
successor, Dingaan, so no more need be said of them here. The author's
aim, moreover, has been to convey, in a narrative form, some idea of the
remarkable spirit which animated these kings and their subjects, and to
make accessible, in a popular shape, incidents of history which are now,
for the most part, only to be found in a few scarce works of reference,
rarely consulted, except by students. It will be obvious that such a
task has presented difficulties, since he who undertakes it must for a
time forget his civilisation, and think with the mind and speak with the
voice of a Zulu of the old regime. All the horrors perpetrated by the
Zulu tyrants cannot be published in this polite age of melanite and
torpedoes; their details have, therefore, been suppressed. Still much
remains, and those who think it wrong that massacre and fighting
should be written of,--except by special correspondents,--or that the
sufferings of mankind beneath one of the world's most cruel tyrannies
should form the groundwork of romance, may be invited to leave this
book unread. Most, indeed nearly all, of the historical incidents
here recorded are substantially true. Thus, it is said that Chaka did
actually kill his mother, Unandi, for the reason given, and destroy an
entire tribe in the Tatiyana cleft, and that he prophesied of the coming
of the white man after receiving his death wounds. Of the incident of
the Missionary and the furnace of logs, it is impossible to speak so
certainly. It came to the writer from the lips of an old traveller in
"the Zulu"; but he cannot discover any confirmation of it. Still, these
kings undoubtedly put their soldiers to many tests of equal severity.
Umbopo, or Mopo, as he is named in this tale, actually lived. After he
had stabbed Chaka, he rose to great eminence. Then he disappears from
the scene, but it is not accurately known whether he also went "the way
of the assegai," or perhaps, as is here suggested, came to live near
Stanger under the name of Zweete. The fate of the two lovers at the
mouth of the cave is a true Zulu tale, which has been considerably
varied to suit the purposes of this romance. The late Mr. Leslie, who
died in 1874, tells it in his book "Among the Zulus and Amatongas." "I
heard a story the other day," he says, "which, if the power of writing
fiction were possessed by me, I might have worked up into a first-class
sensational novel." It is the story that has been woven into the plot of
this book. To him also the writer is indebted for the artifice by which
Umslopogaas obtained admission to the Swazi stronghold; it was told to
Mr. Leslie by the Zulu who performed the feat and thereby won a wife.
Also the writer's thanks are due to his friends, Mr. F. B. Fynney, (1)
late Zulu border agent, for much information given to him in bygone
years by word of mouth, and more recently through his pamphlet "Zululand
and the Zulus," and to Mr. John Bird, formerly treasurer to the
Government of Natal, whose compilation, "The Annals of Natal," is
invaluable to all who would study the early history of that colony and
of Zululand.
As for the wilder | 2,047.279705 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
Smooth Reading Good Words list:
haviour
ancle
ancles
donna
donna's
habitues
parquette
poignard
prima
Simms
tenore
Physiology of the Opera.
"I both compose and perform Sir: and though I say it, perhaps few
even of the profession possess the _contra-punto_ and the
_chromatic_ better."
CONNOISSEUR. No. 130.
"I see, Sir--you
Have got a travell'd air, which shows you one
To whom the opera is by no means new."
BYRON.
PHYSIOLOGY
OF
THE OPERA.
[Illustration]
BY SCRICI.
PHILADELPHIA. WILLIS P. HAZARD, 178 CHESNUT ST. 1852.
COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW.
Introduction.
As an introduction to the dissertation upon which we are about to enter,
such an antiquarian view of the subject might be taken as would tend to
establish a parallel between the ancient Greek tragedy and the modern
sanguinary Italian opera, the strong resemblance therein being displayed
of Signor Salvi trilling on the stage, to the immortal Thespis jargoning
from a dung-cart. But we shall indulge in no such wearying pedantry.
Our intention being merely to "hold the mirror up to nature," in
presenting our immaterial reflector to the public, we invite our readers
to a view of the present only--a period of time in which they take most
interest, since they adorn it with their own presence.
We feel satisfied that few of the ladies who take a peep into this
mirror, will find any cause to break it in a fit of petulancy after
having looked upon the attractive reflection of their own lovely
features. Few young gentlemen will throw down a glass that gives them a
just idea of their striking and distingue appearance behind a large
moustache and a gilded _lorgnette_. Old papas, who rule 'change and keep
a "stall," cannot be offended with that which teaches them how dignified
and creditable is their position, as they sit up proudly and exhibit
their family's extravagance and ostentation as an evidence of the
stability of their commercial relations. Few mammas will carp at a book
which assures them that society does not esteem them less highly because
they use an opera box as a sort of matrimonial show window in which they
place their beautiful daughters, "got up regardless of expense," as
delicate wares in the market of Hymen.
In these our humble efforts to present to our readers an amusing yet
faithful picture of the opera, we hope our manner of treating the
subject has been to nothing extenuate nor aught set down in malice. This
book has not for its end the unlimited censure of foreign opera singers,
or native opera goers. We do not therefore, expect to gratify the
malignant demands of persons of over-strained morality, who maintain
that the opera is a bad school of musical science, or a worse school of
morals; and exclaim with the very correct Mr. Coleridge, who was
_shocked_ in a--_concert room_,
"Nor cold nor stern my soul, yet I detest
These scented rooms; where to a gaudy throng,
Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast,
In intricacies of laborious song.
"These feel not music's genuine power, nor deign
To melt at nature's passion-warbled plaint;
But when the long-breath'd singer's up-trilled strain
Bursts in a squall--they gape for wonderment."
Neither do we coincide in sentiment with those who, conceiving that
every folly and absurdity sanctioned by fashion, is converted into
reason and common sense, believe that "the whole duty of man" consists
in _spending the day_ with Max Maretzeck on the occasion of his musical
jubilees, and being roasted by gas in the hours of broad day-light.
Consequently the reader will find no one line herein written with the
intention of flattering the vanity of those who ride to the opera every
night in a splendid coach, followed by spotted dogs.
Having thus declared the impartial manner in which it is our purpose to
pursue the physiological discussion of our subject, and the various
phenomena involved in its consideration, we proceed at once to unveil
the operatic existence to the reader, fatigued no doubt by an
introductory salaam already protracted beyond the limits of propriety.
CHAPTER I.
The Opera in the Abstract.
"L'Opera toujours
Fait bruit et merveilles:
On y voit les sourds
Boucher leurs oreilles."
BERANGER.
To most of the world (and we say it advisedly,) the opera is a sealed
book. We do not mean a bare representation with its accompanying
screechings, violinings and bass-drummings. Everybody has seen that--But
the race of beings who constitute that remarkable combination; their
feelings, positions, social habits; their relation to one another; what
they say and eat;[a] whether the tenor ever notices as they (the world)
do, the fine legs of the contralto in man's dress, and whether the basso
drinks pale ale or porter; all these things have been hitherto wrapped
in an inscrutable mystery. In regard to mere actors, not singers, this
feeling is confined to children; but the operators of an opera are
essentially esoteric. They are enclosed by a curtain more impenetrable
than the Chinese wall. You may walk all around them; nay, you may even
know an inferior artiste, but there is a line beyond which even the fast
men, with all their impetuosity, are restrained from invading.
[a] We actually knew a man who, when a tenor was spoken of, as having
gone through his _role_, thought that that worthy had been eating his
breakfast.
You walk in the street with a young female, on whom you flatter yourself
you are making an impression; suddenly she cries out, "Oh, there's
Bawlini; do look! dear creature, isn't he?" You may as well turn round
and go home immediately; the rest of your walk won't be worth half the
dream you had the night before. This shows an importance to be attached
to these remarkable persons, which, together with the mystery which
encircles them, is exceedingly aggravating to the feelings of a large
body of respectable citizens. Among those who are mostly afflicted, we
may mention all women, but most especially boarding school misses.
Mothers of families are much perturbed; they wonder why the tenor is so
intimate with the donna, considering they are not married; and fathers
of families wonder "where under the sun that manager gets the money to
pay a tenor twelve hundred dollars a month, when state sixes are so
shockingly depressed." We were going to enumerate those we thought
particularly afflicted by a praiseworthy desire to know something more
of these obscurities, but they are too many for us. In every class of
society, nay, in the breast of almost every person, there exists a
desire to be rightly informed on these subjects. It was to supply this
want that we have devoted ourselves more especially to the actors who
do, to the exclusion of the auditors who are "_done_."
Shakspeare observes, that "all the world's a stage;" the converse of
this proposition is no less worthy of being regarded as a great moral
truth,--that all the stage is a world. Every condition of life may be
found typified in one or other of the officials or attaches of an opera
house; from the king upon the throne, symbolized by the haughty and
magisterial impresario, to the _chiffonier_ in the gutter, represented
by the unfortunate chorister who is attired as a shabby nobleman on the
stage, but who goes home to a supper of leeks. Between these two
degrees, of dignity and unimportance, come those many shades of social
position corresponding to the happy situations of Secretary of State,
Secretary of the Treasury, and divers other dignitaries, set forth in
the stage director, the treasurer, the chorus-master, &c.
The tenor, basso, prima donna and baritone may be considered as
belonging to what is called "society;"--that well-to-do and ornamental
portion of the community, who having no vocation save to frequent balls,
soirees, concerts and operas, and fall in love--serve as objects of
admiration to those persons less favoured by fortune, who make the
clothes and dress the hair of the former class.
Our simile need not be carried further, it being apparent to the most
inconsiderate reader, that it is quite as truthful as that hatched by
the swan of Avon. We shall now commence our observations upon the most
interesting members of a troupe; those best known to the community
before whom they nightly appear; and leave unnoticed those disagreeable
but influential ones who raise the price of tickets, or stand in a
little box near the door and palm off all the back seats upon the
uninitiated.
CHAPTER II.
Of the Tenore.
"In short, I may, I am sure, with truth assert, that whether in the
_allegro_ or in the _piano_, the _adagio_, the _largo_ or the
_forte_, he never had his equal."--CONNOISSEUR. No. 130.
"Famed for the even tenor of his conduct, and his conduct as a
tenor."--KNICKERBOCKER.
[Illustration]
The Tenor is a small man, seldom exceeding the medium height. His voice
is, comparatively speaking, a small voice, and consequently not likely
to issue from over-grown lungs. His proportions are, or at least ought
to be, as symmetrical as possible. His hair, nine times out of ten, is
black, and _always_ curls. His beard is reasonably bushy; but his
moustache is the most artistically cultivated and carefully nurtured
collection of hair that ever adorned the superior lip of man. His
features are likely to be handsome, sometimes, however, effeminately so.
His dress is a little extravagant; not extravagant in the mode and
manner of a fast man or a dandy--for it is not punctiliously fashionable
like that of the latter, without any deviation from tailor's plates;
neither does it resemble that of the former in the gentlemanly roughness
of its appearance; consequently he rejoices not in entire suits of grey
or plaid, those _very_ sporting coats, those English country-gentleman's
shoes, those amply bowed cravats, and those shirts that are so
resplendent with the well executed heads of terrier dogs. No! the primo
tenore has a passion, first, for satin,--secondly, for jewelry,--and
lastly, for hats, boots and gloves. He dotes on satin scarfs, cravats
and ties, and his gorgeous satin vests, of all the hues of the rainbow,
astound the saunterer on the morning promenade. His love for pins,
studs, rings and chains is almost enough to lead us to believe that his
blood is mingled with that of the Mohawks. Boots that fit like gloves,
and gloves that fit like the skin, render him the envy of dandies. His
hat is smooth and glossy to an excess, and its peculiar formation makes
it considered "_un peu trop fort_," even by the most daring of
hat-fanciers.
The tenor rises late; partly because he is naturally indolent; partly
because the prime basso drank him slightly exhilarated the evening
previous; and partly out of affectation and the desire to appear a very
fine gentleman. Having spent a long time in making a _negligee
toilette_, he orders his breakfast. Seated in his comprehensive arm
chair, and attired in all the splendor of a well-tinselled satin or
velvet _calotte_, a dazzling _robe de chambre_, and slippers of the most
brilliant colors, he takes his matutinal repast. And now we begin to
discover some of the thousand vexations and annoyances that harass the
life of this poor object of popular support. His breakfast is but the
skeleton of that useful and nourishing repast. No rich beef-steaks! no
tender chops! no fragrant ham nor well-seasoned omelettes, transfer
their nutritive properties through his system. Any indulgence in these
wholesome articles of food is considered direct destruction to the
tender organ of the tenor. A hunting breakfast every day, or a glass of
wine at an improper hour, if persisted in for any length of time, it is
supposed would ruin the most delightful voice that ever sung an _aria_.
A large cup of _cafe au lait_, with an egg beaten in it, is all the
morning meal of which the poor _artiste_ (as he styles himself,) is
permitted to partake. This feat accomplished, he takes up the newspaper
in which he _spells out_ the puff which he paid the reporter to insert,
and after satisfying himself that he has received his _quid pro quo_, he
lounges away the morning until a sufficient space of time has elapsed to
render the use of the voice no longer deleterious, as it is immediately
after eating. And then come two or three hours of study that is no
trifle. The tenor is a man; and it seems to be a great moral law, that
whether it come in the form of labor, disease, ennui or indigestion,
suffering shall be the badge of all our tribe. Even prima donnas, who
defy gods and men with more temerity than all living creatures, are
constrained to concede the obligation of this universal moral edict. The
tenor then yields homage to human nature and the public, in the labor of
climbing stubborn scales, rehearsing new operas, and sometimes, though
not often, in receiving the impertinence of arrogant prima donnas,
during several hours every day. After these fatiguing efforts, he makes
his _grande toilette_, and prepares himself to astound the town no less
by his personal attractions than by his song. The chief promenade of the
city, where he condescends to mete out to highly favoured audiences the
treasures of his organ, is made the day-theatre of his glory.
Accompanied by his friend the _primo basso_, he saunters along very
quietly, attracting the gaze of the curious, and calling forth the
passionate remarks of enthusiastic young ladies, who feel it would be a
pleasure to die, if they could only leave such a gentleman behind on
earth to sing "_Tu che a Dio_," in the event of their being "snatched
away in beauty's bloom."
The basso is the chosen male companion of the tenor's walk; firstly,
because he is no rival, and secondly, because the gross physical
endowments of the former are such as to bring out the latter's
symmetrical proportions in such strong relief.
Sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom
he is nearly always a favorite. He is the gentleman who makes himself
useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those
thousand and one little delicate attentions for which all women are so
truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental
duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom.
Whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one,
the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like
bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that
he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. He is more grave, but
apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with
the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated,
sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the
attraction of gracefulness.
The time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the
hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the
slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. Then the tenor does dare to
partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the
season." But still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few
hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety"
would little prepare him. A very worthy and elderly clergyman of the
Church of England once made known to the writer his opinion concerning
after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "I believe, sir, that
though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and
plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are
sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." So melting
strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, pates
and fricasees, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into
monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall
relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is
to say, on the stage.
But when supper comes he is | 2,049.992473 |
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THE BLUE LIGHTS
Illustration: A hasty examination of the sailing list showed her the
astonishing truth. Richard was not on board.
THE
BLUE LIGHTS
BY
ARNOLD FREDERICKS
AUTHOR OF
THE IVORY SNUFF BOX, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILL GREFE
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
THE BLUE LIGHTS
CHAPTER I
The big, mud-spattered touring car, which for the past hour had been
plowing its way steadily northward from the city of Washington,
hesitated for a moment before the gateway which marked the end of the
well kept drive, then swept on to the house.
A man, stoutly built, keen of eye, showing haste in his every movement,
sprang from the machine and ascended the veranda steps.
"Does Richard Duvall live here?" he inquired, curtly, of the smiling old
<DW52> woman who came to the door.
"'Deed he do, suh. Does you want to see him?"
"Yes. At once, please. Tell him it is most important. My name is
Hodgman."
The servant eyed him with cool disfavor. "Set down, suh," she remarked
stiffly. "I'll tell him you is here."
The caller watched her, as she disappeared into the house, then cast
himself impatiently into a chair and lit a cigar.
He paid no attention to the attempts of two clumsy collie puppies to
attract his favorable notice, but contented himself with making a quick
survey of the wide comfortable veranda, with its big roomy chairs, the
wicker table, bearing a great jar of red peonies, the smooth green
lawns, swept by the late afternoon sun.
"Fine old place," he muttered to himself. "Wonder if I can persuade him
to go?"
As the car which had brought Mr. Hodgman on his hasty trip from
Washington dashed up to the front of the house, Grace Duvall, looking
very charming in a blue linen dress, was just approaching it from the
rear.
She held a pair of shears in her hand, and her apron was filled to
overflowing with hundred-leaf roses. "Dick--oh, Dick!" she called, as
she came down the long avenue of syringas and lilacs which led to the
house. "The sweet peas are nearly ready to bloom."
Richard Duvall, looking as simply pastoral as though he had never
tracked an international crook to cover, raised his head from the
flower bed, in which he had been carefully setting out circle after
circle of geranium plants.
"Are they?" he laughed. "That's good. Now all we need is a few good hot
days." He gathered up his trowel and rake, and started toward the barn.
Grace put her arm through her husband's and together they strolled
across the springy green turf, their faces smiling and happy. The
honeymoon showed no signs of waning.
This lovely old country place, in southern Maryland, had been one of
Richard Duvall's dreams for many years, and after his marriage to Grace
Ellicott, in Paris, it had become hers, as well. It was but a short time
after their return to America that they decided to make it a reality.
Grace had encouraged her husband in the plan of giving up, for a time at
least, his warfare against crime, his pursuit of criminals of the higher
and more dangerous type, and had persuaded him to buy the farm which had
once belonged to his mother's people, and settle down to the life of a
country gentleman.
His office was still maintained, under the able direction of one of his
assistants, but Duvall gave little or no attention to its affairs. He
was glad to withdraw, for the first time in over nine years, from
active work, and devote his energies to early potatoes, prize dogs,
hunters, and geranium plants--and, above all, to the peaceful enjoyment
of his honeymoon, and the making of Grace the happiest woman in the
world.
She, on her part, found in their present situation all the joys of
existence for which she had longed. With little or no liking for the
monotonous round of society and its duties, and a passionate love of
nature, she found in the many and complex duties of managing her part of
their extensive estate a far greater happiness than any which city life
could have offered her.
The considerable fortune which her husband's clever work while in Paris
had restored to her, had been safely invested in well paying securities,
and she found her greatest joy in utilizing at least a part of her
income in beautifying their new home.
Richard had steadily refused to make any use of the money. It was a
matter of pride with him, that his own savings had enabled him to
purchase the property; but when Grace proposed to build an addition to
the house, to provide him with a more comfortable library and work room,
or insisted upon having the roads throughout the place elaborately
macadamized, he was obliged to submit to her wishes. In this way, they
planned and built for the future, together.
The farm was a large one, comprising some two hundred acres, and the old
stone house surrounded by white oaks and tulip poplars had once been a
show place, before the declining fortunes of its former owners had
caused it to fall into a state of mellow and time-honored decay. Now all
was changed. Grace, with the able assistance of old Uncle Abe Turner, a
relic of ante bellum times, spent hours daily in bringing order out of
the chaos of tangled myrtle and ivy, overgrown box and hedge, thickets
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LEGENDS
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE
3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1912
CONTENTS
I. The Possessed Exorcist
II. My Wretchedness Increases
III. My Wretchedness Increases (cont.)
IV. Miracles
V. My Incredulous Friend's Troubles
VI. Miscellanies
VII. Studies in Swedenborg
VIII. Canossa
IX. The Spirit of Contradiction
X. Extracts from my Diary, 1897
XI. In Paris
XII. Wrestling Jacob
Note
I
THE POSSESSED EXORCIST
Hunted by the furies, I found myself finally in December 1896 fixed
fast in the little university town Lund, in Sweden. A conglomeration
of small houses round a cathedral, a palace-like university building
and a library, forming an oasis of civilisation in the great southern
Swedish plain. I must admire the refinement of cruelty which has chosen
this place as my prison. The University of Lund is much prized by the
natives of Schonen, but for a man from the north like myself the fact
that one stays here is a sign that one has come to an inclined plane
and is rolling down. Moreover, for me who am well advanced in the
forties, have been a married man for twenty years and am accustomed
to a regular family life, it is a humiliation to be relegated to
intercourse with students, bachelors who are given to a life of riot
and carousing, and who are all more or less in ill odour with the
fatherly authorities of the university because of their radical way of
thinking.
Of the same age, and formerly a companion of the professors, who now
no longer tolerate me, I am compelled to find my friends among the
students, and so to take upon myself the role of an enemy of the
seniors and of the social circles of solid respectability. Come down,
indeed! That is just the right word, and why? Because I scorned to
submit myself to the laws of social life and domestic slavery. I have
regarded the conflict for the upholding of my personality as a sacred
duty, quite irrespective of the fact of its being a good or bad one.
Excommunicated, regarded with suspicion, denounced by fathers and
mothers as a corrupter of youth, I am placed in a situation which
reminds one of a snake in an ant-heap, all the more as I cannot leave
the town through pecuniary embarrassment.
Pecuniary embarrassment! That has now been my lot for three years,
and I cannot explain how all my resources were dried up, as soon as
my profits were exhausted. Four-and-twenty dramas of my composing are
now laid up in a corner, and not a single one performed any more; an
equal number of novels and tales, and not one in a second edition.
All attempts to borrow a loan have failed and continue to fail. After
I had sold all that I possessed, need compelled me at last to sell
the letters which I had received in the course of years, _i.e._ other
people's property.
