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Produced by Pasteur Nicole, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. Please
see the end of this book for further notes.
FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY
[Illustration: "THERE WAS A LITTLE BLACK SHAPE SITTING ON SOME
LUGGAGE."]
[Illustration: Title page]
FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY
A Novel
BY
MARIA LOUISE POOL
AUTHOR OF
"IN A DIKE SHANTY," "BOSS," ETC.
[Illustration]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
1898
_Copyright, 1898_
BY THE J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO.
_Copyright, 1898_
BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AT SAVIN HILL 15
II. A SLIGHT ACCIDENT 43
III. "I WANT TO ASK YOU A QUESTION" 59
IV. "I REALLY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN AN
ACTRESS" 84
V. BEING A CHAPERON 101
VI. THE EVENING BEFORE 114
VII. "A BLESSED CHANCE" 128
VIII. ON BOARD THE SCYTHIA 140
IX. "COLD PORRIDGE HOT AGAIN" 150
X. THE PASSENGER LIST 169
XI. A KNOCK-DOWN BLOW 178
XII. "DON'T BE CRUEL TO ME" 186
XIII. AN INVOLUNTARY BATH 205
XIV. A BULL TERRIER 216
XV. "TOO MUCH FOR ANY WOMAN TO FORGIVE" 230
XVI. TETE-A-TETE 251
XVII. "ARE YOU GOING TO MARRY LORD MAXWELL?" 261
XVIII. LEANDER AS A MEANS 274
XIX. "I SHALL COME BACK" 289
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"THERE WAS A LITTLE BLACK SHAPE SITTING ON
SOME LUGGAGE." _Frontispiece_
"'I BORE YOU SO,' SHE SAID." 119
"'LET ME SEE IT,' SAID CAROLYN." 174
"LAWRENCE SPRANG TO HIS FEET." 235
FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY.
CHAPTER I.
AT SAVIN HILL.
There was one large wicker chair on the piazza, and in the chair sat
a girl. It was a spacious piazza, the roof of which was supported
by gnarled tree-trunks, the bark and the knots carefully preserved
so as to look "rustic." The deep eaves drooped in a rustic manner
also, and there were trumpet-vines and wistaria, and various other
creeping things of the vegetable world, wandering about in a careful
carelessness, like the hair of a woman when it is dressed most
effectively.
The lawn swept down rather steeply and stopped suddenly against a
thick stone wall that was covered with ivy.
On top of this wall, ruthlessly trampling back and forth on the
leaves, was a small boy dressed in the fashion of a member of the
navy. His blue pantaloons flapped very widely at the ankles, and were
belted about him by a leather belt on which was the word "Vireo," in
gilt letters; his brimless cap was tipped perilously on that part of
his head where the warm affections used to be located in the days
of phrenology. On this cap also appeared the word "Vireo," in gilt.
This figure, outlined as it was against the bright blue of the sky,
had the effect of not being more than about sixteen inches long. And
in truth Leander Ffolliott was very small for his age, which was ten
years and five months. He did not feel small, however; his mind might
suitably have inhabited a giant's frame, so far as his estimation of
himself and the Ffolliott family generally was concerned. But the
rest of the family did not always agree with him in this estimation,
and at such times of disagreement the boy was given to screaming and
kicking until the air round about this summer residence resounded,
and seemed actually to crackle and glimmer in sympathy with the mood
of Leander.
Just now he had stopped in his trampling of the ivy leaves. He was
standing with his legs wide apart, and was bending forward somewhat,
stirring with a stick something on the top of the wall in front of
him. His atom of a face was screwed up, his lips sticking out.
"Sis!" he suddenly shrieked; "I say, sis!"
The girl on the piazza stopped reading, and looked at the boy.
"What's the matter?" she called out.
"You just come here; you come here this minute! Stop readin' that
nasty book, 'n' come along!"
"Carolyn, you'd better go," said a voice from the inner side of an
open window; "if you don't he may be so tried with you that he'll
fall off the wall. I've told him not to get on that wall, anyway."
The girl rose and turned her book down open upon her chair. Then she
sauntered slowly along over the lawn, so slowly that her brother
Leander stamped his foot and called to her to hurry, for he couldn't
wait.
"You'd better hurry, Carolyn," said the gentle voice at the window;
"I'm so afraid he may fall."
So the girl hastened, and in a moment was leaning against the wall
and asking, without much interest:
"What is it, Lee? You do shriek so!"
Leander was now standing upright. He had put his foot, encased in
yellow leather, hard down on the something he had been poking at. His
freckled face was red, his eyes shining with excitement.
"By George!" he exclaimed; "you can't guess in a million years what
I've found! No, not in ten million! I ain't picked it up yet. I
wanted you to see me pick it up. Oh, thunderation! won't I just do
what I darn please with the money? You bet! Fifty dollars! Cousin Rod
owes me fifty dollars! I don't s'pose he'll be so mean as to say that
ad. of his has run out 'n' he don't owe me anything. Do you think
he'll be so mean as that, Caro? Say!"
At this thought Leander's face actually grew pale beneath tan and
freckles.
The girl was not very much impressed as yet by her brother's
excitement. She was used to seeing him excited.
"You know Rod wouldn't do anything mean," she replied, calmly. "But
what are you talking about? Of course it can't be--"
"Yes, 'tis, too. And it's fifty dollars. Now you needn't go 'n' tell
Rod he no need to pay it, 'cause 'twas one of the family. I won't
stand it if you do! I--"
"Stop your gabble!" interrupted the girl, imperatively. "Lift up your
foot."
She took hold of the boy's arm as she spoke. A certain spark had come
into her eye.
The foot was withdrawn. In a cleft between the stones, where the ivy
leaves had hidden it, lay a ring. It was turned so that the stone
could but just be seen.
She extended her hand, but it was promptly twitched away by her
brother.
"None er that!" he cried. "I ain't goin' to let you pick it up;
then you'll be wantin' to share in the fifty dollars. You can't do
that,--not by a long streak. Here she goes!"
He stooped and then held up a ring between his finger and thumb. The
sun struck it, and made the engraved carbuncle shine dully red.
"That's the very critter!" exclaimed Leander, triumphantly.
"Let me take it," said the girl.
She spoke shortly, and in a way that made the boy turn and look at
her curiously. But he obeyed instantly. He laid the ring in the palm
of her hand, thrust his own hands into his pockets, and stood gazing
down at his sister.
Carolyn Ffolliott looked at the trinket with narrowing eyes. Her lips
were a trifle compressed.
"There ain't any mistake, is there?" the boy asked, at last, speaking
anxiously. "That's the ring Rod lost, ain't it? Anyway, it's one
exactly like it,--that red stone with something cut into it."
"There isn't the least chance of any mistake," was the answer. "Of
course it's Rod's."
Carolyn gave back the ring.
"And I sh'll have the reward?"
"Of course."
The girl appeared to have lost all interest in the matter. She turned
to go back to the piazza.
Leander made an extremely tight, hard, dingy fist of one hand, with
the ring enclosed, and then he leaped down from the wall, landing so
near to his sister that she staggered away from him.
"I wish you would behave respectably!" she cried.
"Pooh!" said Leander. He ranged up by her side and walked across the
lawn with her towards the house.
He had now put the ring on his thumb and was holding it up in front
of him, gazing at it. He was greatly surprised that his sister took
no more notice of it. But you never knew what to expect of a girl.
Anyway, she shouldn't have any of that money.
"I'll bet I know how the ring got there," he remarked, presently.
"How?"
"Why, you gaby you, the crow, of course. But I don't know how he got
it. Flew into Rod's room sometime, I s'pose. If he thinks such an
almighty lot of it, Rod better look out. I guess fifty dollars'd get
a lunkin' lot of cannon crackers, don't you think, sis?"
"Yes," absently.
"But I better have some pin-wheels, 'n' Roman candles, don't you
think?"
"Yes."
Leander turned, and peered up at his sister's face.
"You mad 'cause you didn't find it?" he asked.
"No."
"All right. I guess I'll get you 'n' marmer some kind of a present.
I'll make marmer tell me what she'd like for 'bout fifty cents. Hi!
marmer! I'll let you have three guesses 'bout what I've found--"
Here Leander slammed in through the wide screen door which opened
from the piazza into the hall.
Leander's sister resumed her seat. She had taken up her book, and now
sat looking at it in much the same attitude that had been hers when
her brother called her. She could hear his shrill voice inside the
house, as he told his mother of his find.
After a few moments Carolyn heard the clock in the hall strike ten.
At about ten the mail for "Savin Hill," as their place was called,
was brought over from the village.
But she continued to look intently down at her book for several
minutes more. Then she rose slowly; she stood and gazed off across
the lawn to where a sharp line of glitter showed between some
savin-trees that had been left standing on the other side of the
wall. These trees slanted south-westerly, as do most of the trees on
the south shore of Massachusetts, being blown upon so much of their
lives by the northeast wind.
That line of glitter was Massachusetts Bay. Across the girl's vision
moved two or three sails; but she did not seem to see them. Her eyes
showed that she was not thinking of what was before her.
Presently a clock somewhere in the house struck the half-hour after
ten.
A servant came out on the piazza with some papers and letters in her
hand. She hesitated, then came forward. "You told me to bring the
mail out here, Miss Ffolliott," she said, as if in apology.
"So I did; thank you."
"Why, Carolyn!" exclaimed a middle-aged lady, hurrying by the
servant, "isn't this odd about Rodney's ring?"
"Very," answered the girl. She held the papers in her hand and did
not raise her eyes as she spoke.
"I do wonder what he'll say," went on her mother. "I do wonder if he
still cares. How upset he was! And how curious that he should have
lost the ring just before the engagement was broken! It did seem
almost like a forerunner."
Mrs. Ffolliott held the trinket in her hand. Her son was standing
beside her still, with his hands in his pockets. He was watching the
ring somewhat as he would have watched it if his mother had been
likely to devour it.
"You know Devil took it, of course," answered Carolyn, without
raising her eyes. "There's no other way to account for its being in
the wall there."
"It always seems so profane to speak of the crow in that way,"
murmured Mrs. Ffolliott.
Whereat her son frankly exclaimed, "Oh, marmer, don't be a jackass!
That's the crow's name, you know."
"But he ought never to have been named in that way. I objected to it
from the first."
"Pooh!"--this from Leander.
"I know," went on the lady, "that it was Rodney himself who named
him, but--"
"Come, now, marmer," the boy interrupted, impatiently, "you always
say that."
"Here's a letter from Prudence at last."
It was the girl who spoke, now looking up at her mother.
"Read it to me, dear," was the response. But it was some moments
before the mother and son could finish the altercation now entered
into as to who should have charge of the ring until such time as it
could be returned to the owner.
Mrs. Ffolliott succeeded in gaining permission, Leander perceiving
that the article would be safer in her care. But he cautioned her not
to expect any share of the reward.
Then he walked out of sight to some region momentarily unknown to his
parent, and peace reigned on the piazza.
Mrs. Ffolliott sat down in the chair and placidly waited.
Carolyn stood leaning against the wall of the house. The open letter
hung from her hand.
"That new man hasn't brought back the veranda chairs since he swept
here," now remarked Mrs. Ffolliott. "I wish you'd tell him--"
"Yes, I will, presently," replied the girl. "Shall I read this to you
now? She's coming home."
"Coming home!"
"Yes. Here's what she says: 'My dear old fellow--'"
"Does she call you that?" interrupted Mrs. Ffolliott.
There was a slight smile on the girl's face as she answered:
"Yes; she seems to mean me."
"Oh, dear! Well, it's just like her. But then, anything is just like
her. Go on, please."
"'My dear old fellow,'" again began Carolyn, "'I suppose there is
stuff that martyrs are made of, but none of that stuff got into my
make-up, so I don't mean ever to pose for that sort of thing. That
is, never again; but I've been doing it for the last four weeks.
"'You see, mamma would have me stay with her at Carlsbad. It has
seemed as if I should die. And how horrid you would feel if you
should have to tell people, "My dear cousin Prudence died at
Carlsbad." Because, you see, they don't die at Carlsbad; they hustle
off somewhere to die and be buried. And if I should give up the ghost
here I should be thought quite odd. But I shouldn't care for that.
Only I want to live, and I mean to. That's why I'm not going to stand
it.
"'There hasn't been a man here that it would pay to speak to, much
less to look at. I might just as well have been a nurse. I shouldn't
have been so bored, for if I had really been one that knowledge would
have sort of upheld me,--at least I think it would.
"' | 2,285.684013 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.6677870 | 2,748 | 15 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of MM. and Bebe, by Gustave Droz, v2
#11 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
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[Illustration: (cover)]
[Illustration: (frontispiece)]
"SOME SAY"
NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," "Melody," "Queen Hildegarde,"
"Five-Minute Stories," "When I Was Your Age,"
"Narcissa," "Marie," "Nautilus," etc.
TWELFTH THOUSAND
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1896_,
BY ESTES & LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott & Sons
"SOME SAY"
TO MY
Dear Sister,
FLORENCE HOWE HALL,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
* * * * *
"S | 2,285.788916 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.8611940 | 4,067 | 52 |
Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
MATTHEW ARNOLD'S
SOHRAB AND RUSTUM
AND OTHER POEMS
EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
JUSTUS COLLINS CASTLEMAN
HEAD OF ENGLISH DEPARTMENT, SOUTH DIVISION
HIGH SCHOOL, MILWAUKEE
1905
CONTENTS
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
A Short Life of Arnold
Arnold the Poet
Arnold the Critic
Chronological List of Arnold's Works
Contemporary Authors
Bibliography
SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD'S POETICAL WORKS
NARRATIVE POEMS
Sohrab and Rustum
Saint Brandan
The Forsaken Merman
Tristram and Iseult
LYRICAL POEMS
The Church of Brou
Requiescat
Consolation
A Dream
Lines written in Kensington Gardens
The Strayed Reveller
Morality
Dover Beach
Philomela
Human Life
Isolation--To Marguerite
Kaiser Dead
The Last Word
Palladium
Revolutions
Self-Dependence
A Summer Night
Geist's Grave
Epilogue--To Lessing's Laocooen
SONNETS
Quiet Work
Shakespeare
Youth's Agitations
Austerity of Poetry
Worldly Place
East London
West London
ELEGIAC POEMS
Memorial Verses
The Scholar-Gipsy
Thyrsis
Rugby Chapel
NOTES
INDEX
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD
Matthew Arnold, poet and critic, was born in the village of Laleham,
Middlesex County, England, December 24, 1822. He was the son of Dr.
Thomas Arnold, best remembered as the great Head Master at Rugby and
in later years distinguished also as a historian of Rome, and of Mary
Penrose Arnold, a woman of remarkable character and intellect.
Devoid of stirring incident, and, on the whole, free from the
eccentricities so common to men of genius, the story of Arnold's life
is soon told. As a boy he lived the life of the normal English lad,
with its healthy routine of task and play. He was at school at both
Laleham and Winchester, then at Rugby, where he attracted attention
as a student and won a prize for poetry. In 1840 he was elected to
an open scholarship at Balliol College, Oxford, and the next year
matriculated for his university work. Arnold's career at Oxford was a
memorable one. While here he was associated with such men as John Duke
Coleridge, John Shairp, Dean Fraser, Dean Church, John Henry Newman,
Thomas Hughes, the Froudes, and, closest of all, with Arthur Hugh
Clough, whose early death he lamented in his exquisite elegiac
poem--_Thyrsis_. Among this brilliant company Arnold moved with ease,
the recognized favorite. Having taken the Newdigate prize for English
verse, and also having won a scholarship, he was graduated with
honors in 1844, and in March of the following year had the additional
distinction of being elected a Fellow of Oriel, the crowning glory of
an Oxford graduate. He afterward taught classics for a short time at
Rugby, then in 1847 accepted the post of private secretary to the
Marquis of Lansdowne, Lord President of the Council, which position he
occupied until 1851, when he was appointed Lay Inspector of Schools
by the Committee on Education. The same year he married Frances Lucy
Wightman, daughter of Sir William Wightman, judge of the Court of the
Queen's Bench.
Arnold's record as an educator is unparalleled in the history of
England's public schools. For more than thirty-five years he served as
inspector and commissioner, which offices he filled with efficiency.
As inspector he was earnest, conscientious, versatile; beloved alike
by teachers and pupils. The Dean of Salisbury likened his appearance
to inspect the school at Kiddermaster, to the admission of a ray
of light when a shutter is suddenly opened in a darkened room.
All-in-all, he valued happy-appearing children, and kindly sympathetic
teachers, more than excellence in grade reports. In connection with
the duties of his office as commissioner, he travelled frequently on
the Continent to inquire into foreign methods of primary and secondary
education. Here he found much that was worth while, and often carried
back to London larger suggestions and ideas than the national mind was
ready to accept. Under his supervision, however, the school system of
England was extensively revised and improved. He resigned his position
under the Committee of Council on Education, in 1886, two years before
his death.
In the meantime Arnold's pen had not been idle. His first volume of
verse, _The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems_, appeared (1848), and
although quietly received, slowly won its way into public favor. The
next year the narrative poem, _The Sick King in Bokhara_, came out,
and was followed in turn by a third volume in 1853, under the title of
_Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems_. By this time Arnold's reputation
as a poet was established, and in 1857 he was elected Professor of
Poetry at Oxford, where he began his career as a lecturer, in which
capacity he twice visited America. _Merope, a Tragedy_ (1856) and a
volume under the title of _New Poems_ (1869) finish the list of his
poetical works, with the exception of occasional verses.
Arnold's prose works, aside from his letters, consist wholly of
critical essays, in which he has dealt fearlessly with the greater
issues of his day. As will be seen by their titles (see page xxxviii
of this volume), the subject-matter of these essays is of very great
scope, embracing in theme literature, politics, social conduct, and
popular religion. By them Arnold has exerted a remarkable influence on
public thought and stamped himself as one of the ablest critics and
reformers of the last century. Arnold's life was thus one of many
widely diverse activities and was at all times deeply concerned with
practical as well as with literary affairs; and on no side was it
deficient in human sympathies and relations. He won respect and
reputation while he lived, and his works continue to attract men's
minds, although with much unevenness. It has been said of him that, of
all the modern poets, except Goethe, he was the best critic, and of
all the modern critics, with the same exception, he was the best poet.
He died at Liverpool, where he had gone to meet his daughter returning
from America, April 15, 1888. By his death the world lost an acute and
cultured critic, a refined writer, an earnest educational reformer,
and a noble man. He was buried in his native town, Laleham.
Agreeably to his own request, Arnold has never been made the subject
for a biography. By means of his letters, his official reports,
and statements of his friends, however, one is able to trace the
successive stages of his career, as he steadily grew in honor and
public usefulness. Though somewhat inadequate, the picture thus
presented is singularly pleasing and attractive. The subjoined
appreciations have been selected with a view of giving the student a
glimpse of Arnold as he appeared to unprejudiced minds.
One who knew him at Oxford wrote of him as follows: "His perfect
self-possession, the sallies of his ready wit, the humorous turn which
he could give to any subject that he handled, his gaiety, audacity,
and unfailing command of words, made him one of the most popular and
successful undergraduates that Oxford has ever known."
"He was beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, yet full of dreams
and schemes. His Olympian manners began even at Oxford: there was no
harm in them: they were natural, not put on. The very sound of his
voice and wave of his arm were Jove-like."--PROFESSOR MAX MUeLLER.
"He was most distinctly on the side of human enjoyment. He conspired
and contrived to make things pleasant. Pedantry he abhorred. He was
a man of this life and this world. A severe critic of this world he
indeed was; but, finding himself in it, and not precisely knowing what
is beyond it, like a brave and true-hearted man, he set himself to
make the best of it. Its sights and sounds were dear to him. The
'uncrumpling fern, the eternal moonlit snow,' the red grouse springing
at our sound, the tinkling bells of the 'high-pasturing kine,' the
vagaries of men, of women, and dogs, their odd ways and tricks,
whether of mind or manner, all delighted, amused, tickled him.
* * * * *
"In a sense of the word which is noble and blessed, he was of the
earth earthy.... His mind was based on the plainest possible things.
What he hated most was the fantastic--the far-fetched, all-elaborated
fancies and strained interpretations. He stuck to the beaten track of
human experience, and the broader the better. He was a plain-sailing
man. This is his true note."--MR. AUGUSTINE BIRRELL.
"He was incapable of sacrificing the smallest interest of anybody to
his own; he had not a spark of envy or jealousy; he stood well aloof
from all the bustlings and jostlings by which selfish men push on;
he bore life's disappointments--and he was disappointed in some
reasonable hopes--with good nature and fortitude; he cast no burden
upon others, and never shrank from bearing his own share of the daily
load to the last ounce of it; he took the deepest, sincerest, and
most active interest in the well-being of his country and his
countrymen."--MR. JOHN MORLEY.
In his essay on Arnold, George E. Woodberry speaks of the poet's
personality as revealed by his letters in the following beautiful
manner: "Few who did not know Arnold could have been prepared for
the revelation of a nature so true, so amiable, so dutiful. In every
relation of private life he is shown to have been a man of exceptional
constancy and plainness.... Every one must take delight in the mental
association with Arnold in the scenes of his existence... and in his
family affections. A nature warm to its own, kindly to all, cheerful,
fond of sport and fun, and always fed from pure fountains, and with
it a character so founded upon the rock, so humbly serviceable, so
continuing in power and grace, must wake in all the responses of happy
appreciation and leave the charm of memory.
"He did his duty as naturally as if it required neither resolve nor
effort, nor thought of any kind for the morrow, and he never failed,
seemingly, in act or word of sympathy, in little or great things; and
when to this one adds the clear ether of the intellectual life where
he habitually moved in his own life apart, and the humanity of his
home, the gift that these letters bring may be appreciated. That gift
is the man himself, but set in the atmosphere of home, with sonship
and fatherhood, sisters and brothers, with the bereavements of years
fully accomplished, and those of babyhood and boyhood--a sweet and
wholesome English home, with all the cloud and sunshine of the English
world drifting over its roof-trees, and the soil of England beneath
its stones, and English duties for the breath of its being. To add
such a home to the household rights of English Literature is perhaps
something from which Arnold would have shrunk, but it endears his
memory."
"It may be overmuch
He shunned the common stain and smutch,
From soilure of ignoble touch
Too grandly free,
Too loftily secure in such
Cold purity;
But he preserved from chance control
The fortress of his established soul,
In all things sought to see the whole;
Brooked no disguise,
And set his heart upon the goal,
Not on the prize."
--MR. WILLIAM WATSON, _In Laleham Churchyard_.
ARNOLD THE POET
Matthew Arnold was essentially a man of the intellect. No other author
of modern times, perhaps no other English author of any time, appeals
so directly as he to the educated classes. Even a cursory reading of
his pages, prose or verse, reveals the scholar and the critic. He is
always thinking, always brilliant, never lacks for a word or phrase;
and on the whole, his judgments are good. Between his prose and verse,
however, there is a marked difference, both in tone and spiritual
quality. True, each possesses the note of a lofty, though stoical
courage; reveals the same grace of finish and exactness of phrase and
manner; and is, in equal degree, the output of a singularly sane and
noble nature; but here the comparison ends; for, while his prose
is often stormy and contentious, his poetry has always about it an
atmosphere of entire repose. The cause of this difference is not far
to seek. His poetry, written in early manhood, reflects his inner
self, the more lovable side of his nature; while his prose presents
the critic and the reformer, pointing out the good and bad, and
permitting at times a spirit of bitterness to creep in, as he
endeavors to arouse men out of their easy contentment with themselves
and their surroundings.
With the exception of occasional verses, Arnold's poetical career
began and ended inside of twenty years. The reason for this can only
be conjectured, and need not be dwelt upon here. But although his
poetic life was brief, it was of a very high order, his poems ranking
well up among the literary productions of the last century. As a
popular poet, however, he will probably never class with Tennyson or
Longfellow. His poems are too coldly classical and too unattractive in
subject to appeal to the casual reader, who is, generally speaking,
inclined toward poetry of the emotions rather than of the
intellect--Arnold's usual kind. That he recognized this himself,
witness the following quiet statements made in letters to his friends:
"My poems are making their way, I think, though slowly, and are
perhaps never to make way very far. There must always be some people,
however, to whom the literalness and sincerity of them has a charm....
They represent, on the whole, the main movement of mind of the last
quarter of a century, and thus they will probably have their day, as
people become conscious to themselves of what that movement of mind
is, and interested in the literary productions which reflect it." Time
has verified the accuracy of this judgment. In short, Arnold has made
a profound rather than a wide impression. To a few, however, of each
generation, he will continue to be a "voice oracular,"--a poet with a
purpose and a message.
=Arnold's Poetic Culture=.--Obviously, the sources of Arnold's culture
were classical. As one critic has tersely said, "He turned over his
Greek models by day and by night." Here he found his ideal standards,
and here he brought for comparison all questions that engrossed his
thoughts. Homer (he replied to an inquirer) and Epictetus (of mood
congenial with his own) were props of his mind, as were Sophocles,
"who saw life steadily and saw it whole," and Marcus Aurelius, whom he
called the purest of men. These like natures afforded him repose and
consolation. Greek epic and dramatic poetry and Greek philosophy
appealed profoundly to him. Of the Greek poets he wrote: "No other
poets have lived so much by the imaginative reason; no other poets
have made their works so well balanced; no other poets have so well
satisfied the thinking power; have so well satisfied the religious
sense." More than any other English poet he prized the qualities of
measure, proportion, and restraint; and to him lucidity, austerity,
and high seriousness, conspicuous elements of classic verse, were the
substance of true poetry. In explaining his own position as to his
art, he says: "In the sincere endeavor to learn and practise, amid the
bewildering confusion of our times, what is sound and true in poetic
art, I seem, to myself to find the only sure guidance, the only solid
footing, among the ancients. They, at any rate, knew what they wanted
in Art, and we do not. It is this uncertainty which is disheartening,
and not hostile criticism." And again: "The radical difference between
the poetic theory of the Greeks and our own is this: that with them,
the poetical character of the action in itself, and the conduct of it,
was the first consideration; with us, attention is fixed mainly on the
value of separate thoughts and images which occur in the treatment of
an action. They regard the whole; we regard the parts. We have poems
which seem to exist merely for the sake of single lines and passages,
and not for the sake of producing any total impression. We have
critics who seem to direct their attention merely to detached
expressions, to the language about the action, not the action itself.
I verily believe that the majority of them do not believe that there
is such a thing as a total impression to be derived from a poem at
all, or to be demanded from a poet. They will permit the poet to
select any action he pleases, and to suffer that action to go as
it will, provided he gratifies them with occasional bursts of fine
writing, and with a show of isolated thoughts and images; that is,
they permit him to leave their poetic sense ungratified, provided that
he gratifies their rhetorical sense and their curiosity."
Arnold has illustrated, with remarkable success, his ideas of that
unity which gratifies the poetical sense, and has approached very
close to his Greek models in numerous instances; most notably so | 2,285.881234 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.8624060 | 950 | 13 | SCIENCE***
E-text prepared by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE EDINBURGH LECTURES ON MENTAL SCIENCE
BY THOMAS TROWARD LATE DIVISIONAL JUDGE, PUNJAB
THE WRITER AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATES THIS LITTLE VOLUME TO HIS WIFE
FOREWORD.
This book contains the substance of a course of lectures recently given by
the writer in the Queen Street Hall, Edinburgh. Its purpose is to indicate
the _Natural Principles_ governing the relation between Mental Action and
Material Conditions, and thus to afford the student an intelligible
starting-point for the practical study of the subject.
T.T.
March, 1904.
CONTENTS.
I.--SPIRIT AND MATTER.
II.--THE HIGHER MODE OF INTELLIGENCE CONTROLS THE LOWER
III.--THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT
IV.--SUBJECTIVE AND OBJECTIVE MIND
V.--FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS REGARDING SUBJECTIVE AND OBJECTIVE MIND
VI.--THE LAW OF GROWTH
VII.--RECEPTIVITY.
VIII.--RECIPROCAL ACTION OF THE UNIVERSAL AND INDIVIDUAL MINDS
IX.--CAUSES AND CONDITIONS
X.--INTUITION
XI.--HEALING
XII.--THE WILL
XIII.--IN TOUCH WITH SUBCONSCIOUS MIND
XIV.--THE BODY
XV.--THE SOUL
XVI.--THE SPIRIT
I.
SPIRIT AND MATTER.
In commencing a course of lectures on Mental Science, it is somewhat
difficult for the lecturer to fix upon the best method of opening the
subject. It can be approached from many sides, each with some peculiar
advantage of its own; but, after careful deliberation, it appears to me
that, for the purpose of the present course, no better starting-point could
be selected than the relation between Spirit and Matter. I select this
starting-point because the distinction--or what we believe to be such--
between them is one with which we are so familiar that I can safely assume
its recognition by everybody; and I may, therefore, at once state this
distinction by using the adjectives which we habitually apply as expressing
the natural opposition between the two--_living_ spirit and _dead_ matter.
These terms express our current impression of the opposition between spirit
and matter with sufficient accuracy, and considered only from the point of
view of outward appearances this impression is no doubt correct. The
general consensus of mankind is right in trusting the evidence of our
senses, and any system which tells us that we are not to do so will never
obtain a permanent footing in a sane and healthy community. There is
nothing wrong in the evidence conveyed to a healthy mind by the senses of a
healthy body, but the point where error creeps in is when we come to judge
of the meaning of this testimony. We are accustomed to judge only by
external appearances and by certain limited significances which we attach
to words; but when we begin to enquire into the real meaning of our words
and to analyse the causes which give rise to the appearances, we find our
old notions gradually falling off from us, until at last we wake up to the
fact that we are living in an entirely different world to that we formerly
recognized. The old limited mode of thought has imperceptibly slipped away,
and we discover that we have stepped out into a new order of things where
all is liberty and life. This is the work of an enlightened intelligence
resulting from persistent determination to discover what truth really is
irrespective of any preconceived notions from whatever source derived, the
determination to think honestly for ourselves instead of endeavouring to
get our thinking done for us. Let us then commence by enquiring what we
really mean by the livingness which we attribute to spirit and the deadness
which we attribute to matter.
At first we may be disposed to say that livingness consists in the power of
motion and deadness in its absence; but a little enquiry into the most
recent researches of science will soon show us that this distinction does
not go deep enough. It is now one of the fully-established facts of
physical science that no atom of what we call "dead matter" is without
motion. On the table before me lies a solid lump of steel, but in the light
of up-to | 2,285.882446 |
2023-11-16 18:55:09.8637610 | 2,007 | 18 | ORIGEN AGAINST CELSUS***
Transcribed from the 1812 J. Smith edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
HULSEAN ESSAY
_For_ 1811.
* * * * *
A
DISSERTATION
ON THE
BOOKS _of_ ORIGEN _against_ CELSUS,
WITH A VIEW
TO ILLUSTRATE THE ARGUMENT
AND
POINT OUT THE EVIDENCE THEY AFFORD
TO THE
TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY.
* * * * *
_Published in pursuance of the Will of the Rev._ J. HULSE, _as having
gained the_ ANNUAL PRIZE, _instituted by him in the University of
Cambridge_.
* * * * *
BY
FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM,
OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE.
* * * * *
“Quippe in his (_nimirum Origenis contra Celsum libris_) communem
Christianorum doctrinam, adversus instructissimum Religionis nostræ
hostem propugnat: hi summo Auctoris studio maxima eruditione,
elucubrati fuere.” _Bull._ _Def._ _Fid._ _Nic._ Cap. ix. Sec. 2.
* * * * *
CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED _by_ J. SMITH, PRINTER _to the_ UNIVERSITY;
_AND SOLD BY DEIGHTON_, _CAMBRIDGE_; _AND RIVINGTONS_, _AND_
_HATCHARD_, _LONDON_.
* * * * *
1812.
* * * * *
TO THE
_Very Rev. the_ DEAN _of_ CARLISLE,
PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS,
THE PRESIDENT,
AND
_To the Reverend and Learned_
THE FELLOWS
_OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE_,
THIS ESSAY
IS DEDICATED
AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE BY
THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Introduction 1
CHAP. I.
History and Writings of the Jews 5
CHAP. II.
The Scriptures 12
CHAP. III.
History of Christ 19
CHAP. IV.
Miracles 24
CHAP. V.
Character of the early Christians 33
CHAP. VI.
Doctrines of the early Christians 39
CHAP. VII.
Conclusion 49
INTRODUCTION.
THE Book of Celsus, {1a} entitled “The True Discourse,” {1b} is supposed
to have been written during the fifth persecution, {1c} in the reign of
Marcus Antoninus, and in the one hundred and seventieth year of the
Christian era. Of his history nothing is known, but that he was an
epicurean philosopher, {1d} and a friend of Lucian, who inscribed a book
{1e} to him. The object of his work was an attack upon Christianity, and
as such, it is one of the most malignant and unreserved upon record. He
is indebted to his opponents for bringing down any account of his
writings to posterity, for they have otherwise perished.
Origen died in the year of our Lord {2a} two hundred and fifty-four. He
undertook, at the request of Ambrose, {2b} to answer the work of Celsus,
and “to leave no part without examination.” His Treatise is divided into
eight books; but this division seems rather to be founded upon caprice,
{2c} than upon any design of methodically discussing the argument. The
reasonings of Celsus are discussed in the order in which they occur,
which is without method, or connection. The extracts which are made by
Origen from the works of his adversary are very copious, so much so,
that, considering his object, of fully discussing every part of the
original work, it is probable nothing of importance is omitted. The
accuracy of the quotations of Origin is guaranteed both by his
acknowledged veracity, {3a} and by the risk of refutation to which he
would otherwise have exposed himself, from opponents who had the original
writing in their hands. The work of Origen has been considered both by
ancients and moderns, as a master-piece of eloquence and argument.
Eusebius {3b} and Jerome {3c} have given it their highest approbation.
Many of our own writers, {3d} and many more of the French, {3e} both
Catholic and Protestant, have pronounced it to be the completest, and
best written apology for the Christian Religion which has been bequeathed
to us by the ancients.
The want of order, both in the attack of Celsus, and the reply of Origen,
renders it impracticable to follow, precisely in their steps. Time will
be gained, and perspicuity promoted, by endeavouring to bring their
perplexed argument into a more regular form. We shall therefore single
out the main topics discussed by each, and by stating the objections of
the one, and the replies of the other, strive to collect the evidence
which each furnishes to the truth of Christianity. Taking the more
prominent topics therefore, we shall consider in order; the History and
Writings of the Jews—the Scriptures—the History of Christ—the Conduct and
the Principles of the early Christians. After which it will be useful to
sum up the evidence to Christianity, supplied by the whole argument.
CHAP. I.
HISTORY _and_ WRITINGS _of the_ JEWS.
THE evidence in favour of Christianity, to be deduced from the history
and writings of the Jews, is so important, that it was a primary object
with Celsus, to render it nugatory. This he endeavours to effect, first,
by disputing the antiquity of Moses; and secondly, by condemning his
narration. We shall examine his statement on these points, and some
important acknowledgments he makes, of the existence of the prophetic
writings.
He says that “the Jews, {5a} who were originally fugitive slaves from
Egypt, pretended, on the authority of the Books of Moses, to a very
ancient genealogy; {5b} that they lived together in a corner of
Palestine, in profound ignorance; {5c} not having heard of the things
long before celebrated by Hesiod, and many other men divinely inspired.”
He then particularizes much of the history of Genesis, which he calls “an
old woman’s story, full of impiety;” {6a} and asserts that “many of its
facts are taken from the heathens.” To this Origen {6b} replies by
referring to Josephus {6c} and Tatian {6d} for external proof of the
history of the Jews: He affirms that they have all the evidence of their
existence which other nations have, {6e} that they have records which
others have not; {6f} that other nations are allowed to have existed who
bear testimony to the Jews; {6g} that it would have been impossible for
so small a band, to have opposed itself to the whole power of Egypt; that
it must have changed its language; and that, in changing, it has not
assumed one resembling the neighbouring nations. He then urges the
wisdom of the Jewish Institutions; infers from their perfect
preservation, the esteem in which they were held; and challenges a
comparison, {7a} as to sublimity of doctrine, and purity of morals, with
any other system, proposed to mankind.
Celsus then notices many of the Old Testament characters: He ridicules
the relation of “the Fall, {7b} the Deluge, Children born of old Persons,
Brothers who kill each other, Mothers who deceive, the Sin of Lot, the
Animosity of Esau, the Deceit of the Sons of Jacob, the History of
Joseph,” &c. Origen replies that such facts alone are selected by Celsus
from the writings of Moses, as supply a ground of attack; that the
simplicity of his narration proves the integrity of its author; and he
then apologizes for these causes of offence by the necessity of the case,
he contrasts with them the greater profligacy of the heathen, or
fancifully explains them upon the scheme of allegory.
No direct admission of Celsus, relating to Jewish prophecy, is to be
found. There are however many observations, which prove the coming of
Christ to have been expected by the Jews, and this expectation must have
been the result of prophecy. The remarks of Celsus, with regard to this
topic, are of this kind. That the “ | 2,285.883801 |
2023-11-16 18:55:10.1345860 | 1,902 | 10 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Land of Fire, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
As we are told in the Preface, this is the last book Reid wrote before
his death in 1883. A young farm-boy walks down to Portsmouth, a port
not too far away, and eventually gets taken on as a hand on an American
barque, trading with the Pacific. Four years later he has risen to be
second mate. But when rounding Cape Horn a severe storm overwhelms the
vessel, and she is lost after springing a very bad leak. All on board
take to the boats, but the pinnace gets separated from the gig, on which
our heroes have made their escape. The ship's carpenter, an old and
experienced seaman, a former whaler, has an extraordinary amount of
knowledge of the natives of Tierra del Fuego--the Land of Fire--for that
is where they are. Without that knowledge the party would not have
survived. Unfortunately this great seaman (somewhat after the style of
Masterman Ready) does not speak in educated English, but you will just
have to get used to that.
There are various encounters with the tribes of the region, all very
well told. Eventually, shortly after their most serious brush with the
locals, they reach a large vessel at anchor, and the pinnace alongside
her, so that they are saved.
Reid, being a good naturalist, tells us a good deal about the local
flora and fauna. We also learn how to make fire in a land where it
rains five days in six. His account of the local tribes, their skills
and their shortcomings, will give you much food for thought. And the
book makes a very nice audiobook.
________________________________________________________________________
THE LAND OF FIRE, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
PREFACE.
This tale is the last from the pen of Captain Mayne Reid, whose stories
have so long been the delight of English boys. Our readers may,
perhaps, like to know something of the writer who has given them so much
pleasure; especially as his own life was full of adventure and of brave
deeds.
Mayne Reid was born in the north of Ireland in 1819; his father was a
Presbyterian minister, and wished that his son should also be a
clergyman; but the boy longed for adventure, and to see the world in its
wildest places, and could not bring himself to settle down to a quiet
life at home.
When he was twenty years old he set out on his travels, and, landing at
New Orleans, began a life of adventure in the prairies and forests of
America--good descriptions of which were given by him in his books.
In 1845 a war broke out between the United States and Mexico, and young
Reid instantly volunteered his services to fight on the United States'
side.
He received the commission of lieutenant in a New York regiment, and
fought all through the campaign with the most dauntless courage. He
received several wounds, and gained a high reputation for generous good
feeling.
The castle of Chapultepec commanded the high road to the city of Mexico,
and as it was _very_ strongly defended, and the Mexicans had thirty
thousand soldiers to the American six thousand, to take it was a work
requiring great courage.
Reid was guarding a battery which the Americans had thrown up on the
south-east side of the castle, with a grenadier company of New York
volunteers and a detachment of United States' marines under his command.
From thence he cannonaded the main gate for a whole day. The following
morning a storming party was formed of five hundred volunteers, and at
eleven o'clock the batteries ceased firing, and the attack began.
Reid and the artillery officers, standing by their guns, watched with
great anxiety the advance of the line, and were alarmed when they saw
that half-way up the hill there was a halt.
"I knew," he said in his account, "that if Chapultepec was not taken,
neither would the city be; and, failing that, not a man of us might ever
leave the Valley of Mexico alive." He instantly asked leave of the
senior engineering officer to join the storming-party with his
grenadiers and marines. The officer gave it, and Reid and his men at
once started at a swift run, and came up with the storming-party under
the brow of the hill, where it had halted to wait for scaling ladders.
The fire from the castle was constant, and very fatal. The men
faltered, and several officers were wounded while urging them on.
Suddenly Reid, conspicuous by his brilliant uniform, sprang to his feet,
and shouted, "Men, if we don't take Chapultepec, the American army is
lost. Let us charge up the walls!"
The soldiers answered, "We are ready."
At that moment the three guns on the parapet fired simultaneously.
There would be a moment's interval while they reloaded. Reid seized
that interval, and crying "Come on," leaped over the scarp, and rushed
up to the very walls. Half-way up he saw that the parapet was crowded
with Mexican gunners, just about to discharge their guns. He threw
himself on his face, and thus received only a slight wound on his sword
hand, while another shot cut his clothes.
Instantly on his feet again, he made for the wall, but in front of it he
was struck down by a Mexican bullet tearing through his thigh.
There Lieutenant Cochrane, of the Voltigeurs, saw him as he advanced to
the walls. Reid raised himself, and sang out, entreating the men to
stand firm.
"Don't leave the wall," he cried, "or we shall be cut to pieces. Hold
on, and the castle is ours."
"There is no danger of our leaving it, captain," said Cochrane; "never
fear!"
Then the scaling ladders were brought, the rush was made, and the castle
taken. But Reid had been _the very first man under its walls_.
When the war was over, Captain Reid resigned his commission in the
American army, and organised a body of men in New York to go and fight
for the Hungarians, but news reached him in Paris that the Hungarian
insurrection was ended, so he returned to England.
Here he settled down to literary work, publishing "The Scalp Hunters,"
and many wonderful stories of adventure and peril.
The great African explorer, the good Dr Livingstone, said in the last
letter he ever wrote, "Captain Mayne Reid's boys' books are the stuff to
make travellers."
Captain Mayne Reid died on the twenty-first of October, 1883, and the
"Land of Fire" is his unconscious last legacy to the boys of Great
Britain, and to all others who speak the English language.
CHAPTER ONE.
"THE SEA! THE SEA! THE OPEN SEA!"
One of the most interesting of English highways is the old coach road
from London to Portsmouth. Its interest is in part due to the charming
scenery through which it runs, but as much to memories of a bygone time.
One travelling this road at the present day might well deem it lonely,
as there will be met on it only the liveried equipage of some local
magnate, the more unpretentious turn-out of country doctor or parson,
with here and there a lumbering farm waggon, or the farmer himself in
his smart two-wheeled "trap," on the way to a neighbouring market.
How different it was half a century ago, when along this same highway
fifty four-horse stages were "tooled" to and fro from England's
metropolis to her chief seaport town, top-heavy with fares--often a
noisy crowd of jovial Jack tars, just off a cruise and making
Londonward, or with faces set for Portsmouth, once more to breast the
billows and brave the dangers of the deep! Many a naval officer of name
and fame historic, such as the Rodneys, Cochranes, Collingwoods, and
Codringtons,--even Nile's hero himself,--has been whirled along this old
highway.
All that is over now, and long has been. To-day the iron horse, with
its rattling train, carries such travellers by a different route--the
screech of its whistle being just audible to wayfarers on the old road,
as in mockery of their crawling pace. Of its ancient glories there
remain only the splendid causeway, still kept in repair, and the inns
encountered at short | 2,286.154626 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
No. 16
THAT GOSPEL SERMON
ON THE BLESSED HOPE.
BY D. L. MOODY.
_A Sermon delivered by_ D. L. MOODY, _the Evangelist, at the Great Chicago
Tabernacle, Jan. 5, 1877. Repeated in the Boston Tabernacle, April
29th._
In 2 Timothy, 3:16, Paul declares: "All scripture is given by
inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for
correction, for instruction in righteousness;" but there are some people
who tell us when we take up prophecy that it | 2,286.254951 |
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Produced by Hanh Vu and Douglas Levy
MARIE
A Story of Russian Love
By Alexander Pushkin
Translated by Marie H. de Zielinska
CONTENTS.
I. THE SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.
II. THE GUIDE.
III. THE FORTRESS.
IV. THE DUEL.
V. LOVE.
VI. POUGATCHEFF.
VII. THE ASSAULT.
VIII. THE UNEXPECTED VISIT.
IX. THE SEPARATION.
X. THE SIEGE.
XI. THE REBEL CAMP.
XII. MARIE.
XIII. THE ARREST.
XIV. THE SENTENCE.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
Alexander Pushkin, the most distinguished poet of Russia, was born at
Saint Petersburg, 1799. When only twenty-one years of age he entered
the civil service in the department of foreign affairs. Lord Byron's
writings and efforts for Greek independence exercised great influence
over Pushkin, whose "Ode to Liberty" cost him his freedom. He was exiled
to Bessarabia [A region of Moldova and western Ukraine] from 1820 to
1825, whence he returned at the accession of the new emperor, Nicholas,
who made him historiographer of Peter the Great. Pushkin's friends
now looked upon him as a traitor to the cause of liberty. It is not
improbable that an enforced residence at the mouth of the Danube
somewhat cooled his patriotic enthusiasm. Every Autumn, his favorite
season for literary production, he usually passed at his country seat
in the province Pekoff. Here from 1825 to 1829 he published "Pultowa,"
"Boris Godunoff," "Eugene Onegin," and "Ruslaw and Ludmila," a tale
in verse, after the Manner of Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso." This is
considered as the first great poetical work in the Russian language,
though the critics of the day attacked it, because it was beyond their
grasp; but the public devoured it.
In 1831 Pushkin married, and soon after appeared his charming novel,
"Marie," a picture of garrison life on the Russian plains. Peter and
Marie of this Northern story are as pure as their native snows, and
whilst listening to the recital, we inhale the odor of the steppe, and
catch glimpses of the semi-barbarous Kalmouk and the Cossack of the Don.
A duel with his brother-in-law terminated the life of Pushkin in the
splendor of his talent. The emperor munificently endowed the poet's
family, and ordered a superb edition of all his works to be published at
the expense of the crown. His death was mourned by his countrymen as a
national calamity. M. H. de Z.
Chicago, Nov. 1, 1876.
MARIE.
I. THE SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.
My father, Andrew Peter Grineff, having served in his youth under Count
Munich, left the army in 17--, with the grade of First Major. From that
time he lived on his estate in the Principality of Simbirsk, where he
married Avoditia, daughter of a poor noble in the neighborhood. Of
nine children, the issue of this marriage, I was the only survivor. My
brothers and sisters died in childhood.
Through the favor of a near relative of ours, Prince B---, himself
a Major in the Guards, I was enrolled Sergeant of the Guards in the
regiment of Semenofski. It was understood that I was on furlough till my
education should be finished. From my fifth year I was confided to the
care of an old servant Saveliitch, whose steadiness promoted him to the
rank of my personal attendant. Thanks to his care, when I was twelve
years of age I knew how to read and write, and could make a correct
estimate of the points of a hunting dog.
At this time, to complete my education, my father engaged upon a salary
a Frenchman, M. Beaupre, who was brought from Moscow with one year's
provision of wine and oil from Provence. His arrival of course
displeased Saveliitch.
Beaupre had been in his own country a valet, in Prussia a soldier, then
he came to Russia to be a tutor, not knowing very well what the word
meant in our language. He was a good fellow, astonishingly gay and
absent-minded. His chief foible was a passion for the fair sex. Nor was
he, to use his own expression, an enemy to the bottle--that is to say,
_a la Russe_, he loved | 2,286.356847 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TOLD IN THE COFFEE HOUSE
Told in the Coffee House
Turkish Tales
Collected and done into English
by
CYRUS ADLER AND ALLAN RAMSAY
New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1898
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE
In the course of a number of visits to Constantinople, I became much
interested in the tales that are told in the coffee houses. These are
usually little more than rooms, with walls made of small panes of
glass. The furniture consists of a tripod with a contrivance for
holding the kettle, and a fire to keep the coffee boiling. A carpeted
bench traverses the entire length of the room. This is occupied by
turbaned Turks, their legs folded under them, smoking nargilehs or
chibooks or cigarettes, and sipping coffee. A few will be engaged in a
game of backgammon, but the majority enter into conversation, at first
only in syllables, which gradually gives rise to a general discussion.
Finally, some sage of the neighborhood comes in, and the company
appeals to him to settle the point at issue. This he usually does by
telling a story to illustrate his opinion. Some of the stories told on
these occasions are adaptations of those already known in Arabic and
Persian literature, but the Turkish mind gives them a new setting and
a peculiar philosophy. They are characteristic of the habits, customs,
and methods of thought of the people, and for this reason seem worthy
of preservation.
Two of these tales have been taken from the Armenian, and were
received from Dr. K. Ohannassian of Constantinople. For one, _The
Merciful Khan_, I am indebted to Mr. George Kennan. None of them has
been translated from any book or manuscript, and all are, as nearly as
practicable, in the form in which they are usually narrated. Most of
the stories have been collected by Mr. Allan Ramsay, who, by a long
residence in Constantinople, has had special opportunities for
learning to know the modern Turk. It is due to him, however, to say
that for the style and editing he is in no wise responsible, and that
all sins of omission and commission must be laid at my door.
CYRUS ADLER.
COSMOS CLUB, WASHINGTON,
February 1, 1898.
CONTENTS
PAGE
HOW THE HODJA SAVED ALLAH 1
BETTER IS THE FOLLY OF WOMAN THAN THE WISDOM OF MAN 13
THE HANOUM AND THE UNJUST CADI 23
WHAT HAPPENED TO HADJI, A MERCHANT OF THE BEZESTAN 29
HOW THE JUNKMAN TRAVELLED TO FIND TREASURE IN HIS OWN YARD 35
HOW CHAPKIN HALID BECAME CHIEF DETECTIVE 43
HOW COBBLER AHMET BECAME THE CHIEF ASTROLOGER 52
THE WISE SON OF ALI PASHA 65
THE MERCIFUL KHAN 73
KING KARA-KUSH OF BITHYNIA 77
THE PRAYER RUG AND THE DISHONEST STEWARD 80
THE GOOSE, THE EYE, THE DAUGHTER, AND THE ARM 84
THE FORTY WISE MEN 89
HOW THE PRIEST KNEW THAT IT WOULD SNOW 103
WHO WAS THE THIRTEENTH SON? 107
PARADISE SOLD BY THE YARD 120
JEW TURNED TURK 126
THE METAMORPHOSIS 130
THE CALIF OMAR 138
KALAIDJI AVRAM OF BALATA 140
HOW MEHMET ALI PASHA OF EGYPT ADMINISTERED JUSTICE 144
HOW THE FARMER LEARNED TO CURE HIS WIFE: A TURKISH AESOP 148
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS 153
THE SWALLOW'S ADVICE 156
WE KNOW NOT WHAT THE DAWN MAY BRING FORTH 158
OLD MEN MADE YOUNG 161
THE BRIBE 165
HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS WAGER 169
THE EFFECTS OF RAKI 172
HOW THE HODJA SAVED ALLAH
Not far from the famous Mosque Bayezid an old Hodja kept a school, and
very skilfully he taught the rising generation the everlasting lesson
from the Book of Books. Such knowledge had he of human nature that by
a glance at his pupil he could at once tell how long it would take him
to learn a quarter of the Koran. He was known over the whole Empire as
the best reciter and imparter of the Sacred Writings of the Prophet.
For many years this Hodja, famed far and wide as the Hodja of Hodjas,
had taught in this little school. The number of times he had recited
the Book with his pupils is beyond counting; and should we attempt to
consider how often he must have corrected them for some misplaced
word, our beards would grow gray in the endeavor.
Swaying to and fro one day as fast as his old age would let him, and
reciting to his pupils the latter part of one of the chapters, Bakara,
divine inspiration opened his inward eye and led him to pause at the
following sentence: "And he that spends his money in the ways of Allah
is likened unto a grain of wheat that brings forth seven sheaves, and
in each sheaf an hundred grains; and Allah giveth twofold unto whom He
pleaseth." As his pupils, one after the other, recited this verse to
him, he wondered why he had overlooked its meaning for so many years.
Fully convinced that anything either given to Allah, or in the way
that He proposes, was an investment that brought a percentage
undreamed of in known commerce, he dismissed his pupils, and putting
his hand into his bosom drew forth from the many folds of his dress a
bag, and proceeded to count his worldly possessions.
Carefully and attentively he counted and then recounted his money, and
found that if invested in the ways of Allah it would bring a return of
no less than one thousand piasters.
"Think of it," said the Hodja to himself, "one thousand piasters! One
thousand piasters! Mashallah! a fortune."
So, having dismissed his school, he sallied forth, his bag of money in
his hand, and began distributing its contents to the needy that he met
in the highways. Ere many hours had passed the whole of his savings
was gone. The Hodja was very happy; for now he was the creditor in
Allah's books for one thousand piasters.
He returned to his house and ate his evening meal of bread and olives,
and was content.
The next day came. The thousand piasters had not yet arrived. He ate
his bread, he imagined he had olives, and was content.
The third day came. The old Hodja had no bread and he had no olives.
He suffered the pangs of hunger. So when the end of the day had come,
and his pupils had departed to their homes, the Hodja, with a full
heart and an empty stomach, walked out of the town, and soon got
beyond the city walls.
There, where no one could hear him, he lamented his sad fate, and the
great calamity that had befallen him in his old age.
What sin had he committed? What great wrong had his ancestors done,
that the wrath of the Almighty had thus fallen on him, when his
earthly course was well-nigh run?
"Ya! Allah! Allah!" he cried, and beat his breast.
As if in answer to his cry, the howl of the dreaded Fakir Dervish came
over across the plain. In those days the Fakir Dervish was a terror in
the land. He knocked at the door, and it was opened. He asked, and
received food. If refused, life often paid the penalty.
The Hodja's lamentations were now greater than ever; for should the
Dervish ask him for food and the Hodja have nothing to give, he would
certainly be killed.
"Allah! Allah! Allah! Guide me now. Protect one of your faithful
followers," cried the frightened Hodja, and he looked around to see if
there was any one to rescue him from his perilous position. But not a
soul was to be seen, and the walls of the city were five miles
distant. Just then the howl of the Dervish again reached his ear, and
in terror he flew, he knew not whither. As luck would have it he came
upon a tree, up which, although stiff from age and weak from want, the
Hodja, with wonderful agility, | 2,286.356993 |
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YOUTH
ITS EDUCATION, REGIMEN, AND HYGIENE
BY
G. | 2,286.404202 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
Uniform with British Orations
AMERICAN ORATIONS, to illustrate American Political
History, edited, with introductions, by ALEXANDER
JOHNSTON, Professor of Jurisprudence and Political
Economy in the College of New Jersey. 3 vols., 16 mo,
$3.75.
PROSE MASTERPIECES FROM MODERN ESSAYISTS, comprising
single specimen essays from IRVING, LEIGH HUNT,
LAMB, DE QUINCEY, LANDOR, SYDNEY SMITH, THACKERAY,
EMERSON, ARNOLD, MORLEY, HELPS, KINGSLEY,
RUSKIN, LOWELL, CARLYLE, MACAULAY, FROUDE, FREEMAN,
GLADSTONE, NEWMAN, LESLIE STEPHEN. 3 vols., 16 mo,
bevelled boards, $3.75 and $4.50.
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON
REPRESENTATIVE
BRITISH ORATIONS
WITH
INTRODUCTIONS AND EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
CHARLES KENDALL ADAMS
_Videtisne quantum munus sit oratoris historia?_
—CICERO, _DeOratore_, ii, 15
✩✩
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1884
COPYRIGHT
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1884.
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
New York
CONTENTS.
PAGE
WILLIAM PITT 1
WILLIAM PITT 19
ON HIS REFUSAL TO NEGOTIATE WITH NAPOLEON BONAPARTE; HOUSE
OF COMMONS, FEBRUARY 3, 1800.
CHARLES JAMES FOX 99
CHARLES JAMES FOX 108
ON THE REJECTION OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE’S OVERTURES OF
PEACE; HOUSE OF COMMONS, FEBRUARY 3, 1800.
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 176
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH 185
IN BEHALF OF FREE SPEECH. ON THE TRIAL OF JEAN PELTIER,
ACCUSED OF LIBELLING NAPOLEON BONAPARTE; COURT OF
KING’S BENCH, FEBRUARY 21, 1803.
LORD ERSKINE 262
LORD ERSKINE 273
ON THE LIMITATIONS OF FREE SPEECH; DELIVERED IN 1797
ON THE TRIAL OF WILLIAMS FOR PUBLICATION OF PAINE’S
“AGE OF REASON.”
WILLIAM PITT.
The younger Pitt was the second son of Lord Chatham, and was seven
years of age when his father in 1766 was admitted to the peerage. The
boy’s earliest peculiarity was an absorbing ambition to become his
father’s successor as the first orator of the day. His health, however,
was so delicate as to cause the gravest apprehensions. Stanhope tells
us that before he was fourteen “half of his time was lost through ill
health,” and that his early life at Cambridge was “one long disease.”
There is still extant a remarkable letter that reveals better than any
thing else the fond hopes of the father and the physical discouragement
as well as the mental aspirations of the son. Chatham wrote: “Though
I indulge with inexpressible delight the thought of your returning
health, I cannot help being a little in pain lest you should make more
haste than good speed to be well. How happy the task, my noble, amiable
boy, to caution you only against pursuing too much all those liberal
and praiseworthy things, to which less happy natures are perpetually
to be spurred and driven. I will not tease you with too long a lecture
in favor of inaction and a competent stupidity, your two best tutors
and companions at present. You have time to spare; consider, there
is but the Encyclopædia, and when you have mastered that, what will
remain?” The intimations of precocity here given were fully justified
by the extraordinary progress made by the boy notwithstanding his
bodily ailments. He entered the University of Cambridge at fourteen,
and such was his scholarship at that time that his tutor wrote: “It is
no uncommon thing for him to read into English six or eight pages of
Thucydides which he had not previously seen, without more than two or
three mistakes, and sometimes without even one.”
At the university, where he remained nearly seven years, his course
of study was carried on strictly in accordance with his father’s
directions and was somewhat peculiar. His most ardent devotion was
given to the classics; and his method was that to which his father
always attributed the extraordinary copiousness and richness of his
own language. After looking over a passage so as to become familiar
with the author’s thought, he strove to render it rapidly into elegant
and idiomatic English, with a view to reproducing it with perfect
exactness and in the most felicitous form. This method he followed for
years till, according to the testimony of his tutor, Dr. Prettyman,
when he had reached the age of twenty, “there was scarcely a Greek or
Latin writer of any eminence _the whole of whose works_ Mr. Pitt had
not read to him in this thorough and discriminating manner.” This was
the laborious way in which he acquired that extraordinary and perhaps
unrivalled gift of pouring out for hour after hour an unbroken stream
of thought without ever hesitating for a word or recalling a phrase
or sinking into looseness or inaccuracy of expression. The finest
passages even of the obscurer poets he copied with care and stored
away in his memory; and thus he was also qualified for that aptness of
quotation for which his oratory was always remarkable.
With his classical studies Pitt united an unusual aptitude and
fondness for the mathematics and for logic. To both of these he gave
daily attention, and before he left the university, according to the
authority above quoted, he was master in mathematics of every thing
usually known by young men who obtain the highest academical honors.
In logic, Aristotle was his master, and he early acquired the habit
of applying the principles and methods of that great logician to a
critical examination of all the works he studied and the debates he
witnessed. It was probably this course of study which gave him his
unrivalled power in reply. While still at Cambridge it was a favorite
employment to compare the great speeches of antiquity in point of
logical accuracy, and to point out the manner in which the reasoning
of the orator could be met and answered. The same habit followed him
to London and into Parliament. His biographers dwell upon the fact,
that whenever he listened to a debate he was constantly employed in
detecting illogical reasoning and in pointing out to those near him
how this argument and that could easily be answered. Before he became
a member of Parliament, he was in the habit of spending much time in
London and in listening to the debates on the great subjects then
agitating the nation. But the speeches of his father and of Burke, of
Fox, and of Sheridan seemed to interest him chiefly as an exercise for
his own improvement. His great effort was directed to the difficult
process of retaining the long train of argument in his mind, of
strengthening it, and of pointing out and refuting the positions that
seemed to him weak.
It would be incorrect to leave the impression that these severe courses
of study were not intermingled with studies in English literature,
rhetoric, and history. We are told that “he had the finest passages
of Shakespeare by heart,” that “he read the best historians with
care,” that “his favorite models of prose style were Middleton’s Life
of Cicero, and the historical writings of Bolingbroke,” and that
“on the advice of his father, for the sake of a copious diction, he
made a careful study of the sermons of Dr. Barrow.” Making all due
allowance for the exaggerative enthusiasm of biographers, we are still
forced to the belief that no other person ever entered Parliament with
acquirements and qualifications for a great career equal on the whole
to those of the younger Pitt.
The expectations formed of him were not disappointed. It has frequently
happened that members of Parliament have attained to great and
influential careers after the most signal failures as speakers in
their early efforts. But no such failure awaited Pitt. He entered
the House of Commons in 1781, at the age of twenty-two, and became a
member of the opposition to Lord North, under the leadership of Burke
and Fox. His first speech was in reply to Lord Nugent on the subject
of economic reform, a matter that had been brought forward by Burke.
Pitt had been asked to speak on the question; but, although he had
hesitated in giving his answer, he had determined not to participate in
the debate. His answer, however, was misunderstood, and therefore at
the close of a speech by Lord Nugent, he was vociferously called upon
by the Whig members of the House. Though taken by surprise, he finally
yielded and with perfect self-possession began what was probably the
most successful _first_ speech ever given in the House of Commons.
Unfortunately it was not reported and has not been preserved. But
contemporaneous accounts of the impression it made are abundant. Not
only was it received with enthusiastic applause from every part of the
House; but Burke greeted him with the declaration that he was “not
merely a chip of the old block, but the old block itself.” When some
one remarked that Pitt promised to be one of the first speakers ever
heard in Parliament, Fox replied, “He is so already.” This was at the
proudest era of British eloquence, and when Pitt was but twenty-two.
During the session of 1781–82 the powers of Burke, Fox, and Pitt
were united in a strenuous opposition to the administration of Lord
North. After staggering under their blows for some weeks, the ministry
fell, and Lord North was succeeded by Rockingham in February of 1782.
Rockingham’s ministry, however, was terminated by the death of its
chief after a short period of only thirteen weeks. Lord Shelburne
was appointed his successor, and he chose Pitt as the Chancellor of
the Exchequer and leader of the House of Commons. Thus Burke and
Fox were passed by, and not only the responsible leadership of the
Commons, but also the finances of the empire, were entrusted to a
youth of twenty-three. The reason of this preference certainly was
not an acknowledged pre-eminence of Pitt; but rather in the attitude
he had assumed in the course of his attacks on the administration
of North. He had not inveighed against the king, but had attached
all the responsibility of mismanagement to the ministry, where the
Constitution itself places it. Fox, on the other hand, had allowed
himself to be carried forward by the impetuosity of his nature, and had
placed the responsibility where we now know it belonged—upon George
III. The consequence had been that the enraged king would not listen
to the promotion of Fox, though by constitutional usage he was clearly
entitled to recognition. That Fox was offended was not singular, but it
is impossible even for his most ardent admirers to justify the course
he now determined to take. He had been the most bitter opponent of
Lord North. He had denounced him as “the most infamous of mankind,”
and as “the greatest criminal of the state.” He had declared of his
ministry: “From the moment I should make any terms with one of them, I
should rest satisfied to be called the most infamous of mankind.” He
had said only eleven months before: “I could not for a moment think of
a coalition with men who, in every public and private transaction as
ministers, have shown themselves void of every principle of honor and
honesty.”[A] And yet, notwithstanding these philippics, which almost
seem to have been delivered as if to make a coalition impossible, Fox
now deserted his old political companions, and joined hands with the
very object of his fiercest denunciation. The Coalition thus formed
voted down the Shelburne ministry in February, 1783.
[A] Fox’s Speeches, II., 39.
The debate which preceded the final vote was one of the most remarkable
in English history. The subject immediately at issue was a vote of
censure of Shelburne’s government for the terms of the treaty closing
the American war. North assailed the treaty, as bringing disgrace upon
the country by the concessions it had made. Fox spoke in the same
strain, having reserved himself till the latter part of the night, with
the evident purpose of overwhelming the young leader of the House by
the force and severity of his presentation. But the moment he sat down,
Pitt arose and grappled with the argument of his opponent in a speech
that has seldom been surpassed in the history of parliamentary debate.
Lord North spoke of its eloquence as “amazing,” and, although the
Coalition was too strong to be broken, it made such an impression that
there could no longer be any doubt that Pitt was now the foremost man
of his party.
In the course of the speech Pitt intimated that even if the vote of
censure came to pass, the king might not feel called upon to accept
the decision. He declared it an unnatural Coalition, which had simply
raised a storm of faction, and which had no other object than the
infliction of a wound on Lord Shelburne. Then in one of his impassioned
strains he exclaimed: “If, however, the baneful alliance is not already
formed,—if this ill-omened marriage is not already solemnized, I know
a just and lawful impediment,—and in the name of the public safety, I
here forbid the banns.”
But all availed nothing. The vote of censure was passed, and
Shelburne’s ministry tendered their resignation. The king hesitated.
He was unwilling to bring the Coalition into power, because he had an
insurmountable repugnance to Fox. He sent for Pitt, and urged him in
the most pressing terms to accept the position of Prime-Minister. But
Pitt, with that steadfast judgment which never deserted him, firmly
rejected the flattering offer. The most he would consent to do was to
remain in the office he then held till the succession could be fixed
upon. The king was almost in despair; and thought seriously of retiring
to Hanover. It was Thurlow that dissuaded him from taking so dangerous
a step. “Nothing is easier than for your Majesty to go to his Electoral
dominions;” said the old Chancellor, “but you may not find it so easy
to return when you grow tired of staying there. James II. did the same;
your Majesty must not follow his example.” He then assured the king
that the Coalition was an unnatural one, and could not long remain
in power without committing some fatal blunder. After six weeks the
king reluctantly submitted, and appointed the Duke of Portland as the
Prime-Minister, and North and Fox as the Chief Secretaries of State.
The end came sooner than Thurlow had dared | 2,286.503223 |
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Transcribed from the 1899 G. P. Putnam's Sons edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
FANTASTIC FABLES
BY AMBROSE BIERCE
AUTHOR OF "TALES OF SOLDIERS AND CIVILIANS," "CAN SUCH THINGS BE?" "BLACK
BEETLES IN AMBER," ETC.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press _1899_
Contents:
The Moral Principle and the Material Interest
The Crimson Candle
The Blotted Escutcheon and the Soiled Ermine
The Ingenious Patriot
Two Kings
An Officer and a Thug
The Conscientious Official
How Leisure Came
The Moral Sentiment
The Politicians
The Thoughtful Warden
The Treasury and the Arms
The Christian Serpent
The Broom of the Temple
The Critics
The Foolish Woman
Father and Son
The Discontented Malefactor
A Call to Quit
The Man and the Lightning
The Lassoed Bear
The Ineffective Rooter
A Protagonist of Silver
The Holy Deacon
A Hasty Settlement
The Wooden Guns
The Reform School Board
The Poet's Doom
The Noser and the Note
The Cat and the King
The Literary Astronomer
The Lion and the Rattlesnake
The Man with No Enemies
The Alderman and the Raccoon
The Flying-Machine
The Angel's Tear
The City of Political Distinction
The Party Over There
The Poetess of Reform
The Unchanged Diplomatist
An Invitation
The Ash | 2,286.505349 |
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Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Ramon Pajares, David
Garcia 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 REFORMATION.
I.--Martin Luther (1483-1546). THE HERO OF THE REFORMATION. By
Henry Eyster Jacobs, D.D., LL.D.
II.--Philip Melanchthon (1497-1560). THE PROTESTANT PRECEPTOR
OF GERMANY. By James William Richard, D.D.
III.--Desiderius Erasmus (1467-1536). THE HUMANIST IN THE
SERVICE OF THE REFORMATION. By Ephraim Emerton, Ph.D.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
_Heroes of the Reformation_
EDITED BY
Samuel Macauley Jackson
PROFESSOR OF CHURCH HISTORY, NEW YORK
UNIVERSITY
Διαιρέσεις χαρισμάτων, τὸ δὲ αὐτὸ πνεῦμα.
DIVERSITIES OF GIFTS, BUT THE SAME SPIRIT.
DESIDERIUS ERASMUS
[Illustration]
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF ERASMUS BY HOLBEIN.
ORIGINAL IN THE LOUVRE.]
DESIDERIUS ERASMUS
OF ROTTERDAM
BY
EPHRAIM EMERTON, PH.D.
WINN PROFESSOR OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY
O Erasme Roterodame, wo wiltu bleiben? Sieh, was vermag die
ungerecht tyranney der weltlichen gewahlt, der macht der
finsternuss? Hör, du ritter Christi, reith hervor neben den
herrn Christum, beschüz die wahrheit, erlang der martärer cron.
A. DÜRER'S DIARY, 1521.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFACE
A complete and satisfactory life of Erasmus of Rotterdam still
remains to be written. Its author will have to be a thorough student
of the classic literatures, a theologian familiar with every form
of Christian speculation, a historian, to whom the complicated
movement of the Reformation is altogether intelligible, an educator,
a moralist, and a man of humour. Only to such a person--if such there
ever were--could the writing of this life be a wholly congenial task.
The subject has been approached by different writers from all the
points of view indicated, but no biography has yet shown the whole
range or value of Erasmus' varied activities.
The limitations of the present volume have fortunately been clearly
defined by the title of the series in which it forms a part. Its
function is to deal with Erasmus as a factor in the Protestant
Reformation of the sixteenth century. With the very peculiar and
often elusive personality of the man it has to do only in so far
as it serves to suggest an explanation of his attitude towards the
world-movement of his time. I say "suggest an explanation" rather
than "explain," because, with all diligence, I cannot hope to have
made clear all of the many problems involved in the inquiry. At
every stage of the study of Erasmus one has to ask first what he
believed himself to be doing, then what he wished others to believe
he was doing, then what others did think he was doing, and finally
what the man actually _was_ doing. And all this has to be learned
chiefly from his own words and from his reports of the words of
others.
His life was full of strange incongruities, and any story of his life
which should seek to cover these incongruities by any fictitious
theory of consistency would but ill reflect the truth. And yet,
with all its pettinesses and weaknesses, its contradictions and its
comings-short of natural demands upon it, this life has, after all,
an element of the heroic. If there be a heroism of persistent work
and cheerful endurance, of steady exclusion of all distractions, of
refusal to commit oneself to anything or anybody which might impede
one's chosen line of duty, then we may gladly admit Erasmus into the
choice company of the Heroes of the Reformation.
