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2023-11-16 18:59:02.9658410 | 7,436 | 7 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Eric Eldred and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ÆSCHYLOS
TRAGEDIES
AND
FRAGMENTS
_Translated by the late_
E. H. PLUMPTRE D.D.
_Dean of Wells_
WITH NOTES AND RHYMED CHORAL ODES
IN TWO PARTS
BOSTON U.S.A.
D. C. HEATH & CO. PUBLISHERS
1901
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
_The reception accorded to the pocket edition of Dean Plumptre's “Dante”
has encouraged the publishers to issue in the same_ format _the Dean's
masterly translation of the Tragedies of Æschylos._
_In preparing the present issue they have followed the carefully revised
text of the second edition, and have included the scholarly and
suggestive annotations with which the Dean invariably delighted to
enrich his work as a translator._
_The seven Plays, which are all that remain of the seventy or eighty
with which Æschylos is credited, are presented in their chronological
order. Passages in which the reading or the rendering is more or less
conjectural, and in which, accordingly, the aid of the commentator is
advisable, are marked by an asterisk; and passages which are regarded as
spurious by editors of authority have been placed in brackets._
_In translating the Choral Odes the Dean used such unrhymed
metres—observing the strophic and antistrophic arrangement—as seemed to
him most analogous in their general rhythmical effect to those of the
original. He added in an appendix, however, for the sake of those who
preferred the rhymed form with which they were familiar, a rhymed
version of the chief Odes of the Oresteian trilogy. Those in the other
dramas did not appear to him to be of equal interest, or to lend
themselves with equal facility to a like attempt. The Greek text on
which the translation is based is, for the most part, that of Mr.
Paley's edition of 1861._
_A translation was also given of the Fragments which have survived the
wreck of the lost plays, so that the work contains all that has been
left to us associated with the name of Æschylos._
_In the present edition a chronological outline has been substituted for
the biographical sketch of the poet, who from his daring enlargement of
the scope of the drama, the magnificence of his spectacular effects and
the splendour of his genius, was rightly honoured as “the Father of
Tragedy.”_
PART I
_Page_
CHRONOLOGICAL OUTLINE OF THE LIFE OF ÆSCHYLOS 11
THE PERSIANS 17
THE SEVEN WHO FOUGHT AGAINST THEBES 65
PROMETHEUS BOUND 113
THE SUPPLIANTS 161
PART II
_Page_
AGAMEMNON 9
THE LIBATION-POURERS 87
EUMENIDES 137
FRAGMENTS 185
RHYMED CHORUSES
_From_ Agamemnon 191
_From_ The Libation-Pourers 210
_From_ Eumenides 219
CHRONOLOGICAL OUTLINE OF THE LIFE OF ÆSCHYLOS
B.C.
527 Peisistratos died.
525 Birth at Eleusis, in Attica, of Æschylos, son of Euphorion.
510 Expulsion of the Peisistratidæ. Democratic constitution of
Cleisthenes.
Approximate date of incident in the legend that Æschylos was set
to watch grapes as they were ripening for the vintage, and fell
asleep; and lo! as he slept Dionysos appeared to him and bade
him give himself to write tragedies for the great festival of
the god. And when he awoke, he found himself invested with new
powers of thought and utterance, and the work was as easy to him
as if he had been trained to it for many years (Pausan, _Att._
i. 21, § 3).[1]
500 Birth of Anaxagoras.
499 Æschylos exhibited his first tragedy, in unsuccessful
competition with Pratinas and Chœrilos.
The wooden scaffolding broke beneath the crowd of spectators,
and the accident led the Athenians to build their first stone
theatre for the Dionysiac festivals.
Partly out of annoyance at his defeat, it is said, and partly in
a spirit of adventure, Æschylos sailed for Sicily.
497 Death of Pythagoras (?).
495 Birth of Sophocles at Colonos.
491 Æschylos at Athens.
490 The Battle of Marathon. Æschylos and his brothers, Kynægeiros
and Ameinias, so distinguished themselves, that the Athenians
ordered their heroic deeds to be commemorated in a picture.
Death of Theognis (?).
488 Prize awarded to Simonides for an elegy on Marathon. Æschylos,
piqued, it is said, at his failure in the competition, again
departed to Sicily.
485 Xerxes succeeded Dareios.
484 Æschylos won, in a dramatic contest with Pratinas, Chœrilos, and
Phrynichos, the first of a series of thirteen successes.
Birth of Herodotos.
480 Athens burnt by Xerxes.
Æschylos fought at Artemisium and Salamis. At Salamis his
brother Ameinias lost his hand, and was awarded the prize of
valour.
Sophocles led the Chorus of Victory.
Birth of Euripides.
479 Æschylos at the Battle of Platæa.
477 Commencement of Athenian supremacy.
473 Æschylos carried off the first prize with _The Persians_ (the
first of the extant plays), which belonged to a tetralogy that
included two tragedies, _Phineus_ and _Glaucos_, and a satyric
drama, _Prometheus the Fire-stealer_.
_The Persians_ has the interest of being a contemporary record
of the great sea-fight at Salamis by an eye-witness.
471 Æschylos appears to have produced this year his next tetralogy,
of which _The Seven against Thebes_ survives.
The play was directed against the policy of aiming at the
supremacy of Athens by attacking other Greek States, and, in
brief, maintained the policy of Aristeides as against that of
Themistocles.
Birth of Thucydides.
468 Sophocles gained his first victory in tragedy with his
_Triptolemos_; Æschylos defeated.
Æschylos charged with impiety, on the ground that he had
profaned the Mysteries by introducing on the stage rites known
only to the initiated; tried and acquitted; departure for
Syracuse.
467 Æschylos at the court of Hieron at Syracuse, where he is said to
have composed dramas on local legends, such as _The Women of
Ætna_.
Death of Simonides.
461 Ostracism of Kimon; ascendency of Pericles.
460-59 Probable date of _The Suppliants_, if the play be connected with
the alliance between Argos and Athens (B.C. 461), and the war
with the Persian forces in Egypt, upon which the Athenians had
entered as allies of the Libyan Prince Inaros. (B.C. 460.)
The date of _Prometheus Bound_ has been referred to B.C. 470 on
the strength of a description of Ætna (vv. 370-380), which is
supposed to be a reference to the eruption of B.C. 477. Internal
evidence, however, seems to warrant the view that _The
Suppliants_ and the _Prometheus Bound_ were separated by only a
brief interval of time.
458 Æschylos in Athens. He found new men and new methods;
institutions, held most sacred as the safeguard of Athenian
religion, were being criticised and attacked; the Court of
Areiopagos was threatened with abolition under pretence of
reform.
Production of the Oresteian Trilogy (or, rather, tetralogy, as
in addition to the _Agamemnon_, the _Libation-pourers_, and the
_Eumenides_, there was a satyric drama, _Proteus_).
This trilogy was a conservative protest, religious, social, and
political, which culminated in the assertion of the divine
authority of the Areiopagos.
Popular feeling was once more excited against the poet, who left
Athens never to return, and settled at Gela, in Sicily, under
the patronage of Hieron.
456 Death of Æschylos, aged 69.
An oracle foretold that he was to die by a blow from heaven, and
according to the legend, an eagle, mistaking the poet's head for
a stone as he sat writing, dropped a tortoise on it to break the
shell.
He was buried at Gela, and his epitaph, ascribed to himself,
ran: “Beneath this stone lies Æschylos, son of Euphorion. At
fertile Gela he died. Marathon can tell of his tested manhood,
and the Persians who there felt his mettle.”
He is said to have produced between seventy and eighty plays, of
which only seven survive.
-----
Footnote 1:
_Cf._, the legend of Caedmon, “the Father of English Song.”
THE PERSIANS[2]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ATOSSA
_Ghost of_ DAREIOS
_Messenger_
XERXES
_Chorus of Persian Elders_
_ARGUMENT.—When Xerxes came to the throne of Persia, remembering how his
father Dareios had sought to subdue the land of the Hellenes, and
seeking to avenge the defeat of Datis and Artaphernes on the field of
Marathon, he gathered together a mighty host of all nations under his
dominion, and led them against Hellas. And at first he prospered and
prevailed, crossed the Hellespont, and defeated the Spartans at
Thermopylæ, and took the city of Athens, from which the greater part of
its citizens had fled. But at last he and his armament met with utter
overthrow at Salamis. Meanwhile Atossa, the mother of Xerxes, with her
handmaids and the elders of the Persians, waited anxiously at Susa,
where was the palace of the great king, for tidings of her son._
-----
Footnote 2:
_Note._—Within two years after the battle of Salamis, the feeling of
natural exultation was met by Phrynichos in a tragedy bearing the
title of _The Phœnikians_, and having for its subject the defeat of
Xerxes. As he had come under the displeasure of the Athenian _demos_
for having brought on the stage the sufferings of their Ionian kinsmen
in his _Capture of Miletos_, he was apparently anxious to regain his
popularity by a “sensation” drama of another kind; and his success
seems to have prompted Æschylos to a like attempt five years later,
B.C. 473. The Tetralogy to which the play belonged, and which gained
the first prize on its representation, included the two tragedies
(unconnected in subject) of _Phineus_ and _Glaucos_, and the satyric
drama of _Prometheus the Fire-stealer_.
The play has, therefore, the interest of being strictly a contemporary
narrative of the battle of Salamis and its immediate consequences, by
one who may himself have been present at it, and whose brother
Ameinias (Herod, viii. 93) distinguished himself in it by a special
act of heroism. As such, making all allowance for the influence of
dramatic exigencies, and the tendency to colour history so as to meet
the tastes of patriotic Athenians, it may claim, where it differs from
the story told by Herodotos, to be a more trustworthy record. And it
has, we must remember, the interest of being the only extant drama of
its class, the only tragedy the subject of which is not taken from the
cycle of heroic myths, but from the national history of the time. Far
below the Oresteian Trilogy as it may seem to us as a work of art,
having more the character of a spectacle than a poem, it was, we may
well believe, unusually successful at the time, and it is said to have
been chosen by Hiero for reproduction in Syracuse after Æschylos had
settled there under his patronage.
THE PERSIANS
SCENE.—SUSA, _in front of the palace of_ XERXES, _the tomb
of_ DAREIOS _occupying the position of the thymele_
_Enter Chorus of_ Persian Elders.
We the title bear of Faithful,[3]
Friends of Persians gone to Hellas,
Watchers left of treasure city,[4]
Gold-abounding, whom, as oldest,
Xerxes hath himself appointed,
He, the offspring of Dareios,
As the warders of his country.
And about our king's returning,
And our army's, gold-abounding,
Over-much, and boding evil, 10
Does my mind within me shudder
(For our whole force, Asia's offspring,
Now is gone), and for our young chief
Sorely frets: nor courier cometh,
Nor any horseman, bringing tidings
To the city of the Persians.
From Ecbatana departing,
Susa, or the Kissian fortress,[5]
Forth they sped upon their journey,
Some in ships, and some on horses,
Some on foot, still onward marching,
In their close array presenting
Squadrons duly armed for battle: 20
Then Armistres, Artaphernes,
Megabazes, and Astaspes,
Mighty leaders of the Persians,
Kings, and of the great King servants,[6]
March, the chiefs of mighty army.
Archers they and mounted horsemen.
Dread to look on, fierce in battle,
Artembares proud, on horseback,
And Masistres, and Imæos, 30
Archer famed, and Pharandakes,
And the charioteer Sosthanes.
Neilos mighty and prolific
Sent forth others, Susikanes,
Pegastagon, Egypt's offspring,
And the chief of sacred Memphis;
Great Arsames, Ariomardos,
Ruler of primeval Thebæ,
And the marsh-men,[7] and the rowers,
Dread, and in their number countless. 40
And there follow crowds of Lydians,
Very delicate and stately,[8]
Who the people of the mainland
Rule throughout—whom Mitragathes
And brave Arkteus, kingly chieftains,
Led, from Sardis, gold-abounding,
Riding on their many chariots,
Three or four a-breast their horses,
Sight to look upon all dreadful.
And the men of sacred Tmôlos[9]
Rush to place the yoke of bondage
On the neck of conquered Hellas. 50
Mardon, Tharabis, spear-anvils,[10]
And the Mysians, javelin-darting;[11]
Babylôn too, gold-abounding,
Sends a mingled cloud, swept onward,
Both the troops who man the vessels,
And the skilled and trustful bowmen;
And the race the sword that beareth,
Follows from each clime of Asia,
At the great King's dread commandment.
These, the bloom of Persia's greatness,
Now are gone forth to the battle; 60
And for these, their mother country,
Asia, mourns with mighty yearning;
Wives and mothers faint with trembling
Through the hours that slowly linger,
Counting each day as it passes.
STROPHE I
The king's great host, destroying cities mighty,
Hath to the land beyond the sea passed over,
Crossing the straits of Athamantid Helle,[12] 70
On raft by ropes secured,
And thrown his path, compact of many a vessel,
As yoke upon the neck of mighty ocean.
ANTISTROPHE I
Of populous Asia thus the mighty ruler
'Gainst all the land his God-sent host directeth
In two divisions, both by land and water,
Trusting the chieftains stern,
The men who drive the host to fight, relentless—
He, sprung from gold-born race, a hero godlike.[13] 80
STROPHE II
Glancing with darkling look, and eyes as of ravening dragon,
With many a hand, and many a ship, and Syrian chariot driving,[14]
He upon spearmen renowned brings battle of conquering arrows.[15]
ANTISTROPHE II
Yea, there is none so tried as, withstanding the flood of the mighty,90
To keep within steadfast bounds that wave of ocean resistless;
Hard to fight is the host of the Persians, the people stout-hearted.
MESODE
Yet ah! what mortal can ward the craft of the God all-deceiving?
*Who, with a nimble foot, of one leap is easily sovereign?
For Atè, fawning and kind, at first a mortal betraying, 100
Then in snares and meshes decoys him,
Whence one who is but man in vain doth struggle to'scape from.
STROPHE III
For Fate of old, by the high Gods' decree,
Prevailed, and on the Persians laid this task,
Wars with the crash of towers,
And set the surge of horsemen in array,
And the fierce sack that lays a city low. 110
ANTISTROPHE III
But now they learnt to look on ocean plains,[16]
The wide sea hoary with the violent blast,
Waxing o'er confident
In cables formed of many a slender strand,
And rare device of transport for the host.
STROPHE IV
So now my soul is torn,
As clad in mourning, in its sore affright,
Ah me! ah me! for all the Persian host! 120
Lest soon our country learn
That Susa's mighty fort is void of men.
ANTISTROPHE IV
And through the Kissians' town
Shall echo heavy thud of hands on breast.
Woe! woe! when all the crowd of women speak
This utterance of great grief,
And byssine robes are rent in agony.
STROPHE V
For all the horses strong,
And host that march on foot,
Like swarm of bees, have gone with him who led 130
The vanguard of the host.
Crossing the sea-washed, bridge-built promontory
That joins the shores of either continent.[17]
ANTISTROPHE V
And beds with tears are wet
In grief for husbands gone,
And Persian wives are delicate in grief,
Each yearning for her lord;
And each who sent her warrior-spouse to battle 140
Now mourns at home in dreary solitude.
But come, ye Persians now,
And sitting in this ancient hall of ours,
Let us take thought deep-counselling and wise,
(Sore need is there of that,)
How fareth now the great king Xerxes, he
Who calls Dareios sire,
Bearing the name our father bore of old?
Is it the archers' bow that wins the day?
Or does the strength prevail 150
Of iron point that heads the spear's strong shaft?
But lo! in glory like the face of gods,
The mother of my king, my queen, appears:
Let us do reverent homage at her feet;
Yea, it is meet that all
Should speak to her with words of greeting kind.
_Enter_ ATOSSA _in a chariot of state_
_Chor._ O sovereign queen of Persian wives deep-zoned,
Mother of Xerxes, reverend in thine age,
Wife of Dareios! hail!
'Twas thine to join in wedlock with a spouse
Whom Persians owned as God,[18]
And of a God thou art the mother too,
Unless its ancient Fortune fails our host. 160
_Atoss._ Yes, thus I come, our gold-decked palace leaving,
The bridal bower Dareios with me slept in.
Care gnaws my heart, but now I tell you plainly
A tale, my friends, which may not leave me fearless,
Lest boastful wealth should stumble at the threshold,
And with his foot o'erturn the prosperous fortune
That great Dareios raised with Heaven's high blessing.
And twofold care untold my bosom haunteth:
We may not honour wealth that has no warriors,
Nor on the poor shines light to strength proportioned;
Wealth without stint we have, yet for our eye we tremble; 170
For as the eye of home I deem a master's presence.
Wherefore, ye Persians, aid me now in counsel;
Trusty and old, in you lies hope of wisdom.
_Chor._ Queen of our land! be sure thou need'st not utter
Or thing or word twice o'er, which power may point to;
Thou bid'st us counsel give who fain would serve thee.
_Atoss._ Ever with many visions of the night[19]
Am I encompassed, since my son went forth,
Leading a mighty host, with aim to sack
The land of the Ionians. But ne'er yet 180
Have I beheld a dream so manifest
As in the night just past. And this I'll tell thee:
There stood by me two women in fair robes;
And this in Persian garments was arrayed,
And that in Dorian came before mine eyes;
In stature both of tallest, comeliest size;
And both of faultless beauty, sisters twain
Of the same stock.[20] And they twain had their homes,
One in the Hellenic, one in alien land.
And these two, as I dreamt I saw, were set 190
At variance with each other. And my son
Learnt it, and checked and mollified their wrath,
And yokes them to his chariot, and his collar
He places on their necks. And one was proud
Of that equipment,[21] and in harness gave
Her mouth obedient; but the other kicked,
And tears the chariot's trappings with her hands,
And rushes off uncurbed, and breaks its yoke
Asunder. And my son falls low, and then
His father comes, Dareios, pitying him.
And lo! when Xerxes sees him, he his clothes 200
Rends round his limbs. These things I say I saw
In visions of the night; and when I rose,
And dipped my hands in fountain flowing clear,[22]
I at the altar stood with hand that bore
Sweet incense, wishing holy chrism to pour
To the averting Gods whom thus men worship.
And I beheld an eagle in full flight
To Phœbos' altar-hearth; and then, my friends, 210
I stood, struck dumb with fear; and next I saw
A kite pursuing, in her wingèd course,
And with his claws tearing the eagle's head,
Which did nought else but crouch and yield itself.
Such terrors it has been my lot to see,
And yours to hear: For be ye sure, my son,
If he succeed, will wonder-worthy prove;
But if he fail, still irresponsible
He to the people, and in either case,
He, should he but return, is sovereign still.[23]
_Chor._ We neither wish, O Lady, thee to frighten
O'ermuch with what we say, nor yet encourage:
But thou, the Gods adoring with entreaties,
If thou hast seen aught ill, bid them avert it,
And that all good things may receive fulfilment
For thee, thy children, and thy friends and country. 220
And next 'tis meet libations due to offer
To Earth and to the dead. And ask thy husband,
Dareios, whom thou say'st by night thou sawest,
With kindly mood from 'neath the Earth to send thee
Good things to light for thee and for thine offspring,
While adverse things shall fade away in darkness.
Such things do I, a self-taught seer, advise thee
In kindly mood, and any way we reckon
That good will come to thee from out these omens.
_Atoss._ Well, with kind heart, hast thou, as first expounder,
Out of my dreams brought out a welcome meaning
For me, and for my sons; and thy good wishes,
May they receive fulfilment! And this also,
As thou dost bid, we to the Gods will offer 230
And to our friends below, when we go homeward.
But first, my friends, I wish to hear of Athens,
Where in the world do men report it standeth?[24]
_Chor._ Far to the West, where sets our king the Sun-God.
_Atoss._ Was it this city my son wished to capture?
_Chor._ Aye, then would Hellas to our king be subject.
_Atoss._ And have they any multitude of soldiers?
_Chor._ A mighty host, that wrought the Medes much mischief.
_Atoss._ And what besides? Have they too wealth sufficing?
_Chor._ A fount of silver have they, their land's treasure.[25]240
_Atoss._ Have they a host in archers' skill excelling?
_Chor._ Not so, they wield the spear and shield and bucklers.[26]
_Atoss._ What shepherd rules and lords it o'er their people?
_Chor._ Of no man are they called the slaves or subjects.
_Atoss._ How then can they sustain a foe invading?
_Chor._ So that they spoiled Dareios' goodly army.
_Atoss._ Dread news is thine for sires of those who're marching.
_Chor._ Nay, but I think thou soon wilt know the whole truth;
This running one may know is that of Persian:[27]
For good or evil some clear news he bringeth. 250
_Enter_ Messenger
_Mess._ O cities of the whole wide land of Asia!
O soil of Persia, haven of great wealth!
How at one stroke is brought to nothingness
Our great prosperity, and all the flower
Of Persia's strength is fallen! Woe is me!
'Tis ill to be the first to bring ill news;
Yet needs must I the whole woe tell, ye Persians:
All our barbaric mighty host is lost.[28]
STROPHE I
_Chor._ O piteous, piteous woe! 260
O strange and dread event!
Weep, O ye Persians, hearing this great grief!
_Mess._ Yea, all things there are ruined utterly;
And I myself beyond all hopes behold
The light of day at home.
ANTISTROPHE I
_Chor._ O'er-long doth life appear
To me, bowed down with years,
On hearing this unlooked-for misery.
_Mess._ And I, indeed, being present and not hearing
The tales of others, can report, ye Persians,
What ills were brought to pass.
STROPHE II
_Chor._ Alas, alas! in vain
The many-weaponed and commingled host 270
Went from the land of Asia to invade
The soil divine of Hellas.
_Mess._ Full of the dead, slain foully, are the coasts
Of Salamis, and all the neighbouring shore.
ANTISTROPHE II
_Chor._ Alas, alas! sea-tossed
The bodies of our friends, and much disstained:
Thou say'st that they are drifted to and fro
*In far out-floating garments.[29]
_Mess._ E'en so; our bows availed not, but the host
Has perished, conquered by the clash of ships.
STROPHE III
_Chor._ Wail, raise a bitter cry 280
And full of woe, for those who died in fight.
How every way the Gods have wrought out ill,
Ah me! ah me, our army all destroyed.
_Mess._ O name of Salamis that most I loathe!
Ah, how I groan, remembering Athens too!
ANTISTROPHE III
_Chor._ Yea, to her enemies
Athens may well be hateful, and our minds
Remember how full many a Persian wife 290
She, for no cause, made widows and bereaved.
_Atoss._ Long time I have been silent in my woe,
Crushed down with grief; for this calamity
Exceeds all power to tell the woe, or ask.
Yet still we mortals needs must bear the griefs
The Gods send on us. Clearly tell thy tale,
Unfolding the whole mischief, even though
Thou groan'st at evils, who there is not dead,
And which of our chief captains we must mourn,
And who, being set in office o'er the host,
Left by their death their office desolate. 300
_Mess._ Xerxes still lives and sees the light of day.
_Atoss._ To my house, then, great light thy words have brought,
Bright dawn of morning after murky night.
_Mess._ Artembares, the lord of myriad horse,
On the hard flinty coasts of the Sileni
Is now being dashed; and valiant Dadakes,
Captain of thousands, smitten with the spear,
Leapt wildly from his ship. And Tenagon,
Best of the true old Bactrians, haunts the soil
Of Aias' isle; Lilaios, Arsames, 310
And with them too Argestes, there defeated,
Hard by the island where the doves abound,[30]
Beat here and there upon the rocky shore.
[And from the springs of Neilos, Ægypt's stream,
Arkteus, Adeues, Pheresseues too,
These with Pharnuchos in one ship were lost;]
Matallos, Chrysa-born, the captain bold
Of myriads, leader he of swarthy horse
Some thrice ten thousand strong, has fallen low,
His red beard, hanging all its shaggy length,
Deep dyed with blood, and purpled all his skin.
Arabian Magos, Bactrian Artames, 320
They perished, settlers in a land full rough.
[Amistris and Amphistreus, guiding well
The spear of many a conflict, and the noble
Ariomardos, leaving bitter grief
For Sardis; and the Mysian Seisames.]
With twelve score ships and ten came Tharybis;
Lyrnæan he in birth, once fair in form,
He lies, poor wretch, a death inglorious dying:
And, first in valour proved, Syennesis,
Kilikian satrap, who, for one man, gave
Most trouble to his foes, and nobly died. 330
Of leaders such as these I mention make,
And out of many evils tell but few.
_Atoss._ Woe, woe! I hear the very worst of ills,
Shame to the Persians, cause of bitter wail;
But tell me, going o'er the ground again,
How great the number of the Hellenes' navy,
That they presumed with Persia's armament
To wage their warfare in the clash of ships.
_Mess._ As far as numbers went, be sure the ships
Of Persia had the better, for the Hellenes 340
Had, as their total, ships but fifteen score,
And other ten selected as reserve.[31]
And Xerxes (well I know it) had a thousand
Which he commanded—those that most excelled[32]
In speed were twice five score and seven in number;
So stands the account. Deem'st thou our forces less
In that encounter? Nay, some Power above
Destroyed our host, and pressed the balance down
With most unequal fortune, and the Gods
Preserve the city of the Goddess Pallas.
_Atoss._ Is the Athenians' city then unsacked? 350
_Mess._ Their men are left, and that is bulwark strong.[33]
_Atoss._ Next tell me how the fight of ships began.
Who led the attack? Were those Hellenes the first,
Or was't my son, exulting in his strength?
_Mess._ The author of the mischief, O my mistress,
Was some foul fiend or Power on evil bent;
For lo! a Hellene from the Athenian host[34]
Came to thy son, to Xerxes, and spake thus,
That should the shadow of the dark night come,
The Hellenes would not wait him, but would leap 360
Into their rowers' benches, | 2,518.985881 |
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Produced by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration:
_Nitts_
_one day Old_
_3 days_
_1 week_
_2 weeks_
_3 weeks_
_4 weeks_
_5 weeks_
_6 weeks_
_7 weeks_
_8 weeks_
_9 weeks_
_10 weeks_
_full grown Europeans_
_full grown American_
_G. VanderGucht sculp._
]
A
TREATISE
OF
BUGGS:
SHEWING
When and How they were first brought into _England_. How they are
brought into and infect Houses.
Their Nature, several Foods, Times and Manner of Spawning and
Propagating in this Climate.
Their great INCREASE accounted for, by Proof of the Numbers each Pair
produce in a Season.
REASONS given why all Attempts hitherto made for their Destruction
have proved ineffectual.
VULGAR ERRORS concerning them refuted.
That from _September_ to _March_ is the best Season for their total
Destruction, demonstrated by Reason, and proved by Facts.
Concluding with
DIRECTIONS for such as have them not already, how to avoid them; and
for those that have them, how to destroy them.
By _JOHN SOUTHALL_,
Maker of the Nonpareil Liquor for destroying _Buggs_ and _Nits_,
living at the _Green Posts_ in the _Green Walk_ near _Faulcon-stairs,
Southwark_.
The SECOND EDITION.
_LONDON_: Printed for J. ROBERTS, near the _Oxford-Arms_
in _Warwick-Lane_. M.DCC.XXX.
(Price One Shilling.)
[Illustration]
TO
Sir HANS SLOANE, Bart.
First Physician in Ordinary to His MAJESTY; President of the ROYAL
SOCIETY, and also of the College of Physicians | 2,519.083317 |
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Produced by David Newman, Chuck Greif, Janet Blenkinship
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Among the Farmyard People
BY
Clara Dillingham Pierson
Author of "Among the Meadow People," and "Forest People".
Illustrated by F. C. GORDON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
Copyright by
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET
1899
TO THE CHILDREN
_Dear Little Friends:_
I want to introduce the farmyard people to you, and to have you call
upon them and become better acquainted as soon as you can. Some of them
are working for us, and we surely should know them. Perhaps, too, some
of us are working for them, since that is the way in this delightful
world of ours, and one of the happiest parts of life is helping and
being helped.
It is so in the farmyard, and although there is not much work that the
people there can do for each other, there are many kind things to be
said, and even the Lame Duckling found that he could make the Blind
Horse happy when he tried. It is there as it is everywhere else, and I
sometimes think that although the farmyard people do not look like us or
talk like us, they are not so very different after all. If you had seen
the little Chicken who wouldn't eat gravel when his mother was reproving
him, you could not have helped knowing his thoughts even if you did not
understand a word of the Chicken language. He was thinking, "I don't
care! I don't care a bit! So now!" That was long since, for he was a
Chicken when I was a little girl, and both of us grew up some time ago.
I think I have always been more sorry for him because when he was
learning to eat gravel I was learning to eat some things which I did not
like; and so, you see, I knew exactly how he felt. But it was not until
afterwards that I found out how his mother felt.
That is one of the stories which I have been keeping a long time for
you, and the Chicken was a particular friend of mine. I knew him better
than I did some of his neighbors; yet they were all pleasant
acquaintances, and if I did not see some of these things happen with my
own eyes, it is just because I was not in the farmyard at the right
time. There are many other tales I should like to tell you about them,
but one mustn't make the book too fat and heavy for your hands to hold,
so I will send you these and keep the rest.
Many stories might be told about our neighbors who live out-of-doors,
and they are stories that ought to be told, too, for there are still
boys and girls who do not know that animals think and talk and work, and
love their babies, and help each other when in trouble. I knew one boy
who really thought it was not wrong to steal newly built birds'-nests,
and I have seen girls--quite large ones, too--who were afraid of Mice!
It was only last winter that a Quail came to my front door, during the
very cold weather, and snuggled down into the warmest corner he could
find. I fed him, and he stayed there for several days, and I know, and
you know, perfectly well that although he did not say it in so many
words, he came to remind me that I had not yet told you a Quail story.
And two of my little neighbors brought ten Polliwogs to spend the day
with me, so I promised then and there that the next book should be about
pond people and have a Polliwog story in it.
And now, good-bye! Perhaps some of you will write me about your visits
to the farmyard. I hope you will enjoy them very much, but be sure you
don't wear red dresses or caps when you call on the Turkey Gobbler.
Your friend,
CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON.
Stanton, Michigan,
March 28, 1899.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE STORY THAT THE SWALLOW DIDN'T TELL 1
THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL 12
THE WONDERFUL SHINY EGG 20
THE DUCKLING WHO DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO 33
THE FUSSY QUEEN BEE 47
THE BAY COLT LEARNS TO MIND 64
THE TWIN LAMBS 82
THE VERY SHORT STORY OF THE FOOLISH LITTLE MOUSE 96
THE LONELY LITTLE PIG 106
THE KITTEN WHO LOST HERSELF 116
THE CHICKEN WHO WOULDN'T EAT GRAVEL 136
THE GOOSE WHO WANTED HER OWN WAY 149
WHY THE SHEEP RAN AWAY 160
THE FINE YOUNG RAT AND THE TRAP 172
THE QUICK-TEMPERED TURKEY GOBBLER 186
THE BRAGGING PEACOCK 199
THE DISCONTENTED GUINEA HEN 213
THE OXEN TALK WITH THE CALVES 232
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE SWALLOWS ARE COMING 2
THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL 16
THEY HAD A GOOD SWIM 40
HAD A SORE MOUTH FROM JERKING ON THE LINES 77
FEEDING THE LAMBS 84
EVERY BROWN PIG RAN OFF 110
"I AM THE WHITE | 2,519.183057 |
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Produced by David Widger
[Illustration: Book Spines, 1829 set of Jefferson Papers]
MEMOIR, CORRESPONDENCE, AND MISCELLANIES, FROM THE PAPERS OF THOMAS
JEFFERSON.
Edited by Thomas Jefferson Randolph.
[Illustration: Steel engraving by Longacre from painting of G. Stuart]
[Illustration: Titlepage of Volume Three (of four)]
VOLUME IV.
LETTER I.--TO LEVI LINCOLN, August 30, 1803
TO LEVI LINCOLN.
Monticello, August 30, 1803.
Deak. Sir,
The enclosed letter came to hand by yesterday's post. You will be
sensible of the circumstances which make it improper that I should
hazard a formal answer, as well as of the desire its friendly aspect
naturally excites, that those concerned in it should understand that
the spirit they express is friendly viewed. You can judge also from your
knowledge of the ground, whether it may be usefully encouraged. I take
the liberty, therefore, of availing myself of your neighborhood to
Boston, and of your friendship to me, to request you to say to the
Captain and others verbally whatever you think would be proper, as
expressive of my sentiments on the subject. With respect to the day
on which they wish to fix their anniversary, they may be told, that
disapproving myself of transferring the honors and veneration for the
great birthday of our republic to any individual, or of dividing them
with individuals, I have declined letting my own birthday be known, and
have engaged my family not to communicate it. This has been the uniform
answer to every application of the kind.
On further consideration as to the amendment to our constitution
respecting Louisiana, I have thought it better, instead of enumerating
the powers which Congress may exercise, to give them the same powers
they have as to other portions of the Union generally, and to enumerate
the special exceptions, in some such form as the following.
'Louisiana, as ceded by France to the United States, is made a part of
the United States, its white inhabitants shall be citizens, and stand,
as to their rights and obligations, on the same footing with other
citizens of the United States, in analogous situations. Save only that
as to the portion thereof lying north of an east and west line drawn
through the mouth of Arkansas river, no new State shall be established,
nor any grants of land made, other than to Indians, in exchange for
equivalent portions of land occupied by them, until an amendment of the
constitution shall be made for these purposes.
'Florida also, whensoever it may be rightfully obtained, shall become
a part of the United States, its white inhabitants shall thereupon be
citizens, and shall stand, as to their rights and obligations, on the
same footing with other citizens of the United States, in analogous
situations.'
I quote this for your consideration, observing that the less that is
said about any constitutional difficulty, the better: and that it will
be desirable for Congress to do what is necessary, in silence. I find
but one opinion as to the necessity of shutting up the country for
some time. We meet in Washington the 25th of September to prepare for
Congress. Accept my affectionate salutations, and great esteem and
respect.
Th: Jefferson.
LETTER II.--TO WILSON C NICHOLAS, September 7, 1803
TO WILSON C NICHOLAS.
Monticello, September 7, 1803.
Dear Sir,
Your favor of the 3rd was delivered me at court; but we were much
disappointed at not seeing you here, Mr. Madison and the Governor being
here at the time. 1 enclose you a letter from Monroe on the subject of
the late treaty. You will observe a hint in it, to do without delay what
we are bound to do. There is reason, in the opinion of our ministers,
to believe, that if the thing were to do over again, it could not be
obtained, and that if we give the least opening, they will declare the
treaty void. A warning amounting to that has been given to them, and
an unusual kind of letter written by their minister to our Secretary of
State, direct. Whatever Congress shall think it necessary to do, should
be done with as little debate as possible, and particularly so far as
respects the constitutional difficulty. I am aware of the force of
the observations you make on the power given by the constitution to
Congress, to admit new States into the Union, without restraining the
subject to the territory then constituting the United States. But when I
consider that the limits of the United States are precisely fixed by the
treaty of 1783, that the constitution expressly declares itself to be
made for the United States, I cannot help believing the intention was
not to permit Congress to admit into the Union new States, which should
be formed out of the territory for which, and under whose authority
alone, they were then acting. I do not believe it was meant that they
might receive England, Ireland, Holland, &tc. into it, which would
be the case on your construction. When an instrument admits two
constructions, the one safe, the other dangerous, the one precise, the
other indefinite, I prefer that which is safe and precise. I had
rather ask an enlargement of power from the nation, where it is found
necessary, than to assume it by a construction which would make our
powers boundless. Our peculiar security is in the possession of a
written constitution. Let us not make it a blank paper by construction.
I say the same as to the opinion of those who consider the grant of
the treaty-making power as boundless. If it is, then we have no
constitution. If it has bounds, they can be no others than the
definitions of the powers which that instrument gives. It specifies and
delineates the operations permitted to the federal government, and gives
all the powers necessary to carry these into execution. Whatever of
these enumerated objects is proper for a law, Congress may make the law;
whatever is proper to be executed by way of a treaty, the President and
Senate may enter into the treaty; whatever is to be done by a judicial
sentence, the judges may pass the sentence. Nothing is more likely than
that their enumeration of powers is defective. This is the ordinary case
of all human works. Let us go on then perfecting it, by adding, by way
of amendment to the constitution, those powers which time and trial show
are still wanting. But it has been taken too much for granted, that by
this rigorous construction the treaty power would be reduced to nothing.
I had occasion once to examine its effect on the French treaty, made by
the old Congress, and found that out of thirty odd articles which that
contained, there were one, two, or three only, which could not now be
stipulated under our present constitution. I confess, then, I think
it important, in the present case, to set an example against broad
construction, by appealing for new power to the people. If, however,
our friends shall think differently, certainly I shall acquiesce with
satisfaction; confiding, that the good sense of our country will correct
the evil of construction when it shall produce ill effects.
No apologies for writing or speaking to me freely are necessary. On the
contrary, nothing my friends can do is so dear to me, and proves to me
their friendship so clearly, as the information they give me of their
sentiments and those of others on interesting points where I am to act,
and where information and warning is so essential to excite in me that
due reflection which ought to precede action. I leave this about the
21st, and shall hope the District Court will give me an opportunity
of seeing you. Accept my affectionate salutations, and assurances of
cordial esteem and respect.
Th: Jefferson.
LETTER III.--TO DOCTOR BENJAMIN RUSH, October 4, 1803
TO DOCTOR BENJAMIN RUSH.
Washington, October 4, 1803.
Dear Sir,
No one would more willingly than myself pay the just tribute due to
the services of Captain Barry, by writing a letter of condolence to his
widow, as you suggest. But when one undertakes to administer justice,
it | 2,519.184032 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images | 2,519.191029 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.1711510 | 2,928 | 9 |
Produced by Peter Vachuska, Pat McCoy, Stephen Hope and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
HOPE HATHAWAY
[Illustration]
_HOPE HATHAWAY_
A Story of
Western Ranch Life
_BY
FRANCES PARKER_
[Illustration]
BOSTON, MASS.
C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. (Inc.)
1904
_COPYRIGHT, 1904_
_by_
_C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. (Inc.)
BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A._
_Entered at Stationers Hall, London_
_Rights of Translation, Public Reading and
Dramatization Reserved_
HOPE HATHAWAY
CHAPTER I
Hathaway's home-ranch spread itself miles over an open valley on the
upper Missouri. As far as the eye reached not a fence could be seen, yet
four barbed-wires, stretched upon good cotton-wood posts, separated the
ranch from the open country about.
Jim Hathaway was an old-time cattle-man. He still continued each summer
to turn out upon the range great droves of Texas steers driven north by
his cowboys, though at this time it was more profitable to ship in
Western grown stock. He must have known that this was so, for every year
his profits became less, yet it was the nature of the man to keep in the
old ruts, to cling to old habits.