This constant condition of poverty seems to me so clearly to depend
upon some special purpose of Providence that I finally endure it
willingly as a part of my penance and do not try to resist it any
more. As regards myself, I want of means signifies nothing to me
as an independent author, but it is disgraceful not to have the
wherewithal to support my children. Very well! I make up my mind to
bear the disgrace though it involve pains like hell. I will not yield
to the temptation to pay for false honour with my life. Prepared for
anything, I endure resolutely to the uttermost the most extraordinary
humiliations and observe how my expiatory pangs commence. Well-educated
youths of good family treat me one night to a serenade of caterwauling
in my corridor. I take it as something I have deserved without
disturbing myself. I try to hire a furnished lodging. The landlord
refuses with transparent excuses, and the refusal is flung in my
face. I pay visits and am not received. These are mere trifles. But
what really wounds me is the sublime irony shown in the unconscious
behaviour of my young friends when they try to encourage me by praising
my literary works, "so fruitful in liberating ideas, etc." And this to
me, who have just flung these so-called ideas on the dust-heap, so that
those who entertain these views are now my opponents! I am at war with
my former self, and while I oppose my friends and those once of the
same mind with me, I lay myself prostrate in the dust.
This is irony indeed; and as a dramatist I must admire the composition
of this tragi-comedy. In truth, the scenes are well-arranged.
Meanwhile people, taking into consideration the way in which old and
new views become entangled with each other in a period of transition,
do not reckon too rigidly with a veteran like myself. They do not
prick up their ears so solemnly at my arguments, but rather ask after
novelties in the world of ideas. I open for them the vestibule to the
temple of Isis, and say, by way of preliminary, that occultism is going
to be the vogue. Then they rage, and cut me down with the same weapons
which during twenty years I have been forging against superstition and
mysticism.
Since these debates always take place in garden-restaurants to the
accompaniment of wine-drinking, one avoids violent arguments, and I
confine myself to relating facts and real occurrences, assuming the
mask of an enlightened sceptic. It can certainly not be said that
people are opposed to everything new--quite the contrary; but they
become conservative as regards ideals which have been won by hard
fighting and which one is not inclined to desert. Still less are they
disposed to abjure a faith which has been purchased by a baptism of
blood. It falls to my share to strike out a path between naturalism
and supernaturalism, by expounding the latter as a development of the
former.
For this purpose, I address myself to the problem of giving, as just
indicated, natural and scientific explanation for all the mysterious
phenomena which appear to us. I split up my personality and show to the
world a rationalistic occultist, but I keep my innermost individuality
unimpaired and cherish the germ of a creedless religion. Often my
outer role gets the upper hand; my two natures become so intricately
intermixed that I can laugh at my newly won belief. This helps my
theories to find entrance into the most oppositely constituted minds.
The gloomy December days drag on lazily under a dark-grey smoky sky.
Although I have discovered Swedenborg's explanation regarding the
character of my sufferings, I cannot bring myself once for all to
bend under the hand of the Powers. My disposition to make objections
asserts itself, and I continually refer the real causes of my suffering
to external things, especially the malice of men. Attacked day and
night by "electric streams," which compress my chest and stab my
heart, I quit my torture-chamber, and visit the tavern where I find
friends. Fearing sobriety, I drink ceaselessly, as the only way of
procuring sleep at night. Shame and disgust, however, combined with
restlessness, compel me to give this up, and for some evenings I visit
the Temperance Cafe called the "Blue Band." But the company one meets
with there depresses me,--bluish, pale, and emaciated faces, terrible
and malicious eyes, and a silence which is not the peace of God.
When things go wrong, wine is a benefit, and refraining from it a
punishment. I return to the half-sober tavern, without, however,
transgressing the bounds of moderation, after having disciplined myself
for several evenings by drinking tea.
Christmas is approaching, and I regard the children's festival with a
cool bitterness that I can hardly dignify with the name of resignation.
For six years I have had all kinds of sufferings, and am now prepared
for anything. Loneliness in an hotel! That has long been my nightmare,
and I have become accustomed to it. It seems as though the very thing
that I dislike is forced upon me.
Meanwhile a closer intimacy has sprung up between me and a friendly
circle, so that they begin to make confidences to me. The fact is that
during the last months so many things have happened, so many unusual
unexpected things. "Let me hear them," I say. "They tell me that the
head of the revolutionary students, the freest of freethinkers, after
having come out of a temperance hospital and taking the pledge, has
been now converted, so that he forthwith----"
"Well, what?"
"Sings penitential psalms."
"Incredible!"
In fact the young man, who was unusually gifted, had for the present
spoilt his prospects by attacking the views prevalent at the
university, including the misuse of strong drink. When I arrived in the
town he kept a little aloof from me on the ground of his temperance
principles, but it was he who lent me Swedenborg's Arcana Coelestia,
which he had taken from his father's library. I remember that after
I had begun to read the work I gave him an account of Swedenborg's
theories, and suggested to him to read the prophet in order to gain
light, but he interrupted me with a gesture of alarm.
"No! I will not! Not now! Later!"
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes, for the moment."
"But read it merely as a literary curiosity."
"No."
I thought at first he was joking, but later on it became clear to me
that he was quite in earnest. So there seems to be a general awakening
going on through the world, and I need not conceal my own experiences.
"Tell me, old fellow, can you sleep at night?"
"Not much. When I lie awake my whole past life comes in review before
me; all the follies which I have committed, all my sufferings
and unhappiness pass by, but especially the follies. And when the
procession ends, it commences all over again."
"You also?"
"What do you mean by 'also'?"
"That is the disease of our time. They call it 'the mills of God.'"
At the word "God" he makes a grimace and answers, "Yes, it is a queer
age we live in; the world turns round and round."
"Or rather it is the re-entrance of the Powers."
* * * * *
The Christmas week is over. In consequence of the holidays my table
companions are scattered over the neighbourhood of Lund. One fine
morning my friend, the doctor and psychologist, comes and shows me
a letter from our friend the poet, containing an invitation to his
parents' house, a country property a few miles from the town. I decline
to go as I dislike travelling.
"But he is unhappy," says the doctor.
"What is the matter with him?"
"Sleeplessness; you know he has lately been keeping Christmas."
I take shelter behind the excuse of having some business to do, and the
question remains undecided. In the afternoon I get another letter, to
say that the poet is ill and wants his friend's medical advice.
"What is he suffering from now?" I ask.
"He suffers from neurasthenia and believes himself persecuted----"
"By demons?"
"Not exactly that, but anyhow----"
An access of grim humour elicited by the fact of having a brother
in misfortune makes me determine to go with him. "Very well then,
let us start," I say; "you see to the medicine and I will see to the
exorcism." When the matter is settled, I pack my portmanteau, and as I
go down the hotel steps I am unexpectedly accosted by an unknown female.
"Excuse me, are you Dr. Norberg?"
"No, I am not," I answer, not exactly politely, for I thought she was a
disreputable person.
"Could you tell me what time it is?" she continued.
"No!"
And I go off.
How unmeaningful this scene was, it did nevertheless leave me with me
an unsettling impression.
In the evening we stay in a village, to pass the night there. I have
just entered my room, on the first floor, and washed up a little, when
the usual sounds reach my ears; someone moves furniture around and I
hear dance-steps.
This time I don't leave it with a suspicion, but run in the company of
my comrades up the servants' stairs, to get certainty. But upstairs
nothing suspicious can be found, because above my room, under the
roofpanes, there's nobody living.
After a bad night with little sleep, we continue our journey and a
couple of hours later we are in the parental home of the Poet, who
almost appears as a prodigal son before religious parents, good and
honest man. The day is spent with walks in a beautiful country-side
and innocent conversations. The evening descends and brings an
indescribable peace in a very homely environment, in which the doctor
and I seem completely lost to ourselves, he even more than I, because
he's an atheist.
Late in the evening we retire to the room that was assigned to the
Doctor and me. When I'm searching for something to read, I lay hands
upon "Magic of the Middle Ages" by Viktor Rydberg. Again this writer,
whom I avoided, as long as he lived, and who keeps pursuing me after
his death!
I page through the book, and my eye is caught by the part about
Incubi and Succubi. The author doesn't believe in such things and
ridiculizes the thought of devils. But I cannot laugh; I'm offended by
what I'm reading, and I console myself with the thought that by now the
author may have altered his views.
In the mean time, reading about things magical and weird isn't very
suitable to induce any sleep, and I experience a certain nervous
restlessness.
Therefore, the proposal to come along to the sanitary rooms is taken as
a welcome distraction and a hygienic preliminary for the night, which I
fear.
Provided with a lantern, we walk over the inner court, where, under a
cloudy sky, the skeletons of frosted trees crash under the playful and
capricious whirlwind.
"I think you're afraid of your own shadows my good fellows," laughs the
doctor contemptuously. We give no answer, for the violence of the wind
nearly throws us down. When we reach the place which is near the stable
and under the hayloft, we are greeted by a noise over our heads, and,
strange to say, it is exactly the noise which has followed me for half
a year.
"Listen!" I said; "don't you hear something?"
"Yes, it is only the farm servants feeding the cattle."
I do not deny the fact, but why must they do it just as I enter the
place? And how comes it that the disturbance always takes an acoustic
form? There must be some unseen agent who arranges these serenades for
me, and it is no mere illusion of my ears, for others hear them too.
When we return to our bedroom, all is still. The poet who has behaved
quietly all day, and who sleeps in an attic begins to look uneasy,
and finally confesses that he cannot sleep alone, as he suffers from
nightmare. I give him up my bed, and go into a large room close by,
where there is an enormous one. This room, unwarmed, without blinds,
and almost unfurnished, makes me feel a depression which is increased
by the damp and cold. In order to distract myself, I look for books,
and find on a small table a Bible illustrated by Gustave Dore, together
with a number of books of devotion. Then I remember that I am an
intruder into a religious home, that I, the friend of the prodigal son,
am regarded as a corrupter of youth. What a humiliating role for a man
of eight and forty!
I understand the young man's discomfort at being penned up with
excellent and pious people. He must feel like a devil obliged to attend
mass. And it is to drive out devils with devils that I have been
invited hither. I have come in order to make this rarefied air possible
to breathe by defiling it, since the young man cannot bear it, pure.
With such thoughts I retire to bed. Sleep was formerly my last and
surest refuge whose pity never failed me. But now my comforter has left
me in the lurch and the darkness alarms me. The lamp is lit and there
is stillness after the storm. Then a strange buzzing noise rivets my
attention and rouses me from my drowsiness. I observe an insect flying
hither and thither in the upper part of the room. But I am astonished
to find that I cannot identify it, though I am well up in entomology,
and flatter myself that I know all the winged insects in Sweden. This
is not a butterfly or a moth, but a fly, long and black, which makes a
sound like a wasp. I get up to chase it. Chasing flies at the end of
December! It disappears. I creep again under the bedclothes and resume
my meditations.
But the cursed insect flies out from under my cushion cover, and, after
having rested and warmed itself in my bed, it flies in all directions,
and I let it go, feeling sure that I shall soon catch it by the lamp,
whose flame will attract it. I have not long to wait; as soon as the
fly gets within the lamp-shade a match scorches its wings. It dances
its death-dance and lies lifeless on its back. I convince myself by
ocular demonstration that it is an unknown winged insect, about an
inch long, and of a black colour, with two fiery red spots on its wings.
What is it? I don't know, but in the morning I will give the others the
opportunity of ratifying its existence.
Meanwhile, after accomplishing this auto-da-fe, I go to sleep. In the
middle of the night I am awakened by a sound of whining and chattering
of teeth which comes from the next room. I kindle a light and go in.
My friend the doctor has thrown himself half out of bed, and writhes
in terrible convulsions, with his mouth wide open. In a word, he shows
all the signs of hysteria described in Charcot's treatise, which calls
the stage he is in now "possession." And he a man of conspicuous
intelligence and good heart, not morally worse than others, of full
growth, with regular and pleasant features, now disfigured to such a
degree that he looks like the picture of a mediaeval devil.
In alarm, I wake him up, "Have you been dreaming, old fellow?"
"No, it was an attack of nightmare."
"Incubus!"
"Yes, indeed! It squeezed my lungs together, something like angina
pectoris."
I gave him a glass of milk; he lights a cigar, and I return to my
room. But now all my chance of sleep is gone. What I had seen was too
terrible, and till the morning my companions continue their conflict
with the invisible.
We meet at breakfast, and make a joke of the adventures of the night.
But our host does not laugh, a circumstance which I ascribe to his
religious way of thinking, which makes him hold the hidden Powers in
awe. The delicate position in which I find myself between the seniors
whom I admire, and the juniors whom I have no right to blame, makes me
hasten my departure. As we rise from table the master of the house asks
the doctor for a special consultation, and they retire for half an hour.
"What is the matter with the old man?" I ask, when the doctor returns.
"He cannot sleep,--has heart attacks at night."
"He also! That good and pious man! Then it is an epidemic which spares
no one."
I will not deny that this circumstance restored my courage, and the
old spirit of rebellion and scepticism took possession of my soul. To
challenge the demons, to defy the invisible, and finally to subdue
it,--that, was the task I proposed to myself as I left this hospitable
family in order to proceed upon my projected excursion in Schonen.
* * * * *
Reaching the town Hoeganaes the same evening, I take my evening meal
in the large dining-hall of the hotel, and have a journalist for my
companion. As soon as we have sat down to table, the usual noise is
heard overhead. In order to guard against any possibility of illusion
on my part, I let the journalist describe the phenomenon, and find him
convinced of its reality. As we went out after finishing our meal, the
unknown woman who had accosted me before my departure from Lund, stood
motionless before the door, and let me and my companion pass by. I
forget the demons and the invisible, and begin again to suspect that I
am persecuted by visible foes. Terrible doubts gnaw at my brain, fever
my blood, and make me feel disgusted with life.
But the night has a surprise in store for me which alarms me more than
all the last days together. Tired with my journey, I go to bed at
eleven o'clock. All is silent in the hotel, and no noise audible. My
courage | 2,050.379377 |
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[Illustration: frontispiece]
THE RETURN
OF THE SOLDIER
BY
REBECCA WEST
NEW [Illustration: colophon] YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1918,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIER
-C-
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
He lay there in the confiding relaxation of
a child _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
"Give it a brush now and then, like a good
soul" 6
She would get into the four-foot punt that
was used as a ferry and bring it over very
slowly 66
"I oughtn't to do it, ought I?" 176
THE RETURN
OF THE SOLDIER
CHAPTER I
"Ah, don't begin to fuss!" wailed Kitty. "If a woman began to worry in
these days because her husband hadn't written to her for a fortnight!
Besides, if he'd been anywhere interesting, anywhere where the fighting
was really hot, he'd have found some way of telling me instead of just
leaving it as 'Somewhere in France.' He'll be all right."
We were sitting in the nursery. I had not meant to enter it again, now
that the child was dead; but I had come suddenly on Kitty as she slipped
the key into the lock, and I had lingered to look in at the high room,
so full of whiteness and clear colors, so unendurably gay and familiar,
which is kept in all respects as though there were still a child in the
house. It was the first lavish day of spring, and the sunlight was
pouring through the tall, arched windows and the flowered curtains so
brightly that in the old days a fat fist would certainly have been
raised to point out the new, translucent glories of the rosebud.
Sunlight was lying in great pools on the blue cork floor and the soft
rugs, patterned with strange beasts, and threw dancing beams, which
should have been gravely watched for hours, on the white paint and the
blue distempered walls. It fell on the rocking-horse, which had been
Chris's idea of an appropriate present for his year-old son, and showed
what a fine fellow he was and how tremendously dappled; it picked out
Mary and her little lamb on the chintz ottoman. And along the
mantelpiece, under the loved print of the snarling tiger, in attitudes
that were at once angular and relaxed, as though they were ready for
play at their master's pleasure, but found it hard to keep from drowsing
in this warm weather, sat the Teddy Bear and the chimpanzee and the
woolly white dog and the black cat with eyes that roll. Everything was
there except Oliver. I turned away so that I might not spy on Kitty
revisiting her dead. But she called after me:
"Come here, Jenny. I'm going to dry my hair." And when I looked again I
saw that her golden hair was all about her shoulders and that she wore
over her frock a little silken jacket trimmed with rosebuds. She looked
so like a girl on a magazine cover that one expected to find a large "15
cents" somewhere attached to her person. She had taken Nanny's big
basket-chair from its place by the high-chair, and was pushing it over
to the middle window. "I always come in here when Emery has washed my
hair. It's the sunniest room in the house. I wish Chris wouldn't have
it kept as a nursery when there's no chance--" She sat down, swept her
hair over the back of the chair into the sunlight, and held out to me
her tortoiseshell hair-brush. "Give it a brush now and then, like a good
soul; but be careful. Tortoise snaps so!"
I took the brush and turned to the window, leaning my forehead against
the glass and staring unobservantly at the view. You probably know the
beauty of that view; for when Chris rebuilt Baldry Court after his
marriage he handed it over to architects who had not so much the wild
eye of the artist as the knowing wink of the manicurist, and between
them they massaged the dear old place into matter for innumerable
photographs in the illustrated papers. The house lies on the crest of
Harrowweald, and from its windows the eye drops to miles of emerald
pasture-land lying wet and brilliant under a westward line of sleek
hills; blue with distance and distant woods, while nearer it range the
suave decorum of the lawn and the Lebanon cedar, the branches of which
are like darkness made palpable, and the minatory gauntnesses of the
topmost pines in the wood that breaks downward, its bare boughs a close
texture of browns and purples, from the pond on the edge of the hill.
[Illustration: "Give it a brush now and then, like a good soul"]
That day its beauty was an affront to me, because, like most
Englishwomen of my time, I was wishing for the return of a soldier.
Disregarding the national interest and everything else except the keen
prehensile gesture of our hearts toward him, I wanted to snatch my
Cousin Christopher from the wars and seal him in this green pleasantness
his wife and I now looked upon. Of late I had had bad dreams about him.
By nights I saw Chris running across the brown rottenness of
No-Man's-Land, starting back here because he trod upon a hand, not even
looking there because of the awfulness of an unburied head, and not till
my dream was packed full of horror did I see him pitch forward on his
knees as he reached safety, if it was that. For on the war-films I have
seen men slip down as softly from the trench-parapet | 2,050.380302 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41397-h.htm or 41397-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/unclewaltwaltma00maso
UNCLE WALT
[Illustration: To George Matthew Adams
From his Accomplice Walt Mason]
UNCLE WALT
[WALT MASON]
[Illustration]
The Poet Philosopher
Chicago
George Matthew Adams
1910
Copyright, 1910, by George Matthew Adams.
Registered in Canada in accordance with
the copyright law. Entered at Stationers'
Hall, London. All rights reserved.