Such a distinction would vastly have amused him. He would have seized
his pen and dashed off to some friend, who would spread the word,
some such disclaimer as this: "Well, of all things in the world, now
they are calling me a hero! If you never laughed before, laugh now to
your heart's content. I a hero! a man afraid of my shadow,--a man of
books, a hater of conflict, a man, who, if he were put to the test
would, I fear, follow the example of Peter and deny his Lord. And,
not content with this, they add 'of the Reformation.' I, who never,
by word or deed, drunk or sober, gave so much as a hint of belonging
to any of their accursed'movements'! Well, no man can strive against
the Fates."
I have chosen the chronological method because it serves best to
illustrate the development of the man in his relation to his time.
Such selections from Erasmus' writings have been chosen for detailed
examination as bear most directly upon the main objects of the book.
It has seemed wiser to make them long enough to show their true
meaning rather than to use a greater number of mere scraps, which
might in almost every case be contradicted by other scraps. So far as
possible the merely controversial has been avoided. For example, I
have barely alluded to the prolonged discussions with Archbishop Lee,
the Frenchman Bedda, the Spaniard Stunica, and the Italian prince of
Carpi. The detail of these controversies tends rather to confuse than
to illuminate the point of chief interest to us. Yet no treatment of
Erasmus could escape entirely the tone of controversy. He set that
tone himself and the student of his writings inevitably falls into it.
The translations have been kept as close to the originals as was
consistent with a freedom of style somewhat corresponding to Erasmus'
own. It would be hopeless to attempt, by any paraphrasing whatever,
to improve upon the freshness and vivacity of the author.
My thanks are due to many friends for kind assistance and suggestion,
but especially to my colleague, Professor Albert A. Howard of the
Latin department of Harvard University, to whose careful revision
the accuracy of the translations is chiefly due.
References to the Leyden edition of Erasmus' works in 1703-1706 are
given simply by volume, page (column), and division of the column,
as, _e. g._, iii.¹, 157-B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE iii
INTRODUCTION xiii
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE xxiii
CHAPTER I.
SCHOOL AND MONASTERY. 1467-1490 1
CHAPTER II.
PARIS AND HOLLAND. 1492-1498 26
CHAPTER III.
FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND. 1498-1500 62
CHAPTER IV.
PARIS--THE "ADAGIA"--THE "ENCHIRIDION MILITIS
CHRISTIANI"--PANEGYRIC ON PHILIP OF BURGUNDY.
1500-1506 87
CHAPTER V.
RESIDENCE IN ITALY--THE "PRAISE OF FOLLY." 1506-1509 122
CHAPTER VI.
ENGLAND (1509-1514)--THE NEW TESTAMENT--THE "DE
COPIA VERBORUM ET RERUM." 179
CHAPTER VII.
BASEL AND LOUVAIN--THE "INSTITUTIO PRINCIPIS
CHRISTIANI." 1515-1518 218
CHAPTER VIII.
BEGINNINGS OF THE REFORMATION--CORRESPONDENCE OF
1518-1519 268
CHAPTER IX.
DEFINITE BREACH WITH THE REFORMING PARTIES--HUTTEN'S
"EXPOSTULATIO" AND ERASMUS' "SPONGIA." 1520-1523 336
CHAPTER X.
DOCTRINAL OPPOSITION TO THE REFORMATION--FREEDOM
OF THE WILL--THE EUCHARIST--THE "SPIRIT." 1523-1527 380
CHAPTER XI.
FAMILIAR COLLOQUIES--NEW TESTAMENT PARAPHRASES--
CONTROVERSIAL AND DIDACTIC WRITINGS--REMOVAL TO
FREIBURG--LAST REFORMATORY TREATISES--RETURN TO
BASEL--DEATH. 1523-1536 420
INDEX 465
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
ERASMUS _Frontispiece_
From the portrait by Holbein in the Louvre.
STATUE OF ERASMUS AT ROTTERDAM 2
HOUSE AT ROTTERDAM IN WHICH ERASMUS WAS BORN 4
From Knight's "Life of Erasmus."
PARISH CHURCH AT ALDINGTON, KENT 20
From Knight's "Life of Erasmus."
HOLBEIN'S STUDIES FOR THE HANDS OF ERASMUS 48
THOMAS MORE 64
From the drawing by Holbein in Windsor Castle.
JOHN COLET 70
From the drawing by Holbein in Windsor Castle.
HENRY VIII. AND HENRY VII. 77
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[Illustration]
THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY
THE FEATHER
_THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY._
THE BROWN OWL.
A CHINA CUP, AND OTHER STORIES.
STORIES FROM FAIRYLAND.
TALES FROM THE MABINOGION.
THE STORY OF A PUPPET.
THE LITTLE PRINCESS.
IRISH FAIRY TALES.
AN ENCHANTED GARDEN.
LA BELLE NIVERNAISE.
THE FEATHER.
(_Others in the Press._)
[Illustration: “BUT THE EAGLE HAD THE BEST OF IT AFTER ALL.”]
THE FEATHER
BY
FORD H. MADOX HUEFFER
AUTHOR OF ‘THE BROWN OWL’
_WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
F. MADOX BROWN_
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
1892
[Illustration]
_TO JULIET_
‘_True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air._’
THE FEATHER
ONCE upon a time there was a King who reigned over a country as yet,
for a reason you may learn later on, undiscovered—a most lovely
country, full of green dales and groves of oak, a land of dappled
meadows and sweet rivers, a green cup in a circlet of mountains, in
whose shadow the grass was greenest; and the only road to enter the
country lay up steep, boiling waterfalls, and thereafter through rugged
passes, the channels that the rivers had cut for themselves. Therefore,
as you may imagine, the dwellers in the land were little troubled by
inroads of hostile nations; and they lived peaceful lives, managing
their own affairs, and troubling little about the rest of the world.
Now this King, like many kings before and after him, had a daughter
who, while very young, had, I am sorry to say, been very self-willed;
and the King, on the death of his wife, finding himself utterly unable
to manage the Princess, handed her over to the care of an aged nurse,
who, however, was not much more successful—but that is neither here nor
there.
For years everything went on smoothly, and it seemed as if everything
intended to go on smoothly until doomsday, in which case this history
would probably never have been written. But one evening in summer
the Princess and her nurse, who had by this time become less able
than ever to manage her charge, sat on a terrace facing the west. The
Princess had been amusing herself by pelting the swans swimming in the
river with rose-leaves, which the indignant swans snapped up as they
fluttered down on the air or floated by on the river.
But after a time she began to tire of this pastime, and sitting down,
looked at the sun that was just setting, a blinding glare of orange
flame behind the black hills. Suddenly she turned to the nurse and said:
‘What’s on the other side of the hills?’
‘Lawk-a-mussy-me, miss!’ answered the nurse, ‘I’m sure I don’t know.
What a question to ask!’
‘Then why don’t you ask some one who has been there?’
‘Because no one ever has, miss.’
‘But why not?’
‘Because there’s a fiery serpent that eats every one who comes near
the hills; and if you’re not eaten up, you’re bound to tumble down a
precipice that’s nearly three miles deep, before you can get over the
hills.’
‘Oh, what fun! Let’s go,’ said the Princess, by no means awed. But the
nurse shook her head.
‘No, miss, I won’t go; and I’m sure your pa won’t let you go.’
‘Oh yes, he will; let’s go and ask him.’
But at that moment a black shadow came across the sun, and the swans,
with a terrified ‘honk, honk,’ darted across the water to hide
themselves in the reeds on the other side of the river, churning dark
tracks in the purple of the sunlit water’s glassy calmness.
‘Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a boggles, and it’s coming this way,’ cried the
nurse.
‘But what is a boggles, nurse?’
‘Oh dear, it’s coming! Come into the house and I’ll tell you—come.’
‘Not until you tell me what a boggles is.’
The nurse perforce gave in.
‘A boggles is a thing with a hooked beak and a squeaky voice, with hair
like snakes in corkscrews; and it haunts houses and carries off things;
and when it once gets in it never leaves again—oh dear, it’s on us!
Oh-h-h!’
Her cries only made the thing see them sooner. It was only an eagle,
not a boggles; but it was on the look-out for food, and the sun shining
on the Princess’s hair had caught its eyes, and in spite of the cries
of the nurse it swooped down, and, seizing the Princess in its claws,
began to carry her off. The nurse, however, held on to her valiantly,
screaming all the while for help; but the eagle had the best of it
after all, for it carried up, not only the Princess, but the nurse also.
The nurse held on to her charge for some seconds, but finding the
attempt useless she let go her hold; and since it happened that at the
moment they were over the river, she fell into it with a great splash,
and was drifted on shore by the current.
Thus the Princess was carried off; and although the land far and wide
was searched, no traces of her were discoverable. You may imagine for
yourself what sorrow and rage the King indulged in. He turned the nurse
off without warning, and even, in a paroxysm of rage, kicked one of his
pages downstairs; nevertheless that did not bring back the Princess.
As a last resource he consulted a wise woman (ill-natured people called
her a witch) who lived near the palace. But the witch could only say
that the Princess would return some day, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t
say when, even though the King threatened to burn her. So it was all
of no use, and the King was, and remained, in despair. But, since his
Majesty is not the important personage in the story, we may as well
leave him and return to the Princess.
She, as you can think, was not particularly happy or comfortable,
for the claws of the eagle pinched her, and besides, she was very
frightened; for, you see, she didn’t know that it wasn’t a boggles, as
the nurse had called it, and a boggles is a great deal worse than the
worst eagle ever invented.
Meanwhile the eagle continued flying straight towards the sun, which
was getting lower and lower, so that by the time they reached the
mountains it was dark altogether. But the eagle didn’t seem at all
afraid of the darkness, and just went on flying as if nothing had
happened, until suddenly it let the Princess down on a rock—at least,
that was what it seemed to her to be. Not knowing what else to do, she
sat where the eagle had let her fall, for she remembered something
about the precipice three miles deep, and she did not at all wish to
tumble down that.
She expected that the eagle would set to and make a meal off her at
once. But somehow or other, either it had had enough to eat during the
day, or else did not like to begin to have supper so late for fear of
nightmare; at any rate, it abstained, and that was the most interesting
matter to her. Everything was so quiet around that at last, in spite
of herself, she fell asleep. She slept quite easily until daylight,
although the hardness of the rock was certainly somewhat unpleasant.
When she opened her eyes it was already light, and the sun at her back
was darting black shadows of the jagged mountains on to the shimmering
gray sea of mist that veiled the land below. Her first thought was
naturally of the eagle, and she did not need to look very far for him,
since he was washing himself in a little pool close by, keeping an eye
on her the while.
As soon as he saw her move he gave himself a final shake, so that
the water flew all around, sparkling in the sunlight; after which he
came towards her by hops until he was quite close—rather too close,
she thought. Nevertheless she did not move, having heard somewhere
that, under the circumstances, that is the worst thing to do; she also
remembered animals cannot stand being looked at steadily by the human
eye, therefore she looked very steadfastly at the eyes of the eagle.
But the remedy did not seem to work well in this case, for the glassy
yellow eyes of the bird looked bad-tempered, and it winked angrily,
seeming to say, ‘Whom are you staring at?’ And then it began to stretch
out its bill towards her until it was within a few inches of her face.
This was more than she could stand, and she said sharply, ‘Take your
head away.’
The eagle, however, took no notice whatever of this; and seeing nothing
better to do, she lifted up her hand and gave it a smart box on the
ear, or rather on the place where its ear should have been. The eagle
drew back its beak in a hurry and scratched its head with one claw as
if it were puzzled. After a moment’s reflection it put out its head
again, and once more the Princess lifted up her hand; but when the
eagle saw that it jumped backwards in a hurry, as if it did not care to
receive a second box on the ear, and began to stride sulkily away as if
it thought it better to wait a while. When it reached the edge of the
rock—for I have forgotten to tell you that they were on a flat rock at
the top of a mountain—it sat preening its feathers in a sulky manner,
as if it imagined itself a very ill-used bird; moreover, although it
seemed inclined to remain there a long time, I need not tell you
that the Princess had no objections. However, after a time even the
waiting began to grow unpleasant; but suddenly a peculiar sound, as of
something shooting through the air, came from below, and the eagle gave
a leap and fell down a mass of tumbled feathers with an arrow quivering
in their centre, and, with hardly a shudder, it was dead.
The Princess, as you may imagine, was a good deal startled by this
sudden occurrence, but I cannot say she was very sorry for the eagle;
on the contrary, she was rather glad to be rid of him, and it suddenly
came into her head that the man who had shot the arrow might possibly
be somewhere below, and in that case might come up and save her if she
called to him. So she tried to get up, but she was so stiff that she
could hardly move, and when she did stand up she had pins and needles
in one of her feet, and had to stamp hard on the ground before it would
go away. So that it was some time before she got to the edge and looked
over. Now it happened that, just as she bent carefully forward to look
down the side, the head of a man appeared over the edge, and his hands
were so near her that he almost caught hold of her foot as he put them
up to help himself. As she drew back a little to let him have room, he
suddenly noticed her, and almost let go his hold in astonishment.
‘Hullo, little girl,’ he said; ‘how did you come here? It’s rather
early in the morning for you to be up. But who are you when you’re at
home?’
‘I’m the daughter of King Caret.’
‘King how much?’
‘King Caret, I said; and I should be glad if you would help me down
from this height, and show me the way back.’
‘How on earth can I show you the way back when I don’t know who King
Caret is?’
‘But surely you must know who he is?’
‘Never heard of him. What’s | 2,286.803533 |
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THE TALE OF
FERDINAND FROG
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
(Trademark Registered)
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF TUCK-ME-IN TALES
(Trademark Registered)
THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
THE TALE OF FATTY <DW53>
THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
THE TALE OF PETER MINK
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE
[Illustration: Mr. Frog Bows to Aunt Polly Woodchuck]
SLEEPY-TIME TALES (Trademark Registered)
THE TALE OF
FERDINAND
FROG
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
Author of "TUCK-ME-IN TALES"
(Trademark Registered)
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1918,
by GROSSET & DUNLAP
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PRETTY AS A PICTURE 9
II THE DANGERS OF TRAVEL 14
III MR. FROG'S DOUBLE 19
IV MR. CROW LOSES SOMETHING 25
V MR. FROG'S SECRET SORROW 31
VI TIRED TIM DOES A FAVOR 36
VII THE SINGING-PARTY 42
VIII THE MISSING SUPPER 46
IX THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 51
X CATCHING UP WITH MR. FROG 56
XI MR. FROG IS IN NO HURRY 61
XII A BAD BLUNDER 66
XIII A SIXTY-INCH MEAL 71
XIV AN UNPLEASANT MIX-UP 77
XV EVERYONE IS HAPPY 82
XVI STOP THAT! 87
XVII A LONG, SHARP BILL 92
XVIII MAKING BUTTON-HOLES 97
XIX THE SWIMMING TEACHER 103
XX DISTURBING THE NEIGHBORS 109
XXI MUD BATHS 114
XXII HOLDING HIS BREATH 119
XXIII MR. FROG RUNS AWAY 124
THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
I
PRETTY AS A PICTURE
There was something about Ferdinand Frog that made everybody smile. It
may have been his amazingly wide mouth and his queer, bulging eyes, or
perhaps it was his sprightly manner--for one never could tell when Mr.
Frog would leap into the air, or turn a somersault backward. Indeed,
some of his neighbors claimed that he himself didn't know what he was
going to do next--he was so _jumpy_.
Anyhow, all the wild folk in Pleasant Valley agreed that Ferdinand Frog
was an agreeable person to have around. No matter what happened, he was
always cheerful. Nobody ever heard of his losing his temper, though to
be sure he was sometimes the means of other peoples losing theirs. But
let a body be as angry as he pleased with Mr. Frog, Mr. Frog would
continue to smile and smirk.
Of course, such extreme cheerfulness often made angry folk only the more
furious, especially when the whole trouble was Ferdinand Frog's own
fault. But it made no difference to him what blunder he had made. He was
always ready to make another--and smile at the same time.
Really, he was so good-natured that nobody could feel peevish towards
him for long. In fact, he was a great favorite--especially among the
ladies. Whenever he met one of them--it might be the youngest of the
Rabbit sisters, or old Aunt Polly Woodchuck--he never failed to make the
lowest of bows, smile the broadest of smiles, and inquire after her
health.
That was Ferdinand Frog--known far and wide for his elegant manners.
Every young lady declared that he wore exquisite clothes, too; and many
of them secretly thought him quite good-looking.
But people as old as Aunt Polly Woodchuck seldom take heed of what a
person wears. As for Mr. Frog's looks, since Aunt Polly believed that
"handsome is as handsome does," she admitted that Ferdinand Frog was--as
she put it--"purty as a picter."
When Ferdinand Frog heard that, he was so delighted that he hurried
straight home and put on his best suit. And then he spent most of a
whole afternoon smiling at his reflection in the surface of the Beaver
pond, where he was living at the time.
So it is easy to see that Ferdinand Frog was a vain and silly fellow. He
was even foolish enough to repeat Aunt Polly's remark to everybody he
chanced to meet that night, and the following day as well.
There was no one who could help grinning at Ferdinand Frog's news--he
looked so comical. And old Mr. Crow, who was noted for his rudeness,
even burst out with a hoarse _haw-haw_.
"You're pretty as a picture, eh?" he chuckled. "I suppose Aunt Polly
means that you're as pretty as one of the pictures that the circus men
have pasted on Farmer Green's barn.... I believe----" he added, as
he stared at Ferdinand Frog----"I believe I know which one Aunt Polly
means."
"Is that so?" cried Mr. Frog, swelling himself up--through pride--until
it seemed that he must burst. "Oh, which picture is it?"
"It's the one in the upper left-hand corner," old Mr. Crow informed him
solemnly. "And if you haven't yet seen it, you should take a good look
at it soon."
"I will!" Ferdinand Frog declared. "I'll visit Farmer Green's place this
very night!"
And he opened his mouth and smiled so widely that old Mr. Crow couldn't
help shuddering--though he knew well enough that Ferdinand Frog could
never swallow anyone as big as he was.
II
THE DANGERS OF TRAVEL
It was a long way to Farmer Green's from the Beaver pond where Ferdinand
Frog made his home. But he felt that he simply _must_ see that picture
which Mr. Crow said looked like him. So he started out just before
sunset.
One thing, at least, about his journey pleased him: he could make the
trip by water--and he certainly did hate travelling on land.
Luckily the stream that trickled its way below the Beaver dam led
straight to Swift River. And everybody who knew anything was aware that
Swift River ran right under the bridge not far from the farmhouse.
So Mr. Frog leaped spryly into the brook and struck out downstream.
He was a famous swimmer, having been used to the water from the time he
was a tadpole. And now he swam so fast, with the help of the current,
that he reached the river by the time the moon was up.
As he looked up at the sky Ferdinand Frog was both glad and sorry that
there was a moon that night. The moon would be a good thing, provided he
reached the end of his journey, for it would give him a fine clear view
of the picture on the barn, which he so much wanted to see. On the other
hand, he would have preferred a dark night for a swim in Swift River.
There were fish there--pickerel--which would rather swallow him than
not. And he knew that they were sure to be feeding by the light of the
moon.
If Mr. Frog hadn't always looked on the bright side of life no doubt he
would have waited a week or two, until there was no moon at all. But he
remarked to himself with a grin, as he hurried along, that he had never
yet seen the pickerel that was quick enough to catch him, and
furthermore, he never expected to.
But those words were hardly out of Ferdinand Frog's mouth when he turned
and made for the bank as fast as he could go. He had caught sight of a
dark, long-nosed fish lying among some weeds. And he decided suddenly
that he would finish his journey by land.
"It would be a shame----" he told himself, as he flopped up the steep
bank----"it would be a shame for so handsome a person as I am to be
eaten by a fish."
"But you wouldn't object to a bird, would you?" said a voice right in
Ferdinand Frog's ear--or so it seemed to him.
He made no answer--not even stopping to bow, or say good evening--but
turned a somersault backward and hid himself under the overhanging bank.
It was Solomon Owl who had spoken to him. There was no mistaking the
loud, mocking laughter that followed Mr. Frog's hasty retreat.
"Solomon Owl is a great joker," Mr. Frog murmured with a smile. "He was
only teasing me.... Still, he might be a bit hungry. So I'll stay here
out of harm's way for a while, for it would be a shame for so handsome a
person as I am to be eaten by an old, rascally bird like Solomon Owl."
One can judge, just by that remark, that Ferdinand Frog was not quite so
polite as his neighbors supposed--_when there was no one to hear what he
said_.
III
MR. FROG'S DOUBLE
Mr. Frog waited until it was broad daylight before he left his hiding
place beneath the bank of the river. He knew that by that time Solomon
Owl must have gone home to his hemlock tree to get his rest. So
Ferdinand Frog felt quite safe again.
Having made up his mind that he would finish his journey to Farmer
Green's place by land, he started briskly across the cornfield,
travelling in a straight line between two rows of young corn.
He had not gone far before a hoarse voice called to him. But this time
he was not alarmed.
It was only old Mr. Crow, who seemed greatly pleased to see him.
"Hullo, young fellow!" said Mr. Crow. "If you're on your way to the barn
to look at that picture, I'll fly over there myself, because I'd like to
see it again."
"Aren't you afraid of meeting Farmer Green?" Ferdinand Frog asked him.
"Afraid?" Mr. Crow snorted. "Certainly not! We're the best of friends.
He set up this straw man here, just to keep me company.... Besides,"
he went on, "at this time o' day Farmer Green is inside the barn, milking
the cows. And we'll be outside it, looking at the circus pictures."
"We can call to him, if you want to say good morning to him," Ferdinand
Frog suggested cheerfully.
"Oh, no!" his companion said quickly. "I wouldn't want to do that--he's
so busy."
Ferdinand Frog smiled. And for some reason old Mr. Crow seemed
displeased.
"What's the joke?" he inquired in a surly tone. "Something seems to
amuse you. Why are you grinning?"
"It's just a habit I have," Ferdinand Frog explained.
"I'd try to break myself of that habit, if I were you," Mr. Crow advised
him. "Some day it will get you into trouble, for you're likely to grin
when you oughtn't to. There's a wrong time and a right time for
everything, you know."
"Just as there is for planting corn," Mr. Frog chimed in.
"Exactly!" Mr. Crow returned.
"And for eating it!" Mr. Frog added.
But old Mr. Crow only said hastily that he would be at the barn by the
time Ferdinand reached it. And without another word he flapped himself
away across the field.
"He's a queer one," said Ferdinand Frog to himself. "It seems as if a
person couldn't please him, no matter how much a person tried." Then he
untied his necktie, and tied it again, because he thought one end of the
bow was longer than the other; and that was something he couldn't
endure.
Then he resumed his jumping. And after exactly one hundred and
thirty-two jumps he reached a corner of Farmer Green's great barn, where
he found old Mr. Crow waiting for him.
"Still smiling, I see," the old gentleman observed gruffly. "Maybe
you'll laugh out of the other corner of your mouth after you've seen
the pretty picture that you look like."
"I hope so! Where is it?" Ferdinand Frog asked him eagerly. "Show me the
pretty one!"
"Come with me!" said old Mr. Crow. And he led the way around the barn,
stopping before the side that faced the road.
"There!" he cried. "It's in the upper left-hand corner, just as I told
you." And he chuckled as loud as he dared--with Farmer Green inside the
building, milking the cows.
As Ferdinand Frog gazed upward a shadow of disappointment came over his
face. And for once he did not smile.
"Do I look like that?" he faltered.
"You certainly do," old Mr. Crow assured him. "See those eyes--don't
they bulge just like yours? And look at that mouth! It's fully as wide
as yours--and maybe a trifle wider!"
"The face does look a bit like mine, I'll admit," Ferdinand Frog
muttered. "But no one could ever mistake one of us for the other....
What's the name of this creature?"
"It's called the _hippopotamus_," old Mr. Crow replied. "I heard Johnnie
Green say so. And he ought to know, if anyone does."
IV
MR. CROW LOSES SOMETHING
The picture of the hippopotamus on Farmer Green's barn did not please
Ferdinand Frog. But in a few moments he began to smile again.
"You've made a mistake," he told old Mr. Crow with a snicker. "When Aunt
Polly Woodchuck said I was as pretty as a picture she never could have
had this one in mind."
"Why not?" Mr. Crow inquired. "The eyes and the mouth----"
"Yes! Yes--I know!" Ferdinand interrupted. "But this creature has a
tail! And tails are terribly out of fashion. I haven't worn one since I
was a tadpole."
That was enough for old Mr. Crow. _He_ had a tail----or tail feathers,
at least. And he at once flew into a terrible rage.
"You've insulted me!" he shouted.
Ferdinand Frog knew then that he had blundered. So he hastened to mend
matters.
"There, there!" he said in a soothing tone. "Having a tail is not so
bad, after all; for you can always cut it off, if you want to be in
style." And he was surprised to find that his remark only made Mr. Crow
angrier than ever.
[Illustration: Old Mr. Crow Plays a Joke on Mr. Frog]
"Cut off my tail, indeed!" the old gentleman snorted. "I'd be a pretty
sight, if I did. Why, I wouldn't part with a single tail-feather, on any
account." He continued to scold Ferdinand Frog at the top of his lungs,
telling him that he was a silly fellow, and that nobody--unless it
was a few foolish young creatures--thought he was the least bit
handsome.
Now, old Mr. Crow was in such a temper that he forgot that Farmer Green
was inside the barn. And he made so much noise that Farmer Green heard
him and peeped around the corner of the barn to see what was going on.
A moment later the old shot-gun went off with a terrific roar. Ferdinand
Frog saw Mr. Crow spring up and go tearing off towards the woods. And a
long, black tail-feather floated slowly down out of the air and settled
on the ground near the place where Mr. Crow had been standing.
After shaking his fist in Mr. Crow's direction, Farmer Green
disappeared.
"That's a pity," Mr. Frog thought. "Mr. Crow has parted with one of his
tail-feathers. And I must find him as soon as I can and tell him how
sorry I am."
Then Mr. Frog turned to look at the other pictures, which covered the
whole side of the big barn. He beheld many strange creatures--some with
necks of enormous length, some with humps on their backs, and all of
them of amazing colors.
But whether they were ringed, streaked or striped, not one of them
was--in Mr. Frog's opinion--one-half as beautiful as the hippopotamus.
"Even he----" Mr. Frog decided----"even he couldn't be called half as
handsome as I am. For once old Mr. Crow certainly was mistaken."
And he began to laugh. And while he was laughing, Farmer Green came out
of the barn with a pail of milk in each hand.
Then Ferdinand Frog had a happy thought. Why not ask Farmer Green to
shoot off the tail of the hippopotamus? The loss of that ugly tail would
improve the creature's looks, and make him appear still more like Mr.
Frog himself.
At least, that was Mr. Frog's own opinion.
And he called to Farmer Green and suggested to him that he step out
behind the barn and take a shot at the tail of the hippopotamus.
"Try your luck!" Mr. Frog coaxed. "It's plain to see that you need
practice, or you'd have made Mr. Crow part with all his tail-feathers,
instead of only one." And he laughed harder than ever.
But Farmer Green paid little heed to Ferdinand Frog's wheedling,
although he did smile and say:
"I declare, I believe that bull frog's jeering at me because I missed
the old crow!"
V
MR. FROG'S SECRET SORROW
Ferdinand Frog always looked so cheerful that no one ever suspected that
he had a secret sorrow. But it is true, nevertheless, that something
troubled him, though he took great pains not to let a single one of his
neighbors know that anything grieved him.
His trouble was simply this: he had never been invited to attend the
singing-parties which the Frog family held almost every evening in Cedar
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APHORISMS AND REFLECTIONS
FROM THE WORKS OF T. H. | 2,286.902193 |
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MYTHS AND LEGENDS
OF ALASKA
SELECTED AND EDITED BY
KATHARINE BERRY JUDSON
Author of "Myths and Legends of
the Pacific Northwest," and
"Montana, 'The Land of Shining
Mountains'"
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
Published September, 1911
W. F. Hall Printing Company
Chicago
[Illustration: Tlingit Indians in Dancing Costume]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST.
Especially of Washington and Oregon.
_With 50 full-page illustrations. Small 4to._
_$1.50 net._
MONTANA: "The Land of Shining Mountains."
_Illustrated. Indexed. Square 8vo._
_75 cents net._
A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers
PREFACE
Long ago, even before the days of the animal people, the world was
only a great ocean wherein was no land nor any living thing except a
great Bird. The Bird, after a long, long time, flew down to the
surface of the water and dipped his great black wings into the flood.
The earth arose out of the waters. So began the creation. While the
land was still soft, the first man burst from the pod of the beach pea
and looked out upon the endless plain behind him and the gray salt sea
before him. He was the only man. Then Raven appeared to him and the
creation of other beings began. Raven made also animals for food and
clothing. Later, because the earth plain was so bare, he planted trees
and shrubs and grass and set the green things to growing.
With creation by a Great Spirit, there came dangers from evil spirits.
Such spirits carried away the sun and moon, and hung them to the
rafters of the dome-shaped Alaskan huts. The world became cold and
cheerless, and in the Land of Darkness white skins became blackened by
contact with the darkness. So it became necessary to search for the
sun and hang it again in the dome-shaped sky above them. Darkness in
the Land of Long Night was the cause, through magic, of the bitter
winds of winter--winds which came down from the North, bringing with
them ice and cold and snow. This was the work of some Great Spirit
which had loosened the side of the gray cloud-tent under which they
lived, letting in the bitter winds of another world. Spirits blow the
mists over the cold north sea so that canoes lose sight of their
home-land. Spirits also drive the ice floes, with their fishermen, far
over the horizon of ocean, into the still colder North. Spirits govern
the run of the salmon, the catching of whales, and all the life of the
people of the North who wage such a terrific struggle for existence.
So there must needs be those who have power over the evil spirits,
those who by incantations and charms of magic, by ceremonial dancing
in symbolic dress, can control the designs of those who work ever
against these children of the North. Thus there arose the shamans with
all their ceremonies.
The myths in this volume are authentic. The original collections were
made by government ethnologists, by whose permission this compilation
is made. And no effort has been made, in the telling of them, to
change them from the terse directness of the natives. The language of
all Indian tribes is very simple, and to the extent that an effort is
made to put myths and legends into more polished form, to that extent
is their authenticity impaired.
Only the quaintest and purest of the myths have been selected. Many
Alaskan myths are very long and tiresome, rambling from one subject to
another, besides revealing low moral conditions. These have been
omitted, as have also those which deal with the intermarriage of men
and birds, and men and animals. Such myths are better left among
government documents where they can be readily consulted by those
making a special study of the subject. They are hardly suitable for
any collection intended for general reading. The leading myth of the
North, however, the Raven Myth, is given with a fair degree of
completeness. It would not be possible, nor would it be wise, to
attempt a compilation of all the fragments of this extensive myth.
Especial thanks are due to Dr. Franz Boas for the Tsetsaut and
Tsimshian myths, to John R. Swanton for the Tlingit myths, to Edward
Russell Nelson for the Eskimo myths, to Ferdinand Schnitter, and to
others. Thanks are also due for courtesies in securing photographs to
Mr. B. B. Dobbs and particularly to Mr. Clarence L. Andrews, both of
whom have spent many years in Alaska.
K. B. J.
_University of Washington,
Seattle, Washington
July, 1911._
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
The Raven Myth _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 17
The Flood _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 33
The Origin of the Tides _Tsetsaut_ 37
How the Rivers were Formed _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 39
The Origin of Fire _Tlingit_ 40
Duration of Winter _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 41
Raven's Feast _Tlingit_ 42
Creation of the Porcupine _Tlingit_ 44
How Raven Taught the Chilkats _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 45
Raven's Marriage _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 46
Raven and the Seals _Tsimshian_ 51
Raven and Pitch _Tsimshian_ 53
Raven's Dancing Blanket _Tsimshian_ 55
Raven and the Gulls _Tsimshian_ 56
The Land Otter _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 57
Raven and Coot _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 58
Raven and Marmot _Eskimo_ (_Bering Strait_) 59
The Bringing of the Light
by Raven _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 61
Daylight on the Nass River _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 65
The Naming of the Birds _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 67
The Origin of the Winds _Tlingit_ 70
Duration of Life _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 71
Ghost Town _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 72
How Raven Stole the Lake _Haida_ (_Queen Charlotte
Islands_) 73
The Killer Whale _Haida_ 75
Origin of the Chilkat Blanket _Tsimshian_ 77
Origin of Land and People _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 80
Creation of the World _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 81
Origin of Mankind _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 82
The First Woman _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 83
The First Tears _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 85
Origin of the Winds _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 87
Origin of the Wind _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 91
North Wind _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 92
East Wind and North Wind _Tlingit_ 93
Creation of the Killer Whale _Tlingit_ 94
Future Life _Tlingit_ (_Wrangell_) 96
The Land of the Dead _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 97
The Ghost Land _Tlingit_ 100
The Sky Country _Tlingit_ 103
The Lost Light _Eskimo_ (_Port Clarence_) 105
The Chief in the Moon _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 109
The Boy in the Moon _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 110
The Boy in the Moon _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 112
The Meteor(?) _Tsetsaut_ 113
Sleep House _Tlingit_ 114
Cradle Song _Koyukun_ 115
Proverbs _Tsimshian_ 118
How the Fox became Red _Athapascan_ 119
Beaver and Porcupine _Tsimshian_ 120
The Mark of the Marten _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 126
The Wolves and the Deer _Tsimshian_ 127
The Camp Robber _Athapascan_ (_Upper Yukon_) 129
The Circling of Cranes _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 131
The Last of the Thunderbirds _Eskimo_ (_Lower Yukon_) 132
How the Kiksadi Clan Came
to Sitka _Tlingit_ 135
Origin of the Grizzly Bear
Crest _Tlingit_ 137
Origin of the Frog Crest _Tlingit_ 138
Origin of the Beaver Crest _Tlingit_ 139
Origin of the Killer Whale
Crest _Tlingit_ 140
The Discontented Grass Plant _Eskimo_ (_Bering Straits_) 142
The Wind People _Koryak_ (_Siberia_) 147
Tricks of the Fox _Koryak_ (_Siberia_) 148
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Tlingit Indians in Dancing Costume _Frontispiece_
Reindeer on the Tundra 20
"Raven taught them how to build houses of driftwood and
bushes, covered with earth" 21
"The next morning the baby was a big boy" 24
"The clay became a beautiful girl" 25
Ivory Pipe Stems 28
Kayak Man Casting a Bird Spear 29
Eskimo Woman from Cape Prince of Wales 34
Fur Parkas Worn by Eskimo Women 35
Reflection of Mountain Peaks 38
"So the smoke-hole spirits held Raven until the smoke
blackened his white coat" 39
Pine Falls, Atlin 42
Elk Falls 43
Porcupine 44
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THE END OF THE TETHER
By Joseph Conrad
I
For a long time after the course of the steamer _Sofala_ had been
altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
brightness.
Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.
He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
been on these coasts for the last three years. From Low Cape to Malantan
the distance was fifty miles, six hours' steaming for the old ship with
the tide, or seven against. Then you steered straight for the land, and
by-and-by three palms would appear on the sky, tall and slim, and with
their disheveled heads in a bunch, as if in confidential criticism of
the dark mangroves. The Sofala would be headed towards the somber
strip of the coast, which at a given moment, as the ship closed with
it obliquely, would show several clean shining fractures--the brimful
estuary of a river. Then on through a brown liquid, three parts water
and one part black earth, on and on between the low shores, three parts
black earth and one part brackish water, the Sofala would plow her way
up-stream, as she had done once every month for these seven years or
more, long before he was aware of her existence, long before he had ever
thought of having anything to do with her and her invariable voyages.
The old ship ought to have known the road better than her men, who had
not been kept so long at it without a change; better than the faithful
Serang, whom he had brought over from his last ship to keep the
captain's watch; better than he himself, who had been her captain for
the last three years only. She could always be depended upon to make her
courses. Her compasses were never out. She was no trouble at all to
take about, as if her great age had given her knowledge, wisdom, and
steadiness. She made her landfalls to a degree of the bearing, and
almost to a minute of her allowed time. At any moment, as he sat on
the bridge without looking up, or lay sleepless in his bed, simply by
reckoning the days and the hours he could tell where he was--the precise
spot of the beat. He knew it well too, this monotonous huckster's
round, up and down the Straits; he knew its order and its sights and its
people. Malacca to begin with, in at daylight and out at dusk, to cross
over with a rigid phosphorescent wake this highway of the Far East.
Darkness and gleams on the water, clear stars on a black sky, perhaps
the lights of a home steamer keeping her unswerving course in the
middle, or maybe the elusive shadow of a native craft with her mat sails
flitting by silently--and the low land on the other side in sight
at daylight. At noon the three palms of the next place of call, up a
sluggish river. The only white man residing there was a retired young
sailor, with whom he had become friendly in the course of many voyages.
Sixty miles farther on there was another place of call, a deep bay with
only a couple of houses on the beach. And so on, in and out, picking
up coastwise cargo here and there, and finishing with a hundred miles'
steady steaming through the maze of an archipelago of small islands up
to a large native town at the end of the beat. There was a three days'
rest for the old ship before he started her again in inverse order,
seeing the same shores from another bearing, hearing the same voices
in the same places, back again to the Sofala's port of registry on
the great highway to the East, where he would take up a berth nearly
opposite the big stone pile of the harbor office till it was time to
start again on the old round of 1600 miles and thirty days. Not a very
enterprising life, this, for Captain Whalley, Henry Whalley, otherwise
Dare-devil Harry--Whalley of the Condor, a famous clipper in her day.
No. Not a very enterprising life for a man who had served famous firms,
who had sailed famous ships (more than one or two of them his own); who
had made famous passages, had been the pioneer of new routes and new
trades; who had steered across the unsurveyed tracts of the South Seas,
and had seen the sun rise on uncharted islands. Fifty years at sea, and
forty out in the East ("a pretty thorough apprenticeship," he used
to remark smilingly), had made him honorably known to a generation of
shipowners and merchants in all the ports from Bombay clear over to
where the East merges into the West upon the coast of the two Americas.
His fame remained writ, not very large but plain enough, on the
Admiralty charts. Was there not somewhere between Australia and China a
Whalley Island and a Condor Reef? On that dangerous coral formation the
celebrated clipper had hung stranded for three days, her captain and
crew throwing her cargo overboard with one hand and with the other, as
it were, keeping off her a flotilla of savage war-canoes. At that time
neither the island nor the reef had any official existence. Later the
officers of her Majesty's steam vessel Fusilier, dispatched to make a
survey of the route, recognized in the adoption of these two names the
enterprise of the man and the solidity of the ship. Besides, as anyone
who cares may see, the "General Directory," vol. ii. p. 410, begins the
description of the "Malotu or Whalley Passage" with the words: "This
advantageous route, first discovered in 1850 by Captain Whalley in the
ship Condor," &c., and ends by recommending it warmly to sailing vessels
leaving the China ports for the south in the months from December to
April inclusive.
This was the clearest gain he had out of life. Nothing could rob him
of this kind of fame. The piercing of the Isthmus of Suez, like the
breaking of a dam, had let in upon the East a flood of new ships, new
men, new methods of trade. It had changed the face of the Eastern seas
and the very spirit of their life; so that his early experiences meant
nothing whatever to the new generation of seamen.
In those bygone days he had handled many thousands of pounds of his
employers' money and of his own; he had attended faithfully, as by law
a shipmaster is expected to do, to the conflicting interests of owners,
charterers, and underwriters. He had never lost a ship or consented to
a shady transaction; and he had lasted well, outlasting in the end the
conditions that had gone to the making of his name. He had buried his
wife (in the Gulf of Petchili), had married off his daughter to the man
of her unlucky choice, and had lost more than an ample competence in the
crash of the notorious Travancore and Deccan Banking Corporation, whose
downfall had shaken the East like an earthquake. And he was sixty-five
years old.
II
His age sat lightly enough on him; and of his ruin he was not ashamed.
He had not been alone to believe in the stability of the Banking
Corporation. Men whose judgment in matters of finance was as expert as
his seamanship | 2,287.000697 |
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MRS. DORRIMAN.
A Novel.
BY THE HON. MRS. HENRY W. CHETWYND,
AUTHOR OF "LIFE IN A GERMAN VILLAGE," "THE DUTCH COUSIN," "A MARCH
VIOLET," "BEES AND BUTTERFLIES," ETC., ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON: CHAPMAN and HALL
LIMITED
1886
WESTMINSTER:
PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS,
25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
MRS. DORRIMAN.
CHAPTER I.
Spring | 2,287.066372 |
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THE ERRAND BOY;
OR, HOW PHIL BRENT WON SUCCESS.
By Horatio Alger, Jr.,
Author of:
"Joe's Luck," "Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy," "Tom Temple's Career," "Tom
Thatcher's Fortune," "Ragged Dick," "Tattered Tom," "Luck and Pluck,"
etc., etc.
Contents:
The Errand Boy.
Fred Sargent's Revenge.
The Smuggler's Trap.
THE ERRAND BOY.
CHAPTER I.
PHIL HAS A LITTLE DIFFICULTY.
Phil Brent was plodding through the snow in the direction of the house
where he lived with his step-mother and her son, when a snow-ball, moist
and hard, struck him just below his ear with stinging emphasis. The pain
was considerable, and Phil's anger rose.
He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing fiercely, intent upon discovering
who had committed this outrage, for he had no doubt that it was
intentional.
He looked in all directions, but saw no one except a mild old gentleman
in spectacles, who appeared to have some difficulty in making his way
through the obstructed street.
Phil did not need to be told that it was not the old gentleman who had
taken such an unwarrantable liberty with him. So he looked farther, but
his ears gave him the first clew.
He heard a chuckling laugh, which seemed to proceed from behind the
stone wall that ran along the roadside.
"I will see who it is," he decided, and plunging through the snow he
surmounted the wall, in time to see a boy of about his own age running
away across the fields as fast as the deep snow would allow.
"So it's you, Jonas!" he shouted wrathfully. "I thought it was some
sneaking fellow like you."
Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of
dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but
while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and
Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys
panted.
"What made you throw that snow-ball?" demanded Phil angrily, as he
seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.
"You let me alone!" said Jonas, struggling ineffectually in his grasp.
"Answer me! What made you throw that snowball?" demanded Phil, in a tone
that showed he did not intend to be trifled with.
"Because I chose to," answered Jonas, his spite getting the better of
his prudence. "Did it hurt you?" he continued, his eyes gleaming with
malice.
"I should think it might. It was about as hard as a cannon-ball,"
returned Phil grimly. "Is that all you've got to say about it?"
"I did it in fun," said Jonas, beginning to see that he had need to be
prudent.
"Very well! I don't like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won't like mine,"
said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and
then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.
"What are you doin'? Goin' to murder me?" shrieked Jonas, in anger and
dismay.
"I am going to wash your face," said Phil, continuing the operation
vigorously.
"I say, you quit that! I'll tell my mother," ejaculated Jonas,
struggling furiously.
"If you do, tell her why I did it," said Phil.
Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an
effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged
the bad treatment he had suffered.
"There, get up!" said he at length.
Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with
anger.
"You'll suffer for this!" he shouted.
"You won't make me!" said Phil contemptuously.
"You're the meanest boy in the village."
"I am willing to leave that to the opinion of all who know me."
"I'll tell my mother!"
"Go home and tell her!"
Jonas started for home, and Phil did not attempt to stop him.
As he saw Jonas reach the street and plod angrily homeward, he said to
himself:
"I suppose I shall be in hot water for this; but I can't help it. Mrs.
Brent always stands up for her precious son, who is as like her as can
be. Well, it won't make matters much worse than they have been."
Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for
the storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he
delayed half an hour and then walked slowly up to the side door. He
opened the door, brushed off the snow from his boots with the broom
that stood behind the door, and opening the inner door, stepped into the
kitchen.
No one was there, as Phil's first glance satisfied him, and he was
disposed to hope that Mrs. Brent--he never called her mother--was out,
but a thin, acid, measured voice from the sitting-room adjoining soon
satisfied him that there was to be no reprieve.
"Philip Brent, come here!"
Phil entered the sitting-room.
In a rocking-chair by the fire sat a thin woman, with a sharp visage,
cold eyes and firmly compressed lips, to whom no child would voluntarily
draw near.
On a sofa lay outstretched the hulking form of Jonas, with whom he had
had his little difficulty.
"I am here, Mrs. Brent," said Philip manfully.
"Philip Brent," said Mrs. Brent acidly, "are you not ashamed to look me
in the face?"
"I don't know why I should be," said Philip, bracing himself up for the
attack.
"You see on the sofa the victim of your brutality," continued Mrs.
Brent, pointing to the recumbent figure of her son Jonas.
Jonas, as if to emphasize these words, uttered a half groan.
Philip could not help smiling, for to him it seemed ridiculous.
"You laugh," said his step-mother sharply. "I am not surprised at it.
You delight in your brutality."
"I suppose you mean that I have treated Jonas brutally."
"I see you confess it."
"No, Mrs. Brent, I do not confess it. The brutality you speak of was all
on the side of Jonas."
"No doubt," retorted Mrs. Brent, with sarcasm.
"It's the case of the wolf and the lamb over again."
"I don't think Jonas has represented the matter to you as it happened,"
said Phil. "Did he tell you that he flung a snow-ball at my head as hard
as a lump of ice?"
"He said he threw a little snow at you playfully and you sprang upon him
like a tiger."
"There's a little mistake in that," said Phil. "The snow-ball was hard
enough to stun me if it had hit me a little higher. I wouldn't be hit
like that again for ten dollars."
"That ain't so! Don't believe him, mother!" said Jonas from the sofa.
"And what did you do?" demanded Mrs. Brent with a frown.
"I laid him down on the snow and washed his face with soft snow."
"You might have given him his death of cold," said Mrs. Brent, with
evident hostility. "I am not sure but the poor boy will have pneumonia
now, in consequence of your brutal treatment."
"And you have nothing to say as to his attack upon me?" said Phil
indignantly.
"I have no doubt you have very much exaggerated it."
"Yes, he has," chimed in Jonas from the sofa.
Phil regarded his step-brother with scorn.
"Can't you tell the truth now and then, Jonas?" he asked contemptuously.
"You shall not insult my boy in my presence!" said Mrs. Brent, with a
little spot of color mantling her high cheek-bones. "Philip Brent, I
have too long endured your insolence. You think because I am a woman you
can be insolent with impunity, but you will find yourself mistaken. It
is time that you understood something that may lead you to lower your
tone. Learn, then, that you have not a cent of your own. You are wholly
dependent upon my bounty."
"What! Did my father leave you all his money?" asked Philip.
"He was NOT your father!" answered Mrs. Brent coldly.
CHAPTER II.
A STRANGE REVELATION.
Philip started in irrepressible astonishment as these words fell from
the lips of his step-mother. It seemed to him as if the earth were
crumbling beneath his feet, for he had felt no more certain of the
existence of the universe than of his being the son of Gerald Brent.
He was not the only person amazed at this declaration. Jonas, forgetting
for the moment the part he was playing, sat bolt upright on the sofa,
with his large mouth wide open, staring by turns at Philip and his
mother.
"Gosh!" he exclaimed in a tone indicating utter surprise and
bewilderment.
"Will you repeat that, Mrs. Brent?" asked Philip, after a brief pause,
not certain that he had heard aright.
"I spoke plain English, I believe," said Mrs. Brent coldly, enjoying the
effect of her communication.
"I said that Mr. Brent, my late husband, was not your father."
"I don't believe you!" burst forth Philip impetuously.
"You don't wish to believe me, you mean," answered his step-mother,
unmoved.
"No, I don't wish to believe you," said the boy, looking her in the eye.
"You are very polite to doubt a lady's word," said Mrs. Brent with
sarcasm.
"In such a matter as that I believe no one's word," said Phil. "I ask
for proof."
"Well, I am prepared to satisfy you. Sit down and I will tell you the
story."
Philip sat down on the nearest chair and regarded his step-mother
fixedly.
"Whose son am I," he demanded, "if not Mr. Brent's?"
"You are getting on too fast. Jonas," continued his mother, suddenly
turning to her hulking son, on whose not very intelligent countenance
there was an expression of greedy curiosity, "do you understand that
what I am going to say is to be a secret, not to be spoken of to any
one?"
"Yes'm," answered Jonas readily.
"Very well. Now to proceed. Philip, you have heard probably that when
you were very small your father--I mean Mr. Brent--lived in a small town
in Ohio, called Fultonville?"
"Yes, I have heard him say so."
"Do you remember in what business he was then engaged?"
"He kept a hotel."
"Yes; a small hotel, but as large as the place required. He was not
troubled by many guests. The few who stopped at his house were business
men from towns near by, or drummers from the great cities, who had
occasion to stay over a night. One evening, however, a gentleman arrived
with an unusual companion--in other words, a boy of about three years
of age. The boy had a bad cold, and seemed to need womanly care. Mr.
Brent's wife----"
"My mother?"
"The woman you were taught to call mother," corrected the second Mrs.
Brent, "felt compassion for the child, and volunteered to take care
of it for the night. The offer was gladly accepted, and you--for, of
course, you were the child--were taken into Mrs. Brent's own room,
treated with simple remedies, and in the morning seemed much better.
Your father--your real father--seemed quite gratified, and preferred a
request. It was that your new friend would take care of you for a week
while he | 2,287.101942 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
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.
The cover image has been repaired to reproduce the first letters of the
title, occluded by a library label, and, so modified, is added to the
public domain.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: REPLACING THE NOTICE.]
A
REBELLION IN DIXIE
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “THE HUNTER SERIES,”
“WAR SERIES,” ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN REGARD TO THE REBELLION, 5
II. THE CONVENTION, 25
III. “A WORD IN YOUR EAR,” 45
IV. CARL BRINGS NEWS, 65
V. CAPTURING A WAGON-TRAIN, 88
VI. THE MARCH HOMEWARD, 109
VII. BREAKING THE MULE, 129
VIII. REBELS IN THE REAR, 152
IX. A NIGHT EXPEDITION, 176
X. CALE WANTS A MULE, 196
XI. MR. DAWSON’S STRATEGY, 220
XII. THE REBELS TAKE REVENGE, 247
XIII. CALE IN TROUBLE, 271
XIV. LEON A PRISONER, 294
XV. A FRIEND IN NEED, 315
XVI. A FIGHT AND ITS RESULTS, 338
XVII. THE EVENTS OF A WEEK, 363
XVIII. COLEMAN PROVES HIS HONESTY, 384
XIX. CONCLUSION, 407
A REBELLION IN DIXIE.
CHAPTER I.
IN REGARD TO THE REBELLION.
“Now, Leon, you will take in everybody. Don’t leave a single man out,
for we want them all there at this convention.”
“Secessionists, as well as Union men?”
“Yes, of course. I had a talk with Nathan Knight, last night, and he
says everybody must be informed of the fact. We are going to secede from
the State of Mississippi and get up a government of our own, and he
declares that everybody must be told of it.”
“I tell you, dad, we’ve got a mighty poor show. I suppose there are at
least two thousand fighting men here—”
“Say fifteen hundred; and they are all good shots, too.”
“And Jeff Davis has called out a hundred thousand men. Where would we be
if he would send that number of men after us?”
“He ain’t a-going to send no hundred thousand men after us. He has other
work for them to do, and when the few he does send come here in search
of us, he won’t find hide nor hair of a living man in the county.”
It was Mr. Sprague who spoke last, and his words were addressed to his
son Leon. They, both of them, stood leaning on their horses, and were
equipped for long rides in opposite directions. Just inside the gate was
a woman leaning upon it; but, although she was a Southerner, she did not
shed tears when she saw Leon and his father about to start on their
perilous ride. For she knew that every step of the way would be harassed
by danger, and if she saw either one of them after she bade them
good-bye it would all be owing to fortunate manœuvres on their part
rather than to any mismanagement on the part of the rebels. They were
both known as strong Union men, and no doubt there were some of their
neighbors who were determined that they should not fulfil their errand.
It would be an easy matter to shoot them down and throw their bodies
into the swamp, and no one would be the wiser for it.
Leon Sprague was sixteen years old, and had been a raftsman all his
life. He had but little education but much common sense, for schools
were something that did not hold a high place in Jones county. In fact
there had been but one school in the county since he could remember, and
some of the boys took charge of that, and conducted themselves in a
manner that drove the teacher away. Leon was a fine specimen of a boy,
as he stood there listening to his father’s instructions—tall beyond his
years, and straight as one of the numerous pines that he had so often
felled and rafted to Pascagoula bay. His countenance was frank and
open—no one ever thought of doubting Leon’s word—but just now there was
a scowl upon it as he listened to what his father had to say to him.
These people, the Spragues, were a little better off than most of those
who followed their occupation, owning a nice little farm, four <DW64>s,
and a patch of timber-land from which they cut their logs and rafted
them down to tide-water to furnish the masts for ocean-going vessels.
His father and mother were simple-minded folks who thought they had
everything that was worth living for, and they did not want to see the
Government broken up on any pretext. The <DW64> men worked the farm and
their wives were busy in the house, which they kept as neat as a new
pin. Just now the men had been butchering hogs in the woods, and were at
work making hams and bacon of them. These <DW64>s did not have an
overseer—they did not know what it was. They went about their work
bright and early, and when Saturday afternoon came they posted off to
the nearest village to enjoy their half-holiday. They loved their master
and mistress, and if anybody had offered them their freedom they would
not have taken it.
In order that you may understand this story, boy reader, it is necessary
that you should know something of the character of the inhabitants, and
be able to bear in mind the nature of the country in which this
Rebellion in Dixie took place, for it was as much of a rebellion as that
in Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Missouri, where men were shot
and hanged for not believing as their neighbors did, and their houses
were set on fire. They made up their minds at the start—as early as
1862—that they would not furnish any men for the Southern army; and,
furthermore, they took good care to see that there was no drafting done
in their county.
If you will take your atlas and turn to the map of Mississippi you will
find Jones county in the southeastern part of the State, and about
seventy-five miles north of Mobile, a port that was one of the last to
be captured by the United States army. It comprised nearly twenty
townships, the white population being 1482, a small chance, one would
think, for people to live as they did for almost two years. The land was
not fertile, “the entire region being made up of pine barrens and
swamps, traversed by winding creeks, bordered by almost impenetrable
thickets.” It was bounded on four sides by Jasper, Wayne, Perry and
Covington counties, which were all loyal to the Confederacy, and it
would seem that the people had undertaken an immense job to carry on a
rebellion here in the face of such surroundings. The inhabitants were,
almost to a man, opposed to the war. They were lumbermen, who earned a
precarious living by cutting the pine trees and rafting them to
tide-water, which at that time was found on Pascagoula bay. They had
everything that lumbermen could ask for, and they did not think that any
effort to cut themselves loose from the North would result in any glory
to them. They could not get any more for their timber than they were
getting now, and why should they consent to go into the army and fight
for principles that they knew nothing about?
Of course, this county was divided against itself, as every other county
was that laid claim to some Union and some Confederate inhabitants.
There were men among them who had their all invested there, and they did
not think these earnest people were pursuing the right course. These
were the secessionists, but they were very careful about what they said,
although they afterward found opportunities to put their ideas into
practice. When General Lowery was sent with a strong force to crush out
this rebellion he was met by a stubborn resistance, and some of these
Confederates, who were seen and recognized by their Union neighbors,
were afterward shot to pay them for the part they had carried out in
conducting the enemy to their place of retreat. Taken altogether, it was
such a thing as nobody had ever heard of before, but the way these
lumbermen went about it proclaimed what manner of men they were. It
seemed as if the Confederacy could run enough men in there to wipe out
the Jones County Republic before they could have time to organize their
army; but for all that the inhabitants were determined to go through
with it. They held many a long talk with one another when they met on
the road or in convention at Ellisville, and there wasn’t a man who was
in favor of joining the Confederacy, the secessionists wisely keeping
out of sight.
Things went on in this way for a year or more, during which the
lumbermen talked amazingly, but did nothing. Finally Fort Sumter was
fired upon, and afterward came the disastrous battle of Bull Run, and
then the Confederates began to gain a little courage. They knew the
South was going to whip, and these battles confirmed them in the belief;
but the raftsmen did not believe it. In 1862, when the Confederate
Congress passed the act of conscription, which compelled those liable to
do military duty to serve in the army, the lumbermen grew in earnest,
and a few of them got together in Ellisville and talked the matter over.
The market for their logs had long ago been broken up, and some of them
were beginning to feel the need of something to eat; and when one of
their number proposed, more as a joke than anything else, that they
should cast their fortunes with the Confederates, and so be able to go
down to tide-water and get some provisions, the motion was hooted down
in short order. There were not enough people there to hold a convention,
and so the matter was postponed, some of the wealthy ones who owned
horses being selected to ride about the county and inform every one that
the matter had gone far enough—that they were going to hold a meeting
and see what the lumbermen thought of taking the county out of the State
of Mississippi. Leon and his father were two of those chosen, and they
were just getting ready to start on their journey.
“I don’t know as I ought to send that boy out at all, Mary,” said Mr.
Sprague, when he arrived at home that night after the convention had
been decided upon. “I have never seen Leon in trouble and I don’t know
how he will act; but the boys down to Ellisville seemed determined to
let him go, and I | 2,288.066103 |
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SEVEN KEYS TO BALDPATE
BY EARL DERR BIGGERS
Buccaneer Books
NEW YORK
Copyright 1913 by The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 78-66864
CONTENTS
CHAPTER | 2,288.254821 |
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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) In loving memory of Poppy Curnow, who
loved her herb garden.
[Transcriber's Note: As with any medicinal work first published in the
1600s and rewritten countless times, it should go without saying to not
attempt these recipes. Just in case, the transcriber has now said it.
Also, many and varied were the printing and publishing anomalies, for a
more complete explanation, see the extensive notes collected at the end
of this text.]
[Illustration: NICHOLAS CULPEPER, M.D.
Author of the Family Herbal.]
[Illustration: RED LION HOUSE, SPITALFIELDS
IN WHICH CULPEPER LIVED, STUDIED AND DIED]
THE
COMPLETE HERBAL;
TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED, UPWARDS OF
ONE HUNDRED ADDITIONAL HERBS,
WITH A DISPLAY OF THEIR
Medicinal and Occult Qualities
PHYSICALLY APPLIED TO
THE CURE OF ALL DISORDERS INCIDENT TO MANKIND:
TO WHICH ARE NOW FIRST ANNEXED, THE
ENGLISH PHYSICIAN ENLARGED,
AND
KEY TO PHYSIC.
WITH
RULES FOR COMPOUNDING MEDICINE ACCORDING TO THE TRUE SYSTEM OF NATURE.
FORMING A COMPLETE
FAMILY DISPENSATORY AND NATURAL SYSTEM OF PHYSIC.
————————————
BY NICHOLAS CULPEPER, M.D.
————————————
TO WHICH IS ALSO ADDED,
UPWARDS OF FIFTY CHOICE RECEIPTS,
SELECTED FROM THE AUTHOR’S LAST LEGACY TO HIS WIFE.
A NEW EDITION,
WITH A LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL DISEASES TO WHICH THE HUMAN BODY IS
LIABLE,
AND A GENERAL INDEX.
_Illustrated by Engravings of numerous British Herbs and Plants,
correctly from nature._
———————
“The Lord hath created Medicines out of the earth; and he that is
wise will not abhor them.”—_Ecc._ xxxviii. 4.
———————
LONDON:
THOMAS KELLY, 17, PATERNOSTER ROW.
———
MDCCCL.
LONDON;
A. CROSS, PRINTER, 89, PAUL STREET,
FINSBURY.
[Transcriber's Notes: All plates were done by: THOMAS KELLY, LONDON]
PLATE 1.
Alexander
Agrimony
Alkanet
Allheal
Amara Dulcis _or_ Bitter Sweet
Amaranthus
Adder's Tongue
Angelica
Alehoof _or_ Ground Ivy
PLATE 2.
Garden Arrach
Avens
Ars smart
Basil
Archangel
Beets
Yellow Bedstraw
White Bedstraw
Water Betony
PLATE 3.
Bird’s Foot
Bishop’s Weed
Bistort _or_ Snakeweed
White Briony
Borage
Brooklime
Bucks-horn Plantain
Brank Ursine
Blue Bottle
PLATE 4.
Burdock
Butter-bur
Wall Bugloss
Bugle
Camomile
Carraway
Centaury
Wild Carrot
Celandine
PLATE 5.
Chervill
Comfry
Cleavers
Coltsfoot
Crabs Claws _or_ Fresh water Soldier
Cowslip
Columbine
Shrub Cinquefoil
Costmary
PLATE 6.
Crowfoot
Cuckow Point
Water Cress
Cudweed
Crosswort
Dill
Dandelion
Daisy
Devils Bit
PLATE 7.
Eringo
Eyebright
Elecampane
Dock
Dragons
Dog’s Grass
Dropwort
Dove’s Foot
Bloody Dock
PLATE 8.
Foxglove
Flower-de-luce
Figwort
Fleawort
Fumitory
Fluellin
Fennel
Flaxweed
Feverfew
PLATE 9.
Wall Hawkweed.
Hart’s Tongue.
Mouse-ear Hawkweed.
Gentian.
Golden Rod.
Galingal.
Clove Gilliflower.
Groundsel.
Germander.
PLATE 10.
Longrooted Hawkweed
Hearts Ease
Hounds Tongue
Herb Robert
Marsh Pennywort
White Horehound
Henbane
Truelove
Hemlock
PLATE 11.
Knapweed
Lady’s Mantle
Ladysmock
Sea Lavender
Water Lily
Liquorice
Loosestrife or Willowherb
Liver Wort
Lily of the Valley
PLATE 12.
Lovage
Lungwort
Loosestrife _or_ Wood Willow-herb
Maidenhair
Field Madder
Marsh Mallow
Marigold
Melilot
Masterwort
PLATE 13.
Mouse Ear
Moon-wort
Field Mouse Ear
Yellow Money-wort
Black Mullein
Mother-wort
Mug-wort
White Mullein
White Mustard
PLATE 14.
Black Mustard
Common Nightshade
Deadly Nightshade
Nep
Nailwort
Orpine
Cow Parsnip
Rock Parsley
Wild Parsnip
PLATE 15.
Pellitory of the Wall
Periwinkle
Pepper-wort
Pimpernel
Plantain
Polypody
White Poppy
Corn Rose Poppy
Primrose
PLATE 16.
Privet
Queen of the Meadow
Meadow Rue
Cress Rocket
Rattle Grass
Rocket Cress
Ragwort
Rapture Wort
Saffron
PLATE 17.
Meadow Saxifrage
Great Sanicle
Samphire
Garden Scurvygrass
Scabious
Shepherd’s Purse
Saracen’s Confound
Self-heal
Burnet Saxifrage
PLATE 18.
Yellow Succory
Solomon’s Seal
Wild Succory
Spignel
Wood Sorrel
Common Sorrel
Smallage
Sow Thistle
Tansy
PLATE 19.
Treacle Mustard
Tustan
Thorough Wax
Tooth-wort
Trefoil
Tormentil
Lady’s Thistle
Wild Teazle
Cotton Thistle
PLATE 20.
Vervain
Valerian
Viper’s Bugloss
Woad
Woodbine
Wall Flower
Wormwood
Sea Wormwood
Yarrow
CULPEPER’S
ORIGINAL EPISTLE TO THE READER.
TAKE Notice, That in this Edition I have made very many Additions to
every sheet in the book: and, also, that those books of mine that are
printed of that Letter the small Bibles are printed with, are very
falsely printed: there being twenty or thirty gross mistakes in every
sheet, many of them such as are exceedingly dangerous to such as shall
venture to use them: And therefore I do warn the Public of them: I can
do no more at present; only take notice of these Directions by which
you shall be sure to know the _True one_ from the _False_.
_The first Direction._—The true one hath this Title over the head of
every Book, THE COMPLETE HERBAL AND ENGLISH PHYSICIAN ENLARGED. The
small Counterfeit ones have only this Title, THE ENGLISH PHYSICIAN.
_The second Direction._—The true one hath these words, GOVERNMENT
AND VIRTUES, following the time of the Plants flowering, &c. The
counterfeit small ones have these words, VIRTUES AND USE, following the
time of the Plants flowering.
_The third Direction._—The true one is of a larger Letter than the
counterfeit ones, which are in _Twelves_, &c., of the Letter small
Bibles used to be printed on. I shall now speak something of the book
itself.
All other Authors that have written of the nature of Herbs, give not
a bit of reason why such an Herb was appropriated to such a part of
the body, nor why it cured such a disease. Truly my own body being
sickly, brought me easily into a capacity, to know that health was
the greatest of all earthly blessings, and truly he was never sick
that doth not believe it. Then I considered that all medicines were
compounded of Herbs, Roots, Flowers, Seeds, &c., and this first set
me to work in studying the nature of simples, most of which I knew
by sight before; and indeed all the Authors I could read gave me but
little satisfaction in this particular, or none at all. I cannot build
my faith upon Authors’ words, nor believe a thing because they say it,
and could wish every body were of my mind in this,—to labour to be
able to give a reason for every thing they say or do. They say Reason
makes a man differ from a Beast; if that be true, pray what are they
that, instead of reason for their judgment, quote old Authors? Perhaps
their authors knew a reason for what they wrote, perhaps they did not;
what is that to us? Do we know it? Truly in writing this work first,
to satisfy myself, I drew out all the virtues of the vulgar or common
Herbs, Plants, and Trees, &c., out of the best or most approved authors
I had, or could get; and having done so, I set myself to study the
reason of them. I knew well enough the whole world, and every thing
in it, was formed of a composition of contrary elements, and in such
a harmony as must needs show the wisdom and power of a great God. I
knew as well this Creation, though thus composed of contraries, was one
united body, and man an epitome of it: I knew those various affections
in man, in respect of sickness and health, were caused naturally
(though God may have other ends best known to himself) by the various
operations of the Microcosm; and I could not be ignorant, that as the
cause is, so must the cure be; and therefore he that would know the
reason of the operation of the Herbs, must look up as high as the
Stars, astrologically. I always found the disease vary according to the
various motions of the Stars; and this is enough, one would think, to
teach a man by the effect where the cause lies. Then to find out the
reason of the operation of Herbs, Plants, &c., by the Stars went I; and
herein I could find but few authors, but those as full of nonsense and
contradiction as an egg is full of meat. This not being pleasing, and
less profitable to me, I consulted with my two brothers, DR. REASON and
DR. EXPERIENCE, and took a voyage to visit my mother NATURE, by whose
advice, together with the help of DR. DILIGENCE, I at last obtained my
desire; and, being warned by MR. HONESTY, a stranger in our days, to
publish it to the world, I have done it.
But you will say, _What need I have written on this Subject, seeing so
many famous and learned men have written so much of it in the English
Tongue, much more than I have done?_
To this I answer, neither GERRARD nor PARKINSON, or any that ever wrote
in the like nature, ever gave one wise reason for what they wrote, and
so did nothing else but train up young novices in Physic in the School
of tradition, and teach them just as a parrot is taught to speak; an
Author says so, therefore it is true; and if all that Authors say be
true, why do they contradict one another? But in mine, if you view it
with the eye of reason, you shall see a reason for everything that is
written, whereby you may find the very ground and foundation of Physic;
you may know what you do, and wherefore you do it; and this shall call
me Father, it being (that I know of) never done in the world before.
I have now but two things to write, and then I have done.
1. _What the profit and benefit of this Work is._
2. _Instructions in the use of it._
1. The profit and benefit arising from it, or that may occur to a wise
man from it are many; so many that should I sum up all the particulars,
my Epistle would be as big as my Book; I shall quote some few general
heads.
First. The admirable Harmony of the Creation is herein seen, in the
influence of Stars upon Herbs and the Body of Man, how one part of the
Creation is subservient to another, and all for the use of Man, whereby
the infinite power and wisdom of God in the creation appear; and if I
do not admire at the simplicity of the Ranters, never trust me; who but
viewing the Creation can hold such a sottish opinion, as that it was
from eternity, when the mysteries of it are so clear to every eye? but
that Scripture shall be verified to them, _Rom._ i. 20: “_The invisible
things of him from the Creation of the World are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are made, even his Eternal Power and
Godhead; so that they are without excuse._”—And a Poet could teach them
a better lesson;
“_Because out of thy thoughts God shall not pass,_
“_His image stamped is on every grass._”
This indeed is true, God has stamped his image on every creature, and
therefore the abuse of the creature is a great sin; but how much the
more do the wisdom and excellency of God appear, if we consider the
harmony of the Creation in the virtue and operation of every Herb!
Secondly, Hereby you may know what infinite knowledge _Adam_ had in his
innocence, that by looking upon a creature, he was able to give it a
name according to its nature; and by knowing that, thou mayest know how
great thy fall was and be humbled for it even in this respect, because
hereby thou art so ignorant.
Thirdly, Here is the right way for thee to begin at the study of
Physic, if thou art minded to begin at the right end, for here
thou hast the reason of the whole art. I wrote before in certain
Astrological Lectures, which I read, and printed, intituled,
_Astrological Judgment of Diseases_, what planet caused (as a second
cause) every disease, how it might be found out what planet caused it;
here thou hast what planet cures it by _Sympathy_ and _Antipathy_; and
this brings me to my last promise, _viz._
_Instructions for the right use of the book._
And herein let me premise a word or two. The Herbs, Plants, &c. are now
in the book appropriated to their proper planets. Therefore,
First, Consider what planet causeth the disease; that thou mayest find
it in my aforesaid Judgment of Diseases.