The old-time cowboy was fast disappearing, customs of the once wild West
were giving way before an advancing civilization. He had seen its slow,
steady approach year after year, dreading--abhorring it. Civilization
was coming surely. What though his lands extended beyond his good
eyesight, were not these interlopers squatting on every mile of creek in
the surrounding country? The open range would some time be a thing of
the past. That green ridge of mountains to the west,--_his_ mountains,
his and the Indians, where he had enjoyed unmolested reign for many
years,--were they not filling them as bees fill a hive, so filling them
with their offensive bands of sheep and small cow-ranches that his
cattle had all they could do to obtain a footing?
On one of his daily rides he had come home tired and out of humor. The
discovery of a new fence near his boundary line had opened up an
unpleasant train of thought, and not even the whisky, placed beside him
by a placid-faced Chinese servant, could bring him into his usual jovial
spirits. After glancing through a week-old newspaper and finding in it
no solace for his ugly mood, he threw himself down upon his office
lounge, spreading the paper carefully over him. The Chinaman, by rare
intuition, divined his state of mind and stole cautiously into the room
to remove the empty glasses, at the same time keeping his eyes fixed
upon the large man under the newspaper.
Hathaway generally took a nap in the forenoon after returning from his
ride, for he was an early riser, and late hours at night made this habit
imperative. This day his mood brought him into a condition where he felt
no desire to sleep, so he concluded, but he must have fallen into a
doze, for the sharp tones of a girl's voice directly outside his window
brought him to his feet with a start.
"If that's what you're driving at you may as well roll up your bedding
and move on!" It was spoken vehemently, with all the distinctness of a
clear-toned voice. A man replied, but in more guarded tone, so that
Hathaway went to the window to catch his words.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he was saying. "This is my
home as well as yours, and I'd have small chance to carry out my word if
I went away, so I intend to stay right here. Do you know, Hope, when you
get mad like that you're so devilish pretty that I almost hate you! Look
at those eyes! You'd kill me if you could, wouldn't you? But you'll love
me yet, and marry me, too, don't forget that!"
"How can you talk to me so," demanded the girl, stepping back from him,
"after all my father has done,--made you his son,--given you everything
he would have given a son? Oh!" she cried passionately, "I can't _bear_
you in this new role! It is terrible, and I've looked upon you as a
_brother_! Now what are you? You've got no right to talk to me so--to
insist!"
"But your mother----" he interrupted.
"My _mother_!" weariedly. "Yes, of course! It would be all right there.
You have money--enough. A good enough match, no doubt; and she would be
freer to go,--would feel better to know that she had no more
responsibility here. You know your ground well enough _there_." Then
with growing anger: "Don't you ring in my mother on me! I tell you I
wouldn't marry you if I _never_ got married! I'm strong enough to fight
my own battles, and I will, and you'd better forget what you've said to
me and change the subject forever!" She walked away, her strong, lithe
body erect.
"But you're handsome, you brown devil!" he cried, taking one step and
clasping her roughly to him. She tore herself loose, her eyes blazing
with sudden fire, as Hathaway, white with anger, came suddenly around
the corner of his office and grasped the offender by the coat collar.
Then the slim young man was lifted, kicked, and tossed alternately from
off the earth, while the girl stood calmly to one side and watched the
performance, which did not cease until the infuriated man became
exhausted. Then the boy picked himself up and walked unsteadily toward
the building, against which he leaned to regain his breath while
Hathaway stood panting.
"Here, hold on a minute," roared the angry father as the young man moved
away. "I ain't done with you yet! Get your horse and get off this ranch
or I'll break every bone in your damn body! You will treat my girl like
that, will you? You young puppy!" The young fellow was whipped
undoubtedly, but gracefully, for he turned toward Hathaway and said
between swollen lips:
"You don't want to blame me too much, Uncle Jim. Just look at the girl!
Any man would find it worth risking his neck for her!" Then he moved
slowly away, while the girl's eyes changed from stern to merry. Her
father choked with rage.
"You--you--you----Get away from here, and don't talk back to me!" he
roared at the retreating figure.
The girl moved forward a few steps, calling: "That's right, Sydney, keep
your nerve! When you're ready to call it off we'll try to be friends
again." Without waiting for her cousin's reply she ran into the house,
while he lost no time in leaving the ranch, riding at a rapid gait
toward the nearest town. Hathaway watched him out of sight, then with a
nervous, bewildered shake of the head joined his wife and daughter at
luncheon.
"At last your father has come," sighed Mrs. Hathaway, as he appeared.
"Hope, ring for the chocolate; I'm almost famished. It seems to me,
James," turning to her husband with some impatience, "that you might
_try_ to be a little more prompt in getting to your meals--here we've
been waiting ages! You know I can't bear to wait for anyone!" She sighed
properly and unfolded her napkin.
"My dear," said Hathaway blandly, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting,
but I've been somewhat occupied--somewhat."
"But you should always consider that your meals come first, even if your
wife and family do not," continued the lady. "Where is Sydney? The dear
boy is generally so very prompt."
The effect of her words was not apparent. Her husband appeared
absent-minded and the meal began.
The daughter, Hope, with quiet dignity befitting a matron, occupied the
head of the table, as she had done ever since her mother shifted the
responsibilities of the household to her young shoulders. When this
question was asked she gave her father a quick glance. Would he
acknowledge the truth? Evidently not, for he began immediately to talk
about the new fence near his boundary line. It was a shame, he said,
that these people were settling in around him.
"The land's no good," he declared. "Nearly all the water around here
that's any account is on my place. All on earth these hobos are taking
it up for is in expectation that I'll buy them out. Well, maybe I will,
and again maybe I won't. I'd do most anything to get rid of them, but I
can't buy the earth." At this Hope smiled, showing a flash of strong,
white teeth.
"And if you could buy the earth, what would you do with these people?"
she asked, her face settling into its natural quiet. Her mother gave her
the usual look of amazement.
"Hope, I must ask you not to say impertinent things to your father. You
no doubt meant to be witty, but you were none the less rude. Why do you
allow her to say such things to you, James? You have succeeded in
spoiling her completely. Now if _I_ had been allowed to send her away to
school she would have grown up with better manners."
Hathaway passed his cup to be refilled, making no answer to his wife's
outburst. Perhaps he had learned in his years of experience that the
less said the better. At any rate he made no effort to defend his
daughter--his only child, and dear to him, too. If she had expected that
he would defend her it was only for a passing instant, then she returned
to her natural gravity. Her face had few expressions. Its chief charm
lay in its unchanging immobility, its utter quiet, behind which gleamed
something of the girl's soul. When her rare smile came, lighting it up
wonderfully, she was irresistible--in her anger, magnificent.
Ordinarily she would not have been noticed at first glance, except,
perhaps, for the exceptionally fine poise of her strong, slim body. She
was a true daughter of the West, tanned almost as brown as an Indian
maid, and easily might have passed for a half-breed, with her blue-black
eyes and hair of the darkest brown. But if she had Indian blood she did
not know it. Her mother, during the season, a flitting butterfly of New
York society, a Daughter of the Revolution by half a dozen lines of
descent, would have been horrified at the mere thought.
The girl herself would not have cared had she been born and raised in an
Indian camp. She had what Mrs. Hathaway termed queer ideas, due, as she
always took occasion to explain to her friends who visited the ranch, to
the uncivilized life that she had insisted upon living.
Hope had been obstinate in refusing to leave the ranch. Threats and
punishments were unavailing. When a young child she had resolved never
to go away to school, and had set her small foot down so firmly that her
mother was obliged to yield. Hathaway was secretly glad of this, for
the ranch was home to him, and he would not leave it for any length of
time.
The little girl was great company to him, for his wife was away months
at a time, preferring the gayety of her New York home to the quiet,
isolated ranch on the prairie. Some people were unkind enough to say
that it was a relief to Hathaway to have the place to himself, and
certain it is that he never made any objections to the arrangement.
Their only child, Hope, was educated on the ranch by the best
instructors procurable, and readily acquired all the education that was
necessary to her happiness.
At Mrs. Hathaway's outburst the girl made no effort to defend herself,
and was well aware from former experiences that her father would not
come to her aid. That he was afraid of her mother she would not admit.
It seemed so weak and foolish. She had exalted ideas of what a man
should be. That her father fell below her standard she would not
acknowledge. She loved him so, was proud of his good points, and in
many ways he was a remarkable man, his greatest weakness, if it could be
called that, being his apparent fear of his wife. Her dominion over him,
during her occasional visits at the ranch, was absolute. Hope shut her
eyes to this, telling herself that it was caused by his desire to make
her happy during these rare opportunities.
Hathaway did not respond to his wife's somewhat uncalled-for remarks,
but after a moment of silence adroitly changed the subject by inquiring
of Hope who it was that had ridden up to the ranch just as he left that
morning.
"It must have been Joe Harris, from the mountains," she replied, "for he
was here shortly after | 2,519.191191 |
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The Golden Bough
A Study in Magic and Religion
By
James George Frazer, D.C.L., LL.D., Litt.D.
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge
Professor of Social Anthropology in the University of Liverpool
Vol. XI. of XII.
Part VII: Balder the Beautiful.
The Fire-Festivals of Europe and the Doctrine of the External Soul.
Vol. 2 of 2.
New York and London
MacMillan and Co.
1913
CONTENTS
Chapter VI. Fire-Festivals in Other Lands.
§ 1. The Fire-walk.
§ 2. The Meaning of the Fire-walk.
Chapter VII. The Burning of Human Beings in the Fires.
§ 1. The Burning of Effigies in the Fires.
§ 2. The Burning of Men and Animals in the Fires.
Chapter VIII. The Magic Flowers of Midsummer Eve.
Chapter IX. Balder and the Mistletoe.
Chapter X. The Eternal Soul in Folk-Tales.
Chapter XI. The External Soul in Folk-Custom.
§ 1. The External Soul in Inanimate Things.
§ 2. The External Soul in Plants.
§ 3. The External Soul in Animals.
§ 4. A Suggested Theory of Totemism.
§ 5. The Ritual of Death and Resurrection.
Chapter XII. The Golden Bough.
Chapter XIII. Farewell to Nemi.
Notes.
I. Snake Stones.
II. The Transformation of Witches Into Cats.
III. African Balders.
IV. The Mistletoe and the Golden Bough.
Index.
Footnotes
[Cover Art]
[Transcriber's Note: The above cover image was produced by the submitter
at Distributed Proofreaders, and is being placed into the public domain.]
CHAPTER VI. FIRE-FESTIVALS IN OTHER LANDS.
§ 1. The Fire-walk.
(M1) At first sight the interpretation of the European fire customs as
charms for making sunshine is confirmed by a parallel custom observed by
the Hindoos of Southern India at the Pongol or Feast of Ingathering. The
festival is celebrated in | 2,519.192036 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Underscores are used as delimiters for _italics_]
AN UNSINKABLE TITANIC
[Illustration: Photo by Brown Bros., New York
STOKE-HOLE OF A TRANSATLANTIC LINER]
AN
UNSINKABLE
TITANIC
EVERY SHIP
ITS OWN LIFEBOAT
BY
J. BERNARD WALKER
Editor of the Scientific American
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
Published, July, 1912
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.
To
THE MEMORY OF THE CHIEF ENGINEER OF THE _TITANIC_,
JOHN BELL,
AND HIS STAFF OF THIRTY-THREE ASSISTANTS,
WHO STOOD AT THEIR POSTS IN THE ENGINE-
AND BOILER-ROOMS TO THE VERY LAST,
AND WENT DOWN WITH THE SHIP,
THIS WORK IS DEDICATED
PREFACE
It is the object of this work to show that, in our eagerness to make the
ocean liner fast and luxurious, we have forgotten to make her safe.
The safest ocean liner was the _Great Eastern_; and she was built
over fifty years ago. Her designer aimed to make the ship practically
unsinkable--and he succeeded; for she passed through a more severe
ordeal than the _Titanic_, survived it, and came into port under her own
steam.
Since her day, the shipbuilder has eliminated all but one of the safety
devices which made the _Great Eastern_ a ship so difficult to sink.
Nobody, not even the shipbuilders themselves, seemed to realise what was
being done, until, suddenly, the world's finest vessel, in all the
pride of her maiden voyage, struck an iceberg and went to the bottom in
something over two and a half hours' time!
If we learn the lesson of this tragedy, we shall lose no time in getting
back to first principles. We shall reintroduce in all future passenger
ships those simple and effective elements of safety--the double
skin, the longitudinal bulkhead, and the watertight deck--which were
conspicuous in the _Great Eastern_, and which alone can render such a
ship as the _Titanic_ unsinkable.
* * * * *
The author's acknowledgments are due to the "Scientific American" for
many of the photographs and line drawings reproduced in this volume;
to an article by Professor J. H. Biles, published in "Engineering," for
material relating to the Board of Trade stipulations as to bulkheads;
to Sir George C. V. Holmes and the Victoria and Albert Museum for data
regarding the _Great Eastern_, published in "Ancient and Modern Ships";
to Naval Constructor R. H. M. Robinson, U.S.N., for permission to
reproduce certain drawings from his work, "Naval Construction," and
to Naval Constructor Henry Williams, U.S.N., who courteously read the
proofs of this work and offered many valuable suggestions. The original
wash and line drawings are by Mr. C. McKnight Smith.
J. B. W.
NEW YORK, _June_, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY 1
II. THE EVER-PRESENT DANGERS OF THE SEA 19
III. EVERY SHIP ITS OWN LIFEBOAT 35
IV. SAFETY LIES IN SUBDIVISION 51
V. THE UNSINKABLE _GREAT EASTERN_ OF
1858 69
VI. THE SINKABLE _TITANIC_ 91
VII. HOW THE GREAT SHIP WENT DOWN 116
VIII. WARSHIP PROTECTION AGAINST RAM,
MINE, AND TORPEDO 136
IX. WARSHIP PROTECTION AS APPLIED TO
SOME OCEAN LINERS 161
X. CONCLUSIONS 179
ILLUSTRATIONS
Stoke-Hole of a Transatlantic Liner _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Riveting the Outer Skin on the Frames of a
65,000-Ton Ocean Liner 3
Growth of the Transatlantic Steamer from 1840
to 1912 7
Receiving Submarine Signals on the Bridge 13
Taking the Temperature of the Water 17
Fire-Drill on a German Liner: Stewards are Closing
Door in Fire-Protection Bulkhead 21
Fire-Drill on a German Liner: Hose from Bellows
Supplies Fresh Air to Man with Smoke Helmet 25
Fire-Drill on a German Liner: Test of Fire-Mains
is Made Every Time the Ship is in Port 29
The 44,000-Ton, 25-1/2-Knot _Lusitania_ 37
Provisioning the Boats During a Boat Drill 43
Loading and Lowering Boats, Stowed Athwartships 43
The Elaborate Installation of Telegraphs, Telephones,
Voice-Tubes, etc., on the Bridge of an
Ocean Liner 47
Hydraulically-operated, Watertight Door in an
Engine-Room Bulkhead 53
Diagram Showing Protective Value of Transverse
and Longitudinal Bulkheads, Watertight Decks,
and Inner Skin 57
Closing, from the Bridge, All Watertight Doors
Throughout the Ship by Pulling a Lever 63
_Great Eastern_, 1858; Most Completely Protected
Passenger Ship Ever Built 71
Longitudinal Section and Plan of the _Great
Eastern_, 1858 77
Two Extremes in Protection, and a Compromise 83
_Great Eastern_, Lying at Foot of Canal Street,
North River, New York 87
Fifty Years' Decline in Safety Construction 93
_Olympic_, Sister to _Titanic_, reaching New York
on Maiden Voyage 97
The Framing and Some of the Deck Beams of the
_Imperator_, as Seen from Inside the Bow,
Before the Outside Plating is Riveted On 103
How the Plating of the Inner Bottom of Such a
Ship as the _Titanic_ May Be Carried up the
Side Frames to Form an Inner Skin 107
Twenty of the Twenty-nine Boilers of the _Titanic_
Assembled Ready for Placing in the Ship 111
The Last Photograph of the _Titanic_, Taken as
She was Leaving Southampton on Her Maiden
Voyage 117
Swimming Pool on the _Titanic_ 121
The _Titanic_ Struck a Glancing Blow Against an
Under-Water Shelf of the Iceberg, Opening up
Five Compartments 125
Comparison of Subdivision in Two Famous Ships 129
The Vast Dining-Room of the _Titanic_ 133
The United States Battleship _Kansas_ 137
Plan and Longitudinal Section of the Battleship
_Connecticut_ 143
Midship Section of a Battleship 149
Safety Lies in Subdivision 155
The 65,000-Ton, 23-Knot _Imperator_, Largest Ship
Afloat 159
Longitudinal Section and Plan of the _Imperator_ 163
The Rotor, or Rotating Element, of One of the
Low-Pressure Turbines of the _Imperator_ 167
The 26,000-Ton, 23-1/2-Knot _Kronprinzessin Cecilie_,
a Thoroughly Protected Ship 171
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
Among the many questions which have arisen out of the loss of the
_Titanic_ there is one, which, in its importance as affecting the safety
of ocean travel, stands out preeminent:
"Why did this ship, the latest, the largest, and supposedly the safest
of ocean liners, go to the bottom so soon after collision with an
iceberg?"
The question is one to which, as yet, no answer that is perfectly clear
to the lay mind has been made. We know that the collision was the result
of daring navigation; that the wholesale loss of life was due to the
lack of lifeboats and the failure to fill completely the few that were
available; and that, had it not been for the amazing indifference or
stupidity of the captain of a nearby steamer, who failed to answer
the distress signals of the sinking vessel, the whole of the ship's
complement might have been saved.
But the ship itself--why did she so quickly go to the bottom after
meeting with an accident, which, in spite of its stupendous results,
must be reckoned as merely one among the many risks of transatlantic
travel?
So far as the loss of the ship itself was concerned, it is certain that
the stupefaction with which the news of her sinking was received was due
to the belief that her vast size was a guarantee against disaster--that
the ever-increasing dimensions of length, breadth, and tonnage had
conferred upon the modern ocean liner a certain immunity against the
dangers of travel by sea. The fetish of mere size seems, indeed, to have
affected even the officers in command of these modern leviathans.
Surely it must have thrown its spell over the captain of the ill-fated
_Titanic_, who, in spite of an oft-repeated warning that there was a
large field of ice ahead, followed the usual practice, if the night
is clear, and ran his ship at full speed into the zone of danger, as
though, forsooth, he expected the _Titanic_ to brush the ice floes
aside, and split asunder any iceberg that might stand in her way.
[Illustration: Courtesy of _Scientific American_
RIVETTING THE OUTER SKIN ON THE FRAMES OF A 65,000-TON OCEAN LINER]
Confidence in the indestructibility of the _Titanic_, moreover, was
stimulated by the fact that she was supposed to be the "last word" in
first-class steamship construction, the culmination of three-quarters
of a century of experience in building safe and stanch vessels. In the
official descriptions of the ship, widely distributed at the time of
her launching, the safety elements of her construction were freely dwelt
upon. This literature rang the changes on stout bulkheads, watertight
compartments, automatic, self-closing bulkhead doors, etc.,--and
honestly so. There is every reason to believe that the celebrated firm
who built the ship, renowned the world over for the high character of
their work; the powerful company whose flag she carried; aye, and even
her talented designer, who was the first to pronounce the _Titanic_ a
doomed vessel and went down with the ship, were united in the belief
that the size of the _Titanic_ and her construction were such that
she was unsinkable by any of the ordinary accidents to which the
transatlantic liner is liable.
How comes it, then, that this noble vessel lies to-day at the bottom of
the Atlantic in two thousand fathoms of water?
A review of the progress of those constructive arts which affect the
safety of human life seems to show that it needs the spur of great
disasters, such as this, to concentrate the attention of the engineer
and the architect upon the all-important question of safety. More
important than considerations of convenience, economy, speed of
construction, or even revenue-earning capacity, are those of the value
and sanctity of human life. Too frequently these considerations are
the last to receive attention. This is due less to indifference than
to inadvertence--a failure to remember that an accident which may be
insignificant in its effect on steel and stone, may be fatal to frail
flesh and blood. Furthermore, the monumental disasters, and particularly
those occurring in this age of great constructive works, are
frequently traceable to hidden or unsuspected causes, the existence and
potentialities of which are revealed only when the mischief has been
done. A faulty method of construction, containing in itself huge
possibilities of disaster, may be persisted in for years without
revealing its lurking menace. Here and there, now and then, some minor
mischance will direct the attention of the few to the peril; but the
excitement will be local and passing. It takes a "horror"--a "holocaust"
of human life, with all its attendant exploitation in the press and the
monthly magazine, to awaken a busy and preoccupied world to the danger
and beget those stringent laws and improved constructions which are the
earmarks of progress towards an ideal civilisation.
[Illustration: Courtesy of _Scientific American_.
Note how far the _Great Eastern_ was ahead of her time. She was not
exceeded until the advent of the _Oceanic_ in 1899.
GROWTH OF THE TRANSATLANTIC STEAMER FROM 1840 TO 1912]
Not many years ago, there was being erected across the St. Lawrence
River a huge bridge, with the largest single span in the world, which
it was believed would be not only the largest but the strongest and most
enduring structure of its kind in existence. It was being built under
the supervision of one of the leading bridge engineers of the world;
its design was of an approved type, which had long been standard in the
Western Hemisphere; and the steelwork was being fabricated in one of the
best equipped bridge works in the country. Nevertheless, when one great
cantilever was about completed, and before any live load had been
placed on it, the structure collapsed under its own weight. One of the
principal members--a massive steel column, five feet square and sixty
feet long--crumpled up as though it had been a boy's tin whistle, and
allowed the whole bridge to fall into the St. Lawrence, carrying eighty
men to their death! The disaster was traced to a very insignificant
cause--the failure of some small angle-bars, 3-1/2 inches in width, by
which the parts of the massive member were held in place. No engineer
had suspected that danger lurked in these little angle-bars. Had the
accident happened to a bridge of moderate size, the lessons of the
failure would have been noted by the engineers and contractors; it would
have formed the subject, possibly, of a paper before some engineering
society, and the warning would have had results merely local and
temporary. But the failure of this monumental structure, with a loss
of life so appalling, gave to the disaster a world-wide notoriety. It
became the subject of a searching enquiry by a highly expert board; the
unsuspected danger which lurked in the existing and generally approved
methods of building up massive steel columns was acknowledged; and safer
rules of construction were adopted.
It took the Baltimore conflagration to teach us the strong and weak
points of our much-vaunted systems of fireproof construction. Only
when San Francisco, after repeated warnings, had seen the whole of its
business section shaken down and ravaged by fire, did she set about the
construction of a city that would be proof against fire and earthquake.
It was the spectacle of maimed and dying passengers being slowly burned
to death in the wreckage of colliding wooden cars, that led to the
abolition of the heating stove and the oil lamp; and it was the risk of
fire, coupled with the shocking injuries due to splintering of wooden
cars, that brought in the era of the electrically lighted, strong, and
incombustible steel car.
The conditions attending the loss of the _Titanic_ were so heartrending,
and its appeal has been so world-wide, as to lead us to expect that the
tragedy will be preeminently fruitful in those reforms which, as we have
shown, usually follow a disaster of this magnitude. Had the ship been
less notable and the toll of human life less terrible, the disaster
might have failed to awaken that sense of distrust in present methods
which is at the root of all thorough-going reform. The measure of the
one compensation which can be recovered from this awful loss of life and
treasure, will depend upon the care with which its lessons are learned
and the fidelity with which they are carried out.
Unquestionably, public faith in the security of ocean travel has been
rudely shaken. The defects, however, which are directly answerable for
the sinking of this ship are fortunately of such a character that they
can be easily corrected; and if certain necessary and really very simple
changes in construction are made (and they can be made without any
burdensome increase in the cost) we do not hesitate to say that future
passenger travel on a first-class ocean-going steamship will be rendered
absolutely safe.
[Illustration: Small dial indicates whether signals come from port or
starboard.
RECEIVING SUBMARINE SIGNALS ON THE BRIDGE]
The duty of a passenger steamer, such as the _Titanic_, may be regarded
as threefold: She must stay afloat; she must provide a comfortable
home for a small townful of people; and she must carry them to their
destination with as much speed as is compatible with safety and comfort.
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MAY 17, 1890.
* * * * *
ALL IN PLAY.
MY DEAR EDITOR,--Whilst you were feasting in Burlington House amongst
the Pictures and the Royal Academicians, I was seated in the Stalls of
the St. James's Theatre, lost in astonishment (certainly not in
admiration, although of old the two words had the same meaning), at the
antics of a minority of the Gallery, who amused themselves by shouting
themselves hoarse before the performances commenced; but not satisfied
with this, they continued their shrieking further: they howled at the
overture of the first piece, they jeered at the scene, they yelled at
the actors. However, as it happened, _The Tiger_ had been already
successfully played on two occasions last year, so a verdict was not
required at _their_ hands. Had Mr. SOLOMON, the composer, conducted, he
would have taken _The Tiger_ away, and left the howlers to their
howling. Since Saturday the piece has, I am informed, "gone" with what
the Americans call a "snap." The music is charming. Mr. CHARLES COLNAGHI
made his bow as a professional, and played and sang excellently, as did
also Mr. J. G. TAYLOR, in spite of the riotous conduct of the
"unfriendlies."
Then came _Esther Sandraz_. Mrs. LANGTRY looked lovely, and played with
great power; but what an unpleasant part! Until the end of the First Act
all was right. The sympathy was with the heroine of the hour, or,
rather, two hours and a half; but when it was discovered that _Esther_
loved but for revenge, and wished to bring sorrow and shame upon the
fair head of Miss MARION LEA, then the sentiments of the audience
underwent a rapid change. Everyone would have been pleased if Mr. SUGDEN
had shot himself in Act II.; nay, some of us would not have complained
if he had died in Act I., but the cat-and-mouse-like torture inflicted
upon him by _Esther_ was the reverse of agreeable. Mr. SUGDEN was only a
"Johnnie", but still "Johnnies" have feelings like the rest of us. Mr.
BOURCHIER was rather hard as a good young man who does _not_ die, and
Mr. EVERILL (steady old stager) kept everything well together. If the
play keeps the boards for any length of time, it will be, thanks to the
power of Mrs. LANGTRY, the natural pathos of Miss MARION LEA, and the
unforced comedy of Mr. EVERILL.
On Monday Miss GRACE HAWTHORNE produced _Theodora_ at the Princess's
Theatre with some success. It cannot be said, however, that Mlle. SARA
BERNHARDT has at length found her rival, but, for all that, the heroine
of the moment might have been worse. "SARDOU'S masterpiece" (as the
programmes have it) was very well staged. The scenery and costumes were
excellent, and great relief was afforded to the more tragic tones of the
play by entrusting the heavy part of _Andreas_ to Mr. LEONARD BOYNE, who
is a thorough artist, with just the least taste in life of the brogue
that savours more of the Milesian Drama. Mr. W. H. VERNON was the
_Justinian_ of the evening, and looked the Lawgiver to the life;
although I am not quite sure whether a half-concealed moustache was
quite the fashion in the days of the Empire. Mr. ROBERT BUCHANAN, the
adapter of "the masterpiece", introduced several nineteenth century
expressions into the dialogue. In the "home of the Gladiators", it was
quite pleasant to hear people talking of a "row", and made one wish to
have a description of "a merry little mill", in the language of the
sporting Press. No doubt, the length of the performances was the reason
why so racy a narrative was omitted. For the rest, there are some thirty
speaking parts--a good allowance for a play consisting of six Acts and
seven _Tableaux_. A "Masterpiece" (in English) is better than a feast,
for it is enough--for a lifetime. Believe me, yours faithfully,
ONE WHO HAS TAKEN A DOUBLE "FIRST."
* * * * *
[Illustration: A CHANGE.
From a Fasting Man to a Sandwich Man. Useful to Advertisers.]
* * * * *
A STIRRING POLE.--A more stirring pianist than PADEREWSKI, who played on
Friday afternoon at St. James's Hall for the first time in England, has
never been heard. The report that he is a Polonised Irishman needs
confirmation. The name is suspicious. But there are no sound reasons for
supposing that the first two syllables of PADEREWSKI'S name are simply a
corruption of the Hibernian "Paddy."
* * * * *
CLASSIC MOTTO FOR THOSE WHO SELL AS THE GENUINE ARTICLE TEA UNDER A
FALSE BRAND.--"_Nomine mutato fabula narratur de Tea._"
* * * * *
MRS. R. wants to know if she can ascertain all about the Law of Libel,
&c., in the works which she contemplates purchasing of WALTER SAVAGE
SLANDOR.
* * * * *
OUR ADVERTISERS.
_A New Departure, or the "Give-'em-a-hand-all-round" Wrinkle._
ROYAL QUARTPOTARIUM.--THE RENOWNED WORLD FASTING CHAMPION, who is
dressed in a READY-MADE SUIT OF TWEED DITTOS (38_s._) supplied by
Messrs. LEVI, SOLOMANS & CO., of 293, Houndsditch, and is
* * *
SEATED ON THE GENT'S EASY LOUNGE CHAIR, forming one of the articles of
the highly-upholstered dining-room set (as advertised) by Messrs.
GLUBBINS, KNICKERBOCKER & CO., of Tottenham Court Road, where at any
hour he can be seen
* * *
SIPPING ALTERNATELY FROM TWO LARGE CUT-GLASS TUMBLERS, furnished by
Messrs. WAGBITTER AND GROANS, of New Oxford Street,
* * *
BLINKER'S CONCENTRATED COD-LIVER EMULSION MELTED FATS (57_s._ the dozen
pints, bottles included), and
* * *
SPARKLING SINGULARIS WATER, bottled in nine-gallon flagons by the
Company at their extensive works in the Isle of Dogs, with which, to the
satisfaction of his friends, he succeeds in washing down, in turns,
hourly,
* * *
BINNACLE'S CONDENSED DIGESTIVE BOILED PORK LOZENGES, supplied by all
respectable Chemists throughout the United Kingdom, in 1_s._ 9_d._,
3_s._ 9_d._, 13_s._ 3_d._, 27_s._ 6_d._, and 105_s._ Boxes;
* * *
SIDES, BREASTS, FORE-QUARTERS, SADDLES, AND ENTIRE WHOLE OR HALF-SHEEP
OF PRIME BOLIVIAN MUTTON delivered daily by the Company's carts, from
their own Refrigerators;
* * *
WINKER'S INVALID INFANT'S PICK-ME-UP CORDIAL--(WINKER & CO., the
Manufactory, Hoxton-on-Sea);
* * *
TINNED AMERICAN OYSTERS. FINE SELECTED THIRDS. Guaranteed by the
Blue-Point Company, Wriggleville, Texas, U.S.A.; and
* * *
ZWINGERINE, the new marvellous nerve and tone-restoring, and muscle,
bone, and fat-producing agency, EACH TEASPOONFUL OF WHICH contains, in a
highly-concentrated form, three bottles of port wine, soup, fish, cut
off the joint, two _entrees_, sweet, cheese, and celery, as testified to
by a public analyst of standing and repute. Agents, GLUM & CO, Seven
Dials.
* * *
THE FASTING CHAMPION continues to receive visitors as above from 6 A.M.
to 11 P.M. daily, and may be inspected, watched, stared at, pinched,
questioned, and examined generally, by his admiring friends, the British
Public, in his private _sanctum_ at the Royal Quartpotarium, till
further notice.
* * * * *
IN THE KNOW.--(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)
CARDINAL RICHELIEU once observed to Madame DE ST. GALMIER, that if Kings
could but know the folly of their subjects they would hesitate at
nothing. Mr. JEREMY evidently knows thoroughly how stupendously
cabbage-headed his readers are, for he never hesitates to put forward
the most astounding and muddy-minded theories. For instance, he asks us
this week to believe that _Saladin_ ought to have won the Shropshire
Handicap, because he was known to be a better horse, from two miles up
to fifty, than the four other horses who faced the starter. If this
stuff had been addressed to an audience of moon-calves and mock-turtles
it might have passed muster, but, thank Heaven, we are not _all_ quite
so low as that yet. Let me therefore tell Mr. JEREMY, that when a horse
like _Saladin_, whose back-bone is like the Himalaya mountains, and his
pastern joints like a bottle-nosed whale with a cold in his head, comes
to the post with two stone and a beating to his credit, and four hoofs
about the size of a soup-tureen to his legs, he can never be _expected_
to get the better of slow roarers like _Carmichael_ and _Busby_, to say
nothing of _Whatnot_ and _Pumblechook_. It is well known, of course,
that the latter has been in hard training for a month, and a better
horse at cornbin or bran-mash never stepped. _Saladin_ won, I know, but
it was for reasons very different from those given by Mr. JEREMY.
There is nothing new about the Derby horses. I believe they are mostly
in training, but I reserve my opinion until I see what the addle-pates
who own them mean to do.
* * * * *
"A SELF-MADE MAN", said Mrs. R., thoughtfully, "is the artichoke of his
own fortunes."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE MODERN HERCULES AND THE PYGMIES.
(_Extracts from the Diary of an Explorer in the Society Islands._)]
From the bears, apes, and foxes with which the thickets of the great
forest of Societas abounded, it is but a step to the Pygmy tribes whom
we found inhabiting the tract of country between the Uperten and the
Suburban rivers. The Pygmies are as old as Swelldom, as ubiquitous as
Boredom, the two secular pests of the earth. You will remember that
Hercules once fell asleep in the deserts of Africa, after his conquest
of Antaeus, and was disturbed in his well-earned rest by an attack of a
large army of these troublesome Lilliputians, who, it is recorded,
"discharged their arrows with great fury upon his arms and legs." The
hero, it is added, "pleased with their courage, wrapped a great number
of them in the skin of the Nemean lion, and carried them to Eurystheus."
I was not "pleased with their courage", but plagued with their
importunities. HERODOTUS described the capture of five young explorers
from Naasamoves while they were examining some curious trees in the
Niger basin, and tells how the little men took them to their villages
and showed them about to their fellow Pygmies. So, in a sense, the
Pygmies of Societas "captured" me, and showed me about to their fellow
denizens of this Land of Lilliput. They "discharged their arrows" (which
they called "In-Vites", and each of which was branded with the mystic
letters, R.S.V.P.) at me in swarms, and though they rather tickled than
hurt, yet after a time their minute but multiplied prickings became no
end of a nuisance.
Let us pause a little, and pay such honour as is due for persistence and
importunity to these "little people", who have outlived the wise men of
Egypt, the prophets of Palestine, the magicians of Persia, and the sages
of Greece and Rome. They have actually been able to hold their own from
the days of HOMER, through those of HORACE, down even to those of
HAGGARD. I have seen the wear and tear of the Pyramids of Egypt (which
is nothing to that of a lionised hero in Societas); I can certify that
the Sphynx presents a very battered appearance indeed (though not so
battered as mine, after the "little people" had done with me), but the
Pygmies of to-day in Societas appear to be as plentiful and as perky as
those that thousands of years ago swarmed in AEthiopia, built their
houses with egg-shells, made war upon the Cranes, and attacked the tired
hero Hercules.
You will understand that I, who have always professed to love humanity,
even in the form of mannikins, better than beetles and butterflies, was
as much interested in these small creatures as was Hercules in the
skinful of <DW40>s he carried to the exacting Eurystheus. As I looked at
them, and thought how these represented the oldest race on the
globe--namely, the Inquisitive Quidnuncs--my admiration really went to
greater lengths than scoffing cynics might have expected.
These Pygmies of Societas, though small, are cunning, and wise in their
generation. For the most part they toil not, (save at pleasure-seeking
and lion-hunting), neither do they spin (anything beyond the edifying
yarns they call "after-dinner stories"). But they manage to live on the
fat of the land. The larger aborigines (called the Whirkirs) are very
industrious, and form the clearings and cultivate the various produce of
the place. The Pygmies appear to be aware that the plantations and
powers of the Whirkirs are practically inexhaustible, and to think that
they have as much right to the produce as the aboriginal owners and
tillers. Therefore, they cling tightly to these plantations, and make
the larger and more laborious natives pay dearly for the honour of their
acquaintance. In another manner they perform valuable service by setting
fashions, receiving strangers, and assisting in the defence of the
settlements; they also hunt game, and supply the larger natives with
plenty to do in working for and waiting on them. It appeared to me that
the Pygmies were regarded somewhat as parasites (though highly
ornamental ones, like orchids) whose departure would be more welcome--to
the aborigines--than their vicinity. But a race which has survived so
much and so many things is not easily to be got rid of.
Anyhow, _I_ couldn't get rid of them, though sometimes I felt
inclined to imitate Hercules. With their arrows and their unblushing
importunities they had me at advantage, and even as _Gulliver_ became
the victim of the <DW40>s of Lilliput, so did I of the innumerable,
inquisitive, imperturbably impertinent Pygmies of Societas.
* * * * *
THE FIRST FIGHT.
(_Between the Seventh Team of Australian Cricketers and an English
Eleven, begun at Sheffield Park, on May 8, 1890._)
A HAZE hung over the Surrey Downs
In the early morning; but Nature's frowns
Broke up in smiles as the day advanced.
And the grey mist cleared and the sunbeams glanced
On MURDOCH bold, and his merry men.
When hundreds of optics, and many a pen
Were on the alert, at Sheffield Park,
The valiant deeds (between wickets) to mark
Of the Seventh Australian Cricketing lot.
MURDOCH and LYONS, BARRETT and TROTT,
Lads of their inches in flesh and bones;
TURNER and WALTERS, BLACKHAM and JONES,
GREGORY, CHARLTON and FERRIS too;
A sterling Eleven, second to few.
Whilst "odd men" TRUMBLE and BURN and BOYLE
"Stood out" of the first big match's toil,
'Gainst GRACE and STODDART, NEWHAM and READ,
SHERWIN and SHREWSBURY, stout at need,
LOHMANN and HUMPHREYS, and BRIGGS and PEEL,
And ATTEWELL with the nerves of steel.
No need to tell how they met and fought,
And bowled, and batted, and stumped, and caught;
But _Mr. Punch_, who has seen all six
Of the other Elevens before the "sticks",
And cheered them victors, or vanquished cheered,
Shoots forth his fist, as the lists are cleared,
To welcome back to an English wicket
These champions fresh of Colonial Cricket.
He will not "butter" you, boys, for _that_ you'll hate.
Only he must most sincerely congratulate
His old friend MURDOCH on starting so well.
Go it, Sir, keep it up, W. L.!
Here's wishing the lot of you health and pluck,
Decent weather and level luck.
And when your last "four" to the boundary flashes,
Take all good things home with you--saving those "ashes."
* * * * *
[Illustration: HAPPY THOUGHT.