Contents
A Glance at History 17
Longfellow 18
In Politics 19
The Human Head 20
The Universal Help 21
Little Sunbeam 22
The Flag 23
Doc Jonnesco 24
Little Girl 25
The Landlady 26
Twilight Reveries 27
King and Kid 28
Little Green Tents 29
Geronimo Aloft 31
The Venerable Excuse 32
Silver Threads 33
The Poet Balks 34
The Penny Saved 35
Home Life 36
Eagles and Hens 37
The Sunday Paper 38
The Nation's Hope 39
Football 40
Health Food 41
Physical Culture 43
The Nine Kings 44
The Eyes of Lincoln 45
The Better Land 46
Knowledge Is Power 47
The Pie Eaters 48
The Sexton's Inn 49
He Who Forgets 50
Poor Father 51
The Idle Question 52
Politeness 53
Little Pilgrims 55
The Wooden Indian 56
Home and Mother 57
E. Phillips Oppenheim 58
Better than Boodle 59
The Famous Four 60
Niagara 61
A Rainy Night 62
The Wireless 63
Helpful Mr. Bok 64
Beryl's Boudoir 65
Post-Mortem Honors 67
After A While 68
Pretty Good Schemes 69
Knowledge by Mail 70
Duke and Plumber 71
Human Hands 72
The Lost Pipe 73
Thanksgiving 74
Sir Walter Raleigh 75
The Country Editor 76
Useless Griefs 77
Fairbanks' Whiskers 78
Letting It Alone 79
The End of the Road 80
The Dying Fisherman 81
George Meredith 82
The Smart Children 83
The Journey 85
Times Have Changed 86
My Little Dog "Dot" 87
Harry Thurston Peck 88
Tired Man's Sleep 89
Tomorrow 90
Toothache 91
Auf Wiedersehen 92
After the Game 93
Nero's Fiddle 94
The Real Terror 95
The Talksmiths 96
Woman's Progress 97
The Magic Mirror 99
The Misfit Face 100
A Dog Story 101
The Pitcher 102
Lions and Ants 103
The Nameless Dead 104
Ambition 105
Night's Illusions 106
Before and After 107
Luther Burbank 108
Governed Too Much 109
Success in Life 110
The Hookworm Victim 111
Alfred Austin 112
Weary Old Age 113
Lullaby 114
The School Marm 115
Poe 116
Gay Parents 117
Dad 118
John Bunyan 119
A Near Anthem 121
The Yellow Cord 122
The Important Man 123
Toddling Home 124
Trifling Things 125
Trusty Dobbin 126
The High Prices 127
Omar Khayyam 128
The Grouch 129
The Pole 130
Wilhelmina 131
Wilbur Wright 132
The Broncho 133
Schubert's Serenade 135
Mazeppa 136
Fashion's Devotee 137
Christmas 138
The Tightwad 139
Blue Blood 140
The Cave Man 141
Rudyard Kipling 142
In Indiana 143
The Colonel at Home 144
The June Bride 145
At The Theatre 146
Club Day Dirge 147
Washington 149
Hours and Ponies 150
The Optimist 151
A Few Remarks 152
Little Things 153
The Umpire 154
Sherlock Holmes 155
The Sanctuary 156
The Newspaper Graveyard 157
My Lady's Hair 158
The Sick Minstrel 159
The Beggar 160
Looking Forward 161
The Depot Loafers 162
The Foolish Husband 163
Halloween 165
Rienzi To The Romans 166
The Sorrel Colt 167
Plutocrat and Poet 168
Mail Order Clothes 169
Evening 170
They All Come Back 171
The Cussing Habit 172
John Bull 173
An Oversight 174
The Traveler 175
Saturday Night 176
Lady Nicotine 177
Up-To-Date Serenade 179
The Consumer 180
Advice To A Damsel 181
The New Year Vow 182
The Stricken Toiler 183
The Law Books 184
Sleuths of Fiction 185
Put It On Ice 186
The Philanthropist 187
Other Days 188
| 2,050.383852 |
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ON A TORN-AWAY WORLD
Or
The Captives of the Great Earthquake
BY ROY ROCKWOOD
Other titles by ROY ROCKWOOD
THE GREAT MARVEL SERIES
THROUGH THE AIR TO THE NORTH POLE
UNDER THE OCEAN TO THE SOUTH POLE
FIVE THOUSAND MILES UNDERGROUND
THROUGH SPACE TO MARS
LOST ON THE MOON
ON A TORN-AWAY WORLD
DAVE DASHAWAY, THE YOUNG AVIATOR
DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS HYDROPLANE
DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS GIANT AIRSHIP
DAVE DASHAWAY AROUND THE WORLD
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS ON MOTOR CYCLES
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR RACING AUTO
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR POWER LAUNCH
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS IN A SUBMARINE
CONTENTS
I. SHOT INTO THE AIR!
II. MARK HANGS ON
III. THIS FLIGHT OF THE "SNOWBIRD"
IV. "WHO GOES THERE?"
V. BETWEEN TWO PERILS
VI. ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND
VII. DROPPED FROM THE SKY
VIII. PHINEAS ROEBACH, OIL HUNTER
IX. THE EARTHQUAKE
X. THE BLACK DAY
XI. THE WONDERFUL LEAP
XII. THE GEYSER
XIII. NATURE GONE MAD
XIV. ON THE WING AGAIN
XV. A PLUNGE TO THE ICE
XVI. PROFESSOR HENDERSON REVEALS THE TRUTH
XVII. ON AN ISLAND IN THE AIR
XVIII. IMPRISONED IN THE ICE
XIX. A NIGHT ATTACK
XX. THE HEROISM OF THE SHANGHAI ROOSTER
XXI. MARK ON GUARD
XXII. THE WOLF TRAIL
XXIII. THE FIGHT AT ALEUKAN
XXIV. THE FLIGHT TOWARD THE COAST
XXV. THE HERD of KADIAKS
XXVI. THE ABANDONED CITY
XXVII. THE WHALE HUNT ASHORE
XXVIII. ON THE WHALING BARK
XXIX. WHEN THE SEA ROLLED BACK
XXX. AN ENDURING MONUMENT--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
SHOT INTO THE AIR
"Hurrah!" shouted Jack Darrow, flicking the final drops of lacquer
from the paintbrush he had been using. "That's the last stroke. She's
finished!"
"I guess we've done all we can to her before her trial trip," admitted
his chum, Mark Sampson, but in a less confident tone.
"You don't see anything wrong with her, old croaker; do you?" demanded
Jack, laughing as usual.
"'The proof of the pudding is in the eating thereof; not in chewing
the pudding bag string'," quoted Mark, still with a serious countenance.
But like Jack he stood off from the great body of the wonderful airship,
and looked the completed task over with some satisfaction. Having
emergency wings, she was also a plane. She was white all over and her
name was the _Snowbird_. Jack and Mark had spent most of their time
during this vacation from their college in building this flying machine,
which was veritably an up-to-the-minute aerial vehicle, built for both
speed and carrying capacity.
The | 2,051.18161 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon
in an extended version,also linking to free sources for
education worldwide... MOOC's, educational materials,...)
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
STUDIES OF HAND AND SOUL
IN THE FAR EAST
BY
LAFCADIO HEARN
LECTURER ON ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE
IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF JAPAN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
1897
CONTENTS
I. A LIVING GOD
II. OUT OF THE STREET
III. NOTES OF A TRIP TO KYŌTO
IV. DUST
V. ABOUT FACES EN JAPANESE ART
VI. NINGYŌ-NO-HAKA
VII. IN ŌSAKA
VIII. BUDDHIST ALLUSIONS IN JAPANESE FOLK-SONG
IX. NIRVANA
X. THE REBIRTH OF KATSUGORŌ
XI. WITHIN THE CIRCLE
GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS
I
A LIVING GOD
I
Of whatever dimension, the temples or shrines of pure Shintō are all
built in the same archaic style. The typical shrine is a windowless
oblong building of unpainted timber, with a very steep overhanging
roof; the front is the gable end; and the upper part of the perpetually
closed doors is wooden lattice-work,--usually a grating of bars
closely set and crossing each other at right angles. In most cases
the structure is raised slightly above the ground on wooden pillars;
and the queer peaked façade, with its visor-like apertures and the
fantastic projections of beam-work above its gable-angle, might remind
the European traveler of certain old Gothic forms of dormer. There is
no artificial color. The plain wood[1] soon turns, under the action of
rain and sun, to a natural grey, varying according to surface exposure
from the silvery tone of birch bark to the sombre grey of basalt. So
shaped and so tinted, the isolated country _yashiro_ may seem less like
a work of joinery than a feature of the scenery,--a rural form related
to nature as closely as rocks and trees,--a something that came into
existence only as a manifestation of Ohotsuchi-no-Kami, the Earth-god,
the primeval divinity of the land.
Why certain architectural forms produce in the beholder a feeling of
weirdness is a question about which I should like to theorize some
day: at present I shall venture only to say that Shinto shrines evoke
such a feeling. It grows with familiarity instead of weakening; and a
knowledge of popular beliefs is apt to intensify it. We have no English
words by which these queer shapes can be sufficiently described,--much
less any language able to communicate the peculiar impression which
they make. Those Shinto terms which we loosely render by the words
"temple" and "shrine" are really untranslatable;--I mean that the
Japanese ideas attaching to them cannot be conveyed by translation. The
so-called "august house" of the Kami is not so much a temple, in the
classic meaning of the term, as it is a haunted room, a spirit-chamber,
a ghost-house; many of the lesser divinities being veritably
ghosts,--ghosts of great warriors and heroes and rulers and teachers,
who lived and loved and died hundreds or thousands of years ago. I
fancy that to the Western mind the word "ghost-house" will convey,
better than such terms as "shrine" and "temple," some vague notion of
the strange character of the Shinto _miya_ or _yashiro,_--containing
in its perpetual dusk nothing more substantial than symbols or tokens,
the latter probably of paper. Now the emptiness behind the visored
front is more suggestive than anything material could possibly be;
and when you remember that millions of people during thousands of
years have worshipped their great dead before such _yashiro,--_that
a whole race still believes those buildings tenanted by viewless
conscious personalities,--you are apt also to reflect how difficult
it would be to prove the faith absurd. Nay! in spite of Occidental
reluctances,--in spite of whatever you may think it expedient to say
or not to say at a later time about the experience,--you may very
likely find yourself for a moment forced into the attitude of respect
toward possibilities. Mere cold reasoning will not help you far in the
opposite direction. The evidence of the senses counts for little: you
know there are ever so many realities which can neither be seen nor
heard nor felt, but which exist as forces,--tremendous forces. Then
again you cannot mock the conviction of forty millions of people while
that conviction thrills all about you like the air,--while conscious
that it is pressing upon your psychical being just as the atmosphere
presses upon your physical being. As for myself, whenever I am alone in
the presence of a Shinto shrine, I have the sensation of being haunted;
and I cannot help thinking about the possible apperceptions of the
haunter. And this tempts me to fancy how I should feel if I myself were
a god,--dwelling in some old Izumo shrine on the summit of a hill,
guarded by stone lions and shadowed by a holy grove.
Elfishly small my habitation might be, but never too small, because I
should have neither size nor form. I should be only a vibration,--a
motion invisible as of ether or of magnetism; though able sometimes to
shape me a shadow-body, in the likeness of my former visible self, when
I should wish to make apparition.
As air to the bird, as water to the fish, so would all substance be
permeable to the essence of me. I should pass at will through the walls
of my dwelling to swim in the long gold bath of a sunbeam, to thrill in
the heart of a flower, to ride on the neck of a dragon-fly.
Power above life and power over death would be mine,--and the power of
self-extension, and the power of self-multiplication, and the power of
being in all places at one and the same moment. Simultaneously in a
hundred homes I should hear myself worshiped, I should inhale the vapor
of a hundred offerings: each evening, from my place within a hundred
household shrines, I should see the holy lights lighted for me in
lamplets of red clay, in lamplets of brass,--the lights of the Kami,
kindled with purest fire and fed with purest oil.
But in my yashiro upon the hill I should have greatest honor: there
betimes I should gather the multitude of my selves together; there
should I unify my powers to answer supplication.
From the dusk of my ghost-house I should look for the coming of
sandaled feet, and watch brown supple fingers weaving to my bars the
knotted papers which are records of vows, and observe the motion of the
lips of my worshipers making prayer:--
_--"Harai | 2,051.287397 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Demian Katz and the Online
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[Illustration: "I must return to the house! There's something in the
garret I must have."--page 34.]
ALICE WILDE:
THE
RAFTSMAN'S DAUGHTER.
A
FOREST ROMANCE.
BY MRS. METTA V. VICTOR.
NEW YORK:
IRWIN P. BEADLE AND COMPANY,
141 WILLIAM ST., CORNER OF FULTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1860, by
IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
ALICE WILDE.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE CABIN HOME.
CHAPTER II. PALLAS AND SATURN.
CHAPTER III. REJECTED ADDRESSES.
CHAPTER IV. BEN PERKINS.
CHAPTER V. AN APPALLING VISITOR.
CHAPTER VI. THE COLD HOUSE-WARMING.
CHAPTER VII. SUSPENSE.
CHAPTER VIII. AWAY FROM HOME.
CHAPTER IX. A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER.
CHAPTER X. RECONCILIATION.
CHAPTER XI. A MEETING IN THE WOODS.
CHAPTER XII. FAMILY AFFAIRS.
CHAPTER XIII. THE TORNADO.
CHAPTER XIV. GATHERING TOGETHER.
CHAPTER XV. BEN AND ALICE.
CHAPTER I.
THE CABIN HOME.
"That ar' log bobs 'round like the old sea-sarpint," muttered Ben
Perkins to himself, leaning forward with his pole-hook and trying to
fish it, without getting himself too deep in the water. "Blast the
thing! I can't tackle it no how;" and he waded in deeper, climbed on
to a floating log, and endeavored again to catch the one which so
provokingly evaded him.
Ben was a "hand" employed in David Wilde's saw-mill, a few rods farther
up the creek, a young fellow not without claims to admiration as a
fine specimen of his kind and calling. His old felt-hat shadowed hair
as black as an Indian's, and made the swarthy hue of his face still
darker; his cheeks and lips were red, and his eyes blacker than his
hair. The striped wammus bound at the waist by a leather belt, and the
linen trowsers rolled up to the knees, were picturesque in their way
and not unbecoming the lithe, powerful figure.
Ben had bobbed for saw-logs a great many times in his life, | 2,051.988126 |
2023-11-16 18:51:16.0601310 | 1,601 | 6 | FRESHMAN***
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 23644-h.htm or 23644-h.zip:
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MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL SERIES
By PAULINE LESTER
Cloth Bound, Cover Designs in Colors
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SOPHOMORE.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Poising herself on the bank, she cut the water in a
clean, sharp dive. Page 234. Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman]
* * * * * *
MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN
by
PAULINE LESTER
Author of
"Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Junior"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Senior"
A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York
Copyright, 1917 by A. L. Burt Company
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN
CHAPTER I
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
"What am I going to do without you, Marjorie?" Mary Raymond's blue eyes
looked suspiciously misty as she solemnly regarded her chum.
"What am I going to do without _you_, you mean," corrected Marjorie
Dean, with a wistful smile. "Please, please don't let's talk of it. I
simply can't bear it."
"One, two--only two more weeks now," sighed Mary. "You'll surely write
to me, Marjorie?"
"Of course, silly girl," returned Marjorie, patting her friend's arm
affectionately. "I'll write at least once a week."
Marjorie Dean's merry face looked unusually sober as she walked down the
corridor beside Mary and into the locker room of the Franklin High
School. The two friends put on their wraps almost in silence. The
majority of the girl students of the big city high school had passed out
some little time before. Marjorie had lingered for a last talk with Miss
Fielding, who taught English and was the idol of the school, while Mary
had hung about outside the classroom to wait for her chum. It seemed to
Mary that the greatest sorrow of her sixteen years had come. Marjorie,
her sworn ally and confidante, was going away for good and all.
When, six years before, a brown-eyed little girl of nine, with long
golden-brown curls, had moved into the house next door to the Raymonds,
Mary had lost no time in making her acquaintance. They had begun with
shy little nods and smiles, which soon developed into doorstep
confidences. Within two weeks Mary, whose eyes were very blue, and whose
short yellow curls reminded one of the golden petals of a daffodil, had
become Marjorie's adorer and slave. She it was who had escorted Marjorie
to the Lincoln Grammar School and seen her triumphantly through her
first week there. She had thrilled with unselfish pride to see how
quickly the other little girls of the school had succumbed to Marjorie's
charm. She had felt a most delightful sense of pardonable vanity when,
as the year progressed, Marjorie had preferred her above all the others.
She had clung to Mary, even though Alice Lawton, who rode to school
every day in a shining limousine, had tried her utmost to be best
friends with the brown-eyed little girl whose pretty face and lovable
personality had soon made her the pet of the school.
Year after year Mary and Marjorie had lived side by side and kept their
childish faith. But now, here they were, just beginning their freshman
year in Franklin High School, to which they had so long looked forward,
and about to be separated; for Marjorie's father had been made manager
of the northern branch of his employer's business and Marjorie was going
to live in the little city of Sanford. Instead of being a freshman in
dear old Franklin, she was to enter the freshman class in Sanford High
School, where she didn't know a solitary girl, and where she was sure
she would be too unhappy for words.
During the first days which had followed the dismaying news that
Marjorie Dean was going to leave Franklin High School and go hundreds of
miles away, the two friends had talked of little else. There was so much
to be said, yet now that their parting was but two weeks off they felt
the weight of the coming separation bearing heavily upon them. Both
young faces wore expressions of deepest gloom as they walked slowly down
the steps of the school building and traversed the short space of stone
walk that led to the street.
It was Marjorie who broke the silence.
"No other girl can ever be as dear to me as you are. You know that,
don't you, Mary?"
Mary nodded mutely. Her blue eyes had filled with a sudden rush of hot
tears.
"But it won't do any good," continued Marjorie, slowly, "for us to mourn
over being separated. We know how we feel about each other, and that's
going to be a whole lot of comfort to us after--I'm gone." Her girlish
treble faltered slightly. Then she threw her arm across Mary's shoulder
and said with forced steadiness of tone: "I'm not going to be a silly
and cry. This is one of those 'vicissitudes' of life that Professor
Taylor was talking about in chapel yesterday. We must be very brave.
We'll write lots of letters and visit each other during vacation, and
perhaps, some day I'll come back here to live."
"Of course you will. You must come back," nodded Mary, her face
brightening at the prospect of a future reunion, even though remote.
"Can't you come with me to dinner?" coaxed Marjorie, as they paused at
the corner where they were accustomed to wait for their respective
street cars. "You know, you are one of mother's exceptions. I never have
to give notice before bringing you home."
"Not to-night. I'm going out this evening," returned Mary, vaguely. "I
must hurry home."
"Where are you going?" asked Marjorie, curiously. "You never said a
word about it this morning."
"Oh, didn't I? Well, I'm going out with----Here comes your car,
Marjorie. You'd better hurry home, too."
"Why?" Marjorie's brown eyes looked their reproach. "Do you want to get
rid of me, Mary? I've oceans of time before dinner. You know we never
have it until half-past six. Never mind, I'll take this car. Good-bye."
With | 2,052.080171 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. =Bold font= is
indicated with the ‘=’ character.
Footnotes are limited to a single quoted passage, and have been
relocated to follow that passage.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
TOBACCO:
GROWING, CURING, AND MANUFACTURING.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TOBACCO:
GROWING, CURING, & MANUFACTURING.
A HANDBOOK FOR PLANTERS
IN ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD.
EDITED BY
C. G. WARNFORD LOCK, F.L.S.
[Illustration]
E. & F. N. SPON, 125, STRAND, LONDON.
NEW YORK: 35, MURRAY STREET.
1886.
PREFACE.
Tobacco growing is one of the most profitable branches of tropical and
sub-tropical agriculture; the$1“$2”$3has even been proposed as a
remunerative crop for the British farmer, and is very extensively grown
in continental Europe. The attention recently drawn to the subject has
resulted in many inquiries for information useful to the planter
desirous of starting a tobacco estate. But beyond scattered articles in
newspapers and the proceedings of agricultural societies, there has been
no practical literature available for the English reader. It is a little
remarkable that while our neighbours have been writing extensively about
tobacco growing, of late years, no English book devoted exclusively to
this subject has been published for nearly thirty years. A glance at the
bibliography given at the end of this volume will show that the French,
German, Swiss, Italian, Dutch, Sicilian, and even Scandinavian planter
has a reliable handbook to guide him in this important branch of
agriculture, while British settlers in our numerous tobacco-growing
colonies must glean their information as best they may from periodical
literature.
To supply the want thus indicated, the present volume has been prepared.
The invaluable assistance of tobacco-planters in both the Indies and in
many other tropical countries, has rendered the portion relating to
field operations eminently practical and complete, while the editor’s
acquaintance with agricultural chemistry and familiarity with the best
tobacco-growing regions of Asiatic Turkey, have enabled him to exercise
a general supervision over the statements of the various contributors.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE PLANT 1
CHAPTER II.
CULTIVATION 7
CHAPTER III.
CURING 67
CHAPTER IV.
PRODUCTION AND COMMERCE 137
CHAPTER V.
PREPARATION AND USE 231
CHAPTER VI.
NATURE AND PROPERTIES 253
CHAPTER VII.
ADULTERATIONS AND SUBSTITUTES 267
CHAPTER VIII.
IMPORTS, DUTIES, VALUES, AND CONSUMPTION 271
CHAPTER IX.
BIBLIOGRAPHY 276
INDEX 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FIG. PAGE
1. CUBAN TOBACCO PLANT 4
2. MARYLAND TOBACCO PLANT 5
3. AMERSFORT TOBACCO PLANT 6
4. STRAW MAT FOR COVERING SEED-BEDS 47
5. SHADE FRAMES USED IN CUBA 49
6. QUINCUNX PLANTING 52
7. TOBACCO WORM AND MOTH 56
8. SHED FOR SUN-CURING TOBACCO 83
9. HANGING BUNCHES OF LEAVES 95
10. TOBACCO BARN 95
11. INTERIOR OF TOBACCO BARN 96
12. HAND OF TOBACCO 108
13. PACKING HOGSHEAD 133
14 to 17. TOBACCO-CUTTING MACHINE 234
18. MACHINE FOR MAKING PLUG TOBACCO 237
19 to 21. MACHINE FOR MAKING TWIST OR ROLL TOBACCO 238
22, 23. DIAGRAMS OF SEGMENT ROLLERS OF TWIST MACHINE 240
24 to 26. ANDREW’S IMPROVEMENTS IN TWIST MACHINE 243–4
27. MACHINE FOR CUTTING AND SIFTING SCRAP TOBACCO 246
28. MACHINE FOR MAKING CIGARETTES 247
29. RESWEATING APPARATUS 249
30. MACHINE FOR WEIGHING OUT SMALL PARCELS OF TOBACCO 250
31. TOBACCO-CUTTING MACHINE 252
TOBACCO:
GROWING, CURING, AND MANUFACTURING.
CHAPTER I.
THE PLANT.
Next to the most common grains and pulses, probably no plant is so
widely and generally cultivated as tobacco. In what country or at what
date its use originated has little to do with us from a practical point
of view, though interesting enough as a subject for the student of
ethnography and natural history. Suffice it to say that it has been
grown and smoked since pre-historic times in many tropical and
sub-tropical countries, and has assumed an importance in modern daily
life only surpassed by a few prominent food plants and cotton.
This long-continued and widespread cultivation has helped to produce
local varieties or races of the plant which have sometimes been mistaken
for distinct species, and caused a multiplication of scientific names
almost bewildering. The following epitome comprehends the species and
varieties of _Nicotiana_ possessing interest for the cultivator:—
I. _N. Tabacum macrophylla_ [_latifolia_, _lattissima_,
_gigantea_]—Maryland tobacco. Of this, there are two sub-species—(1)
Stalkless Maryland, of the following varieties: (_a_) _N. macrophylla
ovata_—short-leaved Maryland, producing a good smoking-tobacco, (_b_)
_N. macrophylla longifolia_—long-leaved Maryland, yielding a good
smoking-tobacco, and excellent wrappers for cigars, (_c_) _N.
macrophylla pandurata_—broad-leaved, or Amersfort, much cultivated in
Germany and Holland, a heavy cropper, and especially adapted for the
manufacture of good snuff; (2) Stalked Maryland, of the following
varieties: (_a_) _N. macrophylla alata_, (_b_) _N. macrophylla
cordata_—heart-shaped Maryland, producing a very fine leaf, from which
probably the finest Turkish is obtained. Cuban and Manilla are now
attributed to this group.