Secondly, Consider what part of the | 2,288.254846 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40923-h.htm or 40923-h.zip:
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Produced by JC Byers, Carrie Lorenz, and Gaston Picard
THE PINK FAIRY BOOK
By Various
Edited by Andrew Lang
Preface
All people in the world tell nursery tales to their children. The
Japanese tell them, the Chinese, the Red Indians by their camp fires,
the Eskimo in their dark dirty winter huts. The Kaffirs of South Africa
tell them, and the modern Greeks, just as the old Egyptians did, when
Moses had not been many years rescued out of the bulrushes. The Germans,
French, Spanish, Italians, Danes, Highlanders tell them also, and the
stories are apt to be like each other everywhere. A child who has read
the Blue and Red and Yellow Fairy Books will find some old friends with
new faces in the Pink Fairy Book, if he examines and compares. But the
Japanese tales will probably be new to the young student; the Tanuki is
a creature whose acquaintance he may not have made before. He may remark
that Andersen wants to 'point a moral,' as well as to 'adorn a tale; '
that he is trying to make fun of the follies of mankind, as they exist
in civilised countries. The Danish story of 'The Princess in the Chest'
need not be read to a very nervous child, as it rather borders on a
ghost story. It has been altered, and is really much more horrid in the
language of the Danes, who, as history tells us, were not a nervous or
timid people. I am quite sure that this story is not true. The other
Danish and Swedish stories are not alarming. They are translated by
Mr. W. A. Craigie. Those from the Sicilian (through the German) are
translated, like the African tales (through the French) and the Catalan
tales, and the Japanese stories (the latter through the German), and an
old French story, by Mrs. Lang. Miss Alma Alleyne did the stories from
Andersen, out of the German. Mr. Ford, as usual, has drawn the monsters
and mermaids, the princes and giants, and the beautiful princesses, who,
the Editor thinks, are, if possible, prettier than ever. Here, then, are
fancies brought from all quarters: we see that black, white, and yellow
peoples are fond of just the same kinds of adventures. Courage, youth,
beauty, kindness, have many trials, but they always win the battle;
while witches, giants, unfriendly cruel people, are on the losing hand.
So it ought to be, and so, on the whole, it is and will be; and that is
all the moral of fairy tales. We cannot all be young, alas! and pretty,
and strong; but nothing prevents us from being kind, and no kind man,
woman, or beast or bird, ever comes to anything but good in these oldest
fables of the world. So far all the tales are true, and no further.
Contents
The Cat's Elopement.
How the Dragon was Tricked
The Goblin and the Grocer
The House in the Wood
Uraschimataro and the Turtle
The Slaying of the Tanuki
The Flying Trunk
The Snow Man.
The Shirt-Collar
The Princess in the Chest
The Three Brothers
The Snow-queen
The Fir-Tree
Hans, the Mermaid's Son
Peter Bull
The Bird 'Grip'
Snowflake
I know what I have learned
The Cunning Shoemaker
The King who would have a Beautiful Wife
Catherine and her Destiny
How the Hermit helped to win the King's Daughter
The Water of Life
The Wounded Lion
The Man without a Heart
The Two Brothers
Master and Pupil
The Golden Lion
The Sprig of Rosemary
The White Dove
The Troll's Daughter
Esben and the Witch
Princess Minon-Minette
Maiden Bright-eye
The Merry Wives
King Lindorm
The Jackal, the Dove, and the Panther
The Little Hare
The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue
The Story of Ciccu
Don Giovanni de la Fortuna.
The Cat's Elopement
[From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns (Leipzig:
Wilhelm Friedrich).]
Once upon a time there lived a cat of marvellous beauty, with a skin as
soft and shining as silk, and wise green eyes, that could see even in
the dark. His name was Gon, and he belonged to a music teacher, who
was so fond and proud of him that he would not have parted with him for
anything in the world.
Now not far from the music master's house there dwelt a lady who
possessed a most lovely little pussy cat called Koma. She was such a
little dear altogether, and blinked her eyes so daintily, and ate her
supper so tidily, and when she had finished she licked her pink nose so
delicately with her little tongue, that her mistress was never tired of
saying, 'Koma, Koma, what should I do without you?'
Well, it happened one day that these two, when out for an evening
stroll, met under a cherry tree, and in one moment fell madly in love
with each other. Gon had long felt that it was time for him to find a
wife, for all the ladies in the neighbourhood paid him so much attention
that it made him quite shy; but he was not easy to please, and did not
care about any of them. Now, before he | 2,288.262256 |
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PLOTINOS
Complete Works
In Chronological Order, Grouped in Four Periods;
With
BIOGRAPHY by PORPHYRY, EUNAPIUS, & SUIDAS,
COMMENTARY by PORPHYRY,
ILLUSTRATIONS by JAMBLICHUS & AMMONIUS,
STUDIES in Sources, Development, Influence;
INDEX of Subjects, Thoughts and Words.
by
KENNETH SYLVAN GUTHRIE,
Professor in Extension, University of the South, Sewanee;
A.M., Sewanee, and Harvard; Ph.D., Tulane, and Columbia.
M.D., Medico-Chirurgical College, Philadelphia.
COMPARATIVE LITERATURE PRESS
P. O. Box 42, ALPINE, N.J., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1918, | 2,288.406855 |
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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 | 2,288.598586 |
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GOD AND THE
KING
BY
MARJORIE BOWEN
AUTHOR OF "I WILL MAINTAIN"
'LUCTOR ET EMERGO
MOTTO OF ZEELAND
METHUEN & GO. LTD
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_Published in 1911_
DEDICATED
VERY GRATEFULLY
TO
MAJOR-GENERAL F. DE BAS
DIRECTOR OF THE MILITARY HISTORICAL BRANCH
GENERAL STAFF OF THE DUTCH ARMY
CONTENTS
PART I
THE REVOLUTION
CHAP.
I. THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
II. THE EVENING OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
III. THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
IV. THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND
V. THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE
VI. THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT
VII. THE SILENT WOOD
VIII. THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE
IX. FRANCE MOVES
X. THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR
XI. THREE PAWNS
XII. FRANCE MOVES AGAIN
XIII. THE GREAT ENTERPRISE
XIV. STORMS
XV. THE SECOND SAILING
XVI. NEWS FROM ENGLAND
XVII. FAREWELL TO HOLLAND
XVIII. BY THE GRACE OF GOD
PART II
THE QUEEN
I. A DARK DAWNING
II. THE KING AT BAY
III. THE BEST OF LIFE
IV. THE SECRET ANGUISH
V. A WOMAN'S STRENGTH
VI. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
VII. THE SHADOW
VIII. FEAR
IX. CHRISTMAS EVE
X. THE QUEEN
XI. THE BITTER PARTING
PART III
THE KING
I. *VITA SINE AMOR MORS EST*
II. THE KING IS NEEDED
III. ATTAINMENT
IV. A MAN'S STRENGTH
V. A LEADER OF NATIONS
VI. THE KING'S AGENT
VII. THE BANK OF ENGLAND
VIII. THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP
IX. PEACE
X. THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP
XI. THE KING'S HUMILIATION
XII. APATHY
XIII. FRANCE CHALLENGES
XIV. THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD
XV. THE EVE OF WAR
XVI. GOD AND THE KING
PART I
THE REVOLUTION
"Un prince profond dans ses vues; habile a former des ligues et a reunir
les esprits; plus heureux a exciter les guerres qu'a combattre; plus a
craindre encore dans le secret du cabinet, qu'a la tete des armees; un
ennemi que la haine du nom Francais avoit rendu capable d'imaginer de
grandes chose et de les executer; un de ces genies qui semblent etre nes
pour mouvoir a leur gre les peuples et les souverains--un grand
homme...."--MASSILLON, _Oraison Funebre de M. le Dauthin_.
CHAPTER I
THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30th, 1688
"There is no managing an unreasonable people. By Heaven, my lord, they
do not deserve my care."
The speaker was standing by an open window that looked on to one of the
courts of Whitehall Palace, listening to the unusual and tumultuous
noises that filled the sweet summer air--noises of bells, of shouting,
the crack of fireworks, and the report of joyous mock artillery.
It was late afternoon, and the small apartment was already left by the
departing daylight and obscured with a dusky shade, but no candles were
lit.
There was one other person in the room, a gentleman seated opposite the
window at a tall black cabinet decorated with gold lacquer Chinese
figures, that showed vivid even in the twilight. He was watching his
companion with a gentle expression of judgment, and twirling in his slim
fingers a half-blown white rose.
An over-richness of furniture, hangings, and appointments distinguished
the chamber, which was little more than a cabinet. The flush of rich
hues in the Mortlake tapestries, the gold on the China bureau, the
marble, gilt, and carving about the mantel, two fine and worldly Italian
paintings and crystal sconces, set in silver, combined to give the place
an overpowering air of lavishness; noticeable in one corner was a large
ebony and enamel crucifix.
The persons of these two gentlemen were in keeping with this air of
wealth, both being dressed in an opulent style, but in themselves they
differed entirely from each other.
Neither was young, and both would have been conspicuous in any company
for extreme handsomeness, but there was no further likeness.
He at the window was by many years the older, and past the prime of
life, but the magnificence of his appearance created no impression of
age.
Unusually tall, finely made and graceful, he carried himself with great
dignity; his countenance, which had been of the purest type of
aristocratic beauty, was now lined and marred--not so much by years, as
by a certain gloom and sourness that had become his permanent
expression; his eyes were large, grey, and commanding, his mouth noble,
but disfigured by a sneer, his complexion blond and pale, his nose
delicately formed and straight; a fair peruke shaded his face and hung
on to his shoulders; he was dressed, splendidly but carelessly, in deep
blue satins, a quantity of heavy Venice lace, and a great sword belt of
embroidered leather.
The other gentleman was still in the prime of life, being under fifty,
and looking less than his age.
Slight in build, above the medium height, and justly proportioned,
handsome and refined in feature, dressed with great richness in the
utmost extreme of fashion, he appeared the very type of a noble idle
courtier, but in his long, straight, heavy-lidded eyes, thin sensitive
mouth, and the deeply cut curve of his nostril was an expression of
power and intelligence above that of a mere favourite of courts.
He wore his own fair hair frizzed and curled out on to his shoulders and
brought very low on to his forehead; under his chin was a knot of black
satin that accentuated the pale delicacy of his complexion; every detail
of his attire showed the same regard to his appearance and the mode.
Had it not been for that unconscious look of mastery in the calm face he
would have seemed no more than a wealthy man of fashion. In his
beautifully formed and white hands he held, as well as the rose, a
handkerchief that he now and then pressed to his lips; in great contrast
to the other man, who appeared self-absorbed and natural, his movements
and his pose were extremely affected.
A pause of silence wore out; the man at the window beat his fingers
impatiently on the high walnut back of the chair beside him, then
suddenly turned a frowning face towards the darkening room.
"My lord, what doth this presage?"
He asked the question heavily and as if he had much confidence and trust
in the man to whom he spoke.
My lord answered instantly, in a voice as artificial as the fastidious
appointments of his dress.
"Nothing that Your Majesty's wisdom and the devotion of your servants
cannot control and dispel."
James Stewart turned his eyes again to the open casement.
"Do you take it so lightly, my lord?" he asked uneasily. "All London
shouting for these disloyal prelates--the city against me?"
Lord Sunderland replied, his peculiarly soothing tones lowered to a kind
of caressing gentleness, while he kept his eyes fixed on the King.
"Not the city, sir. Your Majesty heareth but the mobile--the handful
that will always rejoice at a set given to authority. The people love
Your Majesty and applaud your measures."
"But I am not popular as my brother was," said the King, but half
satisfied, and with an angry look towards London.
The Earl was ready with his softly worded reassurances.
"His late Majesty never put his popularity to the test--I think he could
not have done what you have, sir--is not the true Faith"--here my lord
crossed himself--"predominant in England--hath Your Majesty any
Protestant left in office--have you not an Ambassador at the Vatican, is
not a holy Jesuit father on the Council board, Mass heard publicly in
Whitehall--the papal Nuncio openly received?--and hath not Your Majesty
done these great things in three short years?"
A glow overspread the King's sombre face; he muttered a few words of a
Latin prayer, and bent his head.
"I have done a little," he said--"a little----"
Sunderland lowered his eyes.
"Seeing this is a Protestant nation, Your Majesty hath done a deal."
The King was silent a moment, then spoke, gloomy again.
"But, save yourself, my lord, and Dover and Salisbury, no person of
consequence hath come into the pale of the Church--and how hath my
Declaration of Indulgence been received? Discontent, disobedience from
the clergy, insolence from the Bishops, and now this,--near to
rebellion!" His eyes darkened. "Could you have heard the army on
Hounslow Heath, my lord--they shouted as one man to hear these traitors
had been acquitted."
He began to stride up and down the room, talking sternly, half to
himself, half to Sunderland, the speech of an angry, obstinate man.
"But I'll not give way. Who is this Jack Somers who defended them?
Make a note of him--some Whig cur! The Dissenters too, what is the
Anglican Church to them that they must stand by her? Do I not offer
them also freedom of conscience? Do not they also benefit by the repeal
of the Test Act?"
Sunderland made no remark; he sat with his hand over the lower part of
his face. By the expression of his eyes it might seem that he was
smiling; but the light was fading, and James did not look at his
minister.
"I'll break the Colleges too. Let them look to it. I'll go on. Am I
not strong enough? They are rebels at Oxford--I'll take no
rebellion--that was my father's fault; he was not strong enough at
first--it must be put down now--now, eh, my Lord Sunderland?"
He stopped abruptly before the Earl, who rose with an air of humility.
"It is my poor opinion, oft repeated, that Your Majesty must stop for
nothing, but take these grumblers with a firm hand and crush them."
This counsel, though not new, seemed to please the King.
"You have ever given me good advice, my lord." He paused, then added,
"Father Petre is always speaking against you, but I do not listen--no, I
do not listen."
"It is my misfortune to be unpopular with the Catholics, though I have
done what might be for their service."
"I do not listen," repeated the King hastily; he seated himself in the
carved chair beside the bureau. "But I must tell you one thing," he
added, after an instant. "M. Barillon thinketh I go too far."
Sunderland remained standing | 2,288.603798 |
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CAPTIVATING MARY CARSTAIRS
BY
HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON
WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY R.M. CROSBY
(_This book was first published pseudonymously in February, 1911_)
1910, 1914.
TO NAWNY: HER BOOK
_NOTE_
_This book, representing the writer's first effort at a long story, has
something of a story of its own. First planned in 1900 or 1901, it was
begun in 190 | 2,288.608082 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Volume I is available as Project Gutenberg ebook
number 49844.
WILLIAM COBBETT.
A BIOGRAPHY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
WILLIAM COBBETT:
_A BIOGRAPHY_.
BY EDWARD SMITH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1878.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XIV.
1805-1806.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS
AND FLOWERS TO GROW” 1
CHAPTER XV.
1806-1807.
“I DID DESTROY THEIR POWER TO ROB US ANY LONGER WITHOUT THE
ROBBERY BEING PERCEIVED” 24
CHAPTER XVI.
1807-1809.
“THEY NATURALLY HATE ME” 45
CHAPTER XVII.
1808-1809.
“THE OUTCRY AGAINST ME IS LOUDER THAN EVER” 63
CHAPTER XVIII.
1809-1810.
“COMPARED WITH DEFEATING ME, DEFEATING BUONAPARTE IS A MERE
TRIFLE” 88
CHAPTER XIX.
1810.
“THE FOLLY, COMMON TO ALL TYRANTS, IS THAT THEY PUSH THINGS
TOO FAR” 114
CHAPTER XX.
1810-1812.
“TO PUT A MAN IN PRISON FOR A YEAR OR TWO DOES NOT KILL HIM” 127
CHAPTER XXI.
1812-1816.
“THE NATION NEVER CAN BE ITSELF AGAIN WITHOUT A REFORM” 149
CHAPTER XXII.
1816-1817.
“BETWEEN SILENCE AND A DUNGEON LAY MY ONLY CHOICE” 173
CHAPTER XXIII.
1817-1821.
“WHATEVER OTHER FAULTS I MAY HAVE, THAT OF LETTING GO MY
HOLD IS NOT ONE” 198
CHAPTER XXIV.
1821-1826.
“THEY COMPLAIN THAT THE TWOPENNY TRASH IS READ” 229
CHAPTER XXV.
1821-1831.
“I HAVE PLEADED THE CAUSE OF THE WORKING-PEOPLE, AND I SHALL
NOW SEE THAT CAUSE TRIUMPH” 249
CHAPTER XXVI.
1832-1835.
“I NOW BELONG TO THE PEOPLE OF OLDHAM” 275
CHAPTER XXVII.
1835.
“I HAVE BEEN THE GREAT ENLIGHTENER OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND” 291
APPENDIX: BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST OF WILLIAM COBBETT’S
PUBLICATIONS 305
INDEX 321
WILLIAM COBBETT: A BIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER XIV.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS AND
FLOWERS TO GROW.”
The summer of 1805 finds Mr. Cobbett again at Botley with his family.
A letter to Wright, dated 5th July, says, “I have found here a most
delightful house and a more delightful garden.” Preparations are being
made for a prolonged stay, and for the occasional entertainment of his
correspondent: “I have given you a deal of trouble, and hope that you
will find hereafter some compensation during the time you will spend at
Botley.” The carpets are to be taken up (in Duke Street), and all the
bedding, &c., to be “removed upstairs, packed in mats or something.” On
the 28th of July Cobbett writes--
“I am glad that you are like to close your labours so soon,
for I really wish very much to see you here, and so do all the
children and their mother, all of whom have delightful health;
and Mrs. Cobbett is more attached to Botley than I am--one
cause of which is, she has made her servants humble, and she
bakes good bread. I shall have made it a delightful place
before you will have finished your volume.”[1]
There is a good deal about Botley and its neighbourhood to charm the
tastes of men like Cobbett. A fine open country, which was then to a
great extent unenclosed--it was a genuine agricultural and sporting
district, of which the little town was the centre. It was quiet enough,
not being on the road to anywhere; and the people were as quiet as the
village.
“… Two doctors, one parson. No trade, except that carried on
by two or three persons, who bring coals from the Southampton
water, and who send down timber. All the rest are farmers,
farmers’ men, millers, millers’ men, millwrights, publicans who
sell beer to the farmers’ men and the farmers; copse-cutters,
tree-strippers, bark-shavers, farmers’ wheelwrights, farmers’
blacksmiths, shopkeepers, a schoolmistress; and, in short,
nothing but persons belonging to agriculture, to which, indeed,
the two doctors and the parson belong as much as the rest.”
As Cobbett himself described them a few years later. The creek of the
little river Hamble touches the end of the principal street; and here
was a tiny wharf, and a miller’s house. On the farther side of the
creek stood the “delightful house and more delightful garden,” which
promised such bliss. Here is one of the first resulting joys:--
“Now, I am going to give you a commission that you must do us
the favour to execute with the least possible delay. It is
to find out where fishing-nets are sold, and to buy us a net
called a Flue or Trammel net. It must be five feet deep, and
fifteen yards long; with plenty of linnet, and not too coarse.
We have a river full of fish sweeping round the one side of
our little lot of land; but for want | 2,288.609099 |
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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) dP stands for the partial-derivative symbol, or curled 'd'.
(6) [oo] stands for the infinity symbol, and [int] for the integral
symbol.
(7) Letters followed with a grave accent "`" have originally dots above.
(8) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE DYER, JOHN: "His poems were collected by Dodsley in 1770,
and by Mr Edward Thomas in 1903 for the Welsh Library, vol. iv."
'poems' amended from 'peoms'.
ARTICLE EAR: "The membranous semicircular canals are very much
smaller in section than the bony; in the ampulla of each is a
ridge..." 'the' amended from 'tbe'.
ARTICLE EARTH, FIGURE OF THE: "O. Callandreau, 'Memoire sur la
theorie de la figure des planetes,' Ann. obs. de Paris (1889);..."
'Callandreau' amended from 'Callendreau'.
ARTICLE EATON, THEOPHILUS: "In October 1639 a form of government
was adopted, based on the Mosaic Law, and Eaton was elected
governor..." 'Mosaic' amended from 'Mosiac'.
ARTICLE ECCLESIASTES: "A particular instance is mentioned (ix.
13-15) of a beleaguered city saved by a wise man; but the man
happened to be poor, and no one remembered him." 'beleaguered'
amended from 'beleagured'.
ARTICLE ECCLESIASTES: "Such assertions as those of ii. 26 (God
gives joy to him who pleases him, and makes the sinner toil to lay
up for the latter),..." 'and' amended from 'amd'.
ARTICLE ECCLESIASTES: "This disagreement comes largely from the
attempts made to find definitely expressed Greek philosophical
dogmas in the book; such formulas it has not, but the general air
of Greek reflection seems unmistakable. The scepticism of Koheleth
differs from that of Job in quality and scope..." 'the' originally
repeated twice.
ARTICLE ECCLESIASTICAL JURISDICTION: "In the first case, they may
be punished by the ordinary of the place, acting as delegate of the
pope without special appointment (Conc. Trid. Sess. vi. c. 3)."
'special' amended from'speical'.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME VIII, SLICE IX
Dyer to Echidna
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
DYER, SIR EDWARD EAST LIVERPOOL
DYER, JOHN EAST LONDON
DYER, THOMAS HENRY EASTON
DYMOKE EAST ORANGE
DYNAMICS EASTPORT
DYNAMITE EAST PROVIDENCE
DYNAMO EAST PRUSSIA
DYNAMOMETER EASTWICK, EDWARD BACKHOUSE
DYNASTY EATON, DORMAN BRIDGMAN
DYSART EATON, MARGARET O'NEILL
DYSENTERY EATON, THEOPHILUS
DYSPEPSIA EATON, WILLIAM
DYSTELEOLOGY EATON, WYATT
DZUNGARIA EAU CLAIRE
E EAU DE COLOGNE
EA EAUX-BONNES
EABANI EAVES
EACHARD, JOHN EAVESDRIP
EADBALD EBBW VALE
EADIE, JOHN EBEL, HERMANN WILHELM
EADMER EBEL, JOHANN GOTTFRIED
EADS, JAMES BUCHANAN EBER, PAUL
EAGLE EBERBACH (town of Germany)
EAGLEHAWK EBERBACH (monastery of Germany)
EAGRE EBERHARD
EAKINS, THOMAS EBERHARD, CHRISTIAN AUGUST GOTTLOB
EALING EBERHARD, JOHANN AUGUSTUS
EAR EBERLIN, JOHANN ERNST
EARL EBERS, GEORG MORITZ
EARLE, JOHN EBERSWALDE
EARLE, RALPH EBERT, FRIEDRICH ADOLF
EARL MARSHAL EBINGEN
EARLOM, RICHARD EBIONITES
EARLSTON EBNER-ESCHENBACH, MARIE
EARLY, JUBAL ANDERSON EBOLI
EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD EBONY
EARN EBRARD, JOHANNES HEINRICH AUGUST
EARNEST EBRO
EAR-RING EBROIN
EARTH EBURACUM
EARTH, FIGURE OF THE ECA DE QUEIROZ, JOSE MARIA
EARTH CURRENTS ECARTE
EARTH-NUT ECBATANA
EARTH PILLAR ECCARD, JOHANN
EARTHQUAKE ECCELINO DA ROMANO
EARTH-STAR ECCENTRIC
EARTHWORM ECCHELLENSIS, ABRAHAM
EARWIG ECCLES
EASEMENT ECCLESFIELD
EAST, ALFRED ECCLESHALL
EAST ANGLIA ECCLESIA
EASTBOURNE ECCLESIASTES
EAST CHICAGO ECCLESIASTICAL COMMISSIONERS
EASTER ECCLESIASTICAL JURISDICTION
EASTER ISLAND ECCLESIASTICAL LAW
EASTERN BENGAL AND ASSAM ECCLESIASTICUS
EASTERN QUESTION, THE ECGBERT (king of the West Saxons)
EAST GRINSTEAD ECGBERT (archbishop of York)
EAST HAM ECGFRITH
EASTHAMPTON ECGONINE
EAST HAMPTON ECHEGARAY Y EIZAGUIRRE, JOSE
EAST INDIA COMPANY ECHELON
EAST INDIES ECHIDNA
EASTLAKE, SIR CHARLES LOCK
DYER, SIR EDWARD (d. 1607), English courtier and poet, son of Sir Thomas
Dyer, Kt., was born at Sharpham Park, Somersetshire. He was educated,
according to Anthony a Wood, either at Balliol College or at Broadgates
Hall, Oxford. He left the university without taking a degree, and after
some time spent abroad appeared at Queen Elizabeth's court. His first
patron was the earl of Leicester, who seems to have thought of putting
him forward as a rival to Sir Christopher Hatton in the queen's favour.
He is mentioned by Gabriel Harvey with Sidney as one of the ornaments of
the court. Sidney in his will desired that his books should be divided
between Fulke Greville (Lord Brooke) and Dyer. He was employed by
Elizabeth on a mission (1584) to the Low Countries, and in 1589 was sent
to Denmark. In a commission to inquire into manors unjustly alienated
from the crown in the west country he did not altogether please the
queen, but he received a grant of some forfeited lands in Somerset in
1588. He was knighted and made chancellor of the order of the Garter in
1596. William Oldys says of him that he "would not stoop to fawn," | 2,288.69781 |
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[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 side links, shown by dotted lines, from the main
crosshead. The engine is fenced off by neat railing, and a platform with
access from one side is fitted round the top of the cylinder for getting
conveniently to the valve spindles and lubricators. The above engraving,
which is a side elevation of the cylinder, shows the valve gear
complete. There are two central disk plates worked by separate
eccentrics, which give separate motion to the steam and exhaust valves.
The eccentrics are mounted on a small cross shaft, which is driven by a
line shaft and gear wheels. The piston rod passes | 2,288.802516 |
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[Illustration: _The Fairy Violet's introduction to the Fire-King._]
HOW THE FAIRY VIOLET
LOST AND WON
HER WINGS.
BY MARIANNE L. B. KER.
_Author of "Eva's Victory," "Sybil Grey," &c._
ILLUSTRATED BY J. A. MARTIN.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
1872.
HOW THE FAIRY VIOLET
LOST AND WON HER WINGS.
The Fairy Violet lived in the heart of a beautiful forest, where,
through the glad spring months, the sun shone softly, and the bright
flowers bloomed, and now and then the gentle rain fell in silver drops
that made every green thing on which they rested fresher and more
beautiful still. At the foot of a stately oak nestled a clump of
violets, and it was there the wee fairy made her home. She wore a robe
of deep violet, and her wings, which were of the most delicate gauze,
glistened like dew-drops in the sun. All day long she was busy at work
tending her flowers, bathing them in the fresh morning dew, painting
them anew with her delicate fairy brush, or loosening the clay when it
pressed too heavily upon their fragile roots; and at night she joined
the elves in their merry dance upon the greensward. She was not alone in
the great forest; near her were many of her sister fairies, all old
friends and playmates. There was the Fairy Primrose in a gown of pale
yellow, and Cowslip, who wore a robe of the same colour, but of a deeper
shade. There was the graceful Bluebell, and the wild Anemone, the
delicate Woodsorrel, and the Yellow Kingcup. The Fairy Bluebell wore a
robe the colour of the sky on a calm summer's day, Anemone and
Woodsorrel were clad in pure white, while Kingcup wore a gown of bright
amber. One day, as the Fairy Violet was resting from the noonday heat on
the open leaves of her favourite flower, a noisy troop of boys, just set
free from school, came dashing at full speed through the forest. "Hallo!
there is a nest in that tree," cried one, and he trod ruthlessly on the
violets as he sprang up the trunk of the ancient oak. The Fairy Violet
was thrown to the ground, with a shock that left her for a time stunned
and motionless. When she recovered, the boys were gone, and the flower
in which she had been resting lay crushed and dying on the ground.
Filled with tender pity at the sight, Fairy Violet hastened to tend her
wounded charge, taking no thought for her own injuries. "Dear Violet, be
comforted," she whispered softly, as she raised the drooping flower from
the ground; "I will try to make you well." Then she took her fairy
goblet and fetched a few drops of dew from a shady place which the sun
had not yet reached, to revive the fainting flower, and bound up the
broken stem with a single thread of her golden hair. But it was all in
vain, and the fairy, after wrapping an acorn in soft moss, and placing
it for a pillow beneath the head of the fast fading Violet, left it to
try her skill on the other flowers. A faint fragrance from the dying
flower thanked her, as she turned sadly away to pursue her labour of
love. It was not till she had raised and comforted all the drooping
flowers and bound up their wounds, that the Fairy Violet thought of
herself. Then she discovered that her delicate gossamer wings were
gone! Evidently they had been caught on a crooked stick as she fell to
the ground and torn violently off, for there the remnants now hung,
shrivelled and useless, flapping in the breeze. At this sight the
hapless fairy threw herself by the side of the now withered Violet, and
wept bitterly. When spring and the spring flowers were gone, and their
work was ended, Violet and her sister fairies had been wont to spread
their wings and fly back to fairy-land, to report to the Queen what they
had done, and to receive from her reward or blame, according as they had
performed their task well or ill. Now this happy prospect was over for
poor Violet. "I shall never see fairy-land again!" she murmured, and
wept anew at the thought.
The violets whom she had tended so lovingly were very sorry for her
grief, and shook their heads gently in the breeze, till their fragrance
filled the air, and stole softly round the weeping fairy. But though
they comforted, they could not help her. Presently she rose, and glided
swiftly through the tall grass, till she reached the flower where the
blue robed fairy was resting after her day's work.
"Oh, sister Blue Bell," she cried, "I have lost my wings! Where shall I
get another pair, that I may fly back to fairy-land with you and my
sisters when our work is done?" Then Bluebell shook her head
sorrowfully, till all her sweet bells chimed--"I am sorry! I am sorry!"
but she could not help her sister Violet.
"Perhaps Cowslip will know," she suggested.
But Cowslip bade her try what Woodsorrel would say, and Woodsorrel
thought perhaps Kingcup might know, so Violet went about from one to
another, till she was ready to cry again with vexation.
Then all the fairies gathered round her and tried to comfort her.
"Let us ask the owl that sits in the hollow oak," said the gentle
Anenome, gliding to Violet's side; "he must be very wise, for he never
smiles, and seldom speaks more than three words at a time."
So that night, when the moon lit her silver lamp in the sky, instead of
dancing, as was their wont, with the elves upon the greensward, they all
repaired to the hollow oak to seek an audience of the owl. They had to
repeat their errand two or three times before he understood it, for the
owl was as slow of understanding as he was of speech, and then, having
nodded his head solemnly for five minutes, and winked and blinked for
quite ten, he said solemnly:--
"Try the King of the Fire Spirits!"
After which he relapsed into silence, and obstinately refused to say any
more. Then the Fairy Violet bade farewell to all her friends, and set
out on her journey to the King of the Fire Spirits. She had a long way
to go, for the Fire-King held his court in the very centre of the earth,
and she might have lost herself in the dark passages had not the
glowworm lent her his lamp. She had saved him once when a hungry bird
would have carried him off in her beak, and from that time the glowworm
had loved the gentle fairy, and always burned brightest when she was by.
The Fairy Violet travelled very quickly, scarcely touching her feet to
the ground, but passing onward with a swift gliding motion that was very
beautiful; still it was three days and three nights before she reached
the kingdom of the Fire Spirits, for she had four thousand miles to go.
Had she not been a fairy, she must have been scorched to death as she
entered the Fire-King's domain, for the streets were paved with molten
iron, and flames kept bursting forth in all directions, in which she
could perceive strange wild figures, some leaping to and fro in mad
fantastic glee, playing at ball with lumps of burning coal; others
manufacturing volcanic fire in their monstrous furnaces.
They ceased their employment when they saw Violet, and came and knelt
before her in wondering admiration. She looked so beautiful as she came
floating towards them in her soft violet robe, with her fair hair
rippling in golden waves to her very feet, that they thought she must be
an angel who had strayed down from among the bright stars to their
gloomy dwelling-place, for | 2,288.807952 |
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[Illustration: AT HAMPTON COURT]
THE THAMES
DESCRIBED BY G. E. MITTON
PICTURED BY E. W. HASLEHUST
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
Beautiful England
BATH AND WELLS
CANTERBURY
DARTMOOR
DICKENS-LAND
EXETER
FOLKESTONE AND DOVER
HAMPTON COURT
HASTINGS AND NEIGHBOURHOOD
NORWICH AND THE BROADS
OXFORD
THE PEAK DISTRICT
RIPON AND HARROGATE
SHAKESPEARE-LAND
THE THAMES
WINCHESTER
YORK
London
THE HEART OF LONDON
THROUGH LONDON'S HIGHWAYS
IN LONDON'S BY-WAYS
RAMBLES IN GREATER LONDON
Beautiful Scotland
EDINBURGH
THE SCOTT COUNTRY
LOCH LOMOND, LOCH KATRINE, AND THE TROSSACHS
Beautiful Switzerland
CHAMONIX
LAUSANNE
VILLARS AND CHAMPERY
BLACKIE & SON LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, LONDON, AND 17 STANHOPE STREET GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LTD. BOMBAY; BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LTD., TORONTO
_Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page
At Hampton Court _Frontispiece_
Windsor 5
Richmond 12
Marlow Lock 16
Maidenhead Bridge 21
Cookham Church 28
Henley 33
Sonning 37
Pangbourne 44
Folly Bridge, Oxford 48
Streatley Hills 51
Wallingford 54
[Illustration: WINDSOR]
THE THAMES
When the American wondered what all the fuss was about, and "guessed" that
any one of his home rivers could swallow the Thames and never know it, the
Englishman replied, he "guessed" it depended at which end the process
began; if at the mouth, the American river would probably get no farther
than the "greatest city the world has ever known" before succumbing to
indigestion!
With rivers as with men, size is not an element in greatness, and for no
other reason than that it carries London on its banks the Thames would be
the most famous river in the world. It has other claims too, claims which
are here set forth with pen and pencil; for at present we are not dealing
with London at all, but with that river of pleasure of which Spenser
wrote:--
Along the shores of silver-streaming Themmes;
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hemmes,
Was paynted all with variable flowers,
And all the meades adorned with dainty gemmes,
Fit to deck mayden bowres and crowne their paramoures,
Against the brydale day which is not long,
Sweet Thames! runne softly till I end my song.
Oddly enough, this is one of the comparatively few allusions to the Thames
in literature, and there is no single striking ode in its honour. It is
perhaps too much to expect the present Poet Laureate to fill the gap, but
certainly the poet of the Thames has yet to arise.
Besides Spenser, Drayton makes allusion to the Thames in his _Polyolbion_,
using as an allegory the wedding of Thame and Isis, from which union is
born the Thames; and in this he is correct, for where Thame and Isis unite
at Dorchester there begins the Thames, and all that is usually counted
Thames, up to Oxford and beyond, is, as Oxford men correctly say, the
Isis. Yet by custom now the river which flows past Oxford is treated as
the Thames, and when we speak of our national river we count its source as
being in the Cotswold Hills.
Other poets who refer to the Thames are Denham, Cowley, Milton, and Pope.
In modern times Matthew Arnold's tender descriptions of the river about
and below Oxford have been many times quoted. Gray wrote an _Ode on a
Distant Prospect of Eton College_, in which he refers to the "hoary
Thames", but the lines apostrophizing the "little victims" at play are
more often quoted than those regarding the river.
The influence of the Thames on the countless sons of England who have
passed through Eton and Oxford must be incalculable. It is impossible to
mention Eton without thinking of Windsor, the one royal castle which
really impresses foreigners in England. Buckingham Palace is a palace in
name only, its ugly, stiff, stuccoed walls might belong to a gigantic box,
but Windsor, with its massive towers and its splendid situation, is castle
and palace both. Well may the German Emperor envy it! It carries in it
something of the character of that other William, the first of the Norman
Kings of England, who saw the possibilities of the situation, though
little of the castle as we see it is due to him. The mass of it is of the
time of Edward III, and much of it was altered in that worst era of taste,
the reign of George IV. Windsor has come scatheless out of the ordeal; the
fine masses of masonry already existing have carried off the alterations
in their own grandeur, and the result is harmonious.
Many and many a tale might be quoted of Windsor, but these are amply told
in _Windsor Castle_ by Edward Thomas, the volume which follows this in
the same series. Here we must be content with quoting only four lines from
_The Kingis Quhair_, the great poem of King James I of Scotland, who spent
part of his long captivity at Windsor. By reason of this poem James I
ranks as high among poets as among kings; in it he speaks of the Thames
as--
A river pleasant to behold,
Embroidered all with fresh flowers gay,
Where, through the gravel, bright as any gold,
The crystal water ran so clear and cold.
Windsor is the only royal palace, still used as such, which remains out of
the seven once standing on the banks of the Thames. Few people indeed
would be able to recite offhand the names of the others. They are all
below Windsor. The nearest to it is Hampton Court, chiefly associated with
William III, though it was originally founded by the tactless Wolsey, who
dared so to adorn it that it attracted the unenviable notice of Henry
VIII. Little was it to be wondered at, since the Court was described by
Skelton as--
With turrettes and with toures,
With halls and with boures,
Stretching to the starres,
With glass windows and barres;
Hanginge about their walles,
Clothes of gold and palles
Fresh as floures in May.
Skelton also wrote a satire beginning:--
Why come ye not to court?
To whyche court?
To the Kynge's Court
Or Hampton Court?
The Kynge's Court
Should have the excellence,
But Hampton Court
Hath the pre-eminence
And Yorkes Place,
which was like pouring vitriol into the mind of such a man as Henry. When
Wolsey entertained the French ambassadors at Hampton, "every chamber had a
bason and a ewer of silver, some gilt and some parcel gilt, and some two
great pots of silver, in like manner, and one pot at the least with wine
or beer, a bowl or goblet, and a silver pot to drink beer in; a silver
candlestick or two, with both white lights and yellow lights of three
sizes of wax; and a staff torch; a fine manchet, and a cheat loaf of
bread". No wonder the King's cupidity was aroused. It was not long before
the great Cardinal was forced to make a "voluntary" gift of his beloved
toy, as he had also to do with another noble mansion which he "made" by
Thames side--Whitehall, formerly known as York Place, because held by the
Archbishops of York. When Wolsey was told the King required this, he said
with truth: "I know that the King of his own nature is of a royal
stomach!"
On leaving Hampton the great prelate was allowed to go to the palace at
Richmond. One wonders if he rode from Hampton to Richmond, only a mile or
two by the river bank, on that "mule trapped altogether in crimson velvet
and gilt stirrups". Of the thousands who use that popular towpath does one
ever give a thought to the Cardinal thus setting his first step on his
tremendous downward descent?
It was while he was at Hampton that the news was brought to Henry of the
death of his old favourite at Leicester Abbey. Henry, standing in a
"nightgown of russet velvet furred with sables", heard the news callously,
and only demanded an account of some money paid to the cardinal before his
death; not a qualm disturbed his self-satisfaction. Such is the most
picturesque reminiscence of Hampton, and others must stand aside with a
mere reference; such events as the birth of Edward VI, which occurred
here; the "honeymoon" of bitter, loveless Mary and her Spanish husband;
the imprisonment of Charles I for three months. Melancholy ghosts these;
but they do not haunt the main part of the palace, for that was built
later by Wren, acting under orders from William III, to imitate
Versailles. This incongruity of style must have sorely puzzled the
much-tried architect, who has, however, succeeded admirably | 2,288.808031 |
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Produced by the Bookworm (bookworm.librivox AT gmail.com)
A NARRATIVE OF SOME OF THE LORD'S DEALINGS WITH GEORGE MUeLLER
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
SECOND PART
PREFACE TO THE
FIRST EDITION OF THE SECOND PART.
THROUGH grace I am, in some measure, conscious of my many weaknesses
and deficiencies; but, with all this, I know that I am a member of
the body of Christ, and that, as such, I have a place of service in
the body. The realization of this has laid upon me the responsibility
of serving the church in the particular way for which the Lord has
fitted me, and this has led me to write this second little volume, if
by any means those of my fellow-saints, who have not yet learned the
importance and preciousness of dealing with God Himself under all
circumstances, may be helped in learning this lesson. Nor did I think
that the first part of this Narrative rendered the second part
needless, because that contains more especially the Lord's dealings
with me as an individual, whilst this gives, more particularly, an
account of the remarkable way in which the Lord has helped me in
reference to His work in my hands. For this second part carries on
the account of the Orphan-Houses, etc., which are under my care, and
contains the substance of the Reports previously published, so that
any one who wishes to have the account from the beginning up to the
end of last year, may be able to obtain it. This latter point alone
made it needful for me to think about publishing this second part, as
of the Reports for 1838 and 1839, which still almost daily are
inquired after, there are only a few copies left, though 2,500 of the
one and 3,000 of the other were published and of the Report for 1840
there are also only about 500, out of 4,000, remaining. The being
thus able to put the whole account of the work into the hands of an
inquiring individual, affords such a one a fairer opportunity of
seeing the working of those scriptural principles on which the
Institution is established. And, lastly, the Lord's continued
blessing upon the first part of the Narrative and the Reports, both
to believers and unbelievers, has induced me to publish this second
volume, which I now affectionately commend to the prayers of the
saints, requesting at the same time their prayers for myself.
GEORGE MULLER.
Bristol, June 14, 1841.
SECOND PART
In publishing the continuation of the Narrative of some of the Lord's
dealings with me, I have thought it well to give it in the same form
in which the larger portion of the former part is written. I
therefore proceed to give extracts from my journal making here and
there such remarks as occasion may seem to require. The first, part
of the Narrative was carried on to the beginning of July 1837, from
which period the Continuation commences.
July 18, 1837. Four trials came upon me this morning, without my
having previously had opportunity for secret prayer. I had been
prevented from rising early, on account of having to spend part of
the night in a sick chamber; but this circumstance shows, how
important it is to rise early, when we are able, in order that we may
be prepared, by communion with the Lord, to meet the trials of the
day.
Aug. 15. Today the first 500 copies of my Narrative arrived, and I
had, once more, some conflict of mind whether, after all, I had not
been mistaken in this matter. A sort of trembling came over me, and a
wish to be able to retrace the step. Judging, however, from the most
searching self-examination, through which I had caused my heart to
pass again and again, as to my motives, before I began writing, and
whilst I was writing; and judging, moreover, from the earnestness in
prayer with which I had sought to ascertain the mind of God in the
matter, and from the subsequent full assurance which I had had of its
being according to His will, that in this way I should serve the
Church;--I was almost immediately led to consider this uncomfortable
and trying feeling as a temptation, and I therefore went to the box,
opened it, brought out some copies, and soon after gave away one, so
that the step could not be retraced. [This was the last temptation or
struggle I have had of that kind; for, though, very many times since,
I have had abundant reason for praising the Lord that He put such an
honour upon me, in allowing me to speak well of His name in so public
a manner, I have never since, even for one minute, been allowed to
regret publishing the Narrative; and almost daily have I been more
and more confirmed in the conviction, that the giving such like
publications to the church, making known the Lord's dealings with me,
is one part of my service towards the saints.]
Aug. 17. Today two more children were received into the Infant
Orphan-House, which makes up our full number, 66 in the Girls' and
infant-Orphan-Houses.
Aug. 28. When brother Craik and I began to labour in Bristol, and
consequently some believers united with us in fellowship, assembling
together at Bethesda, we began meeting together on the basis of the
written Word only, without having any church rules whatever. From the
commencement it was understood, that, as the Lord should help us, we
would try everything by the word of God, and introduce and hold fast
that only which could be proved by Scripture. When we came to this
determination on Aug. 13, 1832, it was indeed in weakness, but it was
in uprightness of heart.--On account of this it was, that, as we
ourselves were not fully settled as to whether those only who had
been baptized after they had believed, or whether all who believed in
the Lord Jesus, irrespective of baptism, should be received into
fellowship nothing was determined about this point. We felt free to
break bread and be in communion with those who were not baptized, and
therefore could with a good conscience labour at Gideon, where the
greater part of the saints, at least at first, were unbaptized; but,
at the same time, we had a secret wish that none but believers who
were baptized might be united with us at Bethesda. Our reason for
this was, that we had witnessed in Devonshire much painful disunion,
resulting, as we thought, from baptized and unbaptized believers
being in fellowship. Without, then, making it a rule, that Bethesda
Church was to be one of close communion, we nevertheless took care
that those who applied for fellowship should be instructed about
baptism. For many months there occurred no difficulty, as none
applied for communion but such as had either been already baptized,
or wished to be, or who became convinced of the Scriptural character
of believers' baptism, after we had conversed with them; afterwards,
however, three sisters applied for fellowship, none of whom had been
baptized; nor were their views altered, after we had conversed with
them. As, nevertheless, brother Craik and I considered them true
believers, and we ourselves were not fully convinced what was the
mind of the Lord in such a case, we thought it right that these
sisters should be received; yet so that it might be unanimously, as
all our church acts then were done; but we knew by that time, that
there were several in fellowship with us, who could not
conscientiously receive unbaptized believers. We mentioned,
therefore, the names of these three sisters to the church, stating
that they did not see believers' baptism to be scriptural, and that,
if any brother saw, on that account, a reason why they should not be
received, he should let us know. The result was, that several
objected, and two or three meetings were held, at which we heard the
objections of the brethren, and sought for ourselves to obtain
acquaintance with the mind of God on the point. Whilst several days
thus passed away before the matter was decided, one of those three
sisters came and thanked us, that we had not received her, before
being baptized, for she now saw that it was only shame and the fear
of man which had kept her back, and that the Lord had now made her
willing to be baptized. By this circumstance those brethren, who
considered it scriptural that all ought to be baptized before being
received into fellowship, were confirmed in their views; and as to
brother Craik and me, it made us, at least, still more question,
whether, those brethren might not be right; and we felt therefore,
that in such a state of mind we could not oppose them. The one
sister, therefore, who wished to be baptized, was received into
fellowship, but the two others not. Our consciences were the less
affected by this, because all, though not baptized, might take the
Lord's supper with us, at Bethesda, though not be received into full
fellowship; and because at Gideon, where there were baptized and
unbaptized believers, they might even be received into full
fellowship; for we had not then clearly seen that there is no
scriptural distinction between being in fellowship with individuals
and breaking bread with them. Thus matters stood for many months,
i.e. believers were received to the breaking of bread even at
Bethesda, though not baptized, but they were not received to all the
privileges of fellowship.--In August of 1836 I had a conversation with
brother H. C. on the subject of receiving the unbaptized into
communion, a subject about which, for years, my mind had been more or
less exercised. This brother put the matter thus before me: either
unbaptized believers come under the class of persons who walk
disorderly, and, in that case, we ought to withdraw from them (2
Thess. iii. 6); or they do not walk disorderly. If a believer be
walking disorderly, we are not merely to withdraw from him at the
Lord's table, but our behaviour towards him ought to be decidedly
different from what it would be were he not walking disorderly, on
all occasions when we may have intercourse with him, or come in any
way into contact with him, Now this is evidently not the case in the
conduct of baptized believers towards their unbaptized fellow-believers.
The Spirit does not suffer it to be so, but He witnesses that
their not having been baptized does not necessarily imply
that they are walking disorderly; and hence there may be the
most precious communion between baptized and unbaptized believers.
The Spirit does not suffer us to refuse fellowship with them in
prayer, in reading and searching the Scriptures, in social and
intimate intercourse, and in the Lord's work; and yet this ought to
be the case, were they walking disorderly.--This passage, 2 Thess.
iii. 6, to which brother R. C. referred, was the means of showing me
the mind of the Lord on the subject, which is, that we ought to
receive all whom Christ has received (Rom. xv. 7), irrespective of
the measure of grace or knowledge which they have attained unto.--Some
time after this conversation, in May 1837, an opportunity occurred,
when we (for brother Craik had seen the same truth) were called upon
to put into practice the light which the Lord had been pleased to
give us. A sister, who neither had been baptized, nor considered
herself under any obligation to be baptized, applied for fellowship.
We conversed with her on this as on other subjects, and proposed her
for fellowship, though our conversation had not convinced her that
she ought to be baptized. This led the church again to the
consideration of the point. We gave our reasons, from Scripture, for
considering it right to receive this unbaptized sister to all the
privileges of the children of God; but a considerable number,
one-third perhaps, expressed conscientious difficulty in receiving
her. The example of the Apostles in baptizing the first believers
upon a profession of faith, was especially urged, which indeed would
be an insurmountable difficulty, had not the truth been mingled with
error for so long a time, so that it does not prove willful
disobedience, if any one in our day should refuse to be baptized
after believing. The Lord, however, gave us much help in pointing out
the truth to the brethren, so that the number of those, who
considered that only baptized believers should be in communion,
decreased almost daily. At last, only fourteen brethren and sisters
out of above 180, thought it right, this Aug. 28, 1837, to separate
from us, after we had had much intercourse with them. [I am glad to
be able to add, that, even of these 14, the greater part afterwards
saw their error, and came back again to us, and that the receiving of
all who love our Lord Jesus into full communion, irrespective of
baptism, has never been the source of disunion among us, though more
than forty-four years have passed away since.]
Sept. 2. I have been looking about for a house for the Orphan Boys,
these last three days. Every thing else has been provided. The Lord
has given suitable individuals to take care of the children, money,
&c. In His own time He will give a house also.
Sept. 6. This morning I accompanied a sister, who had been staying a
night with us, to the steamer. In answer to prayer I awoke at the
right time, the fly came at half-past five, her trunk was got from
the vessel in which she came yesterday, and we arrived before the
steamer had left. In all these four points I felt my dependence upon
the Lord, and He, having put prayer into my heart, answered it in
each of these four particulars.
Sept. 15. This evening we had a meeting for inquirers and applicants
for fellowship. There were more than we could see within three hours;
and when all strength was gone, we had to send away four. Among those
whom we saw was E. W., who had been kept for some time from applying
for fellowship, on account of not seeing believers' baptism to be
scriptural. She wished to be taught, but could not see it. She felt
grieved that on that account she could not attend to the breaking of
bread, which she did see to be scriptural. As soon as open communion
was brought about at Bethesda, she wished to offer herself for
fellowship, but was twice prevented by circumstances from doing so.
Last Wednesday evening she came to the baptizing, when once more,
after the lapse of more than two years, I preached on baptism, which
fully convinced her of its being scriptural, and she desires now to
be baptized. Her difficulty was, that she thought she had been
baptized with the Spirit, and therefore needed no water baptism,
which now, from Acts x. 44-47, she sees to be an unscriptural
objection.--Though it is only one month this day since my Narrative
was published, I have already heard of many instances in which the
Lord has been pleased to bless it.
This morning we received a parcel with clothes and some money for the
Orphans, from a sister at a distance. Among the donations in money
was a little legacy, amounting to 6s. 6 1/2d. from a dear boy, the
nephew of the | 2,288.901391 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, S.D., and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
HISTORY OF
FARMING IN
ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
REPRINTED FROM
CANADA AND ITS PROVINCES
A HISTORY OF THE CANADIAN PEOPLE
AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS
BY ONE HUNDRED ASSOCIATES
EDITED BY
ADAM SHORTT AND A. G. DOUGHTY
HISTORY OF FARMING
IN ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
C.M.G.
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
TORONTO
GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY
1914
This Volume consists of a Reprint, for private circulation only, of the
One Hundred and Sixteenth Signed Contribution contained in CANADA AND
ITS PROVINCES, a History of the Canadian People and their Institutions
by One Hundred Associates.
Adam Shortt and Arthur G. Doughty, General Editors
HISTORY OF FARMING
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE
From the most southern point of Ontario on Lake Erie, near the 42nd
parallel of latitude, to Moose Factory on James Bay, the distance is
about 750 miles. From the eastern boundary on the Ottawa and St Lawrence
Rivers to Kenora at the Manitoba boundary, the distance is about 1000
miles. The area lying within these extremes is about 220,000 square
miles. In 1912 a northern addition of over 100,000 square miles was made
to the surface area of the province, but it is doubtful whether the
agricultural lands will thereby be increased. Of this large area about
25,000,000 acres are occupied and assessed, including farm lands and
town and city sites. It will be seen, therefore, that only a small
fraction of the province has, as yet, been occupied. Practically all the
occupied area | 2,289.00338 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL | 2,289.00534 |
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E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
CORSE DE LEON:
Or,
The Brigand.
A Romance.
by
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
Author of "The Robber," "The Gentleman of the Old School," etc.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
New-York: Published by Harper & Brothers, No. 82 Cliff-Street.
1841.
CORSE DE LEON;
OR,
THE BRIGAND.
CHAPTER I.
There are a thousand small and apparently accidental circumstances,
which, in our course through life, bring a temporary gloom upon us,
render our expectations from the future fearful and cheerless, and
diminish our confidence in all those things whereon man either rashly
relies or builds his reasonable trusts. Strength, youth, wealth, power,
the consciousness of rectitude, the providence of God: all these will
occasionally lose their sustaining influence, even upon the most hopeful
mind, from causes too slight to justify such an effect.
These accidental circumstances, these mental clouds, resemble much those
other clouds which sometimes, at the close of a bright day, come over a
landscape previously warm and shining, cast a gray shade over its rich
hues, shut out the redoubled glory of the setting sun, and make gloom
and shadow spread over the summer scene. Though nothing is changed but
the light in which things dwell, though the colour of the tree and the
form of the rock are the same, yet the brightness of the whole is
departed, and the lustre gone out as if for ever.
There are times, however, when a gloom, which seems to have no
counterpart in the physical world, comes over the mind; when all has
gone fairly with us; when every object around is full of brightness and
hope; when the horses of Fortune's car have never once even stumbled on
the way; and not a sorrow rough enough to rub the down from the wing of
a butterfly has fallen upon our hearts for years; and yet a deep and
shadowy despondence steals over our spirits, as if the immortal within
us were telling the mortal of anxieties, and griefs, and dangers
approaching--discovered by the fine sympathies of the higher part of our
being with things undiscovered by the mere material creature.
Cares, sorrows, and perils, corporeal agony, and anguish of the heart,
are often but as the fire which tempers the pure iron into the fine
steel, at once proving and strengthening the spirit. The last grand
lesson which leads generous youth to vigorous manhood, which confirms
our powers, and gives the great man's mastery over Fate, is to endure;
and I am inclined to believe that such sudden and unaccountable feelings
of despondency--I do not mean the ordinary fits of gloom that haunt a
moody and a wayward spirit, but, on the contrary, the dark impression,
the heavy shadow that once or twice, in the midst of a bright lifetime,
comes irresistibly upon a gay or placid mind--I am inclined to think, I
say, that such despondence is only given to the highminded and the
great: a prophetic voice, announcing, not to the ear, but to the heart,
that the day of trial comes: the trumpet of Fate, calling on a champion,
dauntless and strong, to rouse him to the battle, and arm his spirit for
some awful strife.
The day had been as bright and beautiful as a summer day in the south of
Europe can be, and yet it had spared the traveller and the labourer many
of the inconveniences and discomforts which those beautiful days of the
south sometimes bring along with them: for the year was yet young, and
with all the brightness of youth it had all the tenderness too. There
had been a fresh breeze in the sky during the hotter part of the day;
and one would have felt that it blew from the cool tops of snowy
mountains, even had one not seen, from time to time, some of the distant
peaks of the high Alps towering white over the greener hills below.
There was also a world of streams, and rivulets, and cascades about,
which gave additional freshness and life to the air that blew heavy with
the perfume of the flowers upon the banks; and the high swelling of the
mountains round still gave a pleasant shade to one side of the valley.
Each sense had something to delight it; and there was over every object
which nature presented that aspect of peaceful enjoyment which is the
greatest soother of man's heart.
The spot was in the extreme verge of Savoy, bordering upon France. It
would little benefit the reader to say exactly where, for the aspect of
the land has changed: the towns of that age and their laborious denizens
would not be recognised by their successors of the present day; the
castle, the fortress, and the palace are ruined and swept away, and even
the roads themselves now wind through other valleys or climb over other
hills. It was somewhere between Nice and St. Jean de Maurienne: that
space is surely limited enough to afford the reader a definite idea of
the scene. Let him take a map and a pair of compasses, he will find it
but a span; and in reality it is less--with a universe around it.
Nevertheless, it was a very lovely scene, as I have said, with the hills
tall and blue, and the snowy mountains looking down upon one through the
long defiles; with the valleys green and fresh, and the streams bright
and sparkling. Here and there, too, upon some rocky height which
commanded the entrance of the gorges of the mountain, a feudal castle
would raise its battlements, gray, and stern, and warlike; and either in
the open plain--where such a thing was found--or in the warm valleys in
the hills, were seen the villages and small towns of Savoy, with their
grayish white walls and their graceful church towers crowning the
loveliness of the whole with the aspect of human life. The period of the
world's history whereof I speak was one of gorgeous pageantry, and gay
wit and deeds of arms: a period when chivalry and the feudal system,
just about to be extinguished for ever, blazed with a dying flame.
Montmorency still lived, though Bayard and Francis had left the busy
scene but a few years before, and Henry the Second had not yet closed
his career in the last tournament which Europe was destined to witness.
The songs of Marot and the wit of Rabelais still rang in the ear, and
Ronsard, Dorat, and Montaigne were entering gayly upon the path of
letters.
It was in the year 1558, then, and towards the close of the day, that a
small party of horsemen wound along through the bright scenery of which
we have spoken. It consisted only of four persons, two of whom were
merely armed servants, such as usually attended upon a cavalier of those
times, not exactly acting the part of soldier on ordinary occasions, but
very well fitted so to do when any particular exigency required the
exertion of the strong hand. The third was a youth of no very remarkable
appearance, in the garb of a page; but the fourth was evidently the
leader of the whole, and, as such, the person who merits the most
accurate description. I will attempt to paint him to the eye of the
reader, as I have myself seen him represented by the hand of an unknown
artist in one of the palaces on the banks of the Brenta.
He was in person about the middle height, rather above it than below,
and at this period was not more than twenty-three years of age. His
forehead was broad and fine, with short dark hair curling round it: his
features were small, except the eye and brow, the former of which was
large and full, and the latter strongly marked. The mouth was very
handsome, showing, when half open in speaking, the brilliant white
teeth, and giving to the whole countenance a look of playful gayety;
but, when shut, there was an expression of much thoughtfulness,
approaching perhaps to sternness, about it, which the rounded and
somewhat prominent chin confirmed. The upper lip was very short; but on
either side, divided in the middle, was a short black mustache, not
overhanging the mouth, but raised above it; and the beard, which was
short and black like the hair, was only suffered to grow in such a
manner as to ornament, but not to encumber, the chin.
In form the cavalier was muscular, and powerfully made, his breadth of
chest and shoulders giving the appearance of a more advanced period of
life than that at which he had yet arrived. He was evidently a soldier,
for he was fully armed, as if having lately been or being still in
scenes of strife and danger; and, to say the truth, a man fully armed in
those days was certainly more loaded with weapons, offensive and
defensive, than was probably ever the case before or since.
The picture I have spoken of represents him with not only the complete
armour which was then still used to encase the person, with the long,
heavy sword, the dagger, and the large pistols, but also with four short
carbines--at least such they appear to be--one at each corner of the
saddle. His head, indeed, is seen unencumbered by the steel cap, which
usually completed the armour, but which is borne by the page at his
saddlebow, while the cavalier himself appears wearing upon his head the
somewhat cooler covering of a black velvet cap, without feather or any
other ornament.
The horse that carried him, which was a tall, powerful charger, fared
better in some respects than his master; for before this epoch, the
heavy armour with which steed as well as man used at one time to be
encumbered was lightened in favour of the quadruped, and the horse which
bore the young gentleman of whom we speak was only covered with such
pieces as might protect his head and chest in the shock of the charge.
The day, I have said, had been bright and sweet, and all nature had been
as fresh and happy as a young heart upon a holyday. Similar, too, had
been the mood of Bernard de Rohan as he rode along; not so much that the
scene and its charms created, as that they found, sympathetic feelings
in his bosom; for his disposition was naturally cheerful and bright,
full of gay thoughts and happy enthusiasms. He was returning, too, from
another country--from the midst of strangers, and perils, and
fatigues--to enjoy an interval of tranquillity in his own bright land,
and the society of those he loved.
France was within his sight; the tongues that he heard around him spoke
nearly the same language as that which he had used from infancy; and,
though the nominal frontier of Savoy lay some fifteen miles before him,
yet, in all but the name, he was in his own country. There was little of
that cold restraint about him which is either acquired by harsh dealings
with evil men, or is natural from some inward pravity of the heart, and
the cheerful mood of his mind found its way forth in many an outward
sign. From time to time he had turned round to speak to the page or to
one of the servants with some light jest or gay inquiry. Now he would
point out a distant spot in the landscape as they stood upon some
beetling point half way up the mountain, and ask if they recognised this
or that town in Dauphine; now he would pat the proud crest of his stout
horse, and talk to the noble animal as if he expected an answer; and now
would even break forth into a snatch of song. His heart, in short, was
as a fountain, so filled with happiness that it welled over, and the
waters sparkled as they overflowed the brim.
The servants smiled to see their lord so gay, especially an elder one,
who, commenting with the other, remarked that he might well look happy,
bearing back home such glory as he had won.
Thus passed the earlier part of the day's journey; but towards the
evening the mood of Bernard de Rohan changed. His open brow did not grow
cloudy, it is true, but there came a look of gloom upon it: the lips no
longer opened with a bland smile, and the teeth were shut together with
that stern expression we have already noticed. His eyes gazed on upon
the scene, but with somewhat of a vacant aspect, and everything told
that the spirit was busy in its tabernacle dealing with high thoughts.
Nor could any one who looked upon him suppose those thoughts were other
than sad ones. Intense they certainly were, and certainly they were not
gay.
Yet Bernard de Rohan had no remembered grief. Fate had indeed once
struck him severely, but ever after had spared him altogether; had
plucked not a flower from his bosom, nor cast a shadow on his path.
In early years he had lost both his parents, but that was the only
misfortune which had befallen him, and it was long ago. He scarcely
remembered them; and all that remained was a soft memory, affectionate
but not painful. Since then his course had been from one bright thing to
another. Wise and tender friends, the amusements, the sports, the
studies of youth, virtue and honour, wealth and station, praise,
success, and glory had been his. He had no thirst for power: so what
could he want more? Had any one asked him that question, he would have
replied, Nothing: nothing but what he might well hope to attain; and
yet, about an hour before the sun reached the edge of the sky, a fit of
gloom fell upon him, dark, vague, unaccountable, like one of those mists
that in mountain lands suddenly surround the wayfarer, shutting out the
beauty and the brightness, and leaving all around dull, chilly, vague,
uncertain, and confused.
For nearly half an hour he gave way to the sensations that oppressed
him. They seemed at first too mighty to be struggled with. It was what,
in the language of Northern poetry, is called "having the cloud upon
him," and he could not cast it off; till at length it seemed to rise
gradually, and the power returned, first, of arguing with himself upon
the unreasonableness of such feelings, and then of smiling--though with
a mingled smile--at his own weakness in giving way to them.
The effect wore off; but he was still communing with himself on the
sensations he had just experienced, when the page called his attention
to the clouds that were gathering round the mountains. With that quick
transition so common to hill countries, especially in the south, the sky
was becoming rapidly obscured. The lurid masses of stormy vapour writhed
themselves round the peaks; and, although beneath their dark canopy a
gleam of intense red light was seen marking the far western sky on the
side of France, the whole heaven above was soon covered with a thick
expanse of deep gray cloud. At a considerable distance, in the more open
part of the country, which lay beyond the mouth of the defile,
stretching in long lines of dark purple towards the sunset, appeared a
large square tower, with some other neighbouring buildings, cutting with
their straight lines the rounded forms of the trees.
"That must be Voiron," said the cavalier, as if in answer to his page's
observation regarding the coming storm. "We must quicken our pace and
reach shelter, or we shall have to pass half the night in cleaning our
arms, if yonder frowning cloud fulfil one half its menaces."
"Voiron must be ten leagues off, sir," replied one of the attendants;
"we shall not reach it this night."
"Then we must find some other covering," replied the master, gayly;
"but, at all events, put to your spurs, for the battle has already
begun."
Even as he spoke the large drops fell slowly and heavily, denting the
dusty covering of the road. Bernard de Rohan and his followers rode on
at full speed, though the descent was steep, the way bad, and the gray
twilight creeping over the scene. Five minutes more brought them to a
turn where they could obtain a wider view; but, alas! no place of refuge
was to be seen, except where the same tall dark tower rose heavily
across the streaks of red light in the west, marking the place of some
distant town or village. The attendants, who had pictured to themselves
during the morning's ride all the comforts of the cheerful inn, the good
rich wine of Dauphine, the stretching forth at ease of the strong,
laborious limb, the easy gossip with the village girls, the
light-hearted song in the porch, and all the relaxing joys of an hour's
idleness, now begun to think of the long and tedious task of cleaning
arms and clothing, and spending many an hour in rubbing the cold steel;
and, to say sooth, their lord also would have been better pleased with
fairer weather.
The road, as such roads ever must do, wound its way round many a turn
and angle of the rock, so that it was very possible for several persons
to be within a short distance of each other, without the one who
followed ever seeing him who was but a few hundred yards before him. At
the spot which we have mentioned, Bernard de Rohan paused for a moment
to look round for some place of shelter, and the road before him seemed
perfectly clear and free. He could see completely into the valley on his
right, and across the plains beyond, while the path which he was
following could be traced along the side of the hill, round two or three
sharp angles of the rock, about two hundred yards apart from each other.
All at first was clear, as I have said, when suddenly there emerged, at
the salient point which cut that part of the sky where the light still
lingered, the figure of a human being, which was lost again round the
turn almost as soon as it was seen.
"There is a peasant on a mule," exclaimed the cavalier, gladly. "We
cannot be far from some village."
"It looks more like a priest on an ass, my lord," replied the attendant
who had spoken before.
"Well, well," said his master, "we shall find the better lodgings."
"And the better wine," rejoined his follower; "but, perhaps, not the
better welcome."
"Oh, they are good men, these priests of Savoy," replied Bernard de
Rohan, spurring on; "but we must not lose him again."
In a few minutes they again caught sight of the object of their pursuit.
He was now much nearer, but still it was somewhat difficult to
distinguish whether he were priest or peasant, till, coming up with him
by dint of hard riding--for his long-eared charger was bearing him on at
a rapid pace--they found that he was, as the attendant had supposed, a
jovial priest; not, indeed, extravagantly fat, as but too many were in
that day, but in good case of body, and bearing a countenance rosy with
health, and apparently sparkling with a cheerful disposition. He seemed,
indeed, to be of a character somewhat eccentric; for, contrary to all
clerical rule, he had covered his head with one of the large straw hats
of the peasantry, which accorded but ill with the rest of his
habiliments. His features, which the young cavalier thought he had seen
somewhere before, were good, with an expression of much sharpness; and,
though undoubtedly he heard the tramp of horses' feet behind him, in a
land and in times not famous for safe travelling, either his conscience
or his courage were so good, that he turned not his head to see who
followed him thus closely, but kept his ass at the same brisk canter,
while the young cavalier rode up to his side, and gave him the ordinary
salutation of the day.
"A good-evening to you, father!" said Bernard de Rohan, riding between
him and the edge of the precipice.
"Pray let us have it quickly, my son," replied the priest; "for the one
we have got seems likely to be as bad a one as ever I saw, at present."
"Indeed it is," answered the young gentleman, smiling at his somewhat
cynical reply; "I am heartily glad to have met with you, my good father,
for I trust you can show us some place of shelter."
"Good faith," replied the priest, turning for a moment to look at the
cavalier's followers, "I cannot say I am so glad of the encounter; for
where I am going we cannot be sure of finding too many of the good
things of this life, and the lion's portion is always sure to go to the
fighting men."
"Nay, nay! we will share alike!" rejoined Bernard.
"Ay! but I am a king in those matters," answered the priest; "I do not
like to share at all. But come on, come on; I am only jesting. We shall
find plenty, I doubt not; for, when last I passed that little inn, there
was good meat and wine enough to have fed a refectory for a week, or an
army for a year. Come on quick, I say, for yon foul-mouthed railer at
the top of the hill is beginning to roar at us as well as spit at us. We
have still far to go, and a storm in these mountains is like a dull
jest, I can tell you, young gentleman; for one never knows what may come
next."
"Why, what can come next," demanded the cavalier, "but fine weather
after the storm?"
"A rock upon your head," replied the priest, "or an avalanche at your
heels, which would smother you in your steel case like a lobster in his
shell. Come on! come on! Sancta Maria! why, my small ass will out-run
your tall charger now!" and, bestowing a buffet with his straw hat upon
the flank of his bearer, the beast quickened his pace still more, and,
with a malicious whisk of the tail and fling with his hind feet, set off
into a gallop. But we must pause to change the scene, and precede the
travellers on their way.
CHAPTER II.
There are few situations in life which convey to the mind of man more
completely the sensations of comfort, security, and repose, than when,
after a long day's ride, he sits at ease by a glowing fire, and
hears--while all the ready service of a well-conducted inn is in
bustling activity to minister to his wants or satisfy his appetite--the
rain patter and the tempest roar without. Nor is it from any selfish
comparison of their own fate with that of others less happy that men
derive this sensation, notwithstanding the dictum of the most selfish of
would-be philosophers. It is, on the contrary, from a comparison of
their own situation at the moment with what that situation sometimes has
been, or might even then be, that the good and the generous experience
such feelings; and, though the thought of others exposed to the tempest
must naturally cross their minds, yet that thought is mixed with pity
and regret.
The little inn towards which Bernard de Rohan and his companions were
proceeding, under the guidance of the priest, when last we left them,
though the village in which it stood contained not above nine or ten
cottages, was good for the time and the country. Its only sitting-room,
of course, was the great kitchen, into which the door opened from the
road; but that kitchen was well fenced from the wind and rain; the
windows were small, and cased in stone; the door was sheltered by a deep
porch, where host and travellers sat and amused themselves in the summer
daytime; and, as it was the first house met with after passing some of
the steepest mountains between France and Piedmont, everything was done
to make it attractive in the eyes of weary wayfarers.
The thunder had passed, the air had become cold and raw, the night was
as dark as a bad man's thoughts, a fierce wind was blowing, and the
heavy rain dashed in gusts against the clattering casements; but all
those indications of the harsh and boisterous state of the weather
without did but serve to make the scene within seem more comfortable to
the eyes of a traveller, who sat in one of the large seats within the
sheltering nook of the chimney, watching the busy hostess prepare more
than one savoury mess for his supper on the bright wood fire that blazed
upon the hearth. In the mean time, several attendants of various kinds
might be seen in different parts of the wide kitchen, cleaning and
drying harness, clothes, baldrics, and weapons, or preparing other
matters for the service of their lord, with all the devices of courtly
luxury.
Those attendants, however, were not the attendants of Bernard de Rohan,
nor was the traveller that cavalier himself; he being yet upon his way
thither, and enduring all the fury of the storm.
The one of whom I now speak was a man of about the same age, but rather
older. He was decidedly a handsomer man also: his features were all
finer in form; he was taller; his complexion was fairer, without,
however, being effeminate; and it was evident, too, that he knew his
personal advantages, and was somewhat vain of them. He was dressed with
much splendour, according to the fashion of that day; and, though he
seemed to have met with some part of the storm, it was clear that he had
not been long exposed to it.