"SUCCI DOESN'T SEEM ANY THE WORSE FOR HIS LONG ABSTINENCE, MARIA! DON'T
YOU THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD THING TO BRING UP A FEW OF OUR YOUNGER
CHILDREN AS FASTING MEN AND WOMEN? WE MIGHT BEGIN TRAINING THEM ALREADY,
YOU KNOW!"]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
READ "As Haggards on the Rock" in _Scribner's_ for May. It is a weird
tale, but nothing whatever to do with "HAGGARD" ("RIDER" of that ilk),
which may or may not be an additional attraction, according to the taste
and fancy of the reader. "Never do I see _Scribner's Magazine_", quoth
the Baron, "without wishing to change its name, or start a competitor
under the style and title of '_Scribbler's Magazine_.' If the latter
isn't 'a colourable imitation,' it must be done, and that speedily."
_Woman_, though appearing weekly, comes out peculiarly strong. "A really
entertaining, interesting, and chatty publication", says the Baroness.
One of the best volumes of the Badminton Library series is that on Golf,
recently published, written chiefly by HORACE G. HUTCHINSON, with
capital contributions on the subject from the great ruler of
Home-Rulers, ARTHUR BALFOUR, M.P., and the ubiquitous and universally
gifted MERRY ANDREW LANG, to whom no subject, apparently, presents any
difficulty whatever, he being, like Father O'FLYNN, able to discourse on
Theology or Conchology, or Mythology, and all the other ologies,
including, in this instance, Golfology, with equal skill and profundity
of wisdom. _Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_, and the scent of the LANG Y
LANG, is over all periodical literature generally. Let not the elderly
intending student of Golf, on opening the book, be deterred by seeing a
chapter headed "_Clubs and Balls_", which may induce him to say, "My
dancing days are over." The illustrations, by Messrs. C. L. SHUTE, T.
HODGE, and H. FIERY FURNISS, are excellent. The vignettes in A. LANG's
paper--especially one happily taken from an "Old Miss-all", where
several players are represented as not making a hit--are both
interesting and amusing. On the whole--on the Golfian Hole--a capital
volume. _Mr. Punch_ drinks to his Grace of BEAUFORT in a cup of
Badminton.
* * * * *
ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, May 5._--Next year is my Jubilee--mine and
_Mr. Punch's_. Pup and dog, have known House of Commons for nigh fifty
years. Of course not so intimately as within the last eight or nine
years; but ever since I took my seat on piles of bound volumes at feet
of the MASTER, have kept one eye on Parliament.
Never saw a scene to equal what took place to-night. When House met,
good deal of talk about yesterday's Labour Demonstration. Everybody
agreed it was enormous, unprecedented, momentous. The Working Man
demands a day of eight hours' labour, and will see that he gets it.
Still talking about the matter in whispers. Second Heading of Budget
Bill under discussion; SHAW-LEFEVRE on legs, protesting against
increased expenditure on Army and Navy. Undertakes to show it is
absolutely unnecessary. Beginning his demonstration when hand of clock
touched hour of Six. SPEAKER rose with cry of "Order! Order!"
SHAW-LEFEVRE resumed seat; afraid he had, in exuberance of eloquence,
committed some breach of order. Members crowded in to hear what SPEAKER
had to say.
"This House," he said, as soon as silence restored, "will now adjourn.
At least I must withdraw; and unless it can be shown that Deputy-Speaker
has been in bed all day, or otherwise idling his time, you cannot go on.
Under ordinary circumstances, House meeting at Three o'clock, we should
have adjourned sharp at Eleven to-night; but the fact is, my day's work
began at Ten this morning. That is a necessity of my position. With
interval of hasty meals, I have been accustomed to work a maximum of
twelve hours a day, often running up to fourteen. That, however, now
over. Settled by Working Man that Labour Day should not exceed Eight
Hours. We will, therefore, now break up. I daresay some of you Hon.
Gentlemen, engaged at the Bar or in affairs in the City, commenced your
work even earlier than Ten?"
"Sir", said OLD MORALITY, "I do not know whether I am in order in
speaking after the clock has struck Six, and so extending our legal day.
I will, however, promise to be brief. In fact, I rise merely to confirm
your view, Sir, of our position. For my own part, I have been closely
engaged in the business that pertains to performance of my duty to the
QUEEN and Country, since an hour earlier than Ten this morning, and I
think I may say the same for my friends near me on this Bench.
[ASHMEAD-BARTLETT: "Hear, hear!"] We were, as usual, prepared to go
forward with our work, to sit here till whatever hour was necessary to
accomplish it. Without abating one jit or tottle--"
SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT: "The Right Hon. Gentleman probably means one jot
or tittle."
OLD MORALITY: "In accordance with my habit, Sir, I meant what I said. As
I was saying, when perhaps somewhat unnecessarily interrupted by the
Right Hon. Gentleman, I do not abate one tit or jottle of my desire to
perform my duty where duty is doo; but since our friend the Working Man
has declared in favour of a labouring day confined to Eight Hours, we
must needs follow him."
OLD MORALITY packed up his papers; JOKIM locked up red box containing
papers relating to Budget Scheme; HARCOURT rose to continue discussion;
discovered that SPEAKER had gone, and Serjeant-at-Arms removed Mace; so,
at few minutes past Six, got off with plenty of time to enjoy that
recreation, and cultivate those family relations, not less dear to a
Member of Parliament than to the more 'orny 'anded son of toil. Odd at
this early hour to hear cry of Doorkeeper, "Who goes home?"
[Illustration: Bolton bolting.]
"Well", says Member for St. Pancras, "I think _I'll_ be BOLTON." And he
bolted. _Business done._----New Eight Hours' Day arrangement came into
operation. Entirely successful.
_Tuesday._--RITCHIE a mild-mannered man, six feet high, and of genial
temperament. But there are some things he can't stand. One is, to assume
that Government Bill dealing with Local Taxation involves Compensation
for disestablished publicans.
"I must say", he observed, just now, glaring on CALEB WRIGHT, "that I
object to the word Compensation which the Hon. Gentleman has used in his
question."
What Government had done was to propose measure for the extinction of
licences. Of course, a little money would pass. JOKIM, in Budget Scheme,
made provision to enable County Council to buy out publicans. "But to
call such a transaction Compensation is", RITCHIE added, his left eye
twitching in fearsome manner on CALEB WRIGHT, "preposterous."
That being so, House went into Committee on Allotments Bill, and drummed
away till sitting suspended.
At Evening Sitting, BOB REID brought on Motion raising sort of British
Land Question. Wants to empower Town Councils and County Councils in
England and Scotland to acquire, either by agreement or compulsorily,
such land within their district as may be needed for the requirements of
the inhabitants. House naturally shocked to find a Member proposing to
discuss any phase of Land Question apart from Ireland. Interposition of
Great Britain in this connection regarded as impertinence. Compromise
arrived at; agreed to leave out Scotland. On these terms Debate went
forward.
[Illustration: The Emphatic Noes.]
CHAPLIN in charge of case for Government. At last, in his natural
position, temporary Leader of the House.
CHAPLIN (_aside_), "Glamis and Thane of Cawdor! the greatest is behind."
How different from ancient days and nights, when he sat below Gangway in
corner seat, that is, when he could get it. Couldn't always; sometimes
presumptuous person forestalled him. Even when there, with notes of
treasured speech in swelling breast pocket, by no means certain he would
find opportunity of convincing House. Others step in, and edge him on
into ignominious dinner hour. Now a Minister of the Crown, with a new
Department created for his control; to-night in charge of Government
business. OLD MORALITY off early, full of restful confidence.
"CHAPLIN'S looking after things", he said, as he made himself
comfortable in his room. "Needn't bother; all will go right. Great thing
for a First Minister to have a man he can thoroughly depend on."
"At least, TOBY", CHAPLIN said, "those were his remarks as reported to
me. I will not deny that they are gratifying."
At the proper time--at his own time--the Minister for Agriculture rose,
and, positively pervading the premises, utterly demolished BOB REID, his
supporters, his arguments, and his resolution.
"CHAPLIN", said JOHN MORLEY, watching him with admiring glance, "always
reminds me of VICTOR HUGO'S description of the _Rev. Ebenezer Caudray_.
You remember him in _Les Travailleurs de la Mer_? Haven't the book with
me, but translation runs something like this:--'He had the gracefulness
of a page, mingled with the dignity of a Bishop.' Never knew that VICTOR
HUGO was personally acquainted with CHAPLIN; but he certainly here hits
off his characteristics in a phrase."
_Business done._--Miscellaneous, and not much.
_Thursday._--"Where do you put the Cow?"
"Was ever man interrupted with such a question in such circumstances?"
asked JESSE COLLINGS, unconsciously quoting _Tristram Shandy's_ father.
Circumstances sufficiently strange to make a man quote STERNE, even if
he'd never read his masterpiece. House in Committee on Budget Bill.
STOREY moved Amendment on Clause 26, dealing with exemption from
Inhabited House Duty of tenement buildings. CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER
taken part in the Debate. CHARLES RUSSELL said a few words. House in
most serious, not to say depressed mood. Subject particularly inviting
for JESSE; always advocated welfare of Working Classes; now seized
opportunity to descant on theme. Detailed with growing warmth
arrangements desirable for perfecting sanitation of houses for Working
Classes; when TANNER, crossing arms and legs, and cocking head on one
side, with provoking appearance of keen interest, suddenly submitted
this problem:--
"Where do you put the Cow?"
Opposition laughed. Ministerialists cried, "Order!" Various courses open
to JESSE. Might have assumed air of interested inquiry. Cow? What Cow?
Why drag in the Cow? Might have slain TANNER with a stony stare, and
left him to drag his untimely quadruped off the ground. But JESSE took
the Cow seriously. Allowed it to get its horns entangled amid thread of
his argument. | 2,519.280978 |
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Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
THE Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plate
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Greek Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: AUWAE]
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
By Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1902_
By L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published, June, 1902
Seventh Impression, May, 1909
Preface
FAR out in the broad island-dotted and island-fringed Pacific Ocean lies
an island group known as the Hawaiian or Sandwich Islands.
The brave voyager Captain Cook, who discovered these Hawaiian Islands,
found living there a brown-skinned people, whose descendants live there
to this day. Indeed, most of the island dwellers in the Pacific are of
the brown race, which we know as one of the great divisions of the human
family.
As the years passed by, the brown people living on the Hawaiian Islands
came into closer relations with America. The islands are on the line of
trade and travel between America and Asia. Our missionaries went there,
and the people welcomed them gladly.
At length the time came when the Hawaiian Islands asked the greatest of
the American nations, our United States, to receive them into her
family; for they saw that they could not govern themselves as wisely
alone as with her help. Thus these brown, childlike people came to be
among the youngest of the adopted children of our nation.
Our government has accepted a great trust in undertaking to care for
these people who are of a different race and who live far from our
shores. We shall all of us feel much interest in seeing that our adopted
brothers and sisters are treated kindly, wisely, and well. We shall not
forget that, far apart as they are from us in distance and by race
descent, they are yet our kindred. So we shall be doubly glad to meet
and know our little Hawaiian cousin.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A HAPPY CHILD 9
II. AN OUTDOOR KITCHEN 17
III. SURF-RIDING 26
IV. QUARTERLY REVIEW 35
V. AUWAE'S SCHOOL 45
VI. LONG AGO 52
VII. THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN 59
VIII. THE DIVER 68
IX. STORIES OF OLDEN TIME 77
X. UP THE MOUNTAIN 85
XI. THE VOLCANO 92
List of Illustrations
PAGE
AUWAE _Frontispiece_
"IT IS A LOW BUILDING WHOSE SIDES AND HIGH
SLOPING ROOF ARE THATCHED WITH GRASSES" 13
"THE PARTY SIT ON THE GRASS IN A CIRCLE" 22
"AUWAE AND UPA DARED TO PEEP INSIDE" 41
"A LITTLE STREAM WHERE TWO WOMEN ARE WASHING" 47
"IT IS LIKE A LONG, GRAND TOBOGGAN SLIDE" 75
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
CHAPTER I.
A HAPPY CHILD.
LITTLE Auwae is beautiful; but, better than that, much better, she has
no thought of it herself.
She sits in front of her low cottage home singing a soft sweet song,
weaving a garland of scarlet flowers to adorn her head. As she carefully
places each bud on the string, she looks up at the American flag
floating in the breezes not far away.
The schoolmaster of the village tells her it is in honour of George
Washington, the greatest man of the United States; that if he had not
lived, America would not be what she is to-day, and she might not have
been able to give Hawaii the help needed when trouble came.
But what cares little Auwae for all this? What difference does it make
to her that her island home, the land of beauty and of flowers, is under
American rule? To be sure, a few of the "grown-ups" in the place look
sober for a moment when they speak of the change since the old days of
Hawaii's kings; but the sadness passes in a moment, and the gentle,
happy child-people turn again to their joys and sports.
Auwae has shining brown eyes, and, as she smiles at the homely little
dog curled up at her side, one can see two rows of beautiful white
teeth. Her skin, although of such a dark brown, is so clear and lustrous
one cannot help admiring it. The girl is not afraid of tan or freckles.
She rarely wears any head covering save a garland of flowers, if that
could be called such; but she bathes herself frequently with cocoanut
oil, which makes the skin soft and shiny.
She takes an abundance of exercise in the open air; she swims like the
fabled mermaid; she rides for miles at a time over the rough mountain
passes on the back of her favourite horse. It is no wonder that this
plump little maiden of ten years is the picture of health and grace.
Her home is a perfect bower. It stands in a grove of tall cocoa-palms,
whose beauty cannot be imagined by those who live in the temperate lands
and who see them growing only in the hothouses. They are tall and
stately, yet graceful as the willow; their long, curved stems reach up
sixty, seventy, sometimes even one hundred feet toward the sky, then
spread out into a magnificent plume of leaves from twelve to twenty feet
in length. The breeze makes low, sweet music as it moves gently across
the tree-tops and keeps company with Auwae's song.
[Illustration: "IT IS A LOW BUILDING WHOSE SIDES AND HIGH SLOPING ROOF
ARE THATCHED WITH GRASSES"]
Beneath the trees the grass is of the most vivid green, mixed with
delicate ferns; the garden in front of the house is filled with gorgeous
flowering plants,--roses, lilies, oleanders, geraniums, tuberoses,
scenting the air with their perfume; besides many others known only in
tropical lands.
The garden wall at the side is hidden by masses of the night-blooming
cereus, which is such a curiosity in our own country that often many
people gather to watch the opening of a single flower.
Vines hanging full of the scarlet passion-flower drape the veranda on
which Auwae sits. When she has finished her wreath, she crowns her long
hair with it, and turns to go into the house.
She makes a pretty picture, the little girl with her simple white
dress, beneath which the bare brown feet are seen,--those feet which
have never yet been pressed out of shape by stiff, tight casings of
leather.
I call it a house, yet many speak of it as a hut. It is a low building
whose sides and high sloping roof are thatched with grasses. Few such
are made nowadays in Hawaii, for the people are fast following the
example of the white settlers, and now build their cottages of wood, and
divide them into rooms, so that they look like the homes commonly found
in New England villages.
Auwae's father, however, clings to the old fashions of his people, and
his little daughter has always lived in this beautiful grass house. The
frame was made of bamboo poles fastened together by ropes of palm-leaf
fibres. Days were spent in gathering the grasses for thatching the sides
and roof of the house. They were woven into beautiful patterns for the
roof. It was necessary to choose skilful workmen who knew just how to
finish the corners, for the heavy rains of the tropics must not be given
a chance to soak through the outside and make | 2,519.384086 |
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Produced by Darleen Dove, 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.)
THE INCENDIARY
A Story of Mystery.
BY W. A. LEAHY.
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY,
MDCCCXCVII.
A PRIZE STORY
In THE CHICAGO RECORD series of "Stories of Mystery."
THE INCENDIARY
BY W. A. LEAHY.
(This story--out of 816 competing--was awarded the fourth prize in the
CHICAGO RECORD'S "$30,000 to Authors" competition.)
Copyright, 1896, by W. A. Leahy.
THE INCENDIARY.
CHAPTER I.
FANFARE: THE PLAY BEGINS.
It was about half-past three in the afternoon when Bertha, the
housemaid, came running down the steps, with a shrill cry of "Fire!" and
fell plump into the arms of the bake-shop girl, who had seen the smoke
curling from Prof. Arnold's window and was hastening across to warn the
occupants of his house. The deep bark of a dog was heard within and
presently Sire, the professor's old St. Bernard, rushed by the two young
women and darted hither and thither, accosting the bystanders
distractedly, as if burdened with a message he could not communicate.
"Ring the alarm!" cried Bertha and the bake-shop girl in a breath, as
soon as they had recovered from the shock of their collision. Their cry
was taken up by a knot of three boys, who, as usual, were the first on
the spot; passed along till it reached some loungers on the corner,
whose inertia was more gradually overcome; and presently half the
neighborhood, as if by a spontaneous impulse, came thronging into
Cazenove street, each following his leader, like a flock of startled
ewes. Bertha, caught in the middle of this ring of sight-seers, stood
paralyzed a moment; then singling out the one man of action, she broke
through the crowd and stopped him midway in his advance.
"For the love of heaven, will you ring the alarm?"
The postman turned and scudded to the box. There was an interval of
suspense that seemed an age.
"Is there any one in the house?" was the first question of Patrolman
Chandler, when he galloped up to the scene. He had been attracted at
once by the barking of Sire.
"Mr. Robert," cried Bertha, wringing her hands. "Mr. Robert was in the
study." The crowd looked up and measured the swift gains of the
destructive element.
"Young Floyd?" said Chandler. Then he rushed into the house and up the
first flight of winding stairs, the dog, as he did so, following him
with a great fusillade of delighted barks.
"There's some one inside," said the crowd, and the rumor passed from
mouth to mouth.
"Fire! Fire!" called Chandler from the corridor window above. "Yell, you
fellows, as you never yelled before!"
In response a cry of "Fire!" went up from man, woman and child, bass and
treble intermingling, loud enough to have waked the seven sleepers from
their trance. But no one stirred inside. Just at this moment the tardy
bells rang out the number of the box, and almost immediately, as an
engine came rounding a distant corner and the great gray horses bounded
up the grade, the uproar began to subside. On, on, past the doomed
house, now enveloped in flames, to the nearest hydrant, the driver
lashed his pair. The hydrant cover had been thrown off and the first
block of coal flung into the engine's furnace before Patrolman Chandler
reissued from the door which he had entered.
"There is no one there," he gasped, as if choking with the smoke. But
the dog continued to leap about, accosting the bystanders appealingly,
until his barks and pawing became a nuisance to several and they spurned
him pettishly away.
Now engines from many directions came clattering by and the air was full
of clangor. Lines of hose were unraveled, ladders hoisted against the
walls, and finally, amid hoarse shouts that pierced the deep sighing of
the flames within, a rubber-clad, helmeted fellow, with a nozzle
strapped to his body, slowly led a line up to the second-story window,
where the fire had apparently started. There was another interval of
suspense, orders to and fro, and then a helpless pause. Something
refused to work.
But the fire met no such impediment. Suddenly an explosion of uncertain
origin shook the air, and the onlookers retreated in terror, as if the
ground were yawning beneath them. Of a sudden one, two, three slack,
snaky hose lines rounded out, and a burst of foam, battering in
window-panes and sashes, inaugurated the great combat of elements--one
angry, vindictive, as if ravening to sunder the bonds of control cast
about it by the pigmy, its master, the other docile and benignant, but
in the end the more puissant of the two.
"Exactly nine minutes from the start before a drop of water fell on that
fire," said the bake-shop girl, who was noted for her accurate
observation of time. By the "start" she meant the moment when Bertha and
she collided on the doorsteps, but the fire must have gained a strong
headway before that. For every timber in the house was flaming now. The
heat scorched the firemen's cheeks and made frightened children in the
windows opposite turn away. All the neighbors were packing up their
valuables, preparing for the worst. Singed and blinded, the firemen had
been driven back down their ladders and compelled to fight from the
street. At 3:40 the district chief ordered a second alarm rung in, and,
as this was followed by another explosion, a third alarm immediately
after. Amid a great clanging of bells, engine after engine, with drivers
standing at the reins and firemen riding backward, drove up and sought
out positions of vantage.
With the arrival of Chief Federhen their plan of attack seemed to assume
a definite shape at once. The ding, ding, ding, of his light carriage,
riding over distended and bedraggled hose, told the impatience of the
man on the seat. A tall, gaunt figure, wrapped in a cloak, which he
threw off as the excitement grew on him, he first turned his attention
to the police and the crowd.
"We want room to do this work in," he cried in a loud voice, and the
bluecoats began vigorously routing the onlookers back until the fire was
to them like something seen through an inverted opera glass, and the
sagging ropes nearly broke under the black weight of humanity which they
fended off.
Federhen's practiced eye saw the doom of the dwelling-house. So he
called off his engines and threw up ladders against the great mercantile
buildings to leeward and in the rear. It was from one of these,
presumably the fireworks-room of Schnitzler Bros., that the second
explosion, scattered and prolonged like an enfilading volley of
musketry, had come, and already a thatch of flame had run around under
the projecting roof of the structure. Against this the fire tower was
slowly brought into position and sloped over, its tip just topping the
eaves, but the axes of the squad sent up failed to make any impression
on the solid sheathing of the roof. When the tower ladder itself began
to take fire, and a stream had to be played on it constantly, the order
was given, none too early, "Come down!" and the firemen's first
ambition, to get above the enemy, had to be abandoned for less
efficacious measures. Fountain jets, rising from the street, and level
streams from the roofs of the dwelling-houses opposite, did their
ineffectual best to quench the red thirst of the triumphing element.
"This is glorious!"
"Tristram!"
The girl pulled a dolman over her shoulders, fear simulating cold,
before the savage dance of the flames. Their carriage had passed through
Broad street, in the rear of Cazenove, a few minutes before, and when
the alarm sounded Tristram had ordered the coachman to turn and drive
them back.
"Glorious, Rosalie!" he repeated, looking up at the red streamers and
the swirling smoke.
"It was just here we met your friend, Harry Arnold," murmured Rosalie.
"Did you notice he had only one glove on?"
"Glorious!" echoed her enraptured brother, as a section of the wall
fell in, disclosing an oven view like the interior of a Bessemer blast
furnace.
"See the horses pawing. The sparks will fall on them. Let us drive
away."
"My palette!" was Tristram's answer. "Brush! Easel! Canvas! Oh, the lost
chance of a lifetime!"
"Doesn't it make you shudder?"
"Certainly, my dear. That is the very deliciousness of it"
"But the danger!"
"Ah, you know I'm a perfect Bluebeard in the taste for horrors. I really
envy Parrhasius his enjoyment in flaying the old slave--or did he flog
him? But it's of no consequence which. He tortured him somehow, you
remember, and chained him to a stake in his studio, so that he might
paint Prometheus' writhings to the life."
But just here something happened which cut short his tirade of irony.
It was on the Broad street side of the Harmon building (such the great
six-story structure was called), just where the Marches' coachman had
halted their span, that the most pitiful incident of this memorable fire
took place. By 4 o'clock everybody conceded that the Harmon building was
lost. Occupied principally by dry-goods firms, whose light wares, spread
over the counters, were like so much hay to the flames, it needed
scarcely more than the touch of a match to convert it into smoke. At the
sound of the second explosion hundreds of salesgirls and male employes
had rushed to the exits, barely outstripping the fire. It was supposed
that all had been warned and escaped, and only a signal shriek from the
top story in the rear notified the beholders that human lives were in
peril. Looking up, they saw at the windows a dozen girls and half as
many youths huddling together with the blanched faces of deadly fear.
Thick smoke was already curling up and enveloping them and reflections
of the flames, like an aurora rising in the north, were visible behind.
The cries they made could not be understood, but their gestures were
dumbly eloquent.
"Jump!" came the cry from a hundred throats below. A teamster pulled
the rubber covers off the Protective company's wagon. Firemen and
policemen improvised nets of canvas, which they tore from the awnings
near by and spread under the shrinking group. Two or three of the girls,
who leaped for a telegraph pole on the outer edge of the sidewalk,
almost miraculously succeeded in scrambling down. Others climbed out on
the ledge and made as if to jump, but drew back from the awful plunge.
The fire was upon them now, and one could weep to see the men, brave
fellows, coaxing their timid companions to take the leap. One woman of
coarser build ran along the dizzy ledge, which scarcely yielded footing
for a sparrow, and sprang into the branches of a tree on the corner, her
dress saving her at the cost of fearful laceration. Then a form came
crashing down into the outspread nets, another and another, without
pause, without certainty of aim. Two struck the sidewalk and were
carried off shapeless and silent. One young girl's fall was broken by a
policeman's brawny arms--no other than Patrolman Chandler. She picked
herself up laughing, only to faint away, while her rescuer was borne off
groaning. It was all over soon--a tragedy of five minutes--but those who
witnessed it felt as if their hearts had been standing still for a
century.
"Let us drive away," said Rosalie, a sickness seizing her.
"Yes," answered Tristram; "the people are beginning to stare at you."
His sensitive lips were pale and he shut his eyes lest their film of
pity should be seen. It was true, some of the bystanders had pointed out
his companion to one another as Rosalie March. The face of this
beautiful girl had become familiar since Manager Mapletree the season
before had persuaded her to come out from the privacy of her home and
assume two or three roles in his revival of Shakespeare's comedies.
Perhaps they wondered who the gentleman beside her might be. Brother and
sister bore each other little specific resemblance.
"What's that carriage halting here for? Do you think this is a
procession? Pass | 2,519.389032 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.4646750 | 946 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 3 of the 1893 three volume set]
THE IRON GATE
AND OTHER POEMS
1877-1881
THE IRON GATE
VESTIGIA QUINQUE RETRORSUM
MY AVIARY
ON THE THRESHOLD
TO GEORGE PEABODY
AT THE PAPYRUS CLUB
FOR WHITTIER'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
TWO SONNETS: HARVARD
THE COMING ERA
IN RESPONSE
FOR THE MOORE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION
TO JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE
WELCOME TO THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB
AMERICAN ACADEMY CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION
THE SCHOOL-BOY
THE SILENT MELODY
OUR HOME--OUR COUNTRY
POEM AT THE CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY DINNER OF THE MASSACHUSETTS
MEDICAL SOCIETY
RHYMES OF A LIFE-TIME
THE IRON GATE
Read at the Breakfast given in honor of Dr. Holmes's Seventieth Birthday
by the publishers of the "Atlantic Monthly," Boston, December 3, 1879.
WHERE is this patriarch you are kindly greeting?
Not unfamiliar to my ear his name,
Nor yet unknown to many a joyous meeting
In days long vanished,--is he still the same,
Or changed by years, forgotten and forgetting,
Dull-eared, dim-sighted, slow of speech and thought,
Still o'er the sad, degenerate present fretting,
Where all goes wrong, and nothing as it ought?
Old age, the graybeard! Well, indeed, I know him,--
Shrunk, tottering, bent, of aches and ills the prey;
In sermon, story, fable, picture, poem,
Oft have I met him from my earliest day.
In my old AEsop, toiling with his bundle,--
His load of sticks,--politely asking Death,
Who comes when called for,--would he lug or trundle
His fagot for him?--he was scant of breath.
And sad "Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher,"--
Has he not stamped the image on my soul,
In that last chapter, where the worn-out Teacher
Sighs o'er the loosened cord, the broken bowl?
Yes, long, indeed, I've known him at a distance,
And now my lifted door-latch shows him here;
I take his shrivelled hand without resistance,
And find him smiling as his step draws near.
What though of gilded baubles he bereaves us,
Dear to the heart of youth, to manhood's prime;
Think of the calm he brings, the wealth he leaves us,
The hoarded spoils, the legacies of time!
Altars once flaming, still with incense fragrant,
Passion's uneasy nurslings rocked asleep,
Hope's anchor faster, wild desire less vagrant,
Life's flow less noisy, but the stream how deep!
Still as the silver cord gets worn and slender,
Its lightened task-work tugs with lessening strain,
Hands get more helpful, voices, grown more tender,
Soothe with their softened tones the slumberous brain.
Youth longs and manhood strives, but age remembers,
Sits by the raked-up ashes of the past,
Spreads its thin hands above the whitening embers
That warm its creeping life-blood till the last.
Dear to its heart is every loving token
That comes unbidden ere its pulse grows cold,
Ere the last lingering ties of life are broken,
Its labors ended and its story told.
Ah, while around us rosy youth rejoices,
For us the sorrow-laden breezes sigh,
And through the chorus of its jocund voices
Throbs the sharp note of misery's hopeless cry.
As on the gauzy wings of fancy flying
From some far orb I track our watery sphere,
Home of the struggling, suffering, doubting, dying,
The silvered globule seems a glistening tear.
But Nature lends her mirror of illusion
To win from saddening scenes our age-dimmed eyes,
And misty day-dreams blend in sweet | 2,519.484715 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.4661730 | 482 | 19 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
_STUDIES IN HISTORY, ECONOMICS AND PUBLIC LAW._
EDITED BY
THE UNIVERSITY FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE
OF COLUMBIA COLLEGE.
Volume II.] [Number 1.
THE ECONOMICS
OF THE
RUSSIAN VILLAGE.
BY
ISAAC A. HOURWICH, PH.D.,
_Seligman Fellow in Political Science, Columbia College._
NEW YORK.
1892.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. THE RISE OF “PEASANTISM.” 7
CHAPTER I. GENERAL SKETCH OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF LANDHOLDING IN
RUSSIA 19
The Russian village community of historical times--Survivals of
communal co-operation--The communistic peasant household--Origins
of private property in land--Patrimony and fee--Slavery resulting
from the obligation of loan--Tenure in fee an institute of public
law--Limitation of the peasant’s right of migration--The fee
becomes hereditary--Statute of Peter the Great on inheritance in
the estates held by the nobility; abolition of the distinction
between patrimony and fee--The poll tax--Slaves and serfs put
upon a common footing--Emancipation of the nobility from their
duty toward the state--The serfs agitated by a feeling in favor
of emancipation--“Land and Liberty”--The question discussed in
the Legislative Assembly convoked by Catherine II.--Insurrection
under the head of Emilian Pougatchoff--Further developments of
the abolitionist problem--Peasant riots about the time of the
Crimean War--Economic necessity of abolition of serfdom--Evolution
of private property achieved by the emancipation--Expropriation
of the peasantry--Legends of land nationalization popular
with the peasantry--The Statute of 1861 in its characteristic | 2,519.486213 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.4662970 | 7,436 | 17 |
Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
THE WITCH OF PRAGUE
A FANTASTIC TALE
By F. Marion Crawford
CHAPTER I
A great multitude of people filled the church, crowded together in
the old black pews, standing closely thronged in the nave and aisles,
pressing shoulder to shoulder even in the two chapels on the right and
left of the apse, a vast gathering of pale men and women whose eyes
were sad and in whose faces was written the history of their nation. The
mighty shafts and pilasters of the Gothic edifice rose like the stems of
giant trees in a primeval forest from a dusky undergrowth, spreading out
and uniting their stony branches far above in the upper gloom. From the
clerestory windows of the nave an uncertain light descended halfway to
the depths and seemed to float upon the darkness below as oil upon the
water of a well. Over the western entrance the huge fantastic organ
bristled with blackened pipes and dusty gilded ornaments of colossal
size, like some enormous kingly crown long forgotten in the lumber
room of the universe, tarnished and overlaid with the dust of ages.
Eastwards, before the rail which separated the high altar from the
people, wax torches, so thick that a man might not span one of them with
both his hands, were set up at irregular intervals, some taller, some
shorter, burning with steady, golden flames, each one surrounded with
heavy funeral wreaths, and each having a tablet below it, whereon were
set forth in the Bohemian idiom, the names, titles, and qualities of
him or her in whose memory it was lighted. Innumerable lamps and tapers
before the side altars and under the strange canopied shrines at the
bases of the pillars, struggled ineffectually with the gloom, shedding
but a few sickly yellow rays upon the pallid faces of the persons
nearest to their light.
Suddenly the heavy vibration of a single pedal note burst from the
organ upon the breathing silence, long drawn out, rich, voluminous,
and imposing. Presently, upon the massive bass, great chords grew up,
succeeding each other in a simple modulation, rising then with the
blare of trumpets and the simultaneous crash of mixtures, fifteenths
and coupled pedals to a deafening peal, then subsiding quickly again
and terminating in one long sustained common chord. And now, as the
celebrant bowed at the lowest step before the high altar, the voices of
the innumerable congregation joined the harmony of the organ, ringing
up to the groined roof in an ancient Slavonic melody, melancholy
and beautiful, and rendered yet more unlike all other music by the
undefinable character of the Bohemian language, in which tones softer
than those of the softest southern tongue alternate so oddly with rough
gutturals and strident sibilants.
The Wanderer stood in the midst of the throng, erect, taller than the
men near him, holding his head high, so that a little of the light from
the memorial torches reached his thoughtful, manly face, making the
noble and passionate features to stand out clearly, while losing its
power of illumination in the dark beard and among the shadows of his
hair. His was a face such as Rembrandt would have painted, seen under
the light that Rembrandt loved best; for the expression seemed to
overcome the surrounding gloom by its own luminous quality, while the
deep gray eyes were made almost black by the wide expansion of the
pupils; the dusky brows clearly defined the boundary in the face between
passion and thought, and the pale forehead, by its slight recession into
the shade from its middle prominence, proclaimed the man of heart, the
man of faith, the man of devotion, as well as the intuitive nature of
the delicately sensitive mind and the quick, elastic qualities of the
man's finely organized, but nervous bodily constitution. The long white
fingers of one hand stirred restlessly, twitching at the fur of his
broad lapel which was turned back across his chest, and from time to
time he drew a deep breath and sighed, not painfully, but wearily and
hopelessly, as a man sighs who knows that his happiness is long past
and that his liberation from the burden of life is yet far off in the
future.
The celebrant reached the reading of the Gospel and the men and women
in the pews rose to their feet. Still the singing of the long-drawn-out
stanzas of the hymn continued with unflagging devotion, and still the
deep accompaniment of the ancient organ sustained the mighty chorus of
voices. The Gospel over, the people sank into their seats again, not
standing, as is the custom in some countries, until the Creed had
been said. Here and there, indeed, a woman, perhaps a stranger in the
country, remained upon her feet, noticeable among the many figures
seated in the pews. The Wanderer, familiar with many lands and many
varying traditions of worship, unconsciously noted these exceptions,
looking with a vague curiosity from one to the other. Then, all at once,
his tall frame shivered from head to foot, and his fingers convulsively
grasped the yielding sable on which they lay.
She was there, the woman he had sought so long, whose face he had not
found in the cities and dwellings of the living, neither her grave in
the silent communities of the dead. There, before the uncouth monument
of dark red marble beneath which Tycho Brahe rests in peace, there she
stood; not as he had seen her last on that day when his senses had left
him in the delirium of his sickness, not in the freshness of her bloom
and of her dark loveliness, but changed as he had dreamed in evil dreams
that death would have power to change her. The warm olive of her cheek
was turned to the hue of wax, the soft shadows beneath her velvet eyes
were deepened and hardened, her expression, once yielding and changing
under the breath of thought and feeling as a field of flowers when
the west wind blows, was now set, as though for ever, in a death-like
fixity. The delicate features were drawn and pinched, the nostrils
contracted, the colourless lips straightened out of the lines of beauty
into the mould of a lifeless mask. It was the face of a dead woman, but
it was her face still, and the Wanderer knew it well; in the kingdom
of his soul the whole resistless commonwealth of the emotions revolted
together to dethrone death's regent--sorrow, while the thrice-tempered
springs of passion, bent but not broken, stirred suddenly in the palace
of his body and shook the strong foundations of his being.
During the seconds that followed, his eyes were riveted upon the beloved
head. Then, as the Creed ended, the vision sank down and was lost to his
sight. She was seated now, and the broad sea of humanity hid her from
him, though he raised himself the full height of his stature in the
effort to distinguish even the least part of her head-dress. To move
from his place was all but impossible, though the fierce longing to be
near her bade him trample even upon the shoulders of the throng to reach
her, as men have done more than once to save themselves from death by
fire in crowded places. Still the singing of the hymn continued, and
would continue, as he knew, until the moment of the Elevation. He
strained his hearing to catch the sounds that came from the quarter
where she sat. In a chorus of a thousand singers he fancied that he
could have distinguished the tender, heart-stirring vibration of her
tones. Never woman sang, never could woman sing again, as she had once
sung, though her voice had been as soft as it had been sweet, and tuned
to vibrate in the heart rather than in the ear. As the strains rose
and fell, the Wanderer bowed his head and closed his eyes, listening,
through the maze of sounds, for the silvery ring of her magic note.
Something he heard at last, something that sent a thrill from his ear to
his heart, unless indeed his heart itself were making music for his
ears to hear. The impression reached him fitfully, often interrupted and
lost, but as often renewing itself and reawakening in the listener the
certainty of recognition which he had felt at the sight of the singer's
face.
He who loves with his whole soul has a knowledge and a learning which
surpass the wisdom of those who spend their lives in the study of things
living or long dead, or never animate. They, indeed, can construct
the figure of a flower from the dried web of a single leaf, or by the
examination of a dusty seed, and they can set up the scheme of life of a
shadowy mammoth out of a fragment of its skeleton, or tell the story
of hill and valley from the contemplation of a handful of earth or of
a broken pebble. Often they are right, sometimes they are driven deeper
and deeper into error by the complicated imperfections of their own
science. But he who loves greatly possesses in his intuition the
capacities of all instruments of observation which man has invented and
applied to his use. The lenses of his eyes can magnify the infinitesimal
detail to the dimensions of common things, and bring objects to his
vision from immeasurable distances; the labyrinth of his ear can choose
and distinguish amidst the harmonies and the discords of the world,
muffling in its tortuous passages the reverberation of ordinary sounds
while multiplying a hundredfold the faint tones of the one beloved
voice. His whole body and his whole intelligence form together an
instrument of exquisite sensibility whereby the perceptions of his
inmost soul are hourly tortured, delighted, caught up into ecstasy, torn
and crushed by jealousy and fear, or plunged into the frigid waters of
despair.
The melancholy hymn resounded through the vast church, but though the
Wanderer stretched the faculty of hearing to the utmost, he could no
longer find the note he sought amongst the vibrations of the dank and
heavy air. Then an irresistible longing came upon him to turn and force
his way through the dense throng of men and women, to reach the aisle
and press past the huge pillar till he could slip between the tombstone
of the astronomer and the row of back wooden seats. Once there, he
should see her face to face.
He turned, indeed, as he stood, and he tried to move a few steps. On all
sides curious looks were directed upon him, but no one offered to make
way, and still the monotonous singing continued until he felt himself
deafened, as he faced the great congregation.
"I am ill," he said in a low voice to those nearest to him. "Pray let me
pass!"
His face was white, indeed, and those who heard his words believed him.