II. _N. Tabacum angustifolia_—Virginian tobacco. Of this, there are two
sub-species—(1) Stalkless Virginian of the following varieties: (_a_)
_N. angustifolia acuminata_, grown in Germany for snuff, seldom for
smoking, (_b_) _N. angustifolia lanceolata_, affords snuff, (_c_) _N.
angustifolia pendulifolia_, another snuff tobacco, (_d_) _N.
angustifolia latifolia_—broad-leaved Virginian, used chiefly for snuff,
(_e_) _N. angustifolia undulata_—wave-like Virginian, matures quickly,
(_f_) _N. angustifolia pandurata_, furnishes good leaves for smoking,
produces heavily, and is much grown in Germany, and said to be grown at
the Pruth as “tempyki,” and highly esteemed there; (2) Stalked
Virginian, of the following varieties: (_a_) _N. angustifolia alata_,
(_b_) _N. angustifolia lanceolata_ [_N. fructiosa_], growing to a height
of 8 ft., (_c_) _N. angustifolia oblonga_, (_d_) _N. angustifolia
cordata_—E. Indian, producing heavily in good soil, and well adapted for
snuff, but not for smoking. Latakia and Turkish are now accredited to
_N. Tabacum_.
III. _N. rustica._—Common, Hungarian, or Turkish tobacco. Of this, there
are two varieties: (_a_) _N. rustica cordata_—large-leaved Hungarian,
Brazilian, Turkish, Asiatic, furnishing leaves for smoking; (_b_) _N.
rustica ovata_—small-leaved Hungarian, affords fine aromatic leaves for
smoking, but the yield is small. Until quite recently, Latakia, Turkish,
and Manilla tobaccos were referred to this species; Latakia is now
proved to belong to _N. Tabacum_, and Manilla is said to be absolutely
identical with Cuban, which latter is now ascribed to _N. Tabacum
macrophylla_.
IV. _N. crispa._—This species is much grown in Syria, Calabria, and
Central Asia, and furnishes leaves for the celebrated cigars of the
Levant.
V. _N. persica._—Hitherto supposed to be a distinct species, affording
the Shiraz tobacco, but now proved to be only a form of _N. Tabacum_.
VI. _N. repanda._—A Mexican plant, with small foliage. Long thought to
be a distinct species peculiar to Cuba, but none such is now to be found
in Cuba, whether wild or cultivated, and all the Cuban tobacco is now
obtained from _N. Tabacum macrophyllum_.
Among the many other forms interesting only to the botanist or
horticulturist, the principal are _N. paniculata_, _N. glutinosa_, _N.
glauca_, attaining a height of 18 ft., and _N. clevelandii_, exceedingly
strong, quite recently discovered in California, and supposed to have
been used by the early natives of that country.
Thus the bulk of the best tobaccos of the world is afforded by the old
well-known species _Nicotiana Tabacum_.
A good idea of the foliage and inflorescence of commonly cultivated
tobaccos may be gained from a study of the accompanying illustrations.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
Fig. 1 is a Cuban tobacco, and much grown on the continent of Europe,
notably in Holland, Germany, and Switzerland, and there known as
_goundie_, from the name of an American consul who introduced the plant
into Germany in 1848. It has a broad yet somewhat pointed leaf, with the
ribs not arranged in pairs; it is fine, soft, thin, and esteemed for
smoking in pipes and for wrappers of cigars.
One variety of the Maryland plant is shown in Fig. 2. The leaves spring
from a tall stem at considerable intervals, and are broad and rounded at
the end. This kind is valued for cigar-wrappers, and assumes a fine
light brown colour when well cured.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
A broad-leaved Cuban or Maryland growth long naturalized in Germany, and
now familiar as Amersfort, is represented in Fig. 3. It is distinguished
by unusual length of leaf accompanied by a corresponding narrowness. A
stem and flower are shown at _a_, a leaf at _b_, a flower in section at
_c_, a capsule at _d_, a seed at _e_, and a cross-section of a leaflet
at _f_.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
These three examples represent the most successful kinds grown in Europe
and at the same time some of the most marked diversities of form of
leaf.
CHAPTER II.
CULTIVATION.
The following observations on the methods of cultivating tobacco have
reference more particularly to the processes as conducted in Cuba,
India, and the United States; this branch of agriculture has been
brought to great perfection in the last-named country, and the
supervision of the operations in India is mostly entrusted to skilled
Americans.
_Climate._—Of the many conditions affecting the quality of tobacco, the
most important is climate. The other conditions that must be fulfilled
in order to succeed in the cultivation of this crop may be modified, or
even sometimes created, to suit the purpose; but cultivators can do
little with reference to climate: the utmost they can do is to change
the cultivating season | 2,052.281659 |
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*ROSE OF THE WORLD*
BY
AGNES & EGERTON CASTLE
AUTHORS OF
"THE SECRET ORCHARD" AND "THE STAR DREAMER"
_O Dream of my Life, my Glory,_
_O Rose of the World, my Dream_
(THE DOMINION OF DREAMS)
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE
1905
(_All rights reserved_)
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.
*BOOK I*
*ROSE OF THE WORLD*
*CHAPTER I*
It is our fate as a nation, head and heart of a world empire, that much
of our manhood must pursue its career far away from home. And it is our
strength that these English sons of ours have taught themselves to make
it home wherever they find their work.
The fervid land of India had become home to Raymond Bethune for so many
years that it would have been difficult for him to picture his life
elsewhere. The glamour of the East, of the East that is England's, had
entered into his blood, without, however, altering its cool northern
deliberate course; that it can be thus with our children, therein also
lies the strength of England.
Raymond Bethune, Major of Guides, loved the fierce lads to whom he was
at once father and despot, as perhaps he could have loved no troop of
honest thick-skulled English soldiers. He was content with the
comradeship of his brother officers, men who thought like himself and
fought like himself; content to spend the best years of existence
hanging between heaven and earth on the arid flanks of a Kashmir
mountain range, in forts the walls of which had been cemented by
centuries of blood; looked forward, without blenching, to the
probability of laying down his life in some obscure frontier skirmish,
unmourned and unnoticed. His duty sufficed him. He found happiness in
it that it was his duty. Such men as he are the very stones of our
Empire's foundation.
* * * * *
Yet though he was thus intimately satisfied with his life and his life's
task, Bethune was conscious of a strange emotion, almost a contraction
of the heart, as he followed the kitmutgar to Lady Gerardine's
drawing-room in the palace of the Lieutenant-Governor, this October day.
The town below hung like a great rose jewel, scintillating, palpitating,
in a heat unusual for the autumn of Northern India. Out of the glare,
the colour, the movement, the noise; out of the throng of smells--spice,
scent, garlic, the indescribable breath of the East--into the dim cool
room; it was like stepping from India into England! And by the tug at
his heart-strings he might have analysed (had he been of those that
analyse) that, after all, the old home was nearest and dearest still;
might have realised that his content beneath the scorching suns, amid
the blinding snows of his adopted country, arose after all but of his
deep filial love of, and pride in, the distant English isle.
He put down his bat and looked round: not a hint of tropical colour, not
a touch of exotic fancy, of luxuriant oriental art anywhere; but the
green and white and rosebud of chintz, the spindle-legged elegance of
Chippendale, the soft note of Chelsea china, the cool greys and whites
of Wedgwood. From the very flower-bowl a fastidious hand had excluded
all but those delicate blossoms our paler sunshine nourishes. Some such
room, dignified with the consciousness of a rigid selection, reticent to
primness in its simple yet distinguished art, fragrant with the
potpourri of English gardens, fragrant too with memories of generations
of wholesome English gentlefolks, you may meet with any day in some old
manor-house of the shires. To transport the complete illusion to the
heart of India, Bethune knew well must have cost more labour and money
than if the neighbouring palaces had been ransacked for their treasures.
It was obvious, too, that the fancy here reigning supreme was that of
one who looked upon her | 2,052.282512 |
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[Illustration: TAINE, DANTE, GOETHE, CERVANTES]
THE BEST
_of the_
WORLD'S CLASSICS
RESTRICTED TO PROSE
HENRY CABOT LODGE
_Editor-in-Chief_
FRANCIS W. HALSEY
_Associate Editor_
With an Introduction, Biographical
and Explanatory Notes, etc.
IN TEN VOLUMES
Vol. VIII
CONTINENTAL EUROPE--II
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
* * * * *
The Best of the World's Classics
VOL. VIII
CONTINENTAL EUROPE--II
* * * * *
CONTENTS
VOL. VIII--CONTINENTAL EUROPE--II
FRANCE--CONTINUED
1805-1909
ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE--(Born in 1805, died in 1859.)
The Tyranny of the American Majority.
(From Chapter XV of "Democracy in America." Translated by Henry Reeve)
ALFRED DE MUSSET--(Born in 1810, died in 1857.)
Titian's Son After a Night at Play.
(From "Titian's Son." Translated by Erie Arthur Bell)
THEOPHILE GAUTIER--(Born in 1811, died in 1872.)
Pharaoh's Entry into Thebes.
(From the "Romance of a Mummy." Translated by M. Young)
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT--(Born in 1821, died in 1880.)
Yonville and Its People.
(From Part II of "Madame Bovary." Translated by Eleanor Marx-Aveling)
JOSEPH ERNEST RENAN--(Born in 1823, died in 1892.)
An Empire in Robust Youth.
(From the "History of the Origins of Christianity.")
HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE--(Born in 1828, died in 1893.)
I Thackeray as a Satirist.
(From Book V, Chapter II, of the "History of English Literature."
Translated by H. van Laun)
II When the King Got up for the Day.
(From "The Ancient Regime." Translated by John Durand)
EMILE ZOLA--(Born in 1840, died in 1902.)
Glimpses of Napoleon III in Time of War.
(From "La Debacle." Translated by E. P. Robins)
ALPHONSE DAUDET--(Born in 1840, died in 1897.)
I A Great Man's Widow.
(From "Artists' Wives." Translated by Laura Ensor)
II My First Dress Coat.
(From "Thirty Years of Paris." Translated by Laura Ensor)
GUY DE MAUPASSANT--(Born in 1850, died in 1893.)
Madame Jeanne's Last Days.
(From the last chapter of "A Life." Translated by Eric Arthur Bell)
GERMANY
1483-1859
MARTIN LUTHER--(Born in 1483, died in 1546.)
Some of His Table Talk and Sayings.
(From the "Table Talk.")
GOTTHOLD E. LESSING--(Born in 1729, died in 1781.)
I Poetry and Painting Compared.
(From the preface to the "Laocoon." Translated by E. C. Beasley and
Helen Zimmern)
II Of Suffering Held in Restraint.
(From Chapter I of the "Laocoon." Translated by Beasley and Zimmern)
JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE--(Born in 1749, died in 1832.)
I On First Reading Shakespeare.
(From "Wilhelm Meister." Translated by Thomas Carlyle)
II The Coronation of Joseph II.
(From Book XII of the "Autobiography." Translated by John Oxenford)
FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER--(Born in 1759, died in 1808.)
I The Battle of Lutzen.
(From the "History of the Thirty Years' War." Translated by A. J. W.
Morrison)
II Philip II and the Netherlands.
(From the introduction to the "History of the Revolt of the
Netherlands." Translated by Morrison)
WILHELM VON SCHLEGEL--(Born in 1767, died in 1845.)
Shakespeare's "Macbeth."
(From the "Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature." Translated by
John Black, revised by A. J. W. Morrison)
ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT--(Born in 1769, died in 1859.)
An Essay on Man.
(From his "General Review of Natural Phenomena." in Volume I of
"Cosmos." Translated by E. C. Otto and W. S. Dallas)
HEINRICH HEINE--(Born in 1799, died in 1856.)
Reminiscences of Napoleon.
(From Chapters VII, VIII and IX of "Travel Pictures." Translated by
Francis Storr)
ITALY
1254-1803
MARCO POLO--(Born in 1254, died in 1324.)
A Description of Japan.
(From the "Travels.")
DANTE ALIGHIERI--(Born in 1265, died in 1321.)
I That Long Descent Makes No Man Noble.
(From Book IV, Chapter XIV of "The Banquet." Translated by Katharine
Hillard)
II Of Beatrice and Her Death.
(From "The New Life." Translated by Charles Eliot Norton)
FRANCESCO PETRARCH--(Born in 1304, died in 1374.)
Of Good and Evil Fortune.
(From the "Treatise on the Remedies of Good and Bad Fortune.")
GIOVANNI BOCCACIO--(Born probably in 1313, died in 1375.)
The Patient Griselda.
(From the "Decameron.")
NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI--(Born in 1469, died in 1527.)
Ought Princes to Keep Their Promises?
(From Chapter XVIII of "The Prince.")
BENVENUTO CELLINI--(Born in 1500, died in 1571.)
The Casting of His "Perseus and Medusa."
(From the "Autobiography." Translated by William Roscoe)
GIORGIO VASARI--(Born in 1511, died in 1574.)
Of Raphael and His Early Death.
(From "The Lives of the Most Famous Painters, Sculptors and
Architects." Translated by Mrs. Jonathan Foster)
CASANOVA DE SEINGALT--(Born in 1725, died probably in 1803.)
His Interview with Frederick the Great.
(From the "Memoirs.")
OTHER COUNTRIES
1465-1909
DESIDERIUS ERASMUS--(Born in 1465, died in 1536.)
Specimens of His Wit and Wisdom.
(From various books)
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES--(Born in 1547, died in 1616.)
I The Beginnings of Don Quixote's Career.
(From "Don Quixote." Translated by John Jarvis)
II Of How Don Quixote Died.
(From "Don Quixote." Translated by John Jarvis)
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN--(Born in 1805, died in 1875.)
The Emperor's New Clothes.
(From the "Tales.")
IVAN SERGEYEVITCH TURGENEFF--(Born in 1818, died in 1883.)
Bazarov's Death.
(From "Fathers and Children." Translated by Constance Garnett)
HENRIK IBSEN--(Born in 1828, died in 1906.)
The Thought Child.
(From "The Pretenders." Translated by William Archer)
COUNT LEO TOLSTOY--(Born in 1828.)
Shakespeare Not a Great Genius.
(From "A Critical Essay on Shakespeare." Translated by V. Tchertkoff
and I. F. M.)
* * * * *
FRANCE (Continued)
1805-1909
ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE
Born in Paris in 1805, died in 1859; studied law, taking his
degree in 1826; traveled in Italy and Sicily; in 1831
visited the United States under a commission to study the
penitentiary system; returning published a book on the
subject which was crowned by the French Academy; from
private notes taken in America then wrote his masterpiece,
"Democracy in America," which secured his election to the
Academy in 1841; spent some years in public life and then
retired in order to travel and write.
THE TYRANNY OF THE AMERICAN MAJORITY[1]
I hold it to be an impious and execrable maxim that, politically
speaking, the people has a right to do whatever it pleases; and yet I
have asserted that all authority originates in the will of the
majority. Am I then in contradiction with myself?
[Footnote 1: From Chapter XV of "Democracy in America." Translated by
Henry Reeve.]
A general law, which bears the name of justice, has been made and
sanctioned not only by a majority of this or that people, but by a
majority of mankind. The rights of every people are consequently
confined within the limits of what is just. A nation may be considered
in the light of a jury which is empowered to represent society at
large and to apply the great and general law of justice. Ought such a
jury, which represents society, to have more power than the society in
which the law it applies originates?
When I refuse to obey an unjust law, I do not contest the right which
the majority has of commanding, but I simply appeal from the
sovereignty of the people to the sovereignty of mankind. It has been
asserted that a people can never entirely outstep the boundaries of
justice and of reason in those affairs which are more peculiarly its
own; and that consequently, full power may fearlessly be given to the
majority by which it is represented. But this language is that of a
slave.
A majority, taken collectively, may be regarded as a being whose
opinions, and most frequently whose interests are opposed to those of
another being, which is styled a minority. If it be admitted that a
man possessing absolute power may misuse that power by wronging his
adversaries, why should a majority not be liable to the same reproach?
Men are not apt to change their characters by agglomerating; nor does
their patience in the presence of obstacles increase with the
consciousness of their strength. And for these reasons I can never
willingly invest any number of my fellow creatures with that unlimited
authority which I should refuse to any one of them.
I do not think that it is possible to combine several principles in
the same government so as at the same time to maintain freedom and
really to oppose them to one another. The form of government which is
usually termed mixt has always appeared to me to be a mere chimera.
Accurately speaking, there is no such thing as a mixt government, with
the meaning usually given to that word; because in all communities
some one principle of action may be discovered which preponderates
over the others. England in the last century--which has been more
especially cited as an example of this form of government--was in
point of fact an essentially aristocratic state, altho it comprized
very powerful elements of democracy; for the laws and customs of the
country were such that the aristocracy could not but preponderate in
the end, and subject the direction of public affairs to its own will.
The error arose from too much attention being paid to the actual
struggle that was going on between the nobles and the people, without
considering the probable issue of the contest, which was really the
important point. When a community actually has a mixt government--that
is to say, when it is equally divided between two adverse
principles--it must either pass through a revolution or fall into
complete dissolution.
I am therefore of opinion that some one social power must always be
made to predominate over the others; but I think that liberty is
endangered when this power finds no obstacle which can <DW44> its
course, and force it to moderate its own vehemence.
Unlimited power is in itself a bad and dangerous thing. Human beings
are not competent to exercise it with discretion. God only can be
omnipotent, because His wisdom and His justice are always equal to His
power. But no power on earth is so worthy of honor for itself that I
would consent to admit its uncontrolled and all-predominant authority.
When I see that the right and the means of absolute command or of
reverential obedience to the right which it represents are conferred
on a people or upon a king, upon an aristocracy or a democracy, a
monarchy or a republic, I recognize the germ of tyranny; and I journey
onward to a land of more hopeful institutions.
In my opinion, the main evil of the present democratic institutions of
the United States does not arise, as is often asserted in Europe, from
their weakness, but from their irresistible strength. I am not so much
alarmed at the excessive liberty which reigns in that country as at
the very inadequate securities which exist against tyranny.
When an individual or a party is wronged in the United States, to whom
can he apply for redress? If to public opinion, public opinion
constitutes the majority; if to the legislature, it represents the
majority, and implicitly obeys its instructions; if to the executive
power, it is appointed by the majority, and is a passive tool in its
hands. The public troops consist of the majority under arms; the jury
is the majority invested with the right of hearing judicial cases; and
in certain cases, even the judges are elected by the majority. However
iniquitous or absurd the evil of which you complain may be, you must
submit to it as well as you can.
If, on the other hand, a legislative power could be so constituted as
to represent the majority without necessarily being the slave of its
passions, an executive so as to retain a certain degree of
uncontrolled authority, and a judiciary so as to remain independent of
the other two powers, a government would be formed which would still
be democratic, without incurring any risk of tyranny.
I do not say that there is a frequent use of tyranny in America at the
present day; but I maintain that no sure barrier is established
against it, and that the causes which mitigate the government are to
be found in the circumstances and the manners of the country more than
in its laws.
ALFRED DE MUSSET
Born in 1810, died in 1857; educated at the College of Henry
II in Paris; published "Tales of Spain and Italy," a volume
of verse, in 1829; followed by other collections of verse in
1831 and 1832; went to Italy in 1833 with George Sand, with
whom he quarreled in Venice and returned to France;
published "Confessions of a Child of the Century" in 1836;
wrote stories and plays as well as poems; elected to the
Academy in 1852.
TITIAN'S SON AFTER A NIGHT AT PLAY[2]
In the month of February of the year 1580 a young man was crossing the
Piazzeta at Venice at early dawn. His clothes were in disorder, his
cap, from which hung a beautiful scarlet feather, was pulled down over
his ears. He was walking with long strides toward the banks of the
Schiavoni, and his sword and cloak were dragging behind him, while
with a somewhat disdainful foot he picked his way among the fishermen
lying asleep on the ground. Having arrived at the bridge of Paille,
he stopt and looked around him. The moon was setting behind the
Giudecca and the dawn was gilding the Ducal Palace. From time to time
thick smoke or a brilliant light could be seen from some neighboring
palace. Planks, stones, enormous blocks of marble, and debris of every
kind obstructed the Canal of the Prisons. A recent fire had just
destroyed the home of a patrician which lined its banks. A volley of
sparks shot up from time to time, and by this sinister light an armed
soldier could be seen keeping watch in the midst of the ruins.
[Footnote 2: From De Musset's story, "Titian's Son." Translated for
this collection by Eric Arthur Bell. Titian's son, who was named
Pomponio, had been destined for the Church, but proving wasteful and
dissipated, his father caused the benefice intended for him to be
transferred to a nephew. Through the death of Titian's other son
Orazio, an artist of repute, who died soon after Titian and during the
same plague, Pomponio inherited the handsome fortune his father had
left and completely squandered it.]
Our young man, however, did not seem to be imprest either with this
spectacle of destruction or with the beauty of the sky, tinged with
the rosy colors of the dawning day. He looked for some time at the
horizon, | 2,052.2826 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE LUSHEI KUKI CLANS
BY
Lt.-COLONEL J. SHAKESPEAR
Published under the orders of the
Government of Eastern Bengal
and Assam
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAP
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1912
Copyright.