In short, as he sat there, he might well be pronounced one of the
handsomest and most splendid cavaliers of his day; but there was a
something which a closely-observing eye might detect in the hanging brow
and curling lip that was not altogether pleasant. It could scarcely be
called a sneer; yet there was something supercilious and contemptuous in
it too. Nor was it altogether haughty, though pride undoubtedly had its
share. It was a dark and yet not gloomy expression. It seemed as if the
heart beneath was full of many an unfathomable idea, and proud of its
impenetrability. The thoughts might be good or bad; but it was evidently
a countenance of much thought under a mask of lightness: a deep lake
beneath a ripple.
The stranger had, as we have said, been looking on while the hostess,
with a bustling maid, prepared manifold dishes for his supper; and he
added, from time to time, a gay jest to either of them upon the progress
of the work. His tone was familiar and easy; but it might be remarked
that his jest always arose from something that came beneath his eye, and
that, in general, he took no notice whatever of the reply, scarcely
seeming to hear that any one else spoke, and making no rejoinder, but
letting the matter drop till he thought | 2,289.100825 |
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by the Internet Archive.
THE GOURMET'S GUIDE TO LONDON
BY
LIEUT.-COL. NEWNHAM-DAVIS
_Author of
"The Gourmet's Guide to Europe"_
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
1914
PRINTED BY THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED
EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
[Illustration: THE CHESHIRE CHEESE
_From | 2,289.402714 |
2023-11-16 18:55:14.3375180 | 2,158 | 7 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, S.D., 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.)
MIRROR
OF
THE MONTHS.
Delectando pariterque monendo.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR GEO. B. WHITTAKER,
AVE-MARIA-LANE.
1826.
CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE. v
JANUARY. 1
FEBRUARY. 23
MARCH. 43
APRIL. 57
MAY. 87
JUNE. 111
JULY. 145
AUGUST. 169
SEPTEMBER. 197
OCTOBER. 215
NOVEMBER. 237
DECEMBER. 257
PREFACE.
As the first few pages of this little volume will sufficiently explain
its purport, the reader would not have been troubled with any prefatory
remarks, but that, since its commencement, two existing works have been
pointed out to me, the plans of which are, in one respect, similar to
mine: I allude to the Natural History of the Year, by the late Dr. Aikin
and his Son; and The Months, by Mr. Leigh Hunt.
I will not affect any obligations to these agreeable little works, (I
mean as a writer); because I feel none; and I mention them here, only to
add, that if, on perusing them, either, or both united, had seemed to
supersede what I proposed to myself in mine, I should immediately have
abandoned my intention of writing it. But the above-named works, in the
first place, relate to country matters exclusively. In the next place,
the first of them details those matters in the form of a dry calendar,
professedly made up from other calendars which previously existed, and
_not_ from actual observation; and the second merely throws gleams of
its writer's agreeable genius over such of those matters as are most
susceptible of that treatment: while both occupy no little portion of
their space by quotations, sufficiently appropriate no doubt, but from
poets whose works are in everybody's hands.
THE MIRROR OF THE MONTHS, therefore, does not interfere with the
abovenamed works, nor do they with it. It is in substance, though
certainly not in form, a Calendar of the various events and appearances
connected with a Country and a London life, during each successive Month
of the Year. And it endeavours to impress upon the memory such of its
information as seems best worth retaining, by either placing it in a
_picturesque_ point of view, or by connecting it with some association,
often purely accidental, and not seldom extravagant perhaps, but not the
less likely to answer its end, if it succeed in changing mere dry
information into amusement.
I may perhaps be allowed to add, in extenuation of the errors and
deficiencies of this little volume, that it has been written entirely
from the personal observations of one who uses no note-book but that
which Nature writes for him in the tablets of his memory; and that when
printed books have been turned to at all, it has only been with a view
to solve any doubt that he might feel, as to the exact period of any
particular event or appearance.
It is also proper to mention, that the four first Months have appeared
in a periodical work. In fact, it was the favourable reception they met
with there which induced the careful re-writing of them, and the
appearance of the whole under their present form.
MIRROR OF THE MONTHS.
JANUARY.
Those "Cynthias of a minute," the Months, fleet past us so swiftly, that
though we never mistake them while they are present with us, yet the
moment any one of them is gone by, we begin to blend the recollection of
its features with those of the one which preceded it, or that which has
taken its place, and thus confuse them together till we know not "which
is which." And then, to mend the matter, when the whole of them have
danced their graceful round, hand in hand, before us, not being able to
think of either separately, we unite them all together in our
imagination, and call them the Past Year; as we gather flowers into a
bunch, and call them a bouquet.
Now this should not be. Each one of the sweet sisterhood has features
sufficiently marked and distinct to entitle her to a place and a name;
and if we mistake these features, and attribute those of any one to any
other, it is because we look at them with a cold and uninterested, and
therefore an inobservant regard. The lover of Julie could trace fifty
minute particulars which were wanting in the portrait of his mistress;
though to any one else it would have appeared a likeness: for, to common
observers, "a likeness" means merely a something which is not so
absolutely _un_like but what it is capable of calling up the idea of the
original, to those who are intimately acquainted with it.
Now, I have been for a long while past accustomed to feel towards the
common portraits of the Months, of which so many are extant, what St.
Preux did towards that of his mistress: all I could ever discover in
them was the particulars in which they were _not_ like. Still I had
never ventured to ask the favour of either of them to sit to me for her
picture; having seen that it was the very nature of them to be for ever
changing, and that, therefore, to attempt to _fix_ them, would be to
trace the outline of a sound, or give the colour of a perfume.
At length, however, my unwearied attendance on them, in their yearly
passage past me, and the assiduous court that I have always paid to each
and all of their charms, has met with its reward: for there is this
especial difference between them and all other mistresses whatever,
that, so far from being jealous of each other, their sole ground of
complaint against their lovers is, that they do not pay equal devotion
to each in her turn; the blooming MAY and the blushing JUNE disdain the
vows of those votaries who have not previously wept at the feet of the
weeping APRIL, or sighed in unison with the sad breath of MARCH. And it
is the same with all the rest. They present a sweet emblem of the
_ideal_ of a happy and united human family; to each member of which the
best proof you can offer that you are worthy of _her_ love, is, that you
have gained that of her sisters; and to whom the best evidence you can
give of being able to love either worthily, is, that you love all. This,
I say, has been the kind of court that I have paid to the Months--loving
each in all, and all in each. And my reward (in addition to that of the
love itself--which is a "virtue," and therefore "its own reward") has
been that each has condescended to watch over and instruct me, while I
wrote down the particulars of her brief but immortal life--immortal,
because ever renewed, and bearing the seeds of its renewal within
itself.
These instructions, however, were accompanied by certain conditions,
without complying with which I am not permitted to make the results
available to any one but myself. For my own private satisfaction I have
liberty to personify the objects of my admiration under any form I
please; but if I speak of them to others, they insist on being treated
merely as portions or periods of their beautiful parent the YEAR, as
_she_ is a portion of TIME, the great parent of all things; and that the
facts and events I may have to refer to, shall not be essentially
connected with _them_, but merely be considered as taking place during
the period of their sojourn on the earth respectively.
I confess that this condition seems to savour a little of the
fastidious, not to say the affected. And, what is still more certain, it
cuts me off from a most fertile source of the poetical and the
picturesque. I will frankly add, however, that I am not without my
suspicions that this latter may have been the very reason why this
condition was imposed upon me; for I am by no means certain that, if I
had been left to myself, I should not have substituted cold abstractions
and unintelligible fictions (or what would have seemed such to others),
in the place of that simple _information_ which it is my chief object to
convey.
Laying aside, then, if I can, all ornamental figures of speech, I shall
proceed to place before the reader, in plain prose, the principal events
which happen, in the two worlds of Nature and of Art, during the life
and reign of each month; beginning with the nominal beginning of the
dynasty, and continuing to present, on the birthday of each member of
it, a record of the beauties which she brings in her train, and the good
deeds which she either inspires or performs.
Hail! then, hail to thee, JANUARY!--all hail! cold and wintry as thou
art, if it be but in virtue of thy first day. THE DAY, as the French
call it, par excellence; "Le jour de l'an." Come about me, all ye little
schoolboys, that have escaped from the unnatural thraldom of your
taskwork--come crowding about me, with your untamed hearts shouting in
your unmodulated voices, and your happy spirits dancing an untaught
measure in your eyes! | 2,290.357558 |
2023-11-16 18:55:14.3383970 | 829 | 10 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Painting by N. M. Price._ FIRST WALPURGIS NIGHT.
"Through the night-gloom lead and follow
In and out each rocky hollow."]
A DAY WITH FELIX
MENDELSSOHN
BARTHOLDY
BY GEORGE SAMPSON
HODDER & STOUGHTON
_In the same Series._
_Beethoven._
_Schubert._
A DAY WITH MENDELSSOHN.
During the year 1840 I visited Leipzig with letters of introduction from
Herr Klingemann of the Hanoverian Legation in London. I was a singer,
young, enthusiastic, and eager--as some singers unfortunately are
not--to be a musician as well. Klingemann had many friends among the
famous German composers, because of his personal charm, and because his
simple verses had provided them with excellent material for the sweet
little songs the Germans love so well. I need scarcely say that the man
I most desired to meet in Leipzig was Mendelssohn; and so, armed
with Klingemann's letter, I eagerly went to his residence--a quiet,
well-appointed house near the Promenade. I was admitted without delay,
and shown into the composer's room. It was plainly a musician's
work-room, yet it had a note of elegance that surprised me. Musicians
are not a tidy race; but here there was none of the admired disorder
that one instinctively associates with an artist's sanctum. There was no
litter. The well-used pianoforte could be approached without circuitous
negotiation of a rampart of books and papers, and the chairs were free
from encumbrances. On a table stood some large sketch-books, one open
at a page containing an excellent landscape drawing; and other spirited
sketches hung framed upon the walls. The abundant music paper was perhaps
the most strangely tidy feature of the room, for the exquisitely neat
notation that covered it suggested the work of a careful copyist rather
than the original hand of a composer. I could not refrain from looking
at one piece. It was a very short and very simple Adagio cantabile in
the Key of F for a solo pianoforte. It appealed at once to me as a
singer, for its quiet, unaffected melody seemed made to be sung rather
than to be played. The "cantabile" of its heading was superfluous--it
was a Song without Words, evidently one of a new set, for I knew it was
none of the old. But the sound of a footstep startled me and I guiltily
replaced the sheet. The door opened, and I was warmly greeted in
excellent English by the man who entered. I had no need to be told that
it was Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy himself.
Nature is strangely freakish in her choice of instruments for noble
purposes. Sometimes the delicate spirit of creative genius is housed in
a veritable tenement of clay, so that what is within seems ever at war
with what is without. At times the antagonism is more dreadful still,
and the artist-soul is sent to dwell in the body of a beast, coarse
in speech and habit, ignorant and dull in mind, vile and unclean in
thought. But sometimes Nature is generous, and makes the body itself an
expression of the informing spirit. Mendelssohn was one of these almost
rare instances. In him, artist and man were like a beautiful picture
appropriately framed. He was then thirty-one. In figure he was slim and
rather below the middle height, and he moved with the easy grace of
an accomplished dancer. Masses of long dark hair crowned his finely
chiselled face | 2,290.358437 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
[Illustration: "I'LL UNLOCK IT BIMEBY--MAYBE." (_See page 91._)]
THE DESERTER
AND OTHER STORIES
_A Book of Two Wars_
BY
HAROLD FREDERIC
AUTHOR OF "IN THE VALLEY," "SETH'S BROTHER'S WIFE,"
"THE COPPERHEAD," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
MERRILL, SANDHAM, GILBERT GAUL AND GEORGE FOSTER BARNES
BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
BY
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
THE DESERTER.
I. DISCOVERIES IN THE BARN 3
II. A SUDDEN DEPART | 2,290.560621 |
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| 2,290.561781 |
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E-text prepared by David Edwards, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 46752-h.htm or 46752-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46752/46752-h/46752-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46752/46752-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/historyofjews06graeuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other five volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43056
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43057
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43337
Volume IV: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43900
Volume V: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45085
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Small-capital text is shown as all-capital.
Transcriber-provided Hebrew transliterations are enclosed
by curly braces (example: {Hebrew: Beyt Shmuel Acharon}).
Other transcriber's notes will be found at the end of this
eBook, following the Footnotes.
HISTORY OF THE JEWS
by
HEINRICH GRAETZ
VOL. VI
CONTAINING A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR BY DR. PHILIP BLOCH
A CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF JEWISH HISTORY
AN INDEX TO THE WHOLE WORK
[Illustration]
Philadelphia
The Jewish Publication Society of America
5717-1956
Copyright, 1898, by
The Jewish Publication Society of America
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form without permission in
writing from the publisher: except by a reviewer
who may quote brief passages in a review to be
printed in a magazine or newspaper.
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE TO THE INDEX VOLUME.
With the Index Volume, the _Jewish Publication Society of America_
brings to a close the American edition of the "History of the Jews"
by Professor H. Graetz. A glance at the title-page and the table of
contents will show, that the celebrated historian cannot be held
directly responsible for anything this volume contains. The History
proper, as abridged under the direction of the author and translated
into English from the eleven volume German edition, is complete in five
volumes. In compiling this additional volume, the Publication Committee
was prompted by the desire to render the work readily available for
pedagogical purposes. To be of value to the general reader as well as
to the scholar, a work containing upwards of three thousand pages needs
to be equipped with indexes, tables, and helps of various kinds.
The importance of indexes can hardly be over-estimated. The English
jurist and writer who considered them so essential that he "proposed to
bring a Bill into Parliament to deprive an author who publishes a book
without an Index of the privilege of copyright" was not too emphatic.
In books of facts, such as histories, indexes are indispensable.
This has been fully recognized in the Society's edition of Graetz's
"History of the Jews." Each of the five volumes, as it appeared, was
furnished with an adequate index. Yet there are two reasons justifying
and even requiring the compilation of a general index to the whole
work. The first is the reader's convenience. All who use books to
any extent know the annoyance of taking volume after volume from the
shelf to find the desired information only in the last. In fact, the
separate indexes were compiled only because circumstances compelled the
publication of the single volumes at rather long intervals. The other
consideration is that Professor Graetz is the historiographer _par
excellence_ of the Jews. His work, at present the authority upon the
subject of Jewish history, bids fair to hold its pre-eminent position
for some time, perhaps decades. A comprehensive index to his work is,
therefore, at the same time an index to the facts of Jewish history
approximately as accepted by contemporary scholars--a sufficient reason
for its existence.
To make it a worthy guide to Jewish history in general, the index
necessarily had to be more than a mere compilation of the five separate
indexes. In the matter of the names of persons and places, accordingly,
the general index excels the others in the fullness and completeness
of the references. But its chief title to superiority over them lies
in its character as an Index of Subjects, illustrated by such captions
as _Blood Accusation_; _Conversions, forced_; _Coins_; _Emancipation
of the Jews_; _Bulls, Papal_; _Apostasy_ and _Apostates_; _Messiah_
and _Messianic_; _Bible_ under the headings _Law_, _Old Testament_,
_Pentateuch_, _Scriptures_, _Septuagint_, _Translations_, and
_Vulgate_; _Education_ under the headings, _Colleges_, _Rabbinical_
and _Talmudical_, _Law_, _Schools_, _Talmud_, and _Talmud Torah_.
These summaries will be suggestive, it is hoped, to the teacher of
Jewish history and to the student with sufficient devotion to the
subject to pursue it topically and pragmatically as well as in its
chronologic sequence. As an illustration of what use may be made of it,
the compiler has prefixed to the index a guide to the study of Jewish
history by means of the biographies of its great men, an apostolical
succession, as it were. Under the class-names there given, the names of
all persons of each class will be found grouped in the index. Again, if
it is desirable to trace out a topic, as, for instance, the development
of Hebrew grammar, or the cultivation of medicine among Jews, etc.,
the index is helpful by means of its lists of names of grammarians,
physicians, astronomers, historians, poets, etc., under these and
similar heads.
To facilitate its use, the student is urged to read the directions
preceding the index. Great difficulties attach to the systematic
arrangement of the names of persons connected with ancient and mediaeval
history of all kinds. In Jewish history, even down to recent times,
these difficulties are largely increased by the comparatively late
introduction among Jews of family names in the accepted modern sense,
and by their introduction among Spanish Jews earlier than among the
others. The scheme adopted by Zedner, in his British Museum catalogue,
has been followed as far as the peculiarities of our author and his
subject, and its presentation in a modern language, permitted it. The
arrangement is not ideal, but every effort has been made to minimize
the difficulties.
In this preface, precedence has been given to the index, because, in
spite of the consensus of opinions among connoisseurs, the importance
of indexes and their usefulness are in some quarters still held to
stand in need of vindication. In the book, however, the first place
is occupied by a contribution whose value will be disputed by none,
namely, the Memoir of the author, the greatest historian of the Jews.
The Committee believes, not only that the public has a taste for
biographical studies, but that in this instance it will be pleased
with the choice of biographer, Dr. Philipp Bloch, rabbi of Posen,
a disciple of Graetz and for more than a quarter of a century his
intimate friend. Although not quite seven years have elapsed since
Graetz passed away, and many that were closely associated with him
are still among the living, it was not easy to find the man qualified
for the task of writing his biography. Graetz was not inclined to be
communicative about his early life or his emotional experiences. He had
met with disappointments that emphasized the reticence of his nature.
The venerable wife of the deceased historian was kind enough to put
all her husband's literary remains at the disposal of the biographer,
who herewith acknowledges his deep obligation to her for the help
thus afforded his work. The greater part of material of this kind,
especially in the form of letters, Graetz burnt before his last change
of residence. But his interesting diary was spared. It was kept with
more or less regularity from 1832 to 1854, though for the latter part
of this period it is hardly more than a bald summary of events, and
the disappearance of loose leaves curtails the information that might
have been gathered from it. The biographer's thanks are due also to the
Board of Curators of the Frankel Bequests for kindly putting at his
service the documents in their archives bearing on Graetz's connection
with the Breslau Jewish Theological Seminary, thus enabling him to
verify facts long in his possession. Dr. Bloch furthermore availed
himself of Dr. B. Rippner's interesting brochure, "Zum siebzigsten
Geburtstage des Professors Dr. Heinrich Graetz," and of Professor
Dr. David Kaufmann's eloquent eulogy of his teacher, "H. Graetz, der
Historiograph des Judenthums." The Committee believes, that in securing
the co-operation of Dr. Bloch it has been the instrument of eliciting
an important original contribution to Jewish biographical literature.
The Chronological Table is another feature of the volume to which
attention must be called. In the eighth volume of the German edition of
the "History," Professor Graetz introduced a similar table, reciting
the succession of events from the Maccabaean struggle to the Expulsion
of the Jews from Spain and Portugal. The present analysis includes the
whole of Jewish history up to the year 1873 of this era. It assumes to
be nothing more than a summary of the "History of the Jews" by Graetz.
As no attempt has been made to indicate whether his conclusions are
endorsed by the scholars of our day, it becomes a duty to refer to the
vexed question of Biblical chronology. Since the time of Archbishop
Ussher (1580-1656)--not to mention the Talmudic _Seder Olam Rabba_--it
has been the subject of dispute, which is complicated by the various
eras, the Seleucidaean, the Roman, and the Era of the World, in use
among the Jews at different times. Even now the most diversified
opinions are held by scholars, and no system has met with general
acceptance. Graetz discusses the matter exhaustively in Note 19 of Vol.
I of the German original of his "History." His researches led him to
oppose the results of the historians Niebuhr, Ewald, and Movers, and
of the Assyriologists Brandes, Smith, and Schrader. He inclines to the
views of Oppert, who applied the information derived from the Assyrian
inscriptions to the vindication of the Biblical chronology nearly
as determined by Ussher. Since Graetz wrote his note (1873), almost
amounting to a treatise, evidence for the one or the other opinion has
been strengthened or invalidated by the more minute and extended study
of the monuments, inscriptions, and other records of Egypt, Babylonia,
and Assyria. The reader interested in the subject is referred to the
works of such scholars as Duncker, Oppert, Kamphausen, and Eduard Meyer.
Finally, it is hoped, that the four maps accompanying the Index Volume
will meet with favor | 2,290.561846 |
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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, Sweden, 1874-75--Portsmouth, England,
1874-75--Pola, Austria, 1875--Portsmouth, England,
1876--Experiments with Countermines--The Medway, England,
1870--Stokes Bay, England, 1873--Carlscrona, Sweden, 1874 220
CHAPTER X.
The Electric Light--The Nordenfelt and Hotchkiss Torpedo
Guns--Diving 239
CHAPTER XI.
Electricity 265
APPENDIX.
McEvoy's Single Main Systems 283
Siemens' Universal Galvanometer Tables 287
Synopsis of the Principal Events that have occurred in
connection with | 2,290.562686 |
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THE WOULDBEGOODS
[Illustration:
See p. 47
"'AND PATRIOTIC,' SAID HE"]
_THE WOULDBEGOODS_
BY E. NESBIT
ILLUSTRATED BY
REGINALD B. BIRCH
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1900, 1901, by EDITH NESBIT BLAND.
_All rights reserved._
September, 1901.
TO
MY DEAR SON
FABIAN BLAND
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE JUNGLE 1
THE WOULDBEGOODS 20
BILL'S TOMBSTONE 43
THE TOWER OF MYSTERY 63
THE WATER-WORKS 86
THE CIRCUS 111
BEING BEAVERS; OR, THE YOUNG EXPLORERS (ARCTIC OR OTHERWISE) 135
THE HIGH-BORN BABE 159
HUNTING THE FOX 178
THE SALE OF ANTIQUITIES 201
THE BENEVOLENT BAR 224
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 243
THE DRAGON'S TEETH; OR, ARMY-SEED 267
ALBERT'S UNCLE'S GRANDMOTHER; OR, THE LONG-LOST 292
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'AND PATRIOTIC,' SAID HE" _Frontispiece_
"WE LET THE HOSE PLAY PERSEVERINGLY" _Facing p._ 16
"'LITTLE BEASTS!' SAID DICK" " 30
"DENNY HELD ALICE'S AND NOEL'S HANDS" " 84
"DICKY DRAGGED THE TWO HEAVY BARS" " 98
"'OH, DEAR! OH, DEAR!'" " 104
"HE SAT DOWN IN THE HEDGE TO LAUGH PROPERLY" " 128
"FOUND HIMSELF THE DEGRADED NURSE-MAID
OF A SMALL BUT FURIOUS KID" " 172
"'WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?'" " 192
"THEN WE PUT IN THE JUGS AND FILLED
IT UP WITH EARTH" " 212
"'I THINK YOU MUST LET ME LOOK INSIDE'" " 222
"OSWALD ACTUALLY HIT OUT AT THE BIG MAN" " 240
"A DOG-CART WITH A YOUNG LADY IN IT" " 256
"SO WE LED HIM ALONG TO THE AMBUSH" " 282
THE COUNCIL IN THE APPLE-TREE " 292
"'AND ARE YOU GOING TO MARRY THIS LADY?'" " 304
THE WOULDBEGOODS
THE JUNGLE
"Children are like jam: all very well in the proper place, but you can't
stand them all over the shop--eh, what?"
These were the dreadful words of our Indian uncle. They made us feel
very young and angry; and yet we could not be comforted by calling him
names to ourselves, as you do when nasty grown-ups say nasty things,
because he is not nasty, but quite the exact opposite when not
irritated. And we could not think it ungentlemanly of him to say we were
like jam, because, as Alice says, jam is very nice indeed--only not on
furniture and improper places like that. My father said, "Perhaps they
had better go to boarding-school." And that was awful, because we know
father disapproves of boarding-schools. And he looked at us and said, "I
am ashamed of them, sir!"
Your lot is indeed a dark and terrible one when your father is ashamed
of you. And we all knew this, so that we felt in our chests just as if
we had swallowed a hard-boiled egg whole. At least, this is what Oswald
felt, and father said once that Oswald, as the eldest, was the
representative of the family, so, of course, the others felt the same.
And then everybody said nothing for a short time. At last father said:
"You may go--but remember--" The words that followed I am not going to
tell you. It is no use telling you what you know before--as they do in
schools. And you must all have had such words said to you many times. We
went away when it was over. The girls cried, and we boys got out books
and began to read, so that nobody should think we cared. But we felt it
deeply in our interior hearts, especially Oswald, who is the eldest and
the representative of the family.
We felt it all the more because we had not really meant to do anything
wrong. We only thought perhaps the grown-ups would not be quite pleased
if they knew, and that is quite different. Besides, we meant to put all
the things back in their proper places when we had done with them before
any one found out about it. But I must not anticipate (that means
telling the end of a story before the beginning. I tell you this because
it is so sickening to have words you don't know in a story, and to be
told to look it up in the dicker).
We are the Bastables--Oswald, Dora, Dicky, Alice, Noel, and H. O. If you
want to know why we call our youngest brother H. O. you can jolly well
read _The Treasure Seekers_ and find out. We were the Treasure Seekers,
and we sought it high and low, and quite regularly, because we
particularly wanted to find it. And at last we did not find it, but we
were found by a good, kind Indian uncle, who helped father with his
business, so that father was able to take us all to live in a jolly big
red house on Blackheath, instead of in the Lewisham Road, where we lived
when we were only poor but honest Treasure Seekers. When we were poor
but honest we always used to think that if only father had plenty of
business, and we did not have to go short of pocket-money and wear
shabby clothes (I don't mind this myself, but the girls do), we should
be quite happy and very, very good.
And when we were taken to the beautiful big Blackheath house we thought
now all would be well, because it was a house with vineries and
pineries, and gas and water, and shrubberies and stabling, and replete
with every modern convenience, like it says in Dyer & Hilton's list of
Eligible House Property. I read all about it, and I have copied the
words quite right.
It is a beautiful house, all the furniture solid and strong, no casters
off the chairs, and the tables not scratched, and the silver not dented;
and lots of servants, and the most decent meals every day--and lots of
pocket-money.
But it is wonderful how soon you get used to things, even the things you
want most. Our watches, for instance. We wanted them frightfully; but
when I had had mine a week or two, after the mainspring got broken and
was repaired at Bennett's in the village, I hardly cared to look at the
works at all, and it did not make me feel happy in my heart any more,
though, of course, I should have been very unhappy if it had been taken
away from me. And the same with new clothes and nice dinners and having
enough of everything. You soon get used to it all, and it does not make
you extra happy, although, if you had it all taken away, you would be
very dejected. (That is a good word, and one I have never used before.)
You get used to everything, as I said, and then you want something more.
Father says this is what people mean by the deceitfulness of riches; but
Albert's uncle says it is the spirit of progress, and Mrs. Leslie said
some people called it "divine discontent." Oswald asked them all what
they thought, one Sunday at dinner. Uncle said it was rot, and what we
wanted was bread and water and a licking; but he meant it for a joke.
This was in the Easter holidays.
We went to live at Morden House at Christmas. After the holidays the
girls went to the Blackheath High School, and we boys went to the Prop.
(that means the Proprietary School). And we had to swot rather during
term; but about Easter we knew the deceitfulness of riches in the vac.,
when there was nothing much on, like pantomimes and things. Then there
was the summer term, and we swotted more than ever; and it was boiling
hot, and masters' tempers got short and sharp, and the girls used to
wish the exams, came in cold weather. I can't think | 2,290.562859 |
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Principles Of Political Economy
By
John Stuart Mill
Abridged, with Critical, Bibliographical,
and Explanatory Notes, and a Sketch
of the History of Political Economy,
By
J. Laurence Laughlin, Ph. D.
Assistant Professor of Political Economy in Harvard University
A Text-Book For Colleges.
New York:
D. Appleton And Company,
1, 3, and 5 Bond Street.
1885
CONTENTS
Preface.
Introductory.
A Sketch Of The History Of Political Economy.
Books For Consultation (From English, French, And German Authors).
Preliminary Remarks.
Book I. Production.
Chapter I. Of The Requisites Of Production.
§ 1. The requisites of production.
§ 2. The Second Requisite of Production, Labor.
§ 3. Of Capital as a Requisite of Production.
Chapter II. Of Unproductive Labor.
§ 1. Definition of Productive and Unproductive Labor.
§ 2. Productive and Unproductive Consumption.
§ 3. Distinction Between Labor for the Supply of Productive
Consumption and Labor for the Supply of Unproductive Consumption.
Chapter III. Of Capital.
§ 1. Capital is Wealth Appropriated to Reproductive Employment.
§ 2. More Capital Devoted to Production than Actually Employed in
it.
§ 3. Examination of Cases Illustrative of the Idea of Capital.
Chapter IV. Fundamental Propositions Respecting Capital.
§ 1. Industry is Limited by Capital.
§ 2. Increase of Capital gives Increased Employment to Labor,
Without Assignable Bounds.
§ 3. Capital is the result of Saving, and all Capital is Consumed.
§ 4. Capital is kept up by Perpetual Reproduction, as shown by the
Recovery of Countries from Devastation.
§ 5. Effects of Defraying Government Expenditure by Loans.
§ 6. Demand for Commodities is not Demand for Labor.
Chapter V. On Circulating And Fixed Capital.
§ 1. Fixed and Circulating Capital.
§ 2. Increase of Fixed Capital, when, at the Expense of Circulating,
might be Detrimental to the Laborers.
§ 3. --This seldom, if ever, occurs.
Chapter VI. Of Causes Affecting The Efficiency Of Production.
§ 1. General Causes of Superior Productiveness.
§ 2. Combination and Division of Labor Increase Productiveness.
§ 3. Advantages of Division of Labor.
§ 4. Production on a Large and Production on a Small Scale.
Chapter VII. Of The Law Of The Increase Of Labor.
§ 1. The Law of the Increase of Production Depends on those of Three
Elements--Labor. Capital, and Land.
§ 2. The Law of Population.
§ 3. By what Checks the Increase of Population is Practically
Limited.
Chapter VIII. Of The Law Of The Increase Of Capital.
§ 1. Means for Saving in the Surplus above Necessaries.
§ 2. Motive for Saving in the Surplus above Necessaries.
§ 3. Examples of Deficiency in the Strength of this Desire.
§ 4. Examples of Excess of this Desire.
Chapter IX. Of The Law Of The Increase Of Production From Land.
§ 1. The Law of Production from the Soil, a Law of Diminishing
Return in Proportion to the Increased Application of Labor and
Capital.
§ 2. Antagonist Principle to the Law of Diminishing Return; the
Progress of Improvements in Production.
§ 3. --In Railways.
§ 4. --In Manufactures.
§ 5. Law Holds True of Mining.
Chapter X. Consequences Of The Foregoing Laws.
§ 1. Remedies for Weakness of the Principle of Accumulation.
§ 2. Even where the Desire to Accumulate is Strong, Population must
be Kept within the Limits of Population from Land.
§ 3. Necessity of Restraining Population not superseded by Free
Trade in Food.
§ 4. --Nor by Emigration.
Book II. Distribution.
Chapter I. Of Property.
§ 1. Individual Property and its opponents.
§ 2. The case for Communism against private property presented.
§ 3. The Socialists who appeal to state-help.
§ 4. Of various minor schemes, Communistic and Socialistic.
§ 5. The Socialist objections to the present order of Society
examined.
§ 6. Property in land different from property in Movables.
Chapter II. Of Wages.
§ 1. Of Competition and Custom.
§ 2. The Wages-fund, and the Objections to it Considered.
§ 3. Examination of some popular Opinions respecting Wages.
§ 4. Certain rare Circumstances excepted, High Wages imply
Restraints on Population.
§ 5. Due Restriction of Population the only Safeguard of a
Laboring-Class.
Chapter III. Of Remedies For Low Wages.
§ 1. A Legal or Customary Minimum of Wages, with a Guarantee of
Employment.
§ 2. --Would Require as a Condition Legal Measures for Repression of
Population.
§ 3. Allowances in Aid of Wages and the Standard of Living.
§ 4. Grounds for Expecting Improvement in Public Opinion on the
Subject of Population.
§ 5. Twofold means of Elevating the Habits of the Laboring-People;
by Education, and by Foreign and Home Colonization.
Chapter IV. Of The Differences Of Wages In Different Employments.
§ 1. Differences of Wages Arising from Different Degrees of
Attractiveness in Different Employments.
§ 2. Differences arising from Natural Monopolies.
§ 3. Effect on Wages of the Competition of Persons having other
Means of Support.
§ 4. Wages of Women, why Lower than those of Men.
§ 5. Differences of Wages Arising from Laws, Combinations, or
Customs.
Chapter V. Of Profits.
§ 1. Profits include Interest and Risk; but, correctly speaking, do
not include Wages of Superintendence.
§ 2. The Minimum of Profits; what produces Variations in the Amount
of Profits.
§ 3. General Tendency of Profits to an Equality.
§ 4. The Cause of the Existence of any Profit; the Advances of
Capitalists consist of Wages of Labor.
§ 5. The Rate of Profit depends on the Cost of Labor.
Chapter VI. Of Rent.
§ 1. Rent the Effect of a Natural Monopoly.
§ 2. No Land can pay Rent except Land of such Quality or Situation
as exists in less Quantity than the Demand.
§ 3. The Rent of Land is the Excess of its Return above the Return
to the worst Land in Cultivation.
§ 4. --Or to the Capital employed in the least advantageous
Circumstances.
§ 5. Opposing Views of the Law of Rent.
§ 6. Rent does not enter into the Cost of Production of Agricultural
Produce.
Book III. Exchange.
Chapter I. Of Value.
§ 1. Definitions of Value in Use, Exchange Value, and Price.
§ 2. Conditions of Value: Utility, Difficulty of Attainment, and
Transferableness.
§ 3. Commodities limited in Quantity by the law of Demand and
Supply: General working of this Law.
§ 4. Miscellaneous Cases falling under this Law.
§ 5. Commodities which are Susceptible of Indefinite Multiplication
without Increase of Cost. Law of their Value Cost of Production.
§ 6. The Value of these Commodities confirm, in the long run, to
their Cost of Production through the operation of Demand and Supply.
Chapter II. Ultimate Analysis Of Cost Of Production.
§ 1. Of Labor, the principal Element in Cost of Production.
§ 2. Wages affect Values, only if different in different
employments; "non-competing groups."
§ 3. Profits an element in Cost of Production.
§ 4. Cost of Production properly represented by sacrifice, or cost,
to the Laborer as well as to the Capitalist; the relation of this
conception to the Cost of Labor.
§ 5. When profits vary from Employment to Employment, or are spread
over unequal lengths of Time, they affect Values accordingly.
§ 6. Occasional Elements in Cost of Production; taxes and
ground-rent.
Chapter III. Of Rent, In Its Relation To Value.
§ 1. Commodities which are susceptible of indefinite Multiplication,
but not without increase of Cost. Law of their Value, Cost of
Production in the most unfavorable existing circumstances.
§ 2. Such commodities, when Produced in circumstances more
favorable, yield a Rent equal to the difference of Cost.
§ 3. Rent of Mines and Fisheries and ground-rent of Buildings, and
cases of gain analogous to Rent.
§ 4. _Resume_ of the laws of value of each of the three classes of
commodities.
Chapter IV. Of Money.
§ 1. The three functions of Money--a Common Denominator of Value, a
Medium of Exchange, a "Standard of Value".
§ 2. Gold and Silver, why fitted for those purposes.
§ 3. Money a mere contrivance for facilitating exchanges, which does
not affect the laws of value.
Chapter V. Of The Value Of Money, As Dependent On Demand And Supply.
§ 1. Value of Money, an ambiguous expression.
§ 2. The Value of Money depends on its quantity.
§ 3. --Together with the Rapidity of Circulation.
§ 4. Explanations and Limitations of this Principle.
Chapter VI. Of The Value Of Money, As Dependent On Cost Of Production.
§ 1. The value of Money, in a state of Freedom, conforms to the
value of the Bullion contained in it.
§ 2. --Which is determined by the cost of production.
§ 3. This law, how related to the principle laid down in the
preceding chapter.
Chapter VII. Of A Double Standard And Subsidiary Coins.
§ 1. Objections to a Double Standard.
§ 2. The use of the two metals as money, and the management of
Subsidiary Coins.
§ 3. The experience of the United States with a double standard from
1792 to 1883.
Chapter VIII. Of Credit, As A Substitute For Money.
§ 1. Credit not a creation but a Transfer of the means of
Production.
§ 2. In what manner it assists Production.
§ 3. Function of Credit in economizing the use of Money.
§ 4. Bills of Exchange.
§ 5. Promissory Notes.
§ 6. Deposits and Checks.
Chapter IX. Influence Of Credit On Prices.
§ 1. What acts on prices is Credit, in whatever shape given.
§ 2. Credit a purchasing Power, similar to Money.
§ 3. Great extensions and contractions of Credit. Phenomena of a
commercial crisis analyzed.
§ 4. Influence of the different forms of Credit on Prices.
§ 5. On what the use of Credit depends.
§ 6. What is essential to the idea of Money?
Chapter X. Of An Inconvertible Paper Currency.
§ 1. What determines the value of an inconvertible paper money?
§ 2. If regulated by the price of Bullion, as inconvertible Currency
might be safe, but not Expedient.
§ 3. Examination of the doctrine that an inconvertible Current is
safe, if representing actual Property.
§ 4. Experiments with paper Money in the United States.
§ 5. Examination of the gain arising from the increase and issue of
paper Currency.
§ 6. _Resume_ of the subject of money.
Chapter XI. Of Excess Of Supply.
§ 1. The theory of a general Over-Supply of Commodities stated.
§ 2. The supply of commodities in general can not exceed the power
of Purchase.
§ 3. There can never be a lack of Demand arising from lack of Desire
to Consume.
§ 4. Origin and Explanation of the notion of general Over-Supply.
Chapter XII. Of Some Peculiar Cases Of Value.
§ 1. Values of commodities which have a joint cost of production.
§ 2. Values of the different kinds of agricultural produce.
Chapter XIII. Of International Trade.
§ 1. Cost of Production not a regulator of international values.
Extension of the word "international."
§ 2. Interchange of commodities between distance places determined
by differences not in their absolute, but in the comparative, costs
of production.
§ 3. The direct benefits of commerce consist in increased Efficiency
of | 2,290.658561 |
2023-11-16 18:55:14.6397400 | 830 | 13 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=fuUsAAAAMAAJ
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE NOVELS OF
BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON
_Edited by EDMUND GOSSE_
VOLUME XI
_THE NOVELS OF_
_BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON_
_Edited by EDMUND GOSSE_
_Fcap. 8vo, cloth_
_Synnoeve Solbakken_
_Arne_
_A Happy Boy_
_A Fisher Lass_
_The Bridal March, & One Day_
_Magnhild, & Dust_
_Captain Mansana, & Mother's Hands_
_Absalom's Hair, & A Painful Memory_
_In God's Way_ (2 _vols._)
_Heritage of the Kurts_ (2 _vols._)
_NEW YORK_
_THE MACMILLAN COMPANY_
THE HERITAGE OF
THE KURTS
BY
BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON
_Translated from the Norwegian by_
_Cecil Fairfax_
VOLUME I
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1908
_Printed in England_
_All rights reserved_
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Upon his taking up his residence in Paris, in 1882, Bjoernson resumed an
interest in prose fiction, which he had for so many years abandoned in
favour of the drama. There can be no question that he was influenced in
this by the successes of Alexander Kielland and Kristian Elster, who
had begun to deal with the problems of Norwegian life in the form of
short novels, which attracted immense public curiosity. After writing
_Dust_ (1882), a very brief episode, Bjoernson started the composition
of his earliest long novel, which he finished and published in 1884, as
_Det flager i Byen og paa Havnen_ ("Flags are Flying in Town and
Harbour"), a title for which we have ventured to substitute, as more
directly descriptive, _The Heritage of the Kurts_. It is to be observed
that, with the exception of Jonas Lie's _Livsslaven_ (which was not yet
published when Bjoernson's book was begun), _The Heritage of the Kurts_
was the earliest novel, treating Scandinavian society on a large scale,
which any Norwegian writer had essayed to produce. This may explain a
certain cumbrousness in the unwinding of the plot, which has been noted
as a fault in this very fine and elaborate romance.
The didactic character of much of the novel, especially of the later
parts, was a surprise to contemporary readers, who were accustomed to
much lighter fare from the novelists of the day. No less a personage
than the great Danish writer, J. P. Jacobsen, joined in the outcry
against "all this pedagogy and all these problems." Physiological
instruction in girls' schools,--this seemed a strange and almost
unseemly subject for a romance addressed to idle readers in Copenhagen
and Christiania. But Bjoernson's serious purpose was soon perceived and
justified, and the popularity of The Heritage of the Kurts was assured
among the best appreciators of his genius. It will always, however,
possess the disadvantages inherent on a tentative effort in a class of
literature as yet unfamiliar to the veteran artist.
Translator, editor, and publisher of the English version alike | 2,290.65978 |
2023-11-16 18:55:14.6408030 | 197 | 11 |
Produced by Ted Garvin and the Distributed Proofreading Team
THE LAST TOURNAMENT
BY
ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L.,
POET-LAUREATE
AUTHOR'S EDITION
FROM ADVANCE SHEETS
This poem forms one of the "Idyls of the King." Its place
is between "Pelleas" and "Guinevere."
BY ALFRED TENNYSON,
POET LAUREATE
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the Hall.
And toward him from the Hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Trist | 2,290.660843 |
2023-11-16 18:55:14.7346940 | 152 | 12 |
Produced by Jeff Kaylin
Judith Lynn
A Story of the Sea
By Annie Hamilton Donnell
Copyright, 1906,
By David C. Cook Publishing Co.,
Elgin, Illinois.
Chapter I.
In Tarpaulin and oilskins she did not look like a Judith. Easily
she might have been a Joseph or a James. So it was not really to be
wondered at that the little girl in the dainty clothes--the little
girl from The Hotel--should say, "Why!"
"What is your name?" the Dainty One had asked.
"Judith Lynn," had answered the boy-one in oilskins.
"Why!" Then, as if catching herself up at the imp | 2,290.754734 |
2023-11-16 18:55:16.3351830 | 231 | 13 |
Produced by Graeme Mackreth andThe Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Personal Recollections and Experiences
CONCERNING THE
Battle of Stone River.
A Paper Read by Request before the Illinois Commandery of the Military
Order of the Loyal Legion of the U.S., at Chicago, Ill., Feb. 14, 1889.
BY
MILO S. HASCALL,
OF GOSHEN, INDIANA,
Formerly a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army, and Brigadier-General of
Volunteers during the War of the Rebellion.
Times Publishing Company, Goshen,--Indiana. 1889.
Personal Recollections and Experiences Concerning the Battle of Stone
River.
As will be perceived by the above caption to this paper, it is proposed
to relate what happened to me, and what I observed during the battle
alluded to, and might not inappropriately be styled "What I know about
the battle of | 2,292.355223 |
2023-11-16 18:55:16.4424650 | 2,838 | 19 | CATTY***
Transcribed from the 1900[?] W. Nicholson and Sons edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE
COMICAL ADVENTURES
OF
TWM SHON CATTY,
(THOMAS JONES, ESQ.)
COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE
WELSH ROBIN HOOD.
“In Ystrad Feen a mirthful sound
Pervades the hollow hills around;
The very stones with laughter bound,
At Twm Shon Catty’s jovial round.”
PREFACE.
In presenting to the public the following Enlarged and Corrected Edition
of “Twm Shon Catty,” the author cannot forget that on its first
appearance in 1836, with “all its imperfections on its head,” it was
received with a welcome quite unlooked for on the part of the writer, and
he now presents this edition to the world, with several additions and
alterations.
On examining the cause of such unlooked-for approbation, he found it, not
in any merit of his own, but in the nationality of his subject, and the
humiliating suggestion that, slight as it was, it was the first attempted
thing that could bear the title of a Welsh Novel.
It is true others have made Wales the scene of action for the heroes of
their Tales; but however talented such writers might be, to the
Welshman’s feelings they lacked nationality, and betrayed the hand of the
foreigner in the working of the web; its texture perchance, filled up
with yams of finer fleeces, but strange and loveless to their
unaccustomed eyes.
Were a native of one of the South Sea Islands to publish the life and
adventures of one of their legendary heroes, it is probable that such a
production would excite more attention, as a true transcript of mind and
manners of the people he essayed to describe, than the more polished
pages of the courtly English and French novelist, who undertook to write
on the same subject. On the same principle, the author of this
unpretending little provincial production accounts for the sunny gleams
of favour that have flashed on the new tract which he has endeavoured to
tread down, among briers and brambles of an unexplored way, while the
smoother path of the practised traveller has been shrouded in gloom.
The expression of the Author’s gratitude is here presented to the Rev. W.
J. Rees, Rector of Cascob, for numerous favours; and especially for the
historic and traditional matter that his researches furnished. To the
Critics of the Cambrian Quarterly for their favourable notice of the
“Small Book,” a skeleton as it then was, compared to the present Edition,
imperfect as it still remains. And lastly to the revered memory of the
late Archdeacon Benyon of Llandilo. That lamented friend of Wales and
Welshmen, (whose aims were ever directed to the enlargement of the narrow
boundary within which prejudice and custom had encircled and enchained
Welsh literature,) in the town-hall of Carmarthen, before his highly
respectable Auditors, honoured this production with a favourable notice.
He warmly eulogised the Author’s attempt at the production of the first
Welsh Novel; and concluded by an offer of a pecuniary reward to the
person who could give the best translation of it in the best Welsh
language.
CHAPTER I.
THE name of Twm Shon Catty, popular throughout Wales. “The Inn-Keeper’s
Album,” and the drama founded thereon. Twm Shon Catty apparently born in
different towns. A correct account of his birth and parentage.
It is often the custom, however foolish it may be, to frighten the
occupants of an English nursery into submission by saying, “The bogie is
coming,” and though the exact form or attributes of the said “bogie” are
by no means definitely known, the mere mention of the individual has
sufficient power to make the juveniles cover their heads, and dive under
the bed-clothes, with fear. The preface to the once popular farce of
“Killing no Murder” informs us, that many a fry of infant Methodists are
terrified and frightened to bed by the cry of “the Bishop is
coming!”—That the right reverend prelates of the realm should become
bugbears and buggaboos to frighten the children of Dissenters, is curious
enough, and evinces a considerable degree of ingenious malignity in
bringing Episcopacy into contempt, if true. Be that as it may in
England, in Wales it is not so; for the demon of terror and monster of
the nursery there, to check the shrill cry of infancy, and enforce silent
obedience to the nurse or mother is Twm Shon Catty.
But “babes and sucklings” are not the only ones on whom that name has
continued to act as a spell; nor for fear and wonder its only attributes,
for the knavish exploits and comic feats of Twm Shon Catty are, like
those of Robin Hood in England, the themes of many a rural rhyme, and the
subject of many a village tale; where, seated round the ample hearth of a
farm house, or the more limited one of a lowly cottage, an attentive
audience is ever found, where his mirth-exciting tricks are told and
listened to with vast satisfaction, unsated by the frequency of
repetition; for the “lowly train” are generally strangers to that
fastidiousness which turns disgusted, from a twice-told tale.
Although neither the legends, the poetry, nor the history of the
principality, seem to interest, or accord with the taste of our English
brethren, the name of Twm Shon Catty, curiously enough, not only made its
way among them, but had the unexpected honour of being woven into a tale,
and exhibited on the stage, as a Welsh national dramatic spectacle, under
the title, and the imposing second title, of Twn _John_ Catty, or, the
Welsh Rob Roy. The nationality of the Welsh residents in London, who
always bear their country along with them wherever they go, was
immediately roused, notwithstanding the great offence of substituting
“John” for “Shon,” which called at once on their curiosity and love of
country to pursue the “Inkeeper’s Album,” in which this tale first
appeared, and to visit the Cobourg Theatre, where overflowing houses
nightly attended the representation of the “Welsh Rob Roy.” Now this
second title, which confounded the poor Cambrians, was a grand expedient
of the Dramatist, to excite the attention of the Londoners, who naturally
associated it with the hero of the celebrated Scotch novel. The bait was
immediately swallowed, and that tale, an awkward and most weak attempt to
imitate the “Great Unknown,” and by far the worst article in a very
clever book, actually sold the volume.
As Twm Shon Catty was invariably known to every Crymrian as a great
practical joker, they were of course proportionately surprised to find
him manufactured into a stilted, injured, melo-dramatic chieftain, for
the love of his _Ellen_, dying the death of a hero!
“This may do for London, but in Wales, where ‘_Gwir yn erbyn y byd_’ {9a}
is our motto, we know better!” muttered many a testy Cambrian, which he
felt doubly indignant at the authors’ and actors’ errors in the
mis-writing and the mis-pronouncing the well-known “sponsorial or
baptismal appellation,” {9b} as Doctor Pangloss would say: and another
source of umbrage to them was, that an English author’s sacrilegiously
dignifying Twm with the qualities of a hero, conveying the villanous
inference that Wales was barren of _real_ heroes—an insinuation that no
Welshman could tamely endure to forgive. In an instant recurred the
honoured names of Rodri Mawr, Owen Gwyneth, Caswallon ab Beli, Own
Glyndwr, Rhys ab Thomas, and a vast chain of Cambrian worthies, not
forgetting the royal race of Tudor, that gave an Elizabeth to the English
throne; on which the mimic scene before them, and the high vauntings of
Huntley in the character of Twm Shon Catty, sunk into the insignificance
of a punch and puppet show, in comparison with the mighty men who then
passed before the mental eye.
Sir John Wynn, of Gwydir, bart., was the father of our hero, who was a
natural son by a woman called Catherine. Little or nothing is known of
her, but surnames not being generally adopted in Wales, her son, by
Universal consent, was called “Twn Shon Catty,” which means literally,
“Thoms John Catherine.” One very astute English Commentator informs us
that the name “Catty” originated in the fact that of his armorial
bearings included a Cat’s Eye!! This is simply nonsense, as every
Welshman can testify.
Like the immortal Homer, different towns have put forth their claims to
the enviable distinction of having given our hero birth; among which
Cardigan, Llandovery, and Carmarthen, are said to have displayed
considerable warmth in asserting their respective pretentions. A native
of the latter far-famed borough town, whose carbuncled face and rubicund
nose—indelible stamps of bacchanalian royalty—proclaimed him the
undisputed prince of topers, roundly affirmed that no town but
Carmarthen—ever famed for its stout ale, large dampers, {10} and
blustering heroes of the pipe and pot—could possibly have produced such a
jolly dog. It is with regret that we perceive such potent authority
opposed by the united opinions of our Cambrian bards and antiquaries, who
place his birth in the year 1570, at Tregaron, that primitive, yet no
longer obscure, Cardiganshire town, but long celebrated throughout the
principality for its pony fair; and above all, as the established
birthplace of Twm Shon Catty.
He first saw the light, it seems, at a house of his mother’s, situate on
a hill south-east of Tregaron, called Llidiard-y-Fynnon, (Fountain-Gate,)
from its situation beside an excellent well, that previous to the
discovery of other springs nearer to their habitations, supplied the good
people of Tregaron with water. That distinguished spot is now, however,
more generally known by the more elevated name of Plâs Twm Shon Catty,
(the mansion of Twm Shon Catty,) the ruins of which are now pointed out
by the neighbouring people to any curious traveller who may wish to
enrich the pages of his virgin tour by their important communications.
And now, having given our hero’s birth and parentage with the fidelity of
a true historian, who has a most virtuous scorn of the spurious
embellishments of fiction, a more excursive pen shall flourish on our
future chapters.
CHAPTER II.
THE grandfather of Twm Shon Catty. Squire Graspacre on morality. Sir
Jno. Wynn, the practical exponent of it—and our hero the result thereof.
Catty, the mother of Twm, lived in the most unsophisticated manner at
Llidiard-y-Fynnon, with an ill-favoured, hump-backed sister, who was the
general drudge and domestic manager. Their mother had long been dead,
and their father, the horned cattle, a small farm and all its
appurtenances, had been lost to them about two years. This little farm
was their father’s property, but provokingly situated in the middle of
the vast possessions of Squire Graspacre, an English gentleman-farmer,
who condescendingly fixed himself in the principality with the laudable
idea of civilizing the Welsh.
The most feasible mode of accomplishing so grand an undertaking, that
appeared to him, was, to dispossess them of their property, and to take
as much as possible of their country into his own paternal care. The
rude Welsh, to be sure, he found so blind to their own interests as to
prefer living on their farms to either selling or giving them away, to
profit by his superior management. His master-genius now became apparent
to everybody; for after ruining the owners, and appropriating to himself
half the neighbouring country, the other half became his own with ease | 2,292.462505 |
2023-11-16 18:55:16.4447480 | 2,170 | 8 |
Produced by Norman M. Wolcott
THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS PAINE, VOLUME I.
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY MONCURE DANIEL CONWAY
1774 - 1779
[Redactor's Note: Reprinted from the "The Writings of Thomas Paine
Volume I" (1894 - 1896). The author's notes are preceded by a "*".]
XIX. THE AMERICAN CRISIS
Table of Contents
Editor's Preface
The Crisis No. I
The Crisis No. II - To Lord Howe
The Crisis No. III
The Crisis No. IV
The Crisis No. V - To General Sir William Howe
- To The Inhabitants Of America
The Crisis No. VI - To The Earl Of Carlisle, General Clinton, And
William Eden, ESQ., British Commissioners At New York
The Crisis No. VII - To The People Of England
The Crisis No. VIII - Addressed To The People Of England
The Crisis No. IX - The Crisis Extraordinary - On the Subject
of Taxation
The Crisis No. X - On The King Of England's Speech
- To The People Of America
The Crisis No. XI - On The Present State Of News
- A Supernumerary Crisis (To Sir Guy Carleton.)
The Crisis No. XII - To The Earl Of Shelburne
The Crisis No. XIII - On The Peace, And The Probable Advantages
Thereof
A Supernumerary Crisis - (To The People Of America)
THE AMERICAN CRISIS.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
THOMAS PAINE, in his Will, speaks of this work as The American Crisis,
remembering perhaps that a number of political pamphlets had appeared in
London, 1775-1776, under general title of "The Crisis." By the blunder
of an early English publisher of Paine's writings, one essay in the
London "Crisis" was attributed to Paine, and the error has continued
to cause confusion. This publisher was D. I. Eaton, who printed as
the first number of Paine's "Crisis" an essay taken from the London
publication. But his prefatory note says: "Since the printing of this
book, the publisher is informed that No. 1, or first Crisis in this
publication, is not one of the thirteen which Paine wrote, but a
letter previous to them." Unfortunately this correction is sufficiently
equivocal to leave on some minds the notion that Paine did write the
letter in question, albeit not as a number of his "Crisis "; especially
as Eaton's editor unwarrantably appended the signature "C. S.,"
suggesting "Common Sense." There are, however, no such letters in the
London essay, which is signed "Casca." It was published August, 1775,
in the form of a letter to General Gage, in answer to his Proclamation
concerning the affair at Lexington. It was certainly not written by
Paine. It apologizes for the Americans for having, on April 19, at
Lexington, made "an attack upon the King's troops from behind walls and
lurking holes." The writer asks: "Have not the Americans been driven
to this frenzy? Is it not common for an enemy to take every advantage?"
Paine, who was in America when the affair occurred at Lexington, would
have promptly denounced Gage's story as a falsehood, but the facts known
to every one in America were as yet not before the London writer. The
English "Crisis" bears evidence throughout of having been written in
London. It derived nothing from Paine, and he derived nothing from it,
unless its title, and this is too obvious for its origin to require
discussion. I have no doubt, however, that the title was suggested
by the English publication, because Paine has followed its scheme in
introducing a "Crisis Extraordinary." His work consists of thirteen
numbers, and, in addition to these, a "Crisis Extraordinary" and a
"Supernumerary Crisis." In some modern collections all of these have been
serially numbered, and a brief newspaper article added, making sixteen
numbers. But Paine, in his Will, speaks of the number as thirteen,
wishing perhaps, in his characteristic way, to adhere to the number
of the American Colonies, as he did in the thirteen ribs of his iron
bridge. His enumeration is therefore followed in the present volume, and
the numbers printed successively, although other writings intervened.
The first "Crisis" was printed in the Pennsylvania Journal, December
19, 1776, and opens with the famous sentence, "These are the times that
try men's souls"; the last "Crisis" appeared April 19,1783, (eighth
anniversary of the first gun of the war, at Lexington,) and opens with
the words, "The times that tried men's souls are over." The great
effect produced by Paine's successive publications has been attested by
Washington and Franklin, by every leader of the American Revolution,
by resolutions of Congress, and by every contemporary historian of the
events amid which they were written. The first "Crisis" is of especial
historical interest. It was written during the retreat of Washington
across the Delaware, and by order of the Commander was read to groups of
his dispirited and suffering soldiers. Its opening sentence was adopted
as the watchword of the movement on Trenton, a few days after its
publication, and is believed to have inspired much of the courage which
won that victory, which, though not imposing in extent, was of great
moral effect on Washington's little army.
THE CRISIS
THE CRISIS I. (THESE ARE THE TIMES THAT TRY MEN'S SOULS)
THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the
sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their
country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man
and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this
consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the
triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness
only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper
price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an
article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to
enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to TAX)
but "to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER," and if being bound in that
manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon
earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can
belong only to God.
Whether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or
delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own
simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have
been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither
could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it
were one, was all our own*; we have none to blame but ourselves. But
no great deal is lost yet. All that Howe has been doing for this month
past, is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the
Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a
little resolution will soon recover.
* The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed; but, if
lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil; and
there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or
where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious
and useful.
I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret
opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up
a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish,
who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities
of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I
so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the
government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils; and as I
do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up
to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a
house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he.
'Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through
a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them. Britain has
trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed
boats; and in the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army,
after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified
with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces
collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might
inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair
fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some cases,
have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is
always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer
habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the
touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to
light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact,
they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary
apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the
hidden thoughts of man, | 2,292.464788 |
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[Illustration: titlepage]
Conundrum_s_
Riddles _and_ Puzzles
Containing one thousand of the late_s_t
and be_s_t _Conundrums_, gathered from
every conceivable source, and comprising
many that are entirely new and original
By
DEAN RIVERS
Philadelphia
The Penn Publishing Company
1903
COPYRIGHT 1893 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1900 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PREFACE
A taste for guessing puzzles and enigmas is coeval with the race. The
early Greeks were extremely fond of such intellectual exercises, and
they are found in the language of all civilized nations. One of the
brightest forms of these puzzles is that of the conundrum, the answer of
which is usually a play upon words similar to the pun. Each language has
its own particular form of this kind of wit, but the English language,
on account of its composite nature, is especially rich in such forms of
wit and humor.
The compiler of this little volume has made a choice selection of
conundrums from those in actual use among people belonging to refined
and cultured society. They are classified under four principal
heads—General Conundrums, Biblical Conundrums, Poetical Conundrums, and
French Conundrums. Some of the most ingenious and interesting forms of
wit will be found under each of these classes.
In addition to these conundrums, the book contains a rare collection of
arithmetical puzzles. These were especially prepared for the work by a
mathematician of wide reputation who has used many of them in one of his
own publications. They will be found of great interest to those who have
a taste for numbers and their curious combinations and results.
The collection as a whole will afford innocent recreation for the
fireside and social circle, and thus contribute to the happiness of
those who enjoy the higher forms of pleasure that flow from the exercise
of the mind upon those subjects that require quickness of thought and a
nimble wit.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
PAGE
GENERAL CONUNDRUMS, 9
BIBLICAL CONUNDRUMS, 117
POETICAL CONUNDRUMS, 125
FRENCH CONUNDRUMS, 133
ARITHMETICAL PUZZLES, 137
GENERAL CONUNDRUMS
Why is life the greatest of all conundrums? Because we must all give it
up.
When may an army be said to be totally destroyed? When its soldiers are
all in quarters.
Which is swifter, heat or cold? Heat, because you can catch cold.
Why is a young lady like a letter? Because if she isn’t well stamped the
mails (males) won’t take her.
Why are dudes no longer imported into this country from England? Because
a Yankee dude ’ll do (Yankee doodle doo).
What flowers can be found between the nose and chin? Tulips (two lips).
Why is a dude’s hat like swearing? Because it is something to avoid.
How many wives is a man lawfully entitled to by the English prayer-book?
Sixteen: Four richer, four poorer, four better, four worse.
Why is a bright young lady like a spoon in a cup of tea? Because she is
interesting (in tea resting).
Why does a young man think his sweetheart is like a door-knob? Because
she is something to adore (a door).
Why is the emblem of the United States more enduring than that of
France, England, Ireland, or Scotland?
The _Lily_ may fade and its leaves decay,
The _Rose_ from its stem may sever,
The _Shamrock_ and _Thistle_ may pass away,
But the _Stars_ will shine forever.
Why is a kiss like a sermon? Because it needs two heads and an
application.
What is the shape of a kiss? Elliptical.
Why is a kiss like gossip? Because it goes from mouth | 2,292.503667 |
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The Freedom of Science
By
Joseph Donat, S.J., D.D.
Professor Innsbruck University
New York
Joseph F. Wagner
1914
CONTENTS
Imprimatur.
Author's Preface To The English Edition.
Translator's Note.
First Section. The Freedom of Science and its Philosophical Basis.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
Chapter II. Two Views Of The World And Their Freedom.
Chapter III. Subjectivism And Its Freedom.
Second Section. Freedom of Research and Faith.
Chapter I. Research And Faith In General.
Chapter II. The Authority Of Faith And The Free Exercise Of Research.
Chapter III. Unprepossession Of Research.
Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.
Chapter V. The Witnesses of the Incompatibility Of Science And Faith.
Third Section. The Liberal Freedom of Research.
Chapter I. Free From The Yoke Of The Supernatural.
Chapter II. The Unscientific Method.
Chapter III. The Bitter Fruit.
Fourth Section. Freedom of Teaching.
Chapter I. Freedom Of Teaching And Ethics.
Chapter II. Freedom Of Teaching And The State.
Fifth Section. Theology.
Chapter I. Theology And Science.
Chapter II. Theology And University.
Index.
Footnotes
IMPRIMATUR.
Nihil Obstat
REMIGIUS LAFORT, D.D.
_Censor_
Imprimatur
JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY
_Archbishop of New York_
NEW YORK, January 22, 1914.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JOSEPH F. WAGNER, NEW YORK
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The present work has already secured many friends in German Europe. An | 2,292.504626 |
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BLACK IS WHITE
By George Barr Mccutcheon
Author Of “Graustark,” “Brewster's Millions,” “Truxton King,” “Rose In
The Ring,” “Mary Midthorne,” Etc.
London
Everett & Co., Ltd.
1915
BLACK IS WHITE
CHAPTER I
The two old men sat in the library, eyeing the blue envelope that lay
on the end of the long table nearest the fireplace, where a merry but
unnoticed blaze crackled in the vain effort to cry down the shrieks of
the bleak December wind that whistled about the corners of the house.
Someone had come into the room--they did not know who nor when--to poke
up the fire and to throw fresh coals into the grate. No doubt it was the
parlourmaid. She was always doing something of the sort. It seemed to
be her duty. Or, it might have been the housekeeper, in case the
parlourmaid was out for the evening. Whoever it was, she certainly had
poked up the fire, and in doing so had been compelled to push two pairs
of feet out of the way to avoid trampling upon them.
Still they couldn't recall having seen her. For that matter, it wasn't
of the slightest consequence. Of course, they might have poked it up
themselves and saved her the trouble, but these ancients were not in the
habit of doing anything that could be done by menials in the employ
of Mr Brood. Their minds were centred upon the blue envelope that
had arrived shortly after dinner. The fire was an old story; the blue
envelope was a novelty.
From some shifting spot far out upon the broad Atlantic the contents
of that blue envelope had come through the air, invisible, mysterious,
uncanny. They could not understand it at all. A wireless message! It was
the first of its kind they had seen, and they were very old men, who had
seen everything else in the world--if one could believe their boastful
tales.
They had sailed the seven seas and they had traversed all the lands of
the earth, and yet here was mystery. A man had spoken out of the air
a thousand miles away, and his words were lying there on the end of a
library-table, in front of a cheerful hearthstone, within reach of their
wistful fingers; and someone had come in to poke up the fire without
their knowledge. How could they be expected to know?
There was something maddening in the fact that the envelope would have
to remain unopened until young Frederic Brood came home for the night.
They found themselves wondering if by any chance he would fail to come
in at all. Their hour for retiring was ten o'clock, day in, day out.
As a rule they went to sleep about half-past eight. They seldom retired
unless someone made the act possible by first awakening them.
The clock on the wide mantelpiece had declared some time before, in
ominous tones, that half-past ten had arrived, and yet they were not | 2,292.558793 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Marius Borror, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 30325-h.htm or 30325-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
One typographical error has been corrected: it is listed
at the end of the text.
Illustrations occurring in the middle of a paragraph were
moved to the nearest paragraph's begining.
Library Edition
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
JOHN RUSKIN
ELEMENTS OF DRAWING AND
PERSPECTIVE
THE TWO PATHS
UNTO THIS LAST
MUNERA PULVERIS
SESAME AND LILIES
ETHICS OF THE DUST
National Library Association
New York Chicago
THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING
IN THREE LETTERS TO BEGINNERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE ix
LETTER I.
ON FIRST PRACTICE 1
LETTER II.
SKETCHING FROM NATURE 65
LETTER III.
ON COLOR AND COMPOSITION 106
APPENDIX I.
ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES 183
APPENDIX II.
THINGS TO BE STUDIED 188
["The Elements of Drawing" was written during the winter of 1856. The
First Edition was published in 1857; the Second followed in the same
year, with some additions and slight alterations. The Third Edition
consisted of sixth thousand, 1859; seventh thousand, 1860; and eighth
thousand, 1861.
The work was partly reproduced in "Our Sketching Club," by the Rev. R.
St. John Tyrwhitt, M.A., 1874; with new editions in 1875, 1882, and
1886.
Mr. Ruskin meant, during his tenure of the Slade Professorship at
Oxford, to recast his teaching, and to write a systematic manual for the
use of his Drawing School, under the title of "The Laws of Fesole." Of
this only vol. i. was completed, 1879; second edition, 1882.
As, therefore, "The Elements of Drawing" has never been completely
superseded, and as many readers of Mr. Ruskin's works have expressed a
desire to possess the book in its old form, it is now reprinted as it
stood in 1859.]
ADVERTISEMENT
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.
As one or two questions, asked of me since the publication of this work,
have indicated points requiring elucidation, I have added a few short
notes in the first Appendix. It is not, I think, desirable otherwise to
modify the form or add to the matter of a book as it passes through
successive editions; I have, therefore, only mended the wording of some
obscure sentences; with which exception the text remains, and will
remain, in its original form, which I had carefully considered. Should
the public find the book useful, and call for further editions of it,
such additional notes as may be necessary will be always placed in the
first Appendix, where they can be at once referred to, in any library,
by the possessors of the earlier editions; and I will take care they
shall not be numerous.
_August 3, 1857._
PREFACE.
i. It may perhaps be thought, that in prefacing a manual of drawing, I
ought to expatiate on the reasons why drawing should be learned; but
those reasons appear to me so many and so weighty, that I cannot quickly
state or enforce them. With the reader's permission, as this volume is
too large already, I will waive all discussion respecting the importance
of the subject, and touch only on those points which may appear
questionable in the method of its treatment.
ii. In the first place, the book is not calculated for the use of
children under the age of twelve or fourteen. I do not think it
advisable to engage a child in any but the most voluntary practice of
art. If it has talent for drawing, it will be continually scrawling on
what paper it can get; and should be allowed to scrawl at its own free
will, due praise being given for every appearance of care, or truth, in
its efforts. It should be allowed to amuse itself with cheap colors
almost as soon as it has sense enough to wish for them. If it merely
daubs the paper with shapeless stains, the color-box may be taken away
till it knows better: but as soon as it begins painting red coats on
soldiers, striped flags to ships, etc., it should have colors at
command; and, without restraining its choice of subject in that
imaginative and historical art, of a military tendency, which children
delight in, (generally quite as valuable, by the way, as any historical
art delighted in by their elders,) it should be gently led by the
parents to try to draw, in such childish fashion as may be, the things
it can see and likes,--birds, or butterflies, or flowers, or fruit.
iii. In later years, the indulgence of using the color should only be
granted as a reward, after it has shown care and progress in its
drawings with pencil. A limited number of good and amusing prints should
always be within a boy's reach: in these days of cheap illustration he
can hardly possess a volume of nursery tales without good wood-cuts in
it, and should be encouraged to copy what he likes best of this kind;
but should be firmly restricted to a _few_ prints and to a few books. If
a child has many toys, it will get tired of them and break them; if a
boy has many prints he will merely dawdle and scrawl over them; it is by
the limitation of the number of his possessions that his pleasure in
them is perfected, and his attention concentrated. The parents need give
themselves no trouble in instructing him, as far as drawing is
concerned, beyond insisting upon economical and neat habits with his
colors and paper, showing him the best way of holding pencil and rule,
and, so far as they take notice of his work, pointing out where a line
is too short or too long, or too crooked, when compared with the copy;
_accuracy_ being the first and last thing they look for. If the child
shows talent for inventing or grouping figures, the parents should
neither check, nor praise it. They may laugh with it frankly, or show
pleasure in what it has done, just as they show pleasure in seeing it
well, or cheerful; but they must not praise it for being clever, any
more than they would praise it for being stout. They should praise it
only for what costs it self-denial, namely attention and hard work;
otherwise they will make it work for vanity's sake, and always badly.