A mild old man raised his sad blue eyes, gazed at him, and while trying
to draw back, gently shook his head. A pale woman, whose sickly features
were half veiled in the folds of a torn black shawl, moved as far as
she could, shrinking as the very poor and miserable shrink when they are
expected to make way before the rich and the strong. A lad of fifteen
stood upon tiptoe to make himself even slighter than he was and thus to
widen the way, and the Wanderer found himself, after repeated efforts,
as much as two steps distant from his former position. He was still
trying to divide the crowd when the music suddenly ceased, and the
tones of the organ died away far up under the western window. It was the
moment of the Elevation, and the first silvery tinkling of the bell,
the people swayed a little, all those who were able kneeling, and those
whose movements were impeded by the press of worshippers bending towards
the altar as a field of grain before the gale. The Wanderer turned again
and bowed himself with the rest, devoutly and humbly, with half-closed
eyes, as he strove to collect and control his thoughts in the presence
of the chief mystery of his Faith. Three times the tiny bell was rung, a
pause followed, and thrice again the clear jingle of the metal broke the
solemn stillness. Then once more the people stirred, and the soft sound
of their simultaneous motion was like a mighty sigh breathed up from the
secret vaults and the deep foundations of the ancient church; again the
pedal note of the organ boomed through the nave and aisles, and again
the thousands of human voices took up the strain of song.
The Wanderer glanced about him, measuring the distance he must traverse
to reach the monument of the Danish astronomer and confronting it with
the short time which now remained before the end of the Mass. He saw
that in such a throng he would have no chance of gaining the position he
wished to occupy in less than half an hour, and he had not but a
scant ten minutes at his disposal. He gave up the attempt therefore,
determining that when the celebration should be over he would move
forward with the crowd, trusting to his superior stature and energy
to keep him within sight of the woman he sought, until both he and she
could meet, either just within or just without the narrow entrance of
the church.
Very soon the moment of action came. The singing died away, the
benediction was given, the second Gospel was read, the priest and the
people repeated the Bohemian prayers, and all was over. The countless
heads began to move onward, the shuffling of innumerable feet sent
heavy, tuneless echoes through vaulted space, broken every moment by the
sharp, painful cough of a suffering child whom no one could see in the
multitude, or by the dull thud of some heavy foot striking against the
wooden seats in the press. The Wanderer moved forward with the rest.
Reaching the entrance of the pew where she had sat he was kept back
during a few seconds by the half dozen men and women who were forcing
their way out of it before him. But at the farthest end, a figure
clothed in black was still kneeling. A moment more and he might enter
the pew and be at her side. One of the other women dropped something
before she was out of the narrow space, and stooped, fumbling and
searching in the darkness. At the minute, the slight, girlish figure
rose swiftly and passed like a shadow before the heavy marble monument.
The Wanderer saw that the pew was open at the other end, and without
heeding the woman who stood in his way, he sprang upon the low seat,
passed her, stepped to the floor upon the other side and was out in
the aisle in a moment. Many persons had already left the church and the
space was comparatively free.
She was before him, gliding quickly toward the door. Ere he could reach
her, he saw her touch the thick ice which filled the marble basin, cross
herself hurriedly and pass out. But he had seen her face again, and he
knew that he was not mistaken. The thin, waxen features were as those of
the dead, but they were hers, nevertheless. In an instant he could be by
her side. But again his progress was momentarily impeded by a number of
persons who were entering the building hastily to attend the next Mass.
Scarcely ten seconds later he was out in the narrow and dismal passage
which winds between the north side of the Teyn Kirche and the buildings
behind the Kinsky Palace. The vast buttresses and towers cast deep
shadows below them, and the blackened houses opposite absorb what
remains of the uncertain winter's daylight. To the left of the church a
low arch spans the lane, affording a covered communication between the
north aisle and the sacristy. To the right the open space is somewhat
broader, and three dark archways give access to as many passages,
leading in radiating directions and under the old houses to the streets
beyond.
The Wanderer stood upon the steps, beneath the rich stone carvings which
set forth the Crucifixion over the door of the church, and his quick
eyes scanned everything within sight. To the left, no figure resembling
the one he sought was to be seen, but on the right, he fancied that
among a score of persons now rapidly dispersing he could distinguish
just within one of the archways a moving shadow, black against the
blackness. In an instant he had crossed the way and was hurrying through
the gloom. Already far before him, but visible and, as he believed,
unmistakable, the shade was speeding onward, light as mist, noiseless as
thought, but yet clearly to be seen and followed. He cried aloud, as he
ran,
"Beatrice! Beatrice!"
His strong voice echoed along the dank walls and out into the court
beyond. It was intensely cold, and the still air carried the sound
clearly to the distance. She must have heard him, she must have known
his voice, but as she crossed the open place, and the gray light fell
upon her, he could see that she did not raise her bent head nor slacken
her speed.
He ran on, sure of overtaking her in the passage she had now entered,
for she seemed to be only walking, while he was pursuing her at a
headlong pace. But in the narrow tunnel, when he reached it, she was
not, though at the farther end he imagined that the fold of a black
garment was just disappearing. He emerged into the street, in which he
could now see in both directions to a distance of fifty yards or more.
He was alone. The rusty iron shutters of the little shops were all
barred and fastened, and every door within the range of his vision was
closed. He stood still in surprise and listened. There was no sound to
be heard, not the grating of a lock, nor the tinkling of a bell, nor the
fall of a footstep.
He did not pause long, for he made up his mind as to what he should do
in the flash of a moment's intuition. It was physically impossible that
she should have disappeared into any one of the houses which had their
entrances within the dark tunnel he had just traversed. Apart from the
presumptive impossibility of her being lodged in such a quarter, there
was the self-evident fact that he must have heard the door opened and
closed. Secondly, she could not have turned to the right, for in that
direction the street was straight and without any lateral exit, so that
he must have seen her. Therefore she must have gone to the left, since
on that side there was a narrow alley leading out of the lane, at some
distance from the point where he was now standing--too far, indeed, for
her to have reached it unnoticed, unless, as was possible, he had been
greatly deceived in the distance which had lately separated her from
him.
Without further hesitation, he turned to the left. He found no one
in the way, for it was not yet noon, and at that hour the people were
either at their prayers or at their Sunday morning's potations, and the
place was as deserted as a disused cemetery. Still he hastened onward,
never pausing for breath, till he found himself all at once in the
great Ring. He knew the city well, but in his race he had bestowed no
attention upon the familiar windings and turnings, thinking only of
overtaking the fleeting vision, no matter how, no matter where. Now, on
a sudden, the great, irregular square opened before him, flanked on the
one side by the fantastic spires of the Teyn Church, and the blackened
front of the huge Kinsky Palace, on the other by the half-modern Town
Hall with its ancient tower, its beautiful porch, and the graceful oriel
which forms the apse of the chapel in the second story.
One of the city watchmen, muffled in his military overcoat, and
conspicuous by the great bunch of dark feathers that drooped from his
black hat, was standing idly at the corner from which the Wanderer
emerged. The latter thought of inquiring whether the man had seen a lady
pass, but the fellow's vacant stare convinced him that no questioning
would elicit a satisfactory answer. Moreover, as he looked across the
square he caught sight of a retreating figure dressed in black, already
at such a distance as to make positive recognition impossible. In his
haste he found no time to convince himself that no living woman could
have thus outrun him, and he instantly resumed his pursuit, gaining
rapidly upon her he was following. But it is not an easy matter to
overtake even a woman, when she has an advantage of a couple of
hundred yards, and when the race is a short one. He passed the ancient
astronomical clock, just as the little bell was striking the third
quarter after eleven, but he did not raise his head to watch the
sad-faced apostles as they presented their stiff figures in succession
at the two square windows. When the blackened cock under the small
Gothic arch above flapped his wooden wings and uttered his melancholy
crow, the Wanderer was already at the corner of the little Ring, and
he could see the object of his pursuit disappearing before him into the
Karlsgasse. He noticed uneasily that the resemblance between the woman
he was following and the object of his loving search seemed now to
diminish, as in a bad dream, as the distance between himself and her
decreased. But he held resolutely on, nearing her at every step, round
a sharp corner to the right, then to the left, to the right again, and
once more in the opposite direction, always, as he knew, approaching
the old stone bridge. He was not a dozen paces behind her as she turned
quickly a third time to the right, round the wall of the ancient house
which faces the little square over against the enormous buildings
comprising the Clementine Jesuit monastery and the astronomical
observatory. As he sprang past the corner he saw the heavy door just
closing and heard the sharp resounding clang of its iron fastening. The
lady had disappeared, and he felt sure that she had gone through that
entrance.
He knew the house well, for it is distinguished from all others in
Prague, both by its shape and its oddly ornamented, unnaturally narrow
front. It is built in the figure of an irregular triangle, the blunt
apex of one angle facing the little square, the sides being erected on
the one hand along the Karlsgasse and on the other upon a narrow alley
which leads away towards the Jews' quarter. Overhanging passages are
built out over this dim lane, as though to facilitate the interior
communications of the dwelling, and in the shadow beneath them there is
a small door studded with iron nails which is invariably shut. The main
entrance takes in all the scant breadth of the truncated angle which
looks towards the monastery. Immediately over it is a great window,
above that another, and, highest of all, under the pointed gable, a
round and unglazed aperture, within which there is inky darkness. The
windows of the first and second stories are flanked by huge figures of
saints, standing forth in strangely contorted attitudes, black with the
dust of ages, black as all old Prague is black, with the smoke of the
brown Bohemian coal, with the dark and unctuous mists of many autumns,
with the cruel, petrifying frosts of ten score winters.
He who knew the cities of men as few have known them, knew also
this house. Many a time had he paused before it by day and by night,
wondering who lived within its massive, irregular walls, behind those
uncouth, barbarously sculptured saints who kept their interminable watch
high up by the lozenged windows. He would know now. Since she whom
he sought had entered, he would enter too; and in some corner of that
dwelling which had long possessed a mysterious attraction for his eyes,
he would find at last that being who held power over his heart, that
Beatrice whom he had learned to think of as dead, while still believing
that somewhere she must be yet alive, that dear lady whom, dead or
living, he loved beyond all others, with a great love, passing words.
CHAPTER II
The Wanderer stood still before the door. In the freezing air, his
quick-drawn breath made fantastic wreaths of mist, white and full of
odd shapes as he watched the tiny clouds curling quickly into each other
before the blackened oak. Then he laid his hand boldly upon the chain of
the bell. He expected to hear the harsh jingling of cracked metal, but
he was surprised by the silvery clearness and musical quality of the
ringing tones which reached his ear. He was pleased, and unconsciously
took the pleasant infusion for a favourable omen. The heavy door swung
back almost immediately, and he was confronted by a tall porter in dark
green cloth and gold lacings, whose imposing appearance was made still
more striking by the magnificent fair beard which flowed down almost to
his waist. The man lifted his heavy cocked hat and held it low at
his side as he drew back to let the visitor enter. The latter had not
expected to be admitted thus without question, and paused under the
bright light which illuminated the arched entrance, intending to make
some inquiry of the porter. But the latter seemed to expect nothing of
the sort. He carefully closed the door, and then, bearing his hat in one
hand and his gold-headed staff in the other, he proceeded gravely to the
other end of the vaulted porch, opened a great glazed door and held it
back for the visitor to pass.
The Wanderer recognized that the farther he was allowed to penetrate
unhindered into the interior of the house, the nearer he should be to
the object of his search. He did not know where he was, nor what he
might find. For all that he knew, he might be in a club, in a great
banking-house, or in some semi-public institution of the nature of a
library, an academy or a conservatory of music. There are many such
establishments in Prague, though he was not acquainted with any in which
the internal arrangements so closely resembled those of a luxurious
private residence. But there was no time for hesitation, and he ascended
the broad staircase with a firm step, glancing at the rich tapestries
which covered the walls, at the polished surface of the marble steps
on either side of the heavy carpet, and at the elaborate and beautiful
iron-work of the hand-rail. As he mounted higher, he heard the quick
rapping of an electric signal above him, and he understood that the
porter had announced his coming. Reaching the landing, he was met by a
servant in black, as correct at all points as the porter himself, and
who bowed low as he held back the thick curtain which hung before the
entrance. Without a word the man followed the visitor into a high room
of irregular shape, which served as a vestibule, and stood waiting to
receive the guest's furs, should it please him to lay them aside. To
pause now, and to enter into an explanation with a servant, would have
been to reject an opportunity which might never return. In such an
establishment, he was sure of finding himself before long in the
presence of some more or less intelligent person of his own class, of
whom he could make such inquiries as might enlighten him, and to whom he
could present such excuses for his intrusion as might seem most fitting
in so difficult a case. He let his sables fall into the hands of the
servant and followed the latter along a short passage.
The man introduced him into a spacious hall and closed the door, leaving
him to his own reflections. The place was very wide and high and without
windows, but the broad daylight descended abundantly from above through
the glazed roof and illuminated every corner. He would have taken the
room for a conservatory, for it contained a forest of tropical trees and
plants, and whole gardens of rare southern flowers. Tall letonias,
date palms, mimosas and rubber trees of many varieties stretched their
fantastic spikes and heavy leaves half-way up to the crystal ceiling;
giant ferns swept the polished marble floor with their soft embroideries
and dark green laces; Indian creepers, full of bright blossoms, made
screens and curtains of their intertwining foliage; orchids of every
hue and of every exotic species bloomed in thick banks along the walls.
Flowers less rare, violets and lilies of the valley, closely set and
luxuriant, grew in beds edged with moss around the roots of the larger
plants and in many open spaces. The air was very soft and warm, moist
and full of heavy odours as the still atmosphere of an island in
southern seas, and the silence was broken only by the light plash of
softly-falling water.
Having advanced a few steps from the door, the Wanderer stood still and
waited, supposing that the owner of the dwelling would be made aware
of a visitor's presence and would soon appear. But no one came. Then
a gentle voice spoke from amidst the verdure, apparently from no great
distance.
"I am here," it said.
He moved forward amidst the ferns and the tall plants, until he found
himself on the farther side of a thick network of creepers. Then he
paused, for he was in the presence of a woman, of her who dwelt among
the flowers. She was sitting before him, motionless and upright in a
high, carved chair, and so placed that the pointed leaves of the palm
which rose above her cast sharp, star-shaped shadows over the broad
folds of her white dress. One hand, as white, as cold, as heavily
perfect as the sculpture of a Praxiteles or a Phidias, rested with
drooping fingers on the arm of the chair. The other pressed the pages
of a great book which lay open on the lady's knee. Her face was turned
toward the visitor, and her eyes examined his face; calmly and with no
surprise in them, but not without a look of interest. Their expression
was at once so unusual, so disquieting, and yet so inexplicably
attractive as to fascinate the Wanderer's gaze. He did not remember that
he had ever seen a pair of eyes of distinctly different colours, the one
of a clear, cold gray, the other of a deep, warm brown, so dark as to
seem almost black, and he would not have believed that nature could so
far transgress the canons of her own art and yet preserve the appearance
of beauty. For the lady was beautiful, from the diadem of her red gold
hair to the proud curve of her fresh young lips; from her broad, pale
forehead, prominent and boldly modelled at the angles of the brows, to
the strong mouldings of the well-balanced chin, which gave evidence of
strength and resolution wherewith to carry out the promise of the high
aquiline features and of the wide and sensitive nostrils.
"Madame," said the Wanderer, bending his head courteously and advancing
another step, "I can neither frame excuses for having entered your house
unbidden, nor hope to obtain indulgence for my intrusion, unless you are
willing in the first place to hear my short story. May I expect so much
kindness?"
He paused, and the lady looked at him fixedly and curiously. Without
taking her eyes from his face, and without speaking, she closed the book
she had held on her knee, and laid it beside her upon a low table. The
Wanderer did not avoid her gaze, for he had nothing to conceal, nor any
sense of timidity. He was an intruder upon the privacy of one whom he
did not know, but he was ready to explain his presence and to make such
amends as courtesy required, if he had given offence.
The heavy odours of the flowers filled his nostrils with an unknown,
luxurious delight, as he stood there, gazing into the lady's eyes; he
fancied that a gentle breath of perfumed air was blowing softly over his
hair and face out of the motionless palms, and the faint plashing of the
hidden fountain was like an exquisite melody in his ears. It was good to
be in such a place, to look on such a woman, to breathe such odours, and
to hear such tuneful music. A dreamlike, half-mysterious satisfaction of
the senses dulled the keen self-knowledge of body and soul for one
short moment. In the stormy play of his troubled life there was a brief
interlude of peace. He tasted the fruit of the lotus, his lips were
moistened in the sweet waters of forgetfulness.
The lady spoke at last, and the spell left him, not broken, as by a
sudden shock, but losing its strong power by quick degrees until it was
wholly gone.
"I will answer your question by another," said the lady. "Let your reply
be the plain truth. It will be better so."
"Ask what you will. I have nothing to conceal."
"Do you know who and what I am? Do you come here out of curiosity, in
the vain hope of knowing me, having heard of me from others?"
"Assuredly not." A faint flush rose in the man's pale and noble face.
"You have my word," he said, in the tone of one who is sure of being
believed, "that I have never, to my knowledge, heard of your existence,
that I am ignorant even of your name--forgive my | 2,519.486337 |
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LE MORTE DARTHUR
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LE MORTE DARTHUR
_Sir Thomas Malory’s Book
of King Arthur and of his Noble Knights
of the Round Table_
=The Text of Caxton=
_EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION_
BY
SIR EDWARD STRACHEY, BART.
Si quando indigenas revocabo in carmina reges,
Arturumque etiam sub terris bella moventem;
Aut dicam invictae sociali foedere mensae
Magnanimos Heroas.—MILTON.
=London=
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1893
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oxford
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
FRANCES STRACHEY
HER FATHER INSCRIBES THIS BOOK
THE INTRODUCTION TO WHICH
COULD NOT HAVE BEEN NOW RE-WRITTEN
WITHOUT HER HELP
IN MAKING THE EAR FAMILIAR WITH WORDS
WHICH THE EYE CAN NO LONGER READ.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE PRESENT EDITION.
The Introduction to the first edition of this volume included an
account of the Text in the various editions of Sir Thomas Malory’s
‘Morte Darthur,’ and an attempt to estimate the character and worth of
his book. The publication of Dr. Sommer’s edition of the Text and
Prolegomena, demands that I should complete my bibliography by an
account of this important work; and it enables me, by help of this
learned writer’s new information, to confirm, while enlarging, my
former criticism. I have, therefore, revised and re-written the two
first sections of the Introduction. The Essay on Chivalry remains, but
for a few verbal changes, as it was first printed.
SUTTON COURT,
_November, 1891_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
§1. THE AUTHORSHIP AND MATTER OF THE BOOK.
PAGE
Origin of the Book.—Its claim to be called a poem.—Epic in
plan.—Malory’s use of the old romances.—His History and
Geography.—Camelot.—Glastonbury.—Almesbury.—Joyous Gard.—The
Sangreal.—Influence on our language, letters, life.—Morality of
the Book.—Spenser, Milton, Tennyson.—Malory, Caxton
ix
§2. THE TEXT AND ITS SEVERAL EDITIONS.
The edition of Caxton, 1485.—Those of Wynkyn de Worde, 1498
and 1529.—Of Copland, 1557.—Of East, without date.—Of
Stansby, 1634.—Editions of 1816.—Southey’s edition of
1817.—Discovery of interpolations in that edition.—Mr.
Wright’s editions, 1858 and 1866.—Character and object of
the present edition.—Abridgements.—Extracts.—Dr. Sommer’s
edition, 1889-91
xxxi
§3. AN ESSAY ON CHIVALRY.
Origin of Chivalry.—Contest of Civilization with Barbarism.—The
Chevalier and the Knight.—His education.—Amadis and
Oriana.—The Black Prince.—Birth not essential to
Knighthood.—The Lady.—Queen Philippa.—Decay of
Chivalry.—Knights of Malta.—Modern Manners
xxxviii
THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR
PREFACE OF WILLIAM CAXTON 1
THE TABLE OR RUBRYSSHE OF THE CONTENTS OF CHAPTERS 3
THE BOOK OF KING ARTHUR, BOOKS I TO XXI 25
NOTES 488
GLOSSARY AND INDEX 493
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTION.
§1. THE AUTHORSHIP AND MATTER OF THE BOOK.
ORIGIN OF THE BOOK.
We owe this our English Epic of Le Morte Darthur to Sir Thomas Malory,
and to William Caxton the first English printer. Caxton’s Preface shows
(what indeed would have been certain from his appeal to the ‘Knights of
England’ at the end of ‘The Order of Chivalry’) that however strongly
he, ‘William Caxton, simple person,’ may have been urged to undertake
the work by ‘divers gentlemen of this realm of England,’ he was not
less moved by his own love and reverence for ‘the noble acts of
chivalry,’ and his deep sense of his duty and responsibility in
printing what he believed would be for the instruction and profit of
his readers, ‘of whatever estate or degree.’ But to Sir Thomas Malory
he gives all the honour of having provided him with the copy which he
printed. And ever since, for more than four hundred years, successive
generations have approved the fitness of Caxton’s choice. For it is
Malory’s book, and not the older forms of King Arthur’s story which we
still read for enjoyment, and for the illustration of which scholars
edit those earlier books. Only a true poem, the offspring of genius,
could have so held, and be still holding its ground, age after age. It
may be said that it is chiefly with boys, and with men who have formed
the taste by their boyish reading, that the book is so popular. But is
not this so with the Iliad too? Men of mature intellect and taste read
and re-read the Iliad with ever new discoveries, appreciation, and
enjoyment; but it may be questioned whether there are many, or even
any, of them who did not begin those studies at school, and learn to
love Homer before they knew that he was worthy of their love. And they
who have given most of such reading, in youth and in manhood, to
Malory’s Morte Darthur will be the most able and ready to recognise its
claim to the character of an Epic poem.
MALORY A POET.
Malory wrote in prose, but he had ‘the vision and the faculty divine’
of the poet, though ‘wanting the accomplishment of verse’; and, great
as that want is, we may apply Milton’s test of ‘simple, sensuous, and
passionate,’ and we shall find no right to these names more real than
is Malory’s. Every incident, the description of every event, is
‘simple,’ that is to say, complete in itself, while making a part of
the whole story. The story is ‘sensuous,’ like that of Homer, and as
every true poem must be, it is a living succession of concrete images
and pictures, not of abstractions or generalized arguments and
reasonings. These are the characteristics of the book, from its opening
story of Igraine, which ‘befell in the days of Uther Pendragon,’ down
to the death of the last four remaining knights who ‘went into the Holy
Land, there as Jesus Christ was quick and dead,’ and there ‘did many
battles upon the miscreants or Turks, and there they died on a Good
Friday for God’s sake.’ And for ‘passion,’ for that emotion which the
poet first feels in a special manner, and then awakens in his hearers,
though they could not have originated it in themselves, with the
adventures of the Round Table and the San Greal, or the deaths of
Arthur, of Guenever, and of Launcelot, we may compare the wrath of
Achilles, its cause and its consequences, or the leave-taking of Hector
and Andromache. It would, indeed, be hard to find anywhere a pathos
greater than that of Malory’s description of the death or ‘passing’ of
Arthur, the penitence of Guenever, and her parting with Launcelot, or
the lament of Launcelot over the King and Queen, and of Sir Ector over
Launcelot himself. The first is too long to quote, but I may say that
Malory has re-cast the old story, and all the poetry is his own. I give
the two last:—
‘Truly, said Sir Launcelot, I trust I do not displease God, for He
knoweth mine intent, for my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any
rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never have end. For when I
remember of her beauty, and of her noblesse, that was both with her
king and with her; so when I saw his corpse and her corpse so lie
together, truly mine heart would not serve to sustain my careful
body. Also when I remember me, how by my default, mine orgule, and
my pride, that they were both laid full low, that were peerless
that ever was living of christian people, wit you well, said Sir
Launcelot, this remembered, of their kindness and mine unkindness,
sank so to my heart, that I might not sustain myself.’
And again:—
‘Ah, Launcelot, he said, thou were head of all christian knights;
and now I dare say, said Sir Ector, thou Sir Launcelot, there thou
liest, that thou were never matched of earthly knight’s hand; and
thou were the courtiest knight that ever bare shield; and thou were
the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou
were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and
thou were the kindest man that ever strake with sword; and thou
were the goodliest person ever came among press of knights; and
thou was the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall
among ladies; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe
that ever put spear in the rest[1].’
The former passage is all Malory’s own: the beauty of the latter is
enhanced, if we set by its side the old version which he follows:—
‘Alas, sir [said] Bors, that I was born,
That ever I should see this indeed,
The beste knight his life hath lorn,
That ever in stoure [fight] bestrode a steed,
Jesu, that crowned was with thorn,
In heaven his soul foster and feed[2].’
Humour is akin to passion; and it may not be out of place to notice
here Malory’s vein of humour, as shown, for instance, in the way in
which he tells the adventures of La Cote Male Taile, and of Beaumains;
the pranks of the braver knights with Dinadan and Dagonet; the story of
Arthur’s wedding feast, when a lady who ‘cried and made great dole,’
was forcibly carried out of the hall by a strange knight, and Arthur
‘was glad, for she made such a noise,’ and was thereupon rebuked by
Merlin for thinking so lightly of his royal and knightly duties; or
that of the usurper Mordred and the Bishop of Canterbury, when after
each had defied the other, the bishop ‘did the curse in the most
orgulous wise that might be done,’ and then retired to live ‘in poverty
and holy prayers, for well he understood that mischievous war was at
hand.’
THE BOOK EPIC IN PLAN.
In the Drama the action is present, actually unwinding itself and going
on before our eyes. The Epic is the story of the past, a cycle of
events completed, while through the one and the other may be traced a
thread of destiny and providence, leading either to a happy triumph
over circumstances, or to a tragic doom, which, too, is in the end, a
triumph also. Thomas Hughes, the early Elizabethan dramatist, in his
‘Misfortunes of Arthur,’ concentrated and deepened the horror of such a
tragedy by transferring the guilt of Launcelot to Mordred the son of
Arthur and his unknown sister. He would better have recognised and
followed the finer art of Malory. For though the motive of Malory’s
epic is less gross and exaggerated than that of Hughes’s drama, the
thread of guilt and doom which runs from first to last through the
former is not less real than in the latter. The crime of Uther
Pendragon, with which the story opens, leads to the concealment of
Arthur’s parentage from himself, and this to his illicit love for her
whom he does not know to be his sister, and so to the birth of Mordred.
Then comes the prophetic doom:—‘Ye have done | 2,519.488107 |
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IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES
A Story for the Young
by
Everett Evelyn-Green.
1901
CONTENTS
Prologue.
Chapter 1: A Brush with the Rob | 2,519.584882 |
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SPEECHES, ADDRESSES,
AND
OCCASIONAL SERMONS,
BY
THEODORE PARKER,
MINISTER OF THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH IN BOSTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
HORACE B. FULLER,
(SUCCESSOR TO WALKER, FULLER, AND COMPANY,)
245, WASHINGTON STREET.
1867.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
THEODORE PARKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
I.
A SERMON OF THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF BOSTON.--Preached
at the Melodeon, on Sunday, February 18, 1849
PAGE 1
II.
SOME THOUGHTS ON THE MOST CHRISTIAN USE OF THE
SUNDAY.--A Sermon preached at the Melodeon, on Sunday,
January 30, 1848 56
III.
A SERMON OF IMMORTAL LIFE.--Preached at the Melodeon
on Sunday, September 20, 1846 105
IV.
THE PUBLIC EDUCATION OF THE PEOPLE.--An Address
delivered before the Onondaga Teachers' Institute at Syracuse,
New York, October 4, 1849 139
V.
THE POLITICAL DESTINATION OF AMERICA, AND THE
SIGNS OF THE TIMES.--An Address delivered before
several literary Societies in 1848 198
VI.
A DISCOURSE OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF JOHN
QUINCY ADAMS.--Delivered at the Melodeon, on Sunday,
March 5, 1848 252
VII.
A SPEECH AT A MEETING OF THE AMERICAN ANTI-SLAVERY
SOCIETY, TO CELEBRATE THE ABOLITION OF
SLAVERY BY THE FRENCH REPUBLIC, April 6, 1848 331
VIII.
A SPEECH AT FANEUIL HALL, BEFORE THE NEW ENGLAND
ANTI-SLAVERY CONVENTION, May 31, 1848 344
IX.
SOME THOUGHTS ON THE FREE SOIL PARTY, AND THE
ELECTION OF GENERAL TAYLOR, December, 1848 360
A SERMON OF THE SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF BOSTON.--PREACHED AT THE
MELODEON, ON SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1849.
MATTHEW VIII. 20.
By their fruits ye shall know them.
Last Sunday I said something of the moral condition of Boston; to-day I
ask your attention to a Sermon of the Spiritual Condition of Boston. I
use the word spiritual in its narrower sense, and speak of the condition
of this town in respect to piety. A little while since, in a sermon of
piety, I tried to show that love of God lay at the foundation of all
manly excellence, and was the condition of all noble, manly development;
that love of truth, love of justice, love of love, were respectively the
condition of intellectual, moral, and affectional development, and that
they were also respectively the intellectual, moral, and affectional
forms of piety; that the love of God as the Infinite Father, the
totality of truth, justice, and love was the general condition of the
total development of man's spiritual powers. But I showed, that
sometimes this piety, intellectual, moral, affectional or total, did not
arrive at self-consciousness; the man only unconsciously loving the
Infinite in one or all these modes, and in such cases the man was a
loser by frustrating his piety, and allowing it to stop in the truncated
form of unconsciousness.
Now what is in you will appear out of you; if piety be there in any of
these forms, in either mode, it will come out; if not there, its fruits
cannot appear. You may reason forward or backward: if you know piety
exists, you may foretell its appearance; if you find fruits thereof, you
may reason back and be sure of its existence. Piety is love of God as
God, and as we only love what we are like, and in that degree, so it is
also a likeness to God. Now it is a general doctrine in Christendom that
divinity must manifest itself; and, in assuming the highest form of
manifestation known to us, divinity becomes humanity. However, that
doctrine is commonly taught in the specific and not generic form, and is
enforced by an historical and concrete example, but not by way of a
universal thesis. It appears thus: The Christ was God; as such He must
manifest himself; the form of manifestation was that of a complete and
perfect man. I reject the concrete example, but accept the universal
doctrine on which the special dogma of the Trinity is erected. From that
I deduce this as a general rule: If you follow the law of your nature,
and are simple and true to that, as much of godhead as there is in you,
so much of manhood will come out of you, and, as much of manhood comes
out of you, so much of godhead was there within you; as much subjective
divinity, so much objective humanity.
Such being the case, the demands you can make on a man for manliness
must depend for their answer on the amount of piety on deposit in his
character; so it becomes important to know the condition of this town in
respect of piety, for if this be not right in the above sense, nothing
else is right; or, to speak more clerically, "Unless the Lord keep the
city, the watchman waketh but in vain," and unless piety be developed or
a-developing in men, it is vain for the minister to sit up late of a
Saturday night to concoct his sermon, and to rise up early of a Sunday
morning to preach the same; he fights but as one that beateth the air,
and spends his strength for that which is nought. They are in the right,
therefore, who first of all things demand piety: so let us see what
signs or proof we have, and of what amount of piety in Boston.
To determine this, we must have some test by which to judge of the
quality, distinguishing piety from impiety, and some standard whereby to
measure the quantity thereof; for though you may know what piety is in
you, I what is in me, and God what is in both and in all the rest of us,
it is plain that we can only judge of the existence of piety in other
men, and measure its quantity by an outward manifestation thereof, in
some form which shall serve at once as a trial test and a standard
measure.
Now, then, as I mentioned in that former sermon, it is on various sides
alleged that there are two outward manifestations of piety, a good deal
unlike: each is claimed by some men as the exclusive trial test and
standard measure. Let me say a word of each.
I. Some contend for what I call the conventional standard; that is, the
manifestation of piety by means of certain prescribed forms. Of these
forms there are three modes or degrees: namely, first, the form of
bodily attendance on public worship; second, the belief in certain
doctrines, not barely because they are proven true, or known without
proof, but because they are taught with authority; and third, a passive
acquiescence in certain forms and ceremonies, or an active performance
thereof.
II. The other I call the natural standard; that is, the manifestation of
piety in the natural form of morality in its various degrees and modes
of action.
* * * * *
It is plain, that the amount of piety in a man or a town, will appear
very different when tested by one or the other of these standards. It
may be that very little water runs through the wooden trough which feeds
the saw-mill at Niagara, and yet a good deal, blue and bounding, may
leap over the rock, adown its natural channel. In a matter of this
importance, when taking account of a stock so precious as piety, it is
but fair to try it by both standards.
* * * * *
Let us begin with the conventional standard, and examine piety by its
manifestation in the ecclesiastical forms. Here is a difficulty at the
outset, in determining upon the measure, for there is no one and general
ecclesiastical standard, common to all parties of Christians, from the
Catholic to the Quaker; each measures by its own standard, but denies
the correctness of all the others. It is as if a foot were declared the
unit of long measure, and then the actual foot of the chief justice of a
State, were taken as the rule by which to correct all measurements; then
the foot would vary as you went from North Carolina to South, and, in
any one State, would vary with the health of the judge. However, to do
what can be done with a measure thus uncertain, it is plain, that,
estimated by any ecclesiastical standard, the amount of piety is small.
There is, as men often say, "A general decline of piety;" that is a
common complaint, recorded and registered. But what makes the matter
worse to the ecclesiastical philosopher, and more appalling to the
complainers, is this: it is a decline of long standing. The disease
which is thus lamented is said to be acute, but is proved to be chronic
also; only it would seem, from the lamentations of some modern
Jeremiahs, that the decline went on with accelerated velocity, and, the
more chronic the disease was, the acuter it also became.
Tried by this standard, things seem discouraging. To get a clearer view,
let us look a little beyond our own borders, at first, and then come
nearer home. The Catholic church complains of a general defection. The
majority of the Christian church confesses that the Protestant
Reformation was not a revival of religion, not a "Great awakening," but
a great falling to sleep; the faith of Luther and Calvin was a great
decline of religion--a decline of piety in the ecclesiastical form; that
modern philosophy, the physics of Galileo and Newton, the metaphysics of
Descartes and of Kant, mark another decline of religion--a decline of
piety in the philosophical form; that all the modern democracy of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, marks a yet further decline of
religion--a decline of piety in the political form; that all the modern
secular societies, for removing the evils of men and their sins, mark a
yet fourth decline of religion--a decline of piety in the philanthropic
form. Certainly, when measured by the mediaeval standard of Catholicism,
these mark four great declensions of piety, for, in all four, the old
principle of subordination to an external and personal authority is set
aside.
All over Europe this decline is still going on; ecclesiastical
establishments are breaking down; other establishments are a-building
up. Pius the Ninth seems likely to fulfil his own prophecy, and be the
last of the Popes; I mean the last with temporal power. There is a great
schism in the north of Europe; the Germans will be Catholics, but no
longer Roman. The old forms of piety, such as service in Latin, the
withholding of the Bible from the people, compulsory confession, the
ungrateful celibacy of a reluctant priesthood--all these are protested
against. It is of no avail that the holy coat of Jesus, at Treves, works
greater miracles than the apostolical napkins and aprons; of no avail
that the Virgin Mary appeared on the nineteenth of September, 1846, to
two shepherd-children, at La Salette, in France. What are such | 2,519.680028 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.6600480 | 620 | 10 |
Produced by Jason Isbell, Julia Miller and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: H. J. Clayton]
CLAYTON'S
Quaker Cook-Book,
BEING A
PRACTICAL TREATISE ON THE CULINARY ART
ADAPTED TO THE TASTES AND WANTS
OF ALL CLASSES.
With plain and easily understood directions for the preparation of
every variety of food in the most attractive forms. Comprising the
result of a life-long experience in catering to a host of highly
cultivated tastes.
--BY--
[Illustration: H. J. Clayton]
San Francisco:
WOMEN'S CO-OPERATIVE PRINTING OFFICE.
1883.
Copyrighted according to Act of Congress, A. D. 1883, by H. J. Clayton.
PREFACE.
One of the sacred writers of the olden time is reported to have said:
"Of the making of many books, there is no end." This remark will, to a
great extent, apply to the number of works published upon the all
important subject of Cookery. The oft-repeated saying, attributed to old
sailors, that the Lord sends victuals, and the opposite party, the
cooks, is familiar to all.
Notwithstanding the great number and variety of so-called cookbooks
extant, the author of this treatise on the culinary art, thoroughly
impressed with the belief that there is ample room for one more of a
thoroughly practical and every day life, common sense character--in
every way adapted to the wants of the community at large, and looking
especially to the preparation of healthful, palatable, appetizing and
nourishing food, both plain and elaborately compounded--and in the
preparation of which the very best, and, at the same time, the most
economical material is made use of, has ventured to present this new
candidate for the public approval. The preparation of this work embodies
the result of more than thirty years personal and practical experience.
The author taking nothing for granted, has thoroughly tested the value
and entire correctness of every direction he has given in these pages.
While carefully catering to the varied tastes of the mass, everything of
an unhealthful, deleterious, or even doubtful character, has been
carefully excluded; and all directions are given in the plainest style,
so as to be readily understood, and fully comprehended by all classes of
citizens.
The writer having been born and brought up on a farm, and being in his
younger days of a delicate constitution, instead of joining in the
rugged work of the field, remained at home to aid and assist his mother
in the culinary labors of the household. It was in this | 2,519.680088 |
2023-11-16 18:59:03.9729880 | 52 | 7 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE SORCERESS.
THE SORC | 2,519.993028 |
2023-11-16 18:59:05.0674560 | 484 | 15 |
Produced by Pat Castevans and David Widger
CONISTON
By Winston Churchill
BOOK III
CHAPTER I
One day, in the November following William Wetherell's death, Jethro Bass
astonished Coniston by moving to the little cottage in the village which
stood beside the disused tannery, and which had been his father's. It was
known as the tannery house. His reasons for this step, when at length
discovered, were generally commended: they were, in fact, a
disinclination to leave a girl of Cynthia's tender age alone on Thousand
Acre Hill while he journeyed on his affairs about the country. The Rev.
Mr. Satterlee, gaunt, red-faced, but the six feet of him a man and a
Christian, from his square-toed boots to the bleaching yellow hair around
his temples, offered to become her teacher. For by this time Cynthia had
exhausted the resources of the little school among the birches.
The four years of her life in the tannery house which are now briefly to
be chronicled were, for her, full of happiness and peace. Though the
young may sorrow, they do not often mourn. Cynthia missed her father; at
times, when the winds kept her wakeful at night, she wept for him. But
she loved Jethro Bass and served him with a devotion that filled his
heart with strange ecstasies--yes, and forebodings. In all his existence
he had never known a love like this. He may have imagined it once, back
in the bright days of his youth; but the dreams of its fulfilment had
fallen far short of the exquisite touch of the reality in which he now
spent his days at home. In summer, when she sat, in the face of all the
conventions of the village, reading under the butternut tree before the
house, she would feel his eyes upon her, and the mysterious yearning in
them would startle her. Often during her lessons with Mr. Satterlee in
the parlor of the parsonage she would hear a noise outside and perceive
Jethro leaning against the pillar. Both Cynthia and Mr. Satterlee knew
that | 2,521.087496 |
2023-11-16 18:59:05.0686750 | 6,817 | 63 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: _The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem_]
THE STORY OF
THE CRUSADES
BY
E. M. WILMOT-BUXTON
F.R.Hist.S.