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited BRUNSWICK STREET,
STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO
"THANGLIANA"
Lieut.-Colonel T. H. Lewin
THE FRUITS OF WHOSE LABOURS I WAS PRIVILEGED TO REAP,
AND WHO, AFTER AN ABSENCE OF NEARLY FORTY YEARS,
IS STILL AFFECTIONATELY REMEMBERED BY THE LUSHAIS.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction xiii
Bibliography xvii
Glossary xix
PART I
THE LUSHEI CLANS
CHAPTER I PAGE
General 1
1. Habitat. 2. Appearance and physical characteristics.
3. History. 4. Affinities. 5. Dress. 6. Tattooing.
7. Ornaments. 8. Weapons.
CHAPTER II
Domestic Life 17
1. Occupation. 2. Weights and Measures. 3. Villages.
4. Houses. 5. Furniture. 6. Implements--Agricultural,
Musical, Household. 7. Manufactures--Basket work, Pottery,
Brass work, | 2,052.485588 |
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Produced by Tom Cosmas from materials made available at
The Internet Archive (https://archive.org/).
Transcriber Note
Text emphasis denoted by _Italics_.
[Illustration:
_Henry Dearborn was born in New Hampshire in 1751. He was an officer in
the American army, took part in the battle of Bunker Hill, was present
at the capture of Burgoyne's army, and remained in the service until the
end of the war. In 1801 he was appointed Secretary of War under President
Jefferson, and held that office for eight years._
_In 1812 Dearborn was appointed Major-General and did excellent service
on the Niagara frontier during the Second War with Great Britain. John
Wentworth said of him that "history records no other man who was at the
battle of Bunker Hill, the surrender of Burgoyne and Cornwallis, and then
took an active part in the War of 1812."_]
THE STORY
OF
OLD FORT DEARBORN
BY
J. SEYMOUR CURREY
WITH ELEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
------
Published August, 1912
W. F. HAL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
This Volume is Dedicated to
NELLY KINZIE GORDON
_PREFACE_
THERE were two Fort Dearborns, the first one having been built in 1803.
This was occupied by a garrison of United States troops until 1812, when
it was destroyed by the Indians immediately after the bloody massacre of
that year. The second Fort Dearborn was built on the site of the former
one in 1816, and continued in use as a military post, though at several
intervals during periods of peaceful relations with the surrounding
tribes the garrisons were withdrawn for a time. In 1836 the fort was
finally evacuated by the military forces. The events narrated in the
succeeding pages of this volume concern the first or Old Fort Dearborn.
The name "Chicago," as descriptive of the river and its neighborhood, was
in use for more than a century before the first Fort Dearborn was built;
it appears on Franquelin's map printed in 1684 as "Chekagou," and is
mentioned in various forms of spelling in the written and printed records
of that and succeeding periods. It has been said that Chicago is the
oldest Indian town in the West of which the original name is retained;
thus its name enjoys a much greater antiquity than that of Fort Dearborn,
familiar as the latter name is in our local annals.
In the course of its history Chicago has existed under three flags;
first, under the domination of the French kings, from the period of
its discovery to the year 1763, when, after the French and Indian War,
it passed into the possession of the English. As British territory it
remained until the close of the Revolutionary War, when the Western
Territories were ceded by the English to the Americans at the treaty of
peace concluded in 1783; and thus the region in which Chicago is situated
finally came under the Stars and Stripes.
CONTENTS
Preface
PAGE
I Wilderness Days 3
II Fortifying the Frontier 17
III The Tragedy 95
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
General Henry Dearborn _Frontispiece_
Chicago from 1803 to 1812 3
The Wild Onion Plant 12
Bird's-Eye View of Old Fort Dearborn 27
Residence of John Kinzie 32
Mr. and Mrs. John H. Kinzie 47
Rebekah Wells Heald 58
Captain William Wells 58
Hardscrabble 74
Facsimile of Letter of General Hull to Captain Heald 103
Memorial Monument to the Massacre 136
Franquelin's Map of 1684 165
Map of Chicago in 1812 165
[Illustration: CHICAGO FROM 1803 TO 1812
_This broad view, while not accurate, gives a good general idea of
the appearance of the site of Chicago, with old Fort Dearborn and the
surrounding region, in the years from 1803 to 1812. Some of the details
are out of proportion, for instance the long sand-bar extending to the
south opposite the mouth of the river is much exaggerated, and the view
of the Kinzie house is not correct._
_Reproduced from a lithograph in the possession of The Chicago Historical
Society._]
THE STORY OF
OLD FORT DEARBORN
--------------
I
WILDERNESS DAYS
AT the time that Fort Dearborn was built the site of Chicago had been
known to the civilized world for a hundred and thirty years. The Chicago
River and the surrounding region had been discovered by two explorers,
Joliet and Marquette, who with a party of five men in two canoes were
returning from a voyage on the Mississippi, which they were the first
white men to navigate.
Joliet was the leader of the party, and he was accompanied, as was the
custom in French expeditions into unknown countries, by a missionary, who
in this case was James Marquette, a Jesuit priest. Both were young men,
Joliet twenty-eight years of age and Marquette thirty-six. The expedition
had been authorized by the French Government, the purpose being to
penetrate the western wilderness in an endeavor to reach the "Great | 2,052.580364 |
2023-11-16 18:51:16.6598860 | 2,644 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Rick Niles, Gene Smethers, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 15384-h.htm or 15384-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/3/8/15384/15384-h/15384-h.htm)
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THE REAL ADVENTURE
A Novel
by
HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER
Illustrated by R.M. Crosby
Indianapolis
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Publishers
Serial Version 1915
The Ridgway Company
Press of Braunworth & Co.
Bookbinders and Printers
Brooklyn, N.Y.
1916
[Illustration: "We can't talk here," he said. "We must go elsewhere."]
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE GREAT ILLUSION
CHAPTER
I A Point of Departure
II Beginning an Adventure
III Frederica's Plan and What Happened to It
IV Rosalind Stanton Doesn't Disappear
V The Second Encounter
VI The Big Horse
VII How It Struck Portia
VIII Rodney's Experiment
IX After Breakfast
BOOK II
LOVE AND THE WORLD
I The Princess Cinderella
II The First Question and an Answer to It
III Where Did Rose Come In
IV Long Circuits and Short
V Rodney Smiled
VI The Damascus Road
VII How the Pattern Was Cut
VIII A Birthday
IX A Defeat
X The Door That Was to Open
XI An Illustration
XII What Harriet Did
XIII Fate Plays a Joke
XIV The Dam Gives Way
XV The Only Remedy
XVI Rose Opens the Door
BOOK III
THE WORLD ALONE
I The Length of a Thousand Yards
II The Evening and the Morning Were the First Day
III Rose Keeps the Path
IV The Girl With the Bad Voice
V Mrs. Goldsmith's Taste
VI A Business Proposition
VII The End of a Fixed Idea
VIII Success--and a Recognition
IX The Man and the Director
X The Voice of the World
XI The Short Circuit Again
XII "I'm All Alone"
XIII Frederica's Paradox
XIV The Miry Way
XV In Flight
XVI Anti-Climax
XVII The End of the Tour
XVIII The Conquest of Centropolis
BOOK IV
THE REAL ADVENTURE
I The Tune Changes
II A Broken Parallel
III Friends
IV Couleur-de-rose
V The Beginning
BOOK ONE
The Great Illusion
CHAPTER I
A POINT OF DEPARTURE
"Indeed," continued the professor, glancing demurely down at his notes,
"if one were the editor of a column of--er advice to young girls, such
as I believe is to be found, along with the household hints and the
dress patterns, on the ladies' page of most of our newspapers--if one
were the editor of such a column, he might crystallize the remarks I
have been making this morning into a warning--never marry a man with a
passion for principles."
It drew a laugh, of course. Professorial jokes never miss fire. But
_the_ girl didn't laugh. She came to with a start--she had been staring
out the window--and wrote, apparently, the fool thing down in her
note-book. It was the only note she had made in thirty-five minutes.
All of his brilliant exposition of the paradox of Rousseau and
Robespierre (he was giving a course on the French Revolution), the
strange and yet inevitable fact that the softest, most sentimental,
rose-scented religion ever invented, should have produced, through its
most thoroughly infatuated disciple, the ghastliest reign of terror that
ever shocked the world; his masterly character study of the "sea-green
incorruptible," too humane to swat a fly, yet capable of sending half of
France to the guillotine in order that the half that was left might
believe unanimously in the rights of man; all this the girl had let go
by unheard, in favor, apparently, of the drone of a street piano, which
came in through the open window on the prematurely warm March wind. Of
all his philosophizing, there was not a pen-track to mar the virginity
of the page she had opened her note-book to when the lecture began.
And then, with a perfectly serious face, she had written down his silly
little joke about advice to young girls.
There was no reason in the world why she should be The Girl. There were
fifteen or twenty of them in the class along with about as many men.
And, partly because there was no reason for his paying any special
attention to her, it annoyed him frightfully that he did.
She was good-looking, of course--a rather boyishly splendid young
creature of somewhere about twenty, with a heap of hair that had, in
spite of its rather commonplace chestnut color, a sort of electric
vitality about it. She was slightly prognathous, which gave a humorous
lift to her otherwise sensible nose. She had good straight-looking,
expressive eyes, too, and a big, wide, really beautiful mouth, with
square white teeth in it, which, when she smiled or yawned--and she
yawned more luxuriously than any girl who had ever sat in his
classes--exerted a sort of hypnotic effect on him. All that, however,
left unexplained the quality she had of making you, whatever she did,
irresistibly aware of her. And, conversely, unaware of every one else
about her. A bit of campus slang occurred to him as quite literally
applicable to her. She had all the rest of them faded.
It wasn't, apparently, an effect she tried for. He had to acquit her of
that. Not even, perhaps, one that she was conscious of. When she came
early to one of his lectures--it didn't happen often--the men, showed a
practical unanimity in trying to choose seats near by, or at least where
they could see her. But while this didn't distress her at all--they were
welcome to look if they liked--she struck no attitudes for their
benefit. A sort of breezy indifference--he selected that phrase finally
as the best description of her attitude toward all of them, including
himself. When she was late, as she usually was, she slid
unostentatiously into the back row--if possible at the end where she
could look out the window. But for three minutes after she had come in,
he knew he might as well have stopped his lecture and begun reciting the
Greek alphabet. She was, in the professor's mind, the final argument
against coeducation. Her name was Rosalind Stanton, but his impression
was that they called her Rose.
The bell rang out in the corridor. He dismissed the class and began
stacking up his notes. Then:
"Miss Stanton," he said.
She detached herself from the stream that was moving toward the door,
and with a good-humored look of inquiry about her very expressive
eyebrows, came toward him. And then he wished he hadn't called her. She
had spoiled his lecture--a perfectly good lecture--and his impulse had
been to remonstrate with her. But the moment he saw her coming, he knew
he wasn't going to be able to do it. It wasn't her fault that her teeth
had hypnotized him, and her hair tangled his ideas.
"This is an idiotic question," he said, as she paused before his desk,
"but did you get anything at all out of my lecture except my bit of
facetious advice to young girls about to marry?"
She flushed a little (a girl like that hadn't any right to flush; it
ought to be against the college regulations), drew her brows together in
a puzzled sort of way, and then, with her wide, boyish, good-humored
mouth, she smiled.
"I didn't know it was facetious," she said. "It struck me as pretty
good. But--I'm awfully sorry if you thought me inattentive. You see,
mother brought us all up on the Social Contract and The Age of Reason,
things like that, and I didn't put it down because..."
"I see," he said. "I beg your pardon."
She smiled, cheerfully begged his and assured him she'd try to do
better.
Another girl who'd been waiting to speak to the professor, perceiving
that their conversation was at an end, came and stood beside her at the
desk--a scrawny girl with an eager voice, and a question she wanted to
ask about Robespierre; and for some reason or other, Rosalind Stanton's
valedictory smile seemed to include a consciousness of this other
girl--a consciousness of a contrast. It might not have been any more
than that, but somehow, it left the professor feeling that he had given
himself away.
He was particularly polite to the other girl, because his impulse was to
act so very differently.
There is nothing cloistral about the University of Chicago except its
architecture. The presence of a fat abbot, or a lady prioress in the
corridor outside the recitation room would have fitted in admirably with
the look of the warm gray walls and the carven pointed arches of the
window and door casements, the blackened oak of the doors themselves.
On the other hand, the appearance of the person whom Rose found waiting
for her out there, afforded the piquant effect of contrast. Or would
have done so, had the spectacle of him in that very occupation not been
so familiar.
He was a varsity half-back, a gigantic blond young man in a blue serge
suit. He said, "Hello, Rose," and she said, "Hello, Harry." And he
heaved himself erect from the wall he had been leaning against and
reached out an immense hand to absorb the little stack of note-books she
carried. She ignored the gesture, and when he asked for them said she'd
carry them herself. There was a sort of strategic advantage in having
your own note-books under your own arm--a fact which no one appreciated
better than the half-back himself.
He looked a little hurt. "Sore about something?" he asked.
She smiled widely and said, "Not a bit."
"I didn't mean at me necessarily," he explained, and referred to the
fact that the professor had detained her after he had dismissed the
class. "What'd he try to do--call you down?"
There was indignation in the young man's voice--a hint of the protector
aroused--of possible retribution.
She grinned again. "Oh, you needn't go back and kill him," she said.
He blushed to the ears. "I'm sorry," he observed stiltedly, "if I appear
ridiculous." But she went on smiling.
"Don't you care," she said. "Everybody's ridiculous in March. You're
ridiculous, I'm ridiculous, he"--she nodded along the corridor--"he's
plumb ridiculous."
He wasn't wholly appeased. It was rather with an air of resignation that
he held the door for her to go out by. They strolled along in silence
until they rounded the corner of the building. Here, ceremoniously, he
fell back, walked around behind her and came up on the outside. She
glanced up and asked him, incomprehensibly, to walk on the other side,
the way they had been. He wanted to know why. This was where he
belonged.
"You don't belong there," she told him, "if I want you the other way.
And I do."
He heaved a sigh, and said "Women!" under his breath. _Mutabile semper_!
No matter how much you knew about them, they remained | 2,052.679926 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images produced by Core Historical
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THE TRAINING OF A FORESTER
[Illustration: A FOREST RANGER LOOKING FOR FIRE FROM A NATIONAL FOREST
LOOKOUT STATION _Page 32_]
THE TRAINING OF A FORESTER
BY
GIFFORD PINCHOT
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PUBLISHED FEBRUARY, 1914
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
To
OVERTON W. PRICE
FRIEND AND FELLOW WORKER
TO WHOM IS DUE, MORE THAN TO ANY OTHER MAN, THE
HIGH EFFICIENCY OF THE UNITED STATES FOREST SERVICE
PREFACE
At one time or another, the largest question before every young man is,
"What shall I do with my life?" Among the possible openings, which best
suits his ambition, his tastes, and his capacities? Along what line
shall he undertake to make a successful career? The search for a life
work and the choice of one is surely as important business as can occupy
a boy verging into manhood. It is to help in the decision of those who
are considering forestry as a profession that this little book has been
written.
To the young man who is attracted to forestry and begins to consider it
as a possible profession, certain questions present themselves. What is
forestry? If he takes it up, what will his work be, and where? Does it
in fact offer the satisfying type of outdoor life which it appears to
offer? What chance does it present for a successful career, for a career
of genuine usefulness, and what is the chance to make a living? Is he
fitted for it in character, mind, and body? If so, what training does he
need? These questions deserve an answer.
To the men whom it really suits, forestry offers a career more
attractive, it may be said in all fairness, than any other career
whatsoever. I doubt if any other profession can show a membership so
uniformly and enthusiastically in love with the work. The men who have
taken it up, practised it, and left it for other work are few. But to
the man not fully adapted for it, forestry must be punishment, pure and
simple. Those who have begun the study of forestry, and then have
learned that it was not for them, have doubtless been more in number
than those who have followed it through.
I urge no man to make forestry his profession, but rather to keep away
from it if he can. In forestry a man is either altogether at home or
very much out of place. Unless he has a compelling love for the
Forester's life and the Forester's work, let him keep out of it.
G. P.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WHAT IS A FOREST? 13
THE FORESTER'S KNOWLEDGE 18
THE FOREST AND THE NATION 19
THE FORESTER'S POINT OF VIEW 23
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF FORESTRY 27
THE WORK OF A FORESTER 30
THE FOREST SERVICE 30
THE FOREST SUPERVISOR 46
THE TRAINED FORESTER 50
PERSONAL EQUIPMENT 63
STATE FOREST WORK 84
THE FOREST SERVICE IN WASHINGTON 89
PRIVATE FORESTRY 106
FOREST SCHOOLS 114
THE OPPORTUNITY 116
TRAINING 123
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
A FOREST RANGER LOOKING FOR FIRE FROM A NATIONAL
FOREST LOOKOUT STATION _Frontispiece_
STRINGING A FOREST TELEPHONE LINE 32
FOREST RANGERS SCALING TIMBER 43
WESTERN YELLOW PINE SEED COLLECTED BY THE FOREST
SERVICE FOR PLANTING UP DENUDED LANDS 47
A FOREST EX | 2,052.680221 |
2023-11-16 18:51:16.7608240 | 3,960 | 9 |
Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
[Note: See also etext #219 which is a different version of this eBook]
HEART OF DARKNESS
By Joseph Conrad
I
The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of
the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly
calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come
to and wait for the turn of the tide.
The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of
an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded
together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails
of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red
clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A
haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness.
The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed
condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest,
and the greatest, town on earth.
The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four
affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to
seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so
nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.
Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of
the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of
separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other's
yarns--and even convictions. The Lawyer--the best of old fellows--had,
because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck,
and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a
box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlow
sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had
sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect,
and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an
idol. The Director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way
aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards
there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did
not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothing
but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and
exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a
speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the
Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded
rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the
gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more somber
every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.
And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and
from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat,
as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that
gloom brooding over a crowd of men.
Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less
brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested
unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the
race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a
waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the
venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and
departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And
indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes,
"followed the sea" with reverence and affection, than to evoke the
great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal
current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories
of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles
of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is
proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled
and untitled--the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the
ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from
the Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be
visited by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale,
to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests--and that never
returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from
Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith--the adventurers and the settlers;
kings' ships and the ships of men on 'Change; captains, admirals, the
dark "interlopers" of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned "generals"
of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all
had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch,
messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the
sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river
into the mystery of an unknown earth!... The dreams of men, the seed
of commonwealths, the germs of empires.
The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began to appear
along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse, a three-legged thing erect on a
mud-flat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in the fairway--a great
stir of lights going up and going down. And farther west on the upper
reaches the place of the monstrous town was still marked ominously on
the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.
"And this also," said Marlow suddenly, "has been one of the dark places
of the earth."
He was the only man of us who still "followed the sea." The worst that
could be said of him was that he did not represent his class. He was a
seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead, if one may
so express it, a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home
order, and their home is always with them--the ship; and so is their
country--the sea. One ship is very much like another, and the sea is
always the same. In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign
shores, the foreign faces, the changing immensity of life, glide past,
veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdainful ignorance;
for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself,
which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destiny.
For the rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a casual spree
on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent,
and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing. The yarns of seamen
have a direct simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the
shell of a cracked nut. But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity
to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not
inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it
out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these
misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination
of moonshine.
His remark did not seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow.
It was accepted in silence. No one took the trouble to grunt even; and
presently he said, very slow--
"I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here,
nineteen hundred years ago--the other day.... Light came out of this
river since--you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on
a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the
flicker--may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But
darkness was here yesterday. Imagine the feelings of a commander of
a fine--what d'ye call 'em?--trireme in the Mediterranean, ordered
suddenly to the north; run overland across the Gauls in a hurry; put in
charge of one of these craft the legionaries,--a wonderful lot of handy
men they must have been too--used to build, apparently by the hundred,
in a month or two, if we may believe what we read. Imagine him here--the
very end of the world, a sea the color of lead, a sky the color of
smoke, a kind of ship about as rigid as a concertina--and going up this
river with stores, or orders, or what you like. Sandbanks, marshes,
forests, savages,--precious little to eat fit for a civilized man,
nothing but Thames water to drink. No Falernian wine here, no going
ashore. Here and there a military camp lost in a wilderness, like a
needle in a bundle of hay--cold, fog, tempests, disease, exile, and
death,--death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. They must
have been dying like flies here. Oh yes--he did it. Did it very well,
too, no doubt, and without thinking much about it either, except
afterwards to brag of what he had gone through in his time, perhaps.
They were men enough to face the darkness. And perhaps he was cheered
by keeping his eye on a chance of promotion to the fleet at Ravenna
by-and-by, if he had good friends in Rome and survived the awful
climate. Or think of a decent young citizen in a toga--perhaps too
much dice, you know--coming out here in the train of some prefect, or
tax-gatherer, or trader even, to mend his fortunes. Land in a swamp,
march through the woods, and in some inland post feel the savagery, the
utter savagery, had closed round him,--all that mysterious life of the
wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of
wild men. There's no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to
live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is also detestable. And
it has a fascination, too, that goes to work upon him. The fascination
of the abomination--you know. Imagine the growing regrets, the longing
to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate."
He paused.
"Mind," he began again, lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of the
hand outwards, so that, with his legs folded before him, he had the
pose of a Buddha preaching in European clothes and without a
lotus-flower--"Mind, none of us would feel exactly like this. What saves
us is efficiency--the devotion to efficiency. But these chaps were not
much account, really. They were no colonists; their administration was
merely a squeeze, and nothing more, I suspect. They were conquerors, and
for that you want only brute force--nothing to boast of, when you have
it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of
others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to
be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great
scale, and men going at it blind--as is very proper for those who tackle
a darkness. The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking
it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter
noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too
much. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not
a sentimental pretense but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the
idea--something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a
sacrifice to...."