The best books to put into its hands are those illustrated by George
Cruikshank or by Richter. (See Appendix.) At about the age of twelve or
fourteen, it is quite time enough to set youth or girl to serious work;
and then this book will, I think, be useful to them; and I have good
hope it may be so, likewise, to persons of more advanced age wishing to
know something of the first principles of art.
iv. Yet observe, that the method of study recommended is not brought
forward as absolutely the best, but only as the best which I can at
present devise for an isolated student. It is very likely that farther
experience in teaching may enable me to modify it with advantage in
several important respects; but I am sure the main principles of it are
sound, and most of the exercises as useful as they can be rendered
without a master's superintendence. The method differs, however, so
materially from that generally adopted by drawing-masters, that a word
or two of explanation may be needed to justify what might otherwise be
thought willful eccentricity.
v. The manuals at present published on the subject of drawing are all
directed, as far as I know, to one or other of two objects. Either they
propose to give the student a power of dexterous sketching with pencil
or water-color, so as to emulate (at considerable distance) the slighter
work of our second-rate artists; or they propose to give him such
accurate command of mathematical forms as may afterwards enable him to
design rapidly and cheaply for manufactures. When drawing is taught as
an accomplishment, the first is the aim usually proposed; while the
second is the object kept chiefly in view at Marlborough House, and in
the branch Government Schools of Design.
vi. Of the fitness of the modes of study adopted in those schools, to
the end specially intended, judgment is hardly yet possible; only, it
seems to me, that we are all too much in the habit of confusing art as
_applied_ to manufacture, with manufacture itself. For instance, the
skill by which an inventive workman designs and molds a beautiful cup,
is skill of true art; but the skill by which that cup is copied and
afterwards multiplied a thousandfold, is skill of manufacture: and the
faculties which enable one workman to design and elaborate his original
piece, are not to be developed by the same system of instruction as
those which enable another to produce a maximum number of approximate
copies of it in a given time. Farther: it is surely inexpedient that any
reference to purposes of manufacture should interfere with the education
of the artist himself. Try first to manufacture a Raphael; then let
Raphael direct your manufacture. He will design you a plate, or cup, or
a house, or a palace, whenever you want it, and design them in the most
convenient and rational way; but do not let your anxiety to reach the
platter and the cup interfere with your education of the Raphael. Obtain
first the best work you can, and the ablest hands, irrespective of any
consideration of economy or facility of production. Then leave your
trained artist to determine how far art can be popularized, or
manufacture ennobled.
vii. Now, I believe that (irrespective of differences in individual
temper and character) the excellence of an artist, as such, depends
wholly on refinement of perception, and that it is this, mainly, which a
master or a school can teach; so that while powers of invention
distinguish man from man, powers of perception distinguish school from
school. All great schools enforce delicacy of drawing and subtlety of
sight: and the only rule which I have, as yet, found to be without
exception respecting art, is that all great art is delicate.
viii. Therefore, the chief aim and bent of the following system is to
obtain, first, a perfectly patient, and, to the utmost of the pupil's
power, a delicate method of work, such as may insure his seeing truly.
For I am nearly convinced, that when once we see keenly enough, there is
very little difficulty in drawing what we see; but, even supposing that
this difficulty be still great, I believe that the sight is a more
important thing than the drawing; and I would rather teach drawing that
my pupils may learn to love Nature, than teach the looking at Nature
that they may learn to draw. It is surely also a more important thing,
for young people and unprofessional students, to know how to appreciate
the art of others, than to gain much power in art themselves. Now the
modes of sketching ordinarily taught are inconsistent with this power of
judgment. No person trained to the superficial execution of modern
water-color painting, can understand the work of Titian or Leonardo;
they must forever remain blind to the refinement of such men's
penciling, and the precision of their thinking. But, however slight a
degree of manipulative power the student may reach by pursuing the mode
recommended to him in these letters, I will answer for it that he cannot
go once through the advised exercises without beginning to understand
what masterly work means; and, by the time he has gained some
proficiency in them, he will have a pleasure in looking at the painting
of the great schools, and a new perception of the exquisiteness of
natural scenery, such as would repay him for much more labor than I have
asked him to undergo.
ix. That labor is, nevertheless, sufficiently irksome, nor is it
possible that it should be otherwise, so long as the pupil works
unassisted by a master. For the smooth and straight road which admits
unembarrassed progress must, I fear, be dull as well as smooth; and the
hedges need to be close and trim when there is no guide to warn or bring
back the erring traveler. The system followed in this work will,
therefore, at first, surprise somewhat sorrowfully those who are
familiar with the practice of our class at the Working Men's College;
for there, the pupil, having the master at his side to extricate him
from such embarrassments as his first efforts may lead into, is _at
once_ set to draw from a solid object, and soon finds entertainment in
his efforts and interest in his difficulties. Of course the simplest
object which it is possible to set | 2,292.558917 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Phrases printed in italics in the original version are
indicated in this electronic version by _ (underscore).
A list of amendments are given at the end of the book.
LITTLE FOLKS:
_A Magazine for the Young._
_NEW AND ENLARGED SERIES._
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED.
_LONDON, PARIS & NEW YORK._
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
[Blank Page]
[Illustration]
INDEX.
AMUSEMENTS, RECREATIONS, &c.--
Pretty Work for Little Fingers--
Embroidered Glass-cloth, 13.
The Children's Own Garden, 43, 100, 179, 239, 290, 360.
Hints on Canvasine Painting, 75.
Some more Little Presents, and the way to make them, 139.
A New Game for Children, 142.
How to make pretty Picture-Frames, 203.
A Game for Long Evenings, 275.
Little Papers for Little Art Workers--
Ivory Miniature Painting, 330.
CHILDREN'S OWN GARDEN, THE--
July, 43.
August, 100.
September, 179.
October, 239.
November, 290.
December, 360.
FANCIFUL RHYMES, PICTURES, STORIES, &c.--
Little Miss Propriety, 11.
Fighting with a Shadow, 12.
A Practical Joke, 28.
How Paulina won back Peter (_A Fairy Story_), 47.
A Race on the Sands, 77.
The Kingfisher and the Fishes, 81.
The Maids and the Magpie, 91.
A Game of Cricket in Elfland (_A Fairy Story_), 105.
The Little Flowers' Wish, 116.
Their Wonderful Ride, 153.
What came of a Foxglove (_A Fairy Story_), 172.
A Foraging Expedition in South America, 207.
What the Magic Words Meant (_A Fairy Story_), 235.
The Discontented Boat, 242.
The Brownies to the Rescue, 256.
The Rival Kings (A Fable in Four Situations), 276.
The Fox and the Frog, 288.
The Magic Music and its Message (_A Fairy Story_), 293.
The Rival Mothers, 337.
A Race for a | 2,292.655358 |
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by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and spelling remain unchanged except where in conflict
with the index.
Page numbers have been added to the index entries for City Police, the,
and for Kingston-on-Hull
Italics are represented thus _italic_, bold thus =bold= and underlining
thus +underline+.
+The Survey of London+
MEDIÆVAL
LONDON
HISTORICAL AND SOCIAL
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
PRICE =30/= NET EACH
LONDON
IN THE TIME OF THE TUDORS
_With 146 Illustrations and a Reproduction of Agas’ Map of London in
1560._
“For the student, as well as for those desultory readers who are drawn
by the rare fascination of London to peruse its pages, this book
will have a value and a charm which are unsurpassed by any of its
predecessors.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._
“A vivid and fascinating picture of London life in the sixteenth
century—a novelist’s picture, full of life and movement, yet with the
accurate detail of an antiquarian treatise.”—_Contemporary Review._
LONDON
IN THE TIME OF THE STUARTS
_With 116 Illustrations and a Reproduction of Ogilby’s Map of London in
1677._
“It is a mine in which the student, alike of topography and of manners
and customs, may dig and dig again with the certainty of finding
| 2,292.661221 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed
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project.)
The
Merry-Go-Round
[Illustration]
_BOOKS BY_
_CARL VAN VECHTEN_
MUSIC AFTER THE GREAT WAR 1915
MUSIC AND BAD MANNERS 1916
INTERPRETERS AND INTERPRETATIONS 1917
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 1918
THE MUSIC OF SPAIN 1918
The
Merry-Go-Round
_Carl Van Vechten_
_"Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois,
Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours,
Tournez souvent et tournez toujours,
Tournez, tournez au sons de hautbois."_
PAUL VERLAINE
[Illustration]
New York Alfred A. Knopf
MCMXVIII
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
PAGE
IN DEFENCE OF BAD TASTE 11
MUSIC AND SUPERMUSIC 23
EDGAR SALTUS 37
THE NEW ART OF THE SINGER 93
_Au Bal Musette_ 125
MUSIC AND COOKING 149
AN INTERRUPTED CONVERSATION 179
THE AUTHORITATIVE WORK ON AMERICAN MUSIC 197
OLD DAYS AND NEW 215
TWO YOUNG AMERICAN PLAYWRIGHTS 227
_De Senectute Cantorum_ 245
IMPRESSIONS IN THE THEATRE
I _The Land of Joy_ 281
II A Note on Mimi Aguglia 298
III The New Isadora 307
IV Margaret Anglin Produces _As You Like It_ 318
THE MODERN COMPOSERS AT A GLANCE 329
FOOTNOTES 330
INDEX 331
Some of these essays have appeared in "The Smart Set,"
"Reedy's Mirror," "Vanity Fair," "The Chronicle," "The
Theatre," "The Bellman," "The Musical Quarterly," "Rogue,"
"The New York Press," and "The New York Globe." In their
present form, however, they have undergone considerable
redressing.
In Defence of Bad Taste
"_It is a painful thing, at best, to live up to one's
bricabric, if one has any; but to live up to the bricabric
of many lands and of many centuries is a strain which no
wise man would dream of inflicting upon his constitution._"
Agnes Repplier.
In Defence of Bad Taste
In America, where men are supposed to know nothing about matters of
taste and where women have their dresses planned for them, the
household decorator has become an important factor in domestic life.
Out of an even hundred rich men how many can say that they have had
anything to do with the selection or arrangement of the furnishings
for their homes? In theatre programs these matters are regulated and
due credit is given to the various firms who have supplied the myriad
appeals to the eye; one knows who thought out the combinations of
shoes, hats, and parasols, and one knows where each separate article
was purchased. Why could not some similar plan of appreciation be
followed in the houses of our very rich? Why not, for instance, a card
in the hall something like the following:
_This house was furnished and decorated according
to the taste of Marcel of the Dilly-Billy Shop_
or
_We are living in the kind of house Miss Simone
O'Kelly thought we should live in. The
decorations are pure Louis XV and
the furniture is authentic._
It is not difficult, of course, to differentiate the personal from the
impersonal. Nothing clings so ill to the back as borrowed finery and I
have yet to find the family which has settled itself fondly and
comfortably in chairs which were a part of some one else's aesthetic
plan. As a matter of fact many of our millionaires would be more at
home in an atmosphere concocted from the ingredients of plain pine
tables and blanket-covered mattresses than they are surrounded by the
frippery of China and the frivolity of France. If these gentlemen were
fortunate enough to enjoy sufficient confidence in their own taste to
give it a thorough test it is not safe to think of the extreme burden
that would be put on the working capacity of the factories of the
Grand Rapids furniture companies. We might find a few emancipated
souls scouring the town for heavy refectory tables and divans into
which one could sink, reclining or upright, with a perfect sense of
ease, but these would be as rare as Steinway pianos in Coney Island.
For Americans are meek in such matters. They credit themselves with no
taste. They fear comparison. If the very much sought-after Simone
O'Kelly has decorated Mr. B.'s house Mr. M. does not dare to struggle
along with merely his own ideas in furnishing his. He calls in an
expert who begins, rather inauspiciously, by painting the dining-room
salmon pink. The tables and chairs will be made by somebody on Tenth
Street, exact copies of a set to be found in the Musee Carnavalet. The
legs under the table are awkwardly arranged for diners but they look
very well when the table is unclothed. The decorator plans to hang Mr.
M.'s personal bedroom in pale plum colour. Mr. M. rebels at this. "I
detest," he remarks mildly, "all variants of purple." "Very well,"
acquiesces the decorator, "we will make it green." In the end Mr. M.'s
worst premonitions are realized: the walls are resplendent in a
striking shade of magenta. Along the edge of each panel of Chinese
brocade a narrow band of absinthe velvet ribbon gives the necessary
contrast. The furniture is painted in dull ivory with touches of gold
and beryl and the bed cover is peacock blue. Four round cushions of a
similar shade repose on the floor at the foot of the bed. The fat
manufacturer's wife as she enters this triumph of decoration which
might satisfy Louise de la Valliere or please Doris Keane, is an
anachronistic figure and she is aware of it. She prefers, on the
whole, the brass bedsteads of the summer hotels. Mr. M. himself feels
ridiculous. He never enters the room without a groan and a remark on
the order of "Good God, what a colour!" His personal taste finds its
supreme enjoyment in the Circassian walnut panelling, desk, and tables
of the directors' room in the Millionaire's Trust and Savings Bank.
"Rich and tasteful": how many times he has used this phrase to express
his approval! In the mid-Victorian red plush of his club, too, he is
comfortable. "Waiter, another whiskey and soda!"
Mildred is expected home after her first year in boarding school. Her
mother wishes to environ her, so to speak. Mildred is delicate in her
tastes, so delicate that she scarcely ever expresses herself. Her mind
and body are pure; her heart beats faster when she learns of distress.
Voluptuousness, Venus, and Vice are all merely words to her. Mother
does not explain this to the decorator. "My daughter is returning from
school," she says, "I want her room done." "What style of room?"
"After all you are supposed to know that. I am engaging you to arrange
it for me." "Your daughter, I take it, is a modern girl?" "You may
assume as much." In despair for a hint the decorator steals a look at
a photograph of the miss, full-lipped, melting dark eyes, and
blue-black hair. Sensing an houri he hangs the walls with a deep shade
of Persian orange, over which flit tropical birds of emerald and
azure; strange pomegranates bleed their seeds at regular intervals.
The couch is an adaptation, in colour, of the celebrated _Sumurun_
bed. The dressing table and the _chaise-longue_ are of Chinese
lacquer. A heavy bronze incense burner pours forth fumes of Bichara's
_Scheherazade_. From the window frames, stifling the light, depend
flame- brocaded curtains embroidered in Egyptian enamelled
beads. It is a triumph, this chamber, of _style Ballet Russe_. Diana
is banished... and shrinking Mildred, returning from school, finds
her demure soul at variance with her surroundings.
A man's house should be the expression of the man himself. All the
books on the subject and even the household decorators themselves will
tell you that. But, if the decoration of a house is to express its
owner, it is necessary that he himself inspire it, which implies, of
course, the possession of ideas, even though they be bad. And men in
these United States are not expected to display mental anguish or
pleasure when confronted by colour combinations. In America one is
constantly hearing young ladies say, "He's a man and so, of course,
knows nothing about colour," or "Of course a man never looks at
clothes." It does not seem to be necessary to argue this point. One
has only to remember that Veronese was a man; so was Velasquez. Even
Paul Poiret and Leon Bakst belong to the sex of Adam. Nevertheless
most Americans still consider it a little _effemine_, a trifle
_declasse_, for a business man (allowances are sometimes made for
poets, musicians, actors, and people who live in Greenwich Village),
to make any references to colour or form. He may admire, with obvious
emphasis on the women they lightly enclose, the costumes of the
_Follies_ but he is not permitted to exhibit knowledge of materials
and any suddenly expressed desire on his part to rush into a shop and
hug some bit of colour from the show window to his heart would be
regarded as a symptom of madness.
The audience which gives the final verdict on a farce makes allowances
for the author; permits him the use of certain conventions. For
example, he is given leave to introduce a hotel corridor into his last
act with seven doors opening on a common hallway so that his
characters may conveniently and persistently enter the wrong rooms.
It may be supposed that I ask for some such license from my audience.
"How ridiculous," you may be saying, "I know of interior decorators
who spend weeks in reading out the secrets of their clients' souls in
order to provide their proper settings." There doubtless are interior
decorators who succeed in giving a home the appearance of a well-kept
hotel where guests may mingle comfortably and freely. I should not
wish to deny this. But I do deny that soul-study is a requirement for
the profession. If a man (or a woman) has a soul it will not be a
decorator who will discover its fitting housing. Others may object,
"But bad taste is rampant. Surely it is better to be guided by some
one who knows than to surround oneself with rocking chairs, plaster
casts of the Winged Victory, and photographs of various madonnas." I
say that it is _not_ better. It is better for each man to express
himself, through his taste, as well as through his tongue or his pen,
as he may. And it is only through such expression that he will finally
arrive (if he ever can) at a condition of household furnishing which
will say something to his neighbour as well as to himself. It is a
pleasure when one leaves a dinner party to be able to observe "That is
_his_ house," just as it is a pleasure when one leaves a concert to
remember that a composer has expressed himself and not the result of
seven years study in Berlin or Paris.
But Americans have little aptitude for self-expression. They prefer to
huddle, like cattle, under unspeakable whips when matters of art are
under discussion. They fear ridicule. As a consequence many of the
richest men in this country never really live in their own homes,
never are comfortable for a moment, although the walls are hung double
with Fragonards and hawthorne vases stand so deep upon the tables that
no space remains for the "Saturday Review" or "le Temps." And they
never, never, never, will know the pleasure which comes while
stumbling down a side street in London, or in the mouldy corners of
the Venetian ghetto, or in the Marche du Temple in Paris, or, heaven
knows, in New York, on lower Fourth Avenue, or in Chinatown, or in a
Russian brass shop on Allen Street, or in a big department store (as
often there as anywhere) in finding just the lamp for just the table
in just the corner, or in discovering a bit of brocade, perhaps the
ragged remnant of a waistcoat belonging to an aristocrat of the
Directorate, which will lighten the depths of a certain room, or a
chair which goes miraculously with a desk already possessed, or a
Chinese mirror which one had almost decided did not exist. Nor will
they ever experience the joy of sudden decision in front of a picture
by Matisse, which ends in the sale of a Delacroix. Nor can they feel
the thrill which is part of the replacing of a make-shift rug by _the_
rug of rugs (let us hope it was Solomon's!).
I know a lady in Paris whose salon presents a different aspect each
summer. Do her Picassos go, a new Spanish painter has replaced them.
Have you missed the Gibbons carving? Spanish church carving has taken
its place. "And where are your Venetian embroideries?" "I sold them to
the Marquise de V.... The money served to buy these Persian
miniatures." This lady has travelled far. She is not experimenting in
doubtful taste or bad art; she is not even experimenting in her own
taste: she is simply enjoying different epochs, different artists,
different forms of art, each in its turn, for so long as it says
anything to her. Her house is not a museum. Space and comfort demand
exclusion but she excludes nothing forever that she desires.... She
exchanges.
Taste at best is relative. It is an axiom that anybody else's taste
can never say anything to you although you may feel perfectly certain
that it is better than your own. If more of the money of the rich
were spent in encouraging children to develop their own ideas in
furnishing their own rooms it would serve a better purpose than it
does now when it is dropped into the ample pockets of the professional
decorators. Oscar Wilde wrote, "A colour sense is more important in
the development of the individual than a sense of right and wrong."
Any young boy or girl can learn something about such matters; most of
them, if not shamed out of it, take a natural interest in their
surroundings. You will see how true this is if you attempt to
rearrange a child's room. Those who have bad taste, relatively, should
literally be allowed to make their own beds. On the whole it is
preferable to be comfortable in red and green velvet upholstery than
to be beautiful and unhappy in a household decorator's gilded cage.
_September 3, 1915._
Music and Supermusic
"_To know whether you are enjoying a piece of music or not
you must see whether you find yourself looking at the
advertisements of Pears' soap at the end of the program._"
Samuel Butler.
Music and Supermusic
What is the distinction in the mind of Everycritic between good music
and bad music, in the mind of Everyman between popular music and
"classical" music? What is the essential difference between an air by
Mozart and an air by Jerome Kern? Why is Chopin's _G minor nocturne_
better music than Thecla Badarzewska's _La Priere d'une Vierge_? Why
is a music drama by Richard Wagner preferable to a music drama by
Horatio W. Parker? What makes a melody distinguished? What makes a
melody commonplace or cheap? Why do some melodies ring in our ears
generation after generation while others enjoy but a brief popularity?
Why do certain composers, such as Raff and Mendelssohn, hailed as
geniuses while they were yet alive, soon sink into semi-obscurity,
while others, such as Robert Franz and Moussorgsky, almost
unrecognized by their contemporaries, grow in popularity? Are there no
answers to these conundrums and the thousand others that might be
asked by a person with a slight attack of curiosity?... No one _does_
ask and assuredly no one answers. These riddles, it would seem, are
included among the forbidden mysteries of the sphynx. The critics
assert with authority and some show of erudition that the Spohrs, the
Mendelssohns, the Humperdincks, and the Montemezzis are great
composers. They usually admire the grandchildren of Old Lady Tradition
but they neglect to justify this partiality. Nor can we trust the
public with its favourite Piccinnis and Puccinis.... What then is the
test of supermusic?
For we know, as well as we can know anything, that there is music and
supermusic. Rubinstein wrote music; Beethoven wrote supermusic (Mr.
Finck may contradict this statement). Bellini wrote operas; Mozart
wrote superoperas. Jensen wrote songs; Schubert wrote supersongs. The
superiority of _Voi che sapete_ as a vocal melody over _Ah! non
giunge_ is not generally contested; neither can we hesitate very long
over the question whether or not _Der Leiermann_ is a better song than
_Lehn' deine Wang'_. Probably even Mr. Finck will admit that the
_Sonata Appassionata_ is finer music than the most familiar portrait
(I think it is No. 22) in the _Kamennoi-Ostrow_ set. But, if we agree
to put Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, and a few others on
marmorean pedestals in a special Hall of Fame (and this is a
compromise on my part, at any rate, as I consider much of the music
written by even these men to be below any moderately high standard),
what about the rest? Mr. Finck prefers Johann Strauss to Brahms, nay
more to Richard himself! He has written a whole book for no other
reason, it would seem, than to prove that the author of _Tod und
Verklarung_ is a very much over-rated individual. At times sitting
despondently in Carnegie Hall, I am secretly inclined to agree with
him. Personally I can say that I prefer Irving Berlin's music to that
of Edward MacDowell and I would like to have some one prove to me that
this position is untenable.
What is the test of supermusic? I have read that fashionable music,
music composed in a style welcomed and appreciated by its contemporary
hearers is seldom supermusic. Yet Handel wrote fashionable music, and
so much other of the music of that epoch is Handelian that it is often
difficult to be sure where George Frederick left off and somebody else
began. Bellini wrote fashionable music and _Norma_ and _La Sonnambula_
sound a trifle faded although they are still occasionally performed,
but Rossini, whose only desire was to please his public, (Liszt once
observed "Rossini and Co. always close with 'I remain your very
humble servant'"), wrote melodies in _Il Barbiere di Siviglia_ which
sound as fresh to us today as they did when they were first composed.
And when this prodigiously gifted musician-cook turned his back to the
public to write _Guillaume Tell_ he penned a work which critics have
consistently told us is a masterpiece, but which is as seldom
performed today as any opera of the early Nineteenth Century which
occasionally gains a hearing at all. Therefor we must be wary of the
old men who tell us that we shall soon tire of the music of Puccini
because it is fashionable.
Popularity is scarcely a test. I have mentioned Mendelssohn. Never was
there a more popular composer, and yet aside from the violin concerto
what work of his has maintained its place in the concert repertory?
Yet Chopin, whose name is seldom absent from the program of a pianist,
was a god in his own time and the most brilliant woman of his epoch
fell in love with him, as Philip Moeller has recently reminded us in
his very amusing play. On the other hand there is the case of Robert
Franz whose songs never achieved real popularity during his lifetime,
but which are frequently, almost invariably indeed, to be found on
song recital programs today and which are more and more appreciated.
The critics are praising him, the public likes him: they buy his
songs. And there is also the case of Max Reger who was not popular, is
not popular, and never will be popular.
Can we judge music by academic standards? Certainly not. Even the
hoary old academicians themselves can answer this question correctly
if you put it in relation to any composer born before 1820. The
greatest composers have seldom respected the rules. Beethoven in his
last sonatas and string quartets slapped all the pedants in the ears;
yet I believe you will find astonishingly few rules broken by Mozart,
one of the gods in the mythology of art music, and Berlioz, who broke
all the rules, is more interesting to us today as a writer of prose
than as a writer of music.
Is simple music supermusic? Certainly not invariably. _Vedrai Carino_
is a simple tune, almost as simple as a folk-song and we set great
store by it; yet Michael William Balfe wrote twenty-seven operas
filled with similarly simple tunes and in a selective draft of
composers his number would probably be 9,768. The _Ave Maria_ of
Schubert is a simple tune; so is the _Meditation_ from _Thais_. Why do
we say that one is better than the other.
Or is supermusic always grand, sad, noble, or emotional? There must be
another violent head shaking here. The air from _Oberon, Ocean, thou
mighty monster_, is so grand that scarcely a singer can be found today
capable of interpreting it, although many sopranos puff and steam
through it, for all the world like pinguid gentlemen climbing the
stairs to the towers of Notre Dame. The _Fifth Symphony_ of Beethoven
is both grand and noble; probably no one will be found who will deny
that it is supermusic, but Mahler's _Symphony of the Thousand_ is
likewise grand and noble, and futile and bombastic to boot. _Or sai
chi l'onore_ is a grand air, but _Robert je t'aime_ is equally grand
in intention, at least. _Der Tod und das Madchen_ is sad; so is _Les
Larmes_ in _Werther_.... But a very great deal of supermusic is
neither grand nor sad. Haydn's symphonies are usually as light-hearted
and as light-waisted as possible. Mozart's _Figaro_ scarcely seems to
have a care. Listen to Beethoven's _Fourth_ and _Eighth Symphonies_,
_Il Barbiere_ again, _Die Meistersinger_.... But do not be misled:
Massenet's _Don Quichotte_ is light music; so is Mascagni's
_Lodoletta_....
Is music to be prized and taken to our hearts because it is
contrapuntal and complex? We frequently hear it urged that Bach (who
was more or less forgotten for a hundred years, by the way) was the
greatest of composers and his music is especially intricate. He is the
one composer, indeed, who can _never_ be played with one finger! But
poor unimportant forgotten Max Reger also wrote in the most
complicated forms; the great Gluck in the simplest. Gluck, indeed, has
even been considered weak in counterpoint and fugue. Meyerbeer, it is
said, was also weak in counterpoint and fugue. Is he therefor to be
regarded as the peer of Gluck? Is Mozart's _G minor Symphony_ more
important (because it is more complicated) than the same composer's,
_Batti, Batti_?
We learn from some sources that music stands or falls by its melody
but what is good melody? According to his contemporaries Wagner's
music dramas were lacking in melody. _Sweet Marie_ is certainly a
melody; why is it not as good a melody as _The Old Folks at Home_? Why
is Musetta's waltz more popular than Gretel's? It is no better as
melody. As a matter of fact there is, has been, and for ever will be
war over this question of melody, because the point of view on the
subject is continually changing. As Cyril Scott puts it in his book,
"The Philosophy of Modernism": "at one time it (melody) extended over
a few bars and then came to a close, being, as it were, a kind of
sentence, which, after running for the moment, arrived at a full stop,
or semicolon. Take this and compare it with the modern tendency: for
that modern tendency is to argue that a melody might go on
indefinitely almost; there is no reason why it should come to a full
stop, for it is not a sentence, but more a line, which, like the
rambling incurvations of a frieze, requires no rule to stop it, but
alone the will and taste of its engenderer."
Or is harmonization the important factor? Folk-songs are not
harmonized at all, and yet certain musicians, Cecil Sharp for example,
devote their lives to collecting them, while others, like Percy
Grainger, base their compositions on them. On the other hand such
music as Debussy's _Iberia_ depends for its very existence on its
beautiful harmonies. The harmonies of Gluck are extremely simple,
those of Richard Strauss extremely complex.
H. T. Finck says somewhere that one of the greatest charms of music is
modulation but the old church composers who wrote in the "modes" never
modulated at all. Erik Satie seldom avails himself of this modern
device. It is a question whether Leo Ornstein modulates. If we may
take him at his word Arnold Schoenberg has a system of modulation. At
least it is his very own.
Are long compositions better than short ones? This may seem a silly
question but I have read criticisms based on a theory that they were.
Listen, for example, to de Quincy: "A song, an air, a tune,--that is,
a short succession of notes revolving rapidly upon itself,--how could
that by possibility offer a field of compass sufficient for the
development of great musical effects? The preparation pregnant with
the future, the remote correspondence, the | 2,292.754914 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
1) The single letter following ^ is superscripted.
2) Table of Contents / Illustrations added.
* * * * *
AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,--ANDOVER.
BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.
Illustrations:
Main Street, Looking North.
Brechin Library.
Memorial Hall And Library.
Phillips Academy.
Old Stone Academy.
Theological Seminary.
Lieut.-Gov. Phillips.
Chapel, Theo. Seminary.
Punchard Free School.
Theological Seminary.--general View.
The Old Mark Newman Publishing House.
South Congregational Church.
JAMES OTIS, JR.
BY REV. H. HEWITT.
A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.
THE SINGER.
BY LAURA GARLAND CARR.
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustrations:
Daniel Webster On His Farm.
Birth-place Of Daniel Webster.
THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.
BY VICTORIA REED.
Illustration:
Rev. Thomas Prince.
NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE
TIME OF BRYANT'S EARLY LIFE.
BY MRS. H. G. ROWE.
TRUST.
BY ARTHUR ELWELL JENKS.
NEW ENGLAND CHARACTERISTICS.
BY LIZZIE M. WHITTLESEY.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
EDUCATION.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
INDEX TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE.
Illustration:
Hon. Henry Barnard, LL.D.
* * * * *
THE
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND
BAY STATE MONTHLY.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLD SERIES, APRIL, 1886. NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 4. VOL. I. NO. 4.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,--ANDOVER.
BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.
[Illustration: MAIN STREET, LOOKING NORTH.]
It is said that there are twenty-six places in the United States by the
name of Andover; yet when the name appears in the public prints it does
not occur to any one to ask which Andover? These facts are suggestive of
the wide knowledge and popularity of this historic town, and the abiding
interest of scattered thousands in its welfare. Her sons have gone forth
to dare and to do upon every field of honorable enterprise. Thousands of
pupils have pursued their studies here, and carry precious memories of
the schools, of teachers, and influences,--in a word, of Andover.
In this rapid and general view of the town,[A] all that will be
attempted is to connect the past with the present, and to give a picture
of Andover as it is to-day.[B]
[A] In the February number of this magazine will be found an
interesting article upon Abbott Academy, and in following numbers
articles, now in course of preparation, will be published upon the
Theological Seminary and Phillips Academy.
[B] The history of the town has been carefully written by Miss Sarah
Loring Bailey, and her volume of "Historical Sketches of Andover" is
very valuable.
The natural attractions of the town are great and permanent in their
character. There are neither gold mines nor alarming precipices, but
there are graceful rivers, a quiet rolling landscape, and extensive
views, shaded walks, and charming drives, because there are "more roads
than in any other town in New England;" the air is clear and bracing,
the sunsets once seen are not soon forgotten, the wild-flowers spring in
abundance, and the autumnal glory draws many visitors to the town.
[Illustration: BRECHIN LIBRARY.]
[Illustration: MEMORIAL HALL AND LIBRARY.]
When Washington made his tour of the Eastern States, after his
inauguration, he passed through Andover on his way from Haverhill to
Lexington. He spent the night at the Abbott tavern, and left upon the
face of his host's little daughter a kiss, which she was so reluctant to
lose that for a week she did not wash her face. In his account of this
trip he makes special mention of the beautiful country through which he
was passing.
All that is most characteristic in our New England landscape finds
its representation here. Its rugged granite breaks with hard lines
through the stubborn soil. Its sweep of hill and valley fills the
eye with various beauty. Its lakes catch its sunlight upon generous
bosoms. Its rivers are New England rivers, ready for work, and yet
not destitute of beauty.[C]
[C] Phillips Brooks.
The "Hill" is one mile from the depot, a very uphill way, but one which
it is well worth the stranger's while to travel. Upon its top is a tract
of about two hundred acres, the property of Phillips Academy, upon which
stand the various buildings of the institution, now nearly seventy in
number.
[Illustration: PHILLIPS ACADEMY.]
Prof. Keep, in a recent article, says:--
The wide prospect from Andover Hill is suggestive of the world-wide
fame of the school; and the lovely elm-shaded park, in which stand
the buildings of the Theological Seminary, and the church where the
members of the academy worship, is a hardly less peaceful and
charming scholar's retreat than are those of the college gardens of
Oxford and Cambridge.
This elm-shaded park is the beautiful campus of seven or eight acres. In
the background are all the buildings of the Theological Seminary, except
Brechin Hall, and in front of them is the avenue of elms which makes the
"Gothic window." Nothing of its kind could be more beautiful. Overhead
are the interlaced branches of the lofty trees, the end of the avenue
forming the exquisite window, through which extends a long vista. On
either side of the mullion one has the view of a church in the distance;
and in the valley of the Merrimac nestles the city of Lawrence.
[Illustration: OLD STONE ACADEMY.]
[Illustration: THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.]
Not far remote is "Carter's Hill," with its commanding view and unbroken
quiet, and destined to become a favorite summer resort, for such as wish
to enjoy some of New England's choicest scenery, to know some of its
purest life, and to keep within an hour's ride of Boston. Within easy
view are Monadnock, Wachusett, and other smaller mountains; the
beautiful Merrimac River, with its populous valley, and the
graceful, busy Shawshin, where it was said, the Devil baptized the
witches,--contemptible when thought of as the object of great Boston's
covetous desire, but important in its relation to the several mills upon
its course, and for its contribution to the general beauty.
"Indian Ridge" is one of the series of lenticular hills, which continues
to the north-east as far as Portsmouth, N.H., and in an irregular course
may be traced westward to the Connecticut River.
[Illustration: LIEUT.-GOV. PHILLIPS.]
This ridge is supposed to have been the spot of Indian encampments, and
is within a tract of land now owned by the town, and intended as a park.
Near it is the "Red Spring," and a mile or two north-east is "Den Rock,"
all of which are frequently visited by holiday bands of children, and by
students in hours of recreation.
The Andover records date from 1639, and the town was incorporated May 6,
1646. The story of Andover's progress from its foundation until the
present, is full of interest. The town's part in all the early movements
was most creditable, and full of intelligence. At the close of a
century of its life we find vigilance as to the character of its growing
population.
The authorities believed that whatsoever a town soweth, that shall it
also reap. It was therefore in vain that the "pauper immigrant" or
"criminal classes" knocked for admittance. It is said that the town was
"made up at the beginning of 'choice men,''very desirable' and 'good
Christians.'"[D]
[D] Historical Sketches, p. 145.
[Illustration: CHAPEL, THEO. SEMINARY.]
[Illustration: PUNCHARD FREE SCHOOL.]
"The selectmen were empowered to examine into the character and habits
of all persons seeking residence, and to admit none who were idle or
immoral.
ANDOVER, the 30th of January, 1719-20.
_To_ MR. EBENEZER LOVEJOY, _constable_.
GREETING:--Whereas there are severall Persons com to Reside in
our Towne and we feare a futer charge and as the Law directs to prevent
such charge, you are Requested in his Majesty's name forthwith to
warn the severall persons under wrighten: to depart out of our Town
as the law directs to, least they prove a futer charge to the
Towne.
[Signed by the Selectmen.]
"The town also encouraged desirable persons to settle by making them
grants of land, etc. Ministers and masters of grammar schools were
exempt from taxation."
[Illustration:
THE CHAPEL. PHILLIPS HALL. BARTLETT CHAPEL.
BARTLETT HALL. BRECHIN HALL.
THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.--GENERAL VIEW.]
In few places can the local features of the great Revolutionary struggle
be as well studied as in the ample and well-preserved records of
Andover. It would take many pages to tell what the town did in council
and on the field, in business, and at the fireside, to encourage the
patriots. So loyal was the town that its citizens were greatly trusted,
and a portion of Harvard College library was sent there for its greater
safety.
[Illustration: THE OLD MARK NEWMAN PUBLISHING HOUSE.]
A pleasant description of the town is given by Thomas Houghton, an
Englishman, who, writing from Andover in 1789, mentions several
characteristics of the people at that period. He says: "One thing I must
observe, which, I think, wants rectifying, that is, their pluming pride
when adjoined to apparent poverty,--no uncommon case!"
He adds that they grow "their own wool, which they also get spun,
weaved, and dyed, and both the gentlemen I am with, Hon. Samuel Phillips
and his father, who is a justice of the peace, generally appear in their
own manufacture, in imitation of the British."
[Illustration: SOUTH CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.]
"As to property, it seems so well secured from principle in the people
that there is not such use of locks and bolts as in England. Even where
I am, we have five out-door and sixty-two sash windows; yet all the
barage on the doors is a wood catch on the door-snek."...
"Oh, what a country has Britain lost by her folly! But this is too
large a field to dwell on in a letter; the subject, from even poor me,
would easily draw forth a volume."[E]
[E] Sketches of Andover, pp. 402-3.
Among the early students in Harvard College, from Andover, was one who
was destined to immortal renown. When the rebellious spirit against
England began to rise, Samuel Phillips, whose father, by the same name,
was then the representative to the General Court, was one of the most
earnest to fan the sacred flame. Choosing "Liberty" as the theme, while
in college he wrote: "We should watch against every encroachment, and
with the fortitude of calm, intrepid resolution oppose them. Unborn
generations will either bless us for our activity and magnanimity, or
curse us for our pusillanimity."
In 1775 he is chosen to represent the town in Provincial Congress, to be
held at the meeting-house in Watertown.
His great life-work now began, a work which will be more fully described
hereafter. In all the relations and duties of student, patriot, business
man, judge, lieutenant-governor, and founder of Phillips Academy, he won
for himself a good report, and helped to lay lasting foundations.
"Phillips School," as it was at first called, was opened April 30, 1778,
in a "rude building of one story about 30 x 25 feet, done off
temporarily in the plainest manner for the purpose, and not intended for
more than thirty or forty scholars." From this small beginning the
school has developed into the widely-famed Academy, which numbers more
than three thousand graduates, and under whose instruction have passed
about eleven thousand pupils. The limits of this article prevent a
notice of those alumni who have become justly famous, and also of the
very strong faculty of instructors, at whose head stands one of the
foremost of American educators, under whose wise direction Phillips is
fast becoming the synonyme of Rugby, and is already one of the important
sources of supply of student-life for Harvard and Yale.
In 1785 the "joiner's shop" gave place to a new academy, which stood
west of where Brechin Hall now stands, and which was burned in 1818. The
third academy, erected in the same year, is now used as the gymnasium.
In 1865 the present academy came into being. It is a noble structure,
with excellent facilities for educational work. Its spacious hall,
where occur the commencement exercises, and the annual contests for the
various prizes, is adorned by the portraits of many of the Academy's
illustrious dead.
The new laboratory is a part, already finished, of the proposed
building, for the use of the classes in the natural sciences.
For want of funds in hand, only the east wing has been built, and this
is now occupied by the class in analytical chemistry. When completed,
the building will be a beautiful and a convenient structure. The walls
will be of pressed brick laid in red mortar, with dark granite base, and
Nova Scotia sandstone trimmings. The roof will be covered with Monson
slate. The basement will be eleven feet high, mostly above ground, and
will serve for the force-pump, heating apparatus, and for rough storage.
The chemical laboratory will occupy the main floor, and will be a room
40 x 30 feet. Abundant light and air are to be supplied by windows on
three sides, and the system of ventilation will be excellent.
The advantages aimed at in this building are, ample space, freedom from
dampness, abundant light, the means of speedy and complete ventilation,
good drainage, a minimum of absorbing surfaces, and a minimum of fire
risk. The building, when completed, will have a small side-room for
books and balances, a private laboratory for the instructor in charge,
a spacious lecture-room, a drawing-room, cabinets for the various
collections in geology, mineralogy, etc., now inconveniently distant, a
dry store-room, also corridors, closets, and janitor's quarters,
complete.
The chaste and time-honored seal of Phillips Academy was the gift of
John Lowell and Oliver Wendell, the grandfathers of Oliver Wendell
Holmes; and probably, though not certainly, was engraved by Paul Revere.
In 1807 the "Class in Theology" became a distinct institution, the
first of the kind in the world, whose invested endowment now
reaches nearly a million dollars and which has graduated nearly
2,000 students. The Theological Seminary has passed her 75th
anniversary; yet, as a representative and defender of whatever is
most vigorous, active, and progressive in Christian orthodoxy, she
holds an aegis that is ageless, and a sceptre imperishable. And it
is said that no one man now living can read even the alphabets of
all the languages through which her sons have sought to interpret
the Word of God to the world. Previous to 1807 the Academy itself
did a most important work in educating young men for the Christian
ministry, and has contributed to the education of more clergymen
than any similar school. The Academy has also been a large feeder
of the Seminary and other theological schools, and for long periods
has graduated every year from five to fifteen young men who have
become ministers. Indeed the Academy has been called, not without
reason, itself a Seminary.[F]
[F] Prof. E. G. Coy, New Englander, July, 1885.
As another article will be written upon the founders and instructors of
the Seminary, we shall in this speak only of the buildings. At the north
end of the long, elm-shaded avenue stands the chapel. It is built in the
Gothic style, of Andover stone, trimmed with sandstone from Connecticut
and Ohio. It was dedicated in 1876, and is by far the most beautiful,
ecclesiastical structure in the town. The audience worshipping in it is
composed of professors and their families, the students of the
institutions, and a few families living near.
Then follow Phillips Hall and Bartlett Hall, and between them is
Bartlett Chapel, the two former serving as dormitories, and the latter
for lecture and recitation rooms. Nearly opposite the south end of the
avenue is the gymnasium, and in the foreground, nearer the main street,
is the imposing library building Brechin Hall.
Over three thousand students have been connected with this institution,
and the illustrations which accompany this article will awaken tender
and precious memories in the minds of many readers.
In 1830 it was determined to open a school in connection with Phillips
Academy, for the training of teachers. The Stone Academy was erected on
the square nearly opposite the present academy, and a dwelling-house,
also built of stone, was used as the workshop of the students. This
house afterwards became the residence of Prof. C. E. Stowe, D.D., and
his talented wife. It was while living here that she wrote her "Key to
Uncle Tom's Cabin," and received the kind and unkind notices of her
great work.
This school was discontinued in 1842, for lack of funds, and the
building was used as the head-quarters of the Academy,--the recitations
being made in what is now the gymnasium. About twenty years ago it was
burned, and the new academy erected.
Among the buildings in town which have been made historic is what is
known as "the old Andover Bookstore,"--so called to distinguish it from
the present publishing house. It stands on the top of the hill, is a
brick structure, and is now used as a dwelling-house.
The Andover Press has always been closely allied with the literary
institutions of the town. In 1809, but one year after the opening
of the Theological Seminary, Mark Newman, who for fourteen years
had been the eminently respected principal (the third) of Phillips
Academy, resigned his office and engaged in the book business, in
which he continued till near the close of his long life of nearly
eighty-seven years. He died in 1859. Four years after Dea. Newman
opened his bookstore, Flagg & Gould began the printing business, at
first printing for Dea. Newman and others, but soon for themselves
as publishers. The firm of Flagg & Gould remained unchanged for
twenty years. In 1833 they admitted as partner Mark H. Newman, son
of Dea. Newman. Mr. Flagg died the same year; Gould & Newman
continued the business till 1841. They were succeeded by Allen,
Morrill, & Wardwell in 1841, W. H. Wardwell in 1847, Flagg &
Wardwell in 1848, W. F. Draper in 1849.
The relations of the publishing business to the Seminary and the
enthusiasm for theological learning inspired by Prof. Stuart are
well illustrated in the title of Newcome's "Harmony of the
Gospels," published soon after Flagg & Gould opened their
printing-office: "A Harmony in Greek of the Gospels, with Notes, By
William Newcome, D.D., Dublin, 1778: Reprinted from the Text and
Select Various Readings of Griesbach, by the Junior Class in the
Theological Seminary at Andover, under the Superintendence of Moses
Stuart, Associate Professor of Sacred Literature in said Seminary.
Andover: Printed by Flagg and Gould. 1814." This was probably the
first book in Greek published here. Other books have occasionally
been published by the students of the Seminary. The first book in
Hebrew printed at the Andover Press was Stuart's Hebrew Grammar,
the Professor himself superintending the type-setting. Inspired by
his zeal, Dr. Codman, in 1821, gave to the Seminary $2,000 for the
purchase of type to be used for printing the Oriental languages, a
kind of work then new in this country hence the name "Codman
Press," which appears on the books of early date. Works or parts
of works were printed in as many as ten Eastern languages, a
speciality at Andover which has been continued to the present time.
Equally zealous in his department was Dr. Porter, President, and
Professor of Sacred Rhetoric, in directing the attention of the
clergy to the study of pulpit eloquence. He published largely on
that subject, some of his books attaining a very extensive sale.
Prof. Stuart also published here his Commentaries, some of which,
at the time, greatly agitated the theological world. They still
abide the test of time and survive among the fittest. Having
published as many as six editions of his own Hebrew Grammars, he
translated that of Gesenius, and, in connection with Dr. Robinson,
he translated also the first edition of Winer's New Testament Greek
Grammar, then a book of 176 pages, now, in its
seventh--Thayers--edition, one of 746 pages. Both of these works in
their greatly improved form still hold the foremost rank as
text-books in their respective departments.
Not far from one hundred and fifty different works of 8vo size,
some of them containing several volumes, among these the
"Bibliotheca Sacra," now entering on its forty-third year, until
lately edited by Prof. E. A. Park, one of its founders; over one
hundred and fifty books of 12mo and smaller sizes, and more than
two hundred pamphlets, have been published in Andover. Many of
these works were written here (also many others published
elsewhere), and were the outgrowth of the institutions of the
place.
At the centennial celebration of Phillips Academy, after speaking of the
literary industry of the faculty, it was said, "There have been forty
professors, but their wives and daughters, six women, have published
books which have had a circulation of at least a million copies."
The Punchard Free School was opened for instruction in 1856. It is
the High School of the town, founded and endowed by Mr. Benjamin H.
Punchard, who left the sum of $70,000 for the founding of a free school.
The school-house is beautifully situated on Punchard avenue, and
hundreds of Andover's boys and girls have received great benefit from
Mr. Punchard's wise generosity.
William G. Goldsmith, A.M., of Andover, who was the fourth principal,
and a graduate of Harvard College, was elected in 1858. He resigned in
1870, but was reelected in 1871, and served until his recent appointment
to the service of the Government. The universal respect and affection of
the numerous alumni of "Punchard" are the well-earned eulogy of his
faithful work.
Its character for good citizenship has never been lost by Andover. There
is a sensitiveness to evil and a vigilant eye for immoralities, which
form the best possible safeguards for a town's good name.
The policy of the town is at once conservative and progressive. The
majority sentiment is easily that of an intelligent class of people, who
earnestly seek true progress in all directions, but prefer that all
foolish experiments should be made by other communities.
The business of the town is such as the local demands would naturally
create, and in addition are the large manufacturing interests, at
Ballard Vale: the Tyer Rubber Company, the Stevens Mills of Marland
Village, and the Mills of Smith, Dove, & Co., the makers of the
well-known "Andover Thread." All these firms have secured such a
reputation for their goods that while a period of business depression
may lessen the profits it has little effect upon the number of hands
employed. The present population of Andover is 5,711. The growth of the
town is not rapid, but has been more so of late than formerly. The
student and business elements steadily increase, and the farm-houses in
the remote parts of the town are favorite summer resorts of such persons
as business connections keep close to Boston, but who wish to escape the
heat and noise of the city.
The number of voters is 893, and of a total vote of 468 upon the
question, "Shall licenses be granted for the sale of intoxicating
liquors in this town?" the recent declaration was Yes, 141, No, 327. The
desire for improvement in the town can easily be inferred from a
statement of the appropriations for the current year. They amounted to
$77,283.67, of which the following are items:--
_Voted_ to appropriate the following sums for the different
departments: For schools, $10,700; school-houses, $1,800;
school-books, $1,000; sidewalks, $1,000; removing snow, $800;
town-officers, $2,500; town-house, $600; fire department, $3,500;
street lamps, $950; printing and stationery, $500; Spring Grove
cemetery, and avails of sales of lots, $300; Memorial Day, $175;
State aid, $1,400; additional pay to soldiers, $600; almshouse
expenses, $4,500; almshouse, relief out of, $3,000; repairs on
almshouse, $500; hay-scales, $50; State tax, $6,000; county tax,
$6,000; adjustment of taxes, $500; discount on taxes, $2,000;
abatement | 2,292.759197 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration: DANIEL WEBSTER.
Engraved by Gustav Kruell; after a daguerreotype in the possession of
Josiah J. Hawes, Boston.]
SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE
PUBLISHED MONTHLY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME XXVI JULY-DECEMBER
1899
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & Co. LIMITED LONDON
Copyright, 1899,
By Charles Scribner's Sons.
Printed by
Trow Directory, Printing and Bookbinding Company,
New York, U. S. A.
CONTENTS
OF
SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE
VOLUME XXVI JULY-DECEMBER, 1899.
PAGE
ACCENT, A QUESTION OF. Point of View, 380
AGUINALDO'S CAPITAL--WHY MALOLOS
WAS CHOSEN, LIEUT.-COL. J. D. MILEY, 320
Illustrated with drawings by Jules Guerin and F. D.
Steele, from photographs.
"AMERICAN LANGUAGE, THE." Point of View, 762
AMERICAN SOCIETY AND THE ARTIST, ALINE GORREN, 628
AMERICAN URBANITIES. Point of View, 121
ANNE. A Story, MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, 116
ANTARCTIC, AMERICAN SEAMEN IN THE, ALBERT WHITE VORSE, 700
Illustrations drawn from photographs taken by Frederick
A. Cook, M.D., during the recent voyage of the "Belgica."
ANTARCTIC EXPLORATION, THE POSSIBILITIES OF,
FREDERICK A. COOK, M.D. (Of the "Belgica" Expedition), 705
With drawings from the author's photographs.
ARCHIBALD, JAMES F. J. _Havana Since the Occupation_, 86
ARCHITECTURE, THE USE AND ABUSE OF DECORATIVE CONVENTIONS
IN. Field of Art, FREDERIC CROWNINSHIELD, 381
ART IN THE SCHOOLS--FIRST CONSIDERATIONS. Field of Art, 509
ART IN THE SCHOOLS--THE NEW YORK PHOTOGRAPHS, 637
AUNT MINERVY ANN, THE CHRONICLES OF, JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.
IV. AN EVENING WITH THE KU-KLUX,
Illustrated by A. B. Frost, 34
V. HOW JESS WENT A-FIDDLIN', 310
VI. HOW SHE AND MAJOR PERDUE FRAILED OUT THE GOSSETT BOYS, 413
VII. HOW SHE JOINED THE GEORGIA LEGISLATURE, 439
AUTHOR'S STORY, AN, MAARTEN MAARTENS, 685
BALZAC, THE PARIS OF HONORE DE, BENJAMIN ELLIS MARTIN
and CHARLOTTE M. MARTIN, 588
Illustrated by J. Fulleylove,
BAXTER, SYLVESTER. _The Great November Storm of 1898_, 515
BIRRELL, AUGUSTINE. _John Wesley--Some Aspects of the
Eighteenth Century in England_, 753
BROWNE, WILLIAM MAYNADIER.
_The Royal Intent_, 496
_A Royal Ally_, 221
BROWNELL, W. C. _The Painting of George Butler_, 301
BUTLER, THE PAINTING OF GEORGE, W. C. BROWNELL, 301
With reproductions of Mr. Butler's work.
CAHAN, ABRAHAM. _Rabbi Eliezer's Christmas_, 661
CHANNING, GRACE ELLERY. _Francisco and Francisca_, 227
CHAT, E. G. _The Foreign Mail Service at New York_, 61
CHINON, ERNEST C. PEIXOTTO, 737
Illustrated by Mr. Peixotto,
COLTON, ARTHUR. _The Portate Ultimatum_, 713
COLVIN, SIDNEY. _See Stevenson Letters_.
COOK, FREDERICK A., M.D. _The Possibilities of
Antarctic Exploration_, 705
COPLEY BOY, A, CHARLES WARREN, 326
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn,
CROWNINSHIELD, FREDERIC. _The Use and Abuse of
Decorative Conventions in Architecture_, 381
CUBA. See _Havana Since the Occupation_.
DAVIS, RICHARD HARDING. _The Lion and the Unicorn_, 129
DEWEY RECEPTION IN NEW YORK, THE SCULPTURES OF THE,
Field of Art,
Illustrated from telephotographs by Dwight L. Elmendorf. 765
DREW, MRS. JOHN, AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HER SON, JOHN DREW--I.-II., 417, 553
Illustrations from photographs and prints in the
collections of Peter Gilsey, Douglas Taylor, and
John Drew, and from a Painting by Sully, engraved
by H. Wolf; with Biographical Notes by Douglas Taylor.
ELMENDORF, DWIGHT L. _Telephotography_, 457
ENGLISH VOICE ON THE AMERICAN STAGE. Point of View, 123
FIELD OF ART, THE.
Architecture, The Use and Abuse of Decorative Conventions
in, 381
Art in the Schools--First Considerations, 509
Art in the Schools--The New York Photographs, 637
Dewey Reception in New York, The Sculptures of the, 765
Modern House, One Way of Designing a, 125
Painters Who Express Themselves in Words, Concerning, 254
FRANCISCO AND FRANCISCA, GRACE ELLERY CHANNING, 277
Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark.
GIBSON, C. D. _The Seven Ages of American Women_, 669
GORREN, ALINE. _American Society and the Artist_, 628
GRANT, ROBERT. _Search-Light Letters_, 104, 364
HADLEY, ARTHUR T. _The Formation and the Control of
Trusts_, 604
HARRIS, JOEL CHANDLER. _The Chronicles of Aunt
Minervy Ann_, 34, 310, 413, 439
HAVANA SINCE THE OCCUPATION, JAMES F. J. ARCHIBALD, 86
Illustrated with drawings by Jules Guerin, E. C. Peixotto,
T. Chominski, and F. D. Steele, and from photographs.
HOAR, SENATOR GEORGE F. _Daniel Webster_, 74, 213
"HUNDRED THOUSAND COPIES, A." Point of View, 253
INANIMATE OBJECTS, ETIQUETTE TOWARD. Point of View, 636
IRLAND, FREDERIC. _Where the Water Runs Both Ways_, 259
JAPANESE FLOWER ARRANGEMENT, THEODORE WORES, 205
Illustrations from paintings by Mr. Wores.
KNOX, JUDSON. _The Man from the Machine_, 447
LA FARGE, JOHN. _Concerning Painters Who Express
Themselves in Words_, 254
LA FARGE, JOHN, RUSSELL STURGIS, 3
Illustrations from unpublished drawings and from paintings
by Mr. La Farge.
LION AND THE UNICORN, THE, RICHARD HARDING DAVIS, 129
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
MAARTENS, MAARTEN. _An Author's Story_, 685
MAIL SERVICE AT NEW YORK, THE FOREIGN, E. G. CHAT, 61
Illustrated by W. R. Leigh.
MAN FROM THE MACHINE, THE, JUDSON KNOX, 447
Illustrated by F. D. Steele.
MAN ON HORSEBACK, THE, WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE, 538
Illustrated by A. I. Keller.
MARTIN, BENJAMIN ELLIS AND CHARLOTTE M. _The Paris of
Honore de Balzac_, 588
MATTHEWS, BRANDER. _In the Small Hours_, 502
MAX--OR HIS PICTURE, OCTAVE THANET, 739
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
MILEY, LIEUT.-COL. J. D. _ | 2,292.761494 |
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by The Internet Archive)
THE BED-ROOM AND BOUDOIR.
[Illustration]
THE
BED-ROOM AND BOUDOIR.
BY
LADY BARKER.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1878.
[_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._]
_FIFTH THOUSAND._
LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.
PREFACE.
Too much attention can scarcely be expended on our sleeping rooms in
order that we may have them wholesome, convenient and cheerful. It is
impossible to over-estimate the value of refreshing sleep to busy
people, particularly to those who are obliged to do much brainwork. In
the following pages will, we hope, be found many hints with regard to
the sanitary as well as the ornamental treatment of the bed-room.
W. J. LOFTIE.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--AN IDEAL BED-ROOM--ITS WALLS 1
II.--CARPETS AND DRAPERIES 15
III.--BEDS AND BEDDING 26
IV.--WARDROBES AND CUPBOARDS 44
V.--FIRE AND WATER 57
VI.--THE TOILET 70
VII.--ODDS AND ENDS OF DECORATION 80
VIII.--THE SICK ROOM 94
IX.--THE SPARE ROOM 110
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
A CORNER WARDROBE _Frontispiece_
DUTCH BEDSTEAD 27
BEDSTEAD AND TOILET STAND 30
OAK BEDSTEAD 32
CHILDREN'S BEDSTEADS 37
AN INDIAN SCREEN 41
WARDROBE 45
ANTIQUE LOCK-UP 48
BUREAU 49
TRAVELLING CHEST OF DRAWERS 51
CHINESE CABINET 55
FIRE-PLACE 58
CHAIR AND TABLE 59
BEDSIDE TABLE 62
FIRE-PLACE 63
CANDLESTICK 65
FRENCH WASHING-STAND 66
CHINESE WASHING-STAND 67
CORNER-STAND 68
SHRINE "A LA DUCHESSE" 71
ANTIQUE TOILET TABLE 72
CHEST OF DRAWERS 73
A SIMPLE TOILET TABLE 76
CANE ARM-CHAIR 81
CANE SOFA 82
OAK SETTLE 83
LARGE ARM-CHAIR 84
CORNER FOR PIANO 85
PRINT-STAND 88
SOUTH AMERICAN PITCHER 91
INVALID TABLE 107
DESK 112
THE
BED-ROOM AND BOUDOIR.
CHAPTER I.
AN IDEAL BED-ROOM.--ITS WALLS.
It is only too easy to shock some people, and at the risk of shocking
many of my readers at the outset, I must declare that very few bed-rooms
are so built and furnished as to remain thoroughly _sweet_, fresh, and
airy all through the night. This is not going so far as others however.
Emerson repeats an assertion he once heard made by Thoreau, the American
so-called "Stoic,"--whose senses by the way seem to have been
preternaturally acute--that "by night every dwelling-house gives out a
bad air, like a slaughter-house." As this need not be a necessary
consequence of sleeping in a room, it remains to be discovered why one's
first impulse on entering a bed-room in the morning should either be to
open the windows, or to wish the windows were open. Every one knows how
often this is the case, not only in small, low, ill-contrived houses in
a town, but even in very spacious dwellings, standing too amid all the
fragrant possibilities of the open country. It is a very easy solution
of the difficulty to say that we ought always to sleep with our windows
wide open. The fact remains that many people cannot do so; it is a
risk--nay, a certainty--of illness to some very young children, to many
old people, and to nearly all invalids. In a large room the risk is
diminished, because there would be a greater distance between the bed
and window, or a space for a sheltering screen. Now, in a small room,
where fresh air is still more essential and precious, the chances are
that the window might open directly on the bed, which would probably
stand in a draught between door and fireplace as well.
I take it for granted that every one understands the enormous importance
of having a fireplace in each sleeping-room in an English house, for the
sake of the ventilation afforded by the chimney. And even then a sharp
watch must be kept on the house-maid, who out of pure "cussedness"
(there is no other word for it) generally | 2,292.864935 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
JULY & AUGUST
1662
July 1st. To the office, and there we sat till past noon, and then
Captain Cuttance and I by water to Deptford, where the Royal James (in
which my Lord went out the last voyage, though [he] came back in the
Charles) was paying off by Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen. So to dinner,
where I had Mr. Sheply to dine with us, and from thence I sent to my Lord
to know whether she should be a first rate, as the men would have her, or
a second. He answered that we should forbear paying the officers and such
whose pay differed upon the rate of the ship, till he could speak with his
Royal Highness. To the Pay again after dinner, and seeing of Cooper, the
mate of the ship, whom I knew in the Charles, I spoke to him about
teaching the mathematiques, and do please myself in my thoughts of
learning of him, and bade him come to me in a day or two. Towards evening
I left them, and to Redriffe by land, Mr. Cowly, the Clerk of the Cheque,
with me, discoursing concerning the abuses of the yard, in which he did
give me much light. So by water home, and after half an hour sitting
talking with my wife, who was afeard I did intend to go with my Lord to
fetch the Queen mother over, in which I did clear her doubts, I went to
bed by daylight, in order to my rising early to-morrow.
2nd. Up while the chimes went four, and to put down my journal, and so to
my office, to read over such instructions as concern the officers of the
Yard; for I am much upon seeing into the miscarriages there. By and by,
by appointment, comes Commissioner Pett; and then a messenger from Mr.
Coventry, who sits in his boat expecting us, and so we down to him at the
Tower, and there took water all, and to Deptford (he in our passage taking
notice how much difference there is between the old Captains for obedience
and order, and the King's new Captains, which I am very glad to hear him
confess); and there we went into the Store-house, and viewed first the
provisions there, and then his books, but Mr. Davis himself was not there,
he having a kinswoman in the house dead, for which, when by and by I saw
him, he do trouble himself most ridiculously, as if there was never
another woman in the world; in which so much laziness, as also in the
Clerkes of the Cheque and Survey (which after one another we did examine),
as that I do not perceive that there is one-third of their duties
performed; but I perceive, to my great content, Mr. Coventry will have
things reformed. So Mr. Coventry to London, and Pett and I to the Pay,
where Sir Williams both were paying off the Royal James still, and so to
dinner, and to the Pay again, where I did relieve several of my Lord
Sandwich's people, but was sorry to see them so peremptory, and at every
word would, complain to my Lord, as if they shall have such a command over
my Lord. In the evening I went forth and took a walk with Mr. Davis, and
told him what had passed at his office to-day, and did give him my advice,
and so with the rest by barge home and to bed
3rd. Up by four o'clock and to my office till 8 o'clock, writing over two
copies of our contract with Sir W. Rider, &c., for 500 ton of hempe,
which, because it is a secret, I have the trouble of writing over as well
as drawing. Then home to dress myself, and so to the office, where
another fray between Sir R. Ford and myself about his yarn, wherein I find
the board to yield on my side, and was glad thereof, though troubled that
the office should fall upon me of disobliging Sir Richard. At noon we all
by invitation dined at the Dolphin with the Officers of the Ordnance;
where Sir W. Compton, Mr. O'Neale,'and other great persons, were, and a
very great dinner, but I drank as I still do but my allowance of wine.
After dinner, was brought to Sir W. Compton a gun to discharge seven
times, the best of all devices that ever I saw, and very serviceable, and
not a bawble; for it is much approved of, and many thereof made. Thence
to my office all the afternoon as long as I could see, about setting many
businesses in order. In the evening came Mr. Lewis to me, and very
ingeniously did enquire whether I ever did look into the business of the
Chest at Chatham;
[Pepys gives some particulars about the Chest on November 13th,
1662. "The Chest at Chatham was originally planned by Sir Francis
Drake and Sir John Hawkins in 1588, after the defeat of the Armada;
the seamen voluntarily agreed to have 'defalked' out of their wages
certain sums to form a fund for relief. The property became
considerable, as well as the abuses, and in 1802 the Chest was
removed to Greenwich. In 1817, the stock amounted to L300,000
Consols."--Hist. of Rochester, p. 346.--B.]
and after my readiness to be informed did appear to him, he did produce a
paper, wherein he stated the government of the Chest to me; and upon the
whole did tell me how it hath ever been abused, and to this day is; and
what a meritorious act it would be to look after it; which I am resolved
to do, if God bless me; and do thank him very much for it. So home, and
after a turn or two upon the leads with my wife, who has lately had but
little of my company, since I begun to follow my business, but is
contented therewith since she sees how I spend my time, and so to bed.
4th. Up by five o'clock, and after my journall put in order, to my office
about my business, which I am resolved to follow, for every day I see what
ground I get by it. By and by comes Mr. Cooper, mate of the Royall
Charles, of whom I intend to learn mathematiques, and do begin with him
to-day, he being a very able man, and no great matter, I suppose, will
content him. After an hour's being with him at arithmetique (my first
attempt being to learn the multiplication-table); then we parted till
to-morrow. And so to my business at my office again till noon, about
which time Sir W. Warren did come to me about business, and did begin to
instruct me in the nature of fine timber and deals, telling me the nature
of every sort; and from that we fell to discourse of Sir W. Batten's
corruption and the people that he employs, and from one discourse to
another of the kind. I was much pleased with his company, and so staid
talking with him all alone at my office till 4 in the afternoon, without
eating or drinking all day, and then parted, and I home to eat a bit, and
so back again to my office; and toward the evening came Mr. Sheply, who is
to go out of town to-morrow, and so he and I with much ado settled his
accounts with my Lord, which, though they be true and honest, yet so
obscure, that it vexes me to see in what manner they are kept. He being
gone, and leave taken of him as of a man likely not to come to London
again a great while, I eat a bit of bread and butter, and so to bed. This
day I sent my brother Tom, at his request, my father's old Bass Viall
which he and I have kept so long, but I fear Tom will do little good at
it.
5th. To my office all the morning, to get things ready against our
sitting, and by and by we sat and did business all the morning, and at
noon had Sir W. Pen, who I hate with all my heart for his base treacherous
tricks, but yet I think it not policy to declare it yet, and his son
William, to my house to dinner, where was also Mr. Creed and my cozen
Harry Alcocke. I having some venison given me a day or two ago, and so I
had a shoulder roasted, another baked, and the umbles
[The umbles are the liver, kidneys, and other portions of the inside
of the deer. They were usually made into pies, and old cookery
books contain directions for the making of 'umble pies.']
baked in a pie, and all very well done. We were merry as I could be in
that company, and the more because I would not seem otherwise to Sir W.
Pen, he being within a day or two to go for Ireland. After dinner he and
his son went away, and Mr. Creed would, with all his rhetoric, have
persuaded me to have gone to a play; and in good earnest I find my nature
desirous to have gone, notwithstanding my promise and my business, to
which I have lately kept myself so close, but I did refuse it, and I hope
shall ever do so, and above all things it is considerable that my mind was
never in my life in so good a condition of quiet as it has been since I
have followed my business and seen myself to get greater and greater
fitness in my employment, and honour every day more than other. So at my
office all the afternoon, and then my mathematiques at night with Mr.
Cooper, and so to supper and to bed.
6th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed to-day with my wife merry and pleasant,
and then rose and settled my accounts with my wife for housekeeping, and
do see that my kitchen, besides wine, fire, candle, sope, and many other
things, comes to about 30s. a week, or a little over. To church, where
Mr. Mills made a lazy sermon. So home to dinner, where my brother Tom
dined with me, and so my wife and I to church again in the afternoon, and
that done I walked to the Wardrobe and spent my time with Mr. Creed and
Mr. Moore talking about business; so up to supper with my Lady [Sandwich],
who tells me, with much trouble, that my Lady Castlemaine is still as
great with the King, and that the King comes as often to her as ever he
did, at which, God forgive me, I am well pleased. It began to rain, and so
I borrowed a hat and cloak of Mr. Moore and walked home, where I found
Captain Ferrer with my wife, and after speaking a matter of an hour with
him he went home and we all to bed. Jack Cole, my old friend, found me out
at the Wardrobe; and, among other things, he told me that certainly most
of the chief ministers of London would fling up their livings; and that,
soon or late, the issue thereof would be sad to the King and Court.
7th. Up and to my office early, and there all the morning alone till
dinner, and after dinner to my office again, and about 3 o'clock with my
wife by water to Westminster, where I staid in the Hall while my wife went
to see her father and mother, and she returning we by water home again,
and by and by comes Mr. Cooper, so he and I to our mathematiques, and so
supper and to bed. My morning's work at the office was to put the new
books of my office into order, and writing on the backsides what books
they be, and transcribing out of some old books some things into them.
8th. At the office all the morning and dined at home, and after dinner in
all haste to make up my accounts with my Lord, which I did with some
trouble, because I had some hopes to have made a profit to myself in this
account and above what was due to me (which God forgive me in), but I
could not, but carried them to my Lord, with whom they passed well. So to
the Wardrobe, where alone with my Lord above an hour; and he do seem still
to have his old confidence in me; and tells me to boot, that Mr. Coventry
hath spoke of me to him to great advantage; wherein I am much pleased. By
and by comes in Mr. Coventry to visit my Lord; and so my Lord and he and I
walked together in the great chamber a good while; and I found | 2,292.958212 |
2023-11-16 18:55:16.9382230 | 2,839 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
FANNY CAMPBELL, THE FEMALE PIRATE CAPTAIN
A Tale Of The Revolution
By Maturin Murray Ballou
1844
NEW YORK:
E. D LONG & CO., BOOKSELLER
PREFACE.
All books should have a preface, for the writer is sure to have
something to communicate to the reader concerning the plot of the story
or some subject relating to it which he cannot do in the tale. It is a
sort of confidential communication between the author and reader,
whom he takes by the buttonhole for a single moment, and endeavors to
prepossess favorably towards his story. We are one of those who place
great confidence in first impressions, and therefore design that the
reader should at least commence our tale unprejudiced. He will see at
a glance that our publisher has passed his judgment in commendation, by
the superb manner in which he has issued the work, and the great expense
incurred.
We have a few words to say concerning the subject matter of the tale. It
is a very romantic one, but no more so than many others, the incidents
of which occurred during the stirring times of the Revolution, and
which have since received the sanction of history. We have been at some
considerable expense in ferreting out the events of our tale, which have
been cheerfully met by our liberal publisher.
FANNY CAMPBELL.
CHAPTER I.
_LYNN IN OLDEN TIMES. HIGH ROCK. THE FISHING HAMLET. THE STIRRING EVENTS
THAT PRECEDED THE REVOLUTION. SOME OF OUR CHARACTERS. WILLIAM LOVELL.
FANNY CAMPBELL. THE HEROINE. CAPTAIN RALPH BURNET OF THE ROYAL NAVY. A
LOVER’S JEALOUSY._
|The town of Lynn, Massachusetts, situated up the Atlantic sea board,
at a distance of some ten miles from the metropolis of New England, has
been the locale of many an incident of a most romantic character. Indeed
its history abounds with matter more akin to romance than fact. There
are here the Pirate’s Cave, Lover’s Leap, the Robber’s Dungeon, all
within a pistol shot of each other. The story of its early Indian
history is also of a most interesting character, and altogether the
place is one destined to be immortal from these causes alone.
In that part of the town known as ‘Wood End,’ there is an immense pile
of stone rising perpendicularly on the side of a hill, fronting the
ocean, known far and near by the name of High Rock. This granite mass
is very peculiarly formed; the front rising abruptly nearly an hundred
feet, while the back is deeply imbedded in the rising ground and the
summit forms a plain level with the height of the hill and the adjoining
plain in the rear. This spot has long been celebrated for the extended
and beautiful prospect it affords. From its top which overlooks
rock-bound Nahant in a Southerly direction, may be had a noble view of
the Atlantic, and a breadth of coast nearly thirty miles in width. There
is no spot upon our shores where the sea plays a wilder or more solemn
dirge than on the rocky peninsula of Nahant; the long connecting beach
is here a scene of angry commotion from the constant and heavy swells of
the broad ocean.