AUTHOR OF
'BRITAIN LONG AGO' 'THE BOOK OF RUSTEM'
'TOLD BY THE NORTHMEN' ETC.
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY
_First published December 1910_
_by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO.
_39-4l Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2
Reprinted September 1913
Reprinted in the present series:
March 1912; May 1914; January 1919; March 1924;
January 1927; November 1927; July 1930_
_Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_
Contents
I. The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
II. Mohammed as Conqueror
III. The Spread of Islam
IV. The Rise of Chivalry
V. The Story of Peter the Hermit
VI. The Story of the Emperor Alexios and the First Crusade
VII. The Siege of Antioch
VIII. The Holy City is won
IX. Bernard of Clairvaux and the Second Crusade
X. The Loss of Jerusalem
XI. The Story of the Third Crusade
XII. The Adventures of Richard Lion-Heart
XIII. The Story of Dandolo, the Blind Doge
XIV. The Forsaking of the High Enterprise
XV. The Story of the Latin Empire of Constantinople
XVI. The Story of the Children's Crusade
XVII. The Emperor Frederick and the Sixth Crusade
XVIII. The Story of the Seventh Crusade
XIX. The Crusade of St Louis
XX. The Story of the Fall of Acre
XXI. The Story of the Fall of Constantinople
XXII. The Effect of the Crusades
List of Books Consulted
Index of Proper Names
Illustrations
The First Crusaders in Sight of Jerusalem... _Frontispiece_
The Vision of Mohammed
Pilgrims of the Eleventh Century journeying to the Holy City
The Preaching of Peter the Hermit
Duke Godfrey marching through Hungary
Robert of Normandy at Dorylæum
The Storming of Jerusalem
King Louis surrounded by the Turks
Richard and Philip at the Siege of Acre
Richard of England utterly defeats the Army of Saladin
The Fleet of the Fifth Crusade sets Sail from Venice
The Children crossing the Alps
John of Brienne attacking the River Tower
The Landing of St Louis in Egypt
The Last Fight of William Longsword
The Fall of Acre
Map of the Crusades
{9}
The Story of the Crusades
CHAPTER I
The Story of Mohammed the Prophet
_A poor shepherd people roaming unnoticed in the deserts of Arabia: a
Hero-Prophet sent down to them with a word they could believe: See! the
unnoticed becomes world-notable, the small has grown world-great_.
CARLYLE: _Hero as Prophet_.
The two hundred years which cover, roughly speaking, the actual period
of the Holy War, are crammed with an interest that never grows dim.
Gallant figures, noble knights, generous foes, valiant women, eager
children, follow one another through these centuries, and form a
pageant the colour and romance of which can never fade, for the
circumstances were in themselves unique. The two great religious
forces of the world--Christianity and Islam, the Cross and the
Crescent--were at grips with one another, and for the first time the
stately East, with its suggestion of mystery, was face to face with the
brilliant West, wherein the civilisation and organisation of Rome were
at last prevailing over the chaos of the Dark Ages.
A very special kind of interest, moreover, belongs to {10} the story of
the Crusades in that the motive of the wars was the desire to rescue
from the hands of unbelievers
_Those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which, fourteen hundred year before, were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross._
But we shall see, as we read the story, that this was only a part of
the real motive power which inspired and sustained the Holy War.
Even if the land of Palestine and the Holy City, Jerusalem, had never
fallen into the hands of the Saracens, some such war was inevitable.
The East was knocking at the doors of the West with no uncertain sound.
An extraordinary force had come into existence during the four
centuries that immediately preceded the First Crusade, which threatened
to dominate the whole of the Western world. It was a religious
force--always stronger and more effective than any other; and it was
only repelled with the greatest difficulty by Christendom, inspired,
not so much by the motive of religion, as by that curious mixture of
romance and adventurous design which we call chivalry.
Let us try, then, first of all, to get some idea of these Men of the
East, the Mohammedans or Saracens, who managed to keep Europe in a
state of constant turmoil for upwards of five centuries, and to do that
we must go back to the latter years of the sixth century after Christ.
About fifty miles from the shores of the Red Sea stands the city of
Mecca, one of the few important towns to be found on the fringe of the
great sandy desert of Arabia. During hundreds of years Mecca had been
the venerated bourne of pilgrims, for, embedded in the walls {11} of
the sacred building known as the Kaaba, was the "pure white stone,"
said to have fallen from heaven on the day that Adam and Eve took their
sorrowful way from the gates of Paradise.
The Arabs, or Saracens, of these early days were closely connected with
their neighbours, the Jews of Palestine, and claimed the same descent
from Abraham through Ishmael, the outcast son. They believed in the
existence of God, whom, to some extent, they worshipped, under the name
of Allah. But they were deeply interested in nature-worship: the sun,
moon, and stars were their deities. They bowed down before the "pure
white stone" in the Kaaba, now from its frequent handling rather black
than white. They peopled the whole realm of nature--oceans, rivers,
mountains, caves--with spirits good and evil, called "jinns" or genii,
made, not of clay, like mortal men, but of pure flame of fire.
Once upon a time these jinns were said to have lived in heaven, and to
have worshipped the Lord of Hosts; but having rebelled, under the
leadership of Iblis, against Allah, they were cast forth, and descended
to the earth, where they became sometimes a pest and annoyance to men,
and sometimes their servants.
Many legends concerning these spirits are to be found in the Koran, the
sacred book of the Mohammedans. One of these tells how the jinns were
wont to roam round about the gates of heaven, peeping and listening and
catching here and there a little of the converse of the angels. But
these were only isolated words, or disjointed phrases; and the
mischievous jinns, hoping that evil would come of these odds and ends
of conversation separated from their context, whispered them
industriously in the ears of the sons of men. These the {12} latter,
always eager to know more of the Unseen World, readily accepted, and
invariably put a wrong interpretation upon them. Hence arose
superstition, black magic, false prophecies, evil omens, and all such
things as had in them the germ of truth, but had been misunderstood and
misapplied.
From the midst of this imaginative and nature-worshipping people there
arose the prophet who was to found one of the most powerful religious
sects in the world.
In the year 570 A.D., in the city of Mecca, a boy child came to the
young mother Amina, to comfort her in her widowhood for the husband who
had died a few weeks before. Tradition has been active regarding the
cradle of this child, the young Mohammed. He is said to have exclaimed
at the moment of birth, "Allah is great! There is no God but Allah,
and I am His prophet."
That same day an earthquake was reported to have overturned the
gorgeous palace of Persia; a wild camel was seen in a vision to be
overthrown by a slender Arab horse; and Iblis, the evil spirit, leader
of the malignant jinns, was cast into the depths of ocean.
What is actually known about the matter is that the babe was presented
to his tribe on the seventh day after his birth, and was named
Mohammed, the "Praised One," in prophetic allusion to his future fame.
For the first five years of his life, according to Arabian custom, the
child was sent to a foster-mother in the mountains that he might grow
up sturdy and healthy. Soon after the end of that period, his mother
died, and he was left to the care of his uncle, Abu Talib, a wealthy
trader, who was so fond and proud of his nephew that he let the boy
accompany him on many of his long caravan {13} journeys to Yemen or
Syria. Thus the young Mohammed became intimately acquainted with all
sorts and conditions of men. He had no books, but he was an eager
listener to the poems recited by the bards in the market-place of each
great town. He quickly absorbed the legends and superstitions of his
country, formed his own opinion about the idol-worship practised by
many of the Arab tribes, and was present on a great historic occasion,
when an oath was taken by his tribe in alliance with others, to be the
champions of the weak and the avengers of the oppressed. Moreover,
since his own home was at Mecca, the "Fair of all Arabia," the centre
of trade for India, Syria, Egypt, and Italy, the boy had plenty of
chances of acquiring that knowledge of the world which subsequently
served him in good stead as a leader of men.
He grew up a silent, thoughtful youth, loved and respected by his
companions, who named him El Amin, the "Faithful One." He was notable
too for his good looks, for his bright dark eyes, clear brown skin, and
for a curious black vein that swelled between his eyebrows when he was
moved to anger. He had wide opportunities for thought and meditation,
since, as was the case with most Arabs, his occupation was for years
that of a shepherd on the hillsides of his native city. Eventually, at
his uncle's wish, he became camel-driver and conductor of the caravan
of a certain rich widow named Kadija. The long journey to Syria was
undertaken with success, and on his return the widow Kadija looked upon
the young man of twenty-five with eyes of favour. She imagined she saw
two angels shielding him with their wings from the scorching sunshine,
and, taking this for an indication that he was under the special
protection of {14} Allah, sent her sister to him, according to a common
custom of Arabia, to intimate her willingness to be his bride.
So the poor camel-driver became the husband of the wealthy Kadija, and
a very happy marriage it turned out to be. Six children came to
gladden the peaceful home, of whom the youngest, Fatima, was to play a
part in future history. To all appearances these were years of calm
existence, almost of stagnation, for Mohammed; but all the time the
inner life of the man was growing, expanding, throwing out fresh
tentacles of thought and inquiry, as he brooded upon the condition, and
especially upon the religious condition, of his fellow-countrymen. For
the Arabs of his day were a degenerate race, much given to drinking and
gaming and evil passions. They thought nothing of burying their
girl-children alive after birth, as unworthy to be brought up. They
had no heroic ideals, and their religion was becoming more and more
vague and shadowy where it was not given over entirely to the worship
of idols.
It was the Arab custom to keep the month Ramadan as a kind of Lent, in
fasting, in seclusion and meditation; and Mohammed, during that period,
was wont to retire to a cave in a mountain near Mecca, sometimes with
Kadija, sometimes quite alone. There he was overtaken on one occasion
by strange trances and visions in which uttered weird prophetic
sentences. He subsequently confided to Kadija, who was with him at
that time, that he had made the Great Discovery; that all these idols,
and sacred stones, and empty phrases of religion were nothing--nothing
at all. "That God is great, and that there is nothing else great. He
is Reality. Wooden idols are not real; but He is real--He made us and
{15} protects us; hence _We must submit to Allah, and strive after
righteousness_." This was to be the keynote of the faith to be known
as _Islam_.
After this revelation had come to him, Mohammed continued his life of
thought and meditation for some time, until he was nearly forty years
of age. He may have spoken of his conviction to his friends, but he
does not seem to have gained much sympathy, and rather he appears to
have earned the reputation of a dreamer. But about the year 610, as he
was wandering over the wild hillsides, the clear call came, as it is
bound to come to the humble, listening soul. He had lain down to sleep
when, in a vision, he heard three times his name repeated, and the
third time saw the angel Gabriel--in whose existence both Arabs and
Jews believed--who spoke to him and bade him
_Cry! in the name of Allah!
In the name of Allah,
Who hath created man._
At first Mohammed was much disturbed by this message, which he did not
clearly understand. He feared he was under the influence of magic, and
was filled with dread of falling into the hands of jinns. After a
visit to his home, he again sought the mountain, intending in his
harassed state of mind to put an end to his life. Each time he
attempted this, something restrained him, and as he sat at length in
despair upon the ground wrapped in his cloak, the angel once more
appeared, saying--
_O thou that art covered,
Arise and preach,
And magnify Allah!
Purify thy garments,_
{16}
_Shun all evils,
Grant not money on usury,
Wait patiently for Allah.
When the trump shall blow shall be distress for unbelievers._
From that time the vocation of Mohammed was clear. He was to go forth
and preach to a nation of idolaters that there was one God, and only
one, who might claim their worship. Never again did he hesitate, nor,
on the other hand, did he begin his work in haste. He still sojourned
among the mountains, where he was visited by his uncle, Abu Talib, and
by the little son of the latter, a boy called Ali.
"What calls you here, Mohammed?" asked the puzzled Abu, "and what
religion do you now profess?"
Said Mohammed: "I profess the religion of Allah, of His angels and His
prophets, the religion of Abraham. Allah has commissioned me to preach
this to men, and to urge them to embrace it. Nought would be more
worthy of thee, O my uncle, than to adopt the true faith, and to help
me to spread it."
But Abu Talib replied: "Son of my brother, I can never forsake the
faith of my fathers; but if thou art attacked, I will defend thee."
Then to his young son Ali he continued: "Hesitate not to follow any
advice he giveth thee, for Mohammed will never lead thee into any wrong
way."
The first attempts of Mohammed to begin his work of conversion met with
small success. We have good authority for the proverb that "a prophet
has no honour in his own country," and in Mohammed's case his task was
made supremely difficult by the fact that Mecca would no longer be the
goal of thousands of pilgrims every year if the Arabs were to give up
the worship {17} of the idols of the Kaaba, which numbered, exclusive
of the "pure white stone" itself, some three hundred and sixty-five
images. Now the whole prosperity of the city depended upon the caravan
trade brought by these pilgrims, as well as on the profits made out of
providing food and shelter for such vast numbers. Realising this,
Mohammed made no attempt at a public proclamation of the new faith for
the first three years, but contented himself with training two or three
converts to be his helpers in the future.
His faithful wife Kadija was with him heart and soul, and to her, first
of all, he disclosed the details which the angel had revealed to him in
a vision, as to the particular acts of ritual, forms of prayer, and
actual doctrine which _Islam_, as their faith was called, demanded of
its followers. The essential fact of this religion was a belief in
Allah as the one true God, in a future life of happiness or misery
after death, and in Mohammed himself as the Prophet of Allah, whom they
were bound to obey. It was essentially a practical faith, however,
and, in addition to prayer five times a day, the Islamite or _Moslem_
must give alms to the poor, be perfectly honest in weighing and
measuring, be absolutely truthful, and keep strictly to all agreements
made. Many minor details were afterwards added to these, and the whole
were gradually written down in the _Koran_, the sacred book of Islam.
This, of course, was not done till many years later, when Mohammed had
drawn up a moral and social code which he hoped would reform the whole
world. In the meantime he had a hard struggle before him.
One of his first followers was the child Ali, who, though but eleven
years old, became his constant companion in his lonely rambles, and
eagerly received his {18} instructions. A freed slave, and Abu Bekr, a
man of official rank, enthusiastic for the new faith, were his next
converts. In vain did Mohammed call together the members of his tribe,
saying unto them--
"Never has an Arab offered to his people such precious things as I now
present to you--happiness in this life, and joys for ever in the next.
Allah has bidden me call men to Him--Who will join me in the sacred
work and become my brother?"
Deep silence followed this appeal, broken only by the high, childish
voice of little Ali, who cried out--
"I, Prophet of Allah, I will join you!"
Quite seriously Mohammed received the offer, saying to the assembled
throng, "Behold my brother, my _Kalif_! Listen to him. Obey his
commands."
Soon after this appeal to his own tribe, a spirit of active opposition
arose among the men of Mecca, so much so that the chief men came to Abu
Talib and warned him that if he did not prevail upon Mohammed to hold
his peace and give up these new doctrines, they would take up arms
against him and his supporters. Much alarmed at this protest, Abu
Talib implored his nephew to keep his new-formed faith to himself. But
Mohammed answered, "O my uncle, even if the sun should descend on my
right hand and the moon on my left to fight against me, ordering me to
hold my peace or perish, I would not waver from my purpose."
Then, thinking that the friend he loved so well was about to desert
him, he turned away and wept. But the old Abu, touched to the heart,
cried out, "Come back, O my nephew! Preach whatever doctrine thou
wilt. I swear to thee that not for a moment will I desert thy side."
{19}
Opposition soon took the form of misrepresentation. The enemies of
Mohammed would lie in wait for the pilgrims going up to the Kaaba and
warn them to beware of a dangerous magician, whose charms sowed discord
in the household, dividing husband and wife, parent and child. But
this had the natural effect of making strangers much more curious about
Mohammed than they would otherwise have been. They made their own
inquiries, and though few converts were the result, the reputation of
the Prophet, in a more or less misleading form, was gradually spread by
them throughout the length and breadth of Arabia.
Meantime, Mohammed himself was the object of open insult in the streets
of Mecca, as well as of actual violence. One effect of this, however,
was to bring over to his side another uncle, Hamza by name who had been
one of his fiercest opponents. Hearing of some new outrage, he
hastened to the Kaaba and stood forth openly as the champion of the
Prophet.
"_I_ am of the new religion! Return _that_, if you dare!" he cried,
dealing a vigorous blow at one of the angry and astonished assembly.
They drew back in awe, and Hamza, the "Lion of Allah," became one of
the most ardent followers of Islam.
The tide of persecution, however, was not stayed, and at length
Mohammed, unable to protect his followers from the violence he was
willing to endure himself, persuaded them to take refuge in Abyssinia,
under the protection of the Christian king.
Furious at this, the men of Mecca placed Mohammed and his whole family
under a ban for three long years, during which the Faithful nearly
perished of hunger, for no man might buy of them or sell to them or
have {20} any kind of intercourse with them. This ban was removed at
the end of three years, but then a worse blow fell upon the Prophet.
Kadija, his faithful, loving wife, and Abu Talib, his friend and
protector, both died. The death of Abu led to a renewal of
persecution; very few fresh converts were made; failure met him on
every side. The only ray of light in this period of gloom was the
discovery that twelve pilgrims journeying from the distant city of
Medina had already become followers of Islam from what they had heard
of the new faith as taught by Mohammed. These men he gladly instructed
more fully, and sent them back as missionaries to their own city.
In the midst of his depression and disheartened forebodings for the
future, Mohammed was vouchsafed a marvellous vision or dream.
"Awake, thou that sleepest!" cried a voice like a silver trumpet, and
there appeared to him an angel of wonderful brightness, who bade him
mount the winged steed, _Borak_, the Lightning, and ascend to the
Temple at Jerusalem. Thence by a ladder of light, Mohammed rose to the
first heaven, made of pure silver, and lighted by stars suspended by
chains of gold. There he was embraced as the chief of prophets by
Adam, the first created man.
[Illustration: _The Vision of Mohammed_]
Thence he proceeded to the second heaven, which was of steel, and there
he was greeted by Noah. The third heaven, where Joseph met him, was
brilliant with precious stones. There too sat the Angel of Death,
writing down the names of all who were to be born, and blotting out the
names of those whose time had come to die. In the fourth heaven Aaron
showed to him the Angel of Vengeance, in whose hands was a fiery {23}
spear. In the fifth Moses spoke with him and wept to see one who was
going to lead to Paradise more of the Chosen People than he, their
prophet. In the sixth, of marvellous brightness, Abraham occupied
chief place; and Mohammed was even allowed to penetrate further to the
seventh heaven, where Allah, His glory veiled, gave him instructions as
to the doctrines of Islam, and bade him command his followers to utter
fifty prayers a day.
When the Prophet returned to Moses, the latter pointed out that the
number was too much to expect of Arabs, and bade him ask Allah to
reduce it. In answer to his supplications, Allah said at first that
forty prayers would be satisfactory, but Mohammed pleaded earnestly for
further relief, and at last the number was fixed at five, at which it
remains to this day. "Allahu akbar--Prayer is better than sleep!
There is no God but Allah! He giveth life and He dieth not! O thou
bountiful! Thy mercy ceaseth not! My sins are great, greater is Thy
mercy! I praise His perfection! Allahu akbar!"
Still, five times a day, the peculiar cry of the "mullah" is heard from
the tower of prayer, giving the signal for the follower of Islam to
turn towards Mecca, throw himself on his face, and utter the prescribed
words.
Much inspired by this wonderful dream, Mohammed was further encouraged
by the news that seventy men of Medina had joined the ranks of Islam
and were about to meet him on the hillside beyond Mecca, with intent to
induce him, if possible, to take up his future abode in their city,
leaving his birthplace to its fate. There, under the dark midnight
sky, these men bound {24} themselves to worship Allah only, to obey the
Prophet, and to fight in defence of him and his followers.
"And what will be our reward?" asked one.
"Paradise!" replied Mohammed briefly.
And then the oath was sworn; while the Prophet, on his side, promised
to live and die with his new converts when the time was ripe.
The meeting had, however, been watched by spies, who reported all to
the men of Mecca; and a new persecution arose, so bitter that most of
the "Faithful," as the followers of Mohammed came to be called, fled at
once to Medina. Mohammed himself remained, hoping that thus he might
turn the wrath of the idolaters upon himself and protect the flight of
his children.
Presently, however, came information that forty men, one from each
tribe, had sworn together to take his life; and forthwith Mohammed with
Abu Bekr, his devoted friend, departed one dark night and shook off the
dust of Mecca from his feet. Danger was so near that they dared not
take the path to Medina, but made their way to a mountain, on whose
rocky summit they found a small cave into which they crept at dawn of
day.
Knowing what the end of the pursuit would mean, Abu began to lose
nerve, and asked, "What if our pursuers should find our cave? We are
but two."
"We are three," was the calm reply: "Allah is with us!"
Legend says that the pursuers actually approached the mouth of the cave
and were about to investigate it. But in the early hours of the day
Allah had caused a tree to grow up before it, a spider to weave its web
across it, and a wild pigeon, most timid of birds, to lay {25} eggs in
a nest made in the branches; and the searchers, seeing these things,
declared it impossible that any one could be within. A faithful friend
provided them in secret with food and milk, and on the third night they
began the journey to Medina.
"He is come! He is come!" cried the Faithful in Medina, flocking to
meet the wayworn travellers as they entered the city.
And thus a new chapter was opened in the history of Islam.
{26}
CHAPTER II
Mohammed as Conqueror
_He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war._
SHAKESPEARE: _Richard II._
The year which marked Mohammed's triumphant entry into Medina is known
in the Mohammedan world as the _Hegira_, and counts as the Year One in
their calendar--the year from which all others are reckoned. For the
first time the faith of Islam was preached openly, and the claim of
Mohammed to be merely _one_ of the "prophets" gave place to a demand
for acknowledgment as the chief of all, a demand calculated to arouse
the antagonism of all other existing forms of religion. The other
important development of his teaching at this time was that all
faithful Moslems--the followers of the Prophet--must entirely abstain
from the use of intoxicating drink.
Moreover, though at first Mohammed (possibly to please the Jews in
Medina) had commanded that at the hour of prayer every Moslem should
turn his face towards Jerusalem, in course of time, when he began to
see the impossibility of uniting the Jewish believers with those of
Islam, he suddenly, after the usual prostration, turned towards the
Temple at Mecca. From that moment down to the present day the Moslem,
wherever {27} he is, follows this example at the fivefold hour of
prayer.
At Medina, Mohammed married the young girl Ayesha, and, as permitted by
the Moslem faith, soon brought other wives to the simply built house by
the mosque which he and his converts were building just outside the
city. Yet, though a man of fifty-three, the Prophet by no means
intended to pass the rest of his life in ease and domestic comfort. He
had been forced by violence to flee from Mecca. He now conceived it
his duty to make himself master of his native city by means of the
sword.
The sons of the desert are born fighters, and whether his motive was to
enforce the Moslem faith at the peril of the sword, or merely to assert
his personal rights, the fact remains that he had no difficulty
whatever in rallying to his standard a small though most enthusiastic
army.
An attempt to seize a rich caravan belonging to a merchant of Mecca was
the signal for battle. The forces of Mecca, hastily gathered, went out
against the Moslem host, and, after hard fighting, were dispersed.
There was joy in Medina when the | 2,521.088715 |
2023-11-16 18:59:05.1659520 | 7,436 | 12 |
E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, Beth Trapaga, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
JACK ARCHER
A Tale of the Crimea
By G. A. HENTY
Author of "The Boy Knight," "With Clive in India,"
"True to the Old Flag," Etc., Etc.
CONTENTS
Chapter I. The Midshipman
Chapter II. An Adventure at Gib
Chapter III. The Escape
Chapter IV. Gallipoli
Chapter V. A Brush with the Enemy
Chapter VI. The Alma
Chapter VII. Before Sebastopol
Chapter VIII. Balaklava
Chapter IX. Inkerman
Chapter X. The Great Storm
Chapter XI. Taken Prisoners
Chapter XII. Prisoners on Parole
Chapter XIII. A Nominal Imprisonment
Chapter XIV. A Suspected Household
Chapter XV. A Struggle for Life
Chapter XVI. An Escape from Prison
Chapter XVII. A Journey in Disguise
Chapter XVIII. The Polish Insurgents
Chapter XIX. To the Rescue
Chapter XX. In a Lion's Den
Chapter XXI. Back at the Front
Chapter XXII. The Repulse at the Redan
Chapter XXIII. The Battle of the Tchernaya
Chapter XXIV. A Fortunate Storm
Chapter XXV. The Capture of Sebastopol
Chapter XXVI. Conclusion
CHAPTER I.
THE MIDSHIPMAN
The first day of term cannot be considered a cheerful occasion. As the
boys arrive on the previous evening, they have so much to tell each
other, are so full of what they have been doing, that the chatter and
laughter are as great as upon the night preceding the breaking-up. In
the morning, however, all this is changed. As they take their places
at their desks and open their books, a dull, heavy feeling takes
possession of the boys, and the full consciousness that they are at
the beginning of another half year's work weighs heavily on their
minds.
It is true enough that the half year will have its play, too, its
matches, with their rivalry and excitement. But at present it is the
long routine of lessons which is most prominent in the minds of the
lads who are sitting on the long benches of the King's School,
Canterbury.
As a whole, however, these have not great reason for sadness. Not more
than a third of them are boarders, and the rest, who have in truth,
for the last week, begun to be tired of their holidays, will, when
they once get out of school, and begin to choose sides for football,
be really glad that the term has again commenced.
"So your brother is not coming back again, Archer?" one of the boys
said to a lad of some fifteen years old, a merry, curly-haired fellow,
somewhat short for his age, but square-shouldered and sturdy.
"No. He is expecting in another six months to get his commission, and
is going up to town to study with a coach. My father has lodged the
money for him, and hopes to get him gazetted to his old regiment, the
33d."
"What is he going to a coach for? There is no examination, is there?
And if there was, I should think he could pass it. He has been in the
sixth for the last year."
"Oh, he is all right enough," Archer said. "But my father is sending
him to an army man to get up military drawing and fortification. Dad
says it is of no use his going on grinding here at Greek and Latin,
and that he had much better spend the time, till he gets his
commission, in learning something that may be of use to him. I wish I
had done with Latin and Greek too, I'm sure they'll never be of any
use to me, and I hate them."
At this moment the conversation between the boys was abruptly broken
off by Archer being called up by the class master.
"Archer," he said, looking up from the papers on the desk before him,
"these verses are disgraceful. Of all in the holiday tasks sent in,
yours appears to me to be the worst."
"I'm very sorry, sir," Jack Archer said, "I really tried hard to do
them, but somehow or other the quantities never will come right."
"I don't know what you call trying hard, Archer, but it's utterly
impossible, if you had taken the trouble to look the words out in
the Gradus, that you could have made such mistakes as those here."
"I don't know, sir," Jack answered. "I can do exercises and
translations and all that sort of thing well enough, but I always
break down with verses, and I don't see what good they are, except
for fellows who want to write Latin verses for tombstones."
"That has nothing to do with it," the master said; "and I am not going
to discuss the utility of verses with you. I shall report you to Dr.
Wallace, and if you will not work in your holidays, you will have to
do so in your play-hours."
Jack retired to his seat, and for the next ten minutes indulged in a
diatribe against classical learning in general, and hexameters and
pentameters in particular.
Presently one of the sixth form came down to where Jack was sitting,--
"Archer, Dr. Wallace wants you."
"Oh, lord," Jack groaned, "now I'm in for it! I haven't seen Marshall
get out of his seat. I suppose he has written a report about those
beastly verses."
The greeting of Dr. Wallace was, however, of a different nature from
that which he had anticipated.
"Archer," he said, "I have just received a note from your father. You
are to go home at once."
Jack Archer opened his eyes in astonishment. It was but an hour and a
half since he had started from Harbledown, a mile or so distant from
the school. His father had said nothing at breakfast, and what on
earth could he want him home again for?
With a mechanical "Yes, sir," he returned to his place, gathered up
his books hastily together, fastening them with a strap, and was soon
on his way home at a rapid trot. He overtook ere long the servant who
had brought the note--an old soldier, who had been Major Archer's
servant in the army.
"What is the matter, Jones? Is any one ill at home?"
"No, sir; no one is ill as I knows of. The major called me into his
study, and told me to take a note to Dr. Wallace, and, of course, I
asked the master no questions."
"No," Jack said, "I don't suppose you did, Jones. I don't suppose
you'd ask any questions if you were told to take a letter straight to
the man in the moon. I wonder what it can mean."
And continuing his run, he soon left the steady-going old soldier far
behind. Up High Street, under the great gate, along through the wide,
straggling street beyond, into the open country, and then across
through the fields to Harbledown. Jack never paused till, hot and
panting, he entered the gate.
His father and his elder brother, who had seen him coming across the
fields, were standing in the porch.
"Hurrah! Jack," the latter shouted; "you're going to be first out
after all."
"Going to be first out?" Jack gasped. "What on earth do you mean,
Harry?"
"Come into the parlor, Jack," his father said, "and you shall hear all
about it."
Here his mother and two sisters were sitting.
"My dear boy," the former said, rising and throwing her arms round his
neck, "this is sudden indeed."
"What is sudden, mother? What is sudden?" Jack asked. "What is it all
about?" and noticing a tear on his mother's cheek, he went on, "It
can't be those beastly verses, is it?" the subject most upon his mind
being prominent. "But no, it couldn't be that. Even if Wallace took it
into his head to make a row about them, there would not be time. But
what is it, mother?"
"Sit down, Jack," his father said. "You know, my boy, you have always
said that you would like to go to sea. I had no interest that way, but
six months ago I wrote to my nephew Charles, who is, as you know, a
first lieutenant in the navy, and asked him if he thought he could get
you a midshipman's berth. He wrote back to say that he was at present
on half pay, and feared it would be a long time before he was afloat
again, as there were but few ships in commission, and he had not much
interest. But if he were appointed he might be able to get you a berth
on board the ship. As that didn't seem very hopeful, I thought it
better to say nothing to you about it. However, this morning, just
after you had started for school, the postman brought a letter from
him, saying that, owing to the threatening state of affairs in the
East, a number of ships were being rapidly put in commission, and that
he had been appointed to the 'Falcon,' and had seen the captain, and
as the latter, who happened to be an old friend of his, had no one in
particular whom he wished to oblige, he had kindly asked the Admiralty
for a midshipman's appointment for you. This he had, of course,
obtained. The 'Falcon' is being fitted out with all haste, and you are
to join at once. So I shall take you to Portsmouth to-morrow."
Jack was too much delighted and surprised to be able to speak at
first. But after a minute or two he recovered his breath, uttered a
loud hurrah of delight, and then gave vent to his feelings by
exuberantly kissing his mother and sisters.
"This is glorious," he said. "Only to think that I, who have just been
blown up for my verses, am a midshipman in her Majesty's service. I
can hardly believe that it is true. Oh, father, I have so wished to go
to sea, but I have never said much about it because I thought you did
not like it, and now to think of my getting it when I had quite given
up all hope, and just at a time, too, when there seems to be a chance
of a row. What is it all about, father? I have heard you say something
about a dispute with Russia, but I never gave much attention to it."
"The cause of the dispute is trumpery enough, and in itself wholly
insufficient to cause a war between two great nations. It began by a
squabble about the holy places at Jerusalem, as to the rights of the
Greek and Latin pilgrims respectively."
"But what have we got to do with either the Latin or the Greek
pilgrims?" Jack asked. "I should have thought that we were quite
bothered enough with Latin and Greek verses, without having anything
to do with pilgrims. Besides, I didn't know there were any Latins now,
and the Greeks ain't much."
Major Archer smiled.
"The Latin pilgrims are the members of the countries which profess the
Roman Catholic religion, while the Greeks are those who profess the
religion of the Greek Church. That is to say, in the present case,
principally Russians. There have for years been squabbles, swelling
sometimes into serious tumults, between the pilgrims of these creeds,
the matter being generally complicated by the interference of the
Turkish authorities with them. The Russian government has been
endeavoring to obtain from Turkey the protectorate of all Christians
in her dominions, which France, as the leading Catholic country,
naturally objects to. All this, however, is only a pretext. The real
fact is that Russia, who has for centuries been casting a longing eye
upon Turkey, thinks that the time has arrived when she can carry out
her ambitious designs. It has always been our policy, upon the other
hand, to sustain Turkey. We have large interests in the Mediterranean,
and a considerable trade with the Levant, and were Russia to extend
her dominion to Constantinople, our position would be seriously
menaced. Moreover, and this perhaps is the principal point, it is
absolutely necessary for us in the future to be dominant in the east
of the Mediterranean. Egypt is rapidly becoming our highway to India,
and many men think that in the future our trade with that great
dependency will flow down the valley of the Euphrates. Consequently,
it is necessary to prevent Russia, at any cost, obtaining a footing
south of the Black Sea."
"And do you think, father, that there will really be a war?"
"I'm inclined to think that there will be, Jack, although this is not
the popular opinion. We have so long, in England, been talking about
the iniquity of war that I believe that the Emperor Nicholas has
persuaded himself that we will not fight at any price. In this I am
sure that he is wholly mistaken. So long as there was no probability
of war, the people of England have quietly permitted the cheese-paring
politicians who govern us to cut down the army and navy to a point
when we can hardly be said to have an army at all. But I am convinced
that the people of England are at heart as warlike as of old. Few
nations have done more fighting than we, and, roughly speaking, the
wars have always been popular. If the people at large once become
convinced that the honor and interest of England are at stake, they
will go to war, and the politicians in power will have to follow the
popular current, or give way to men who will do so. At present,
however, the general idea is that a demonstration upon the part of
England and France, will be sufficient to prevent Russia from taking
any further steps. I think myself that Russia has gone too far to draw
back. Russia is a country where the czars are nominally all-powerful,
but where, in point of fact, they are as much bound as other
sovereigns to follow the wishes of the country. The conquest of
Constantinople has long been the dream of every Russian, and now that
the Czar has held out hopes that this dream is about to be realized,
he will scarcely like to draw back."
"But surely, father," Harry Archer said, "Russia cannot think herself
a match for England and France united."
"I don't know that, my boy. Russia has an enormous population, far
larger than that of England and France united. Every man, from the
highest to the lowest, is at the disposal of the Czar, and there is
scarcely any limit to the force which he is capable of putting into
the field. Russia has not fought since the days of Napoleon, and in
those days the Russian troops showed themselves to be as good as any
in Europe. At Borodino and Smolensko they were barely defeated after
inflicting enormous losses on the emperor's army, and, as in the end,
they annihilated the largest army even Napoleon had ever got together,
they may well think that, fighting close to their own borders, while
England and France have to take their troops across Europe, they will
be more than a match for us. And now, Jack, we must go down to the
town. There is much to do and to think about. The principal part of
your outfit I shall, of course, get at Portsmouth, where the tailors
are accustomed to work at high pressure. But your underclothes we can
get here. Now, my dear, if you will go upstairs and look through
Jack's things, and let me know exactly how he stands, I will go down
with him to the town, and get anything he requires."
"And will you be able to spare me for a quarter-of-an-hour, father? I
should like to be outside the school when they come out at one
o'clock, to say good-bye to them. Won't they be surprised, and jolly
envious? Oh no, I should think not! They would give their ears, some
of them, I know, to be in my place. I should like to say good-bye,
too, to old Marshall. His face will be a picture when he finds that he
is not going to drop on me for those verses, after all."
It was a day of bustle and business, and Jack, until the very moment
when he was embracing his weeping mother and sisters, while his father
stood at the door, in front of which was the pony-chaise, which was
waiting to take him down to the station, could hardly realize that it
was all true, that his school-days were over, and that he was really a
midshipman in her Majesty's service.
Harry had already gone to the station on foot, as the back seat in the
pony-chaise was occupied by Jack's luggage, and the last words that he
said, as he shook hands with his brother, were,--
"I shouldn't be surprised, old boy, if we were to meet in the East
before long. If anything comes of it, they will have to increase the
strength of the army as well as of the navy, and it will be bad luck
indeed if the 33d is left behind."
On arriving at Portsmouth, Major Archer took up his quarters at the
famous George Inn, and, leaving their luggage there, was soon on his
way down to the Hard. Half a century had gone by since Portsmouth had
exhibited such a scene of life and bustle. Large numbers of extra
hands had been taken on at the dockyards, and the fitters and riggers
labored night and day, hastening on the vessels just put into
commission. The bakeries were at work turning out biscuits as fast as
they could be made, and the stores were crammed to repletion with
commissariat and other stores. In addition to the ships of war,
several large merchant steamers, taken up as transports, lay alongside
the wharves, and an unusual force of military were concentrated in the
town, ready for departure. By the Hard were a number of boats from the
various men-of-war lying in the harbor or off Spithead, whose officers
were ashore upon various duties. Huge dockyard barges, piled with
casks and stores, were being towed alongside the ships of war, and the
bustle and life of the scene were delightful indeed to Jack,
accustomed only to the quiet sleepiness of a cathedral town like
Canterbury. Inquiring which was the "Falcon," a paddle steamer moored
in the stream was pointed out to them by a boatman.
"Oh dear," Jack said, "she looks small in comparison with those big
men-of-war."
"She is none the worse, Jack, for that," his father said. "If there
should be fighting, it will scarcely be at sea. The Russian fleet will
not venture to engage the fleets of England and France united, and you
are likely to see much more active work in a vessel like the 'Falcon'
than in one of those floating castles. Hullo, Charles, is that you?"
he broke off, lying his hand upon the shoulder of a naval officer, who
was pushing his way though the crowd of boatmen and sailors to a
man-of-war gig, which, with many others, was lying by the Hard.
"Hullo, uncle, is that you?" he replied. "I am glad to see you. I was
expecting you here in a day or so. I thought you would run down with
the youngster. Well, Jack, how are you? Why, it must be eight years
since I saw you. You were quite a little chap then. Well, are you
thinking of thrashing the Russians?"
"The boy is half out of his mind with pleasure, Charles," Major Archer
said, "and he and all of us are greatly obliged to you for your
kindness in getting him his berth. I think you will find him active
and intelligent, though I fear he has not shone greatly at school,
especially," he said smiling, "in his Latin verses."
"He will make none the worse sailor for that," Charles Hethcote said
with a laugh. "But I must be going on board. I have a message from the
admiral to the captain and every moment is precious, for things are
terribly behindhand. The dockyard people are wellnigh out of their
wits with the pressure put upon them, and we are ordered to be ready
to sail in a week. How it's all to be done, goodness only knows. You
need not come on board, Jack. I will tell the captain that you have
arrived, and he would not thank me for bringing any live lumber on
board just at present. You had better get him his outfit, uncle, at
once, and then he can report himself in full trim to-morrow."