He broke off. Flames glided in the river, small green flames, red
flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining, crossing each
other--then separating slowly or hastily. The traffic of the great city
went on in the deepening night upon the sleepless river. We looked on,
waiting patiently--there was nothing else to do till the end of
the flood; but it was only after a long silence, when he said, in
a hesitating voice, "I suppose you fellows remember I did once turn
fresh-water sailor for a bit," that we knew we were fated, before
the ebb began to run, to hear about one of Marlow's inconclusive
experiences.
"I don't want to bother you much with what happened to me personally,"
he began, showing in this remark the weakness of many tellers of tales
who seem so often unaware of what their audience would best like to
hear; "yet to understand the effect of it on me you ought to know how I
got out there, what I saw, how I went up that river to the place where I
first met the poor chap. It was the farthest point of navigation and the
culminating point of my experience. It seemed somehow to throw a kind of
light on everything about me--and into my thoughts. It was somber enough
too--and pitiful--not extraordinary in any way--not very clear either.
No, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of light.
"I had then, as you remember, just returned to London after a lot of
Indian Ocean, Pacific, China Seas--a regular dose of the East--six years
or so, and I was loafing about, hindering you fellows in your work and
invading your homes, just as though I had got a heavenly mission to
civilize you. It was very fine for a time, but after a bit I did get
tired of resting. Then I began to look for a ship--I should think the
hardest work on earth. But the ships wouldn't even look at me. And I got
tired of that game too.
"Now when I was a little chap I had a passion for maps. I would look for
hours at South America, or Africa, or Australia, and lose myself in all
the glories of exploration. At that time there were many blank spaces on
the earth, and when I saw one that looked particularly inviting on a map
(but they all look that) I would put my finger on it and say, 'When
I grow up I will go there.' The North Pole was one of these places, I
remember. Well, I haven't been there yet, and shall not try now. The
glamour's off. Other places were scattered about the Equator, and in
every sort of latitude all over the two hemispheres. I have been in some
of them, and... well, we won't talk about that. But there was one
yet--the biggest, the most blank, so to speak--that I had a hankering
after.
"True, by this time it was not a blank space any more. It had got filled
since my boyhood with rivers and lakes and names. It had ceased to be
a blank space of delightful mystery--a white patch for a boy to dream
gloriously over. It had become a place of darkness. But there was in it
one river especially, a mighty big river, that you could see on the map,
resembling an immense snake uncoiled, with its head in the sea, its
body at rest curving afar over a vast country, and its tail lost in the
depths of the land. And as I looked at the map of it in a shop-window,
it fascinated me as a snake would a bird--a silly little bird. Then I
remembered there was a big concern, a Company for trade on that river.
Dash it all! I thought to myself, they can't trade without using some
kind of craft on that lot of fresh water--steamboats! Why shouldn't I
try to get charge of one? I went on along Fleet Street, but could not
shake off the idea. The snake had charmed me.
"You understand it was a Continental concern, that Trading society; but
I have a lot of relations living on the Continent, because it's cheap
and not so nasty as it looks, they say.
"I am sorry to own I began to worry them. This was already a fresh
departure for me. I was not used to get things that way, you know. I
always went my own road and on my own legs where I had a mind to go. I
wouldn't have believed it of myself; but, then--you see--I felt somehow
I must get there by hook or by crook. So I worried them. The men said
'My dear fellow,' and did nothing. Then--would you believe it?--I tried
the women. I, Charlie Marlow, set the women to work--to get a job.
Heavens! Well, you see, the notion drove me. I had an aunt, a dear
enthusiastic soul. She wrote: 'It will be delightful. I am ready to do
anything, anything for you. It is a glorious idea. I know the wife of a
very high personage in the Administration, and also a man who has lots
of influence with,' &c., &c. She was determined to make no end of fuss
to get me appointed skipper of a river steamboat, if such was my fancy.
"I got my appointment--of course; and I got it very quick. It appears
the Company had received news that one of their captains had been killed
in a scuffle with the natives. This was my chance, and it | 2,052.780864 |
2023-11-16 18:51:16.8642380 | 6,187 | 9 |
Produced by John Hamm
CHILD CHRISTOPHER AND GOLDILIND THE FAIR
by William Morris
1895
CHAPTER I. OF THE KING OF OAKENREALM, AND HIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD.
Of old there was a land which was so much a woodland, that a minstrel
thereof said it that a squirrel might go from end to end, and all about,
from tree to tree, and never touch the earth: therefore was that land
called Oakenrealm.
The lord and king thereof was a stark man, and so great a warrior that
in his youth he took no delight in aught else save battle and tourneys.
But when he was hard on forty years old, he came across a daughter of
a certain lord, whom he had vanquished, and his eyes bewrayed him
into longing, so that he gave back to the said lord the havings he had
conquered of him that he might lay the maiden in his kingly bed. So he
brought her home with him to Oakenrealm and wedded her.
Tells the tale that he rued not his bargain, but loved her so dearly
that for a year round he wore no armour, save when she bade him play in
the tilt-yard for her desport and pride.
So wore the days till she went with child and was near her time, and
then it betid that three kings who marched on Oakenrealm banded them
together against him, and his lords and thanes cried out on him to lead
them to battle, and it behoved him to do as they would.
So he sent out the tokens and bade an hosting at his chief city, and
when all was ready he said farewell to his wife and her babe unborn, and
went his ways to battle once more: but fierce was his heart against the
foemen, that they had dragged him away from his love and his joy.
Even amidst of his land he joined battle with the host of the ravagers,
and the tale of them is short to tell, for they were as the wheat before
the hook. But as he followed up the chase, a mere thrall of the fleers
turned on him and cast his spear, and it reached him whereas his hawberk
was broken, and stood deep in, so that he fell to earth unmighty: and
when his lords and chieftains drew about him, and cunning men strove to
heal him, it was of no avail, and he knew that his soul was departing.
Then he sent for a priest, and for the Marshal of the host, who was a
great lord, and the son of his father's brother, and in few words bade
him look to the babe whom his wife bore about, and if it were a man, to
cherish him and do him to learn all that a king ought to know; and if it
were a maiden, that he should look to her wedding well and worthily: and
he let swear him on his sword, on the edges and the hilts, that he would
do even so, and be true unto his child if child there were: and he bade
him have rule, if so be the lords would, and all the people, till the
child were of age to be king: and the Marshal swore, and all the lords
who stood around bare witness to his swearing. Thereafter the priest
houselled the King, and he received his Creator, and a little while
after his soul departed.
But the Marshal followed up the fleeing foe, and two battles more he
fought before he beat them flat to earth; and then they craved for
peace, and he went back to the city in mickle honour.
But in the King's city of Oakenham he found but little joy; for both
the King was bemoaned, whereas he had been no hard man to his folk; and
also, when the tidings and the King's corpse came back to Oakenrealm,
his Lady and Queen took sick for sorrow and fear, and fell into labour
of her child, and in childing of a man-bairn she died, but the lad
lived, and was like to do well.
So there was one funeral for the slain King and for her whom his slaying
had slain: and when that was done, the little king was borne to the
font, and at his christening he gat to name Christopher.
Thereafter the Marshal summoned all them that were due thereto to come
and give homage to the new king, and even so did they, though he were
but a babe, yea, and who had but just now been a king lying in his
mother's womb. But when the homage was done, then the Marshal called
together the wise men, and told them how the King that was had given him
in charge his son as then unborn, and the ruling of the realm till the
said son were come to man's estate: but he bade them seek one worthier
if they had heart to gainsay the word of their dying lord. Then all they
said that he was worthy and mighty and the choice of their dear lord,
and that they would have none but he.
So then was the great folk-mote called, and the same matter was laid
before all the people, and none said aught against it, whereas no man
was ready to name another to that charge and rule, even had it been his
own self.
Now then by law was the Marshal, who hight Rolf, lord and earl of the
land of Oakenrealm. He ruled well and strongly, and was a fell warrior:
he was well befriended by many of the great; and the rest of them feared
him and his friends: as for the commonalty, they saw that he held the
realm in peace; and for the rest, they knew little and saw less of him,
and they paid to his bailiffs and sheriffs as little as they could, and
more than they would. But whereas that left them somewhat to grind their
teeth on, and they were not harried, they were not so ill content. So
the Marshal throve, and lacked nothing of a king's place save the bare
name.
CHAPTER II. OF THE KING'S SON.
As for the King's son, to whom the folk had of late done homage as king,
he was at first seen about a corner of the High House with his nurses;
and then in a while it was said, and the tale noted, but not much, that
he must needs go for his health's sake, and because he was puny, to some
stead amongst the fields, and folk heard say that he was gone to the
strong house of a knight somewhat stricken in years, who was called Lord
Richard the Lean. The said house was some twelve miles from Oakenham,
not far from the northern edge of the wild-wood. But in a while, scarce
more than a year, Lord Richard brake up house at the said castle, and
went southward through the forest. Of this departure was little said,
for he was not a man amongst the foremost. As for the King's little son,
if any remembered that he was in the hands of the said Lord Richard,
none said aught about it; for if any thought of the little babe at all,
they said to themselves, Never will he come to be king.
Now as for Lord Richard the Lean, he went far through the wood, and
until he was come to another house of his, that stood in a clearing
somewhat near to where Oakenrealm marched on another country, which
hight Meadham; though the said wild-wood ended not where Oakenrealm
ended, but stretched a good way into Meadham; and betwixt one and the
other much rough country there was.
It is to be said that amongst those who went to this stronghold of the
woods was the little King Christopher, no longer puny, but a stout
babe enough: so he was borne amongst the serving men and thralls to
the castle of the Outer March; and he was in no wise treated as a great
man's son; but there was more than one woman who was kind to him, and
as he waxed in strength and beauty month by month, both carle and
quean fell to noting him, and, for as little as he was, he began to be
well-beloved.
As to the stead where he was nourished, though it were far away amongst
the woods, it was no such lonely or savage place: besides the castle and
the houses of it, there was a merry thorpe in the clearing, the houses
whereof were set down by the side of a clear and pleasant little stream.
Moreover the goodmen and swains of the said township were no ill folk,
but bold of heart, free of speech, and goodly of favour; and the women
of them fair, kind, and trusty. Whiles came folk journeying in to
Oakenrealm or out to Meadham, and of these some were minstrels, who had
with them tidings of what was astir whereas folk were thicker in the
world, and some chapmen, who chaffered with the thorpe-dwellers, and
took of them the woodland spoil for such outland goods as those woodmen
needed.
So wore the years, and in Oakenham King Christopher was well nigh
forgotten, and in the wild-wood had never been known clearly for King's
son. At first, by command of Rolf the Marshal, a messenger came
every year from Lord Richard with a letter that told of how the lad
Christopher did. But when five years were worn, the Marshal bade send
him tidings thereof every three years; and by then it was come to the
twelfth year, and still the tidings were that the lad throve ever, and
meanwhile the Marshal sat fast in his seat with none to gainsay, the
word went to Lord Richard that he should send no more, for that he, the
Marshal, had heard enough of the boy; and if he throve it were well, and
if not, it was no worse. So wore the days and the years.
CHAPTER III. OF THE KING OF MEADHAM AND HIS DAUGHTER.
Tells the tale that in the country which lay south of Oakenrealm, and
was called Meadham, there was in these days a king whose wife was dead,
but had left him a fair daughter, who was born some four years after
King Christopher. A good man was this King Roland, mild, bounteous, and
no regarder of persons in his justice; and well-beloved he was of his
folk: yet could not their love keep him alive; for, whenas his daughter
was of the age of twelve years, he sickened unto death; and so, when he
knew that his end drew near, he sent for the wisest of his wise men,
and they came unto him sorrowing in the High House of his chiefest city,
which hight Meadhamstead. So he bade them sit down nigh unto his bed,
and took up the word and spake:
"Masters, and my good lords, ye may see clearly that a sundering is at
hand, and that I must needs make a long journey, whence I shall come
back never; now I would, and am verily of duty bound thereto, that I
leave behind me some good order in the land. Furthermore, I would that
my daughter, when she is of age thereto, should be Queen in Meadham, and
rule the land; neither will it be many years before she shall be of ripe
age for ruling, if ever she may be; and I deem not that there shall be
any lack in her, whereas her mother could all courtesy, and was as wise
as a woman may be. But how say ye, my masters?"
So they all with one consent said Yea, and they would ask for no better
king than their lady his daughter. Then said the King:
"Hearken carefully, for my time is short: Yet is she young and a maiden,
though she be wise. Now therefore do I need some man well looked to of
the folk, who shall rule the land in her name till she be of eighteen
winters, and who shall be her good friend and counsellor into all wisdom
thereafter. Which of you, my masters, is meet for this matter?"
Then they all looked one on the other, and spake not. And the King said:
"Speak, some one of you, without fear; this is no time for tarrying."
Thereon spake an elder, the oldest of them, and said: "Lord, this is
the very truth, that none of us here present are meet for this office:
whereas, among other matters, we be all unmeet for battle; some of us
have never been warriors, and other some are past the age for leading an
host. To say the sooth, King, there is but one man in Meadham who may do
what thou wilt, and not fail; both for his wisdom, and his might afield,
and the account which is had of him amongst the people; and that man is
Earl Geoffrey, of the Southern Marches."
"Ye say sooth," quoth the King; "but is he down in the South, or nigher
to hand?"
Said the elder: "He is as now in Meadhamstead, and may be in this
chamber in scant half an hour." So the King bade send for him, and there
was silence in the chamber till he came in, clad in a scarlet kirtle and
a white cloak, and with his sword by his side. He was a tall man,
bigly made; somewhat pale of face, black and curly of hair; blue-eyed,
thin-lipped, and hook-nosed as an eagle; a man warrior-like, and
somewhat fierce of aspect. He knelt down by the King's bedside, and
asked him in a sorrowful voice what he would, and the King said: "I ask
a great matter of thee, and all these my wise men, and I myself,
withal, deem that thou canst do it, and thou alone--nay, hearken: I am
departing, and I would have thee hold my place, and do unto my people
even what I would do if I myself were living; and to my daughter as
nigh to that as may be. I say all this thou mayst do, if thou wilt be as
trusty and leal to me after I am dead, as thou hast seemed to all men's
eyes to have been while I was living. What sayest thou?"
The Earl had hidden his face in the coverlet of the bed while the King
was speaking; but now he lifted up his face, weeping, and said: "Kinsman
and friend and King; this is nought hard to do; but if it were, yet
would I do it."
"It is well," said the King: "my heart fails me and my voice; so give
heed, and set thine ear close to my mouth: hearken, belike my daughter
Goldilind shall be one of the fairest of women; I bid thee wed her to
the fairest of men and the strongest, and to none other."
Thereat his voice failed him indeed, and he lay still; but he died not,
till presently the priest came to him, and, as he might, houselled him:
then he departed.
As for Earl Geoffrey, when the King was buried, and the homages done to
the maiden Goldilind, he did no worse than those wise men deemed of him,
but bestirred him, and looked full sagely into all the matters of the
kingdom, and did so well therein that all men praised his rule perforce,
whether they loved him or not; and sooth to say he was not much beloved.
CHAPTER IV. OF THE MAIDEN GOLDILIND.
AMIDST of all his other business Earl Geoffrey bethought him in a while
of the dead King's daughter, and he gave her in charge to a gentlewoman,
somewhat stricken in years, a widow of high lineage, but not over
wealthy. She dwelt in her own house in a fair valley some twenty miles
from Meadhamstead: thereabode Goldilind till a year and a half was worn,
and had due observance, but little love, and not much kindness from
the said gentlewoman, who hight Dame Elinor Leashowe. Howbeit, time
and again came knights and ladies and lords to see the little lady, and
kissed her hand and did obeisance to her; yet more came to her in the
first three months of her sojourn at Leashowe than the second, and more
in the second than the third.
At last, on a day when the said year and a half was fully worn, thither
came Earl Geoffrey with a company of knights and men-at-arms, and he did
obeisance, as due was, to his master's daughter, and then spake awhile
privily with Dame Elinor; and thereafter they went into the hall, he,
and she, and Goldilind, and there before all men he spake aloud and
said:
"My Lady Goldilind, meseemeth ye dwell here all too straitly; for
neither is this house of Leashowe great enough for thy state, and the
entertainment of the knights and lords who shall have will to seek to
thee hither; nor is the wealth of thy liege dame and governante as great
as it should be, and as thou, meseemeth, wouldst have it. Wherefore I
have been considering thy desires herein, and if thou deem it meet to
give a gift to Dame Elinor, and live queenlier thyself than now thou
dost, then mayst thou give unto her the Castle of Greenharbour, and the
six manors appertaining thereto, and withal the rights of wild-wood and
fen and fell that lie thereabout. Also, if thou wilt, thou mayst honour
the said castle with abiding there awhile at thy pleasure; and I shall
see to it that thou have due meney to go with thee thither. How sayest
thou, my lady?"
Amongst that company there were two or three who looked at each other
and half smiled; and two or three looked on the maiden, who was
goodly as of her years, as if with compassion; but the more part kept
countenance in full courtly wise.
Then spake Goldilind in a quavering voice (for she was afraid and wise),
and she said: "Cousin and Earl, we will that all this be done; and it
likes me well to eke the wealth of this lady and my good friend Dame
Elinor."
Quoth Earl Geoffrey: "Kneel before thy lady, Dame, and put thine hands
between hers and thank her for the gift." So Dame Elinor knelt down, and
did homage and obeisance for her new land; and Goldilind raised her
up and kissed her, and bade her sit down beside her, and spake to her
kindly; and all men praised the maiden for her gentle and courteous
ways; and Dame Elinor smiled upon her and them, what she could.
She was small of body and sleek; but her cheeks somewhat flagging; brown
eyes she had, long, half opened; thin lips, and chin somewhat falling
away from her mouth; hard on fifty winters had she seen; yet there have
been those who were older and goodlier both.
CHAPTER V. GOLDILIND COMES TO GREENHARBOUR.
But a little while tarried the Earl Geoffrey at Leashowe, but departed
next morning and came to Meadhamstead. A month thereafter came folk from
him to Leashowe, to wit, the new meney for the new abode of Goldilind;
amongst whom was a goodly band of men-at-arms, led by an old lord
pinched and peevish of face, who kneeled to Goldilind as the new
burgreve of Greenharbour; and a chaplain, a black canon, young,
broad-cheeked and fresh-looking, but hard-faced and unlovely; three
new damsels withal were come for the young Queen, not young maids, but
stalworth women, well-grown, and two of them hard-featured; the third,
tall, black-haired, and a goodly-fashioned body.
Now when these were come, who were all under the rule of Dame Elinor,
there was no gainsaying the departure to the new home; and in two days'
time they went their ways from Leashowe. But though Goldilind was young,
she was wise, and her heart misgave her, when she was amidst this new
meney, that she was not riding toward glory and honour, and a world of
worship and friends beloved. Howbeit, whatso might lie before her, she
put a good face upon it, and did to those about her queenly and with all
courtesy.
Five days they rode from Leashowe north away, by thorpe and town and
mead and river, till the land became little peopled, and the sixth day
they rode the wild-wood ways, where was no folk, save now and again the
little cot of some forester or collier; but the seventh day, about
noon, they came into a clearing of the wood, a rugged little plain of
lea-land, mingled with marish, with a little deal of acre-land in barley
and rye, round about a score of poor frame-houses set down scattermeal
about the lea. But on a long ridge, at the northern end of the said
plain, was a grey castle, strong, and with big and high towers, yet
not so much greater than was Leashowe, deemed Goldilind, as for a
dwelling-house.
Howbeit, they entered the said castle, and within, as without, it was
somewhat grim, though nought was lacking of plenishing due for folk
knightly. Long it were to tell of its walls and baileys and chambers;
but let this suffice, that on the north side, toward the thick forest,
was a garden of green-sward and flowers and potherbs; and a garth-wall
of grey stone, not very high, was the only defence thereof toward the
wood, but it was overlooked by a tall tower of the great wall, which
hight the Foresters' Tower. In the said outer garth-wall also was a
postern, whereby there was not seldom coming in and going out.
Now when Goldilind had been in her chamber for a few days, she found out
for certain, what she had before misdoubted, that she had been brought
from Leashowe and the peopled parts near to Meadhamstead unto the
uttermost parts of the realm to be kept in prison there.
Howbeit, it was in a way prison courteous; she was still served with
observance, and bowed before, and called my lady and queen, and so
forth: also she might go from chamber to hall and chapel, to and fro,
yet scarce alone; and into the garden she might go, yet not for the more
part unaccompanied; and even at whiles she went out a-gates, but then
ever with folk on the right hand and the left. Forsooth, whiles and
again, within the next two years of her abode at Greenharbour, out of
gates she went and alone; but that was as the prisoner who strives to be
free (although she had, forsooth, no thought or hope of escape), and as
the prisoner brought back was she chastised when she came within gates
again.
Everywhere, to be short, within and about the Castle of Greenharbour,
did Goldilind meet the will and the tyranny of the little sleek widow,
Dame Elinor, to whom both carle and quean in that corner of the world
were but as servants and slaves to do her will; and the said Elinor, who
at first was but spiteful in word and look toward her lady, waxed worse
as time wore and as the blossom of the King's daughter's womanhood began
to unfold, till at last the she-jailer had scarce feasted any day
when she had not in some wise grieved and tormented her prisoner; and
whatever she did, none had might to say her nay.