At a distance of about ten miles in the South-West lies Boston. The
eye always rests upon the dense smoke that enshrouds it first, piercing
which, loom up the spires of its numerous churches, and towering above
them all, the noble State House is distinctly seen. Turn still more to
the West and you overlook the principal portion of the manufacturing
town of Lynn, with its picturesque collection of white cottages and
factories, appearing of miniature dimensions. Turn again towards the
North West and a few miles beyond the town of Lynn, lies the thriving
little village of Saugus. A full Northern view is one of woody beauty,
being a field of forest tops of almost boundless extent. In the
North-East through the opening hills and trees, a glimpse is had of the
water in Salem harbor, while the city itself is hid from view, reminding
one of the distant view of the Adriatic from the lofty Appenines, which
rise from the very gates of the lovely city of Florence.
This is a slight glance at the extended prospect to be enjoyed by a
visit to High Rock, at the present day, saying nothing of the pretty
quiet little fishing village of Swampscot, and the panorama of sailing
craft that always ornament the sea view.
Near the base of the rock there resided until a few years since the
celebrated fortune-teller, known by the name of ‘Moll Pitcher,’ a
soubriquet given her by the town’s people, her rightful name never
having been ascertained. She lived to a remarkable old age, and to the
day of her death the visitor who ‘crossed her palm with broad pieces,’
was sure to receive in return, some truthful or fictitious legend of
the neighborhood. There are many among us to this day who remember with
pleasure their visits to the strange old fortune-teller of Lynn, at the
base of High Rock.
We have been thus particular in the description of this spot as it is
the birth-place of two persons who will bear an important part in the
tale we are about to relate, and partly, because we love this spot where
we have whiled away many an hour of our boyish days. The peculiarities
of one’s birth-place have much influence upon formation of the character
and disposition. The associations that hang about us in childhood, have
double weight upon our tender and susceptible minds at that time, to
those of after days, when the character is more formed and matured, and
the mind has become more stern and inflexible. It behoves us then to
speak thus particularly of the birth-place and the associations of those
who are to enact the principal characters in the drama which we relate.
There lived at the very base of High Rock about seventy years ago, a
few families of the real puritanic stock, forming a little community of
themselves. The occupation of the male portion of the hamlet was that
of fishermen, while the time of the females was occupied in drying and
preserving the fish and such other domestic labor as fell to their lot.
The neighborhood, resembled in every particular, save that it was far
less extensive, the present town of Swampscot, which is situated but
about three or four miles from the very spot we are now describing, and
whose inhabitants, a hardy and industrious people, are absolutely to
this day ‘fishermen all.’
The date to which we refer was just at the commencement of the principal
causes of difference between the colonies and the mother country; the
time when shrewd and thoughtful men foretold the coming struggle between
England and her North American dependances. Already had the opposition
of the colonies to the odious Stamp Act, and more particularly the
people of Massachusetts Bay, as Boston and the neighboring province was
named, become so spirited and universal that the British Parliament had
only the alternative to compel submission or repeal the act, which
was at length reluctantly done. Yet the continued acts of arbitrary
oppression enforced by parliament upon the people, such as the passing
of laws that those of the colonists charged with capital crimes, should
be sent to England to be tried by a jury of strangers, and like odious
and unconstitutional enactments had driven the people to despair, and
prepared them by degrees for the after startling events that caused all
Europe to wonder and England herself to tremble!
The State Street massacre, the celebrated tea scene, in which the
indignant inhabitants of Boston discharged three hundred and fifty
chests of tea into the water of the bay, the thousand petty acts of
tyranny practised by the soldiers of the crown; the Boston Port Bill
blockading the harbor of Boston, all followed in quick succession, each
being but the stepping stone to the great events to follow. These
were the scenes at Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, and the many
well-contested and bloody fields of the Revolution, until these United
States of America were acknowledged to be _free and independent!_
The bold and adventurous characters of the men were affected as well by
the times we have described, as by the hardy nature of their employment.
The dangers that often times surrounded the homes of the females, gave
rise to a stern and manly disposition even in those of the gentler sex
who formed a part of the community, and altogether it was made up of
stern and dauntless spirits. There was at the commencement of our
tale about the year 1773, two families who occupied one spacious and
comfortable cottage in the little neighborhood we have described.
These were the families of Henry Campbell, and William Lovell, both
fishermen, who sailed a staunch fishing craft together. Their families
consisted of their wives and an only child each-William and Fanny, and
it was the honest hope and promise of the parents that the children when
arrived at a proper age should be united to each other. Nor were the
betrothed on their part any way loth to such an agreement, for they
loved each other with an affection that had grown with their years from
earliest childhood. The course of true love seemed certain to run smooth
with them at least, the old adage to the contrary notwithstanding.
William had been brought up almost entirely on board his father’s
vessel, and he was as good a sailor as experience in this way could
make. He was now nineteen, with a firm, vigorous, manly form, and an
easy and gentlemanly bearing; his face when one came to be familiar
with it, was decidedly handsome; showing forth a spirit that spurned all
danger He was young, ardent and imaginative, and could but poorly brook
the confinement of his father’s occupation, which engaged much of his
time; his generous and ambitious mind aspiring to some higher calling
than that of an humble fisherman He was but little on shore, save in the
severe winters that come early and stay late in these northern latitudes;
but then this season was looked forward to with pleasure by all. The
long winter evenings were spent happily with Fanny, as she industriously
pursued some female occupation, while he perhaps read aloud some
instructive book or interesting tale, or they listened to some story
of the old French and Indian war from their parents, who had been
participators in their dangers and hardships. Then the subject of the
present state of the prospects and interests of the colonies, and the
oppression of the home government, were also fully discussed. Thus the
time had passed away until William had reached his nineteenth year,
when he resolved to make a bold push for fortune, as he said, and after
obtaining permission which was reluctantly granted by his parents, he
made arrangements to ship from Boston to some foreign clime as a
sailor. A distant voyage in those days was an adventure indeed, and
comparatively seldom undertaken.
William Lovell had been to Boston and shipped on board a merchant vessel
for the West Indies and from thence to some more distant port, and had
now returned to the cottage to put up his little bundle of clothes and
bid farewell to his old companions and friends, and to say good-bye
to his parents and her whom he loved with an affection that found no
parallel among those with whom he had associated. It was this very love
which had given birth to the ambition that actuated him, and the desire
to acquire experience and pecuniary competency.
It was the evening before he was to sail, a mild summers night, when
with Fanny he sought the summit of High rock. They seated themselves
upon the rough stone seat, hewn from the solid rock by the hand of the
red man, or perhaps by some race anterior even to them, and long and
silently did both gaze off upon the distant sea. It was very calm, and
the gentle waves but just kissed the rocky borders of Valiant and threw
up little jets of silver spray about the black mass of Egg Bock. The
moon seemed to be embroidering fancy patterns of silver lace upon the
blue ocean, which scarcely moved, so gentle were the swells of its broad
bosom under the fairy operation. This was some seventy years gone by,
years of toil and labor, of joy and sorrow, years of smiling peace and
angry war, three score and ten years ago, and yet within a twelve month
I have sat upon that rock, aye, upon that very stone, and looked upon
the same silvery sea, and viewed the same still, silvery scene; gazing
on the same iron-bound shores, and the black and frowning mass of
Egg Rock still there, as if placed a sentinel upon the shore, and yet
sufficiently within the domain of Neptune to lead to the belief | 2,292.958263 |
2023-11-16 18:55:16.9402730 | 938 | 13 | JANUARY, 1861***
E-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. VII.--JANUARY, 1861.--NO. XXXIX.
WASHINGTON CITY.
Washington is the paradise of paradoxes,--a city of magnificent
distances, but of still more magnificent discrepancies. Anything may be
affirmed of it, everything denied. What it seems to be it is not; and
although it is getting to be what it never was, it must always remain
what it now is. It might be called a city, if it were not alternately
populous and uninhabited; and it would be a wide-spread village, if it
were not a collection of hospitals for decayed or callow politicians. It
is the hybernating-place of fashion, of intelligence, of vice,--a resort
without the attractions of waters either mineral or salt, where there is
no bathing and no springs, but drinking in abundance and gambling in
any quantity. Defenceless, as regards walls, redoubts, moats, or other
fortifications, it is nevertheless the Sevastopol of the Republic,
against which the allied army of Contractors and Claim-Agents
incessantly lay siege. It is a great, little, splendid, mean,
extravagant, poverty-stricken barrack for soldiers of fortune and
votaries of folly.
Scattered helter-skelter over an immense surface, cut up into scalene
triangles, the oddity of its plan makes Washington a succession of
surprises which never fail to vex and astonish the stranger, be he ever
so highly endowed as to the phrenological bump of locality. Depending
upon the hap-hazard start the ignoramus may chance to make, any
particular house or street is either nearer at hand or farther off than
the ordinary human mind finds it agreeable to believe. The first duty of
the new-comer is to teach his nether extremities to avoid instinctively
the hypothenuse of the street-triangulation, and the last lesson the
resident fails to learn is which of the shortcuts from point to point
is the least lengthy. Beyond a doubt, the corners of the streets were
constructed upon a cold and brutal calculation of the greatest possible
amount of oral sin which disappointed haste and irritated anxiety are
capable of committing; nor is any relief to the tendency to profanity
thus engendered afforded by the inexcusable nomenclature of the streets
and avenues,--a nomenclature in which the resources of the alphabet, the
arithmetic, the names of all the States of the Union, and the Presidents
as well, are exhausted with the most unsystematic profligacy. A man not
gifted with supernatural acuteness, in striving to get from Brown's
Hotel to the General Post-Office, turns a corner and suddenly finds
himself nowhere, simply because he is everywhere,--being at the instant
upon three separate streets and two distinct avenues. And, as a further
consequence of the scalene arrangement of things, it happens that the
stranger in Washington, however civic his birth and education may have
been, is always unconsciously performing those military evolutions
styled marching to the right or left oblique,--acquiring thereby, it is
said, that obliquity of the moral vision--which sooner or later afflicts
every human being who inhabits this strange, lop-sided city-village.
So queer, indeed, is Washington City in every aspect, that one
newly impressed by its incongruities is compelled to regard Swift's
description of Lilliputia and Sydney Smith's account of Australia as
poor attempts at fun. For, leaving out of view the pigmies of the former
place, whose like we know is never found in Congress, what is there in
that Australian bird with the voice of a jackass to excite the feeblest
interest in the mind of a man who has listened to the debates on Kansas?
or what marvel is an amphibian with the bill of a duck to him who has
gazed aghast at the intricate anatomy of the bill of English? It is true
that the ignorant Antipodes, with a total disregard of all theories | 2,292.960313 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE METAPHYSIC
OF
CHRISTIANITY
AND
BUDDHISM.
_A SYMPHONY._
BY
MAJOR-GENERAL DAWSONNE M. STRONG, C.B.
(_Late Indian Army_),
AUTHOR OF "SELECTIONS FROM THE BOSTĀN OF SÂDI,
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE."
"Let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon."--_Bible._
LONDON:
WATTS & CO., 17, JOHNSON'S COURT, FLEET ST.
1899.
LOVINGLY DEDICATED
TO
MY WIFE
IN MEMORY OF OUR SOJOURN
IN
THE EAST.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
I. JESUS AND GOTAMA 1
II. GOD AND THE KOSMOS 33
III. SOUL, SELF, INDIVIDUALITY, AND KARMA 55
IV. HEAVEN AND NIRVANA 82
V. SOME CONCLUDING REMARKS 103
AT THE MALAGAWA TEMPLE, CEYLON 113
APPENDIX:--METRICAL ADAPTATIONS OF BUDDHISTIC
LEGEND AND SCRIPTURE:--
1. The Last Words of Gotama Buddha to his
Favourite Disciple Ananda 115
2. Samsâra and Nirvana 116
3. Rejoice 118
4. The Goal 120
5. Buddha and the Herdsman 123
6. Buddha and the King 126
INTRODUCTION.
"Si notre foi diffère quant à la forme et aux dogmes, nos âmes restent
toujours d'accord sur un principe éternel et divin."--GEORGE SANDS.
An immense difficulty has to be encountered by those who have been
deeply impressed by the value and beauty of Christianity when they are
called upon to consider the claims of other faiths. Anyone who has had
within his experience and under his observation such an exceptional
case as that of a sincere Christian who, from childhood to old age,
has set before him the ideal Christ and the Christian conception of an
all-compassionate Father--a Christian whose inner light has been so
pure that no darkness of doubt has ever dimmed it, and no doctrinal
warfare has ever stained its radiance--he, I contend, has an almost
insuperable obstacle to overcome when he attempts to associate holiness
and purity, of the same supreme order, with the followers of other
religious systems which have been formulated for the comfort and
salvation of humanity.
It is doubtful if any ordinary adherent of the Christian faith, however
extensive his sympathies towards persons outside his own flock, has
ever been able to pass this barrier, which always seems to interpose
itself when search is made for a common bond of union with an alien
belief.
A man may have lived many a year in the East, and witnessed there, with
deep appreciation, the purity, the endurance, the touching self-denial
of the devout peasantry, and the beautiful charity of the poor towards
the poor; or he may have associated with saintly ascetics in India,
and with the yellow-robed and gentle _religieux_ of Ceylon; he may
have surveyed the famous temple of that fair island, in the intense
stillness of a tropical night, till all identity of self seemed to
vanish in the solemnity of the surroundings, and the only sound was
that of a monk's intoning voice heard from within the dungeon-like
apertures of the building, and the only light that of the fitful
fireflies amid the lofty and drooping foliage;--yet, in each and all of
these experiences, that aroma of holiness, so perceptible at times in
our own religious atmosphere, would somehow seem strangely absent to
the unacclimatized senses, and no halo would be distinguishable by a
vision which had been restricted by prejudice.
Still more difficult is it to rise to the same height of reverence
for a saintly and surpassing personality if it is presented in
sacred records other than those to which one has owned a prior
allegiance. Nevertheless, the discovery in other religious systems of
a correspondence with one's own particular persuasion must assuredly
tend towards the attainment of that attitude of mind commended by St.
Paul of "being all things to all men." To pave the way towards the
acquisition of this mental posture in relation to religious concepts is
the main object I have had in view in composing this small book.
It has been said that no age has more needed a departure in this
direction than our own. "On the one hand, sectarian hatred and
dogmatism almost obscure the great truths _common_ to all mankind; on
the other, merciless and destructive criticism, in undermining much
that used to be generally accepted, seems at times to threaten even the
foundations of truth."
Some people, however, maintain that there is an appreciable value
to be attached to all dogmatic declarations, and that those who are
working in strictly-confined theological grooves are contributing, as
specialists, to a knowledge of the whole. Even if these workers are
possessed of all the uncharitable qualities sometimes attributed to
the narrow-minded, yet they may be held deserving of encouragement
in view of the probability that the more their limited ideas become
exposed to the light by their enthusiastic endeavours to assert them as
final truth, the sooner will their imperfections be obliterated. The
fragmentary opinions they cling to will then be discovered to possess
no value except as constituent elements of the whole.
Others go the length of advocating that the flames of bigotry should be
fanned to furnace-heat in order that the feeding fuel may be the more
rapidly consumed.
In any case, the more apparent it becomes that every religion worthy
of the name springs from a root common to all, and is really, at
bottom, the one true cosmic religion, and that the variations are
superficial and unimportant in themselves, the greater will be the
advantages accruing to humanity in the political, social, and moral
spheres. In other words, the advantage to be derived from the study of
the obscure phases of religions lies in this--that, in so doing, our
minds are better able to grasp the solidarity of religious thought and
aspirations throughout the world. We are enabled to see more clearly
that all religious forms, and even formless philosophies, however crude
and idolatrous the former may appear to people of wide culture, and
however mystical and evasive the latter may be regarded by those of
narrow vision, are but the effects of one cause common to all.
When we have got rid, Buddhistically, of the idea of separateness,
or, in a Christian sense, have exercised self-suppression, we can
then proceed to eliminate the notion of separateness in religions and
philosophies. Thus, whether we are Determinists or Indeterminists,
we shall experience the sensation that, according to the law of
development, it is in the scheme of things for us to struggle forward
on our several paths, not in antipathy to, | 2,293.058855 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1848. NO. 4.
JACOB JONES.
OR THE MAN WHO COULDN'T GET ALONG IN THE WORLD.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
Jacob Jones was clerk in a commission store at a salary of five
hundred dollars a year. He was just twenty-two, and had been receiving
this salary for two years. Jacob had no one to care for but himself;
but, somehow or other, it happened that he did not lay up any money,
but, instead, usually had from fifty to one hundred dollars standing
against him on the books of his tailors.
"How much money have you laid by, Jacob?" said one day the merchant
who employed him. This question came upon Jacob rather suddenly; and
coming from the source that it did, was not an agreeable one--for the
merchant was a very careful and economical man.
"I havn't laid by any thing yet," replied Jacob, with a slight air of
embarrassment.
"You havn't!" said the merchant, in surprise. "Why what have you done
with your money?"
"I've spent it, somehow or other."
"It must have been somehow or other, I should think, or somehow else,"
returned the employer, half seriously, and half playfully. "But
really, Jacob, you are a very thoughtless young man to waste your
money."
"I don't think I _waste_ my money," said Jacob.
"What, then, have you done with it?" asked the merchant.
"It costs me the whole amount of my salary to live."
The merchant shook his head.
Then you live extravagantly for a young man of your age and condition.
How much do you pay for boarding?"
"Four dollars a week."
"Too much by from fifty cents to a dollar. But, even paying that sum,
four more dollars per week ought to meet fully all your other
expenses, and leave you what would amount to nearly one hundred
dollars per annum to lay by. I saved nearly two hundred dollars a year
on a salary no larger than you receive."
"I should like very much to know how you did it. I can't save a cent;
in fact, I hardly ever have ten dollars in my pocket."
"Where does your money go, Jacob? In what way do you spend a hundred
dollars a year more than is necessary?"
"They are spent, I know; and that is pretty much all I can tell about
it," replied Jacob.
"You can certainly tell by your private account book."
"I don't keep any private account, sir."
"You don't?" in surprise.
"No, sir. What's the use? My salary is five hundred dollars a year,
and wouldn't be any more nor less if I kept an account of every half
cent of it."
"Humph!"
The merchant said no more. His mind was made up about his clerk. The
fact that he spent five hundred dollars a year, and kept no
private account, was enough for him.
"He'll never be any good to himself nor anybody else. Spend his whole
salary--humph! Keep no private account--humph!"
This was the opinion held of Jacob Jones by his employer from that
day. The reason why he had inquired as to how much money he had saved,
was this. He had a nephew, a poor young man, who, like Jacob, was a
clerk, and showed a good deal of ability for business. His salary was
rather more than what Jacob received, and, like Jacob, he spent it
all; but not on himself. He supported, mainly, his mother and a
younger brother and sister. A good chance for a small, but safe
beginning, was seen by the uncle, which would require only about a
thousand dollars as an investment. In his opinion it would be just
the thing for Jacob and the nephew. Supposing that Jacob had four or
five hundred dollars laid by, it was his intention, if he approved of
the thing, to furnish his nephew with a like sum, in order to join him
and enter into business. But the acknowledgment of Jacob that he had
not saved a dollar, and that he kept no private account, settled | 2,293.059816 |
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Proofreaders
THE AEROPLANE BOYS FLIGHT
Or A Hydroplane Roundup
By JOHN LUTHER LANGWORTHY
MADE IN U.S.A.
M.A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
CHICAGO NEW YORK
1914
CONTENTS
Chapter
I--THE BOY FLIERS
II--ON GUARD
III--NOT CAUGHT NAPPING
IV--THE STARTLING NEWS
V--THE EXCITEMENT GROWS
VI--FIGURING IT ALL OUT
VII--THE AIR SCOUTS
VIII--JUST BELOW THE CLOUDS
IX--THE PILOT OF THE MERMAID
X--HEARD OVER THE WIRE
XI--COMPARING NOTES
| 2,293.159167 |
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Produced by David Widger
INNOCENTS ABROAD
by Mark Twain
[From an 1869--1st Edition]
Part 1.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Popular Talk of the Excursion--Programme of the Trip--Duly Ticketed for
the Excursion--Defection of the Celebrities
CHAPTER II.
Grand Preparations--An Imposing Dignitary--The European Exodus
--Mr. Blucher's Opinion--Stateroom No. 10--The Assembling of the Clans
--At Sea at Last
CHAPTER III.
"Averaging" the Passengers--Far, far at Sea.--Tribulation among the
Patriarchs--Seeking Amusement under Difficulties--Five Captains in the
Ship
CHAPTER IV.
The Pilgrims Becoming Domesticated--Pilgrim Life at Sea
--"Horse-Billiards"--The "Synagogue"--The Writing School--Jack's "Journal"
--The "Q. C. Club"--The Magic Lantern--State Ball on Deck--Mock Trials
--Charades--Pilgrim Solemnity--Slow Music--The Executive Officer Delivers
an Opinion
CHAPTER V.
Summer in Mid-Atlantic--An Eccentric Moon--Mr. Blucher Loses Confidence
--The Mystery of "Ship Time"--The Denizens of the Deep--"Land Hoh"
--The First Landing on a Foreign Shore--Sensation among the Natives
--Something about the Azores Islands--Blucher's Disastrous Dinner
--The Happy Result
CHAPTER VI.
Solid Information--A Fossil Community--Curious Ways and Customs
--JesuitHumbuggery--Fantastic Pilgrimizing--Origin of the Russ Pavement
--Squaring Accounts with the Fossils--At Sea Again
CHAPTER VII.
A Tempest at Night--Spain and Africa on Exhibition--Greeting a Majestic
Stranger--The Pillars of Hercules--The Rock of Gibraltar--Tiresome
Repetition--"The Queen's Chair"--Serenity Conquered--Curiosities of
the Secret Caverns--Personnel of Gibraltar--Some Odd Characters
--A Private Frolic in Africa--Bearding a Moorish Garrison (without loss
of life)--Vanity Rebuked--Disembarking in the Empire of Morocco
CHAPTER VIII.
The Ancient City of Tangier, Morocco--Strange Sights--A Cradle of
Antiquity--We become Wealthy--How they Rob the Mail in Africa--The Danger
of being Opulent in Morocco
CHAPTER IX.
A Pilgrim--in Deadly Peril--How they Mended the Clock--Moorish
Punishments for Crime--Marriage Customs--Looking Several ways for Sunday
--Shrewd, Practice of Mohammedan Pilgrims--Reverence for Cats--Bliss of
being a Consul-General
CHAPTER X.
Fourth of July at Sea--Mediterranean Sunset--The "Oracle" is Delivered
of an Opinion--Celebration Ceremonies--The Captain's Speech--France in
Sight--The Ignorant Native--In Marseilles--Another Blunder--Lost in
the Great City--Found Again--A Frenchy Scene
CHAPTER XI.
Getting used to it--No Soap--Bill of Fare, Table d'hote--"An American
Sir"--A Curious Discovery--The "Pilgrim" Bird--Strange Companionship
--A Grave of the Living--A Long Captivity--Some of Dumas' Heroes--Dungeon
of the Famous "Iron Mask."
CHAPTXR XII.
A Holiday Flight through France--Summer Garb of the Landscape--Abroad
on the Great Plains--Peculiarities of French Cars--French Politeness
American Railway Officials--"Twenty Mnutes to Dinner!"--Why there
are no Accidents--The "Old Travellers"--Still on the Wing--Paris at
Last----French Order and Quiet--Place of the Bastile--Seeing the Sights
--A Barbarous Atrocity--Absurd Billiards
CHAPTER XIII.
More Trouble--Monsieur Billfinger--Re-Christening the Frenchman--In the
Clutches of a Paris Guide--The International Exposition--Fine Military
Review--Glimpse of the Emperor Napoleon and the Sultan of Turkey
CHAPTER XIV.
The Venerable Cathedral of Notre-Dame--Jean Sanspeur's Addition
--Treasures and Sacred Relics--The Legend of the Cross--The | 2,293.25839 |
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THE GOLDEN BOWL
Volumes I and II, Complete
By Henry James
1904
BOOK FIRST: THE PRINCE
PART FIRST
I
The Prince had always liked his London, when it had come to him; he was
one of the modern Romans who find by the Thames a more convincing image
of the truth of the ancient state than any they have left by the Tiber.
Brought up on the legend of the City to which the world paid tribute, he
recognised in the present London much more than in contemporary Rome the
real dimensions of such a case. If it was a question of an Imperium, he
said to himself, and if one wished, as a Roman, to recover a little the
sense of that, the place to do so was on London Bridge, or even, on a
fine afternoon in May, at Hyde Park Corner. It was not indeed to either
of those places that these grounds of his predilection, after all
sufficiently vague, had, at the moment we are concerned with him, guided
his steps; he had strayed, simply enough, into Bond Street, where his
imagination, working at comparatively short range, caused him now and
then to stop before a window in which objects massive and lumpish, in
silver and gold, in the forms to which precious stones contribute, or
in leather, steel, brass, applied to a hundred uses and abuses, were as
tumbled together as if, in the insolence of the Empire, they had been
the loot of far-off victories. The young man's movements, however,
betrayed no consistency of attention--not even, for that matter, when
one of his arrests had proceeded from possibilities in faces shaded,
as they passed him on the pavement, by huge beribboned hats, or more
delicately tinted still under the tense silk of parasols held at
perverse angles in waiting victorias. And the Prince's undirected
thought was not a little symptomatic, since, though the turn of
the season had come and the flush of the streets begun to fade, the
possibilities of faces, on the August afternoon, were still one of the
notes of the scene. He was too restless--that was the fact--for any
concentration, and the last idea that would just now have occurred to
him in any connection was the idea of pursuit.
He had been pursuing for six months as never in his life before, and
what had actually unsteadied him, as we join him, was the sense of how
he had been justified. Capture had crowned the pursuit--or success,
as he would otherwise have put it, had rewarded virtue; whereby the
consciousness of these things made him, for the hour, rather serious
than gay. A sobriety that might have consorted with failure sat in his
handsome face, constructively regular and grave, yet at the same time
oddly and, as might be, functionally almost radiant, with its dark
blue eyes, its dark brown moustache and its expression no more sharply
"foreign" to an English view than to have caused it sometimes to be
observed of him with a shallow felicity that he looked like a "refined"
Irishman. What had happened was that shortly before, at three o'clock,
his fate had practically been sealed, and that even when one pretended
to no quarrel with it the moment had something of the grimness of a
crunched key in the strongest lock that could be made. There was nothing
to do as yet, further, but feel what one had done, and our personage
felt it while he aimlessly wandered. It was already as if he were
married, so definitely had the solicitors, at three o'clock, enabled the
date to be fixed, and by so few days was that date now distant. He was
to dine at half-past eight o'clock with the young lady on whose behalf,
and on whose father's, the London lawyers had reached an inspired
harmony with his own man of business, poor Calderoni, fresh from Rome
and now apparently in the wondrous situation of being "shown London,"
before promptly leaving it again, by Mr. Verver himself, Mr. Verver
whose easy way with his millions had taxed to such small purpose, in the
arrangements, the principle of reciprocity. The reciprocity with which
the Prince was during these minutes most struck was that of Calderoni's
bestowal of his company for a view of the lions. If there was one thing
in the world the young man, at this juncture, clearly intended, it was
to be much more decent as a son-in-law than lots of fellows he could
think of had shown themselves in that character. He thought of these
fellows, from whom he was so to differ, in English; he used, mentally,
the English term to describe his difference, for, familiar with the
tongue from his earliest years, so that no note of strangeness remained
with him either for lip or for ear, he found it convenient, in life, for
the greatest number of relations. He found it convenient, oddly, even
for his relation with himself--though not unmindful that there might
still, as time went on, be others, including a more intimate degree of
that one, that would seek, possibly with violence, the larger or the
finer issue--which was it?--of the vernacular. Miss Verver had told him
he spoke English too well--it was his only fault, and he had not been
able to speak worse even to oblige her. "When I speak worse, you see,
I speak French," he had said; intimating thus that there were
discriminations, doubtless of the invidious kind, for which that
language was the most apt. The girl had taken this, she let him know,
as a reflection on her own French, which she had always so dreamed of
making good, of making better; to say nothing of his evident feeling
that the idiom supposed a cleverness she was not a person to rise to.
The Prince's answer to such remarks--genial, charming, like every answer
the parties to his new arrangement had yet had from him--was that he was
practising his American in order to converse properly, on equal terms as
it were, with Mr. Verver. His prospective father-in-law had a command of
it, he said, that put him at a disadvantage in any discussion; besides
which--well, besides which he had made to the girl the observation that
positively, of all his observations yet, had most finely touched her.
"You know I think he's a REAL galantuomo--'and no mistake.' There are
plenty of sham ones about. He seems to me simply the best man I've ever
seen in my life."
"Well, my dear, why shouldn't he be?" the girl had gaily inquired.
It was this, precisely, that had set the Prince to think. The things, or
many of them, that had made Mr. Verver what he was seemed practically
to bring a charge of waste against the other things that, with the other
people known to the young man, had failed of such a result. "Why, his
'form,'" he had returned, "might have made one doubt."
"Father's form?" She hadn't seen it. "It strikes me he hasn't got any."
"He hasn't got mine--he hasn't even got yours."
"Thank you for 'even'!" the girl had laughed at him. "Oh, yours, my
dear, is tremendous. But your father has his own. I've made that out. So
don't doubt it. It's where it has brought him out--that's the point."
"It's his goodness that has brought him out," our young woman had, at
this, objected.
"Ah, darling, goodness, I think, never brought anyone out. Goodness,
when it's real, precisely, rather keeps people in." He had been
interested in his discrimination, which amused him. "No, it's his WAY.
It belongs to him."
But she had wondered still. "It's the American way. That's all."
"Exactly--it's all. It's all, I say! It fits him--so it must be good for
something."
"Do you think it would be good for you?" Maggie Verver had smilingly
asked.
To which his reply had been just of the happiest. "I don't feel, my
dear, if you really want to know, that anything much can now either hurt
me or help me. Such as I am--but you'll see for yourself. Say, however,
I am a galantuomo--which I devoutly hope: I'm like a chicken, at best,
chopped up and smothered in sauce; cooked down as a creme de volaille,
with half the parts left out. Your father's the natural fowl running
about the bassecour. His feathers, movements, his sounds--those are the
parts that, with me, are left out."
"All, as a matter of course--since you can't eat a chicken alive!"
The Prince had not been annoyed at this, but he had been positive.
"Well, I'm eating your father alive--which is the only way to taste him.
I want to continue, and as it's when he talks American that he is most
alive, so I must also cultivate it, to get my pleasure. He couldn't make
one like him so much in any other language."
It mattered little that the girl had continued to demur--it was the mere
play of her joy. "I think he could make you like him in Chinese."
"It would be an unnecessary trouble. What I mean is that he's a kind
of result of his inevitable tone. My liking is accordingly FOR the
tone--which has made him possible."
"Oh, you'll hear enough of it," she laughed, "before you've done with
us."
Only this, in truth, had made him frown a little.
"What do you mean, please, by my having 'done' with you?"
"Why, found out about us all there is to find."
He had been able to take it indeed easily as a joke. "Ah, love, I
began with that. I know enough, I feel, never to be surprised. It's you
yourselves meanwhile," he continued, "who really know nothing. There are
two parts of me"--yes, he had been moved to go on. "One is made up of
the history, the doings, the marriages, the crimes, the follies, the
boundless betises of other people--especially of their infamous waste
of money that might have come to me. Those things are written--literally
in rows of volumes, in libraries; are as public as they're abominable.
Everybody can get at them, and you've, both of you, wonderfully, looked
them in the face. But there's another part, very much smaller
doubtless, which, such as it is, represents my single self, the unknown,
unimportant, unimportant--unimportant save to YOU--personal quantity.
About this you've found out nothing."
"Luckily, my dear," the girl had bravely said; "for what then would
become, please, of the promised occupation of my future?"
The young man remembered even now how extraordinarily CLEAR--he couldn't
call it anything else--she had looked, in her prettiness, as she had
said it. He also remembered what he had been moved to reply. "The
happiest reigns, we are taught, you know, are the reigns without any
history."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of history!" She had been sure of that. "Call it the
bad part, if you like--yours certainly sticks out of you. What was it
else," Maggie Verver had also said, "that made me originally think of
you? It wasn't--as I should suppose you must have seen--what you call
your unknown quantity, your particular self. It was the generations
behind you, the follies and the crimes, the plunder and the waste--the
wicked Pope, the monster most of all, whom so many of the volumes in
your family library are all about. If I've read but two or three yet, I
shall give myself up but the more--as soon as I have time--to the rest.
Where, therefore"--she had put it to him again--"without your archives,
annals, infamies, would you have been?"
He recalled what, to this, he had gravely returned. "I might have been
in a somewhat better pecuniary situation." But his actual situation
under the head in question positively so little mattered to them that,
having by that time lived deep into the sense of his advantage, he had
kept no impression of the girl's rejoinder. It had but sweetened | 2,293.35464 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE
Lives of the Saints
REV. S. BARING-GOULD
_SIXTEEN VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE FIRST
[Illustration: SILVER-GILT MONSTRANCE,
In the Treasury of the Cathedral, Aix-la-Chapelle.]
THE
Lives of the Saints
BY THE
REV. S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
New Edition in 16 Volumes
Revised with Introduction and Additional Lives of
English Martyrs, Cornish and Welsh Saints,
and a full Index to the Entire Work
_ILLUSTRATED BY OVER 400 ENGRAVINGS_
VOLUME THE FIRST
January
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCXCVII
_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
_At the Ballantyne Press_
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
TO FIRST EDITION
(1872)
The Lives of the Saints, which I have begun, is an undertaking, of
whose difficulty few can have any idea. Let it be remembered, that
there were Saints in every century, for eighteen hundred years; that
their Acts are interwoven with the profane history of their times,
and that the history, not of one nation only, but of almost every
nation under the sun; that the records of these lives are sometimes
fragmentary, sometimes mere hints to be culled out of secular history;
that authentic records have sometimes suffered interpolation, and that
some records are forgeries; that the profane history with which the
lives of the Saints is mixed up is often dark and hard to be read; and
then some idea may be formed of the difficulty of this undertaking.
After having had to free the Acts of a martyr from a late accretion of
fable, and to decide whether the passion took place under--say Decius
or Diocletian, Claudius the Elder, or Claudius the younger,--the writer
of a hagiology is hurried into Byzantine politics, and has to collect
the thread of a saintly confessor's life from the tangle of political
and ecclesiastical intrigue, in that chaotic period when emperors
rose and fell, and patriarchs succeeded each other with bewildering
rapidity. And thence he is, by a step, landed in the romance world of
Irish hagiology, where the footing is as insecure as on the dark bogs
of the Emerald Isle. Thence he strides into the midst of the wreck
of Charlemagne's empire, to gather among the splinters of history a
few poor mean notices of those holy ones living then, whose names
have survived, but whose acts are all but lost. And then the scene
changes, and he treads the cool cloister of a mediaeval abbey, to glean
materials for a memoir of some peaceful recluse, which may reflect
the crystalline purity of the life without being wholly colourless of
incident.
And then, maybe, he has to stand in the glare of the great
conflagration of the sixteenth century, and mark some pure soul passing
unscathed through the fire, like the lamp in Abraham's vision.
That one man can do justice to this task is not to be expected. When
Bellarmine heard of the undertaking of Rosweydus, he asked "What is
this man's age? does he expect to live two hundred years?" But for the
work of the Bollandists, it would have been an impossibility for me to
undertake this task. But even with this great storehouse open, the work
to be got through is enormous. Bollandus began January with two folios
in double columns, close print, of 1200 pages each. As he and his
coadjutors proceeded, fresh materials came in, and February occupies
three volumes. May swelled into seven folios, September into eight,
and October into ten. It was begun in 1643, and the fifty-seventh
volume appeared in 1861.
The labour of reading, digesting, and selecting from this library is
enormous. With so much material it is hard to decide what to omit, but
such a decision must be made, for the two volumes of January have to
be crushed into one, not a tenth of the size of one of Bollandus, and
the ten volumes for October must suffer compression to an hundredth
degree, so as to occupy the same dimensions. I had two courses open to
me. One to give a brief outline, bare of incident, of the life of every
Saint; the other to diminish the number of lives, and present them to
the reader in greater fulness, and with some colour. I have adopted
this latter course, but I have omitted no Saint of great historical
interest. I have been compelled to put aside a great number of lesser
known saintly religious, whose eventless lives flowed uniformly in
prayer, vigil, and mortification.
In writing the lives of the Saints, I have used my discretion, also,
in relating only those miracles which are most remarkable, either
for being fairly well authenticated, or for their intrinsic beauty
or quaintness, or because they are often represented in art, and are
therefore of interest to the archaeologist. That errors in judgment,
and historical inaccuracies, have crept into this volume, and may find
their way into those that succeed, is, I fear, inevitable. All I can
promise is, that I have used my best endeavours to be accurate, having
had recourse to all such modern critical works as have been accessible
to me, for the determining of dates, and the estimation of authorities.
Believing that in some three thousand and six hundred memoirs of
men, many of whose lives closely resembled each other, it would be
impossible for me to avoid a monotony of style which would become as
tedious to the reader as vexatious to myself, I have occasionally
admitted the lives of certain Saints by other writers, thereby giving a
little freshness to the book, where there could not fail otherwise to
have been aridity; but I have, I believe, in no case, inserted a life
by another pen, without verifying the authorities.
At the head of every article the authority for the life is stated,
to which the reader is referred for fuller details. The editions of
these authorities are not given, as it would have greatly extended
the notices, and such information can readily be obtained from that
invaluable guide to the historian of the Middle Ages, Potthast:
_Bibliotheca Historica Medii Aevi_, Berlin, 1862; the second part of
which is devoted to the Saints.
I have no wish that my work should be regarded as intended to supplant
that of Alban Butler. My line is somewhat different from his. He
confined his attention to the historical outlines of the saintly lives,
and he rarely filled them in with anecdote. Yet it is the little
details of a man's life that give it character, and impress themselves
on the memory. People forget the age and parentage of S. Gertrude, but
they remember the mouse running up her staff.
A priest of the Anglican Church, I have undertaken to write a book
which I hope and trust will be welcome to Roman and Anglican Catholics,
alike. It would have been unseemly to have carried prejudice,
impertinent to have obtruded sectarianism, into a work like this. I
have been called to tread holy ground, and kneel in the midst of the
great company of the blessed; and the only fitting attitude of the
mind for such a place, and such society, is reverence. In reading the
miracles recorded of the Saints, of which the number is infinite, the
proper spirit to observe is, not doubt, but discrimination. Because
much is certainly apocryphal in these accounts, we must not therefore
reject what may be true. The present age, in its vehement naturalism,
places itself, as it were, outside of the circle of spiritual
phenomena, and is as likely to deny the supernatural agency in a
marvel, as a mediaeval was liable to attribute a natural phenomenon to
spiritual causes. In such cases we must consider the evidence and its
worth or worthlessness. It may be that, in God's dealings with men, at
a time when natural means of cure were unattainable, the supernatural
should abound, but that when the science of medicine became perfected,
and the natural was rendered available to all, the supernatural should,
to some extent, at least, be withdrawn.
Of the Martyrologies referred to, it may be as well to mention the
dates of the most important. That of Ado is of the ninth century,
Bede's of the eighth;[1] there are several bearing the name of S.
Jerome, which differ from one another, they are forms of the ancient
Roman Martyrology. The Martyrology of Notker (D. 912), of Rabanus
Maurus (D. 856), of Usuardus (875), of Wandalbert (circ. 881). The
general catalogue of the Saints by Ferrarius was published in 1625,
the Martyrology of Maurolycus was composed in 1450, and published
1568. The modern Roman Martyrology is based on that of Usuardus. It
is impossible, in the limited space available for a preface, to say
all that is necessary on the various Kalendars, and Martyrologies,
that exist, also on the mode in which some of the Saints have received
apotheosis. Comparatively few Saints have received formal canonization
at Rome; popular veneration was regarded as sufficient in the mediaeval
period, before order and system were introduced; thus there are many
obscure Saints, famous in their own localities, and perhaps entered in
the kalendar of the diocese, whose claims to their title have never
been authoritatively inquired into, and decided upon. There is also
great confusion in the monastic kalendars in appropriating titles
to those commemorated; here a holy one is called "the Venerable,"
there "the Blessed," and in another "Saint." With regard also to the
estimation of authorities, the notes of genuineness of the Acts of
the martyrs, the tests whereby apocryphal lives and interpolations
may be detected, I should have been glad to have been able to make
observations. But this is a matter which there is not space to enter
upon here.
The author cannot dismiss the work without expressing a hope that it
may be found to meet a want which he believes has long been felt; for
English literature is sadly deficient in the department of hagiology.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This only exists in an interpolated condition.
INTRODUCTION
TO THE
LIVES OF THE SAINTS
THE MARTYROLOGIES
A martyrology means, properly, a list of witnesses. The martyrologies
are catalogues in which are to be found the names of the Saints, with
the days and places of their deaths, and generally with the distinctive
character of their sanctity, and with an historic summary of their
lives. The name is incorrect if we use the word "martyr" in its
restricted sense as a witness unto death. "Hagiology" would be more
suitable, as a martyrology includes the names of many Saints who were
not martyrs. But the term "Martyrology" was given to this catalogue at
an early age, when it was customary to commemorate only those who were
properly martyrs, having suffered death in testimony to their faith; but
it is not unsuitable if we regard as martyrs all those who by their
lives have testified to the truth, as indeed we are justified in doing.
In the primitive Church it was customary for the Holy Eucharist to be
celebrated on the anniversary of the death of a martyr--if possible, on
his tomb. Where in one diocese there | 2,293.358741 |
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A ROMANCE OF YOUTH
By Francois Coppee
With a Preface by JOSE DE HEREDIA, of the French Academy
FRANCOIS COPPEE
FRANCOIS EDOUARD JOACHIM COPPEE was born in Paris, January 12, 1842.
His father was a minor 'employe' in the French War Office; and, as the
family consisted of six the parents, three daughters, and a son (the
subject of this essay)--the early years of the poet were not spent in
great luxury. After the father's death, the young man himself entered
the governmental office with its monotonous work. In the evening he
studied hard at St. Genevieve Library. He made rhymes, had them even
printed (Le Reliquaire, 1866); but the public remained indifferent until
1869, when his comedy in verse, 'Le Passant', appeared. From this period
dates the reputation of Coppee--he woke up one morning a "celebrated
man."
Like many of his countrymen, he is a poet, a dramatist, a novelist,
and a writer of fiction. He was elected to the French Academy in 1884.
Smooth shaven, of placid figure, with pensive eyes, the hair brushed
back regularly, the head of an artist, Coppee can be seen any day
looking over the display of the Parisian secondhand booksellers on
the Quai Malaquais; at home on the writing-desk, a page of carefully
prepared manuscript, yet sometimes covered by cigarette-ashes; upon
the wall, sketches by Jules Lefebvre and Jules Breton; a little in the
distance, the gaunt form of his attentive sister and companion, Annette,
occupied with household cares, ever fearful of disturbing him. Within
this tranquil domicile can be heard the noise of the Parisian faubourg
with its thousand different dins; the bustle of the street; the clatter
of a factory; the voice of the workshop; the cries of the pedlers
intermingled with the chimes of the bells of a near-by convent-a
confusing buzzing noise, which the author, however, seems to enjoy; for
Coppee is Parisian by birth, Parisian by education, a Parisian of the
Parisians.
If as a poet we contemplate him, Coppee belongs to the group commonly
called "Parnassiens"--not the Romantic School, the sentimental lyric
effusion of Lamartine, Hugo, or De Musset! When the poetical lute
was laid aside by the triad of 1830, it was taken up by men of quite
different stamp, of even opposed tendencies. Observation of exterior
matters was now greatly adhered to in poetry; it became especially
descriptive and scientific; the aim of every poet was now to render
most exactly, even minutely, the impressions received, or faithfully to
translate into artistic language a thesis of philosophy, a discovery of
science. With such a poetical doctrine, you will easily understand the
importance which the "naturalistic form" henceforth assumed.
Coppee, however, is not only a maker of verses, he is an artist and a
poet. Every poem seems to have sprung from a genuine inspiration. When
he sings, it is because he has something to sing about, and the result
is that his poetry is nearly always interesting. Moreover, he respects
the limits of his art; for while his friend and contemporary, M.
Sully-Prudhomme, goes astray habitually into philosophical speculation,
and his immortal senior, Victor Hugo, often declaims, if one may venture
to say so, in a manner which is tedious, Coppee sticks rigorously to
what may be called the proper regions of poetry.
Francois Coppee is not one of those superb high priests disdainful
of the throng: he is the poet of the "humble," and in his work, 'Les
Humbles', he paints with a sincere emotion his profound sympathy for
the sorrows, the miseries, and the sacrifices of the meek. Again, in
his 'Grave des Forgerons, Le Naufrage, and L'Epave', all poems of great
extension and universal reputation, he treats of simple existences, of
unknown unfortunates, and of sacrifices which the daily papers do not
record. The coloring and designing are precise, even if the tone be
somewhat sombre, and nobody will deny that Coppee most fully possesses
the technique of French poetry.
But Francois Coppee is known to fame as a prosewriter, too. His
'Contes en prose' and his 'Vingt Contes Nouveaux' are gracefully and
artistically told; scarcely one of the 'contes' fails to have a moral
motive. The stories are short and naturally slight; some, indeed,
incline rather to the essay than to the story, but each has that
enthralling interest which justifies its existence. Coppee possesses
preeminently the gift of presenting concrete fact rather than
abstraction. A sketch, for instance, is the first tale written by him,
'Une Idylle pendant le Seige' (1875). In a novel we require strong
characterization, great grasp of character, and the novelist should
show us the human heart and intellect in full play and activity. In 1875
appeared also 'Olivier', followed by 'L'Exilee (1876); Recits et Elegies
(1878); Vingt Contes Nouveaux (1883); and Toute une Jeunesse', mainly
an autobiography, crowned by acclaim by the Academy. 'Le Coupable' was
published in 1897. Finally, in 1898, appeared 'La Bonne Souffrance'.
In the last-mentioned work it would seem that the poet, just recovering
from a severe malady, has returned to the dogmas of the Catholic Church,
wherefrom he, like so many of his contemporaries, had become estranged
when a youth. The poems of 1902, 'Dans la Priere et dans la Lutte', tend
to confirm the correctness of this view.
Thanks to the juvenile Sarah Bernhardt, Coppee became, as before
mentioned, like Byron, celebrated in one night. This happened through
the performance of 'Le Passant'.
As interludes to the plays there are "occasional" theatrical pieces,
written for the fiftieth anniversary of the performance of 'Hernani'
or the two-hundredth anniversary of the foundation of the "Comedie
Francaise." This is a wide field, indeed, which M. Coppee has cultivated
to various purposes.
Take Coppee's works in their sum and totality, and the world-decree is
that he is an artist, and an admirable one. He plays upon his instrument
with all power and grace. But he is no mere virtuoso. There is something
in him beyond the executant. Of Malibran, Alfred de Musset says, most
beautifully, that she had that "voice of the heart which alone has power
to reach the heart." Here, also, behind the skilful player on language,
the deft manipulator of rhyme and rhythm, the graceful and earnest
writer, one feels the beating of a human heart. One feels that he is
giving us personal impressions of life and its joys and sorrows; that
his imagination is powerful because it is genuinely his own; that the
flowers of his fancy spring spontaneously from the soil. Nor can I
regard it as aught but an added grace that the strings of his instrument
should vibrate so readily to what is beautiful and unselfish and
delicate in human feeling.
JOSE DE HEREDIA
de l'Academie Francaise.
A ROMANCE OF YOUTH
BOOK 1.
CHAPTER I. ON THE BALCONY
As far back as Amedee Violette can remember, he sees himself in an
infant's cap upon a fifth-floor balcony covered with convolvulus; the
child was very small, and the balcony seemed very large to him. Amedee
had received for a birthday present a box of water-colors, with which
he was sprawled out upon an old rug, earnestly intent upon his work of
coloring the woodcuts in an odd volume of the 'Magasin Pittoresque', and
wetting his brush from time to time in his mouth. The neighbors in the
next apartment had a right to one-half of the balcony. Some one in there
was playing upon the piano Marcailhou's Indiana Waltz, which was all the
rage at that time. Any man, born about the year 1845, who does not feel
the tears of homesickness rise to his eyes as he turns over the pages of
an old number of the 'Magasin Pittoresque', or who hears some one play
upon an old piano Marcailhou's Indiana Waltz, is not endowed with much
sensibility.
When the child was tired of putting the "flesh color" upon the faces of
all the persons in the engravings, he got up and went to peep through
the railings of the balustrade. He saw extending before him, from right
to left, with a graceful curve, the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, one of
the quietest streets in the Luxembourg quarter, then only half built up.
The branches of the trees spread over the wooden fences, which enclosed
gardens so silent and tranquil that passers by could hear the birds
singing in their cages.
It was a September afternoon, with a broad expanse of pure sky across
which large clouds, like mountains of silver, moved in majestic
slowness.
Suddenly a soft voice called him:
"Amedee, your father will return from the office soon. We must wash your
hands before we sit down to the table, my darling."
His mother came out upon the balcony for him. His mother; his dear
mother, whom he knew for so short a time! It needs an effort for him to
call her to mind now, his memories are so indistinct. She was so modest
and pretty, so pale, and with such charming blue eyes, always carrying
her head on one side, as if the weight of her lovely chestnut hair was
too heavy for her to bear, and smiling the sweet, tired smile of those
who have not long to live! She made his toilette, kissed him upon his
forehead, after brushing his hair. Then she laid their modest table,
which was always decorated with a pretty vase of flowers. Soon the
father entered. He was one of those mild, unpretentious men who let
everybody run over them.
He tried to be gay when he entered his own house. He raised his little
boy aloft with one arm, before kissing him, exclaiming, "Houp la!"
A moment later he kissed his young wife and held her close to him,
tenderly, as he asked, with an anxious look:
"Have you coughed much to-day?"
She always replied, hanging her head like a child who tells an untruth,
"No, not very much."
The father would then put on an old coat--the one he took off was not
very new. Amedee was then seated in a high chair before his mug, and the
young mother, going into the kitchen, would bring in the supper. After
opening his napkin, the father would brush back behind his ear with his
hand a long lock on the right side, that always fell into his eyes.
"Is there too much of a breeze this evening? you afraid to go out upon
the balcony, Lucie? Put a shawl on, then," said M. Violette, while his
wife was pouring the water remaining in the carafe upon a box where some
nasturtiums were growing.
"No, Paul, I am sure--take Amedee down from his chair, and let us go out
upon the balcony."
It was cool upon this high balcony. The sun had set, and now the great
clouds resembled mountains of gold, and a fresh odor came up from the
surrounding gardens.
"Good-evening, Monsieur Violette," suddenly said a cordial voice. "What
a fine evening!"
It was their neighbor, M. Gerard, an engraver, who had also come to take
breath upon his end of the balcony, having spent the entire day bent
over his work. He was large and bald-headed, with a good-natured face,
a red beard sprinkled with white hairs, and he wore a short, loose coat.
As he spoke he lighted his clay pipe, the bowl of which represented
Abd-el-Kader's face, very much, save the eyes and turban, which
were of white enamel.
The engraver's wife, a dumpy little woman with merry eyes, soon joined
her husband, pushing before her two little girls; one, the smaller of
the two, was two years younger than Amedee; the other was ten years old,
and already had a wise little air. She was the pianist who practised one
hour a day Marcailhou's Indiana Waltz.
The children chattered through the trellis that divided the balcony in
two parts. Louise, the elder of the girls, knew how to read, and told
the two little ones very beautiful stories: Joseph sold by his brethren;
Robinson Crusoe discovering the footprints of human beings.
Amedee, who now has gray hair upon his temples, can still remember the
chills that ran down his | 2,293.358792 |
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KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE:
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By PROFESSOR HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE "BLACKWOOD" GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MacLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MacLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
[Illustration]
KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE
BY
A. F.
MURISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
& FERRIER. EDINBURGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
_July 1899._
ALMAE MATRI
VNIVERSITATI ABERDONENSI
"O, ne'er shall the fame of the patriot decay--
De Bruce! in thy name still our country rejoices;
It thrills Scottish heart-strings, it swells Scottish voices,
As it did when the Bannock ran red from the fray.
Thine ashes in darkness and silence may lie;
But ne'er, mighty hero, while earth hath its motion,
While rises the day-star, or rolls forth the ocean,
Can thy deeds be eclipsed or their memory die:
They stand thy proud monument, sculptur'd sublime
By the chisel of Fame on the Tablet of Time."
PREFACE
The present volume on King Robert the Bruce is the historical
complement to the former volume on Sir William Wallace. Together they
outline, from the standpoint of the leading spirits, the prolonged and
successful struggle of the Scots against the unprovoked aggression of
Edward I. and Edward II.--the most memorable episode in the history of
Scotland.
As in the story of Wallace, so in the story of Bruce, the narrative
is based on the primary authorities. Happily State records and
official papers supply much trustworthy material, which furnishes
also an invaluable test of the accuracy of the numerous and wayward
race of chroniclers. Barbour's poem, with all its errors of fact
and deflections of judgment, is eminently useful--in spite of the
indulgence of historical criticism.
There is no space here to set forth the long list of sources, or to
attempt a formal estimate of their comparative value. Some of them
appear incidentally in the text, though only where it seems absolutely
necessary to name them. The expert knows them; the general reader will
not miss them. Nor is there room for more than occasional argument on
controverted points; it has very frequently been necessary to signify
disapproval by mere silence. The writer, declining the guidance of
modern historians, has formed his | 2,293.362222 |
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_The Works of_
E. P. ROE
HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
BY HIS SISTER, MARY A. ROE
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
PETER FENELON COLLIER & SON
MCM
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
_Copyright, 1899_
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
Since the death of Edward Payson Roe, in 1888, there have been
inquiries from time to time for some record of his life and work, and
it is in response to these repeated requests that this volume is
issued. While necessarily omitting much that is of too personal a
nature for publication, the editor has allowed the subject of these
Reminiscences to speak for himself as far as possible, although it has
been thought advisable to introduce here and there various papers from
outside sources that seem to throw additional light upon his character.
It is believed that in this way a clearer picture may be given than
would otherwise be obtained of the life of one who was, perhaps, the
most popular American author of his generation. The editor's own part
of the work has been confined to a simple statement of facts and to
supplying connecting links, when such seemed needed, between the
various letters and papers.
Thanks are due, and are hereby offered, to all who have kindly
contributed material or in other ways assisted in the preparation of
this volume.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 1
II. LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 13
III. A WINTER CAMP 41
IV. MARRIAGE--THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 58
V. HAMPTON HOSPITAL 70
VI. THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 85
VII. PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 95
VIII. RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 118
IX. FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 124
X. HOME LIFE 137
XI. SANTA BARBARA 154
XII. RETURN TO CORNWALL--LETTERS 181
XIII. LAST BOOK--DEATH 194
XIV. AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 218
XV. THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS 231
ILLUSTRATIONS
E. P. ROE AT THE TIME OF HIS DEATH _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
E. P. ROE AS A STUDENT 10
E. P. ROE AS CHAPLAIN, AGE 26 38
VIEW FROM THE PIAZZA AT "ROELANDS" 128
THE STUDY AT "ROELANDS" 152
TABLET ON BOULDER IN "ROE PARK" 232
[Illustration: E. P. ROE AT THE TIME OF HIS DEATH.]
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
CHAPTER I
BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS
My brother Edward and I were the youngest of six children, and as he
was my senior by but a few years we were playmates and almost
inseparable companions in our childhood.
We were born in a roomy old-fashioned house, built by my mother's
father for his oldest son, but purchased by my father when he retired
from business in New York. A more ideal home for a happy childhood
could not easily be found. It stood near the entrance of a beautiful
valley through which flowed a | 2,293.402362 |
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Archive/Canadian Libraries)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Whereas adequate character is unavalaible, superscripts are rendered
as word^[sup].
LUTHER
NIHIL OBSTAT
C. SCHUT, S.T.D.,
_Censor Deputatus._
IMPRIMATUR
EDM. CAN. SURMONT,
_Vic. Gen._
_Westmonasterii, die 10 Julii, 1913._
LUTHER
BY
HARTMANN GRISAR, S.J.
PROFESSOR AT THE UNIVERSITY OF INNSBRUCK
AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN BY
E. M. LAMOND
EDITED BY
LUIGI CAPPADELTA
VOLUME IV
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., LTD.
BROADWAY HOUSE, 68-74 CARTER LANE, E.C.
1915
A FEW PRESS OPINIONS OF VOLUMES I-III.
“His most elaborate and systematic biography... is not merely a book
to be reckoned with; it is one with which we cannot dispense, if only
for its minute examination of Luther’s theological writings.”--_The
Athenæum_ (Vol. I).
“The second volume of Dr. Grisar’s ‘Life of Luther’ is fully as
interesting as the first. There is the same minuteness of criticism
and the same width of survey.” _The Athenæum_ (Vol. II).
“Its interest increases. As we see the great Reformer in the thick of
his work, and the heyday of his life, the absorbing attraction of his
personality takes hold of us more and more strongly. His stupendous
force, his amazing vitality, his superhuman interest in life,
impress themselves upon us with redoubled effect. We find him the
most multiform, the most paradoxical of men.... The present volume,
which is admirably translated, deals rather with the moral, social,
and personal side of Luther’s career than with his theology.”--_The
Athenæum_ (Vol. III).
“There is no room for any sort of question as to the welcome ready
among English-speaking Roman Catholics for this admirably made
translation of the first volume of the German monograph by Professor
Grisar on the protagonist of the Reformation in Europe.... The
book is so studiously scientific, so careful to base its teaching
upon documents, and so determined to eschew controversies that are
only theological, that it cannot but deeply interest Protestant
readers.”--_The Scotsman._
“Father Grisar has gained a high reputation in this country through
the translation of his monumental work on the History of Rome and the
Popes in the Middle Ages, and this first instalment of his ‘Life of
Luther’ bears fresh witness to his unwearied industry, wide learning,
and scrupulous anxiety to be impartial in his judgments as well as
absolutely accurate in matters of fact.”--_Glasgow Herald._
“This ‘Life of Luther’ is bound to become standard... a model of
every literary, critical, and scholarly virtue.”--_The Month._
“Like its two predecessors, Volume III excels in the minute analysis
not merely of Luther’s actions, but also of his writings; indeed,
this feature is the outstanding merit of the author’s patient
labours.”--_The Irish Times._
“This third volume of Father Grisar’s monumental ‘Life’ is full of
interest for the theologian. And not less for the psychologist; for
here more than ever the author allows himself to probe into the
mind and motives and understanding of Luther, so as to get at the
significance of his development.”--_The Tablet._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXI. PRINCELY MARRIAGES _pages_ 3-79
1. LUTHER AND HENRY VIII OF ENGLAND. BIGAMY INSTEAD OF DIVORCE.
The case of Henry VIII; Robert Barnes is despatched to
Wittenberg; Luther proposes bigamy as a safer expedient
than divorce (1531); Melanchthon’s advice: _Tutissimum
est regi_ to take a second spouse. The conduct of
Pope Clement VII. The Protestant Princes of Germany
endeavour to secure the good-will of the King of
England; final collapse of the negotiations; Luther’s
later allusions to Henry VIII _pages_ 3-13
2. THE BIGAMY OF PHILIP OF HESSE.
The question put by Philip to Luther in 1526; Philip
well informed as to Luther’s views. Bucer deputed by
the Landgrave to secure the sanction of Wittenberg for
his projected bigamy; Bucer’s mission crowned with
success; Philip weds Margaret von der Sale; Luther’s
kindly offices rewarded by a cask of wine; the bigamy
becomes known at the Court of Dresden; the Landgrave is
incensed by Bucer’s proposal that he should deny having
committed bigamy. Luther endeavours to retire behind
the plea that his permission was a “dispensation,”
a piece of advice given “in confession,” and,
accordingly, not to be alleged in public. Some
interesting letters of Luther to his sovereign and
to Hesse; his private utterances on the subject
recorded in the Table-Talk. “_Si queam mutare!_” The
Eisenach Conference; Luther counsels the Landgrave to
tell a good, lusty lie; the Landgrave’s annoyance.
Melanchthon’s worries; an expurgated letter of his
on Landgrave Philip. Duke Henry of Brunswick enters
the field against Luther and the Landgrave; Luther’s
stinging reply: “Wider Hans Worst.” Johann Lening’s
“Dialogue”; how it was regarded by Luther, Menius and
the Swiss theologians. The Hessian bigamy is hushed
up. The Bigamy judged by Protestant opinion; Luther’s
consent to some extent extorted under pressure _pages_ 13-79
CHAPTER XXII. LUTHER AND LYING _pages_ 80-178
1. A BATTERY OF ASSERTIONS.
Luther’s conduct in the matter of the Bigamy an excuse
for the present chapter. His dishonest assurances
in his letters to Leo X, to Bishop Scultetus his
Ordinary, and to the Emperor Charles V (1518-1520);
his real feelings at that time as shown in a letter to
Spalatin; Luther’s later parody of Tetzel’s teaching;
his insinuation that it was the Emperor’s intention
to violate the safe-conduct granted; he calls into
question the authenticity of the Papal Bull against
him, whilst all the time knowing it to be genuine; he
advises _ordinandi_ to promise celibacy with a mental
reservation; his distortion of St. Bernard’s “_perdite
vixi_”; his allusion to the case of Conradin, “slain
by Pope Clement IV,” and to the spurious letter of
St. Ulrich on the babies’ heads found in a convent
pond at Rome. His allegation that his “Artickel” had
been subscribed to at Schmalkalden; his unfairness
to Erasmus and Duke George; his statement, that, for
a monk to leave his cell without his scapular, was
accounted a mortal sin, and that, in Catholicism,
people expected to be saved simply by works; his
advocacy of the “Gospel-proviso”; his advice to the
Bishop of Samland to make a show of hesitation in
forsaking Catholicism _pages_ 80-99
2. OPINIONS OF CONTEMPORARIES IN EITHER CAMP.
Bucer, Münzer, J. Agricola, Erasmus, Duke George, etc.,
on Luther’s disregard for truth _pages_ 99-102
3. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM. SELF-SUGGESTION AND SCRIPTURAL GROUNDS OF
EXCUSE.
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LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
By William Makepeace Thackeray (AKA Titmarsh)
I. FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
II. GHENT--BRUGES:--
Ghent (1840)
Bruges
III. WATERLOO
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
I.--FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
... I quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" at Richmond, one of the
comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and
a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the "Star and Garter,"
whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled,
frightens you off the premises; and where, if you are bold enough to
brave the sneering waiter, you have to pay ten shillings for a bottle
of claret; and whence, if you look out of the window, you gaze on a view
which is so rich that it seems to knock you down with its splendor--a
view that has its hair curled like the swaggering waiter: I say, I
quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" with deep regret, believing that I
should see nothing so pleasant as its gardens, and its veal cutlets, and
its dear little bowling-green, elsewhere. But the time comes when people
must go out of town, and so I got on the top of the omnibus, and the
carpet-bag was put inside.
If I were a great prince and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I
were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of
the best Havanas in my pocket--not for my own smoking, but to give them
to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison
the air with the odor of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in his
circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above
simple precaution.
A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on the back and asked for a
light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the
three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt
undress jackets with a duke's coronet on their buttons.
After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot,
the gentleman produced another wind-instrument, which he called a
"kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination
to play. He began puffing out of the "kinopium" a most abominable
air, which he said was the "Duke's March." It was played by particular
request of one of the pepper-and-salt gentry.
The noise was so abominable that even the coachman objected (although
my friend's brother footmen were ravished with it), and said that it
was not allowed to play toons on HIS 'bus. "Very well," said the valet,
"WE'RE ONLY OF THE DUKE OF B----'S ESTABLISHMENT, THAT'S ALL." The
coachman could not resist that appeal to his fashionable feelings. The
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Produced by Curtis Weyant, 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/American Libraries.)
MARCHING ON NIAGARA
OR THE SOLDIER BOYS OF THE OLD FRONTIER
Colonial Series
BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of "American Boys' Life of William McKinley," "Lost on the
Orinoco," "On to Pekin," "Between Boer and Briton," "Old Glory Series,"
"Ship and Shore Series," "Bound to Succeed Series," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE_
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY LEE AND SHEPARD
Published August, 1902
_All rights reserved_
Norwood Press
J. S. CUSHING & CO.--BERWICK & SMITH
Norwood, Mass. U. S. A.
[Illustration: After him tumbled a wild cat.]
PREFACE
"MARCHING ON NIAGARA" is a complete story in itself, but forms the
second of several volumes to be known by the general title of "Colonial
Series."
In the first volume of this series, entitled "WITH WASHINGTON IN THE
WEST," we followed the fortunes of David Morris, the son of a hardy
pioneer, who first settled at Will's Creek (now the town of Cumberland,
Virginia), and later on established a trading post on one of the
tributaries of the Ohio River. This was just previous to the breaking
out of war between France and England, and when the French and English
settlers in America, especially in those localities where trading with
the Indians was profitable, were bitter foes. David becomes well
acquainted with Washington while the latter is a surveyor, and when
Braddock arrives in America and marches against Fort Duquesne the young
pioneer shoulders a musket and joins the Virginia Rangers under Major
Washington, to march forth and take part in Braddock's bitter defeat
and Washington's masterly effort to save the remnant of the army from
total annihilation.
The defeat of the British forces left this section of the English
colonies at the mercy of both the French and their savage Indian allies,
and for two years, despite all that Washington and other colonial
leaders could do, every isolated cabin and every small settlement west
of Winchester was in constant danger, and numerous raids were made,
savage and brutal in the extreme, and these were kept up until the
arrival of General Forbes, who, aided by Washington and others, finally
compelled the French to abandon Fort Duquesne, and thus restored peace
and order to a frontier covering a distance of several hundred miles.
Following General Forbes's success at Fort Duquesne (now the
enterprising city of Pittsburg), came English successes in other
quarters, not the least of which was the capture of Fort Niagara,
standing on the east bank of the Niagara River, where that stream flows
into Lake Ontario. This fort was of vast importance to the French, for
it guarded the way through the lakes and down the mighty Mississippi to
their Louisiana territory. In the expedition against Fort Niagara both
David and Henry Morris take an active part, and as brave young soldiers
endeavor to do their duty fully and fearlessly.
In the preparation of the historical portions of this work the author
has endeavored to be as accurate as possible. This has been no easy
task, for upon many points American, English, and French historians have
differed greatly in their statements. However, it is hoped that the tale
is at least as accurate as the average history, giving as it does
statements from all sides.
Again thanking the many readers who have taken such an interest in my
previous works, I place this volume in their hands, trusting they will
find it not only entertaining but likewise full of instruction and
inspiration.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
_Independence Day, 1902._
CONTENTS
I. IN THE FOREST
II. DEER AND INDIANS
III. DISCOVERY AND PURSUIT
IV. BURNING OF THE CABIN
V. UPRISING OF THE INDIANS
VI. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HENRY
VII. A DOUBLE WARNING
VIII. DEPARTURE FROM HOME
IX. GATHERING AT FORT LAWRENCE
X. HOW HENRY FARED
XI. SAM BARRINGFORD'S RUSE
XII. DARK YEAR OF THE WAR
XIII. FIGHTING OFF THE INDIANS
XIV. RETREAT OF THE PIONEERS
XV. DISAPPEARANCE OF LITTLE NELL
XVI. BACK TO WINCHESTER
XVII. A NEW CAMPAIGN
XVIII. WILDCAT AND WATER
XIX. DEFEAT OF THE ENGLISH
XX. AT FORT PITT--RETURN HOME
XXI. ON THE WAY TO THE ARMY
XXII. THE FIGHT WITH THE BUCK
XXIII. UP THE MOHAWK VALLEY
XXIV. HENRY IS ATTACKED
XXV. A STORM ON LAKE ONTARIO
XXVI. THE ATTACK AT OSWEGO
XXVII. NEWS OF IMPORTANCE
XXVIII. SOMETHING ABOUT FORT NIAGARA
XXIX. THE BATTLE NEAR THE FALLS
XXX. INTO THE NIAGARA RAPIDS
XXXI. FALL OF FORT NIAGARA
XXXII. LITTLE NELL--CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
After him tumbled a wildcat
They could see the cabin, which still blazed
The warrior with the torch held the light aloft
"White Buffalo, my brother, has done well to bring this message so
quickly."
He took a quick but careful aim at the leader
He leaped forward once again, straight for Dave
"Bail her out," roared the lieutenant
He swung his clubbed musket at the French soldier's head
CHAPTER I
IN THE FOREST
"Do you think we'll bag a deer to-day, Henry?"
"I'll tell you better about that when we are on our way home, Dave. I
certainly saw the hoof-prints down by the salt lick this morning. That
proves they can't be far off. My idea is that at least three deer are
just beyond the lower creek, although I may be mistaken."
"I'd like to get a shot at 'em. I haven't brought down a deer since we
left the army."
"Well, I reckon we had shooting enough in the army to last us for a
while," returned Henry Morris, grimly. "I know I got all I wanted, and
you got a good deal more."
"But it wasn't the right kind of shooting, Henry. I always hated to
think of firing on another human being, didn't you?"
"Oh, I didn't mind shooting at the Indians--some of 'em don't seem to be
more than half human anyway. But I must say it was different when it
came to bringing down a Frenchman with his spick and span uniform. But
the Frenchmen hadn't any right to molest us and drive your father out of
his trading post."
"I'm afraid General Braddock's defeat will cause us lots of trouble in
the future. Mr. Risley was telling me that he had heard the Indians over
at Plum Valley were as impudent as they could be. He said half a dozen
of 'em made a settler named Hochstein give 'em all they wanted to eat
and drink, and when the German found fault they flourished their
tomahawks and told him all the settlers but the French were squaws and
that he had better shut up or they'd scalp him and burn down his cabin."
"Yes, Sam Barringford was telling something about that, too, and he said
he wouldn't be surprised to hear of an Indian uprising at any time. You
see, the French are backing the redskins up in everything and that makes
them bold. If I had my way, I'd get Colonel Washington to raise an army
of three or four thousand men--the best frontiersmen to be found--and
I'd chase every impudent Frenchman out of the country. We won't have
peace till that is done, mark my words on it," concluded Henry Morris,
emphatically.
David and Henry Morris were cousins, living with their folks on a
clearing not far from what was then known as Will's Creek, now the town
of Cumberland, Virginia. The two families consisted of Dave and his
father, Mr. James Morris, who was a widower, and Mr. Joseph Morris, his
wife Lucy, and three children, Rodney, the oldest, who was something of
a <DW36>, Henry, who has just been introduced, and little Nell, the
sunshine of the whole home.