Giving the major the address of the tailor who could be trusted to
supply Jack's uniform without loss of time, and accepting an
invitation to dine at the "George" that evening, if he could possibly
get away from the ship, Lieutenant Hethcote stepped into the gig, and
made his way to the "Falcon."
Major Archer and Jack first paid a visit to the tailor, where all the
articles necessary for the outfit were ordered and promised for next
day. They then visited the dockyard, and Jack was immensely impressed
at the magnitude of the preparations which were being made for the
war. Then they strolled down the ramparts, and stood for some time
watching the batches of recruits being drilled, and then, as the short
winter day was drawing to a close, they returned to the "George."
CHAPTER II.
AN ADVENTURE AT GIB
It was on the 1st of February, 1854, that the "Falcon" sailed from
Portsmouth for the East, and ten days later she dropped her anchor at
Gibraltar harbor. Jack Archer was by this time thoroughly at home. In
the week's hard work during the preparation for sea at Portsmouth, he
had learned as much of the names of the ropes, and the various parts
of the ship, as he would have done in a couple of months at sea, and
had become acquainted with his new ship-mates. So great had been the
pressure of work, that he had escaped much of the practical joking to
which a new-comer on board ship, as at school, is generally subject.
He had for comrades four midshipmen; one of these, Simmons, had
already nearly served his time, and was looking forward to the war as
giving him a sure promotion; two others, Delafield and Hawtry, had
already served for two or three years at sea, although only a year or
so older than Jack, while the fourth, Herbert Coveney, was a year
younger, and was, like Jack, a new hand. There were also in the berth
two master's mates, young men of from twenty to two-and-twenty. With
all of these Jack, with his high spirits, good-tempered face, merry
laugh, soon became a favorite.
During the first two days at sea he had suffered the usual agonies
from sea-sickness. But before reaching Gibraltar he had got his
sea-legs and was regularly doing duty, being on the watch of the
second lieutenant, Mr. Pierson.
The wind, which had blown strongly across the Bay of Biscay and down
the coast of Portugal, moderated as the "Falcon" steamed past Cape St.
Vincent with its picturesque monastery, and the straits were calm as a
mill-pond as she slowly made her way along the Spanish coast and
passed Tarifa. Up to the time when she dropped her anchor in the Bay
of Gibraltar, the only incident which had happened on the way was
that, as they steamed up the straits, they passed close by a
homeward-bound P. and O. steamer, whose passengers crowded the sides,
and cheered and waved their handkerchiefs to the eastward-bound ship.
The "Falcon" was not a fast vessel, seldom making, under favorable
circumstances, more than eight knots an hour. She carried sixteen
guns, twelve of which were eighteen-pounders. It had been intended
that the "Falcon" should only stay a few hours at Gibraltar,
proceeding immediately she had taken in a fresh supply of coal. The
engineers, however, reported several defects in her machinery, which
would take three or four days to put in order.
Jack was pleased at the delay, as he was anxious to set his foot for
the first time ashore in a foreign country, and to visit the famous
fortifications of the Rock. The first day he did not ask for leave, as
he did not wish to presume upon his being the first lieutenant's
relation.
Charles Hethcote differed widely from the typical first lieutenant of
fiction, a being as stiff as a ramrod, and as dangerous to approach as
a polar bear. He was, indeed, a bright, cheery fellow, and although he
was obliged to surround himself with a certain amount of official
stiffness, he was a great favorite among officers and crew.
It was not till the third day of his stay that Jack, his seniors
having all been ashore, asked for leave, which was at once granted.
Young Coveney, too, had landed on the previous day, and Hawtry, whom
Jack was inclined to like most of his shipmates, now accompanied him.
They had leave for the whole day, and, as soon as breakfast was over,
they went ashore.
"What a rum old place!" Hawtry said, as they wandered along the
principal street. "It looks as Spanish as ever. Who would have thought
that it had been an English town for goodness knows how long?"
"I wish I had paid a little more attention to history," Jack said. "It
makes one feel like a fool not to know such things as that when one
comes to a famous place like this. Look at that tall fellow with the
two little donkeys. Poor little brutes, they can scarcely stagger
under their loads. There is a pretty girl with that black thing over
her head, a mantilla don't they call it? There is a woman with
oranges, let's get some. Now, I suppose, the first thing is to climb
up to the top of the Rock."
With their pockets full of oranges, the boys started on their climb,
which was accomplished in capital time. From the flagstaff they
enjoyed the magnificent view of the African coast across the straits,
of Spain stretching away to their right, of the broad expanse of the
blue Mediterranean, and of the bay with its ships, and the "Falcon"
dwarfed to the dimensions of a toy vessel, at their feet. Then they
came down, paid a flying visit to the various fortifications and to
the galleries, whence the guns peer out threateningly across the low,
sandy spit, known as the neutral ground.
When all this was finished, it was only natural that they should go to
the principal hotel and eat a prodigious luncheon, and then Hawtry
proposed that they should sally out for a ramble into Spain.
They had been disappointed in the oranges, which they found in no way
better than those which they had bought in England. But they thought
that if they could pick them off the trees, they must somehow have a
superior flavor. Accordingly they sallied out by the land gate, passed
unquestioned through the line of British sentries, and were soon in
the little village inside the Spanish lines.
"It's awfully hot," Hawtry said, mopping his forehead. "Who would have
thought that it would have been so hot as this in any place in Europe
in the middle of February? Just fancy what it must be here in July!
Look, there is a fellow with two mules. I expect he would let them. I
vote we go for a ride. It's too hot for walking altogether.
"I say, old boy," he said, approaching a tall and powerfully-built
man, who was smoking a cigar, and leaning lazily against one of his
mules; "you let mules, we hire them, eh?"
The Spaniard opened his eyes somewhat, but made no reply, and
continued to smoke tranquilly.
"Oh, nonsense," Hawtry said. "Look here."
And he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out some silver. Then
he made signs of mounting one of the mules, and waved his hand over
the surrounding country to signify that he wanted a general ride.
The Spaniard nodded, held up five fingers, and touched one of the
mules, and did the same with the other.
"He wants five shillings a head," Hawtry said.
"I don't know," Jack said doubtfully. "I don't suppose he knows much
about shillings. It may be five dollars or five anything else. We'd
better show him five shillings, and come to an understanding that that
is what he means before we get on."
The Spaniard, on being shown the five shillings, shook his head, and
pointing to a dollar which they had obtained in change on shore,
signified that these were the coins he desired.
"Oh, nonsense!" Hawtry said indignantly. "You don't suppose we're such
fools as to give you a pound apiece for two or three hours' ride on
those mules of yours. Come on, Jack. We won't put up with being
swindled like that."
So saying the two lads turned away, and started on their walk.
While they were speaking to the Spaniard, he had been joined by one of
his countrymen, and when they turned away, these entered into a rapid
conversation together. The result was, that before the boys had gone
thirty yards, the Spaniard with the mules called them back again, and
intimated that he accepted their terms.
They were about to jump up at once, but the man signed to them to
stop, and his companion in a minute or two had brought out two rough
rugs which were secured with some cords over the wooden saddles.
"That's an improvement," Jack said. "I was just wondering how we were
going to sit on those things, which are not saddles at all, but only
things for boxes and barrels to be fastened to."
"I wonder which way we'd better go," Hawtry said, as he climbed up
with some difficulty, aided by the Spaniard, on to one of the mules.
"My goodness, Jack, this is horribly uncomfortable. I never can stand
this. Hi, there! help me down. It would be better a hundred times to
ride barebacked."
Accordingly the saddles were taken off, the rugs folded and secured on
the animals' backs by a rope passed round them, and then the boys
again took their seats.
"I hope the brutes are quiet," Jack said, "for I am nothing of a rider
at the best of times, and one feels an awful height at the top of
these great mules, with one's legs dangling without stirrups."
"If you find yourself going, Jack," Hawtry said, "the best thing is to
catch hold of his ears. Come on, let's get out of this. All the
village is staring at us."
The mules, upon the reins being jerked, and boys' heels briskly
applied to their ribs, moved on at a fast walk.
"We shall have to stop under a tree and cut a stick presently," Hawtry
said. "It will not do to get down, for I should never be able to climb
up again. Mind, we must take our bearings carefully, else we shall
never get back again. We have neither chart nor compass. Hallo! here
comes the mules' master."
They had by this time gone two or three hundred yards from the
village, and, behind them, at a brisk trot, seated on a diminutive
donkey, was the Spaniard.
"Perhaps it's best he should come," Jack said. "There will be no fear
of being lost then, and if one of us gets capsized, he can help him up
again."
Upon the Spaniard coming up to them, he gave a sharp shout to the
mules, at the same time striking the donkey on which he rode with a
stick. Instantly the mules, recognizing the signal, started into a
sharp trot, the first effect of which was to tumble Hawtry from his
seat into the road, Jack with difficulty saving himself by clutching
wildly at the mane.
"Confound it!" Hawtry exclaimed furiously, as he regained his feet, to
the Spaniard. "Why didn't you say what you were going to be up to?
Starting the ship ahead at full speed without notice! I believe I've
broken some of my ribs. Don't you laugh too soon, Jack. It will be
your turn next."
The Spaniard helped Hawtry to regain his seat, and they were soon
clattering along the dusty road at a brisk rate, the boys quickly
getting accustomed to the pace, which, indeed, was smooth and easy.
For hours they rode on, sometimes trotting, sometimes walking, taking
no heed whither they were going, and enjoying the novelty of the ride,
the high cactus hedges, the strange vegetation, little villages here
and there, sometimes embowered in orange trees, and paying no heed to
time.
Presently Jack exclaimed,--
"I say, Hawtry, it must be getting late. We have been winding and
turning about, and I have not an idea how far we are now from Gib. We
must be through the gates by gun-fire, you know."
They stopped, and by pantomime explained to the Spaniard that they
wanted to get back again as soon as possible.
He nodded, made a circle with his arm, and, as they understood,
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Dick Sands the Boy Captain by Jules Verne
[Redactor's Note: _Dick Sands the Boy Captain_ (Number V018 in the T&M
numerical listing of Verne's works) is a translation of _Un capitaine
de quinze ans_ (1878) by Ellen E. Frewer who also translated other
Verne works. The current translation was published by Sampson & Low in
England (1878) and Scribners in New York (1879) and was republished
many times and included in Volume 8 of the Parke edition of _The Works
of Jules Verne_ (1911). There is another translation published by
George Munro (1878) in New York with the title _Dick Sand A Captain at
Fifteen_.
This work has an almost mechanical repetiveness in the continuing
description of the day after day trials of sailing at sea. Thus the
illustrations, of which there were 94 in the french edition, are all
the more important in keeping up the reader's interest. The titles of
the illustrations are given here as a prelude to a future fully
illustrated edition.]
*****
DICK SANDS
THE BOY CAPTAIN.
BY
JULES VERNE.
TRANSLATED BY
ELLEN E. FREWER
ILLUSTRATED
1879
*****
CONTENTS.
PART THE FIRST
I. THE "PILGRIM"
II. THE APPRENTICE
III. A RESCUE
IV. THE SURVIVORS OF THE "WALDECK"
V. DINGO'S SAGACITY
VI. A WHALE IN SIGHT
VII. PREPARATIONS FOR AN ATTACK
VIII. A CATASTROPHE
IX. DICK'S PROMOTION
X. THE NEW CREW
XI. ROUGH WEATHER
XII. LAND AT LAST
XIV. ASHORE
XV. A STRANGER
XVI. THROUGH THE FOREST
XVII. MISGIVINGS
XVIII. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY
PART THE SECOND
I. THE DARK CONTINENT
II. ACCOMPLICES
III. ON THE MARCH AGAIN
IV. ROUGH TRAVELLING
V. WHITE ANTS
VI. A DIVING-BELL
VII. A SLAVE CARAVAN
VIII. NOTES BY THE WAY
IX. KAZONDE
X. MARKET-DAY
XI. A BOWL OF PUNCH
XII. ROYAL OBSEQUIES
XIII. IN CAPTIVITY
XIV. A RAY OF HOPE
XV. AN EXCITING CHASE
XVI. A MAGICIAN
XVII. DRIFTING DOWN THE STREAM
XVIII. AN ANXIOUS VOYAGE
XIX. AN ATTACK
XX. A HAPPY REUNION
*****
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Number Title
I-01-a Cousin Benedict
I-01-b Captain Hull advanced to meet Mrs. Weldon and her party
I-02-a Negoro
I-02-b Dick and Little Jack
I-03-a Negoro had approached without being noticed by any one
I-03-b The dog began to swim slowly and with manifest weakness
towards the boat
I-04-a Mrs. Weldon assisted by Nan and the ever active Dick Sands,
was doing everything in her power to restore consciousness
to the poor sufferers
I-04-b The good-natured <DW64>s were ever ready to lend a helping
hand
I-05-a "There you are, then, Master Jack!"
I-05-b Jack cried out in the greatest excitement that Dingo knew
how to read
I-05-c Negoro, with a threatening gesture that seemed half
involuntary, withdrew immediately to his accustomed quarters
I-06-a "This Dingo is nothing out of the way"
I-06-b Occasionally Dick Sands would take a pistol, and now and
then a rifle
I-06-c "What a big fellow!"
I-07-a The captain's voice came from the retreating boat
I-07-b "I must get you to keep your eye upon that man"
I-08-a The whale seemed utterly unconscious of the attack that was
threatening it
I-08-b The boat was well-nigh full of water, and in imminent danger
of being capsized
I-08-c There is no hope
I-09-a "Oh, we shall soon be on shore!"
I-09-b "Oh yes, Jack; you shall keep the wind in order"
I-10-a All three of them fell flat upon the deck
I-10-b Jack evidenced his satisfaction by giving his huge friend a
hearty shake of the hand
I-10-c A light shadow glided stealthily along the deck
I-11-a For half an hour Negoro stood motionless
I-12-a Under bare poles
I-12-b Quick as lightning, Dick Sands drew a revolver from his pocket
I-12-c "There! look there!"
I-13-a "You have acquitted yourself like a man"
I-13-b They both examined the outspread chart
I-13-c The sea was furious, and dashed vehemently upon the crags
on either hand
I-14-a Surveying the shore with the air of a man who was trying to
recall some past experience
I-14-b Not without emotion could Mrs. Weldon, or indeed any of
them, behold the unfortunate ship
I-14-c The entomologist was seen making his way down the face of
the cliff at the imminent lisk of breaking his neck
I-15-a "Good morning, my young friend"
I-15-b "He is my little son"
I-15-c They came to a tree to which a horse was tethered
I-16-a The way across the forest could scarcely be called a path
I-16-b Occasionally the soil became marshy
I-16-c A halt for the night
I-16-d Hercules himself was the first to keep watch
I-17-a "Don't fire!"
I-17-b A herd of gazelles dashed past him like a glowing cloud
I-17-c A halt was made for the night beneath a grove of lofty trees
I-18-a "Look here! here are hands, men's hands"
I-18-b The man was gone | 2,521.283982 |
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_NORTH COUNTRY SPORTS AND PASTIMES._
Wrestling and Wrestlers:
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF CELEBRATED ATHLETES OF THE NORTHERN RING;
TO WHICH IS ADDED
_Notes on Bull and Badger Baiting_.
BY
JACOB ROBINSON
AND
SIDNEY GILPIN.
Of all the athletic amusements of the people, Wrestling is beyond doubt the
best.--CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
LONDON: BEMROSE & SONS.
CARLISLE: THE WORDSWORTH PRESS,
75 SCOTCH STREET.
MDCCCXCIII.
TO THE MEMORY
OF
JACOB ROBINSON,
THESE PAGES ARE
_GRATEFULLY DEDICATED_,
BY
HIS FELLOW-WORKER,
SIDNEY GILPIN.
PREFACE.
Every dale and valley, every nook and corner, throughout Cumberland,
Westmorland, and North Lancashire, at all likely to yield materials, has
been ransacked and laid under subservience in the compilation of this
volume; and it now becomes the pleasant duty to record the fact, that not a
single instance of unwillingness was met with, on the part of the multitude
of narrators, who supplied the items of the various events chronicled.
The local newspaper files have materially aided our labours, in a variety
of ways. Besides supplying many passing incidents, we have found them, in
some instances, exceedingly useful in the way of verifying and correcting
dates.
A brief description of Swiss Wrestling was promised, for the introductory
chapter, by a native of that country resident in London. This promise
yielded no fruit at the time, and it is a matter of regret that it still
remains unfulfilled.
Of Wrestling in France, we have not been able to glean much information,
although enquiries were set on foot through the columns of _Notes and
Queries_ and _Bell's Life in London_.
For much information contained in the article on Wrestling in Scotland, we
are indebted to Mr. Walter Scott of Innerleithen; and for a few other items
we have to thank Mr. Robert Murray of Hawick.
While the feats of many well known wrestlers are to be found in these
pages, the names of others equally well known are necessarily omitted; but
we may be able to publish a record of their achievements at some future
time.
With a full consciousness of many imperfections, we now leave our work to
the judgment of those impartial readers, who may honour it with a perusal.
LOCAL WORKS ON THE SUBJECT.
_Wrestliana: an Historical Account of Ancient and
Modern Wrestling._ By William Litt. Whitehaven: R.
Gibson, 1823.
Second Edition of the above, (reprinted from the
"Whitehaven News,") by Michael and William Alsop, 1860.
_Wrestliana: a Chronicle of the Cumberland and
Westmorland Wrestlings in London, since the year 1824._
By Walter Armstrong. London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co.,
1870.
_Famous Athletic Contests, Ancient and Modern_,
compiled by Members of the Cumberland and Westmorland
Wrestling Society. (Reprinted from the Best
Authorities.) London: F. A. Hancock, 1871.
_Great Book of Wrestling References, giving about 2000
different Prizes, from 1838 to the present day._ By
Isaac Gate, Twenty-five Years Public Wrestling Judge.
Carlisle: Steel Brothers, 1874.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION: Page
Ancient Grecian Wrestling ix.
Wrestling in Japan xii.
Indian Wrestling xviii.
Wrestling Match in Turkey xxi.
Old English Wrestling xxiv.
Wrestling in Scotland xxxviii.
Irish Wrestling xlvi.
CUMBERLAND AND WESTMORLAND WRESTLING 1
MELMERBY ROUNDS 20
LANGWATHBY ROUNDS 27
JAMES FAWCETT, Nenthead 36
WILLIAM RICHARDSON, Caldbeck 43
WILLIAM LITT, Bowthorn 61
MILES AND JAMES DIXON, Grasmere 74
ROWLAND AND JOHN LONG, Ambleside 90
TOM NICHOLSON, Threlkeld 99
WILLIAM MACKERETH, Cockermouth 115
HARRY GRAHAM, Brigham 116
JAMES SCOTT, Canonbie 119
ROBERT ROWANTREE, Kingwater 126
WILLIAM DICKINSON, Alston 135
GEORGE DENNISON, Penrith 141
JAMES ROBINSON, Hackthorpe 149
THOMAS RICHARDSON, Hesket-New-Market 156
TOM TODD, Knarsdale 167
WILLIAM WILSON, Ambleside 175
JOHN WEIGHTMAN, Hayton 186
JOHN MC.LAUGHLAN, Dovenby 208
BULL BAITING 219
BADGERS AND BADGER BAITING 235
ADDENDA 244
INTRODUCTION.
ANCIENT GRECIAN WRESTLING.
The ancient Grecians were passionately fond of festivals and games. In
every particular State such institutions were occasionally celebrated for
the amusement of the people; but these were far less interesting than the
four public games frequented by multitudes from all the districts of
Greece. The Pythian Games were celebrated at Delphi; the Isthmian at
Corinth; the Nemaean at Nemaea in Argolis; and the Olympic at Olympia, near
Elis. We propose to give a brief account of the Olympic games only, as
being by far the most splendid, and in which victory was reputed to be the
most honourable. The celebrity of these games was extended for many
centuries after the extinction of Greek freedom, and their | 2,521.285855 |
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Transcriber's note: in this pure-ASCII edition, a small number of
non-ASCII characters have been encoded as follows: ['e] and [`e]
for accented E; [^e] and [^o] for E and O with circumflex; and
[:i] for I with an ulaut.
['E]dition d'['E]lite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors,"
"Tales from the Dramatists," etc.
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume I
American
I
J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1893, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1904, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE.]
PREFACE.
It has become a commonplace remark that fact is often
stranger than fiction. It may be said, as a variant of this,
that history is often more romantic than romance. The pages
of the record of man's doings are frequently illustrated by
entertaining and striking incidents, relief points in the
dull monotony of every-day events, stories fitted to rouse
the reader from languid weariness and stir anew in his veins
the pulse of interest in human life. There are many
such,--dramas on the stage of history, life scenes that are
pictures in action, tales pathetic, stirring, enlivening,
full of the element of the unusual, of the stuff the novel
and the romance are made of, yet with the advantage of being
actual fact. Incidents of this kind have proved as
attractive to writers as to readers. They have dwelt upon
them lovingly, embellished them with the charms of rhetoric
and occasionally with the inventions of fancy, until what
began as fact has often entered far into the domains of
legend and fiction. It may well be that some of the
narratives in the present work have gone through this
process. If so, it is simply indicative of the interest
they have awakened in generations of readers and writers.
But the bulk of them are fact, so far as history in general
can be called fact, it having been our design to cull from
the annals of the nations some of their more stirring and
romantic incidents, and present them as a gallery of
pictures that might serve to adorn the entrance to the
temple of history, of which this work is offered as in some
sense an illuminated ante-chamber. As such, it is hoped that
some pilgrims from the world of readers may find it a
pleasant halting-place on their way into the far-extending
aisles of the great temple beyond.
CONTENTS
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS 9
FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 26
CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS 34
SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP 53
THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES 69
HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED 80
HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA 90
THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS 98
SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM 111
A GALLANT DEFENCE 128
DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY 138
PAUL'S REVERE'S RIDE 157
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 172
THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK 180
A QUAKERESS PATRIOT 189
THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER 195
ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR 211
MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX 223
THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA 237
THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR 249
HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED 259
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC 275
STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE 285
AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON 298
THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE 314
ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES 327
HOW HAWAII LOST ITS QUEEN AND ENTERED THE UNITED STATES 338
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME I.
WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. _Frontispiece._
VIKING SHIPS AT SEA. 11
LAKE CHAMPLAIN AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 41
POND ISLAND, MOUTH OF THE KENNEBEC. 54
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES. 76
THE CHARTER OAK, HARTFORD. 85
PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHEN A BOY. 90
WASHINGTON'S HOME AT MT. VERNON. 98
SHORE OF LAKE GEORGE. 118
INDIAN ATTACK AND GALLANT DEFENCE. 128
THE OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 158
THE SPIRIT OF '76. 166
ETHAN ALLEN'S ENTRANCE, TICONDEROGA. 172
THE OLD STATE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 191
THE BENEDICT ARNOLD MANSION. 220
THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 280
LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND. 298
SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 319
MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA. 328
A NATIVE GRASS HUT, HAWAII. 340
VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS.
The year 1000 A.D. was one of strange history. Its advent
threw the people of Europe into a state of mortal terror.
Ten centuries had passed since the birth of Christ. The
world was about to come to an end. Such was the general
belief. How it was to reach its end,--whether by fire,
water, or some other agent of ruin,--the prophets of
disaster did not say, nor did people trouble themselves to
learn. Destruction was coming upon them, that was enough to
know; how to provide against it was the one thing to be
considered.
Some hastened to the churches; others to the taverns. Here
prayers went up; there wine went down. The petitions of the
pious were matched by the ribaldry of the profligate. Some
made their wills; others wasted their wealth in revelry,
eager to get all the pleasure out of life that remained for
them. Many freely gave away their property, hoping, by
ridding themselves of the goods of this earth, to establish
a claim to the goods of Heaven, with little regard to the
fate of those whom they loaded with their discarded wealth.
It was an era of ignorance and superstition. Christendom
went insane over an idea. When the year ended, and the world
rolled on, none the worse for conflagration or deluge, green
with the spring leafage and ripe with the works of man,
dismay gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer,
man regained their flown wits, and those who had so
recklessly given away their wealth bethought themselves of
taking legal measures for its recovery.
Such was one of the events that made that year memorable.
There was another of a highly different character. Instead
of a world being lost, a world was found. The Old World not
only remained unharmed, but a New World was added to it, a
world beyond the seas, for this was the year in which the
foot of the European was first set upon the shores of the
trans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this first
discovery of America that we have now to tell.
In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far away from
fear-haunted Europe, a scene was being enacted of a very
different character from that just described. Over the
waters of unknown seas a small, strange craft boldly made
its way, manned by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorous
men, driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollen
texture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, which
seemed at times as if they would drive that deckless vessel
bodily beneath the waves.
This crew was of men to whom fear was almost unknown, the
stalwart Vikings of the North, whose oar-and sail-driven
barks now set out from the coasts of Norway and Denmark to
ravage the shores of southern Europe, now turned their prows
boldly to the west in search of unknown lands afar.
Shall we describe this craft? It was a tiny one in which to
venture upon an untravelled ocean in search of an unknown
continent,--a vessel shaped somewhat like a strung bow,
scarcely fifty feet in length, low amidships and curving
upwards to high peaks at stem and stern, both of which
converged to sharp edges. It resembled an enormous canoe
rather than aught else to which we can compare it. On the
stem was a carved and gilt dragon, the figurehead of the
ship, which glittered in the bright rays of the sun. Along
the bulwarks of the ship, fore and aft, hung rows of large
painted wooden shields, which gave an Argus-eyed aspect to
the craft. Between them was a double row of thole-pins for
the great oars, which now lay at rest in the bottom of the
boat, but by which, in calm weather, this "walker of the
seas" could be forced swiftly through the yielding element.
[Illustration: VIKING SHIPS AT SEA.]
Near the stern, on an elevated platform, stood the
commander, a man of large and powerful frame and imposing
aspect, one whose commands not the fiercest of his crew
would lightly venture to disobey. A coat of ring-mail
encircled his stalwart frame; by his side, in a
richly-embossed scabbard, hung a long sword, with hilt of
gilded bronze; on his head was a helmet that shone like pure
gold, shaped like a wolf's head, with gaping jaws and
threatening teeth. Land was in sight, an unknown coast,
peopled perhaps by warlike men. The cautious Viking leader
deemed it wise to be prepared for danger, and was armed for
possible combat.
Below him, on the rowing-benches, sat his hardy crew, their
arms--spears, axes, bows, and slings--beside them, ready
for any deed of daring they might be called upon to perform.
Their dress consisted of trousers of coarse stuff, belted at
the waist; thick woollen shirts, blue, red, or brown in
color; iron helmets, beneath which their long hair streamed
down to their shoulders; and a shoulder belt descending to
the waist and supporting their leather-covered
sword-scabbards. Heavy whiskers and moustaches added to the
fierceness of their stern faces, and many of them wore as
ornament on the forehead a band of gold.
They numbered thirty-five in all, this crew who had set out
to brave the terrors and solve the mysteries of the great
Atlantic. Their leader, Leif by name, was the son of Eirek
the Red, the discoverer of Greenland, and a Viking as fierce
as ever breathed the air of the north land. Outlawed in
Norway, where in hot blood he had killed more men than the
law could condone, Eirek had made his way to Iceland. Here
his fierce temper led him again to murder, and flight once
more became necessary. Manning a ship, he set sail boldly to
the west, and in the year 982 reached a land on which the
eye of European had never before gazed. To this he gave the
name of Greenland, with the hope, perhaps, that this
inviting name would induce others to follow him.
Such proved to be the case. Eirek returned to Iceland, told
the story of his discovery, and in 985 set sail again for
his new | 2,521.287761 |
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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 1905, and finished at length, in a version, three years later.
Through the two years succeeding it underwent various adventures,
including, if memory serves, two complete overhauling. Having thus
reached by stages something like its present form, it was, in August,
1910, favorably reported on by the publishers; but yet another rewriting
preceded its final acceptance, a few weeks later. Meanwhile, I had
turned to fresh work; and, as it chanced, "Queed" was both begun and
finished in the interval while "Captivating Mary Carstairs" was taking
her last journeys abroad. Turned away by two publishers, the newer
manuscript shortly found welcome from a third. So it befell that I, as
yet more experienced in rejections, suddenly found myself with two
books, of widely different sorts and intentions, scheduled for
publication by different publishers, almost simultaneously. As this
seemed to be more books than society required from an unknown writer, it
was decided to put out the present story--which is a "story," as I
conceive the terms, and not a novel--over a pen name.
At that time, be it said, with an optimism that now has its humorous
side, I viewed myself prospectively as a ready and fertile writer,
producing a steady flow of books of very various sorts. Hence it
occurred to me that a pseudonym might have a permament serviceability.
So far from these anticipations proving justified, I am now moved to
abandon the pseudonym in the only instance I have had occasion to use
it. Writers have sometimes been charged with seeking to capitalize their
own good fortune. My motive, in authorizing the republication of this
story over my name, is not that. The fact is only that experience has
taught me not to like pseudonymity: my feeling being that those who take
an interest in my work are entitled, if they so desire, to see it as a
whole_.
H.S.H.
_Charleston, West Virginia, 16 March, 1914_
CONTENTS
I The Chief Conspirator Secures a Pal
II They Embark upon a Crime
III They Arrive in Hunston and Fall in with a Stranger
IV Which Concerns Politics and other Local Matters
V Introduces Mary Carstairs and Another
VI The Hero Talks with a Lady in the Dark
VII In which Mary Carstairs is Invited to the Yacht "Cypriani"
VIII Concerning Mr. Ferris Stanhope, the Popular Novelist; also Peter,
the Quiet Onlooker
IX Varney Meets with a Galling Rebuff, while Peter Goes Marching On
X The Editor of the _Gazette_ Plays a Card from His Sleeve
XI Which Shows the Hero a Fugitive
XII A Yellow Journalist Secures a Scoop but Fails to Get Away with it
XIII Varney Meets His Enemy and is Disarmed
XIV Conference between Mr. Hackley, the Dog Man, and Mr. Ryan, the Boss
XV In which Varney Does Not Pay a Visit, but Receives One
XVI Wherein Several Large Difficulties are Smoothed Away
XVII A Little Luncheon Party on the Yacht "Cypriani"
XVIII Captivating Mary
XIX In which Mr. Higginson and the Sailing-Master Both Merit Punishment,
and Both Escape it
XX Varney, Having Embarked upon a Crime, Finds out that there is a Price
to Pay
XXI Mr. Ferris Stanhope Meets His Double; and Lets the Double Meet
Everything Else
XXII Relating How Varney Fails to Die; and Why Smith Remained in
Hunston; and How a Reception is Planned for Mr. Higginson
XXIII In which Varney, after all, Redeems His Promise
CAPTIVATING MARY CARSTAIRS
Captivating Mary Carstairs
CHAPTER I
THE CHIEF CONSPIRATOR SECURES A PAL
In a rear room of a quaint little house uptown, a great bronzed-faced
man sat at a piano, a dead pipe between his teeth, and absently played
the most difficult of Beethoven's sonatas. Though he played it divinely,
the three men who sat smoking and talking in a near-by corner paid not
the least attention to him. The player, it seemed, did not expect them
to: he paid very little attention himself.
Next to the selection of members, that is, no doubt, the most highly
prized thing about the Curzon Club: you are not expected to pay
attention unless you want to. It is a sanctuary where no one can bore
you, except yourself. The members have been chosen with this in mind,
and not chosen carelessly.
Lord Pembroke, who married a Philadelphian, is quoted as saying that the
Curzon is the most democratic club in a too confoundedly democratic
country. M. Arly, the editor, has told Paris that it is the most
exclusive club in the world. Probably both were right. The electing
board is the whole club, and a candidate is stone-dead at the first
blackball; but no stigma attaches to him for that. Of course, it is a
small club. Also, though money is the least of all passports there, it
is a wealthy club. No stretch of the imagination could describe its dues
as low. But through its sons of plutocracy, and their never-ending
elation at finding themselves in, has arisen the Fund, by which poor but
honest men can join, and do join, with never a thought of ways and
means. Of these Herbert Horning, possibly the best-liked man in the
club, who supported a large family off the funny department of a
magazine, was one. He had spurned the suggestion when it was first made
to him, and had reluctantly foregone his election; whereon Peter
Maginnis had taken him aside, a dash of red in his ordinarily composed
eye.
"How much?" he demanded brutally.
"How much for what?"
"How much for you?" roared Peter. "How much must the club pay you to get
you in?"
Horning stared, pained.
"God meant no man to be a self-conscious ass," said Peter more mildly.
"The club pays you a high compliment, and you have the nerve to reply
that you don't take charity. I suppose if Congress voted you a medal for
writing the funniest joke in America, you'd have it assayed and remit
the cash. Chuck it, will you? Once in a year we find a man we want, and
then we go ahead and take him. We don't think much of money here but--as
I say, how much?"
The "but" implied that Horning did, and hurt as it was meant to. He came
into the club, took cheerfully what they offered him that way, and felt
grateful ever afterwards that Maginnis had steered him to the light.
The big man, Maginnis himself, sat on at the piano, his great fingers
rambling deftly over the keys. He was playing Brahms now and doing it
magnificently. He was fifteen stone, all bone and muscle, and looked
thirty pounds heavier, because you imagined, mistakenly, that he carried
a little fat. He was the richest man in the club, at least so far as
prospects went, but he wore ready-made clothes, and one inferred,
correctly, that a suit of them lasted him a long time. He looked capable
of everything, but the fact was that he had done nothing. But for his
money and a past consisting of thirty years of idleness, he might have
been the happiest dog alive.
"The best government," said one of the three men who were not listening
to the piano, "is simply the surest method for putting public opinion
into power."
The sentence drifted over the player's shoulder and Brahms ended with a
crash.
"Balzac said that," he cried, rising abruptly, "and said it better! But,
good heavens, how you both miss the point! Why, let me tell you."
But this they stoutly declined to do. Amid laughter and protests--for
the big man's hobbies were well known to the club--two of them sprang up
in mock terror, and headed for the door. They indicated that they had
promised each other to play billiards and dared not break the
engagement.
"I couldn't stay to the end, anyway, Peter," explained one, from the
door. "My wife sits up when I'm out after midnight. Meet me here for
breakfast some bank-holiday, and we'll give the day to it."
Maginnis, who never got over feeling disappointed when he saw his
audience slipping away from him, sighed, searched through his frowzy
pockets for a match, lit his pipe, and fell upon a lounge near to all
the society that was left him.
"Why weren't you up?" said this society presently.
"The idea of dinner was repellent to me."
"To you, Peter--the famous trencherman of song and story? Why this
unwonted daintiness?"
"Lassitude. Too weary to climb the stairs. Besides, I wasn't hungry."
"Ah," said Reggie Townes, "you have the caveman's idea of dinner, I see.
It strikes you as purely an occasion for purveying provender to man's
interior. The social feature eludes you. You know what I think, Peter?
You ought to go to work."
"_Work!_"
"That's the word. What of it?"
"Not a thing. The idea was new to me; that's all."
"Persiflage and all that aside, why don't you take a stab at politics?"
"Politics! Here in New York! I'd sooner go into Avernus of the easy
descent. If you had a town to run all by yourself now, there might be
something in it. That idea of yours as to going to work, while
unquestionably novel, strikes me as rather clever."
"No credit belongs to me," said Townes, "if I happened to be born
brilliant instead of good-looking."
"I'll ponder it," said Peter; and stretching out his great hand with a
gesture which banished the subject, he pushed a service button and
begged Townes to be so kind as to name his poison.
Outside in the hall a voice just then called his name, and Maginnis
answered.
A young man in evening dress strolled through the doorway, a tallish,
lithe young man with a pleasant clean-cut face and very light hair. It
was evident enough that he patronized a good tailor. He glanced at the
two men, nodded absently, and dropped without speech into a chair near
the door. Townes eyed him somewhat quizzically.
"Evening, Larry. A little introspective to-night, yes?"
Peter said: "By bull luck you have stumbled into a company of gentlemen
about to place an order. Go ahead. Mention a preference."
The young man, unseeing eyes on Peter, did not answer. Instead, he
sprang up, as though struck by a thought of marked interest and bolted
out the door. They saw him vanish into the telephone booth across the
hall and bang the glass door shut behind him.
"Forgot an engagement."
"You mean remembered one," said Peter.
"It all figures out to the same answer," said Townes; and glancing
presently at his watch, he announced that he must be trotting on.
"But I've ordered something for you, man."
"Varney can use it, can't he?"
The door opened, and the tallish young man stood on the threshold again,
this time social and affable. His distraitness, oddly enough, had all
gone. He greeted the two in the smoking-room as though he had seen them
for the first time that evening; expressed his pleasure at being in
their company; inquired after their healths and late pursuits; pressed
cigarettes upon them.
They rallied him upon his furtive movements and fickle demeanor, but
drew only badinage in kind, and no explanations; and Townes, laughing,
turned to the door.
"Dally with us yet a little while, Reggie."
"No, gentles, no! I'm starting abroad to-night and have already dallied
too long."
"Abroad!"
"My sister," said Townes, "as perhaps you don't know, wedded a
foreigner--Willy Harcourt, born and raised in Brooklyn. Therefore, I am
now leaving to go to a party in Brooklyn. Say that to yourself
slowly--'a party in Brooklyn!' Sounds sort of ominous, doesn't it? If
the worst happens, I look to you fellows to break it to my mother.
Please mention that I was smiling to the last."
He waved a farewell and disappeared into the hall. Varney dropped into
the chair Townes had left empty, and elevated his feet to the lounge
where sprawled the length of Peter Maginnis. Peter looked up and the
eyes of the two men met.
"Well, Laurence? What is the proposition?" "Proposition? What do you
mean?"
"An ass," replied Maginnis, pumping seltzer into a tall glass, "could
see that you have something on your mind."
Varney pulled a match from the little metal box-holder, and looked at
him with reluctant admiration. "Sherlock Holmes Maginnis! I _have_
something on my mind. A friend dropped it there half an hour ago, and
now I've come to drop it on yours." He glanced at the room's two doors
and saw that both were shut. "Time is short. The outfit upstairs may
drift in any minute. Listen. Do you recall telling me the other day,
with tears in your eyes, that you were slowly dying for something new
and interesting to do?"
Peter nodded.
"I think of your pleasure," said Varney, "always. By looking about me
and keeping my eyes and ears open at all hours, I have found you just
the thing."
"New and interesting?"
"There are men in this town who would run themselves to death trying to
get in it on the ground floor."
Maginnis shook his head.
"I have done everything in this world," he said almost sadly, "except, I
may say, the felonies."
"But this," said Varney, "is a felony."
Struck by his tone, Peter glanced up. "Mean it?"