But Goldilind took all with a high heart, and her courage grew with
her years, nor would she bow the head before any grief, but took to her
whatsoever solace might come to her; as the pleasure of the sun and the
wind, and the beholding of the greenery of the wood, and the fowl and
the beasts playing, which oft she saw afar, and whiles anear, though
whiles, forsooth, she saw nought of it all, whereas she was shut up
betwixt four walls, and that not of her chamber, but of some bare and
foul prison of the Castle, which, with other griefs, must she needs
thole under the name and guise of penance.
However, she waxed so exceeding fair and sweet and lovely, that the
loveliness of her pierced to the hearts of many of her jailers, so that
some of them, and specially of the squires and men-at-arms, would do her
some easement which they might do unrebuked, or not sorely rebuked;
as bringing her flowers in the spring, or whiles a singing-bird or a
squirrel; and an old man there was of the men-at-arms, who would ask
leave, and get it at whiles, to come to her in her chamber, or the
garden? and tell her minstrel tales and the like for her joyance. Sooth
to say, even the pinched heart of the old Burgreve was somewhat touched
by her; and he alone had any might to stand between her and Dame Elinor;
so that but for him it had gone much harder with her than it did.
For the rest, none entered the Castle from the world without, nay not so
much as a travelling monk, or a friar on his wanderings, save and except
some messenger of Earl Geoffrey who had errand with Dame Elinor or the
Burgreve.
So wore the days and the seasons, till it was now more than four years
since she had left Leashowe, and her eighteenth summer was beginning.
But now the tale leaves telling of Goldilind, and goes back to
the matters of Oakenrealm, and therein to what has to do with King
Christopher and Rolf the Marshal.
CHAPTER VI. HOW ROLF THE MARSHAL DREAMS A DREAM AND COMES TO THE CASTLE
OF THE UTTERMOST MARCH.
Now this same summer, when King Christopher was of twenty years and
two, Rolf the Marshal, sleeping one noontide in the King's garden at
Oakenham, dreamed a dream. For himseemed that there came through the
garth-gate a woman fair and tall, and clad in nought but oaken-leaves,
who led by the hand an exceeding goodly young man of twenty summers, and
his visage like to the last battle-dead King of Oakenrealm when he was a
young man. And the said woman led the swain up to the Marshal, who asked
in his mind what these two were: and the woman answered his thought and
said: "I am the Woman of the Woods, and the Landwight of Oakenrealm; and
this lovely lad whose hand I hold is my King and thy King and the King
of Oakenrealm. Wake, fool--wake! and look to it what thou wilt do!"
And therewith he woke up crying out, and drew forth his sword. But when
he was fully awakened, he was ashamed, and went into the hall, and sat
in his high-seat, and strove to think out of his troubled mind; but for
all he might do, he fell asleep again; and again in the hall he dreamed
as he had dreamed in the garden: and when he awoke from his dream he had
no thought in his head but how he might the speediest come to the | 2,052.884278 |
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AMERICAN PIONEERS AND PATRIOTS.
DAVID CROCKETT:
HIS
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT
ILLUSTRATED.
PREFACE.
David Crockett certainly was not a model man. But he was a
representative man. He was conspicuously one of a very numerous class,
still existing, and which has heretofore exerted a very powerful
influence over this republic. As such, his wild and wondrous life is
worthy of the study of every patriot. Of this class, their modes of
life and habits of thought, the majority of our citizens know as little
as they do of the manners and customs of the Comanche Indians.
No man can make his name known to the forty millions of this great and
busy republic who has not something very remarkable in his character or
his career. But there is probably not an adult American, in all these
widespread States, who has not heard of David Crockett. His life is a
veritable romance, with the additional charm of unquestionable truth.
It opens to the reader scenes in the lives of the lowly, and a state of
semi-civilization, of which but few of them can have the faintest idea.
It has not been my object, in this narrative, to defend Colonel
Crockett or to condemn him, but to present his peculiar character
exactly as it was. I have therefore been constrained to insert some
things which I would gladly have omitted.
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
FAIR HAVEN, CONN.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Parentage and Childhood.
The Emigrant.--Crossing the Alleghanies.--The Boundless
Wilderness.--The Hut on the Holston.--Life's Necessaries.--The
Massacre.--Birth of David Crockett.--Peril of the
Boys.--Anecdote.--Removal to Greenville; to Cove Creek.--Increased
Emigration.--Loss of the Mill.--The Tavern.--Engagement with the
Drover.--Adventures in the Wilderness.--Virtual Captivity.--The
Escape.--The Return.--The Runaway.--New Adventures.... 7
CHAPTER II.
Youthful Adventures.
David at Gerardstown.--Trip to Baltimore.--Anecdotes.--He ships for
London.--Disappointment.--Defrauded of his Wages.--Escapes.--New
Adventures.--Crossing the River.--Returns Home.--His Reception.--A Farm
Laborer.--Generosity to his Father.--Love Adventure.--The Wreck of his
Hopes.--His School Education.--Second Love adventure.--Bitter
Disappointment.--Life in the Backwoods.--Third Love Adventure.... 35
CHAPTER III.
Marriage and Settlement.
Rustic Courtship.--The Rival Lover.--Romantic Incident. The Purchase of
a Horse.--The Wedding.--Singular Ceremonies.--The Termagant.--Bridal
Days.--They commence Housekeeping.--The Bridal mansion and
Outfit.--Family Possessions.--The Removal to Central Tennessee.--Mode
of Transportation.--The New Income and its Surroundings.--Busy
Idleness.--The Third Move.--The Massacre at Fort Mimms.... 54
CHAPTER IV.
The Soldier Life.
War with the Creeks.--Patriotism of Crockett.--Remonstrances of his
Wife.--Enlistment.--The Rendezvous.--Adventure of the Scouts.--Friendly
Indians,--A March through the Forest.--Picturesque Scene.--The Midnight
Alarm.--March by Moonlight.--Chagrin of Crockett.--Advance into
Alabama.--War's Desolations.--Indian Stoicism.--Anecdotes of Andrew
Jackson.--Battles, Carnage, and Woe.... 93
CHAPTER V.
Indian Warfare.
The Army at Fort Strother.--Crockett's Regiment.--Crockett at
Home.--His Reenlistment.--Jackson Surprised.--Military Ability of the
Indians.--Humiliation of the Creeks.--March to Florida.--Affairs at
Pensacola.--Capture of the City.--Characteristics of Crockett.--The
Weary March,--Inglorious Expedition.--Murder of Two
Indians.--Adventures at the Island.--The Continued March.--Severe
Sufferings.--Charge upon the Uninhabited Village.... 124
CHAPTER VI.
The Camp and the Cabin.
Deplorable Condition of the Army.--Its wanderings.--Crockett's
Benevolence.--Cruel Treatment of the Indians.--A Gleam of Good
Luck.--The Joyful Feast.--Crockett's Trade with the Indian.--Visit to
the Old Battlefield.--Bold Adventure of Crockett.--His Arrival
Home.--Death of his Wife.--Second Marriage.--Restlessness.--Exploring
Tour.--Wild Adventures.--Dangerous Sickness.--Removal to the West.--His
New Home.... 155
CHAPTER VII.
The Justice of Peace and the Legislator.
Vagabondage.--Measures of Protection.--Measures of
Government.--Crockett's Confession.--A Candidate for Military
Honors.--Curious Display of Moral Courage.--The Squirrel Hunt.--A
Candidate for the Legislature.--Characteristic
Electioneering.--Specimens of his Eloquence.--Great Pecuniary
Calamity.--Expedition to the Far West.--Wild Adventures.--The Midnight
Carouse.--A Cabin Reared.... 183
CHAPTER VIII.
Life on the Obion.
Hunting Adventures.--The Voyage up the River.--Scenes in the
Cabin.--Return Home.--Removal of the Family.--Crockett's Riches.--A
Perilous Enterprise.--Reasons for his Celebrity.--Crockett's
Narrative.--A Bear-Hunt.--Visit to Jackson.--Again a Candidate for the
Legislature.--Electioneering and Election.... 212
CHAPTER IX.
Adventures in the Forest, on the River, and in the City
The Bear Hunter's Story.--Service in the Legislature.--Candidate for
Congress.--Electioneering.--The New Speculation.--Disastrous
Voyage.--Narrow Escape.--New Electioneering Exploits.--Odd
Speeches.--The Visit to Crockett's Cabin.--His Political Views.--His
Honesty.--Opposition to Jackson.--Scene at Raleigh.--Dines with the
President.--Gross Caricature.--His Annoyance.... 240
CHAPTER X.
Crockett's Tour to the North and the East.
His Reelection to Congress.--The Northern Tour.--First Sight of a
Railroad.--Reception in Philadelphia.--His First Speech.--Arrival in
New York.--The Ovation there.--Visit to Boston.--Cambridge and
Lowell.--Specimens of his Speeches.--Expansion of his Ideas.--Rapid
Improvement.... 267
CHAPTER XI.
The Disappointed Politician.--Off for Texas.
Triumphal Return.--Home Charms Vanish.--Loses His Election.--Bitter
Disappointment.--Crockett's Poetry.--Sets out for Texas.--Incidents of
the Journey.--Reception at Little Rock.--The Shooting Match.--Meeting a
Clergyman.--The Juggler.--Crockett a Reformer.--The Bee Hunter.--The
Rough Strangers.--Scene on the Prairie.... 290
CHAPTER XII.
Adventures on the Prairie.
Disappearance of the Bee Hunter.--The Herd of Buffalo Crockett
lost.--The Fight with the Cougar.--Approach of Savages.--Their
Friendliness.--Picnic on the Prairie.--Picturesque Scene.--The Lost
Mustang recovered.--Unexpected Reunion.--Departure of the
Savages.--Skirmish with the Mexicans.--Arrival at the Alamo....312
CHAPTER XIII.
Conclusion.
The Fortress of Alamo.--Colonel Bowie.--Bombardment of the
Fort.--Crockett's Journal.--Sharpshooting.--Fight outside of the
Fort.--Death of the Bee Hunter.--Kate of Nacogdoches.--Assault on the
Citadel.--Crockett a Prisoner.--His Death.... 340
DAVID CROCKETT.
CHAPTER I.
Parentage and Childhood.
The Emigrant.--Crossing the Alleghanies.--The boundless
Wilderness.--The Hut on the Holston.--Life's Necessaries.--The
Massacre.--Birth of David Crockett.--Peril of the
Boys.--Anecdote.--Removal to Greenville; to Cove Creek.--Increased
Emigration.--Loss of the Mill.--The Tavern.--Engagement with the
Drover.--Adventures in the Wilderness.--Virtual Captivity.--The
Escape.--The Return.--The Runaway.--New Adventures.
A little more than a hundred years ago, a poor man, by the name of
Crockett, embarked on board an emigrant-ship, in Ireland, for the New
World. He was in the humblest station in life. But very little is known
respecting his uneventful career excepting its tragical close. His
family consisted of a wife and three or four children. Just before he
sailed, or on the Atlantic passage, a son was born, to whom he gave the
name of John. The family probably landed in Philadelphia, and dwelt
somewhere in Pennsylvania, for a year or two, in one of those slab
shanties, with which all are familiar as the abodes of the poorest
class of Irish emigrants.
After a year or two, Crockett, with his little family, crossed the
almost pathless Alleghanies. Father, mother, and children trudged along
through the rugged defiles and over the rocky cliffs, on foot. Probably
a single pack-horse conveyed their few household goods. The hatchet and
the rifle were the only means of obtaining food, shelter, and even
clothing. With the hatchet, in an hour or two, a comfortable camp could
be constructed, which would protect them from wind and rain. The
camp-fire, cheering the darkness of the night, drying their often wet
garments, and warming their chilled limbs with its genial glow, enabled
them to enjoy that almost greatest of earthly luxuries, peaceful sleep.
The rifle supplied them with food. The fattest of turkeys and the most
tender steaks of venison, roasted upon forked sticks, which they held
in their hands over the coals, feasted their voracious appetites. This,
to them, was almost sumptuous food. The skin of the deer, by a rapid
and simple process of tanning, supplied them with moccasons, and
afforded material for the repair of their tattered garments.
We can scarcely comprehend | 2,052.888075 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
CONCERNING JUSTICE
BY
LUCILIUS A. EMERY
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MDCCCCXIV
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
First printed August, 1914, 1000 copies
TO MY CHILDREN
HENRY CROSBY EMERY
ANNE CROSBY EMERY ALLINSON
THE ADDRESSES CONTAINED IN THIS BOOK WERE DELIVERED IN
THE WILLIAM L. STORRS LECTURE SERIES, 1914, BEFORE THE
LAW SCHOOL OF YALE UNIVERSITY, NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE PROBLEM STATED. THEORIES AS TO THE SOURCE OF
JUSTICE. DEFINITIONS OF JUSTICE 3
II. THE PROBLEM OF RIGHTS. DIFFERENT THEORIES AS TO THE
SOURCE OF RIGHTS 31
III. THE PROBLEM OF RIGHTS CONTINUED. THE NEED OF LIBERTY
OF ACTION FOR THE INDIVIDUAL 43
IV. JUSTICE THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN THE FREEDOM OF THE
INDIVIDUAL AND THE SAFETY OF SOCIETY 56
V. JUSTICE CAN BE SECURED ONLY THROUGH GOVERNMENTAL
ACTION. THE BEST FORM OF GOVERNMENT 77
VI. THE NECESSITY OF CONSTITUTIONAL LIMITATIONS UPON THE
POWERS OF THE GOVERNMENT. BILLS OF RIGHTS 95
VII. THE INTERPRETATION AND ENFORCEMENT OF CONSTITUTIONAL
LIMITATIONS NECESSARILY A FUNCTION OF THE JUDICIARY 110
VIII. AN INDEPENDENT AND IMPARTIAL JUDICIARY ESSENTIAL FOR
JUSTICE 121
IX. THE NECESSITY OF MAINTAINING UNDIMINISHED THE
CONSTITUTIONAL LIMITATIONS AND THE POWER OF THE
COURTS TO ENFORCE THEM.--CONCLUSION 146
CONCERNING JUSTICE
CHAPTER I
THE PROBLEM STATED. THEORIES AS TO THE SOURCE OF JUSTICE. DEFINITIONS
OF JUSTICE
For centuries now much has been written and proclaimed concerning
justice and today the word seems to be more than ever upon the lips of
men, more than ever used, but not always appositely, in arguments for
proposed political action. Hence it may not be inappropriate to the
time and occasion to venture, not answers to, but some observations
upon the questions, what is justice, and how can it be secured. It was
declared by the Roman jurist Ulpian, centuries ago, that students of
law should also be students of justice.
By way of prelude, however, and in the hope of accentuating the main
question and presenting the subject more vividly by comparison and
contrast, I would recall to your minds another and even more
fundamental question asked twenty centuries ago in a judicial
proceeding in distant Judea. It is related that when Jesus, upon his
accusation before Pilate, claimed in defense that he had "come into
the world to bear witness unto the truth," Pilate inquired of him
"What is truth?"; but it is further related that when Pilate "had said
this he went out again unto the Jews." Apparently he did not wait for
an answer. Perhaps he repented of his question as soon as asked and
went out to escape an answer. Men before and since Pilate have sought
to avoid hearing the truth.
Indeed, however grave the question, however essential the answer to
their well-being, there does not seem to be even now on the part of
the multitude an earnest desire for the truth. Their wishes and
emotions cloud their vision and they are reluctant to have those
clouds brushed aside lest the truth thus revealed be harsh and
condemnatory. The truth often causes pain. As said by the Preacher,
"He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." People generally
give much the greater welcome and heed to him who tells them that
their desires and schemes are righteous and can be realized, than to
him who tells them that their desires are selfish or that their
schemes are impracticable. It has always been the few who have sought
the truth, resolute to find it and declare it, whether pleasant or
unpleasant, in accord with the wishes of mankind or otherwise. Such
men have sometimes suffered martyrdom in the past, and often incur
hostility in the present, even when seeking that truth on which alone
justice can securely rest.
Nevertheless, so closely linked are truth and justice in the speech,
if not the minds, of men, there should be some consideration of
Pilate's question. Whether truth is absolute or only relative has been
perhaps the most actively discussed topic in the field of philosophy
for the last decade. Into this discussion, however, we need not enter,
for such discussion is really over the problem of determining the
proper criterion of truth. Wherever be this criterion, whether in some
quality of inherent rationality or in some utilitarian test of
practicability, the truth itself has some attributes so far
unquestioned and of which we may feel certain as being inherent,
necessary, and self-evident.
Truth is uncompromising. It is unadaptable; all else must be adapted
to it. It is not a matter of convention among men, is not established
even by their unanimous assent, and it does not change with changes of
opinion. It is identical throughout time and space. If it be true now
that since creation the earth has swung in an orbit round the sun, it
was true before the birth of Copernicus and Galileo. If it be true now
that the sum of the three angles of a triangle is equal | 2,052.888931 |
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+----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| The combination "vv" which occurs at some places for |
| "w" and the word "Jonick" used sometimes for "Ionick" |
| has been kept to conserve the original appearance of the |
| book. No changes have been made in the text except the |
| correction of obvious typos. |
+----------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: ARCHITECTVRE 1692]
AN
ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
ARCHITECTURE
OF
VITRUVIUS.
CONTAINING
A System of the whole WORKS
of that Author.
Illustrated with divers Copper Plates, curiously
engraved; with a Table of Explanation,
To which is added in this Edition
The Etymology and Derivation of the
Terms used in _Architecture_.
First done in _French_ by Monsr _Perrault_, of the
Academy of _Paris_, and now _Englished_, with Additions.
_LONDON_: Printed for _Abel Small_ and _T. Child_,
at the _Unicorn_ in St. _Paul_'s Church-yard. 1692.
A
TABLE
OF THE
CHAPTERS.
The Introduction.
Article 1. _Of the great merits of_ Vitruvius, _and the
Excellencies of his Works_. Page 1.
Art. 2. _Of the method of the Works of_ Vitruvius, _with
short Arguments of every Book_. 9.
_A division of his whole Works into three parts, whereof 1.
treats of Building, 2. Gnomonical, 3. Mechanical. A second
division into three parts, 1. of Solidity, 2. of
Convenience, and 3. of Beauty. The Arguments | 2,053.081954 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN AND OTHER STORIES
By Bret Harte
CONTENTS
I. THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN
II. AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG
III. THE GREAT DEADWOOD MYSTERY
IV. A LEGEND OF SAMMTSTADT
V. VIEWS FROM A GERMAN SPION
THE TWINS OF TABLE MOUNTAIN.
CHAPTER I.
A CLOUD ON THE MOUNTAIN.
They lived on the verge of a vast stony level, upheaved so far above
the surrounding country that its vague outlines, viewed from the nearest
valley, seemed a mere cloud-streak resting upon the lesser hills. The
rush and roar of the turbulent river that washed its eastern base were
lost at that height; the winds that strove with the giant pines that
half way climbed its flanks spent their fury below the summit; for, at
variance with most meteorological speculation, an eternal calm seemed
to invest this serene altitude. The few Alpine flowers seldom
thrilled their petals to a passing breeze; rain and snow fell alike
perpendicularly, heavily, and monotonously over the granite bowlders
scattered along its brown expanse. Although by actual measurement an
inconsiderable elevation of the Sierran range, and a mere shoulder of
the nearest white-faced peak that glimmered in the west, it seemed
to lie so near the quiet, passionless stars, that at night it caught
something of their calm remoteness.
The articulate utterance of such a locality should have been a whisper;
a laugh or exclamation was discordant; and the ordinary tones of the
human voice on the night of the 15th of May, 1868, had a grotesque
incongruity.
In the thick darkness that clothed the mountain that night, the human
figure would have been lost, or confounded with the outlines of outlying
bowlders, which at such times took upon themselves the vague semblance
of men and animals. Hence the voices in the following colloquy seemed
the more grotesque and incongruous from being the apparent expression
of an upright monolith, ten feet high, on the right, and another mass of
granite, that, reclining, peeped over the verge.
"Hello!"
"Hello yourself!"
"You're late."
"I lost the trail, and climbed up the slide."
Here followed a stumble, the clatter of stones down the mountain-side,
and an oath so very human and undignified that it at once relieved the
bowlders of any complicity of expression. The voices, too, were close
together now, and unexpectedly in quite another locality.
"Anything up?"
"Looey Napoleon's declared war agin Germany."
"Sho-o-o!"
Notwithstanding this exclamation, the interest of the latter speaker was
evidently only polite and perfunctory. What, indeed, were the political
convulsions of the Old World to the dwellers on this serene, isolated
eminence of the New?
"I reckon it's so," continued the first voice. "French Pete and that
thar feller that keeps the Dutch grocery hev hed a row over it; emptied
their six-shooters into each other. The Dutchman's got two balls in
his leg, and the Frenchman's got an onnessary buttonhole in his
shirt-buzzum, and hez caved in."
This concise, local corroboration of the conflict of remote nations,
however confirmatory, did not appear to excite any further interest.
Even the last speaker, now that he was in this calm, dispassionate
atmosphere, seemed to lose his own concern in his tidings, and to have
abandoned every thing of a sensational and lower-worldly character in
the pines below. There were a few moments of absolute silence, and then
another stumble. But now the voices of both speakers were quite patient
and philosophical.
"Hold on, and I'll strike a light," said the second speaker. "I brought
a lantern along, but I didn't light up. I kem out afore sundown, and you
know how it allers is up yer. I didn't want it, and didn't keer to light
up. I forgot you're always a little dazed and strange-like when you
first come up."