In a former volume of this series, entitled "With Washington in the
West," I related the particulars of how the two Morris families settled
at Will's Creek, and how James Morris, after the loss of his wife,
wandered westward, and established a trading-post on the Kinotah, one of
the numerous branches of the Ohio River. In the meantime Dave, his son,
fell in with George Washington, when the future President was a
surveyor, and the youth helped to survey many tracts of land in the
beautiful Shenandoah valley.
At this time the colonies of England and of France in America were
having a great deal of trouble between themselves and with the Indians.
Briefly stated, both England and France claimed all the territory
drained by the Ohio and other nearby rivers, and the French sought in
every possible way to drive out English traders who pushed westward.
The driving out of the English traders soon brought trouble to James
Morris, and after being attacked by a band of Indians he was served
with a notice from the French to quit his trading-post in three months'
time or less. Unwilling to give up a profitable business, and half
suspecting that the notice was the concoction of a rascally French
trader named Jean Bevoir, and not an official document, Mr. Morris sent
Dave back to Winchester, that they might get the advice of Colonel
Washington and other officials as to what was best to do.
When Dave arrived home he found that there was practically a state of
war between the French and English. Washington was preparing to march
against the enemy, and to get back to the trading post unaided was for
the youth out of the question. Such being the case, Dave joined the
Virginia Rangers under Washington, and with him went his cousin Henry,
and both fought bravely at the defense of Fort Necessity, where Henry
was badly wounded.
The defeat of the English at Fort Necessity was followed by bitter news
for the Morrises. Sam Barringford, a well-known old trapper of that
locality, and a great friend to the boys, came in one day badly used up
and with the information that the trading-post had fallen under the
combined attack of some French led by Jean Bevoir and some Indians led
by a rascal named Fox Head, who was Bevoir's tool. James Morris had
been taken prisoner and what had become of the trader Barringford could
not tell.
Poor Dave, cut to the heart, was for looking for his father at once, and
his relatives and Sam Barringford were equally eager. But the
trading-post was miles away--through the dense forest and over the wild
mountains--and the | 2,293.504788 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Google Print project.
THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were born after I had withdrawn from the Presbyterian
church, and they have therefore not been baptised. But you are, all
three of you, now sufficiently advanced in years, and in training, to
be interested in, and I trust also, to be benefited by, the story of my
religious evolution. I am going to put the story in writing that you may
have it with you when I am gone, to remind you of the aims and interests
for which I lived, as well as to acquaint you with the most earnest and
intimate period in my career as a teacher of men. If you should ever
become parents yourselves, and your children should feel inclined to
lend their support to dogma, I hope you will prevail upon them, first to
read the story of their grand-father, who fought his way out of the camp
of orthodoxy by grappling with each dogma, hand to hand and breast to
breast.
I have no fear that you yourselves will ever be drawn into the meshes of
orthodoxy, which cost me my youth and the best years of my life to break
through, or that you will permit motives of self-interest to estrange
you from the Cause of Rationalism with which my life has been so closely
identified. My assurance of your loyalty to freedom of thought in
religion is not based, nor do I desire it to be based, on considerations
of respect or affection which you may entertain for me as your father,
but on your ability and willingness to verify a proposition before
assenting to it. Do not believe me because I am your parent, but believe
what you have yourselves, by conscientious and earnest endeavor, found
to be worthy of belief. It will never be said of you, that you have
inherited your opinions from me, or borrowed them from your neighbors,
if you can give a reason for the faith that is in you.
I wish you also to know that during those years of storm and stress,
when everything seemed so discouraging, and when my resignation from
the church had left us exposed to many privations,--without money and
without help, your mother's sympathy with me in my combat with the
church--a lone man, and a mere youth, battling with the most powerfully
intrenched institution in all the world, was more than my daily bread
to me during the pain and travail of my second birth. My spirits, often
depressed from sheer weariness, were nursed to new life and ardor by her
patience and sympathy.
One word more: Nothing will give your parents greater satisfaction than
to see in you, increasing with the increase of years, a love for those
ideals which instead of dragging the world backward, or arresting its
progress, urge man's search to nobler issues. Co-operate with the
light. Be on the side of the dawn. It is not enough to profess
Rationalism--make it your religion. Devotedly,
M. M. Mangasarian.
CHAPTER I. In the Cradle of Christianity
I was a Christian because I was born one. My parents were Christians for
the same reason. It had never occurred to me, any more than it had to
my parents, to ask for any other reason for professing the Christian
religion. Never in the least did I entertain even the most remote
suspicion that being born in a religion was not enough, either to make
the religion true, or to justify my adherence to it.
My parents were members of the Congregational church, and when I was
only a few weeks old, they brought me, as I have often been told by
those who witnessed the ceremony, to the Rev. Mr. Richardson, to be
baptized and presented to the Lord. It was the vow of my mother, if she
ever had a son, to dedicate him to the service of God. As I advanced in
years, the one thought constantly instilled into my mind was that I did
not belong to myself but to God. Every attempt was made to wean me from
the world, and to suppress in me those hopes and ambitions which might
lead me to choose some other career than that of the ministry.
This constant surveillance over me, and the artificial sanctity
associated with the life of one set apart for God, was injurious to me
in many ways. Among other things it robbed me of my childhood. Instead
of playing, I began very early to pray. God, Christ, Bible, and the
dogmas of the faith monopolized my attention, and left me neither the
leisure nor the desire for the things that make childhood joyous. At the
age of eight years I was invited to lead the congregation in prayer, in
church, and could recite many parts of the New Testament by heart. One
of my favorite pastimes was "to play church." I would arrange the chairs
as I had seen them arranged at church, then mounting on one of the
chairs, I would improvise a sermon and follow it with an unctuous
prayer. All this pleased my mother very much, and led her to believe
that God had condescended to accept her offering.
My dear mother is still living, and is still a devout member of the
Congregational church. I have not concealed my Rationalism from her,
nor have I tried to make light of the change which has separated us
radically in the matter of religion. Needless to say that my withdrawal
from the Christian ministry, and the Christian religion, was a painful
disappointment to her. But like all loving mothers, she hopes and prays
that I may return to the faith she still holds, and in which I was
baptized. It is only natural that she should do so. At her age of life,
beliefs have become so crystallized that they can not yield to new
impressions. When my mother had convictions I was but a child, and
therefore I was like clay in her hands, but now that I can think for
myself my mother is too advanced in years for me to try to influence
her. She was more successful with me than I shall ever be with her.
That my mother had a great influence upon me, all my early life attests.
As soon as I was old enough I was sent to college with a view of
preparing myself for the ministry. Having finished college I went to the
Princeton Theological Seminary, where I received instruction from such
eminent theologians as Drs. A. A. Hodge, William H. Green, and Prof.
Francis L. Patton. At the age of twenty-three, I became pastor of the
Spring Garden Presbyterian church of Philadelphia.
It was the reading of Emerson and Theodore Parker which gave me my first
glimpse of things beyond the creed I was educated in. I was at this time
obstinately orthodox, and, hence, to free my mind from the Calvinistic
teaching which I had imbibed with my mother's milk, was a most painful
operation. Again and again, during the period of doubt, I returned to
the bosom of my early faith, just as the legendary dove, scared by the
waste of waters, returned to the ark. To dislodge the shot fired into
a wall is not nearly so difficult an operation as to tear one's self
forever from the early beliefs which cling closer to the soul than the
skin does to the bones.
While it was the reading of a new set of books which first opened my
eyes, these would have left no impression upon my mind had not certain
events in my own life, which I was unable to reconcile with the belief
in a "Heavenly Father", created in me a predisposition to inquire into
the foundations of my Faith.
An event, which happened when I was only a boy, gave me many anxious
thoughts about the truth of the beliefs my dear mother had so eloquently
instilled into me. The one thought I was imbued with from my youth was
that "the tender mercies of God are over all his children," I believed
myself to be a child of God, and counted confidently upon his special
providence. But when the opportunity came for providence to show his
interest in me, I was forsaken, and had to look elsewhere for help. My
first disappointment was a severe shock. I got over it at the time, but
when I came to read Rationalistic books, the full meaning of that early
experience, which I will now briefly relate, dawned upon me, and helped
to make my mind good soil for the new ideas.
In 1877 I was traveling in Asia Minor, going from the Euphrates to the
Bosphorus, accompanied by the driver of my horses, one of which I rode,
the other carrying my luggage. We had not proceeded very far when we
were overtaken by a young traveler on foot, who, for reasons of safety,
begged to join our little party. He was a Mohammedan, while my driver
and I professed the Christian religion.
For three days we traveled together, going at a rapid pace in order to
overtake the caravan. It need hardly be said that in that part of the
world it is considered unsafe to travel even with a caravan, but, to
go on a long journey, as we were doing, all by ourselves, was certainly
taking a great risk.
We were armed with only a rifle--one of those flint fire-arms which
frequently refused to go off. I forgot to say that my driver had also
hanging from his girdle a long and crooked knife sheathed in a
black canvas scabbard. Both the driver, who was a Christian, and the
Mohammedan, who had placed himself under our protection, were, I am
sorry to say, much given to boasting. They would tell how, on various
occasions, they had, single-handed, driven away the Kurdish brigands,
who outnumbered them, ten to one; how that rusty knife had disemboweled
one of the most renowned Kurdish chiefs, and how the silent and
meek-looking flint-gun had held at bay a pack of those "curs" who go
about scenting for human flesh. All this was reassuring to me--a lad of
seventeen, and I began to think that I was indebted to Providence for my
brave escort.
On the morning of the 18th of February, 1877, we reached the valley said
to be a veritable den of thieves, where many a traveler had lost his
life as well as his goods. A great fear fell upon us when we saw on
the wooden bridge which spanned the river at the base of the hills, two
Kurds riding in our direction. I was at once disillusioned as to the
boasted bravery of my comrades, and felt that it was all braggadocio
with which they had been regaling me. As I was the one supposed to have
money, I would naturally be the chief object of attack, which made
my position the more perilous. But this sudden fear which seemed to
paralyze me at first, was followed by a bracing resolve to cope with
these "devils" mentally.
As I look back now upon the events of that day, I am puzzled to know
how I got through it all without any serious harm to my person. I was
surprised also that I, who had been brought up to pray and to trust in
divine help, forgot in the hour of real peril, all about "other help"
and bent all my energies upon helping myself.
But why did I not pray? Why did I not fall upon my knees to commit
myself to God's keeping? Perhaps it was because I was too much
pre-occupied--too much in earnest to take the time to pray. Perhaps my
better instincts would not let me take refuge in words when something
stronger was wanted. We may ask the good Lord not to burn our house,
but when the house is actually on fire, water is better than prayer.
Perhaps, again, I did not pray because of an instinctive feeling that
this was a case of self-help or no help at all. Perhaps, again, there
was a feeling in me, that if all the prayers my mother and I had offered
did not save me from falling into the hands of thieves neither would any
new prayer that I might offer be of any help. But the fact is that in
the hour of positive and imminent peril--when face to face with death--I
was too busy to pray.
My mother, before I started on this journey, had made a bag for my
valuables--watch and chain, etc.--and sewed it on my underflannels, next
to my body. But my money (all in gold coins) was in a snuff-box, and
that again in a long silk purse. I was, of course, the better dressed
of the three--with long boots which reached higher than my knees, a
warm English broadcloth cloak reaching down to my ankles, and an Angora
collarette, soft and snow white, about my neck.
I rode ahead, and the others, with the baggage horse, followed me. When
the two Kurdish riders who were advancing in our direction reached me,
they saluted me very politely, saying, according to the custom of the
country, "God be with you," to which I timidly returned the customary
answer, "We are all in his keeping." At the time it did not occur to me
how absurd it was for both travelers and robbers to recommend each other
to God while carrying fire-arms--the ones for attack, the others for
defense.
Of course now I can see, though I could not at the time I am speaking
of, that God never interfered to save an _unarmed_ traveler from
brigands--I say never, for if he ever did, and could, he would do it
always. But as we know, alas, too well, that hundreds and thousands have
been robbed and cut to pieces by these Kurds, it would be reasonable to
infer that God is indifferent. Of course, the strongly-armed travelers,
as a rule, escape, thanks to their own courage and firearms. For, we ask
again, if the Lord can save one, why not all? And if he can save all,
but will not, does he not become as dangerous as the robbers? But really
if God could do anything in the matter, He would reform the Kurds out
of the land, or--out of the thieving business. If God is the unfailing
police force in Christian, lands, he is not that in Mohammedan
countries, at any rate.
As the two mounted Kurds passed by me, they scanned me very closely--my
costume, boots, furs, cap and so on. Then I heard them making inquiries
of my driver about me--who I was, where I was going, and why I was going
at all.
My driver answered these, inquiries as honestly as the circumstances
permitted. Wishing us all again the protection of Allah, the Kurds
spurred their horses and galloped away.
For a moment we began to breathe freely--but only for a moment, for as
our horses reached the bridge we saw that the Kurds had turned around
and were now following us. And before we reached the middle of the
bridge over the river, one of the Kurds galloping up close to me laid
his hand on my shoulders and, unceremoniously, pulled me out of my
saddle. At the same time he dismounted himself, while his partner
remained on horseback with his gun pointed squarely in my-face, and
threatening to kill me if I did not give him my money immediately.
I can never forget his savage grin when at last he found my purse, and
grabbing it, with another oath, pulled it out of its hiding place. I
have already described that my coins were all in a little box hid away
in my purse, hence, as soon as the robber had loosened the strings he
took out the box, held it in his left hand, while with his right he kept
searching in the inner folds of my long purse. While he was running his
fingers through the tortuous purse, I slipped mine into his left hand,
and, taking hold of the box, I emptied its contents into my pocket
in the twinkling of an eye and handed it back to the robber. The Kurd
incensed at finding nothing in the purse which he kept shaking and
fingering, snatched the box from my hand, opened it, and finding it as
empty as the purse, flung it away with an oath.
"Are you Moslems or Christians?" inquired one of the Kurds, to my
companions.
"We are all Moslems, by Allah," they answered.
In Turkey you are not supposed to speak the truth unless you say, "by
Allah," which means "_by God_."
Of course it was not true that I was a Mohammedan. My companions told
the Kurds a falsehood about me, to save my life. There was no doubt the
Kurds would have killed me, but for the lie _which I did not correct_.
When I reached my destination many of my co-religionists declared that I
had denied Christ by allowing the Kurds to think that I was a Moslem.
As I feel now, my conscience does not trouble me for helping, by my
silence, to deceive the Kurds about my religion. In withholding the
truth from these would-be assassins I was doing them no evil, but
protecting the most sacred rights of man, the Kurd's included. Here was
an instance in which silence was golden. But I would not hesitate,
any moment, to mislead a thief or a murderer, by speech, as well as
by silence. If it is right to kill the murderer in self-defense, it is
right to deny him also the truth.
But young as I was, what alarmed me at the time was that we should
have been led into the temptation of lying to save our lives. Why did a
"Heavenly Father" deliver us to the brigands? And of what help was God
to us, if, in real peril, we had to resort to fighting or falsehood for
self-protection? In what way would the world have been worse off without
a "Heavenly Father?"
About a month after I arrived at my destination, I received a letter
from my mother, to whom the driver, upon his return, had related my
adventure with the Kurds. Without paying the least thought to the fact
that we had to lie to save our lives, my mother claimed that it was her
prayers which had saved _me_ from the brigands. _Sancta Simplicitas!_
But my hospitality to new tendencies did not in the least diminish the
anguish and pain of the separation from the religion of my mother. Even
after I began to seriously doubt many of the beliefs I had once accepted
as divine, it seemed impossible to abandon them. Ten thousand obstacles
blocked my way, and as many voices seemed to caution me against sailing
forth upon an unknown sea. In a modest way, I was like Columbus,
separated from the new world I was seeking, by the dark and tempestuous
waste of waters. How often my heart sank within me! I was almost sure
of a better and larger world beyond Calvin, or Christ even, but the huge
sea rolled between and struck terror upon my mind.
But if there are difficulties, there is a way out of them. I am glad
that the difficulties, great and insurmountable as they seemed at
the time, did not succeed in holding me back. Between Calvinism and
Rationalism flowed the deep, dark sea of fear. I have crossed that sea.
Behind me is theology with its mysteries and dogmas; before me are the
sunny fields of science. Born in the world of John Calvin, baptised
in the name of the Holy Trinity, and set apart for the Christian
ministry,--I have become a Rationalist. The meaning of both these words,
Calvinist and Rationalist, will, I hope, become clear to all the readers
of this book. The difference between the Calvinist and the Rationalist
is not that the one uses his reason, while the other does not. Both
use their reason. It is by using his reason that the Calvinist is not
a Catholic, for instance, or a Mohammedan. In the same way the Catholic
reasons for his church and against Calvinism. To say that Christianity,
or Judaism, should be accepted on faith, without first subjecting
its claims to the strain of reason, is also reasoning. Such is the
constitution of the mind, that even when men seek to suppress reason,
they are compelled to offer reasons for doing so.
But there is reasoning and reasoning. The Bushman has his reason for
trusting in his amulets; the civilized man, his, for trusting in
self-help. Just as the eyes must have light before they can see, Reason
must have knowledge before it can reason truly. But it is possible to
possess knowledge and still reason badly, just as a man may be in the
light, and still not see--by keeping his eyes shut.
Nor does it follow that if a man opens his eyes he _will_ see. The eyes
obey the will; if we do not wish to see, we will not see even with
our eyes open. There are many educated people who allow motives of
self-interest, if not to blind, at least to blur their vision.
Finally, it is not enough to see for ourselves. We must show to others
what we see: My object for telling the story of my mind--how it passed
from Calvinism to Rationalism,--is to help others see what I see.
CHAPTER II. Early Struggles
As I look back upon the period of mental conflict and uncertainty which
marked the closing years of my pastorate in the Presbyterian church, I
am comforted by the thought that I did not wait until I was accused of
heresy, tried by an ecclesiastical court and dismissed from the church
before I severed my connection with the Presbyterian denomination. On
the contrary, as soon as I had fully persuaded myself that I was no
longer a Presbyterian, I, of my own accord, offered my resignation,
after stating publicly the reasons which had led me to renounce
Calvinism. It was not the church that expelled me; it was I that
renounced the church.
Of course, even then there were those, who demanded a public trial and
my formal deposition from the ministry. The Philadelphia Presbytery met
to discuss whether I should not be summoned to appear before them, to
receive their censure. But wiser counsel prevailed, and a sensational
public trial was avoided. The district attorney of the city of
Philadelphia, Mr. George Graham, himself a staunch Presbyterian,
explained to the ministers that my resignation had deprived them of all
ecclesiastical jurisdiction over me. I had, he explained, unlocked the
door and walked out into the open, and it was too late now to talk of
expelling me. On the other hand, although my complete severance from
Calvinism had been fully announced, still for many days and nights my
house was filled with members of my church urging me to remain with them
as their pastor, and to hold on to the church building. I am very happy
to think that I was able to resist this temptation too. Had I yielded to
their entreaties, or allowed myself to be swayed by their arguments,
I would have been placed in a position where I could neither be
a Rationalist nor a Calvinist, but a preacher of ambiguities,
contradicting in one breath what I had said in another. From such a
career of duplicity and arrested growth, I was saved by a fortunate
decision on my part to give up Presbyterian property as well as the
Presbyterian creed.
The first Sunday after my resignation, I spoke in a hall on Broad
street, in Philadelphia. It was quite a change from a handsome church
edifice to a secular hall. I could see that those who followed me out of
the Presbyterian denomination felt ill at ease, on a Sunday morning in a
public hall. But that was not the worst shock in store for them.
When I reached the hall on Broad street it was so densely packed that
it seemed impossible for me to reach the platform. In the meantime, my
trustees were getting anxious about my failure to appear in the
pulpit. The audience too was showing signs of discomfort in the crowded
auditorium. It was only by announcing my name, and begging those who
stood up in rows at the entrance,--all the seats being occupied--to help
me reach the stage, that I could make any progress through the crowd.
When at last I faced the audience to deliver my first address from a
free platform, I thought of the advice given me by my trustees, that, as
much depended upon the impression of my first talk, which would in all
probability be extensively reported in the papers, I should take care
not to go "too far." What they meant by not going "too far," was that I
should let the public know that in the essentials I was as Christian as
ever. I do not blame my friends for this advice. They trembled for me
and for the organization which was to be launched for the first time on
that day. Besides, they were themselves, Presbyterians still, at heart,
and had no clear understanding of the meaning of my renunciation
of Calvinism. Sentimentally they were with me, but by training and
conviction they were still for the creed of their ancestors.
Speaking frankly, I had myself agreed to the wisdom of being careful and
conservative in my opening address, believing that radical utterances at
this time would make me more enemies than friends. But when I began to
speak, in the enthusiasm of the moment, joyous over the first taste of
freedom of speech, I forgot my caution, and gave my thoughts as
they welled up within me, full scope. "To the winds with policy and
calculation! Whether I win followers, or lose the last man, I must not
stammer,--I must speak!" Under the spell of this thought, which seemed
to seize me without at all consulting me, I said many things which
changed the color on the faces of my Presbyterian supporters.
Unused to freedom of speech, and brought up to believe certain beliefs
as sacred, the attempt on my part to subject these to the strain of
reason was in the nature of a painful disappointment to them. Thus
many of my followers lost heart and quickly returned to the cradle from
which, in a moment of excitement, they had leaped forth. But new friends
took the place of those who deserted the young movement, and in a very
short time, a larger hall was secured. This was St. George's hall, on
Arch street, one of the largest halls in Philadelphia. But up to this
time we, including myself, believed ourselves to be still Christians,
though no longer Presbyterians. As long as we held on to the name of
Christian we continued to sail in comparatively smooth waters. We made
the word "Christian," of course, to mean what we wanted it to mean.
But very soon new perplexities arose. The people who came to hear me,
and who paid the expenses of the new organization, as well as
directed its policy, while they progressed sufficiently to renounce
Presbyterianism, they were very reluctant to part with Christianity
altogether. I could criticise Calvin to my heart's content, but I must
not, Christ. The church, or churchianity, certainly deserved to be
investigated, and its errors exposed, but Christ and Christianity were
too sacred to be handled with equal freedom. My trustees felt that as a
liberal _Christian_ organization, there was a great future before us;
we would soon become one of the largest and most prosperous religious
bodies in the city; but if we "attacked" Christ--they called examining
the teachings and character of Christ freely "attacking" Christ--we
would be disowned by all respectable members, and lose our standing in
the esteem of a hitherto friendly public.
And the public was indeed friendly at this stage of our evolution. The
press of Philadelphia, as well as of New York City, reported daily,
for some time, the doings of the new organization. The majority of
the editorials in the daily papers commended the course I had taken
in avoiding a "heresy trial," and in resisting the great temptation to
resort to shifts and subterfuges to enable me to remain at a lucrative
post. In these days * departures from Orthodoxy were rare, and
naturally, my case created a great stir. But as I have intimated,
the preponderance of criticism and comment was favorable. Encouraging
letters from Henry Ward Beecher, Lyman Abbott, Prof. David Swing, and
other prominent leaders gave the new society an enviable prestige.
But my trustees protested that this "good will" of the public, which
constituted our best asset, would be lost, and its sympathy turned
into antagonism, if I spoke as freely of Christ as I did of Calvin,
and subjected the Bible to the same strain of reason that I did the
Westminster Catechism. In other words, I was politely made to feel that
while it was respectable enough to part with Presbyterianism, it would
spell ruin to part also with Christianity.
* 1880.
In justice to my supporters I must state that when I resigned from the
Presbyterian church I had no idea that the step would eventually carry
me beyond Christianity itself. "A purer Christianity" was my plea at
that time, and I sincerely believed that with Calvinism out of the way
there would be left no serious obstacle for reason to stumble over.
I was not prepared at that stage of my evolution to perceive the
impossibility of separating Calvinism from Christianity without
destroying both. Calvinism was a symptom and not the disease itself.
The disease was supernaturalism, of which the different sects are
the manifestations. It is the disease and not its manifestation that
required suppression. I was unable to see the relationship between an
infinite God, sovereign of all, and Calvinism, and fancied in my mind
that I could keep God and let Calvin go. But faith in a God who knows
everything and is absolutely sovereign, spells Calvinism.
The step out of Christianity was infinitely more difficult than the
step out of Presbyterianism. Had my followers been trained to think
rationally, they would have seen that since I did not resign from the
Presbyterian church, for a different form of baptism, or communion, but
because of its failure to recognize Reason as the highest authority in
religion, I was bound, by the very stress and logic of my premises, to
drop Christianity as I had been led to drop Calvinism.
My trustees were quite unconscious of giving me dangerous advice, or of
trying to make of me an example of arrested development. They were
my friends, and the friends of the cause, but they could not think
logically, and that is why they could not appreciate my reply that we
are not free to command the truth,--we must obey the truth.
Matters came to a crisis when I delivered a lecture on "Was Jesus
God?" I can still see the painful expression on the faces of many of my
hearers on that Sunday morning. Did I bring them out of the Presbyterian
church to make "infidels" and "blasphemers" of them? A number of my
hearers rose and left the hall. The strain upon me was severe. When I
sat down I was in a profuse perspiration. When all was over, I must
have looked ashen pale. I had hardly any strength left to announce the
closing hymn. But my audience suffered perhaps even more than did I. To
part with Jesus is not the same thing as parting with Calvin, and that
morning I had told them that if Calvin goes, Jesus must go too.
_C'est le premier pas qui coute._ "It is the first step that costs."
But I found my second step even more costly. Voltaire speaks of the
inevitableness of the second step if the first is taken. They told him
how St. Denis had picked up his own head after it had been chopped off
by the executioner, and walked a hundred steps with it in his hands. He
replied, "I can believe in the ninety-nine steps, it is the first step I
find difficulty in believing." Granted the first step, the ninety-nine,
or nine million steps are very easy. Would it not be wasteful to argue
that St. Denis took the first step, but no more? Is it not equally
superfluous to accept one miracle in the Bible, and deny the rest?
If one miracle, why not a million? But the aim of the training we had
received in the church was not to help us to think logically but how
not to think logically. The state of the Christian church, divided,
sub-divided, and voicing doctrines diametrically opposed the one to the
other, while they all claim to be and are, equally scriptural is a proof
of this. I do not blame therefore, the members of my society for taking
offense or for withdrawing, as many of them did after the "Jesus"
lecture, their support from my work. They could not see the incongruity
of accepting one part and rejecting another of a "divine" revelation.
If the texts upon which Calvin based his theology were doubtful | 2,293.506227 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.4869170 | 651 | 9 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration:
CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 717. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]
BURIAL ECCENTRICITIES.
In all times and countries there have been queer notions about
burial. We here offer to our readers a few instances of this kind of
eccentricity.
Mr Wilkinson, one of the founders of the iron manufacture in Great
Britain, loved iron so well that he resolved to carry it to the grave
with him. He had himself buried in his garden in an iron coffin, over
which was an iron tomb of twenty tons' weight. In order to make all
right and secure, he caused the coffin and tomb to be constructed
while he was yet alive; he delighted to shew them to his friends and
visitors--possibly more to his pleasure than theirs. But there were
sundry little tribulations to encounter. When he died, it was found
that the coffin was too small; he was temporarily laid in the ground
while a new one was made; when buried, it was decided that the coffin
was too near the surface, and it was therefore transferred to a cavity
dug in a rock; lastly, when the estate was sold many years afterwards,
the family directed the coffin to be transferred to the churchyard.
Thus Mr Wilkinson had the exceptional honour of being buried three or
four times over. Mr Smiles tells us that, in 1862, a man was living who
had assisted at all these interments. Mr Wilkinson was quite pleased
to make presents of iron coffins to any friends who wished to possess
such mementos of death and iron. In a granite county such as Cornwall,
it is not surprising to read that the Rev. John Pomeroy, of St Kew, was
buried in a granite coffin which he had caused to be made.
Some persons have had a singular taste for providing their coffins
long beforehand, and keeping them as objects pleasant to look at, or
morally profitable as reminders of the fate of all, or useful for
everyday purposes until the last and solemn use supervenes. A slater
in Fifeshire, about forty years ago, made his own coffin, decorated it
with shells, and displayed it among other fancy shell-work in a room
he called his grotto. Another North Briton, a cartwright, made his own
coffin, and used it for a long time to hold his working tools; it
was filled with sliding shelves, and the lid turned upon hinges. It
is said that many instances are met with in Scotland of working men
constructing their own coffins 'in leisure hours.' Alderman Jones of
Gloucester, about the close of the seventeenth century, had his coffin
and his monument constructed | 2,293.506957 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.4880390 | 2,432 | 12 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
_AT KARTOUM_.
[Illustration: MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.]
THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
AT KARTOUM.
_PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS._
INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
A. EGMONT HAKE,
AUTHOR OF “THE STORY OF CHINESE GORDON,” ETC.
WITH PORTRAIT, TWO MAPS, AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER SKETCHES
BY GENERAL GORDON.
[Illustration: LOGO]
LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1885.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._
PREFACE.
THE work of editing these Journals is at an end; it only remains
now for me to thank one of my oldest and most valued friends, whose
assistance in every way I wish most thoroughly to acknowledge: this
is Mr. Godfrey Thrupp. When it became obvious that the public demand
for the work made its completion in so short a time impossible—as the
conscientious achievement of one man—he generously came forward. His
knowledge of the East and his deep interest in the subject made him an
invaluable colleague.
A. EGMONT HAKE.
_June 11, 1885._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Editor’s Preface v
Introduction by the Editor ix
General Gordon’s Position at Kartoum. By Sir Henry W.Gordon,
K.C.B. lv
The Mission of Colonel Sir Charles Wilson, R.E. By Sir Henry
W. Gordon, K.C.B. lxi
Description of the Journal. By Sir Henry W. Gordon, K.C.B. lxiv
Position of the Steamers, Dec. 14, 1884 lxvi
Journal, Book I.—Sept. 10 to Sept. 23, 1884 3
Journal, Book II.—Sept. 23 to Sept. 30, 1884 83
Journal, Book III.—Oct. 1 to Oct. 12, 1884 121
Journal, Book IV.—Oct. 12 to Oct. 20, 1884 183
Journal, Book V.—Oct. 20 to Nov. 5, 1884 213
Journal, Book VI.—Nov. 5 to Dec. 14, 1884 279
APPENDICES:—
BOOK I.
APPENDIX
A. Letter from Abdel Kader Ibrahim to General Gordon, and
General Gordon’s reply 399
A². Letters from Abderrahman en Najoomi and Abdullah en Noor
to General Gordon, and his reply 404
B. Letter from George Calamatino to General Gordon, and his
reply 409
D. Letter from the Ulema of Kartoum to the Mahdi 410
E. Letter from Faki Mustapha to Cassim el Moos 420
E¹. Upon the Slave Convention 425
F. Memorandum upon the defeat of Hicks’s army 426
G. Letter from General Gordon to Ibrahim Abdel Kader 428
K. Letter from Abdel Kader to General Gordon 430
L. Letters from Abderrahhman en Najoomi and Abdullah en Noor to
General Gordon 432
M. Letter from General Gordon to Sheikh Abderrahhman en Najoomi,
with his reply 438
N. Letters from Colonel Stewart and M. Herbin to General Gordon 442
BOOK IV.
P. Letter from Abou Gugliz to General Gordon 447
Q. Letters from Fakirs, and from Faki Mustapha, to the
Commandant of Omdurman Fort 447
R. Two letters from Slatin Bey to General Gordon 452
S. Letter from Slatin Bey to the Austrian Consul 455
The Insurrection of the False Prophet, 1881-83 456
BOOK V.
Q. Letters from Saleh Ibrahim of Galabat and Greek Consul at
Adowa to General Gordon and Greek Consul at Kartoum 511
R. Letter from Slatin Bey to General Gordon 519
T. Letter from the Mudir at Sennaar to General Gordon 520
U. Letter from the Mahdi to General Gordon with two enclosures,
with General Gordon’s answer; and letters from General Gordon
to the Mudir of Dongola 522
V. Manifesto of the Mahdi to the inhabitants of Kartoum 539
X. Letter from Major Kitchener to General Gordon, enclosing one
from Herr Roth, and a telegram 546
BOOK VI.
Y. Towfik’s Firman, and notice by General Gordon 550
AB. Letter from Khalifa Abdullah Mahomed to General Gordon 553
CD. Petition of the Ulema at Kartoum to the Khedive 556
EF. Organisation of the Soudan under Zubair 557
INTRODUCTION.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
* * * * *
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honourable;
What private griefs they had, alas! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honourable,
And will no doubt, with reasons answer you.
* * * * *
But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.”
THESE grand lines force themselves upon me, though maybe their analogy
is incomplete. Mark Antony was a casuist, and pleaded the cause of
revenge; I am only earnest in the cause of justice. Yet I trust in
my pleading to enable Englishmen to realise how great and how sad
is the loss of Charles Gordon, not only to those who loved him, but
to the cause of suffering humanity. Gordon is dead. We cannot bring
him back to life. Yet from his death we may learn at least how fit
he was to teach us while he lived, how fit to hold his country’s
honour in his hand, how fit to judge of what was right and what was
wrong. His journals are his last words to the world as much as they
are instruction and information to his Government, and Englishmen who
value England’s honour may well read them with a heavy heart—with eyes
dimmed by tears. I say Gordon is dead, and we cannot bring him back
to life, but we can do much he would have done for us _had he been
allowed to live_. His journals tell us how we can best repair mischief
already done (and I understand his words to apply rather to the English
people than to the Government which represents them), and they tell us
what is best for the Soudan. In the interest of this unhappy land he
devoted much of his life; in its interest he died. Let us then compare
the opposite conditions under which the people existed during Gordon’s
presence and absence, and in doing this let us mark well what Gordon
said during his life, and what his journals say for him now that he is
dead.
* * * * *
Gordon used to tell the story of how, when Said Pasha, Viceroy
of Egypt before Ismail, went up to the Soudan, so discouraged and
horrified was he at the misery of the people, that at Berber he threw
his guns into the river, declaring he would be no party to such
oppression. In this spirit Gordon went there as Governor of the Equator
in 1874, and in this spirit he expressed his views on the duties of
foreigners in the service of Oriental States. His ardent and unstudied
words are worthy of the deepest study. They breathe the kindliest
wisdom, the most prudent philanthropy; and it would be well if those
whose lot is thrown in barbarous lands would take them for a constant
guide. To accept government, only if by so doing you benefit the race
you rule; to lead, not drive the people to a higher civilisation;
to establish only such reforms as represent the spontaneous desire
of the mass; to abandon relations with your native land; to resist
other governments, and keep intact the sovereignty of the State whose
bread you eat; to represent the native when advising Ameer, Sultan
or Khedive, on any question which your own or any foreign government
may wish solved; and in this to have for prop and guide that which is
universally right throughout the world, that which is best for the
people of the State you serve.
Such were Gordon’s sentiments when he first entered upon his task;
well would it have been for Egypt, England, and the world, had his
successors taken them to heart and made them their ideal. In such a
case the peace, the happiness he brought to the Soudan might still have
been preserved.
Never perhaps in the histories of barbarous rule were the ideals of
justice and truth more needed than at this date (1874). Seven-eighths
of the population were slaves; the country swarmed with slave-hunters
and slave-dealers; and district governors, greedy for pelf, aided and
abetted them in their raids. So crushed were the remaining population
that they regarded all comers as their foes; so destitute that they
were ready and willing to exchange their own kin for cattle or for
grain. Their flocks and herds, like their kindred, had been robbed.
To sow they were afraid, for governors and slave-hunters never let
them reap; and if perchance they cultivated ground, it was a mere
patch hidden in some distant nook out of the enemy’s way. The maxims
of their rulers, prior to Gordon’s advent, had been that if the
n | 2,293.508079 |
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E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau
THE COUNTESS OF ESCARBAGNAS.
(LA COMTESSE D'ESCARBAGNAS.)
by
MOLIERE
Translated into English Prose.
With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.
by
Charles Heron Wall
'La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas' was acted before the Court at
Saint-Germain-en-Laye, on December 2, 1671, and in the theatre of the
Palais Royal on July 8, 1672. It was never printed during Moliere's
lifetime, but for the first time only in 1682. It gives us a good
picture of the provincial thoughts, manners, and habits of those days.
PERSONS REPRESENTED
THE COUNT, _son to the_ COUNTESS | 2,293.560404 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Across the Spanish Main, by Harry Collingwood.
________________________________________________________________________
This book, of average length, is set at the end of the sixteenth
century, when the English were in a state of war against the Spanish.
The heroes of the story are two boys from Devon, a county in the
south-west of England. They set off with a view to repairing the
fortunes of the family of one of them, by chasing and capturing Spanish
treasure ships.
Their adventures are many and various, and include being captured by a
famous pirate. They are also, later on in the book, condemned to be
burnt to death by the Inquisition. Luckily they are able to escape this
disagreeable outcome.
They also come across a cryptogram, which is rather difficult to solve,
but which eventually they manage to decypher, and which leads them to
the treasure hoarded by the pirate, who by that time has met his end.
This is a good book, and one which makes a | 2,293.602373 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.5836560 | 1,494 | 19 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the PG Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
ELSIE'S
WOMANHOOD
A sequel to
"ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD"
By
MARTHA FINLEY
Complete Authorized Edition
Published by arrangement with
Dodd, Mead and Company
_A Burt Book_
BLUE RIBBON BOOKS, Inc.
_New York_
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
DODD & MEAD
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
1903,
BY MARTHA FINLEY
1917,
BY CHARLES B. FINLEY
Preface.
The call for a sequel to "Elsie's Girlhood" having become too loud and
importunate to be resisted, the pleasant task of writing it was
undertaken.
Dates compelled the bringing in of the late war: and it has been the
earnest desire and effort of the author to so treat the subject as to
wound the feelings of none; to be as impartial as if writing history; and,
by drawing a true, though alas, but faint picture, of the great losses and
sufferings on both sides, to make the very thought of a renewal of the
awful strife _utterly abhorrent_ to every lover of humanity, and
especially of this, our own dear native land.
Are we not one people: speaking the same language; worshipping the one
true and living God; having a common history, a common ancestry; and
united by the tenderest ties of blood? And is not this great grand,
glorious old Union--known and respected all over the world--our common
country, our joy and pride? O! let us forget all bitterness, and live
henceforth in love, harmony, and mutual helpfulness.
For all I know of the Teche country I am indebted to Mr. Edward King's
"Old and New Louisiana"; for facts and dates in regard to the war, and in
large measure for Mr. Dinsmore's views as to its causes, etc.,
principally to Headley's "History of the Great Rebellion."
The description of Andersonville, and the life led by the prisoners there,
was supplied by one who shared it for six months. An effort was made to
obtain a sketch of a Northern prison also, but without success.
Yet what need to balance accounts in respect to these matters? The
unnatural strife is over, and we are again one united people.
M.F.
CHAPTER FIRST.
"Oh! there is one affection which no stain
Of earth can ever darken;--when two find,
The softer and the manlier, that a chain
Of kindred taste has fastened mind to mind."
--PERCIVAL'S POEMS.
In one of the cool green alleys at the Oaks, Rose and Adelaide Dinsmore
were pacing slowly to and fro, each with an arm about the other's waist,
in girlish fashion, while they conversed together in low, confidential
tones.
At a little distance to one side, the young son and heir had thrown
himself prone upon the grass in the shade of a magnificent oak, story-book
in hand. Much interested he seemed in his book, yet occasionally his eye
would wander from its fascinating pages to watch, with pride and delight,
the tiny Rosebud steady herself against a tree, then run with eager,
tottering steps and a crow of delight into her nurse's outstretched arms,
to be hugged, kissed, praised, and coaxed to try it over again.
As Rose and Adelaide turned at one end of the alley, Mr. Horace Dinsmore
entered it at the other. Hurriedly approaching the little toddler, he
stooped and held out his hands, saying, in tender, half-tremulous tones,
"Come, darling, come to papa."
She ran into his arms, crying, "Papa," in her sweet baby voice, and
catching her up, he covered her face with kisses; then, holding her
clasped fondly to his breast, walked on towards his wife and sister.
"What is it, Horace?" asked Rose anxiously, as they neared each other; for
she saw that his face was pale and troubled.
"I bring you strange tidings, my Rose," he answered low and sadly, as she
laid her hand upon his arm with an affectionate look up into his face.
Hers grew pale. "Bad news from home?" she almost gasped.
"No, no; I've had no word from our absent relatives or friends, and I'm
not sure I ought to call it bad news either; though I cannot yet think of
it with equanimity, it has come upon me so suddenly."
"What?" asked both ladies in a breath; "don't keep us in suspense."
"It has been going on for years--on his part--I can see it now--but, blind
fool that I was, I never suspected it till to-day, when it came upon me
like a thunderbolt."
"What? who?"
"Travilla; after years of patient waiting he has won her at last--our
darling--and--and I've given her to him."
Both ladies stood dumb with astonishment, while young Horace, who had come
running up in time to catch the last words, cried out with vehemence,
"Papa! what! give our Elsie away? how could you? how can we ever do
without her? But she shan't go, for she belongs to me too, and I'll
_never_ give consent!"
Mr. Dinsmore and the ladies smiled faintly.
"They seemed to think mine quite sufficient, Horace," replied his father,
"and I'm afraid will hardly consider it necessary to ask yours."
"But, papa, we can't spare her--you know we can't--and why should you go
and give her away to Mr. Travilla or anybody?"
"My son, had I refused, it would have caused her great unhappiness."
"Then she ought to be ashamed to go and love Mr. Travilla better than you
and all of us."
"I was never more astonished in my life!" cried Adelaide.
"Nor I," said Rose. "And he's a great deal too old for her."
"That is an objection," replied her husband, "but if not insuperable to
her, need not be to us."
"Think of your intimate friend addressing you as father!" laughed
Adelaide; "it's really too ridiculous."
"That need not be--is not an inevitable consequence of the match," smiled
Mr. Dinsmore, softly caressing the little one clinging about his neck.
Still conversing on the same subject, the minds of all being full of it to
the exclusion of every other, they moved on as if by common consent
towards the house.
"Do you think it can be possible that she is really and truly in love with
him?" queried Rose; "a man | 2,293.603696 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, David Widger
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE SAINT
By Antonio Fogazzaro
Since the condemnation of _The Saint_ by the Congregation of the Index,
the publishers of the authorized translation of this novel feel that, in
justice to its author, Senator Antonio Fogazzaro, they owe to the public
a word of explanation by way of making plain (what the author has in
more than one letter made plain to them) how it comes about that, in
spite of the decree of the Index, the Senator sanctions the appearance
of the book in America. The explanation is found in the fact that the
American publishers secured, before the sentence of the Congregation had
been passed, the sanction for the publication of their translation--a
sanction which the author, as a loyal Catholic, could not have given
later, but which, once it was given, he did not feel justified in
withdrawing.
NEW YORK, July, 1906.
NOTE:
_The Saint_, though it is independent of Fogazzaro's earlier romances,
and though it explains itself completely when read in its entirety,
will perhaps be more readily understood and enjoyed, especially in the
opening chapters, if a few words are said with regard to certain of its
characters who have made an appearance in preceding stories by the
me author. All needful information of this kind is conveyed in the
following paragraph, for which we are indebted to Mrs. Crawford's
article, "The Saint in Fiction," which appeared in _The Fortnightly
Review_ for April, 1906:
"Readers of Fogazzaro's earlier novels will recognise in Piero Maironi,
the Saint, the son of the Don Franco Maironi who, in the _Piccolo Mondo
Antico_, gives his life for the cause of freedom, while he himself is
the hero of the _Piccolo Mondo Moderno_. For those who have not read
the preceding volumes it should be explained that his wife being in a
lunatic asylum, Maironi, artist and dreamer, had fallen in love with
a beautiful woman separated from her husband, Jeanne Dessalle, who
professed agnostic opinions. Recalled to a sense of his faith and his
honour by an interview with his wife, who sent for him on her death-bed,
he was plunged in remorse, and disappeared wholly from the knowledge
of friends and relatives after depositing in the hands of a venerable
priest, Don Giuseppe Flores, a sealed paper describing a prophetic
vision concerning his life that had largely contributed to his
conversion. Three years are supposed to have passed between the close of
the _Piccolo Mondo Moderno_ and the opening of _Il Santo_, when Maironi
is revealed under the name of Benedetto, purified of his sins by a life
of prayer and emaciated by the severity of his mortifications, while
Jeanne Dessalle, listless and miserable, is wandering around Europe
with Noemi d'Arxel, sister to Maria Selva, hoping against hope for the
reappearance of her former lover."
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION (BY WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER)
CHAPTER
I.--LAC D'AMOUR
II.--DON CLEMENTE
III.--A NIGHT OF STORMS
IV.--FACE TO FACE
V.--THE SAINT
VI.--THREE LETTERS
VII.--IN THE WHIRLPOOL OF THE WORLD
VIII.--JEANNE
IX.--IN THE WHIRLWIND OF GOD
Introduction
By William Roscoe Thayer
Author of "The Dawn of Italian Independence"
ANTONIO FOGAZZARO AND HIS MASTERPIECE
I
Senator Fogazzaro, in _The Saint_, has confirmed the impression of
his five and twenty years' career as a novelist, and now, through
the extraordinary power and pertinence of this crowning work, he has
suddenly become an international celebrity. The myopic censors of the
_Index_ have assured the widest circulation of his book by condemning it
as heretical. In the few months since its publication, it has been
read by hundreds of thousands of Italians; it has appeared in French
translation in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ and in German in the
_Hochland_; and it has been the storm centre of religious and literary
debate. Now it will be sought by a still wider circle, eager to see what
the doctrines are, written by the leading Catholic layman in Italy, at
which the Papal advisers have taken fright. Time was when it was the
books of the avowed enemies of the Church--of some mocking Voltaire,
some learned Renan, some impassioned Michelet--which they thrust on the
_Index_; now they pillory the Catholic layman with the largest following
in Italy, one who has never wavered in his devotion to the Church.
Whatever the political result of their action may be, they have made the
fortune of the book they hoped to suppress; and this is good, for _The
Saint_ is a real addition to literature.
Lovers of Italy have regretted that foreigners should judge her
contemporary ideals and literary achievements by the brilliant, but
obscene and degenerate books of Gabriele d'Annunzio. Such books, the
products of disease no matter what language they may be written in,
quickly circulate from country to country. Like epidemics they sweep
up and down the world, requiring no passports, respecting no frontiers,
while benefits travel slowly from people to people, and often lose much
in the passage. D'Annunzio, speaking the universal language--Sin,--has
been accepted as the typical Italian by foreigners who know Carducci
merely as a name and have perhaps never heard of Fogazzaro. Yet it is in
these men that the better genius of modern Italy has recently expressed
itself. Carducci's international reputation as the foremost living poet
in Europe and a literary critic of the first class gains slowly, but
its future is secure. Thanks to the wider circulating medium of fiction,
Fogaz-* *zaro's name is a household word in thousands of Italian
families, and he combines in his genius so many rare and important
strands that the durability of his literary renown cannot be questioned.
II
Antonio Fogazzaro, the most eminent Italian novelist since Manzoni, was
born at Vicenza on March 25th, 1842. He was happy in his parents, his
father, Mariano Fogazzaro, being a man of refined tastes and sound
learning, while his mother, Teresa Barrera, united feminine sweetness
with wit and a warm heart. From childhood they influenced all sides of
his nature, and when the proper time came they put him in charge of a
wise tutor, Professor Zanella, who seems to have divined his pupil's
talents and the best way to cultivate them. Young Fogazzaro, having
completed his course in the classics went on to the study of the law,
which he pursued first in the University of Padua and then at Turin,
where his father had taken up a voluntary exile. For Vicenza, during the
forties and fifties, lay under Austrian subjection, and any Italian
who desired to breathe freely in Italy had to seek the liberal air of
Piedmont.
Fogazzaro received his diploma in due season, and began to practise as
advocate, but in that casual way common to young men who know that their
real leader is not Themis but Apollo. Erelong he abandoned the bar and
devoted himself with equal enthusiasm to music and poetry, for both of
which he had unusual aptitude. Down to 1881 he printed chiefly volumes
of verse which gave him a genuine, if not popular reputation. In that
year he brought out his first romance, _Malombra_, and from time to time
during the past quarter of a century he has followed it with _Daniele
Cortis_, _Il Mistero del Poeta_, _Piccolo Mondo Antico_, _Piccolo Mondo
Moderno_, and finally, in the autumn of 1905, _Il Santo_. This list by
no means exhausts his productivity, for he has worked in many fields,
but it includes the books by which, gradually at first, and with
triumphant strides of late, he has come into great fame in Italy and
has risen into the small group of living authors who write for a
cosmopolitan public.
For many years past Signor Fogazzaro has dwelt in his native Vicenza,
the most honoured of her citizens, round whom has grown up a band of
eager disciples, who look to him for guidance not merely in matters
intellectual or aesthetic, but in the conduct of life. He has conceived
of the career of man of letters as a great opportunity, not as a mere
trade. Nothing could show better his high seriousness than his waiting
until the age of thirty-nine before publishing his first novel, unless
it be the restraint which led him, after having embarked on the career
of novelist to devote four or five years on the average to his studies
in fiction. So his books are ripe, the fruits of a deliberate and rich
nature, and not the windfalls of a mere literary trick. And now the
publication of _The Saint_ confirms all his previous work, and entitles
him, at a little more than threescore years, to rank among the few
literary masters of the time.
III
Many elements in _The Saint_ testify to its importance; but these would
not make it a work of art. And after all it is as a work of art that it
first appeals to readers, who may care little for its religious purport.
It is a great novel--so great, that, after living with its characters,
we cease to regard it as a novel at all. It keeps our suspense on the
stretch through nearly five hundred pages. Will the Saint triumph--will
love victoriously claim its own? We hurry on, at the first reading,
for the solution; then we go back and discover in it another world of
profound interest. That is the true sign of a masterpiece.
In English we have only _John Inglesant_ and _Robert Elsmere_ to compare
it with; but such a comparison, though obviously imperfect, proves
at once how easily _The Saint_ surpasses them both, not merely by
the greater significance of its central theme, but by its subtler
psychology, its wider horizon, its more various contacts with life.
Benedetto, the Saint, is a new character in fiction, a mingling of St.
Francis and Dr. Dollinger, a man of to-day in intelligence, a medieval
in faith. Nothing could be finer than the way in which Signor Fogazzaro
depicts his zeal, his ecstasies, his visions, his depressions, his
doubts; shows the physical and mental reactions; gives us, in a word,
a study in religious morbid psychology--for, say what we will,
such abnormalities are morbid--without rival in fiction. We follow
Benedetto's spiritual fortunes with as much eagerness as if they were a
love story.
And then there is the love story. Where shall one turn to find another
like it? Jeanne seldom appears in the foreground, but we feel from first
to last the magnetism of her presence. There is always the possibility
that at sight or thought of her Benedetto may be swept back from
his ascetic vows to the life of passion. Their first meeting in the
monastery chapel is a masterpiece of dramatic climax, and Benedetto's
temptation in her carriage, after the feverish interview with the
cabinet officer, is a marvel of psychological subtlety. Both scenes
illustrate Signor Fogazzaro's power to achieve the highest artistic
results without exaggeration. This naturalness is the more remarkable
because the character of a saint is unnatural according to our modern
point of view. We have a healthy distrust of ascetics, whose anxiety
over their soul's condition we properly regard as a form of egotism;
and we know how easily the unco' guid become prigs. Fogazzaro's hero is
neither an egotist of the ordinary cloister variety, nor a prig.
That our sympathy goes out to Jeanne and not to him shows that we
instinctively resent the sacrifice of the deepest human cravings to
sacerdotal prescriptions. The highest ideal of holiness which medievals
could conceive does not satisfy us.
Why did Signor Fogazzaro in choosing his hero revert to that outworn
type? He sees very clearly how many of the Catholic practices are what
he calls "ossified organisms." Why did he set up a lay monk as a model
for 20th century Christians who long to devote their lives to uplifting
their fellow-men? Did he not note the artificiality of asceticism--the
waste of energy that comes with fasts and mortification of the flesh and
morbidly pious excitement? When asked these questions by his followers
he replied that he did not mean to preach asceticism as a rule for all;
but that in individual cases like Benedetto's, for instance, it was a
psychological necessity. Herein Signor Fogazzaro certainly discloses his
profound knowledge of the Italian heart--of that heart from which in
its early medieval vigour sprang the Roman religion, with its message
of renunciation. Even the Renaissance and the subsequent period of
scepticism have not blotted out those tendencies that date back more
than a thousand years: so that today, if an Italian is engulfed in a
passion of self-sacrifice, he naturally thinks first of asceticism as
the method. Among Northern races a similar religious experience does
not suggest hair shirts and debilitating pious orgies (except among
Puseyites and similar survivals from a different epoch); it suggests
active work, like that of General Booth of the Salvation Army.
No one can gainsay, however, the superb artistic effects which Signor
Fogazzaro attains through his Saint's varied experiences. He causes to
pass before you all classes of society,--from the poorest peasant of
the Subiaco hills, to duchesses and the Pope himself,--some incredulous,
some mocking, some devout, some hesitating, some spell-bound, in the
presence of a holy man. The fashionable ladies wish to take him up and
make a lion of him; the superstitious kiss the hem of his garment and
believe that he can work miracles, or, in a sudden revulsion, they
jeer him and drive him away with stones. And what a panorama of
ecclesiastical life in Italy! What a collection of priests and monks and
prelates, and with what inevitableness one after another turns the cold
shoulder on the volunteer who dares to assert that the test of religion
is conduct! There is an air of mystery, of intrigue, of secret messages
passing to and fro--the atmosphere of craft which has hung round the
ecclesiastical institution so many, many centuries. Few scenes in modern
romance can match Benedetto's interview with the Pope--he pathetic
figure who, you feel, is in sad truth a prisoner, not of the Italian
Government, but of the crafty, able, remorseless cabal of cardinals who
surround him, dog him with eavesdroppers, edit his briefs, check his
benign impulses, and effectually prevent the truth from penetrating to
his lonely study. Benedetto's appeal to the Pope to heal the four wounds
from which the Church is languishing is a model of impassioned argument.
The four wounds, be it noted, are the "spirit of falsehood," "the spirit
of clerical domination," "the spirit of avarice," and "the spirit of
immobility." The Pope replies in a tone of resignation; he does not
disguise his powerlessness; he hopes to meet Benedetto again--in heaven!
IV
_The Saint_ may be considered under many aspects--indeed, the critics,
in their efforts to classify it, have already fallen out over its real
character. Some regard it as a thinly disguised statement of a creed;
others, as a novel pure and simple; others, as a campaign document (in
the broadest sense); others, as no novel at all, but a dramatic sort of
confession. The Jesuits have had it put on the _Index_; the Christian
Democrats have accepted it as their gospel: yet Jesuits and Christian
Democrats both profess to be Catholics. Such a divergence of opinion
proves conclusively that the book possesses unusual power and that it
is many-sided. Instead of pitching upon one of these views as right
and declaring all the rest to be wrong, it is more profitable to try to
discover in the book itself what grounds each class of critics finds to
justify its particular and exclusive verdict.
On the face of it what does the book say? This is what it says: That
Piero Maironi, a man of the world, cultivated far beyond his kind, after
having had a vehement love-affair is stricken with remorse, "experiences
religion," becomes penitent, is filled with a strange zeal--an ineffable
comfort--and devotes himself, body, heart, and soul to the worship of
God and the succour of his fellow-men. As Benedetto, the lay brother, he
serves the peasant populations among the Sabine hills, or moves on his
errands of hope and mercy among the poor of Rome. Everybody recognises
him as a holy man--"a saint." Perhaps, if he had restricted himself to
taking only soup or simple medicines to the hungry and sick, he would
have been unmolested in his philanthropy; but after his conversion, he
had devoured the Scriptures and studied the books of the Fathers, until
the spirit of the early, simple, untheological Church had poured into
him. It brought a message the truth of which so stirred him that
he could not rest until he imparted it to his fellows. He preached
righteousness,--the supremacy of conduct over ritual,--love as the test
and goal of life; but always with full acknowledgment of Mother
Church as the way of salvation. Indeed, he seems neither to doubt the
impregnability of the foundations of Christianity, nor the validity of
the Petrine corner-stone; taking these for granted he aims to live the
Christian life in every act, in every thought. The superstructure--the
practices of the Catholic Church to-day, the failures and sins of
clerical society, the rigid ecclesiasticism--these he must in loyalty
to fundamental truth, criticise, and if need be, condemn, where they
interfere with the exercise of pure religion. But Benedetto engages very
little in controversy; his method is to glorify the good, sure that the
good requires only to be revealed in all its beauty and charm in order
to draw irresistibly to itself souls that, for lack of vision, have been
pursuing the mediocre or the bad.
Yet these utterances, so natural to Benedetto, awaken the suspicions of
his superiors, who--we cannot say without cause--scent heresy in them.
Good works, righteous conduct--what are these in comparison with blind
subscription to orthodox formulas? Benedetto is persecuted not by an
obviously brutal or sanguinary persecution,--although it might have
come to that except for a catastrophe of another sort,--but by the
very finesse of persecution. The sagacious politicians of the Vatican,
inheritors of the accumulated craft of a thousand years, know too much
to break a butterfly on a wheel, to make a martyr of an inconvenient
person whom they can be rid of quietly. Therein lies the tragedy of
Benedetto's experience, so far at least as we regard him, or as he
thought himself, an instrument for the regeneration of the Church.
On the face of it, therefore, _The Saint_ is the story of a man with a
passion for doing good, in the most direct and human way, who found the
Church in which he believed, the Church which existed ostensibly to do
good according to the direct and human ways of Jesus Christ, thwarting
him at every step. Here is a conflict, let us remark in passing, worthy
to be the theme of a great tragedy. Does not _Antigone_ rest on a
similar conflict between Antigone's simple human way of showing her
sisterly affection and the rigid formalism of the orthodoxy of her day?
V
Or, look next at _The Saint_ as a campaign document, the aspect under
which it has been most hotly discussed in Italy. It has been accepted
as the platform, or even the gospel of the Christian Democrats. Who are
they? They are a body of the younger generation of Italians, among them
being a considerable number of religious, who yearn to put into practice
the concrete exhortations of the Evangelists. They are really carried
forward by that ethical wave which has swept over Western Europe and
America during the past generation, and has resulted in "slumming,"
in practical social service, in all kinds of efforts to improve
the material and moral condition of the poor, quite irrespective of
sectarian or even Christian initiative. This great movement began,
indeed, outside of the churches, among men and women who felt grievously
the misery of their fellow-creatures and their own obligation to do what
they could to relieve it. From them, it has reached the churches,
and, last of all, the Catholic Church in Italy. No doubt the spread of
Socialism, with its superficial resemblance to some of the features
of primitive Christianity, has somewhat modified the character of this
ethical movement; so far, in fact, that the Italian Christian Democrats
have been confounded, by persons with only a blurred sense of outlines,
with the Socialists themselves. Whatever they may become, however,
they now profess views in regard to property which separate them by an
unbridgeable chasm from the Socialists.
In their zeal for their fellow-men, and especially for the poor
and down-trodden classes, they find the old agencies of charity
insufficient. To visit the sick, to comfort the dying, to dole out broth
at the convent gate, is well, but it offers no remedy for the cause
behind poverty and blind remediable suffering. Only through better
laws, strictly administered, can effectual help come. So the Christian
Democrats deemed it indispensable that they should be free to influence
legislation. At this point, however, the stubborn prohibition of the
Vatican confronted them. Since 1870, when the Italians entered Rome and
established there the capital of United Italy, the Vatican had forbidden
faithful Catholics to take part, either as electors or as candidates, in
any of the national elections, the fiction being that, were they to go
to the polls or to be elected to the Chamber of Deputies, they would
thereby recognise the Royal Government which had destroyed the temporal
power of the Pope. Then what would become of that other fiction--the
Pope's prisonership in the Vatican--which was to prove for thirty years
the best paying asset among the Papal investments? So long as the Curia
maintained an irreconcilable attitude towards the Kingdom, it could
count on kindling by irritation the sympathy and zeal of Catholics all
over the world. In Italy itself many devout Catholics had long protested
that, as it was through the acquisition of temporal power that the
Church had become worldly and corrupt, so through the loss of temporal
power it would regain its spiritual health and efficiency. They urged
that the Holy Father could perform his religious functions best if he
were not involved in political intrigues and governmental perplexities.
No one would assert that Jesus could have better fulfilled his mission
if he had been king of Judea; why, then, should the Pope, the Vicar of
Jesus, require worldly pomp and power that his Master disdained?
Neither Pius IX nor Leo XIII, however, was open to arguments of this
kind. Incidentally, it was clear that if Catholics as such were kept
away from the polls, nobody could say precisely just how many they
numbered. The Vatican constantly asserted that its adherents were in a
majority--a claim which, if true, meant that the Kingdom of Italy rested
on a very precarious basis. But other Catholics sincerely deplored the
harm which the irreconcilable attitude of the Curia caused to religion.
They regretted to see an affair purely political treated as religious;
to have the belief in the Pope's temporal power virtually set up as a
part of their creed. The Lord's work was waiting to be | 2,293.655245 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.6392270 | 7,436 | 8 |
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)
ORATORY
SACRED AND SECULAR:
OR, THE
Extemporaneous Speaker,
WITH
SKETCHES OF THE MOST EMINENT SPEAKERS OF ALL AGES
BY WILLIAM PITTENGER,
Author of “Daring and Suffering.”
_INTRODUCTION BY HON. JOHN A. BINGHAM_,
AND
_APPENDIX_
CONTAINING A “CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE” FOR CONDUCTING PUBLIC MEETINGS ACCORDING
TO THE BEST PARLIAMENTARY MODELS.
New York:
SAMUEL R. WELLS, PUBLISHER, 389 BROADWAY.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868,
By SAMUEL R. WELLS.
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Southern District of New York.
EDWARD O. JENKINS,
PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER,
20 North William Street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
When we first began to speak in public, we felt the need of a manual
that would point out the hindrances likely to be met with, and serve as
a guide to self-improvement. Such help would have prevented many
difficult and painful experiences, and have rendered our progress in the
delightful art of coining thought into words more easy and rapid. In the
following pages we give the result of thought and observations in this
field, and trust it will benefit those who are now in the position we
were then.
We have freely availed ourself of the labor of others, and would
especially acknowledge the valuable assistance derived from the writings
of Bautain, Stevens and Holyoake. Yet the following work, with whatever
merit or demerit it may possess, is original in both thought and
arrangement.
We have treated general preparation with more than ordinary fullness,
for although often neglected, it is the necessary basis upon which all
special preparation rests.
As the numerous varieties of speech differ in comparatively few
particulars, we have treated one of the most common—that of preaching—in
detail, with only such brief notices of other forms as will direct the
student in applying general principles to the branch of oratory that
engages his attention.
We are not vain enough to believe that the modes of culture and
preparation pointed out in the following pages are invariably the best,
but they are such as we have found useful, and to the thoughtful mind
may suggest others still more valuable.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE.—Objects of the Work stated 3
INTRODUCTION—By Hon. JOHN A. BINGHAM, Member of Congress 7
=PART I.=—_GENERAL PREPARATIONS._
CHAPTER I.
THE WRITTEN AND EXTEMPORE DISCOURSE COMPARED—Illustrative Examples 13
CHAPTER II.
PREREQUISITES—Intellectual Competency; Strength of Body; Command of
Language; Courage; Firmness; Self-reliance 18
CHAPTER III.
BASIS OF SPEECH—Thought and Emotion; Heart Cultivation; Earnestness 27
CHAPTER IV.
ACQUIREMENTS—General Knowledge; of Bible; of Theology; of Men;
Method by which such Knowledge may be obtained 35
CHAPTER V.
CULTIVATION—Imagination; Language; Voice; Gesture; Confidence;
References to Distinguished Orators and Writers. 42
=PART II.=—_A SERMON._
CHAPTER I.
THE FOUNDATION FOR A PREACHER—Subject; Object; Text; Hints to Young
Preachers 69
CHAPTER II.
THE PLAN—Gathering Thought; Arranging; Committing; Practical
Suggestions; Use of Notes 80
CHAPTER III.
PRELIMINARIES FOR PREACHING—Fear; Vigor; Opening Exercises;
Requisites for a Successful Discourse 96
CHAPTER IV.
THE DIVISIONS—Introduction, Difficulties in Opening; Discussion,
Simplicity and Directness; Conclusion 104
CHAPTER V.
AFTER CONSIDERATIONS—Success; Rest; Improvement; Practical
Suggestions 115
=PART III.=—_SECULAR ORATORY._
CHAPTER I.
INSTRUCTIVE ADDRESS—Fields of Oratory; Oral Teaching; Lecturing 123
CHAPTER II.
MISCELLANEOUS ADDRESS—Deliberative; Legal; Popular; Controversial;
the Statesman; the Lawyer; the Lecturer; the Orator 127
=PART IV.=
EMINENT SPEAKERS DESCRIBED—St. Augustine; Luther; Lord Chatham;
William Pitt; Edmund Burke; Mirabeau; Patrick Henry; George
Whitefield; John Wesley; Sidney Smith; F. W. Robertson; Henry
Clay; Henry B. Bascom; John Summerfield; C. H. Spurgeon; Henry
Ward Beecher; Anna E. Dickinson; John A. Bingham; William E.
Gladstone; Matthew Simpson; Wendell Phillips; John P. Durbin;
Newman Hall, and others 133
=APPENDIX.=
THE CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE—How to Organize and Conduct Public Meetings
and Debating Clubs in Parliamentary style 199
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
REV. WM. PITTENGER: CADIZ, O., _19th Nov., 1867_.
DEAR SIR,—I thank you for calling my attention to your forthcoming work
on Extemporaneous Speaking. Unwritten speech is, in my judgment, the
more efficient method of public speaking, because it is the natural
method. The written essay, says an eminent critic of antiquity, “is not
a speech, unless you choose to call epistles speeches.” A cultivated
man, fully possessed of all the facts which relate to the subject of
which he would speak, who cannot clearly express himself without first
memorizing word for word his written preparation, can scarcely be called
a public speaker, whatever may be his capacity as a writer or reader.
The speaker who clothes his thoughts at the moment of utterance, and in
the presence of his hearers, will illustrate by his speech the admirable
saying of Seneca: “Fit words better than fine ones.”
It is not my purpose to enter upon any inquiry touching the gifts,
culture and practice necessary to make a powerful and successful
speaker. It is conceded that in the art of public speaking, as in all
other arts, there is no excellence without great labor. Neither is it
the intent of the writer to suggest the possibility of speaking
efficiently without the careful culture of voice and manner, of
intellect and heart, an exact knowledge of the subject, and a careful
arrangement, with or without writing, of all the facts and statements
involved in the discussion. Lord Brougham has said that a speech written
before delivery is regarded as something almost ridiculous; may we not
add, that a speech made without previous reflection or an accurate
knowledge of the subject, would be regarded as a mere tinkling cymbal. I
intend no depreciation of the elaborate written essay read for the
instruction or amusement of an assembly; but claim that the essay, read,
or recited from memory, is not speech, nor can it supply the place of
natural effective speech. The essay delivered is but the echo of the
dead past, the speech is the utterance of the living present. The
delivery of the essay is the formal act of memory, the delivery of the
unwritten speech the living act of intellect and heart. The difference
between the two is known and felt of all men. To all this it may be
answered that the ancient speakers, whose fame still survives, carefully
elaborated their speeches before delivery. The fact is admitted with the
further statement, that many of the speeches of the ancient orators
never were delivered at all. Five of the seven orations of Cicero
against Verres were never spoken, neither was the second Philippic
against Mark Antony, nor the reported defence of Milo. We admit that the
ancient speakers wrote much and practised much, and we would commend
their example, in all, save a formal recital of written preparations.
There is nothing in all that has come to us concerning ancient oratory,
which by any means proves that to be effective in speech, what is to be
said should be first written and memorized; there is much that shows,
that to enable one to express his own thoughts clearly and forcibly,
reflection, culture and practice are essential.
Lord Brougham, remarking on the habit of writing speeches, says: “That a
speech written before delivery is something anomalous, and a speech
intended to have been spoken is a kind of byword for something laughable
in itself, as describing an incongruous existence.” This distinguished
man, in his careful consideration of this subject, says: “We can hardly
assign any limits to the effects of great practise in giving a power of
extempore composition,” and notices that it is recorded of Demosthenes,
that when, upon some rare occasions, he trusted to the feeling of the
hour, and spoke off-hand, “his eloquence was more spirited and bold, and
he seemed sometimes to speak from a supernatural impulse.” If this be
true of the great Athenian who notoriously would not, if he could avoid
it, trust to the inspiration of the moment, and who for want of a
prepared speech, we are told by Æschines, failed before Philip,—might it
not be inferred that one practised in speaking, would utter his thoughts
with more spirit and power when not restrained by a written preparation
and fettered by its formal recital?
Did not Fox often, in the Parliament, achieve the highest results of
speech without previous written preparation; and is it not a fact never
to be questioned, that the wonderful speech of Webster, in reply to
Hayne, was unwritten?
In his admirable lecture on Eloquence, Mr. Emerson says: “Eloquence that
so astonishes, is only the exaggeration of a talent that is universal.
All men are competitors in this art. * * A man of this talent finds
himself cold in private company, and proves himself a heavy companion;
but give him a commanding occasion, and the inspiration of a great
multitude, and he surprises us by new and unlooked for powers.” * *
Indeed, there is in this lecture of Mr. Emerson, in few words, much to
sustain your theory. He says, “the word eloquence strictly means
out-speaking; the main power, sentiment—the essential fact is heat, the
heat which comes of sincerity. Speak what you know and believe, and are
personally answerable for. This goes by weight and measure, like
everything else in the universe. A man to be eloquent must have faith in
his subject, and must have accurate knowledge of that subject. * * The
author of power—he is the great man who always makes a divine
impression, a sentiment more powerful in the heart than love of country,
and gives perceptions and feelings far beyond the limits of thought.
Eloquence is the power to translate a truth into a language perfectly
intelligible to the person to whom you speak. Such a practical
conversion of truth, written in God’s language, is one of the most
beautiful weapons forged in the shop of the Divine Artificer. God and
Nature are altogether sincere, and art should be as sincere.” How can
sincerity be fully attained in the great art of public speech, if every
word to be uttered must be previously written down in the closet, and
memorized and recited? Was not Lord Brougham right in saying a speech
written before delivery is inconsistent with the inspiration of the
moment, and the feelings under which the orator is always supposed to
speak? What feelings? The felt-conviction of the truth of what he has to
say. What inspiration? The inspiration which, at the moment, clothes and
expresses the honest thought in appropriate words.