"Sure thing."
"As I remarked before, what is the proposition?"
"To sum it all up in a word," said Varney, "there's a job of kidnapping
on and I happened to get the contract. That's all there is to the little
trifle."
Peter swung his feet around to the floor, and sat up. His conviction
that Varney was trying to be funny died hard.
Varney laughed. "I need a pal," he added. "Five minutes ago I telephoned
and got permission to offer the place to you."
"Stop being so confounded mysterious," Peter broke out, "and go ahead!"
Varney blew smoke thoughtfully and said, "I will. In fact, that's what I
came for. It's a devil of a delicate little matter to talk about to
anybody, as it happens. Of course, what I tell you must never go an inch
further, whether you come along or not."
"Naturally."
"You know my Uncle Elbert?"
"Old Carstairs?"
Varney nodded. "He wouldn't thank you for the adjective, though. I got
the contract from him. By the way, he's not my uncle, of course; he was
simply a great friend of my mother's. I inherited the friendship, and in
these last five years he and I have somehow managed to get mighty close
together. Eight years or so ago," he continued, "as you may, or may not
know, Uncle Elbert and his wife parted. There wasn't a thing the matter,
I believe, except that they weren't hitting it off particularly well.
They simply agreed to disagree. _Nouveau riche_, and all that, wasn't
it? Mrs. Carstairs has some money of her own. She picked up, packed up,
walked out, bought a place up the river, near Hunston, and has lived
there ever since."
Peter looked up quickly. "Hunston? Ha! But fire away."
"She and Uncle Elbert have stayed pretty good friends all through it.
They exchange letters now and then, and once or twice when she has been
in the city, I believe they have met--though not in recent years. My
private suspicion is that she has never entirely got over being in love
with him. Anyhow, there's their general relationship in a
nutshell--parted but friendly. It might have stayed just like that till
they were both in their graves, but for one accidental complication.
There is a child."
"I seem to remember," said Peter. "A little boy."
"On the contrary. A little girl. Uncle Elbert," said Varney, "is a bit
of a social butterfly. Mrs. Carstairs is an earnest domestic character.
As I gather, that was what they clashed on--the idea of what a home
ought to be. When the split came, Mrs. Carstairs took the child and
Uncle Elbert was willing enough to have her do it. That was natural
enough, Peter. He had his friends and his clubs and his little dinners,
and he was no more competent to raise a girl baby than you are, which is
certainly going some for a comparison. I suppose the fact was that he
was glad to be free of the responsibility. But it's mighty different
now.
"You see," said Varney, lighting one cigarette from another and
throwing the old one away, "he must be pretty lonely all by himself in
that big house of his. On top of that he's getting old and isn't in very
good health. Explain it any way you like. The simple fact is that within
this last year or | 2,521.288807 |
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THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.
THE
STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN
BY E. W. HOWE
AUTHOR OF “A MOONLIGHT BOY,” “THE MYSTERY OF THE
LOCKS,” ETC.
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT 1883 AND 1884
BY E. W. HOWE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PREFACE.
Should “The Story of a Country Town” find readers, it may be interesting
to them to know that it was written entirely at night, after the writer
had finished a hard day’s work as editor and publisher of a small
evening newspaper. I do not think a line of it was written while the sun
was shining, but in almost every chapter there are recollections of the
midnight bell.
No one can possibly find more fault with it than I have found myself. A
hundred times I have been on the point of burning the manuscript, and
never attempting it again; for I was always tired while working at it,
and always dissatisfied after concluding an evening’s work. I offer this
as a general apology for its many defects, and can only hope it will
meet with the charity it deserves.
I believe that when I began the story I had some sort of an idea that I
might be able to write an acceptable work of fiction, but I have changed
it so often, and worried about it so much, that at its conclusion I have
no idea whether it is very bad, or only indifferent. I think that
originally I had some hope that it might enable me to get rid of my
weary newspaper work, and help me to more ease than I have ever known,
but I am so tired now that I am incapable of exercising my judgment
with reference to it. If it prove a success or a failure I shall not be
surprised, for I have no opinion of my own on the subject.
For several years I have felt that I would like an opportunity to
address a larger audience than my newspaper’s circulation affords, but I
find now that I am very timid about it, and worry a great deal for fear
the verdict will not be favorable. A gentleman who once looked over a
portion of the manuscript said his first impression was that it was the
work of a tired man, and that the pen seemed to drag heavily in making
the words. I fear this will be the verdict of the people, and that they
will say I should have given up my newspaper writing before attempting
it. The reason I did not do this was that I had no confidence in my
ability to become an acceptable historian of a country town, therefore I
worked harder than I should during the day, and went wearily at the
story at night.
Should inquiry be made as to whether any part of the story be true, I
could only reply that I have never known anyone who did not furnish some
suggestion or idea in the construction of the book, as I have never
lived in a town that did not afford some material for the description of
Twin Mounds. I meet Jo Errings every day, and frequently lead them up to
denounce their particular Clinton Bragg; I have known several John
Westlocks, and I am afraid that Mateel Shepherds are more numerous than
is desirable. I have known troops of Mrs. John Westlocks, for in the
country where I was brought up all the women were pale, timid, and
overworked; I hope that Agnes Deming can be duplicated in every
community, and I believe that Big Adams are numerous everywhere; but I
must confess that I never knew but one Little Biggs, though his wife may
be seen hurrying out of the way, should you decide to look for her, in
every third or fourth house.
I hope there will be general sympathy for Jo Erring. In writing the
history of this creature of my fancy, I have almost come to believe that
I have an uncle of that name, and that he lived and died as I have
narrated. Sometimes I think of him wandering in the cave, crying, “Help!
Help! I am lost!” and his voice is very pitiful and distressed. At other
times he has come into my room and sat beside me as I wrote. I have been
with him to the cave on a stormy night, and heard the beginning of the
few sweet chords of music he describes, but which were immediately
broken into by the furious uproar of devils; sometimes I think I have
found him in every-day life, and that he is still listening at night to
the horrible noise of his skeleton. If some one should confess to me
that he is Jo Erring in every particular except that when the keeper of
the Twin Mounds jail gave him opportunity he ran away, I believe I
should be his friend.
In our part of the country there was a strange man answering to the
description of Damon Barker, and I often visited him when a boy, but he
lived in a hovel on the prairie, which was dirty beyond description. He
had boxes filled with strange wearing-apparel, and brass pistols
without number, and he told me stories; but he ran a nursery instead of
a mill, though I have heard that he had a sister. I originally intended
to make these two central figures in the story, but Jo Erring wandered
into my mind, and I am afraid I have made sad work of him.
E. W. H.
ATCHISON, KANSAS, Sept. 4, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE.
I. FAIRVIEW 1
II. THE HELL QUESTION AND THE REV. JOHN WESTLOCK 12
III. THE HOUSE OF ERRING 23
IV. THE RELIGION OF FAIRVIEW 32
V. THE SCHOOL IN THE CHURCH 38
VI. DAMON BARKER 48
VII. A NEW DISPENSATION 57
VIII. THE SMOKY HILL SECRET 69
IX. THE CHARITY OF SILENCE 87
X. JO ERRING MAKES A FULL CONFESSION 99
XI. WITH REFERENCE TO A MAN WHO WAS SENT
WEST TO GROW UP WITH THE COUNTRY OR GET KILLED 112
XII. LOVE’S YOUNG LESSON 123
XIII. THE FLOCK OF THE GOODE SHEPHERD 134
XIV. I AM SURPRISED 148
XV. THE COUNTRY TOWN 154
XVI. MORE OF THE VILLAGE OF TWIN MOUNDS 165
XVII. THE FELLOW 177
XVIII. THE MILL AT ERRING’S FORD 185
XIX. THE FALL OF REV. JOHN WESTLOCK 202
XX. TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE 212
XXI. THE PECULIARITIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 228
XXII. A SKELETON IN THE HOUSE AT ERRING’S FORD 244
XXIII. THE SHADOW IN THE SMOKY HILLS 264
XXIV. A LETTER FROM JO 279
XXV. THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD 285
XXVI. BARKER’S STORY 296
XXVII. THE LIGHT GOES OUT FOREVER 309
XXVIII. TOO LATE 326
XXIX. THE SKELETON AGAIN 337
XXX. A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS 350
XXXI. KILLED AT THE FORD 355
XXXII. THE TWIN MOUNDS JAIL 368
XXXIII. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND 382
XXXIV. THE GRAVE BY THE PATH 392
XXXV. THE HISTORY OF A MISTAKE 398
XXXVI. CONCLUSION 410
THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.
CHAPTER I.
FAIRVIEW.
Ours was the prairie district out West, where we had gone to grow up
with the country.
I believe that nearly every farmer for miles around moved to the
neighborhood at the same time, and that my father’s wagons headed the
procession. I have heard that most of them gathered about him on the
way, and as he preached from his wagon wherever night overtook him, and
held camp-meetings on Sundays, he attracted a following of men
travelling the same road who did not know themselves where they were
going, although a few of the number started with him, among them my
mother’s father and his family. When he came to a place that suited him,
he picked out the land he wanted--which any man was free to do at that
time--and the others settled about him.
In the dusty tramp of civilization westward--which seems to have always
been justified by a tradition that men grow up by reason of it--our
section was not a favorite, and remained new and unsettled after
counties and States farther west had grown old. Every one who came there
seemed favorably impressed with the steady fertility of the soil, and
expressed surprise that the lands were not all occupied; but no one in
the great outside world talked about it, and no one wrote about it, so
that those who were looking for homes went to the west or the north,
where others were going.
There were cheap lands farther on, where the people raised a crop one
year, and were supported by charity the next; where towns sprang up on
credit, and farms were opened with borrowed money; where the people were
apparently content, for our locality did not seem to be far enough west,
nor far enough north, to suit them; where no sooner was one stranger’s
money exhausted than another arrived to take his place; where men
mortgaged their possessions at full value, and thought themselves rich,
notwithstanding, so great was their faith in the country; where he who
was deepest in debt was the leading citizen, and where bankruptcy caught
them all at last. On these lands the dusty travellers settled, where
there were churches, school-houses, and bridges--but little rain--and
railroads to carry out the crops should any be raised; and when any one
stopped in our neighborhood, he was too poor and tired to follow the
others.
I became early impressed with the fact that our people seemed to be
miserable and discontented, and frequently wondered that they did not
load their effects on wagons again, and move away from a place which
made all the men surly and rough, and the women pale and fretful.
Although I had never been to the country they had left, except as a baby
in arms, I was unfavorably impressed with it, thinking it must have been
a very poor one that such a lot of people left it and considered their
condition bettered by the change, for they never talked of going back,
and were therefore probably better satisfied than they had ever been
before. A road ran by our house, and when I first began to think about
it at all, I thought that the covered wagons travelling it carried
people moving from the country from which those in our neighborhood
came, and the wagons were so numerous that I was led to believe that at
least half the people of the world had tried to live there, and moved
away after an unfortunate experience.
On the highest and bleakest point in the county, where the winds were
plenty in winter because they were not needed, and scarce in summer for
an opposite reason, the meeting-house was built, in a corner of my
father’s field. This was called Fairview, and so the neighborhood was
known. There was a graveyard around it, and cornfields next to that, but
not a tree or shrub attempted its ornament, and as the building stood on
the main road where the movers’ wagons passed, I thought that, next to
their ambition to get away from the country which had been left by those
in Fairview, the movers were anxious to get away from Fairview church,
and avoid the possibility of being buried in its ugly shadow, for they
always seemed to drive faster after passing it.
High up in a steeple which rocked with every wind was a great bell, the
gift of a missionary society, and when there was a storm this tolled
with fitful and uncertain strokes, as if the ghosts from the grave lot
had crawled up there, and were counting the number to be buried the
coming year, keeping the people awake for miles around. Sometimes, when
the wind was particularly high, there were a great number of strokes on
the bell in quick succession, which the pious said was an alarm to the
wicked, sounded by the devil, a warning relating to the conflagration
which could never be put out, else Fairview would never have been built.
When any one died it was the custom to toll the bell once for every year
of the deceased’s age, and as deaths usually occur at night, we were
frequently wakened from sleep by its deep and solemn tones. When I was
yet a very little boy I occasionally went with my father to toll the
bell when news came that some one was dead, for we lived nearer the
place than any of the others, and when the strokes ran up to forty and
fifty it was very dreary work, and I sat alone in the church wondering
who would ring for me, and how many strokes could be counted by those
who were shivering at home in their beds.
The house was built the first year of the settlement, and the
understanding was that my father contributed the little money necessary,
and superintended the work, in which he was assisted by any one who
volunteered his labor. It was his original intention to build it alone,
and the little help he received only irritated him, as it was not worth
the boast that he had raised a temple to the Lord single-handed. All the
carpenter’s work, and all the plasterer’s work, he performed without
assistance except from members of his own household, but I believe the
people turned out to the raising, and helped put up the frames.
Regularly after its completion he occupied the rough pulpit (which he
built with especial reference to his own size), and every Lord’s Day
| 2,521.383445 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available | 2,521.578822 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books.
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=jd4BAAAAQAAJ&dq
RIVEN BONDS.
A Novel,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
TRANSLATED BY
BERTHA NESS,
_FROM THE ORIGINAL OF E. WERNER_,
Author of "SUCCESS AND HOW HE WON IT,"
"UNDER A CHARM," &c.
* * * * *
VOL. II.
* * * * *
London:
REMINGTON AND CO.,
5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.
1877.
[_All Rights Reserved_.]
RIVEN BONDS.
CHAPTER I.
"No!" said Captain Almbach. "That cannot be! I have to make a
confession to you, Ella, at the risk of your showing me to the door."
"What have you to confess to me?" asked the astonished Ella.
Hugo looked down.
"That I am still the 'adventurer,' whom you once took so sternly to
task. It did not improve him certainly, but he never attempted since to
approach you with his follies, and cannot to-day either. To make my
tale short, I had no idea you were the inhabitant of this villa, when I
directed my steps here. I had myself announced to a perfectly strange
gentleman, because Marchese Tortoni had spoken of a young lady, who
lived here in complete seclusion, and yes--I knew before hand, that you
would look at me in this way--"
Her glance had indeed met him sadly and reproachfully; then she turned
silently away and looked out of the window. A pause ensued--Hugo went
to her side.
"It was chance which brought me here now, Ella. I am waiting for my
lecture."
"You are free, and have no duty to injure," said the young wife,
coldly. "Besides, my opinion in such matters can hardly have any
influence upon you, Herr Captain Almbach."
"And so Herr Captain Almbach must retire, to find the doors closed
against him next time, is it not so?" Unmistakable agitation was heard
in his voice. "You are very unjust towards me. That I, thinking to find
perfect strangers here, did undertake an adventure--well, that is
nothing new to me; but that I was guilty of the boundless folly of
confessing it to you, although I had the best excuse for deception,
that is very new, and I was only forced to it by your eyes, which
looked at me so big and enquiringly, that I became red as a schoolboy,
and could not go away with a lie. Therefore I hear Herr Captain Almbach
again, who, thank God, had disappeared from our conversation for the
last quarter of an hour."
Ella shook her head slightly.
"You have spoiled all my pleasure in our meeting now, certainly----"
"Did it please you? Did it really?" cried Hugo, interrupting her
eagerly, with sparkling eyes.
"Of course," said she, quietly. "One is always pleased, when far away,
to find greetings and remembrances from home."
"Yes," said Hugo, slowly. "I had quite forgotten that we are country
people also. Then you only recognised the German in me? I must confess
honestly that my feelings were not so purely patriotic when I saw you
again."
"Notwithstanding the unavoidable disillusion which your discovery
prepared for you?" asked Ella, somewhat sharply.
Captain Almbach looked at her unabashed for a few seconds.
"You make me suffer greatly for the imprudent confession, Ella. Be it
so! I must bear it. Only one question before I go, or one petition
rather. May I come again?"
She hesitated with her reply; he came a step nearer.
"May I come again? Ella, what have I done to you that you would banish
me also from your threshold?"
There lay a reproach in the words, which did not fail to make an
impression upon her.
"I do not do so either," replied she, gently. "If you would seek me
again, our door shall not be closed to _you_."
With quick movement, Hugo caught her hand, and carried it to his lips,
but those lips rested on it unusually long, much longer than is
customary in kissing a hand, and Ella appeared to think so, as she drew
it somewhat hastily away. Equally hastily Captain Almbach drew himself
up; the slight red tint which had before lain on his forehead was there
again, and he, who was at other times never at a loss for a civility or
suitable reply, said now merely monosyllabically--
"Thank you. Until we meet again, then!"
"Until we meet again!" replied Ella, with a confusion that contrasted
strangely with the calm and decision which she had shown throughout the
whole interview. It almost seemed as if she repented the permission
just given, and which still she could not withdraw.
A few minutes later, Captain Almbach found himself in the open air, and
slowly he began his return to Mirando. He had again carried out his
will, and fulfilled the promise made so confidently that morning. But
he seemed little inclined to make much of his triumph. Looking back to
the villa, he passed his hand across his forehead, like some one
awaking from a dream.
"I believe that the elegiac atmosphere of Mirando has infected me," he
muttered, angrily. "I begin to look upon the simplest things from the
most fantastically, romantic point of view. What is there, then, in
this meeting that I cannot get over it? The Erlau drawing-rooms have
been a good school to be sure, and the pupil has learned unexpectedly,
quickly, and easily. I suspected something of that for long, and
yet--folly! What is it to me if Reinhold learn at last to repent his
blindness! And she does not even know how near he is, so near that a
meeting cannot be avoided much longer. I fear any attempt at
approaching her would cost Reinhold much dearer than that first one.
What a singularly icy expression there was in her face when I hinted at
the possibility of a reconciliation! That;" here Hugo breathed more
freely, perhaps, in unacknowledged but great satisfaction--"that said,
No! to all eternity. And if chance or fate lead them together, now, it
is too late--now _he_ has lost her."
On the mirror-like blue sea a boat glided, which, coming from S----,
bore in the direction of Mirando. The bark's elegant exterior showed
that it was the property of some rich family, and the two rowers wore
the livery of the Tortonis. Nevertheless, for the gentleman, who
besides these two was the sole occupant of the boat, neither the rapid
motion nor the magnificent panorama all around appeared to possess the
slightest interest. He leant back in his seat, with closed eyes, as if
asleep, and only looked up at last when the boat lay to at the marble
steps, which led directly down from the villa's terrace to the sea. He
stepped out. A sign dismissed the two men, who, like all the Marchese's
servants, were accustomed to pay to their master's celebrated guest,
the same respect as to himself. A few strokes of the oars carried the
boat to one side, and immediately after it was anchored in the little
harbour away by the park.
Reinhold stepped on to the steps, and ascended them slowly. He came
from S----, where Beatrice had, in the meantime, arrived. As usual, the
actress here, also, where all foreigners and inhabitants of position
assembled for their _villegiatura_, was surrounded by acquaintances and
admirers, and Reinhold no sooner found himself at her side than the
same fate, and, indeed, to a greater extent, became his. In Beatrice's
vicinity there was no rest and no relaxation for him; she dragged him
at once into the vortex with her. The hours, which he intended to spend
with her, had become days, which in excitement and distraction did not
yield the palm to the last weeks in town, and after having accompanied
her yester evening to a large fete, which had continued the whole night
until morning's dawn, he had torn himself away at day-break, and thrown
himself into the boat in order to return to Mirando.
He drew a deep breath at the quiet and loneliness around him,
undisturbed even by a word of greeting or welcome. Cesario, as he knew,
had early this morning undertaken an expedition to the neighbouring
island, in Hugo's company, from which both were only expected back
towards evening, and for strangers the villa was not yet accessible.
The young Marchese did not like to be disturbed in the seclusion of his
_villegiatura_, and his steward had received orders not to allow any
strange visitors to enter during his residence, an order which was
carried out most strictly, to the great dissatisfaction of travellers,
by whom Mirando was considered a favourite goal for excursions. The
estate, with its extensive gardens, and magnificent buildings, which in
the north would certainly have been called a castle, and here merely
bore the modest name of a villa, was celebrated far and near, not only
on account of its paradise-like situation and the boundless view over
the sea, but also because of the rich art-treasures which it concealed
inside, and which now merely charmed the eyes of the few who had the
good fortune of being permitted to call themselves the Marchese's
guests.
Short of rest, tired, and yet unable to seek repose and sleep, Reinhold
threw himself on to one of the marble benches in the shade of the
colonnade; he felt strained to the utmost exhaustion. Yes, these sultry
Italian nights, with their intoxicating perfume of flowers, and their
moonlight quiet, or the noisy clamour of a feast, these sunshiny days,
with the ever-blue sky, and the glowing splendour of the earth's
colours, they had given him everything of which he had ever dreamed in
the cold, dreary north; but they had also cost him the best part of his
life's strength. The time was long since passed when all existence
appeared to be only one course of glowing intoxication and of | 2,521.6851 |
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[Illustration: FIGHT WITH THE GRIZZLY BEARS. _p. 290._]
THE
BACKWOODSMAN;
OR,
=Life on the Indian Frontier.=
[Illustration]
LONDON:
WARD, LOOK, AND TYLER,
WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
THE
BACKWOODSMAN
OR
=Life on the Indian Frontier.=
EDITED BY
SIR C. F. LASCELLES WRAXALL, BART.
[Illustration: WL&T]
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER,
WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. OGDEN AND CO.,
172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. MY SETTLEMENT 1
II. THE COMANCHES 6
III. A FIGHT WITH THE WEICOS 12
IV. HUNTING ADVENTURES 19
V. THE NATURALIST 30
VI. MR. KREGER'S FATE 41
VII. A LONELY RIDE 53
VIII. THE JOURNEY CONTINUED 66
IX. HOMEWARD BOUND 82
X. THE BEE HUNTER 99
XI. THE WILD HORSE 114
XII. THE PRAIRIE FIRE 126
XIII. THE DELAWARE INDIAN 137
XIV. IN THE MOUNTAINS 151
XV. THE WEICOS 162
XVI. THE BEAR HOLE 173
XVII. THE COMANCHE CHIEF 185
XVIII. THE NEW COLONISTS 208
XIX. A BOLD TOUR 224
| 2,521.880792 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
JULES SANDEAU. LA ROCHE AUX MOUETTES (Extracts). [_Nutt’s Short
French Readers, 6d._]
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER. VOYAGE EN ITALIE. [_Cambridge University
Press, 3s._]
ÉMILE SOUVESTRE. LE PHILOSOPHE SOUS LES TOITS (Extracts).
[_Blackie’s Little French Classics, 4d._]
PIERRE CŒUR. L’ÂME DE BEETHOVEN. [_Siepmann’s French Series.
Macmillan, 2s._]
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
“_Omne epigramma sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi,
Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui._”
MARTIAL.
[Thus Englished by Archbishop Trench:
“_Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all;
Its sting, its honey, and its body small._”]
[And thus by my friend, Mr. F. Storr:
“_An epigram’s a bee: ’tis small, has wings
Of wit, a heavy bag of humour, and it stings._”]
“_Celebre dictum, scita quapiam novitate insigne._”
ERASMUS.
“_The genius, wit, and spirit of a nation are discovered in its
proverbs._”--BACON.
“_The people’s voice the voice of God we call;
And what are proverbs but the people’s voice?_”
JAMES HOWELL.
“_What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed._”
POPE, _Essay on Criticism_.
“_The wit of one man, the wisdom of many._”--Lord JOHN RUSSELL
(_Quarterly Review_, Sept. 1850).
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
A COMPANION TO DESHUMBERT’S
“DICTIONARY OF DIFFICULTIES”
BY
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE
PRINCIPAL OF KENSINGTON COACHING COLLEGE
ASSISTANT EXAMINER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON
_FOURTH REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION_
[Fifth Thousand]
LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE
1905
“_Tant ayme on chien qu’on le nourrist,
Tant court chanson qu’elle est aprise,
Tant garde on fruit qu’il se pourrist,
Tant bat on place qu’elle est prise.
Tant tarde on que faut entreprise,
Tant se haste on que mal advient,
Tant embrasse on que chet la prise,
Tant crie l’on Noel qu’il vient._”
VILLON, _Ballade des Proverbes_.
PREFACE
In this edition I have endeavoured to keep down additions as much
as possible, so as not to overload the book; but I have not been
sparing in adding cross-references (especially in the Index) and
quotations from standard authors. These quotations seldom give
the first occasion on which a proverb has been used, as in most
cases it is impossible to find it.
I have placed an asterisk before all recognised proverbs; these
will serve as a first course for those students who do not wish
to read through the whole book at once. In a few cases I have
added explanations of English proverbs; during the eleven years
I have been using the book I have frequently found that pupils
were, for instance, as ignorant of “to bell the cat” as they were
of “attacher le grelot.”
I must add a warning to students who use the book when
translating into French. They must not use expressions marked
“familiar” or “popular” except when writing in a familiar or
low-class style. I have included these forms, because they are
often heard in conversation, but they are seldom met with in
serious French literature. A few blank pages have been added at
the end for additions. Accents have been placed on capitals to
aid the student; they are usually omitted in French printing.
In conclusion, I have to thank Mr. W. G. Lipscomb, M.A.,
Headmaster of Bolton Grammar School, Mr. E. Latham, and
especially M. Georges Jamin of the École Lavoisier, Paris, for
valuable suggestions; while M. Marius Deshumbert, and Professor
Walter Rippmann, in reading through the proof sheets, have made
many corrections and additions of the greatest value, for which I
owe them my sincere gratitude.
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE.
AUTHORITIES CONSULTED
BELCHER, H., and DUPUIS, A., “Manuel aux examens.” London, 1885.
BELCOUR, G., “English Proverbs.” London, 1888.
BOHN, H. G., “Handbook of Proverbs.” London, 1855.
CATS, JACOB, and FAIRLIE, R., “Moral Emblems.” London, 1860.
DUPLESSIS, M. GRATET, “La fleur des Proverbes français.” Paris,
1851.
FURETIÈRE, A., “Dictionnaire universel.” La Haye, 1727.
GÉNIN, F., “Récréations philologiques.” Paris, 1856.
HOWELL, JAMES, “Lexicon Tetraglotton.” London, 1660.
KARCHER, T., “Questionnaire français.” Seventh Edition. London,
1886.
LACURNE DE STE. PALAYE, “Dictionnaire historique de l’ancien
langage françois.” Paris, 1875-82.
LARCHEY, LORÉDAN, “Nos vieux Proverbes.” Paris, 1886.
LAROUSSE, P., “Grand Dictionnaire universel du xix^e siècle.”
1865-76.
LE ROUX DE LINCY, A. J., “Livre des Proverbes français.” 2^e
édition. Paris, 1859.
LITTRÉ, E., “Dictionnaire de la langue française.” Paris,
1863-72.
LOUBENS, D., “Proverbes de la langue française.” Paris, 1889.
MARTIN, ÉMAN, “Le Courrier de Vaugelas.” Paris, 1868.
QUITARD, P. M., “Dictionnaire étymologique des Proverbes.” Paris,
1842.
QUITARD, P. M., “Études sur les Proverbes français.” Paris, 1860.
RIGAUD, LUCIEN, “Argot moderne.” Paris, 1881.
TARVER, J. C., “Phraseological Dictionary.” London, 1854.
TRENCH, R. C., “Proverbs and their Lessons.” Sixth Edition.
London, 1869.
_Quarterly Review._ July 1868.
_Notes and Queries._ _Passim._
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
_Expressions to which an Asterisk is prefixed are Proverbs._
A.
A
_Il ne sait ni A ni B_ = He does not know B from a bull’s foot;
He cannot read; He is a perfect ignoramus.
_Être marqué à l’A_ = To stand high in the estimation of others.
[This expression is supposed to have originated in the custom of
stamping French coin with different letters of the alphabet. The
mark of the Paris Mint was an “A,” and its coins were supposed
to be of a better quality than those stamped at provincial
towns. But as this custom only began in 1418 by command of the
Dauphin, son of Charles VI., and as the saying was known long
previous, it is more probable that its origin is to be sought in
the pre-eminence that A has always held in all Aryan languages,
and that the French have borrowed it from the Romans. Compare
MARTIAL, ii. 57, and our A i, at Lloyd’s.]
Abandon
_Tout est à l’abandon_ = Everything is at sixes and sevens, in
utter neglect, in confusion.
[Also: _Tout va à la dérive._]
Abattre
*_Petite pluie abat grand vent_ = A little rain lays much dust;
Often quite a trifle calms a torrent of wrath.
[Compare: “Hi motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta Pulveris
exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.”
VERGIL, _Georgics_, iv. 86-7.]
_Abattre de l’ouvrage_ = To get through a great deal of work.
Aboi
_Être aux abois_ = To be reduced to the last extremity; To be at
bay.
[Compare BOILEAU: “Dès que j’y veux rêver, ma veine est aux
abois.”]
Abondance
*_Abondance de biens ne nuit pas_ = Store is no sore; One cannot
have too much of a good thing.
_Parler avec abondance_ = To speak fluently.
_Parler d’abondance_ = To speak extempore.
Abonder
_Il abonde dans mon sens_ = He is entirely of the same opinion as
I am; He has come round to my opinion.
Abord
_Il a l’abord rude, mais il s’adoucit bientôt_ = He receives you
roughly at first, but that soon passes off.
_A_ (or, _De_) _prime abord_ = At first sight; At the first blush.
Aboutir
_Les pourparlers n’ont pas abouti_ = The preliminary negotiations
led to nothing.
Absent
*“_Les absents ont toujours tort_” = When absent, one is never in
the right.
“When a man’s away,
Abuse him you may.”
[NÉRICAULT-DESTOUCHES, _L’obstacle imprévu_, i. 6.]
Absurde
_L’homme absurde est celui qui ne change jamais_ = The wise man
changes his opinion--the fool never.
[BARTHÉLEMY, _Palinode_. 1832.]
Accommodement
_Il est avec le ciel des accommodements_ = One can arrange things
with heaven.
[Compare MOLIÈRE, _Tartufe_, iv. 5:
“Le ciel défend, de vrai, certains contentements,
Mais on trouve avec lui des accommodements.”
The scene in which Orgon, hidden beneath the table, learns
Tartufe’s hypocrisy.]
_Un méchant accommodement est mieux que le meilleur procès_ = A
bad arrangement is better than the best lawsuit.
Accommoder
_Je l’accommoderai comme il faut_ = I will give him a good hiding.
_Il s’accommode de tout_ = He is satisfied with everything; He is
easy to please.
Accord
_D’accord_ = Granted.
Accorder
_Accordez mieux vos flûtes, si vous voulez réussir_ = You must
agree better among yourselves if you wish to succeed.
[Generally in bad sense. “Mettez, pour me jouer, vos flûtes mieux
d’accord.”--MOLIÈRE, _L’Etourdi_, i. 4.]
_S’accorder comme chien et chat_ = To live a cat and dog life.
Accoutumer
_Chose accoutumée n’est pas fort prisée_ = Familiarity breeds
contempt.
[The Latin version of a sentence in PLUTARCH’S _Morals_ runs:
“Nimia familiaritas contemptum parit.”
Fais feste au chien, il te gastera ton habit.
“Jamais trop compagnon à nul ne te feras
Car bien que moins de joye moins d’ennuy tu auras.”]
Accrocher
_Un homme qui se noie s’accroche à tout_ = A drowning man catches
at a straw.
_Il a accroché sa montre_ (pop.) = He has “popped” his watch.
[Other popular synonyms are the following:--
_Il a mis sa montre au clou_ (pop.) = His watch is up the spout.
_J’ai porté ma montre chez ma tante_ (pop.) = My watch is at my
uncle’s.]
Acheter
_Acheter à vil prix_ = To buy dirt cheap, for a mere song.
_Acheter chat en poche_ = To buy a pig in a poke.
_Acheter par francs et vendre par écus_ = To buy in the cheapest
market and sell in the dearest; To sell at a high profit.
Achever
_C’est un voleur achevé_ = He is an arrant thief.
Achoppement
_La pierre d’achoppement_ = The stumbling-block.
Acquérir
*_Le bien mal acquis ne profite jamais_ = Ill-gotten gains
benefit no one; Cheats never prosper; Ill got, ill spent.
Acquit
_Faire quelque chose par manière d’acquit_ = To do something for
form’s sake, perfunctorily.
[This is a shortened form of _faire quelque chose pour l’acquit
de sa conscience_ = to do something to satisfy one’s conscience.]
_Donner l’acquit_ = To break (at billiards).
_Pour acquit_ = Received (on bills).
Acte
_Faire acte de présence_ = To put in an appearance.
Adieu
_Sans adieu_ = I shall not say good-bye; I shall see you again
soon.
[“Adieu” is shortened from “Je vous recommande à la grâce de
Dieu.” Comp. “Sans adieu, chevalier, je crois que nous nous
reverrons bientôt.”--LESAGE.]
Adresse
_Le trait est arrivé à son adresse_ = The shaft (_or_, arrow) hit
the mark; He took the hint.
Adresser
_Vous vous adressez mal_; _Vous vous adressez bien_ (ironic.) =
You have come to the wrong person; You have mistaken your man.
Advenir
*_Advienne que pourra_ = Happen what may.
Affaire
_Cela fera parfaitement l’affaire_ = That will do capitally; That
will suit down to the ground.
_C’est son affaire_ = That is his business, his look-out.
_Ça, c’est mon affaire_ = That is my business; It is no business
of yours.
_Il est sûr de son affaire_ = He will pay for it; He will catch
it.
_Je ne dis pas mes affaires aux autres_ = I do not tell others my
plans (_or_ business); I keep my concerns to myself.
_J’entends votre affaire_ = I see what is to be done for you.
_Ils parlent affaires_ = They are talking business.
_Ils parlent boutique_ = They are talking shop.
_C’est une triste affaire_ = It is a sad business.
_S’attirer une mauvaise affaire_ = To get into a mess, scrape.
_Quand on a de l’esprit, on se tire d’affaire_ = When one has
brains, one gets out of any difficulty.
[Distinguish between _se tirer_ and _s’attirer_.]
_Si quelque affaire t’importe, ne la fais pas par procureur_ = If
you want a thing done, do it yourself.
_L’affaire a été chaude_ = It was warm work (referring to a
fight).
_Une affaire d’honneur_ = A duel.
_Où sont mes affaires?_ = Where are my things?
_Les affaires ne vont pas (ne marchent pas)_ = Trade is dull,
slack.
_Je suis dans les affaires_ = I am in business.
[“Les affaires? C’est bien simple, c’est l’argent des
autres.”--ALEX. DUMAS fils, _La Question d’Argent_, ii. 7.]
_Mêlez-vous de vos affaires_ = Mind your own business.
_Avoir affaire_ = To be occupied.
_Avoir affaire à quelqu’un_ = To have to speak to (to deal with)
a person.
[Sometimes as a threat: _Il aura affaire à moi_ = He will have to
deal with me.]
_Avoir affaire de quelqu’un_ = To need a person.
[“J’ai affaire de vous, ne vous éloignez pas.”]
_Avoir son affaire_ = To have what suits one. _J’ai mon affaire_
= I have found what I want. _J’ai votre affaire_ = I have got the
very thing for you. _Il aura son affaire_ (ironic.) = He will
catch it.
_C’est toute une affaire_ = It is a serious matter; It means a
lot of bother (_or_, trouble).
_C’est une affaire faite_ = It is as good as done.
_Son affaire est faite_ = He is a dead man (of one dying); He is
done for; He is a ruined man.
_Faire son affaire_ = (of oneself) To succeed. _Il fait tout
doucement son affaire_ = He is getting on slowly but surely. (Of
others) To punish. _S’il le rencontre, il lui fera son affaire_ =
If he meets him he will give it to him, will “do” for him.
_Il a fait ses affaires dans les vins_ = He made his money in the
wine trade.
_J’en fais mon affaire_ = I will take the responsibility of the
matter; I will see to it; I will take it in hand.
_Vous avez fait là une belle affaire_ (ironic.) = You have made a
pretty mess of it.
_Une affaire de rien_ = A mere nothing, a trifle.
_Il est hors d’affaire_ = He is out of danger.
_Être au dessous de ses affaires, être au dessus de ses affaires_
(ironic.) = To be unable to meet one’s liabilities, to be
unsuccessful.
_Quelle affaire! En voilà une affaire!_ (ironic.) = What a to-do!
What a row about nothing!
_La belle affaire!_ = Is that all? (_i.e._ it is not so difficult
or important as you seem to think).
_Il n’y a point de petites affaires_ = Every trifle is of
importance.
_Ceux qui n’ont point d’affaires s’en font_ = Those who have no
troubles invent them; Idle people make business for themselves.
_Les affaires sont les affaires_ = Business is business; One must
be serious at work.
_Ce scandale sera l’affaire de huit jours_ = That scandal will be
a nine days’ wonder.
_Dieu nous garde d’un homme qui n’a qu’une affaire_ = God save us
from the man of one idea.
[Because he is always talking of it, and tires every one. Compare
“Beware of the man of one book.”]
_Chacun sait ses affaires_ = Every one knows his own business
best.
*_A demain les affaires sérieuses_ = I will not be bothered with
business to-day; Time enough for business to-morrow.
[The saying of Archias, governor of Thebes, on receiving a letter
from Athens warning him of the conspiracy of Pelopidas; he would
not even open the letter. Soon after, the conspirators rushed in
and murdered him and his friends as they were feasting.]
_Il vaut mieux avoir affaire à Dieu qu’à ses saints_ = It is
better to deal with superiors than subordinates.
[Two quotations from La Fontaine are proverbial:--
“On ne s’attendait guère
A voir Ulysse en cette affaire.”
_La Tortue et les deux Canards._
“Le moindre grain de mil
Serait bien mieux mon affaire.”
_Le Coq et la Perle._]
Affamer
*_Ventre affamé n’a point d’oreilles_ = A hungry man will not
listen to reason.
[LA FONTAINE, _Fables_, ix. 18.]
Afficher
_Défense d’afficher_ = Stick no bills.
_C’est un homme qui s’affiche_ = He is a man who tries to get
talked about (generally in a disparaging sense).
[_Être affiché_ is also said of a man who has been “posted” at
his club.]
Affront
_Faire affront à quelqu’un_ = To shame some one in public.
_Le fils fait affront à sa famille_ = The son is a disgrace to
his family.
_Boire_ (_essuyer_ or _avaler_) _un affront_ = To pocket an
insult.
Affût
_Être à l’affût_ = To be watching for a favourable opportunity;
To be on the look-out. (See _Aguets_.)
Âge
_Il est entre deux âges_ = He is middle-aged.
_Il est président d’âge_ = He is chairman by seniority.
_Le bas âge_ = Infancy.
_Le bel âge_ = Childhood; youth.
[Some idea is generally understood after _le bel âge_. Thus
“childhood” is not always the right translation. For an author
_le bel âge_ would be after thirty, for a politician later still,
and so on. Chicaneau, in Racine’s _Plaideurs_, calls sixty _le
bel âge pour plaider_ (i. 7).]