There was a crackle, a flash, and presently a steady glow, which the
surrounding darkness seemed to resent. The faces of the two men thus
revealed were singularly alike. The same thin, narrow outline of jaw and
temple; the same dark, grave eyes; the same brown growth of curly beard
and mustache, which concealed the mouth, and hid what might have been
any individual idiosyncrasy of thought or expression,--showed them to
be brothers, or better known as the "Twins of Table Mountain." A certain
animation in the face of the second speaker,--the first-comer,--a
certain light in his eye, might have at first distinguished him; but
even this faded out in the steady glow of the lantern, and had no
value as a permanent distinction, for, by the time they had reached
the western verge of the mountain, the two faces had settled into a
homogeneous calmness and melancholy.
The vague horizon of darkness, that a few feet from the lantern still
encompassed them, gave no indication of their progress, until their feet
actually trod the rude planks and thatch that formed the roof of their
habitation; for their cabin half burrowed in the mountain, and half
clung, like a swallow's nest, to the side of the deep declivity that
terminated the northern limit of the summit. Had it not been for the
windlass of a shaft, a coil of rope, and a few heaps of stone and
gravel, which were the | 2,053.084692 |
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Produced by Cathy Maxam, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber’s Notes
Illustrations at the beginning and end of chapters are decorative
headpieces and tailpieces.
Other Notes will be found at the end of this eBook.
Heroes of the Nations
A Series of Biographical Studies presenting the lives and work of
certain representative historical characters, about whom have
gathered the traditions of the nations to which they belong,
and who have, in the majority of instances, been accepted as
types of the several national ideals.
12°, Illustrated, cloth, each $1.50
Half Leather, gilt top, each $1.75
Nos. 33 and following Nos. net $1.35
Each (By mail, $1.50)
Half Leather, gilt top net $1.60
(By mail, $1.75)
FOR FULL LIST SEE END OF THIS VOLUME
Heroes of the Nations
EDITED BY
H. W. Carless Davis
FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE, OXFORD
FACTA DUCIS VIVENT OPEROSAQUE
GLORIA RERUM.—OVID, IN LIVIAM, 266.
THE HERO’S DEEDS AND HARD-WON
FAME SHALL LIVE.
FREDERICK THE GREAT
[Illustration: FREDERICK THE GREAT.
AFTER THE PAINTING BY CARLO VANLOO.]
FREDERICK THE GREAT
AND THE RISE OF PRUSSIA
BY
W. F. REDDAWAY, M.A.
FELLOW AND LECTURER OF KING’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE; LECTURER IN HISTORY
TO NON-COLLEGIATE STUDENTS; AUTHOR OF “THE MONROE
DOCTRINE” (CAMB. UNIV. PRESS)
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
LONDON 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND
The Knickerbocker Press
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Published, April, 1904
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
TO THE
NON-COLLEGIATE STUDENTS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
[Illustration]
PREFACE
In attempting to sketch the career of Frederick the Great and to
define its relation to the rise of Prussia, I have made free use of
many printed works, especially of Frederick’s own _Œuvres_ and of
the elaborate _Politische Correspondenz_ of his reign. With these
great “primary” authorities may perhaps be ranked the face and voice
of modern Germany, rich in evidence of Frederick’s work, which have
doubtless influenced my opinions more than I am aware of. Among
“secondary” authorities I owe most to the opulent treasure-house of
Carlyle’s _Frederick the Great_ and to the more systematic narrative
of Professor Koser. His _Friedrich der Grosse als Kronprinz_, which
largely inspired the work of Lavisse translated under the title _The
Youth of Frederick the Great_, forms my chief source for much of
Frederick’s early life, as does the last volume of the _König Friedrich
der Grosse_ (1903), for the domestic labours after 1763. Mr. Herbert
Tuttle’s judicious _History of Prussia_ gave me much assistance down to
the outbreak of the Seven Years’ War, and I have often referred to Mr.
Lodge’s _Modern Europe_ and Mr. Henderson’s _Short History of Germany_.
At critical points in the record of the years 1712 to 1786 I was
influenced successively by the _Mémoires de la Margravine de Baireuth_,
the trenchant _Frédéric II et Marie-Thérèse_ of the Duc de Broglie,
the _Politische Staatsschriften_, Schäfer’s _Der Siebenjährige Krieg_,
von Arneth’s _Oesterreichische Geschichte_, and Sorel’s _The Eastern
Question in the Eighteenth | 2,053.284248 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
Volume I.
Part 12.
CHAPTER XXX.
WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER
MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING
The curate had hardly ceased speaking, when Sancho said, "In faith, then,
senor licentiate, he who did that deed was my master; and it was not for
want of my telling him beforehand and warning him to mind what he was
about, and that it was a sin to set them at liberty, as they were all on
the march there because they were special scoundrels."
"Blockhead!" said Don Quixote at this, "it is no business or concern of
knights-errant to inquire whether any persons in affliction, in chains,
or oppressed that they may meet on the high roads go that way and suffer
as they do because of their faults or because of their misfortunes. It
only concerns them to aid them as persons in need of help, having regard
to their sufferings and not to their rascalities. I encountered a chaplet
or string of miserable and unfortunate people, and did for them what my
sense of duty demands of me, and as for the rest be that as it may; and
whoever takes objection to it, saving the sacred dignity of the senor
licentiate and his honoured person, I say he knows little about chivalry
and lies like a whoreson villain, and this I will give him to know to the
fullest extent with my sword;" and so saying he settled himself in his
stirrups and pressed down his morion; for the barber's basin, which
according to him was Mambrino's helmet, he carried hanging at the
saddle-bow until he could repair the damage done to it by the galley
slaves.
Dorothea, who was shrewd and sprightly, and by this time thoroughly
understood Don Quixote's crazy turn, and that all except Sancho Panza
were making game of him, not to be behind the rest said to him, on
observing his irritation, "Sir Knight, remember the boon you have
promised me, and that in accordance with it you must not engage in any
other adventure, be it ever so pressing; calm yourself, for if the
licentiate had known that the galley slaves had been set free by that
unconquered arm he would have stopped his mouth thrice over, or even
bitten his tongue three times before he would have said a word that
tended towards disrespect of your worship."
"That I swear heartily," said the curate, "and I would have even plucked
off a moustache."
"I will hold my peace, senora," said Don Quixote, "and I will curb the
natural anger that had arisen in my breast, and will proceed in peace and
quietness until I have fulfilled my promise; but in return for this
consideration I entreat you to tell me, if you have no objection to do
so, what is the nature of your trouble, and how many, who, and what are
the persons of whom I am to require due satisfaction, and on whom I am to
take vengeance on your behalf?"
"That I will do with all my heart," replied Dorothea, "if it will not be
wearisome to you to hear of miseries and misfortunes."
"It will not be wearisome, senora," said Don Quixote; to which Dorothea
replied, "Well, if that be so, give me your attention." As soon as she
said this, Cardenio and the barber drew close to her side, eager to hear
what sort of story the quick-witted Dorothea would invent for herself;
and Sancho did the same, for he was as much taken in by her as his
master; and she having settled herself comfortably in the saddle, and
with the help of coughing and other preliminaries taken time to think,
began with great sprightliness of manner in this fashion.
"First of all, I would have you know, sirs, that my name is-" and here
she stopped for a moment, for she forgot the name the curate had given
her; but he came to her relief, seeing what her difficulty was, and said,
"It is no wonder, senora, that your highness should be confused and
embarrassed in telling the tale of your misfortunes; for such afflictions
often have the effect of depriving the sufferers of memory, so that they
do not even remember their own names, as is the case now with your
ladyship, who has forgotten that she is called the Princess Micomicona,
lawful heiress of the great kingdom of Micomicon; and with this cue your
highness may now recall to your sorrowful recollection all you may wish
to tell us."
"That is the truth," said the damsel; "but I think from this on I shall
have no need of any prompting, and I shall bring my true story safe into
port, and here it is. The king my father, who was called Tinacrio the
Sapient, was very learned in what they call magic arts, and became aware
by his craft that my mother, who was called Queen Jaramilla, was to die
before he did, and that soon after he too was to depart this life, and I
was to be left an orphan without father or mother. But all this, he
declared, did not so much grieve or distress him as his certain knowledge
that a prodigious giant, the lord of a great island close to our kingdom,
Pandafilando of the Scowl by name--for it is averred that, though his
eyes are properly placed and straight, he always looks askew as if he
squinted, and this he does out of malignity, to strike fear and terror
into those he looks at--that he knew, I say, that this giant on becoming
aware of my orphan condition would overrun my kingdom with a mighty force
and strip me of all, not leaving me even a small village to shelter me;
but that I could avoid all this ruin and misfortune if I were willing to
marry him; however, as far as he could see, he never expected that I
would consent to a marriage so unequal; and he said no more than the
truth in this, for it has never entered my mind to marry that giant, or
any other, let him be ever so great or enormous. My father said, too,
that when he was dead, and I saw Pandafilando about to invade my kingdom,
I was not to wait and attempt to defend myself, for that would be
destructive to me, but that I should leave the kingdom entirely open to
him if I wished to avoid the death and total destruction of my good and
loyal vassals, for there would be no possibility of defending myself
against the giant's devilish power; and that I should at once with some
of my followers set out for Spain, where I should obtain relief in my
distress on finding a certain knight-errant whose fame by that time would
extend over the whole kingdom, and who would be called, if I remember
rightly, Don Azote or Don Gigote."
"'Don Quixote,' he must have said, senora," observed Sancho at this,
"otherwise called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance."
"That is it," said Dorothea; "he said, moreover, that he would be tall of
stature and lank featured; and that on his right side under the left
shoulder, or thereabouts, he would have a grey mole with hairs like
bristles."
On hearing this, Don Quixote said to his squire, "Here, Sancho my son,
bear a hand and help me to strip, for I want to see if I am the knight
that sage king foretold."
"What does your worship want to strip for?" said Dorothea.
"To see if I have that mole your father spoke of," answered Don Quixote.
"There is no occasion to strip," said Sancho; "for I know your worship
has just such a mole on the middle of your backbone, which is the mark of
a strong man."
"That is enough," said Dorothea, "for with friends we must not look too
closely into trifles; and whether it be on the shoulder or on the
backbone matters little; it is enough if there is a mole, be it where it
may, for it is all the same flesh; no doubt my good father hit the truth
in every particular, and I have made a lucky hit in commending myself to
Don Quixote; for he is the one my father spoke of, as the features of his
countenance correspond with those assigned to this knight by that wide
fame he has acquired not only in Spain but in all La Mancha; for I had
scarcely landed at Osuna when I heard such accounts of his achievements,
that at once my heart told me he was the very one I had come in search
of."
"But how did you land at Osuna, senora," asked Don Quixote, "when it is
not a seaport?"
But before Dorothea could reply the curate anticipated her, saying, "The
princess meant to say that after she had landed at Malaga the first place
where she heard of your worship was Osuna."
"That is what I meant to say," said Dorothea.
"And that would be only natural," said the curate. "Will your majesty
please proceed?"
"There is no more to add," said Dorothea, "save that in finding Don
Quixote I have had such good fortune, that I already reckon and regard
myself queen and mistress of my entire dominions, since of his courtesy
and magnanimity he has granted me the boon of accompanying me
whithersoever I may conduct him, which will be only to bring him face to
face with Pandafilando of the Scowl, that he may slay him and restore to
me what has been unjustly usurped by him: for all this must come to pass
satisfactorily since my good father Tinacrio the Sapient foretold it, who
likewise left it declared in writing in Chaldee or Greek characters (for
I cannot read them), that if this predicted knight, after having cut the
giant's throat, should be disposed to marry me I was to offer myself at
once without demur as his lawful wife, and yield him possession of my
kingdom together with my person."
"What thinkest thou now, friend Sancho?" said Don Quixote at this.
"Hearest thou that? Did I not tell thee so? See how we have already got a
kingdom to govern and a queen to marry!"
"On my oath it is so," said Sancho; "and foul fortune to him who won't
marry after slitting Senor Pandahilado's windpipe! And then, how
ill-favoured the queen is! I wish the fleas in my bed were that sort!"
And so saying he cut a couple of capers in the air with every sign of
extreme satisfaction, and then ran to seize the bridle of Dorothea's
mule, and checking it fell on his knees before her, begging her to give
him her hand to kiss in token of his acknowledgment of her as his queen
and mistress. Which of the bystanders could have helped laughing to see
the madness of the master and the simplicity of the servant? Dorothea
therefore gave her hand, and promised to make him a great lord in her
kingdom, when Heaven should be so good as to permit her to recover and
enjoy it, for which Sancho returned thanks in words that set them all
laughing again.
"This, sirs," continued Dorothea, "is my story; it only remains to tell
you that of all the attendants I took with me from my kingdom I have none
left except this well-bearded squire, for all were drowned in a great
tempest we encountered when in sight of port; and he and I came to land
on a couple of planks as if by a miracle; and indeed the whole course of
my life is a miracle and a mystery as you may have observed; and if I
have been over minute in any respect or not as precise as I ought, let it
be accounted for by what the licentiate said at the beginning of my tale,
that constant and excessive troubles deprive the sufferers of their
memory."
"They shall not deprive me of mine, exalted and worthy princess," said
Don Quixote, "however great and unexampled those which I shall endure in
your service may be; and here I confirm anew the boon I have promised
you, and I swear to go with you to the end of the world until I find
myself in the presence of your fierce enemy, whose haughty head I trust
by the aid of my arm to cut off with the edge of this--I will not say
good sword, thanks to Gines de Pasamonte who carried away mine"--(this he
said between his teeth, and then continued), "and when it has been cut
off and you have been put in peaceful possession of your realm it shall
be left to your own decision to dispose of your person as may be most
pleasing to you; for so long as my memory is occupied, my will enslaved,
and my understanding enthralled by her-I say no more--it is impossible
for me for a moment to contemplate marriage, even with a Phoenix."
The last words of his master about not wanting to marry were so
disagreeable to Sancho that raising his voice he exclaimed with great
irritation:
"By my oath, Senor Don Quixote, you are not in your right senses; for how
can your worship possibly object to marrying such an exalted princess as
this? Do you think Fortune will offer you behind every stone such a piece
of luck as is offered you now? Is my lady Dulcinea fairer, perchance? Not
she; nor half as fair; and I will even go so far as to say she does not
come up to the shoe of this one here. A poor chance I have of getting
that county I am waiting for if your worship goes looking for dainties in
the bottom of the sea. In the devil's name, marry, marry, and take this
kingdom that comes to hand without any trouble, and when you are king
make me a marquis or governor of a province, and for the rest let the
devil take it all."
Don Quixote, when he heard such blasphemies uttered against his lady
Dulcinea, could not endure it, and lifting his pike, without saying
anything to Sancho or uttering a word, he gave him two such thwacks that
he brought him to the ground; and had it not been that Dorothea cried out
to him to spare him he would have no doubt taken his life on the spot.
"Do you think," he said to him after a pause, "you scurvy clown, that you
are to be always interfering with me, and that you are to be always
offending and I always pardoning? Don't fancy it, impious scoundrel, for
that beyond a doubt thou art, since thou hast set thy tongue going
against the peerless Dulcinea. Know you not, lout, vagabond, beggar, that
were it not for the might that she infuses into my arm I should not have
strength enough to kill a flea? Say, scoffer with a viper's tongue, what
think you has won this kingdom and cut off this giant's head and made you
a marquis (for all this I count as already accomplished and decided), but
the might of Dulcinea, employing my arm as the instrument of her
achievements? She fights in me and conquers in me, and I live and breathe
in her, and owe my life and being to her. O whoreson scoundrel, how
ungrateful you are, you see yourself raised from the dust of the earth to
be a titled lord, and the return you make for so great a benefit is to
speak evil of her who has conferred it upon you!"
Sancho was not so stunned but that he heard all his master said, and
rising with some degree of nimbleness he ran to place himself behind
Dorothea's palfrey, and from that position he said to his master:
"Tell me, senor; if your worship is resolved not to marry this great
princess, it is plain the kingdom will not be yours; and not being so,
how can you bestow favours upon me? That is what I complain of. Let your
worship at any rate marry this queen, now that we have got her here as if
showered down from heaven, and afterwards you may go back to my lady
Dulcinea; for there must have been kings in the world who kept
mistresses. As to beauty, I have nothing to do with it; and if the truth
is to be told, I like them both; though I have never seen the lady
Dulcinea."
"How! never seen her, blasphemous traitor!" exclaimed Don Quixote; "hast
thou not just now brought me a message from her?"
"I mean," said Sancho, "that I did not see her so much at my leisure that
I could take particular notice of her beauty, or of her charms piecemeal;
but taken in the lump I like her."
"Now I forgive thee," said Don Quixote; "and do thou forgive me the
injury I have done thee; for our first impulses are | 2,053.28439 |
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Produced by David Widger
LITERATURE AND LIFE--Some Anomalies of the Short Story
by William Dean Howells
SOME ANOMALIES OF THE SHORT STORY
The interesting experiment of one of our great publishing houses in
putting out serially several volumes of short stories, with the hope that
a courageous persistence may overcome the popular indifference to such
collections when severally administered, suggests some questions as to
this eldest form of fiction which I should like to ask the reader's
patience with. I do not know that I shall be able to answer them, or
that I shall try to do so; the vitality of a question that is answered
seems to exhale in the event; it palpitates no longer; curiosity flutters
away from the faded flower, which is fit then only to be folded away in
the 'hortus siccus' of accomplished facts. In view of this I may wish
merely to state the problems and leave them for the reader's solution,
or, more amusingly, for his mystification.
I.
One of the most amusing questions concerning the short story is why a
form which is singly so attractive that every one likes to read a short
story when he finds it alone is collectively so repellent as it is said
to be. Before now I have imagined the case to be somewhat the same as
that of a number of pleasant people who are most acceptable as separate
householders, but who lose caste and cease to be desirable acquaintances
when gathered into a boarding-house.
Yet the case is not the same quite, for we see that the short story where
it is ranged with others of its species within the covers of a magazine
is so welcome that the editor thinks his number the more brilliant the
more short story writers he can call about his board, or under the roof
of his pension. Here the boardinghouse analogy breaks, breaks so
signally that I was lately moved to ask a distinguished editor why a book
of short stories usually failed and a magazine usually succeeded because
of them. He answered, gayly, that the short stories in most books of
them were bad; that where they were good, they went; and he alleged
several well-known instances in which books of prime short stories had a
great vogue. He was so handsomely interested in my inquiry that I could
not well say I thought some of the short stories which he had boasted in
his last number were indifferent good, and yet, as he allowed, had mainly
helped sell it. I had in mind many books of short stories of the first
excellence which had failed as decidedly as those others had succeeded,
for no reason that I could see; possibly there is really no reason in any
literary success or failure that can be predicted, or applied in another
Base.
I could name these books, if it would serve any purpose, but, in my
doubt, I will leave the reader to think of them, for I believe that his
indolence or intellectual reluctance is largely to blame for the failure
of good books of short stories. He is commonly so averse to any
imaginative exertion that he finds it a hardship to respond to that
peculiar demand which a book of good short stories makes upon him. He
can read one good short story in a magazine with refreshment, and a
pleasant sense of excitement, in the sort of spur it gives to his own
constructive faculty. But, if this is repeated in ten or twenty stories,
he becomes fluttered and exhausted by the draft upon his energies;
whereas a continuous fiction of the same quantity acts as an agreeable
sedative. A condition that the short story tacitly makes with the
reader, through its limitations, is that he shall subjectively fill in
the details and carry out the scheme which in its small dimensions the
story can only suggest; and the greater number of readers find this too
much for their feeble powers, while they cannot resist the incitement to
attempt it.
My theory does not wholly account for the fact (no theory wholly accounts
for any fact), and I own that the same objections would lie from the
reader against a number of short stories in a magazine. But it may be
that the effect is not the same in the magazine because of the variety in
the authorship, and because it would be impossibly jolting to read all
the short stories in a magazine'seriatim'. On the other hand, the
identity of authorship gives a continuity of attraction to the short
stories in a book which forms that exhausting strain upon the imagination
of the involuntary co-partner.
II.
Then, what is the solution as to the form of publication for short
stories, since people do not object to them singly but collectively, and
not in variety, but in identity of authorship? Are they to be printed
only in the magazines, or are they to be collected in volumes combining a
variety of authorship? Rather, I could wish, it might be found feasible
to purvey them in some pretty shape where each would appeal singly to the
reader and would not exhaust him in the subjective after-work required of
him. In this event many short stories now cramped into undue limits by
the editorial exigencies of the magazines might expand to greater length
and breadth, and without ceasing to be each a short story might not make
so heavy a demand upon the subliminal forces of the reader.
If any one were to say that all this was a little fantastic, I should not
contradict him; but I hope there is some reason in it, if reason can help
the short story to greater favor, for it is a form which I have great
pleasure in as a reader, and pride in as an American. If we have not
excelled all other moderns in it, we have certainly excelled in it;
possibly because we are in the period of our literary development which
corresponds to that of other peoples when the short story pre-eminently
flourished among them. But when one has said a thing like this, it
immediately accuses one of loose and inaccurate statement, and requires
one to refine upon it, either for one's own peace of conscience or for
one's safety from the thoughtful reader. I am not much afraid of that
sort of reader, for he is very rare, but I do like to know myself what I
mean, if I mean anything in particular.
In this instance I am obliged to ask myself whether our literary
development can be recognized separately from that of the whole English-
speaking world. I think it can | 2,053.288349 |
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