Surely the living voice, rightly cultivated, and rightly employed, is a
power in the world, and to condemn you for calling attention to what you
believe to the most efficient method of human speech, would be one of
those decisions of ignorant arrogance which it costs no labor and needs
no intellect to pronounce.
Is not the man who well and truthfully speaks his own thoughts, as
Shakspeare and Bacon wrote, in some sense their peer? Is not the mere
reciter of their words, but their shadow?
It is said of Plato, that he poured forth the flood of his eloquence as
by inspiration, and that, had the Father of the gods spoken in Greek, he
would have used none other language than Plato’s; and yet this master of
language takes pains, in reporting the apology of Socrates on trial for
his life, to represent him as saying that it would not become him to
speak “studied terms and expressions, but only the truth expressed in
the plainest language.” I quote the words of Socrates as given by Plato:
“Among the false statements which my accusers made, there was one at
which I especially marveled, namely when they warned you to take care
not to be led astray by me, inasmuch as I was a powerful speaker. It did
appear to me supremely audacious in them to make such an assertion,
Which must immediately afterwards be disproved by the fact; for you will
see that I have no skill in speaking, unless they call a man a powerful
speaker because he says what is true. If they mean this, I certainly
must allow that I am a speaker of a very different kind from them; for
they, as I have said, have not spoken a word of truth; from me you shall
hear the whole truth; and that not clothed in ornate sentences with
studied terms and expressions; you will have from me plain facts
expressed in the plainest language. Indeed, Athenians, it would ill
become me at my age to come before you with a studied discourse like a
boy. And there is one thing, O Athenians, which I must beg and entreat
of you: if I use, in my defense, the same terms which I have been
accustomed to use in the market-place and in the shops where most of you
have heard me talking, do not wonder at that, nor take offence. For this
is the fact, I now enter a court of justice for the first time, though I
am more than seventy years old; I am, therefore, altogether strange to
the kind of language used here; and therefore excuse me, as if I really
were a stranger, if I speak to you in that tone and in that manner in
which I have been brought up. I ask you a thing which is, I think,
reasonable, that you take no account of the manner of my address to
you—it might be better, it might be worse, perhaps—but to consider this,
to attend to this, whether I say what is right or not, for that is the
virtue of the judge, as to speak truly is the virtue of the advocate.”
No matter if the speech be not clothed in ornate sentences with studied
terms, it is the virtue of the judge to consider whether the speech is
right, as to speak truly is the virtue of the advocate.
It is only, it seems to me, when men speak wisely, truly and naturally,
that the full significance of Quintillian’s words can be realized: “May
I perish, if the all-powerful Creator of nature and the Architect of
this world has impressed man with any character which so eminently
distinguishes him as the faculty of speech.” Let him who would use this
faculty effectively, and attain to that great power which rules the
minds of men, and moves the passions and affections of the soul, see to
it, that he speaks what he knows and believes, plainly and directly from
the heart to the heart.
Very truly your friend,
JOHN A. BINGHAM.
PART I.
GENERAL PREPARATION.
CHAPTER I.
THE WRITTEN AND EXTEMPORE DISCOURSE COMPARED.
The special object of the following pages is to show the manner and
requirements of extempore preaching. But as this differs from other
methods of speech in its objects rather than in its external qualities,
many of the thoughts we present will apply as well to the bar and forum
as to the sacred desk.
There is need that this subject should be enforced, particularly on the
ministry. A growing desire is manifested to give up plain, direct
speech, and indulge in the ease and certainty of written sermons. Young
men find themselves in places where it requires unwearied exertion to
sustain their reputation, and satisfy the demands of a cultivated
audience. They begin to fear that their spoken sermons may be deficient
in polish and style, and at last they write. The people nearly always
protest against the innovation, but to no purpose, for having convinced
himself that he is right, the minister treats their murmurs as the
effect of vulgar prejudice, and as a frequent result, his usefulness is
permanently impaired.
This evil cannot be diminished by denouncing those who engage in it, for
the supposed necessity they labor under is stronger than any other
consideration. But it may be lessened by showing that there is a better
way, and making it plain. Such will be our endeavor.
The two extremes of speech are, the discourse which is written and read
verbatim, and that in which both words and thoughts are left to the
impulse of the moment. Between these there are many intermediate grades.
The latter may be excluded from the classification altogether, for no
wise man will adopt it except in some unforeseen emergency. True
extemporization relates to the words alone, and leaves full room for the
complete preparation of thought. Between this and the manuscript
discourse there are various compromises which seek to combine the
advantages of both. These, for the sake of convenience, may be called
the recited, composite, premeditated and sketched discourses.
It is useless to deny that the method of writing in full and reading,
possesses many and great advantages. It secures time for the
consideration of every thought. If the mind fags, the writer can pause
until it is rested and begin again; and in this way all the ideas and
expressions that occur for several days can be concentrated into one
sermon. Then it can be revised, and the language improved to an
indefinite extent, and the sermon, in its completeness, laid away for
future use.
But there are great disadvantages. Such a sermon may, by solidity of
thought, and brilliancy of expression, command approval, but it will
seldom move and sway the people. The very idea that all has been written
out, and is merely read, will tend powerfully to neutralize its effects.
We may remonstrate against this if we will, and declare that our sermons
should be judged by their substance, but this does not abate the
preference of our auditors. They will retort, with truth, that they can
read even better sermons at home, and dwell on them at their leisure.
What they want in preaching is the living sympathy and guidance of the
preacher; his soul burning and glowing, and thus lighting up other
souls; his eye beaming on theirs; his clear, far-seeing mind, excited by
the magnetism of truth, and appealing to their hearts with an
earnestness that will take no denial. This fills the popular ideal of
preaching, and no elaboration, no word music will atone for the want of
it. Men of great genius may succeed otherwise, but the mass of speakers
cannot.
The plan of memorizing and reciting sermons would seem, upon a
superficial view, to secure the advantages of reading without its
defects. But another and formidable class of disadvantages come into
being. Very few men can declaim well. For one who can speak from memory
with ease and naturalness, twenty can pour forth their ideas in the
words of the moment with energy and effect. A few have mastered the
difficult art, and won enduring laurels in this way, but their number is
too small to encourage others to imitation.
This practice also imposes a heavy burden on the mind. To write and
commit two or three sermons in a week, is a task that only those who are
strong in mental and physical health can perform with impunity, and even
then it requires too much time; for no matter how perfect a minister’s
sermons may be, unless he fulfills other duties, he cannot be wholly
successful. Most preachers who memorize, inevitably neglect pastoral
work because they have not time for it. And another effect follows that
is, if possible, still worse. Instead of growing daily in knowledge by
diligent study, the mind is kept on the tread-wheel task of writing and
committing sermons, and thus permanently dwarfed. A young man may take a
higher rank at first by memorizing, than otherwise, but he will not
retain it long, for the knowledge others accumulate while he is conning
his discourses, will soon place them above him.
The practice of committing brilliant passages to be recited with the
eyes withdrawn from the paper, or thrown into the current of
unpremeditated discourse, we have termed the composite manner. It is
open to all the objections urged against the last method, and a most
formidable one in addition—the difficulty of making these sudden flashes
fit into their proper places, and of preventing them from destroying the
unity of the whole discourse. They differ so widely from the rest of the
composition, that the audience are apt to see the artifice and despise
it. A skillful man may join them properly, but even then his own
attention, and that of the audience will, probably, be so closely fixed
upon them that the main design of the sermon will pass out of sight.
These three varieties are much alike, and may be called branches of the
word-preparation method. In them, words are carefully chosen, and form
the groundwork of discourse. The next three are based on thought.
The premeditated discourse comes nearest to the word method. It was the
medium of the wonderful eloquence of the late Bishop Bascom. In it the
ideas are first arranged, and then each thought pondered until it
resolves itself into words, which are mostly recalled in the moment of
speech. Men who speak thus usually have great command of language and
much fixity of impression. Those who receive ideas readily, and lose
them again as easily, could not adopt this method, for words previously
arranged could not be recalled in the same order, unless they had been
fixed by the pen. There is little objection to this mode of preparation
in the case of those who are adapted to it, provided they do not carry
it so far as to feel burdened or confused. No words should be left in
charge of the memory, and no conscious effort made to recall particular
expressions.
Stevens, in his admirable book called “Preaching Required by the Times,”
advises ministers, when revolving and arranging their ideas, not to let
them run into words. We can see no ill effect in this, provided the
result is a natural one. All the words must be retained easily in the
memory, and not sought for if they do not spontaneously present
themselves in the act of speech. President Lincoln, who was a most
effective off-hand speaker, said, that he owed his skill in this art to
the early practice of reducing every thought he entertained to the
plainest and simplest words. Then when he desired to enunciate an idea
he had no difficulty in giving it a form that even a child could
understand.
The sketched discourse approaches very closely to the purely extempore
method, and only differs from it in writing the whole matter in full,
with no care for style, simply to practice in the art of expression, and
to test our mastery of the plan arranged. In it there is no intention of
memorizing, or of using the same words again, except so far as the ideas
in their simplest form may suggest them. This is only doing on paper
what, in the last method, was done mentally. It may be of great
advantage to those who have had but a limited experience, and cannot so
clearly grasp their ideas in the domain of pure thought as to be sure
that they are fully adapted to the purposes of their sermons.
But at the slow rate of writing in the common hand, this requires too
much time. If a person have mastered Phonography, or Tachygraphy, a
valuable improvement of the former, more easily acquired and retained in
practice, he may write a sermon in little more than the time it will
take to preach it, if he only work at full speed and do not stay for the
niceties of style. Then the defects in the arrangement or material, that
before escaped his attention, will be brought to light. We can judge a
sermon more impartially when it is placed outside of the mind, than if
it were only mentally reviewed, and we still have time to correct
whatever may be amiss.
But the great method of which the two former are mere branches, and
which in fact underlies every other, is that of pure extemporization. In
this there is a firm, compact road of previously prepared thought
leading directly to the object aimed at. When thus speaking, we always
feel on solid ground, and each moment have the proper, selected idea,
seeking expression, and clothing itself in the needed words. All men
talk thus, and we cannot but regard it as the highest form of oratory.
When we have obtained complete mastery of expression, and the ability to
so arrange facts and ideas, that at the fitting moment they will resolve
themselves into words, the high problem of eloquence is in a great
measure solved.
CHAPTER II.
PREREQUISITES—INTELLECTUAL COMPETENCY—STRENGTH OF BODY—COMMAND OF
LANGUAGE—COURAGE—FIRMNESS.
Almost every speaker has at some time longed to obtain the golden power
of eloquence. It always insures to its fortunate possessor a strong
influence in the affairs of men. It is needed in the promotion of every
reform, and is the only means by which the minds of a community can be
at once moved in a new direction. When employed in the service of error
and injustice it is like a fallen archangel’s power for evil. But its
highest and purest sphere is in the promulgation of revealed truth. It
there brings the word of God into living contact with the souls of men,
and by it molds them into a higher life. It is sublime to be a co-worker
with God, and thus assist him in peopling heaven.
Only the method of eloquence can be taught. Its refined and ethereal
substance lies beyond the reach of all art. No preacher can be truly
eloquent without the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and even the excited
passion and burning enthusiasm which are the human sources of this
quality, can be acquired by no formularies. But they may be developed
and properly directed where a capability for them exists. In this
respect there is the widest difference of talent. Some men never can
attain the wondrous power of swaying their fellow-beings. Others are
born orators. The latter class is small, and it is never safe to
conclude that we belong to it until the fact has been incontestably
proved. Neither is the class of incapables very large. The great mass of
men lie between the extremes. Their talents do not make them great in
spite of themselves; but if they make the proper effort, and are favored
by circumstances, they may become effective, and even eloquent speakers.
To these it is of great importance to have the right road pointed out,
along which they may travel, and by earnest toil gain the desired end.
There is no “royal road” to eloquence, but here, as elsewhere,
application and study will produce their proper effects. Yet certain
prerequisites must be received from God himself, without which all
cultivation will be vain as the attempt to fertilize the sands of the
seashore.
The first quality to which we will refer, is intellectual competency. By
this, we mean a strength of intellect that can grasp an idea, and form a
complete image of it; one who is not able to think out a subject in its
leading features, cannot speak on it, and if the deficiency be general,
he is unfitted to speak in public at all. We would not assert that none
but men of commanding intelligence can profitably address their
fellow-beings. It is not even necessary that the orator should be above
the average of mental power possessed by his audience. Franklin was
entranced by the preaching of Whitefield, though in grasp and compass of
mind almost infinitely his superior. A man of comparative dullness may,
by brooding over a particular subject, so master it, that the greatest
intellect will listen to him with reverence and profit. The great German
poet, Goethe, said that he met few men from whom he did not learn
something valuable. But no man ought to address the people unless he can
clearly comprehend the nature of his subject, mark out its limitations,
understand its relations to other subjects, and so arrange and simplify
it as to convey these ideas to his hearers. The Christian minister has
to deal with a great variety of topics, and requires mind enough to
grasp not one only, but many subjects.
It is hard to determine just how much mental power is required to secure
a moderate degree of success as an orator. No precise rules can be given
on this point, and if they could, egotism would prevent each from
applying them to himself however correctly he might gauge his neighbor.
The presumptuous would do well to remember that oratory is the highest
of all arts, and to measure themselves with becoming humility; perhaps
the following questions may aid in self-examination. Can you grasp an
idea firmly? can you follow its ramifications, perceive its shades of
meaning, and render it familiar in all its bearings? Can you analyze it
clearly, so that each separate part will be understood by itself, and
then again link these together and make each serve as a stepping-stone
to the comprehension of that which follows? If you can do this with a
single subject, you have the mental power to speak on that subject; if
on all, or many of the subjects of the Christian religion, vast and
varied as they are, you can preach. No deficiency of intellectual power
or originality need dishearten you.
The fact of the close and mutual influence of body and mind is beyond
dispute, although their connection is a subject of deep mystery. When we
see how much the faculties of reason and imagination—nay, even of hope,
love, and faith—are affected by bodily conditions, we can only exclaim
with the Psalmist, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Especially is
this mutual dependence forced upon the attention of the extempore
speaker. In every effort he feels the subtle effect of physical causes,
and often under the pressure of disease, strives in vain to realize the
grand but intangible thoughts that float through his brain. The body is
the instrument of the mind in its communication with the outward world,
and even if the most sublime and glorious conceptions existed within,
they would be powerless if the bodily organs were unequal to the task of
expressing them.
A dumb man cannot be an orator, no matter how richly endowed; and all
other bodily defects will be felt as hindrances even if they fall short
of the deprivation of an organ of sense. The preacher needs to be a
completely developed man physically, as well as mentally, though he may
succeed in spite of many disadvantages. Feeble health will always
detract from his power. The mind may for a time rise superior to it, but
a crushing recoil will follow. This takes place when the ill-health is
not extreme; but when it fetters the ability of expression, and prevents
the manifestation of living power, the barrier is absolute. Many
ministers utterly fail, because they forget that eloquence is the
offspring of health; others, perhaps, still more unfortunate have
battled against disease and bodily infirmity for years, and yet have
been doomed to feel, amid their brightest aspirations, that a power
beyond their control was conquering them. It is terrible to sit
helpless, and see a cloud stealing over the brightness of genius, and
shading the whole future of life. Yet this has been the experience of
thousands. We remember an impressive illustration of this in the case of
one who possessed the richest endowments. He was almost unequaled as a
pulpit orator, yet, in the middle of life, saw his powers of usefulness
withdrawn, and his fame fading—only because his body could not bear the
strain he unwisely put upon it.
In view of the many facts of this kind, it would be well for the man who
aspires to eminence in the fields of eloquence, to examine himself, and
see if he have the needed physical strength. With some the incapacity is
no doubt total. How many ministers have had their light turned into
darkness by a diseased throat, a cerebral affection, or a nervous
disorder? But the majority of men only need care and obedience to the
laws of life to bring their bodies up to the standard of efficiency. In
youth, at least, there is nothing so easily improved as health. By the
golden rule of temperance in all things—in voice and thought, as well as
food and drink—nearly all may render the body adequate to the
manifestation of mind.
To an orator, the power of readily clothing his thoughts in words is
indispensable | 2,293.659267 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.7342140 | 209 | 12 |
Produced by David Reed
WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN
By Ernest Thompson Seton
Books by Ernest Thompson Seton
Biography of a Grizzly
Lives of the Hunted
Wild Animals at Home
Wild Animal Ways
Stories in This Book
Lobo, the King of Currumpaw
Silverspot, the Story of a Crow
Raggylug, the Story of a Cottontail Rabbit
Bingo, the Story of My Dog
The Springfield Fox
The Pacing Mustang
Wully, the Story of a Yaller Dog
Redruff, the Story of the Don Valley Partridge
THESE STORIES are true. Although I have left the strict line of
historical truth in many places, the animals in this book were all real
characters. They lived the lives I have depicted, and showed the stamp
of heroism and personality more strongly by far than it has been in the
| 2,293.754254 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.7351260 | 3,534 | 17 |
Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines.
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 an empty compliment; for, if there were not another guest in
my castle, it would be entirely pervaded with your presence."
"I thank you," answered the unpretending stranger; "but, though you
happened to overlook me, I have not just arrived. I came very
early; and, with your permission, shall remain after the rest of the
company have retired."
And who does the reader imagine was this unobtrusive guest? It was
the famous performer of acknowledged impossibilities,--a character
of superhuman capacity and virtue, and, if his enemies are to be
credited, of no less remarkable weaknesses and defects. With a
generosity with which he alone sets us an example, we will glance
merely at his nobler attributes. He it is, then, who prefers the
interests of others to his own and a humble station to an exalted
one. Careless of fashion, custom, the opinions of men, and the
influence of the press, he assimilates his life to the standard of
ideal rectitude, and thus proves himself the one independent citizen
of our free country. In point of ability, many people declare him
to be the only mathematician capable of squaring the circle; the
only mechanic acquainted with the principle of perpetual motion; the
only scientific philosopher who can compel water to run up hill; the
only writer of the age whose genius is equal to the production of an
epic poem; and, finally, so various are his accomplishments, the
only professor of gymnastics who has succeeded in jumping down his
own throat. With all these talents, however, he is so far from being
considered a member of good society, that it is the severest censure
of any fashionable assemblage to affirm that this remarkable
individual was present. Public orators, lecturers, and theatrical
performers particularly eschew his company. For especial reasons,
we are not at liberty to disclose his name, and shall mention only
one other trait,--a most singular phenomenon in natural
philosophy,--that, when he happens to cast his eyes upon a
looking-glass, he beholds Nobody reflected there!
Several other guests now made their appearance; and among them,
chattering with immense volubility, a brisk little gentleman of
universal vogue in private society, and not unknown in the public
journals under the title of Monsieur On-Dit. The name would seem to
indicate a Frenchman; but, whatever be his country, he is thoroughly
versed in all the languages of the day, and can express himself
quite as much to the purpose in English as in any other tongue. No
sooner were the ceremonies of salutation over than this talkative
little person put his mouth to the host's ear and whispered three
secrets of state, an important piece of commercial intelligence, and
a rich item of fashionable scandal. He then assured the Man of Fancy
that he would not fail to circulate in the society of the lower
world a minute description of this magnificent castle in the air and
of the festivities at which he had the honor to be a guest. So
saying, Monsieur On-Dit made his bow and hurried from one to another
of the company, with all of whom he seemed to be acquainted and to
possess some topic of interest or amusement for every individual.
Coming at last to the Oldest Inhabitant, who was slumbering
comfortably in the easy-chair, he applied his mouth to that
venerable ear.
"What do you say?" cried the old gentleman, starting from his nap
and putting up his hand to serve the purpose of an ear-trumpet.
Monsieur On-Dit bent forward again and repeated his communication.
"Never within my memory," exclaimed the Oldest Inhabitant, lifting
his hands in astonishment, "has so remarkable an incident been heard
of."
Now came in the Clerk of the Weather, who had been invited out of
deference to his official station, although the host was well aware
that his conversation was likely to contribute but little to the
general enjoyment. He soon, indeed, got into a corner with his
acquaintance of long ago, the Oldest Inhabitant, and began to
compare notes with him in reference to the great storms, gales of
wind, and other atmospherical facts that had occurred during a
century past. It rejoiced the Man of Fancy that his venerable and
much-respected guest had met with so congenial an associate.
Entreating them both to make themselves perfectly at home, he now
turned to receive the Wandering Jew. This personage, however, had
latterly grown so common, by mingling in all sorts of society and
appearing at the beck of every entertainer, that he could hardly be
deemed a proper guest in a very exclusive circle. Besides, being
covered with dust from his continual wanderings along the highways
of the world, he really looked out of place in a dress party; so
that the host felt relieved of an incommodity when the restless
individual in question, after a brief stay, took his departure on a
ramble towards Oregon.
The portal was now thronged by a crowd of shadowy people with whom
the Man of Fancy had been acquainted in his visionary youth. He had
invited them hither for the sake of observing how they would
compare, whether advantageously or otherwise, with the real
characters to whom his maturer life had introduced him. They were
beings of crude imagination, such as glide before a young man's eye
and pretend to be actual inhabitants of the earth; the wise and
witty with whom he would hereafter hold intercourse; the generous
and heroic friends whose devotion would be requited with his own;
the beautiful dream-woman who would become the helpmate of his human
toils and sorrows and at once the source and partaker of his
happiness. Alas! it is not good for the full-grown man to look too
closely at these old acquaintances, but rather to reverence them at
a distance through the medium of years that have gathered duskily
between. There was something laughably untrue in their pompous
stride and exaggerated sentiment; they were neither human nor
tolerable likenesses of humanity, but fantastic maskers, rendering
heroism and nature alike ridiculous by the grave absurdity of their
pretensions to such attributes; and as for the peerless dream-lady,
behold! there advanced up the saloon, with a movement like a jointed
doll, a sort of wax-figure of an angel, a creature as cold as
moonshine, an artifice in petticoats, with an intellect of pretty
phrases and only the semblance of a heart, yet in all these
particulars the true type of a young man's imaginary mistress.
Hardly could the host's punctilious courtesy restrain a smile as he
paid his respects to this unreality and met the sentimental glance
with which the Dream sought to remind him of their former love
passages.
"No, no, fair lady," murmured he betwixt sighing and smiling; "my
taste is changed; I have learned to love what Nature makes better
than my own creations in the guise of womanhood."
"Ah, false one," shrieked the dream-lady, pretending to faint, but
dissolving into thin air, out of which came the deplorable murmur of
her voice, "your inconstancy has annihilated me."
"So be it," said the cruel Man of Fancy to himself; "and a good
riddance too."
Together with these shadows, and from the same region, there came an
uninvited multitude of shapes which at any time during his life had
tormented the Man of Fancy in his moods of morbid melancholy or had
haunted him in the delirium of fever. The walls of his castle in
the air were not dense enough to keep them out, nor would the
strongest of earthly architecture have availed to their exclusion.
Here were those forms of dim terror which had beset him at the
entrance of life, waging warfare with his hopes; here were strange
uglinesses of earlier date, such as haunt children in the night-time.
He was particularly startled by the vision of a deformed old
black woman whom he imagined as lurking in the garret of his native
home, and who, when he was an infant, had once come to his bedside
and grinned at him in the crisis of a scarlet fever. This same
black shadow, with others almost as hideous, now glided among the
pillars of the magnificent saloon, grinning recognition, until the
man shuddered anew at the forgotten terrors of his childhood. It
amused him, however, to observe the black woman, with the
mischievous caprice peculiar to such beings, steal up to the chair
of the Oldest Inhabitant and peep into his half-dreamy mind.
"Never within my memory," muttered that venerable personage, aghast,
"did I see such a face."
Almost immediately after the unrealities just described, arrived a
number of guests whom incredulous readers may be inclined to rank
equally among creatures of imagination. The most noteworthy were an
incorruptible Patriot; a Scholar | 2,293.755166 |
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Produced by Suzan Flanagan 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.)
In
The
Time
That
Was
Dedicated
to
_Ah-Koo_
Done into English
by
J. Frederic Thorne
(_Kitchakahaech_)
Illustrated
by
Judson T. Sergeant
(_To-u-sucka_)
Seattle,
Washington,
U. S. A.
BEING THE FIRST
volume _of_ a series
of Legends _of_ the tribe
of Alaskan Indians
known as the Chilkats--_of_
the Klingats
_As told by Zachook the "Bear"
to Kitchakahaech the "Raven"_
[Illustration]
_In the Time That Was_
"And There Was Light."
Zachook of the Chilkats told me these tales of The Time That Was.
But before the telling, he of the Northland and I of the Southland
had travelled many a mile with dog-team, snowshoes, and canoe.
If the stories suffer in the telling, as suffer they must afar from
that wondrous Alaskan background of mountain and forest, glacier
and river, wrenched from the setting of campfires and trail, and
divorced from the soft gutturals and halting throat notes in which
they have been handed down from generation to generation of Chilkat
and Chilkoot, blame not Zachook, who told them to me, and forbear
to blame me who tell them to you as best I may in this stiff
English tongue. They were many months in the telling and many weary
miles have I had to carry them in my memory pack.
* * * * *
I had lost count of the hours, lost count of the days that at best
are marked by little change between darkness and dawn in the
Northland winter, until I knew not how long I had lain there in my
blanket of snow, waiting for the lingering feet of that dawdler,
Death, to put an end to my sufferings.
Some hours, or days, or years before I had been pushing along the
trail to the coast, thinking little where I placed my feet and much
of the eating that lay at Dalton Post House; and of other things
thousands of miles from this bleak waste, where men exist in the
hope of ultimate living, with kaleidoscope death by their side;
other things that had to do with women's faces, bills of fare from
which bacon and beans were rigidly excluded, and comforts of the
flesh that some day I again might enjoy.
Then, as if to mock me, teach me the folly of allowing even my
thoughts to wander from her cold face, the Northland meted swift
punishment. The packed snow of the trail beneath my feet gave way,
there was a sharp click of steel meeting steel, and a shooting pain
that ran from heel to head. For a moment I was sick and giddy from
the shock and sudden pain, then, loosening the pack from my
shoulders, fell to digging the snow with my mittened hands away
from what, even before I uncovered it, I knew to be a bear trap
that had bitten deep into my ankle and held it in vise clutch.
Roundly I cursed at the worse than fool who had set bear trap in
man trail, as I tore and tugged to free myself. As well might I
have tried to wrench apart the jaws of its intended victim.
Weakened at last by my efforts and the excruciating pain I lay back
upon the snow. A short rest, and again I pulled feebly at the steel
teeth, until my hands were bleeding and my brain swirling.
How long I struggled blindly, viciously, like a trapped beaver, I
do not know, though I have an indistinct memory of reaching for my
knife to emulate his sometime method of escape. But with the first
flakes of falling snow came a delicious, contentful langour,
deadening the pain, soothing the weariness of my muscles, calming
the tempest of my thoughts and fears, and lulling me gently to
sleep to the music of an old song crooned by the breeze among the
trees.
When I awoke it was with that queer feeling of foreign surroundings
we sometimes experience, and the snow, the forest, the pain in my
leg, my own being, were as strange as the crackling fire, the warm
blanket that wrapped me, and the Indian who bent over me smiling
into my half opened eyes.
So were our trails joined and made one; Zachook of the Northland,
and I of the Southland, by him later called Kitchakahaech, because
my tongue moved as moved our feet on the trail, unceasingly. And
because of this same love of speech in me, and the limp I bore for
memory of the bear trap, for these and possibly other reasons, and
that a man must have a family to bear his sins, of the Raven was I
christened by Zachook, the Bear, and to the family of the Raven was
I joined.
Orator among his people though he was, Zachook was no spendthrift
of speech. But surly he never was; his silence was a pleasant
silence, a companionable interchange of unspoken thoughts. Nor did
he need words as I needed them, his eyes, his hands, his wordless
lips could convey whole volumes of meaning, with lights and shades
beyond the power that prisons thought. Not often did he speak at
length, even to me, unless, as it came to be, he was moved by some
hap or mishap of camp or trail to tell of the doings of that arch
rascal, Yaeethl, the raven, God, Bird, and Scamp. And when, sitting
over the fire, or with steering paddle in hand, he did open the
gates that lead to the land of legend, he seemed but to listen and
repeat the words of Kahn, the fire spirit, who stands between the
Northland and death, or of Klingat-on-ootke, God of the Waters,
whose words seemed to glisten on the dripping paddle.
So it was upon an evening in the time when we had come to be as
sons of the same mother, when we shared pack and blanket and grub
alike, and were known, each to the other, for the men we were. We
had finished our supper of salmon baked in the coals, crisply fried
young grouse and the omnipresent sourdough bread, and with the
content that comes of well filled stomachs were seated with the
fire between us, Zachook studying the glowing embers, I with that
friend of solitude, my pipe, murmuring peacefully in response to my
puffing.
As usual, I had been talking, and my words had run upon the trail
of the raven, whose hoarse call floated up to us from the river.
Idly I had spoken, and disparagingly, until Zachook half smilingly,
half earnestly quoted:
"He who fires in the air without aim may hit a friend."
And as I relapsed into silence added: "It is time, Kitchakahaech,
that you heard of the head of your family, this same Yaeethl, the
raven. Then will you have other words for him, though, when you
have heard, it will be for you to speak them as a friend speaks or
as an enemy. Of both has Yaeethl many."
I accepted the rebuke in silence, for Zachook's trail was longer
then mine by many years, and he had seen and done things which were
yet as thoughts with me.
For the time of the smoking and refilling of my pipe Zachook was
silent, then with eyes gazing deep into the fire, began:
"Before there was a North or South, when Time was not,
Klingatona-Kla, the Earth Mother, was blind, and all the world
was dark. No man had seen the sun, moon, or stars, for they
were kept hidden by Yakootsekaya-ka, the Wise Man. Locked in a
great chest were they, in a chest that stood in the corner of
the lodge of the Wise Man, in Tskekowani, the place that
always was and ever will be. Carefully were they guarded, many
locks had the chest, curious, secret locks, beyond the fingers
of a thief. To outwit the cunning of Yaeethl were the locks
made. Yaeethl the God, Yaeethl the Raven, Yaeethl the Great
Thief, of whom the Wise Man was most afraid.
"The Earth Mother needed light that her eyes might be opened,
that she might bear children and escape the disgrace of her
barrenness. To Yaeethl the Clever, Yaeethl the Cunning, went
Klingatona-Kla, weeping, and of the Raven begged aid. And
Yaeethl took pity on her and promised that she should have
Kayah, the Light, to father her children.
"Many times had Yaeethl, because of his promise, tried to
steal the Worlds of Light, and as many times had he failed.
But with each attempt his desire grew, grew until it filled
his belly and his brain.
"Was he not Yaeethl, the Great White Raven, the Father of
Thieves? What if the Wise Man put new and heavier locks upon
the chest after each attempt? Were locks greater than the
cunning of the Raven?
"Now Yakootsekaya-ka, the Wise Man, and his wife had a
daughter. Of their marriage was she, a young girl, beautiful
and good. No man had ever seen her face. On no one, god or
man, had the eyes of the young girl ever rested, save only her
father and mother, the Wise Ones. Ye-see-et, a virgin, was
she.
"Yaeethl, of his wisdom knowing that the weakness of men is
the strength of children, that a babe may enter where a
warrior may not cast his shadow, bethought him of this virgin,
this daughter of Yakootsekaya-ka. As the thought and its
children made camp in his brain Yaeethl spread wide his
snow-white wings.
[Illustration]
"Thrice he circled high in air | 2,293.76039 |
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Produced by Carlo Traverso and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net, in celebration
of Distributed Proofreaders' 15th Anniversary, using images
generously made available by The Internet Archive
_NAPOLEON’S_
APPEAL
TO THE
BRITISH NATION,
ON
_HIS TREATMENT_
AT
SAINT HELENA.
THE OFFICIAL MEMOIR, DICTATED BY HIM,
AND DELIVERED TO
SIR HUDSON LOWE.
[Illustration]
London:
_Printed by Macdonald and Son, Cloth Fair_,
FOR WILLIAM HONE, 55, FLEET STREET,
AND 67, OLD BAILEY,
THREE DOORS FROM LUDGATE HILL.
1817.
_Price Two-Pence._
APPEAL, &c.
M. Santini, Huissier du Cabinet de l’Empereur NAPOLEON, arrived at
Portsmouth from St. | 2,293.765657 |
2023-11-16 18:55:17.8395820 | 497 | 9 |
Produced by Paul Haxo from page images graciously made
available by the Internet Archive and the University of
California.
SINGLE LIFE;
A COMEDY,
In Three Acts,
BY
JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ.,
(MEMBER OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS' SOCIETY,)
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET.
CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE
CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT,
SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE
POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ETCHING,
BY PIERCE EGAN, THE YOUNGER, FROM A DRAWING TAKEN
DURING THE REPRESENTATION.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND.
"NASSAU STEAM PRESS,"
W. S. JOHNSON, 6, NASSAU STREET, SOHO.
Dramatis Personae and Costume.
_First produced, Tuesday, July 23rd, 1839._
BACHELORS.
MR. JOHN NIGGLE _(A fluctuating bachelor.)_ }
Light drab coat, white waistcoat, nankeen } MR. WEBSTER.
pantaloons, white stockings, shoes, white wig }
tied in a tail, white hat }
MR. DAVID DAMPER _(A woman-hating bachelor.)_ }
Brown coat with black horn buttons, old }
fashioned dark figured silk waistcoat, black } MR. STRICKLAND.
pantaloons, hessian boots, iron-grey wig, }
broad-brimmed hat }
MR. PETER PINKEY _(A bashful bachelor.)_ }
Lavender coloured coat, white waistcoat, }
white trowsers, pink socks, pumps, pink silk } MR. BUCKSTONE.
neckerchief, pink gloves, pink watch ribbon, }
low crowned hat and cane, flaxen fashionably }
dressed wig }
MR. NARCISSUS BOSS _(A self-loving }
bachelor.)_ Fashionable chocolate-coloured }
Newmarket coat with roses in the buttonhole, }
e | 2,293.859622 |
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Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Veronika Redfern and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
MABEL.
A NOVEL,
BY EMMA WARBURTON.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
1854.
TO
MISS EMMA TYLNEY LONG,
THIS WORK
IS INSCRIBED
AS A SLIGHT BUT SINCERE EXPRESSION
OF GRATEFUL ESTEEM.
MABEL.
CHAPTER I.
Oh, timely, happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise,
Eyes that the beam celestial view | 2,293.962309 |
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Produced by Sonya Schermann and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive).
Transcriber’s Note
Italic text has been surrounded by _underscores_. Some corrections have
been made to the original text. They are listed in a second
transcriber’s note at the end of the | 2,293.963164 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 3. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, November 18, 1879. Copyright, 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TOURNAMENT.--DRAWN BY JAMES E. KELLY.]
THE TOURNAMENT.
Great rivalry arose once between James and Henry, two school-mates and
warm friends, and all on account of a pretty girl who went to the same
school. Each one wanted to walk with her, and carry her books and lunch
basket; and as Mary was a bit of a coquette, and showed no preference
for either of her admirers, each tried to be the first to meet her in
the shady winding lane that led from her house to the school. At last
they determined to decide the matter in the old knightly manner, by a
tournament. Two stout boys consented to act as chargers, and the day for
the meeting was appointed.
It was Saturday afternoon, a half-holiday, when the rivals met in the
back yard of Henry's house, armed with old brooms for lances, and with
shields made out of barrel heads. The chargers backed up against the
fence, the champions mounted and faced each other from opposite sides of
the yard. The herald with an old tin horn gave the signal for the onset.
There was a wild rush across the yard, and a terrific shock as the
champions met. James's lance struck Henry right under the chin, and
overthrew him in spite of his gallant efforts to keep his seat.
The herald at once proclaimed victory for James; and Henry, before he
was allowed to rise from the ground, was compelled to renounce all
intention of walking to school with Mary in the future.
[Begun in No. 1 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, Nov. 4.]
THE BRAVE SWISS BOY.
_II.--A PERILOUS ADVENTURE.--(Continued.)_
[Illustration: "WALTER AIMED TWO OR THREE BLOWS AT THE CREATURE'S
BREAST."]
In this dreadful crisis, Walter pressed as hard as he could against the
rocky crag, having but one hand at liberty to defend himself against the
furious attack of the bird. It was quite impossible for him to get at
his axe, and the force with which he was assaulted caused him nearly to
let go his hold. He tried to seize the vulture's throat and strangle it;
but the bird was too active, and made all such attempts perfectly
useless. He could scarcely hope to continue such a dangerous struggle
much longer. He was becoming faint from terror, and his left hand was
fast growing benumbed with grasping the rock. He had almost resigned
himself to his fate, and expected the next moment to be dashed to pieces
on the field of ice beneath. Suddenly, however, he recollected his
pocket-knife, and a new ray of hope dawned. Giving up the attempt to
clutch at the furious bird, he drew the knife out of his pocket, and
opened it with his teeth, and aiming two or three blows at the
creature's breast, he found at last that he had been successful in
reaching some mortal part. The fluttering of the wings ceased, and the
dying bird stained the virgin snow with its blood on the ice-field
below. Walter was saved; there was no other enemy now to fear; his life
was no longer in danger; but his energies were taxed to the utmost, and
it was well for him that the terrible contest had lasted no longer.
Pale, trembling in every limb, and spattered with the vulture's blood as
well as that which trickled from the many wounds he had received, the
valiant young cragsman sank helplessly to the ground, where he lay for
some minutes, paralyzed with the terrible exertion he had gone through.
At length, however, he so far recovered himself as to be able to
continue his fatiguing and dangerous journey, and soon succeeded in
reaching the spot where he had left his jacket, shoes, and alpenstock.
Having gained a place of safety, he poured forth his thanks to God for
delivering him from such great danger, and began to bind up his wounds,
which for the first time were now paining him. When this was
accomplished in a rough and ready sort of way, he had a peep at the
trophies in his bag, whose capture had been attended with such
adventurous danger, and with the aid of his alpenstock succeeded in
getting the dead body of the old bird, which he found had been struck
right to the heart. But his knife he could not recover, so concluded
that he must have dropped it after the deadly encounter.
"That doesn't matter much," said he to himself, as he looked at | 2,294.060174 |
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Produced by John Bickers
THE ECONOMIST
By Xenophon
Translation by H. G. Dakyns
Xenophon the Athenian was born 431 B.C. He was a
pupil of Socrates. He marched with the Spartans,
and was exiled from Athens. Sparta gave him land
and property in Scillus, where he lived for many
years before having to move once more, to settle
in Corinth. He died in 354 B.C.
The Economist records Socrates and Critobulus in
a talk about profitable estate management, and a
lengthy recollection by Socrates of Ischomachus'
discussion of the same topic.
PREPARER'S NOTE
This was typed from Dakyns' series, "The Works of Xenophon," a
four-volume set. The complete list of Xenophon's works (though
there is doubt about some of these) is:
Work Number of books
The Anabasis 7
The Hellenica 7
The Cyropaedia 8
The Memorabilia 4
The Symposium 1
The Economist 1
On Horsemanship 1
The Sportsman 1
The Cavalry General 1
The Apology 1
On Revenues 1
The Hiero 1
The Agesilaus 1
The Polity of the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians 2
Text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of Greek text into
English using an Oxford English Dictionary alphabet table. The
diacritical marks have been lost.
The Economist
by Xenophon
Translation by H. G. Dakyns
THE ECONOMIST [1]
A Treatise on the Science of the Household in the form of a Dialogue
INTERLOCUTORS
Socrates and Critobulus
At Chapter VII. a prior discussion held between Socrates and Ischomachus
is introduced: On the life of a "beautiful and good" man.
In these chapters (vii.-xxi.) Socrates is represented by the author
as repeating for the benefit of Critobulus and the rest certain
conversations which he had once held with the beautiful and good
Ischomachus on the essentials of economy. It was a tete-a-tete
discussion, and in the original Greek the remarks of the two speakers
are denoted by such phrases as {ephe o 'Iskhomakhos--ephen egio}--"said
(he) Ischomachus," "said I." (Socrates) To save the repetition of
expressions tedious in English, I have, whenever it seemed help to do
so, ventured to throw parts of the reported conversations into dramatic
form, inserting "Isch." "Soc." in the customary way to designate the
speakers; but these, it must be borne in mind, are merely "asides"
to the reader, who will not forget that Socrates is the narrator
throughout--speaking of himself as "I," and of Ischomachus as "he," or
by his name.--Translator's note, addressed to the English reader.
I
I once heard him [2] discuss the topic of economy [3] after the
following manner. Addressing Critobulus, [4] he said: Tell me,
Critobulus, is "economy," like the words "medicine," "carpentry,"
"building," "smithying," "metal-working," and so forth, the name of a
particular kind of knowledge or science?
[1] By "economist" we now generally understand "political economist,"
but the use of the word as referring to domestic economy, the
subject matter of the treatise, would seem to be legitimate.
[2] "The master."
[3] Lit. "the management of a household and estate." See Plat. "Rep."
407 B; Aristot. "Eth. N." v. 6; "Pol." i. 3.
[4] See "Mem." I. iii. 8; "Symp." p. 292.
Crit. Yes, I think so.
Soc. And as, in the case of the arts just named, we can state the proper
work or function of each, can we (similarly) state the proper work and
function of economy?
Crit. It must, I should think, be the business of the good economist [5]
at any rate to manage his own house or estate well.
[5] Or, "manager of a house or estate."
Soc. And supposing another man's house to be entrusted to him, he would
be able, if he chose, to manage it as skilfully as his own, would
he not? since a man who is skilled in carpentry can work as well for
another as for himself: and this ought to be equally true of the good
economist?
Crit. Yes, I think so, Socrates.
Soc. Then there is no reason why a proficient in this art, even if
he does not happen to possess wealth of his own, should not be paid a
salary for managing a house, just as he might be paid for building one?
Crit. None at all: and a large salary he would be entitled to earn if,
after paying the necessary expenses of the estate entrusted to him, he
can create a surplus and improve the property.
Soc. Well! and this word "house," what are we to understand by it? the
domicile merely? or are we to include all a man's possessions outside
the actual dwelling-place? [6]
[6] Lit. "is it synonymous with dwelling-place, or is all that a man
possesses outside his dwelling-place part of his house or estate?"
Crit. Certainly, in my opinion at any rate, everything which a man has
got, even though some portion of it may lie in another part of the world
from that in which he lives, [7] forms part of his estate.
[7] Lit. "not even in the same state or city."
Soc. "Has got"? but he may have got enemies?
Crit. Yes, I am afraid some people have got a great many.
Soc. Then shall we say that a man's enemies form part of his
possessions?
Crit. A comic notion indeed! that some one should be good enough to add
to my stock of enemies, and that in addition he should be paid for his
kind services.
Soc. Because, you know, we agreed that a man's estate was identical with
his possessions?
Crit. Yes, certainly! the good part of his possessions; but the
evil portion! no, I thank you, that I do not call part of a man's
possessions.
Soc. As I understand, you would limit the term to what we may call a
man's useful or advantageous possessions?
Crit. Precisely; if he has things that injure him, I should regard these
rather as a loss than as wealth.
Soc. It follows apparently that if a man purchases a horse and does
not know how to handle him, but each time he mounts he is thrown and
sustains injuries, the horse is not part of his wealth?
Crit. Not, if wealth implies weal, certainly.
Soc. And by the same token land itself is no wealth to a man who so
works it that his tillage only brings him loss?
Crit. True; mother earth herself is not a source of wealth to us if,
instead of helping us to live, she helps us to starve.
Soc. And by a parity of reasoning, sheep and cattle may fail of being
wealth if, through want of knowledge how to treat them, their owner
loses by them; to him at any rate the sheep and the cattle are not
wealth?
Crit. That is the conclusion I draw.
Soc. It appears, you hold to the position that wealth consists of things
which benefit, while things which injure are not wealth?
Crit. Just so.
Soc. The same things, in fact, are wealth or not wealth, according as a
man knows or does not know the use to make of them? To take an instance,
a flute may be wealth to him who is sufficiently skilled to play upon
it, but the same instrument is no better than the stones we tread under
our feet to him who is not so skilled... unless indeed he chose to sell
it?
Crit. That is precisely the conclusion we should come to. [8] To
persons ignorant of their use [9] flutes are wealth as saleable, but as
possessions not for sale they are no wealth at all; and see, Socrates,
how smoothly and consistently the argument proceeds, [10] since it is
admitted that things which benefit are wealth. The flutes in question
unsold are not wealth, being good for nothing: to become wealth they
must be sold.
[8] Reading {tout auto}, or if {tout au} with Sauppe, transl. "Yes,
that is another position we may fairly subscribe to."
[9] i.e. "without knowledge of how to use them."
[10] Or, "our discussion marches on all-fours, as it were."
Yes! (rejoined Socrates), presuming the owner knows how to sell them;
since, supposing again he were to sell them for something which he does
not know how to use, [11] the mere selling will not transform them into
wealth, according to your argument.
[11] Reading {pros touto o}, or if {pros touton, os}, transl. "to a
man who did not know how to use them."
Crit. You seem to say, Socrates, that money itself in the pockets of a
man who does not know how to use it is not wealth?
Soc. And I understand you to concur in the truth of our proposition
so far: wealth is that, and that only, whereby a man may be benefited.
Obviously, if a man used his money to buy himself a mistress, to the
grave detriment of his body and soul and whole estate, how is that
particular money going to benefit him now? What good will he extract
from it?
Crit. None whatever, unless we are prepared to admit that hyoscyamus,
[12] as they call it, is wealth, a poison the property of which is to
drive those who take it mad.
[12] "A dose of henbane, 'hogs'-bean,' so called." Diosc. 4. 69; 6.
15; Plut. "Demetr." xx. (Clough, v. 114).
Soc. Let money then, Critobulus, if a man does not know how to use it
aright--let money, I say, be banished to the remote corners of the earth
rather than be reckoned as wealth. [13] But now, what shall we say of
friends? If a man knows how to use his friends so as to be benefited by
them, what of these?
[13] Or, "then let it be relegated... and there let it lie in the
category of non-wealth."
Crit. They are wealth indisputably, and in a deeper sense than cattle
are, if, as may be supposed, they are likely to prove of more benefit to
a man than wealth of cattle.
Soc. It would seem, according to your argument, that the foes of a man's
own household after all may be wealth to him, if he knows how to turn
them to good account? [14]
[14] Vide supra.
Crit. That is my opinion, at any rate.
Soc. It would seem, it is the part of a good economist [15] to know how
to deal with his own or his employer's foes so as to get profit out of
them?
[15] "A good administrator of an estate."
Crit. Most emphatically so.
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and the distributed proofers. HTML version by Al Haines.
WACOUSTA;
or
THE PROPHECY.
Volume Two of Three
by
John Richardson
CHAPTER I.
It was on | 2,294.557162 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE BLUE BIRD
_A Fairy Play in Six Acts_
By Maurice Maeterlinck
_Translated By_ Alexander Teixeira De Mattos
CHARACTERS
TYLTYL
MYTYL
LIGHT
THE FAIRY BERYLUNE
NEIGHBOUR BERLINGOT
DADDY TYL
MUMMY TYL
GAFFER TYL (Dead)
GRANNY TYL (Dead)
TYLTYL'S BROTHERS AND SISTERS (Dead)
TIME
NIGHT
NEIGHBOUR BERLINGOT'S LITTLE DAUGHTER
TYLO, THE DOG
TYLETTE, THE CAT
BREAD
SUGAR
FIRE
WATER
MILK
THE WOLF
THE PIG
THE OX
THE COW
THE BULL
THE SHEEP
THE COCK
THE RABBIT
THE HORSE
THE ASS
THE OAK
THE ELM
THE BEECH
THE LIME-TREE
THE FIR-TREE
THE CYPRESS
THE BIRCH
THE CHESTNUT-TREE
THE IVY
THE POPLAR
THE WILLOW
STARS, SICKNESSES, SHADES, LUXURIES, HAPPINESSES, JOYS, ETC.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
A new act appears for the first time in this edition and is inserted as
Act IV--_Palace of Happiness_. It has been specially written for the
Christmas revival of _The Blue Bird_ at the Haymarket Theatre, where
it will take the place of the Forest Scene (Act III., Scene 2). In the
printed version, however, the Forest Scene is retained; and in this and all
later editions the play will consist of six acts instead of five.
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS.
CHELSEA, 14 _November_, 1910.
COSTUMES
TYLTYL wears the dress of Hop o' my Thumb in Perrault's Tales. Scarlet
knickerbockers, pale-blue jacket, white stockings, tan shoes.
MYTYL is dressed like Gretel or Little Red Riding-hood.
LIGHT.--The "moon-" dress in Perrault's _Peau d'ane;_ that is
to say, pale gold shot with silver, shimmering gauzes, forming a sort of
rays, etc. Neo-Grecian or Anglo-Grecian (_a la_ Walter Crane) or even
more or less Empire style: a high waist, bare arms, etc. Head-dress: a sort
of diadem or even a light crown.
THE FAIRY BERYLUNE and NEIGHBOUR BERLINGOT.--The traditional dress of the
poor women in fairy-tales. If desired, the transformation of the Fairy into
a princess in Act I may be omitted.
DADDY TYL, MUMMY TYL, GAFFER TYL and GRANNY TYL.--The traditional costume
of the German wood-cutters and peasants in Grimm's Tales.
TYLTYL'S BROTHERS AND SISTERS.--Different forms of the Hop-o'-my-Thumb
costume.
TIME.--Traditional dress of Time: a wide black or dark-blue cloak, a
streaming white beard, scythe and hour-glass.
NIGHT.--Ample black garments, covered with mysterious stars and "shot" with
reddish-brown reflections. Veils, dark poppies, etc.
THE NEIGHBOUR'S LITTLE GIRL.--Bright fair hair; a long white frock.
THE DOG,--Red dress-coat, white breeches, top-boots, a shiny hat. The
costume suggests that of John Bull.
THE CAT.--The costume of Puss In Boots: powdered wig, three-cornered hat,
violet or sky-blue coat, dress-sword, etc.
N.B.--The heads of the DOG and the CAT should be only discreetly
animalised.
THE LUXURIES.--Before the transformation: wide, heavy mantles in red
and yellow brocade; enormous fat jewels, etc. After the transformation:
chocolate or coffee- tights, giving the impression of unadorned
dancing-jacks.
THE HAPPINESSES OF THE HOME.--Dresses of various colours, or, if preferred,
costumes of peasants, shepherds, wood-cutters and so on, but idealised and
interpreted fairy-fashion.
THE GREAT JOYS.--As stated in the text, shimmering dresses in soft and
subtle shades: rose-awakening, water's-smile, amber-dew, blue-of-dawn, etc.
MATERNAL LOVE.--Dress very similar to the dress worn by Light, that is to
say, supple and almost transparent veils, as of a Greek statue, and, in so
far as possible, white. Pearls and other stones as rich and numerous as may
be desired, provided that they do not break the pure and candid harmony of
the whole.
BREAD.--A rich pasha's dress. An ample crimson silk or velvet gown. A huge
turban. A scimitar. An enormous stomach, red and puffed-out cheeks.
SUGAR.--A silk gown, cut like that of a eunuch in a seraglio, half blue
and half white, to suggest the paper wrapper of a sugar-loaf. Eunuch's
headdress.
FIRE.--Red tights, a vermilion cloak, with changing reflections, lined with
gold. An aigrette of iridescent flames.
WATER.--A pale-blue or bluish-green dress, with transparent reflections and
effects of rippling or trickling gauze, Neo-Grecian or Anglo-Grecian style.
but fuller and more voluminous than that of LIGHT. Head-dress of aquatic
flowers and seaweed.
THE ANIMALS.--Popular or peasant costumes.
THE TREES.--Dresses of different shades of green or the colour of the
trunks of trees. Distinctive attributes in the shape of leaves or branches
by which they can be recognised.
SCENES
ACT I.--The Wood-cutter's Cottage.
ACT II., Scene 1--At the Fairy's.
Scene 2--The Land of Memory.
ACT III., Scene 1--The Palace of Night.
Scene 2--The Forest.
ACT IV., Scene 1--Before the Curtain.
Scene 2--The Palace of Happiness.
ACT V., Scene 1--Before the Curtain.
Scene 2--The Graveyard.
Scene 3--The Kingdom of the Future.
ACT VI., Scene 1--The Leave-taking.
Scene 2--The Awakening.
THE BLUE BIRD
ACT I. _The Wood-cutter's Cottage_
_The stage represents the interior of a wood-cutter's cottage, simple and
rustic in appearance, but in no way poverty-stricken. A recessed fireplace
containing the dying embers of a wood-fire. Kitchen utensils, a cupboard, a
bread-pan, a grandfather's clock, a spinning-wheel, a water-tap, etc. On a
table, a lighted lamp. At the foot of the cupboard, on either side, a_
DOG _and a_ CAT _lie sleeping, rolled up, each with his nose in his
tail. Between them stands a large blue-and-white sugar-loaf. On the wall
hangs a round cage containing a turtle-dove. At the back, two windows, with
closed inside shutters. Under one of the windows, a stool. On the left
is the front door, with a big latch to it. On the right, another door. A
ladder leads up to a loft. On the right also are two little children's
cots, at the head of which are two chains, with clothes carefully folded
on them. When the curtain rises_, TYLTYL _and_ MYTYL _are sound
asleep in their cots_, MUMMY TYL _tucks them in, leans over them,
watches them for a moment as they sleep and beckons to_ DADDY TYL,
_who thrusts his head through the half-open door_. MUMMY TYL _lays
a finger on her lips, to impose silence upon him, and then goes out to the
right, on tiptoe, after first putting out the lamp. The scene remains in
darkness for a moment. Then a light, gradually increasing in intensity,
filters in through the shutters. The lamp on the table lights again of
itself, but its light is of a different colour than when_ MUMMY TYL
_extinguished it. The two_ CHILDREN _appear to wake and sit up in
bed_.
TYLTYL
Mytyl?
MYTYL
Tyltyl?
TYLTYL
Are you asleep?
MYTYL
Are you?...
TYLTYL
No; how can I be asleep when I'm talking to you?
MYTYL
Say, is this Christmas Day?...
TYLTYL
Not yet; not till to-morrow. But Father Christmas won't bring us anything
this year....
MYTYL
Why not?
TYLTYL
I heard mummy say that she couldn't go to town to tell him... But he will
come next year....
MYTYL
Is next year far off?...
TYLTYL
A good long while.... But he will come to the rich children to-night....
MYTYL
Really?...
TYLTYL
Hullo!... Mummy's forgotten to put out the lamp!... I've an idea!...
MYTYL
What?...
TYLTYL
Let's get up....
MYTYL
But we mustn't....
TYLTYL
Why, there's no one about.... Do you see the shutters?...
MYTYL
Oh, how bright they are!...
TYLTYL
It's the lights of the party.
MYTYL
What party?...
TYLTYL
The rich children opposite. It's the Christmas-tree. Let's open the
shutters....
MYTYL
Can we?...
TYLTYL
Of course; there's no one to stop us.... Do you hear the music?... Let us
get up....
(_The two_ CHILDREN _get up, run to one of the windows, climb on
to the stool and throw back the shutters. A bright light fills the room.
The_ CHILDREN _look out greedily_.)
TYLTYL
We can see everything!...
MYTYL (_who can hardly find room on the stool_)
I can't....
TYLTYL
It's snowing!... There's two carriages, with six horses each!...
MYTYL
There are twelve little boys getting out!...
TYLTYL
How silly you are!... They're little girls....
MYTYL
They've got knickerbockers....
TYLTYL
What do you know?... Don't push so!...
MYTYL
I never touched you.
TYLTYL (_who is taking up the whole stool_)
You're taking up all the room...
MYTYL
Why, I have no room at all!...
TYLTYL
Do be quiet! I see the tree!...
MYTYL
What tree?...
TYLTYL
Why, the Christmas-tree!... You're looking at the wall!...
MYTYL
I'm looking at the wall because I've got no room....
TYLTYL (_giving her a miserly little place on the stool_)
There!... Will that do?... Now you're better off than I!... I say, what
lots and lots of lights!...
MYTYL
What are those people doing who are making such a noise?...
TYLTYL
They're the musicians.
MYTYL
Are they angry?...
TYLTYL
No; but it's hard work.
MYTYL
Another carriage with white horses!...
TYLTYL
Be quiet!... And look!...
MYTYL
What are those gold things there, hanging from the branches?
TYLTYL
Why, toys, to be sure!... Swords, guns, soldiers, cannons....
MYTYL
And dolls; say, are there any dolls?...
TYLTYL
Dolls?... That's too silly; there's no fun in dolls....
MYTYL
And what's that all round the table?....
TYLTYL
Cakes and fruit and tarts....
MYTYL
I had some once when I was little....
TYLTYL
So did I; it's nicer than bread, but they don't give you enough....
MYTYL
They've got plenty over there.... The whole table's full.... Are they going
to eat them?...
TYLTYL
Of course; what else would they do with them | 2,294.557397 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
[Illustration: 006]
[Illustration: 007]
THE BOOK OF ROSES
By Francis Parkman
Boston
J. E. Tilton And Company.
1871.
INTRODUCTION
|IT IS needless to eulogize the Rose. Poets from Anacreon and Sappho,
and earlier than they, down to our own times, have sung its praises; and
yet the rose of Grecian and of Persian song, the rose of troubadours
and minstrels, had no beauties so resplendent as those with which its
offspring of the present day embellish our gardens. The "thirty sorts
of rose," of which John Parkinson speaks in 1629, have multiplied to
thousands. New races have been introduced from China, Persia, Hindostan,
and our own country; and these, amalgamated with the older families by
the art of the hybridist, have produced still other forms of surpassing
variety and beauty. This multiplication and improvement are still
in progress. The last two or three years have been prolific beyond
precedent in new roses; and, with all regard for old favorites, it
cannot be denied, that, while a few of the roses of our forefathers
still hold their ground, the greater part are cast into the shade by the
brilliant products of this generation.
In the production of new roses, France takes the lead. A host of
cultivators great and small--Laffay, Vibert, Verdier, Margottin,
Trouillard, Portemer, and numberless others--have devoted themselves to
the pleasant art of intermarrying the various families and individual
varieties of the rose, and raising from them seedlings whose numbers
every year may be counted by hundreds of thousands. Of these, a very few
only are held worthy of preservation; and all the rest are consigned to
the rubbish heap. The English, too, have of late done much in raising
new varieties; though their climate is less favorable than that of
France, and their cultivators less active and zealous in the work. Some
excellent roses, too, have been produced in America. Our climate is
very favorable to the raising of seedlings, and far more might easily be
accomplished here.
In France and England, the present rage for roses is intense. It
is stimulated by exhibitions, where nurserymen, gardeners, landed
gentlemen, and reverend clergymen of the Established Church, meet in
friendly competition for the prize. While the French excel all others
in the production of new varieties, the English are unsurpassed in
the cultivation of varieties already known; and nothing can exceed
the beauty and perfection of some of the specimens exhibited at
their innumerable rose-shows. If the severity of our climate has its
disadvantages, the clearness of our air and the warmth of our summer
sun more than counterbalance them; and it is certain that roses can be
raised here in as high perfection, to say the very least, as in any part
of Europe.
The object of this book is to convey information. The earlier
portion will describe the various processes of culture, training, and
propagation, both in the open ground and in pots; and this will be
followed by an account of the various families and groups of the rose,
with descriptions of the best varieties belonging to each. A descriptive
list will be added of all the varieties, both of old roses and those
most recently introduced, which are held in esteem by the experienced
cultivators of the present day. The chapter relating to the
classification of roses, their family relations, and the manner in
which new races have arisen by combinations of two or more old ones, was
suggested by the difficulties of the writer himself at an early
period of his rose studies. The want of such explanations, in previous
treatises, has left their readers in a state of lamentable perplexity on
a subject which might easily have been made sufficiently clear.
Books on the rose, written for the climates of France or England,
will, in general, greatly mislead the cultivators here. Extracts will,
however, be given from the writings of the best foreign cultivators, in
cases where experience has shown that their directions are applicable
to the climate of the Northern and Middle States. The writer having been
for many years a cultivator of the rose, and having carefully put in
practice the methods found successful abroad, is enabled to judge with
some confidence of the extent to which they are applicable here, and
to point out exceptions and modifications demanded by the nature of our
climate.
Among English writers on the rose, the best are Paul, Rivers, and
more recently Cranston, together with the vivacious Mr. Radclyffe, a
clergyman, a horticulturist, an excellent amateur of the rose, and a
very amusing contributor to the "Florist." In France, Deslongchamps
and several able contributors to the "Revue Horticole" are the
most prominent. From these sources the writer of this book drew the
instructions and hints which at first formed the basis of his practice;
but he soon found that he must greatly modify it in accordance with
American necessities. There was much to be added, much to be discarded,
and much to be changed; and the results to which he arrived are given,
as compactly as possible, in the following pages.
Jan. 1,1866.
[Illustration: 0018]
[Illustration: 0019]
CHAPTER I. OPEN AIR CULTURE
[Illustration: 0021]
|THE ROSE requires high culture. This belle of the parterre, this "queen
of flowers," is a lover of rich fare, and refuses to put forth all her
beauties on a meagre diet. Roses, indeed, will grow and bloom in any
soil; but deficient nourishment will reduce the size of the flowers,
and impair the perfection of their form. Of all soils, one of a sandy or
gravelly nature is the worst; while, on the other hand, a wet and dense
clay is scarcely better. A rich, strong, and somewhat heavy garden loam,
abundantly manured, is the soil best adapted to all the strong-growing
roses; while those of more delicate growth prefer one pro-portionably
lighter.
Yet roses may be grown to perfection in any soil, if the needful pains
are taken. We will suppose an extreme case: The grower wishes to plant
a bed of roses on a spot where the soil is very poor and sandy. Let him
mark out his bed, dig the soil to the depth of eighteen inches? throw
out the worst portion of it, and substitute in its place a quantity
of strong, heavy loam: rotted sods, if they can be had, will be an
excellent addition; and so, also, will decayed leaves. Then add a
liberal dressing of old stable manure: that taken from a last year's
hot-bod will do admirably. It is scarcely possible to enrich too highly.
One-fourth manure to three-fourths soil is not an excessive proportion.
Now incorporate the whole thoroughly with a spade, level the top, and
your bed is ready.
Again: we will suppose a case, equally bad, but of the opposite
character. Here the soil is very wet, cold, and heavy. The first step is
to drain it. This may be done thoroughly with tiles, after the approved
methods; or, if this is too troublesome or expensive, simpler means may
be used, which will, in most situations, prove as effectual. Dig a
hole about five feet deep and four feet wide at the lower side of your
intended bed of roses: in this hole place an inverted barrel, with the
head knocked out; or, what is better, an old oil cask. In the latter
case, a hole should be bored in it, near the top, to permit the air to
escape. Fill the space around the cask or barrel with stones, and then
cover the whole with earth. If your bed is of considerable extent, a
drain, laid in stone or tile, should be made under or beside the bed,
at the depth of three feet, and so constructed as to lead to the sunken
barrel. Throw out, if necessary, a portion of the worst soil of the bed,
substituting light loam, rotted leaves, and coarse gritty sand. Then add
an abundance of old stable manure, as in the former case.
In the great majority of gardens, however, such pains are superfluous.
Any good garden soil, deeply dug, and thoroughly enriched, will grow
roses in perfection. Neither manure nor the spade should be spared.
Three conditions are indispensable,--sun, air, and exemption from the
invasion of the roots of young growing trees. These last are insidious
plunderers and thieves, which invade the soil, and rob its lawful
occupants of the stores of nutriment provided for them.
A rose planted on the shady side of a grove of elm or maple trees is in
one of the worst possible of situations. If, however, the situation is
in other respects good, the evil of the invading roots may be cured for
a time by digging a trench, three feet deep, between the trees and the
bed of roses; thus cutting off the intruders. The trench may then be
filled up immediately; but, if the trees are vigorous, it must be dug
over again the following year. It is much better to choose, at the
outset, an airy, sunny situation, at a reasonable distance from growing
trees; but, at the same time, a spot exposed to violent winds should be
avoided, as they are very injurious and exhausting.
[Illustration: 0024]
Roses may be planted either in spring or in autumn. In the Northern
States, the severity of the winter demands some protection, when planted
in autumn, for all except the old, hardy varieties. Plant as early as
possible, that the roots may take some hold on the soil before winter
closes. October, for this reason, is better than November. The best
protection is earth heaped around the stem to the height of from six
inches to a foot. Pine, cedar, or spruce boughs are also excellent. When
earth alone is used, the top of the rose is often frost-killed; but
this is usually of no consequence, the growth and bloom being only more
vigorous for this natural pruning. Dry leaves heaped among or around the
roses, and kept down by sticks or pieces of board, or by earth thrown on
them, are also good protectors. In spring, plant as early as the soil
is in working order; that is to say, as soon as it is dry enough not to
adhere in lumps to the spade.
In planting, prune back the straggling roots with a sharp knife, but
save as many of the small fibres as possible. If you plant in spring,
prune back the stem at least half way to the ground; but, if you plant
in autumn, by all means defer this operation till the winter is over.
The ground around autumn-planted roses should be trodden down in the
spring, since the plant will have been somewhat loosened in its place
by the effect of frost; but this treading must not take place until the
soil has become free from excessive moisture. Budded roses require a
peculiar treatment in planting, which we shall describe when we come to
speak of them.
[Illustration: 0025]
Next to soil and situation, pruning is the most important point of
attention to the rose-grower. Long treatises have been written on it,
describing in detail different modes applicable to different classes
of roses, and confusing the amateur by a multitude of perplexing
particulars.
One principle will cover most of the ground: _Weaklygrowing roses
should be severely pruned: those of vigorous growth should be pruned but
little_. Or, to speak more precisely, _roses should be pruned in inverse
proportion to the vigor of their growth._
Much, however, depends on the object at which the grower aims. If
he wishes for a profusion of bloom, without regard to the size and
perfection of individual flowers, then comparatively little pruning is
required. If, on the other hand, he wishes for blooms of the greatest
size and perfection, without regard to number, he will prune more
closely.
The pruning of any tree or shrub at a time when vegetation is dormant
acts as a stimulus to its vital powers. Hence, when it is naturally
vigorous, it is urged by close pruning to such a degree of growth, that
it has no leisure to bear flowers, developing instead a profusion of
leaves and branches. The few flowers which it may produce under such
circumstances, will, however, be unusually large.
The most vigorous growers among roses are the climbers, such as the
"Boursaults" and the "Prairies."
These require very little pruning: first, because of their vigor; and,
secondly, because quantity rather than quality of bloom is asked of
them. The old and dry wood should be cut wholly away, leaving the
strong young growth to take its place, with no other pruning than a
clipping-off of the ends of side-shoots, and a thinning-out of crowded
or misshapen branches. In all roses, it is the young, well-ripened wood
that bears the finest flowers. Old enfeebled wood, or unripe, soft, and
defective young wood, should always be removed.
Next in vigor to the climbers are some of the groups of hardy June
roses; such, for example, as those called the Hybrid China roses. These
are frequently grown on posts or pillars; in which case they require a
special treatment, to be indicated hereafter. We are now supposing them
to be grown as bushes in the garden or on the lawn. Cut out the old
wood, and the weak, unripe, and sickly shoots, as well as those which
interfere with others; then shorten the remaining stems one-third,
and cut back the side-shoots to three or four buds. This is on the
supposition that a full mass of bloom is required, without much regard
to the development of individual flowers. If quality rather than
quantity of bloom is the desideratum, the pruning both of the main stems
and of the side-shoots must be considerably shorter.
Roses of more moderate growth, including the greater part of the June,
Moss, Hybrid Perpetual, and Bourbon roses, require a proportionally
closer pruning. The stems may be cut down to half their length, and
the side-shoots shortened to two buds. All the weak-growing roses, of
whatever class, may be pruned with advantage even more closely than
this. Some of the weak-growing Hybrid Perpetuals grow and bloom
best when shortened to within four or five buds of the earth. The
stronggrowing kinds, on the contrary, if pruned thus severely, would
grow with great vigor, but give very few flowers.
The objects of pruning are threefold: first, to invigorate the plant;
secondly, to improve its flowers; and, thirdly, to give it shape and
proportion. This last object should always be kept in view by the
operator. No two stems should be allowed to crowd each other. A mass of
matted foliage is both injurious and unsightly. Sun and air should have
access to every part of the plant. Six or seven stems are the utmost
that should be allowed to remain, even on old established bushes; and
these, as before mentioned, should be strong and well ripened, and
should also be disposed in such a manner, that, when the buds have grown
into shoots and leaves, the bush will have a symmetrical form. In young
bushes, three, or even two, good stems are sufficient.
Pruning in summer, when the plant is in active growth, has an effect
contrary to that of pruning when it is in a dormant state. Far from
increasing its vigor, it weakens it, by depriving it of a portion of its
leaves, which are at once its stomach and its lungs. Only two kinds of
summer pruning can be recommended. The first consists in the removal of
small branches which crowd their neighbors, and interfere with them:
the second is confined to the various classes of Perpetual roses, and
consists merely in cutting off the faded flowers, together with the
shoots on which they grow, to within three or four buds of the main
stem. This greatly favors their tendency to bloom again later in the
summer.
When old wood is cut away, it should be done cleanly, without leaving
a protruding stump. A small saw will sometimes be required for this
purpose; though in most cases a knife, or, what is more convenient, a
pair of sharp pruning-shears, will be all that the operator requires.
[Illustration: 0029]
When roses are trained to cover walls, trellises, arches, or pillars,
the main stems are encouraged to a strong growth. These form the
permanent wood; while the side-shoots, more or less pruned back, furnish
the flowers. For arbors, walls, or very tall pillars, the strongest
growers are most suitable, such as the Prairie, Boursault, and Ayrshire
roses. Enrich the soil strongly, and dig deep and widely. Choose a
healthy young rose, and, in planting, cut off all the stems close to the
earth. During the season, it will make a number of strong young shoots.
In the following spring cut out half of them, leaving the strongest,
which are to be secured against the wall, or over the arbor, diverging
like a fan or otherwise, as fancy may suggest. The subsequent pruning
is designed chiefly to regulate the growth of the rose, encouraging the
progress of the long leading shoots until they have reached the required
height, and removing side-shoots where they are too thick. Where a
vacant space occurs, a strong neighboring shoot may be pruned back in
spring to a single eye. This will stimulate it to a vigorous growth,
producing a stem which will serve to fill | 2,294.5618 |
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