_La fleur de l’âge_ = The prime of life.
_Le moyen âge_ = The Middle Ages.
Agir
_Il s’agit de_... = The question is...; The point is...
_Il s’agit de votre vie_ = Your life is at stake.
_Il ne s’agit pas de cela_ = That is not the point.
_Il s’agit bien de cela_ (ironic.) = That is quite a secondary
consideration.
Agiter
_Qui s’agite s’enrichit_ = If you wish to get rich, you must work
(hustle); No pains, no gains.
Agonie
_Même à travers l’agonie la passion dominante se fait voir_ = The
ruling passion is strong in death.
[“Elle a porté ses sentiments jusqu’à l’agonie.”--BOSSUET.
“And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath
Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death.”
POPE, _Moral Essays_, i. 262.]
Aguets
_Il est aux aguets_ = He is on the watch; He is in ambush. (See
_Affût_.)
Aide
*_Un peu d’aide fait grand bien_ = Many hands make light work.
Aider
_Bon droit a besoin d’aide_ = Even a good cause needs support.
*_Aide-toi, le ciel t’aidera_ = God helps those who help
themselves.
[LA FONTAINE, _Fables_, vi. 18, _Le Chartier embourbé_, copying
RÉGNIER, Sat. xiii.:
“Aydez vous seulement et Dieu vous aydera.”
Lat.: Dii facientes adjuvant.
ÆSCHYLUS, _Persae_, 742: Σπεύδοντι σαυτῷ χῶ θεὸς ξυνάψεται.
SOPHOCLES, _Camicii_, frag. 633, in Dindorf’s edition: Οὐκ ἐστι
τοῖς μή δρῶσι σύμμαχος Τύχη.
Another Greek saying was: Σύν, Αθηνᾷ καὶ χείρα κίνει = With
Minerva on your side, yet use your own hand.
Cromwell is reported to have said at the battle of Dunbar: “Trust
in God, but keep your powder dry.”
The Basques say: “Quoique Dieu soit bon ouvrier, il veut qu’on
l’aide.”]
Aiguille
_De fil en aiguille_ = Bit by bit; One thing leading to another.
[“De propos en propos et de fil en eguille.”--RÉGNIER, Sat. xiii.]
_Raconter de fil en aiguille_ = To tell the whole matter from the
beginning.
_Disputer sur la pointe d’une aiguille_ = To raise a discussion
on a subject of no importance; To split hairs.
*_Chercher une aiguille dans une botte de foin_ = To look for a
needle in a bundle (bottle) of hay.
Aiguillon
_A dur âne dur aiguillon_ = In dealing with obstinate natures one
must use severe measures.
Aile
_Il en a dans l’aile_ = He is winged (hurt).
_Le ministère a du plomb dans l’aile_ = The ministry is nearing
its end, is winged.
_Il ne bat plus que d’une aile_ = He is almost ruined; He is on
his last legs.
_Voler de ses propres ailes_ = To act (_or_, shift) for oneself.
_J’en tirerai pied ou aile_ = I will get something out of it.
[Idiom derived from carving a bird--to get a leg or a wing off
it.]
_C’est la plus belle plume de son aile_ (or, _le plus beau
fleuron de sa couronne_) = It is the finest gem of his crown.
Aimer
*_Qui aime bien châtie bien_ = Spare the rod and spoil the child.
[_Proverbs_ xiii. 24.]
_Aimer quelqu’un comme la prunelle de ses yeux_ = To love
somebody like the apple of one’s eye.
_Quand on n’a pas ce que l’on aime il faut aimer ce que l’on a_ =
If you cannot get crumb you had best eat crust.
[This sentence is found in a letter from Bussy Rabutin to Madame
de Sévigné, May 23, 1667.
“Quoniam non potest id fieri quod vis, id velis quod
possit.”--TERENCE, _Andria_, ii. 1, 6. “When things will not suit
our will, it is well to suit our will to things.”--Arab proverb.
“Let not what I cannot have
My peace of mind destroy.”
COLLEY CIBBER, _The Blind Boy_.]
*_Qui aime Bertrand, aime son chien_ = Love me, love my dog.
[“Qui me amat, amat et canem meum.”--S. BERNARD, _In Fest. S.
Mich. Serm._, i. sec. 3.]
*_Qui aime bien, tard oublie_ = True love dies hard.
_Qui m’aime me suive_ = Peril proves who dearly loves.
[Words attributed to Philippe VI. when at a Council during his
war with Flanders, the Connétable de Châtillon alone stood by
him, saying all times were suitable to the brave.]
Air
_En plein air_; _Au grand air_ = In the open air.
_Être entre deux airs_ } = To be in a
_Être dans un courant d’air_ } draught.
_Avoir toujours le pied en l’air_ = To be always on the go.
_Il parle en l’air_ = He talks without thinking of what he is
saying, at random, not seriously.
_Je vais prendre l’air du bureau_ = I am just going to look in at
the office.
_Prendre un air de feu_ = To go near the fire for a few minutes
to warm oneself.
_A votre air on ne vous donnerait pas vingt-cinq ans_ = From your
looks I should take you for less than five-and-twenty.
_Vivre de l’air du temps_ = To live upon nothing (_i.e._ to eat
very little).
_Elle a quelque chose de votre air_ = She takes after you; She
looks somewhat like you.
_Il a un faux air d’avocat_ = He looks something like a barrister.
_Cela en a tout l’air_ = It looks uncommonly like it.
_Il a un air_ (or, _l’air_) _comme il faut_ = He has a very
gentlemanly manner.
Algèbre
_C’est de l’algèbre pour lui_ = It is Greek to him.
[“C’est de l’hébreu pour moi.”--MOLIÈRE, _L’Étourdi_, iii. 3.]
Allemand
_Chercher une querelle d’Allemand_ = To pick a quarrel about
nothing, without rhyme or reason.
[This saying has been accounted for as follows:--During the
thirteenth century there lived in Dauphiné a very powerful family
of the name of Alleman. They were bound together by close ties
of relationship; and if any one attacked one member of the clan,
he had the whole to reckon with. From the vigour with which they
resented any wrong, no matter how slight, arose the expression
_Une querelle d’Alleman_. See M. Jules Quicherat’s article on _La
famille des Alleman_ in the _Revue historique de la noblesse_,
Part vi.]
Aller
*_Tant va la cruche à l’eau qu’à la fin elle se casse_ = The
pitcher that often goes to the well gets broken at last.
[This has been travestied: _Tant va la cruche à l’eau qu’à la fin
elle s’emplit._ The Germans have an equivalent: _Der Krug geht so
lange zum Brunnen, bis er bricht._]
*_Doucement va bien loin_ = Fair and softly goes far; Slow and
sure wins the race.
[The Italian equivalent is: _Chi va piano va sano e va lontano._
“Qui trop se hâte en cheminant
En beau chemin se fourvoye souvent.”
“On en va mieux quand on va doux.”--LA FONTAINE, _Les Cordeliers
de Catalogne_.]
_Il y allait du bonheur de ma famille_ = The happiness of my
family was at stake.
_Ce jeune homme ira loin_ = That young man will make his way in
the world, has a future before him.
_Au pis aller_ = Should the worst come to the worst.
_Un pis aller_ = A makeshift.
_Aller son petit bonhomme de chemin_ = To jog along quietly.
_Cela va tout seul_ = There is no difficulty in the way.
_Cela va sans dire_ = That is a matter of course; It stands to
reason.
_Cela va de soi_ = That follows naturally.
_Il ne reviendra pas, allez!_ = Depend upon it, he will not
return!
_Va pour mille francs!_ = Done! I’ll take £40.
_Aller cahin-caha_ } (lit.) To limp along.
_Aller clopin-c | 2,521.979583 |
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Produced by David Widger
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.
A MEMOIR, Complete
By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Volume I.
NOTE.
The Memoir here given to the public is based on a biographical sketch
prepared | 2,522.439685 |
2023-11-16 18:59:06.4684350 | 6,818 | 49 |
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Frontispiece]
HOPES AND FEARS
OR
SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPINSTER
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
[Picture: Title picture]
_ILLUSTRATED BY HERBERT GANDY_
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1899
_All rights reserved_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"She felt, rather than saw him watching her all _Frontispiece_
the way from the garden-gate to the wood."
"I find I can't spare you, Honora; you had better _Page_ 11
stay at the Holt for good."
"He drew the paper before him. Lucilla started _Page_ 296
to her feet."
PART I
CHAPTER I
Who ought to go then and who ought to stay!
Where do you draw an obvious border line?
_Cecil and Mary_
Among the numerous steeples counted from the waters of the Thames, in the
heart of the City, and grudged by modern economy as cumberers of the soil
of Mammon, may be remarked an abortive little dingy cupola, surmounting
two large round eyes which have evidently stared over the adjacent roofs
ever since the Fire that began at Pie-corner and ended in Pudding-lane.
Strange that the like should have been esteemed the highest walk of
architecture, and yet Honora Charlecote well remembered the days when St.
Wulstan's was her boast, so large, so clean, so light, so Grecian, so far
surpassing damp old Hiltonbury Church. That was at an age when her
enthusiasm found indiscriminate food in whatever had a hold upon her
affections, the nearer her heart being of course the more admirable in
itself, and it would be difficult to say which she loved the most
ardently, her city home in Woolstone-lane, or Hiltonbury Holt, the old
family seat, where her father was a welcome guest whenever his
constitution required relaxation from the severe toils of a London
rector.
Woolstone-lane was a locality that sorely tried the coachmen of Mrs.
Charlecote's West End connections, situate as it was on the very banks of
the Thames, and containing little save offices and warehouses, in the
midst of which stood Honora's home. It was not the rectory, but had been
inherited from City relations, and it antedated the Fire, so that it was
one of the most perfect remnants of the glories of the merchant princes
of ancient London. It had a court to itself, shut in by high walls, and
paved with round-headed stones, with gangways of flags in mercy to the
feet; the front was faced with hewn squares after the pattern of Somerset
House, with the like ponderous sashes, and on a smaller scale, the Louis
XIV. pediment, apparently designed for the nesting-place of swallows and
sparrows. Within was a hall, panelled with fragrant softly-tinted cedar
wood, festooned with exquisite garlands of fruit and flowers, carved by
Gibbons himself, with all his peculiarities of rounded form and delicate
edge. The staircase and floor were of white stone, tinted on sunny days
with reflections from the windows' three medallions of yellow and white
glass, where Solomon, in golden mantle and crowned turban, commanded the
division of a stout lusty child hanging by one leg; superintended the
erection of a Temple worthy of Haarlem; or graciously welcomed a
recoiling stumpy Vrow of a Queen of Sheba, with golden hair all down her
back.
The river aspect of the house had come to perfection at the Elizabethan
period, and was sculptured in every available nook with the chevron and
three arrows of the Fletchers' Company, and a merchant's mark, like a
figure of four with a curly tail. Here were the oriel windows of the
best rooms, looking out on a grassplat, small enough in country eyes, but
most extensive for the situation, with straight gravelled walks, and low
lilac and laburnum trees, that came into profuse blossom long before
their country cousins, but which, like the crocuses and snowdrops of the
flower borders, had better be looked at than touched by such as dreaded
sooty fingers. These shrubs veiled the garden from the great river
thoroughfare, to which it sloped down, still showing traces of the
handsome stone steps and balustrade that once had formed the access of
the gold-chained alderman to his sumptuous barge.
Along those paths paced, book in hand, a tall, well-grown maiden, of good
straight features, and clear, pale skin, with eyes and rich luxuriant
hair of the same colour, a peculiarly bright shade of auburn, such as
painters of old had loved, and Owen Sandbrook called golden, while
Humfrey Charlecote would declare he was always glad to see Honor's
carrots.
More than thirty years ago, personal teaching at a London parish school
or personal visiting of the poor was less common than at present, but
Honora had been bred up to be helpful, and she had newly come in from a
diligent afternoon of looking at the needlework, and hearing Crossman's
Catechism and Sellon's Abridgment from a demurely dressed race of little
girls in tall white caps, bibs and tuckers, and very stout indigo-blue
frocks. She had been working hard at the endeavour to make the little
Cockneys, who had never seen a single ear of wheat, enter into Joseph's
dreams, and was rather weary of their town sharpness coupled with their
indifference and want of imagination, where any nature, save human
nature, was concerned. 'I will bring an ear of Hiltonbury wheat home
with me--some of the best girls shall see me sow it, and I will take them
to watch it growing up--the blade, the ear, the full corn in the
ear--poor dears, if they only had a Hiltonbury to give them some tastes
that are not all for this hot, busy, eager world! If I could only see
one with her lap full of bluebells; but though in this land of Cockaigne
of ours, one does not actually pick up gold and silver, I am afraid they
are our flowers, and the only ones we esteem worth the picking; and like
old Mr. Sandbrook, we neither understand nor esteem those whose aims are
otherwise! Oh! Owen, Owen, may you only not be withheld from your
glorious career! May you show this hard, money-getting world that you do
really, as well as only in word, esteem one soul to be reclaimed above
all the wealth that can be laid at your feet! The nephew and heir of the
great Firm voluntarily surrendering consideration, ease, riches,
unbounded luxury for the sake of the heathen--choosing a wigwam instead
of a West End palace; parched maize rather than the banquet; the
backwoods instead of the luxurious park; the Red Indian rather than the
club and the theatre; to be a despised minister rather than a magnate of
this great city; nay, or to take his place among the influential men of
the land. What has this worn, weary old civilization to offer like the
joy of sitting beneath one of the glorious aspiring pines of America,
gazing out on the blue waters of her limpid inland seas, in her fresh
pure air, with the simple children of the forest round him, their
princely forms in attitudes of attention, their dark soft liquid eyes
fixed upon him, as he tells them "Your Great Spirit, Him whom ye
ignorantly worship, Him declare I unto you," and then, some glorious old
chief bows his stately head, and throws aside his marks of superstition.
"I believe," he says, and the hearts of all bend with him; and Owen leads
them to the lake, and baptizes them, and it is another St. Sacrament!
Oh! that is what it is to have nobleness enough truly to overcome the
world, truly to turn one's back upon pleasures and honours--what are they
to such as this?'
So mused Honora Charlecote, and then ran indoors, with bounding step, to
her Schiller, and her hero-worship of Max Piccolomini, to write notes for
her mother, and practise for her father the song that was to refresh him
for the evening.
Nothing remarkable! No; there was nothing remarkable in Honor, she was
neither more nor less than an average woman of the higher type.
Refinement and gentleness, a strong appreciation of excellence, and a
love of duty, had all been brought out by an admirable education, and by
a home devoted to unselfish exertion, varied by intellectual pleasures.
Other influences--decidedly traceable in her musings--had shaped her
principles and enthusiasms on those of an ardent Oxonian of the early
years of William IV.; and so bred up, so led by circumstances, Honora,
with her abilities, high cultivation, and tolerable sense, was a fair
specimen of what any young lady might be, appearing perhaps somewhat in
advance of her contemporaries, but rather from her training than from
intrinsic force of character. The qualities of womanhood well developed,
were so entirely the staple of her composition, that there is little to
describe in her. Was not she one made to learn; to lean; to admire; to
support; to enhance every joy; to soften every sorrow of the object of
her devotion?
* * * * *
Another picture from Honora Charlecote's life. It is about half after
six, on a bright autumnal morning; and, rising nearly due east, out of a
dark pine-crowned hill, the sun casts his slanting beams over an
undulating country, clothed in gray mist of tints differing with the
distance, the farther hills confounded with the sky, the nearer dimly
traced in purple, and the valleys between indicated by the whiter,
woollier vapours that rise from their streams, a goodly land of fertile
field and rich wood, cradled on the bosoms of those soft hills.
Nestled among the woods, clothing its hollows on almost every side, rises
a low hill, with a species of table land on the top, scattered over with
large thorns and scraggy oaks that cast their shadows over the pale buff
bents of the short soft grass of the gravelly soil. Looking southward is
a low, irregular, old-fashioned house, with two tall gable ends like
eyebrows, and the lesser gable of a porch between them, all covered with
large chequers of black timber, filled up with cream- cement. A
straight path leads from the porch between beds of scarlet geraniums,
their luxuriant horse-shoe leaves weighed down with wet, and china
asters, a drop in every quilling, to an old-fashioned sun-dial, and
beside that dial stands Honora Charlecote, gazing joyously out on the
bright morning, and trying for the hundredth time to make the shadow of
that green old finger point to the same figure as the hand of her watch.
'Oh! down, down, there's a good dog, Fly; you'll knock me down! Vixen,
poor little doggie, pray! Look at your paws,' as a blue greyhound and
rough black terrier came springing joyously upon her, brushing away the
silver dew from the shaven lawn.
'Down, down, lie down, dogs!' and with an obstreperous bound, Fly flew to
the new-comer, a young man in the robust strength of eight-and-twenty, of
stalwart frame, very broad in the chest and shoulders, careless, homely,
though perfectly gentleman-like bearing, and hale, hearty, sunburnt face.
It was such a look and such an arm as would win the most timid to his
side in certainty of tenderness and protection, and the fond voice gave
the same sense of power and of kindness, as he called out, 'Holloa,
Honor, there you are! Not given up the old fashion?'
'Not till you give me up, Humfrey,' she said, as she eagerly laid her
neatly gloved fingers in the grasp of the great, broad, horny palm, 'or
at least till you take your gun.'
'So you are not grown wiser?'
'Nor ever will be.'
'Every woman ought to learn to saddle a horse and fire off a gun.'
'Yes, against the civil war squires are always expecting. You shall
teach me when the time comes.'
'You'll never see that time, nor any other, if you go out in those thin
boots. I'll fetch Sarah's clogs; I suppose you have not a reasonable
pair in the world.'
'My boots are quite thick, thank you.'
'Brown paper!' And indeed they were a contrast to his mighty nailed
soles, and long, untanned buskins, nor did they greatly resemble the
heavy, country-made galoshes which, with an elder brother's authority, he
forced her to put on, observing that nothing so completely evinced the
Londoner as her obstinacy in never having a pair of shoes that could keep
anything out.
'And where are you going?'
'To Hayward's farm. Is that too far for you? He wants an abatement of
his rent for some improvements, and I want to judge what they may be
worth.'
'Hayward's--oh, not a bit too far!' and holding up her skirts, she picked
her way as daintily as her weighty _chaussure_ would permit, along the
narrow green footway that crossed the expanse of dewy turf in which the
dogs careered, getting their noses covered with flakes of thick gossamer,
cemented together by dew. Fly scraped it off with a delicate forepaw,
Vixen rolled over, and doubly entangled it in her rugged coat. Humfrey
Charlecote strode on before his companion with his hands in his pockets,
and beginning to whistle, but pausing to observe, over his shoulder, 'A
sweet day for getting up the roots! You're not getting wet, I hope?'
'I couldn't through this rhinoceros hide, thank you. How exquisitely the
mist is curling up, and showing the church-spire in the valley.'
'And I suppose you have been reading all manner of books?'
'I think the best was a great history of France.'
'France!' he repeated in a contemptuous John Bull tone.
'Ay, don't be disdainful; France was the centre of chivalry in the old
time.'
'Better have been the centre of honesty.'
'And so it was in the time of St. Louis and his crusade. Do you know it,
Humfrey?'
'Eh?'
That was full permission. Ever since Honora had been able to combine a
narration, Humfrey had been the recipient, though she seldom knew whether
he attended, and from her babyhood upwards had been quite contented with
trotting in the wake of his long strides, pouring out her ardent fancies,
now and then getting an answer, but more often going on like a little
singing bird, through the midst of his avocations, and quite complacent
under his interruptions of calls to his dogs, directions to his
labourers, and warnings to her to mind her feet and not her chatter. In
the full stream of crusaders, he led her down one of the multitude of
by-paths cleared out in the hazel coppice for sporting; here leading up a
rising ground whence the tops of the trees might be overlooked, some
flecked with gold, some blushing into crimson, and beyond them the needle
point of the village spire, the vane flashing back the sun; there bending
into a ravine, marshy at the bottom, and nourishing the lady fern, then
again crossing glades, where the rabbits darted across the path, and the
battle of Damietta was broken into by stern orders to Fly to come to
heel, and the eating of the nuts which Humfrey pulled down from the
branches, and held up to his cousin with superior good nature.
'A Mameluke rushed in with a scimitar streaming with blood, and--'
'Take care; do you want help over this fence?'
'Not I, thank you--And said he had just murdered the king--'
'Vic! ah! take your nose out of that. Here was a crop, Nora.'
'What was it?'
'You don't mean that you don't know wheat stubble?'
'I remember it was to be wheat.'
'Red wheat, the finest we ever had in this land; not a bit beaten down,
and the colour perfectly beautiful before harvest; it used to put me in
mind of your hair. A load to the acre; a fair specimen of the effect of
drainage. Do you remember what a swamp it was?'
'I remember the beautiful loose-strifes that used to grow in that
corner.'
'Ah! we have made an end of that trumpery.'
'You savage old Humfrey--beauties that they were.'
'What had they to do with my cornfields? A place for everything and
everything in its place--French kings and all. What was this one doing
wool-gathering in Egypt?'
'Don't you understand, it had become the point for the blow at the
Saracen power. Where was I? Oh, the Mameluke justified the murder, and
wanted St. Louis to be king, but--'
'Ha! a fine covey, I only miss two out of them. These carrots, how their
leaves are turned--that ought not to be.'
Honora could not believe that anything ought not to be that was as
beautiful as the varied rosy tints of the hectic beauty of the
exquisitely shaped and delicately pinked foliage of the field carrots,
and with her cousin's assistance she soon had a large bouquet where no
two leaves were alike, their hues ranging from the deepest purple or
crimson to the palest yellow, or clear scarlet, like seaweed, through
every intermediate variety of purple edged with green, green picked out
with red or yellow, or _vice versa_, in never-ending brilliancy, such as
Humfrey almost seemed to appreciate, as he said, 'Well, you have
something as pretty as your weeds, eh, Honor?'
'I can't quite give up mourning for my dear long purples.'
'All very well by the river, but there's no beauty in things out of
place, like your Louis in Egypt--well, what was the end of this
predicament?'
So Humfrey had really heard and been interested! With such
encouragement, Honora proceeded swimmingly, and had nearly arrived at her
hero's ransom, through nearly a mile of field paths, only occasionally
interrupted by grunts from her auditor at farming not like his own, when
crossing a narrow foot-bridge across a clear stream, they stood before a
farmhouse, timbered and chimneyed much like the Holt, but with new sashes
displacing the old lattice.
'Oh! Humfrey, how could you bring me to see such havoc? I never
suspected you would allow it.'
'It was without asking leave; an attention to his bride; and now they
want an abatement for improvements! Whew!'
'You should fine him for the damage he has done!'
'I can't be hard on him, he is more or less of an ass, and a good sort of
fellow, very good to his labourers; he drove Jem Hurd to the infirmary
himself when he broke his arm. No, he is not a man to be hard upon.'
'You can't be hard on any one. Now that window really irritates my
mind.'
'Now Sarah walked down to call on the bride, and came home full of
admiration at the place being so lightsome and cheerful. Which of you
two ladies am I to believe?'
'You ought to make it a duty to improve the general taste! Why don't you
build a model farm-house, and let me make the design?'
'Ay, when I want one that nobody can live in. Come, it will be breakfast
time.'
'Are not you going to have an interview?'
'No, I only wanted to take a survey of the alterations; two windows,
smart door, iron fence, pulled down old barn, talks of another. Hm!'
'So he will get his reduction?'
'If he builds the barn. I shall try to see his wife; she has not been
brought up to farming, and whether they get on or not, all depends on the
way she may take it up. What are you looking at?'
'That lovely wreath of Traveller's Joy.'
'Do you want it?'
'No, thank you, it is too beautiful where it is.'
'There is a piece, going from tree to tree, by the Hiltonbury Gate, as
thick as my arm; I just saved it when West was going to cut it down with
the copsewood.'
'Well, you really are improving at last!'
'I thought you would never let me hear the last of it; besides, there was
a thrush's nest in it.'
By and by the cousins arrived at a field where Humfrey's portly
shorthorns were coming forth after their milking, under the pilotage of
an old white-headed man, bent nearly double, uncovering his head as the
squire touched his hat in response, and shouted, 'Good morning.'
'If you please, sir,' said the old man, trying to erect himself, 'I
wanted to speak to you.'
'Well.'
'If you please, sir, chimney smokes so as a body can scarce bide in the
house, and the blacks come down terrible.'
'Wants sweeping,' roared Humfrey, into his deaf ears.
'Have swep it, sir; old woman's been up with her broom.'
'Old woman hasn't been high enough. Send Jack up outside with a rope and
a bunch o' furze, and let her stand at bottom.'
'That's it, sir!' cried the old man, with a triumphant snap of the
fingers over his shoulder. 'Thank ye!'
'Here's Miss Honor, John;' and Honora came forward, her gravity somewhat
shaken by the domestic offices of the old woman.
'I'm glad to see you still able to bring out the cows, John. Here's my
favourite Daisy as tame as ever.'
'Ay! ay!' and he looked at his master for explanation from the stronger
and more familiar voice. 'I be deaf, you see, ma'am.'
'Miss Honor is glad to see Daisy as tame as ever,' shouted Humfrey.
'Ay! ay!' maundered on the old man;'she ain't done no good of late, and
Mr. West and I--us wanted to have fatted her this winter, but the squire,
he wouldn't hear on it, because Miss Honor was such a terrible one for
her. Says I, when I hears 'em say so, we shall have another dinner on
the la-an, and the last was when the old squire was married, thirty-five
years ago come Michaelmas.'
Honora was much disposed to laugh at this freak of the old man's fancy,
but to her surprise Humfrey up, and looked so much out of
countenance that a question darted through her mind whether he could have
any such step in contemplation, and she began to review the young ladies
of the neighbourhood, and to decide on each in turn that it would be
intolerable to see her as Humfrey's wife; more at home at the Holt than
herself. She had ample time for contemplation, for he had become very
silent, and once or twice the presumptuous idea crossed her that he might
be actually about to make her some confidence, but when he at length
spoke, very near the house, it was only to say, 'Honor, I wanted to ask
you if you think your father would wish me to ask young Sandbrook here?'
'Oh! thank you, I am sure he would be glad. You know poor Owen has
nowhere to go, since his uncle has behaved so shamefully.'
'It must have been a great mortification--'
'To Owen? Of course it was, to be so cast off for his noble purpose.'
'I was thinking of old Mr. Sandbrook--'
'Old wretch! I've no patience with him!'
'Just as he has brought this nephew up and hopes to make him useful and
rest some of his cares upon him in his old age, to find him flying off
upon this fresh course, and disappointing all his hopes.'
'But it is such a high and grand course, he ought to have rejoiced in it,
and Owen is not his son.'
'A man of his age, brought up as he has been, can hardly be expected to
enter into Owen's views.'
'Of course not. It is all sordid and mean, he cannot even understand the
missionary spirit of resigning all. As Owen says, half the Scripture
must be hyperbole to him, and so he is beginning Owen's persecution
already.'
It was one of Humfrey's provoking qualities that no amount of eloquence
would ever draw a word of condemnation from him; he would praise readily
enough, but censure was very rare with him, and extenuation was always
his first impulse, so the more Honora railed at Mr. Sandbrook's
interference with his nephew's plans, the less satisfaction she received
from him. She seemed to think that in order to admire Owen as he
deserved, his uncle must be proportionably reviled, and though Humfrey
did not imply a word save in commendation of the young missionary's
devotion, she went indoors feeling almost injured at his not
understanding it; but Honora's petulance was a very bright, sunny
piquancy, and she only appeared the more glowing and animated for it when
she presented herself at the breakfast-table, with a preposterous country
appetite.
Afterwards she filled a vase very tastefully with her varieties of
leaves, and enjoyed taking in her cousin Sarah, who admired the leaves
greatly while she thought they came from Mrs. Mervyn's hothouse; but when
she found they were the product of her own furrows, voted them coarse,
ugly, withered things, such as only the simplicity of a Londoner could
bring into civilized society. So Honora stood over her gorgeous feathery
bouquet, not knowing whether to laugh or to be scornful, till Humfrey,
taking up the vase, inquired, 'May I have it for my study?'
'Oh! yes, and welcome,' said Honora, laughing, and shaking her glowing
tresses at him; 'I am thankful to any one who stands up for carrots.'
Good-natured Humfrey, thought she, it is all that I may not be mortified;
but after all it is not those very good-natured people who best
appreciate lofty actions. He is inviting Owen Sandbrook more because he
thinks it would please papa, and because he compassionates him in his
solitary lodgings, than because he feels the force of his glorious
self-sacrifice.
* * * * *
The northern <DW72> of the Holt was clothed with fir plantations,
intersected with narrow paths, which gave admission to the depths of
their lonely woodland palace, supported on rudely straight columns, dark
save for the snowy exuding gum, roofed in by aspiring beam-like arms,
bearing aloft their long tufts of dark blue green foliage, floored by the
smooth, slippery, russet needle leaves as they fell, and perfumed by the
peculiar fresh smell of turpentine. It was a still and lonely place, the
very sounds making the silence more audible (if such an expression may be
used), the wind whispering like the rippling waves of the sea in the tops
of the pines, here and there the cry of a bird, or far, far away, the
tinkle of the sheep-bell, or the tone of the church clock; and of
movement there was almost as little, only the huge horse ants soberly
wending along their highway to their tall hillock thatched with pine
leaves, or the squirrel in the ruddy, russet livery of the scene, racing
from tree to tree, or sitting up with his feathery tail erect to extract
with his delicate paws the seed from the base of the fir-cone scale.
Squirrels there lived to a good old age, till their plumy tails had
turned white, for the squire's one fault in the eyes of keepers and
gardeners was that he was soft-hearted towards 'the varmint.'
A Canadian forest on a small scale, an extremely miniature scale indeed,
but still Canadian forests are of pine, and the Holt plantation was fir,
and firs were pines, and it was a lonely musing place, and so on one of
the stillest, clearest days of 'St. Luke's little summer,' the last
afternoon of her visit at the Holt, there stood Honora, leaning against a
tree stem, deep, very deep in a vision of the primeval woodlands of the
West, their red inhabitants, and the white man who should carry the true,
glad tidings westward, westward, ever from east to west. Did she know
how completely her whole spirit and soul were surrendered to the worship
of that devotion? Worship? Yes, the word is advisedly used; Honora had
once given her spirit in homage to Schiller's self-sacrificing Max; the
same heart-whole veneration was now rendered to the young missionary,
multiplied tenfold by the hero being in a tangible, visible shape, and
not by any means inclined to thwart or disdain the allegiance of the
golden-haired girl. Nay, as family connections frequently meeting, they
had acted upon each other's minds more than either knew, even when the
hour of parting had come, and words had been spoken which gave Honora
something more to cherish in the image of Owen Sandbrook than even the
hero and saint. There then she stood and dreamt, pensive and saddened
indeed, but with a melancholy trenching very nearly on happiness in the
intensity of its admiration, and the vague ennobling future of devoted
use | 2,522.488475 |
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E-text prepared by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo,
Tiffany Vergon, John R. Bilderback,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
First published in serial form in the _Fortnightly Review_ from July,
1871, to February, 1873, and in book form in 1872
CONTENTS
I. Lizzie Greystock
II. Lady Eustace
III. Lucy Morris
IV. Frank Greystock
V. The Eustace Necklace
VI. Lady Linlithgow's Mission
VII. Mr. Burke's Speeches
VIII. The Conquering Hero Comes
IX. Showing What the Miss Fawns Said, and What Mrs. Hittaway
Thought
X. Lizzie and Her Lover
XI. Lord Fawn at His Office
XII. "I Only Thought of It"
XIII. Showing What Frank Greystock Did
XIV. "Doan't Thou Marry for Munny"
XV. "I'll Give You a Hundred Guinea Brooch"
XVI. Certainly an Heirloom
XVII. The Diamonds Are Seen in Public
XVIII. "And I Have Nothing to Give"
XIX. "As My Brother"
XX. The Diamonds Become Troublesome
XXI. "Ianthe's Soul"
XXII. Lady Eustace Procures a Pony for the Use of Her Cousin
XXIII. Frank Greystock's First Visit to Portray
XXIV. Showing What Frank Greystock Thought About Marriage
XXV. Mr. Dove's Opinion
XXVI. Mr. Gowran Is Very Funny
XXVII. Lucy Morris Misbehaves
XXVIII. Mr. Dove in His Chambers
XXIX. "I Had Better Go Away"
XXX. Mr. Greystock's Troubles
XXXI. Frank Greystock's Second Visit to Portray
XXXII. Mr. and Mrs. Hittaway in Scotland
XXX | 2,523.179583 |
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Produced by Heather Clark, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BEN PEPPER
BY MARGARET SIDNEY
AUTHOR OF "FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS," "A LITTLE MAID
OF CONCORD TOWN," "OLD CONCORD," "HESTER, AND OTHER NEW ENGLAND
STORIES," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY
EUGENIE M. WIREMAN_
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
PEPPER
TRADE MARK
Registered in U. S. Patent Office.
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY HARRIETT M. LOTHROP.
PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1905.
_Twentieth Thousand_
Norwood Press:
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
[Illustration: THEN SHE HOPPED AWAY FROM POLLY AND MADE A LITTLE CHEESE
RIGHT ON THE SIDEWALK.]
PREFACE
It was quite impossible that the detailed records presented through the
later Pepper books, of the doings and sayings of the "Little Brown
House" family, should omit Ben. He, the eldest-born of Mother Pepper's
brood, and her mainstay after the father died, the quiet,
"steady-as-a-rock boy," as the Badgertown people all called him, with
lots of fun in him too, because he could not help it, being a Pepper,
was worthy of a book to himself.
So the hosts of readers of the Pepper Series decided, and many of them
accordingly be-sought the author to give Ben a chance to be better
known. He was always so ready to efface himself, that it was Margaret
Sidney's responsibility, after all, to bring him more to the front, to
be understood by all who loved his life in the earlier records.
So Margaret Sidney, despite Ben's wishes, has written this latest
volume. To do it, Polly and Joel and David and Phronsie have told her
most lovingly the facts with which it is strewn. Most of all, Mother
| 2,524.079844 |
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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 | 2,524.08093 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
FOXGLOVE MANOR
A Novel
By Robert W. Buchanan
In Three Volumes, Vol. I.
London
Chatto And Windos, Piccadilly
1884
FOXGLOVE MANOR.
CHAPTER XIV. BAPTISTO STAYS AT HOME.
|As Haldane sat in his study, the evening previous to the morning
fixed for his journey to London, Baptisto entered quickly and stood
before the desk at which his master was busily writing.
“Can I speak to you, senor?” Haldane looked and nodded.
“What is it, Baptisto?”
“You have arranged that I shall go with you to-morrow, but I have had
during the last few days an attack of my old vertigo. Can you possibly
dispense with my attendance, senor?” Haldane stared in surprise at the
Spaniards face, which was inscrutable as usual.
“Do you mean to say you wish to remain at home?”
“Certainly, senor.”
“Why? because you are ill? On the contrary, you look in excellent
health. No; it is impossible. I cannot get along without you.”
And Haldane returned to his papers as if the matter was ended.
Baptisto, however, did not budge, but remained in the same position,
with his dark eyes fixed upon his master.
“Do me this favour, senor. I am really indisposed, and must beg to
remain.”
Haldane laughed, for an idea suddenly occurred to him which seemed to
explain the mystery of his servant’s request.
“My good Baptisto, I think I understand the cause of your complaint,
and I am sure a little travel will do you good. It is that dark-eyed
widow of the lodge-keeper who attaches you so much to the Manor. The
warm blood of Spain still burns in your veins, and, despite your sad
experience of women, you are still impressionable. Eh? am I right?”
Baptisto quickly shook his head, with the least suspicion of a smile
upon his swarthy face.
“I am not impressionable, senor, and I do not admire your English
women; but I wish to remain all the same.”
“Nonsense!”
“Nonsense! In serious lament, senor, I beseech you to allow me to
remain.”
But Haldane was not to be persuaded at what he conceived to be a mere
whim of his servant. He still believed that Baptisto had fallen a
captive to the charms of Mrs. Feme, a little plump, dark-eyed woman,
with a large family. He had frequently of late seen the Spaniard
hanging about the lodge--on one occasion nursing and dandling the
youngest child--and he had smiled to himself, thinking that the poor
fellow’s misanthropy, or rather his misogynism, was in a fair way of
coming to an end.
Finding his master indisposed to take his request seriously, Baptisto
retired; and presently Haldane strolled into the drawing-room, where
he found his wife.
“Have you heard of the last freak of Baptisto? He actually wants to
remain at ease, instead of accompanying me in my journey.”
Ellen looked up from some embroidery, in which she was busily engaged.
“On no account!” she exclaimed. “If you don’t take him with you, I.
shall not stay in the place.”
“Dear me! said the philosopher. Surely you are not afraid of poor
Baptisto!”
“Not afraid of him exactly, but he makes me shiver. He comes and goes
like a ghost, and when you least expect him, he is at your elbow.
Then, of course, I cannot help remembering he has committed a murder!”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Haldane, laughing and throwing himself
into a chair. “My dear Ellen, you don’t believe the whole truth of
that affair. True, he surprised that Spanish wife of his with her
gallant, whom he stabbed; but I have it on excellent authority that it
was a kind of duello; the other man was armed, and so it was a fair
fight.” Ellen shuddered, and showed more nervous agitation than her
husband could quite account for.
“Take him away with you,” she cried; “take him away. If you never
bring him back, I shall rejoice. If I had been consulted, he would
never have been brought to England.”
A little later in the evening, when Haldane had returned to his
papers, which he was diligently finishing to take away with him, he
rang and summoned the Spaniard to his presence.
“Well, it is all settled. I have consulted your mistress, and she
insists in your accompanying me to-morrow.”
A sharp flash came upon Baptisto’s dark eyes. He made an angry
gesture; then controlling himself, he said in a low, emphatic voice--
“The _senora_ means it? _She_ does not wish me to remain?”
“Just so.”
“May I ask why?
“Only because she does not want you, and I do. Between ourselves, she
is | 2,524.081152 |
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Produced by Anonymous Volunteers, and Thorild Vrang Bennett
THE RIVERMAN
by Stewart Edward White
I
The time was the year 1872, and the place a bend in the river above a
long pond terminating in a dam. Beyond this dam, and on a flat
lower than it, stood a two-story mill structure. Save for a small,
stump-dotted clearing, and the road that led from it, all else was
forest. Here in the bottom-lands, following the course of the stream,
the hardwoods grew dense, their uppermost branches just beginning to
spray out in the first green of spring. Farther back, where the higher
lands arose from the swamp, could be discerned the graceful frond of
white pines and hemlock, and the sturdy tops of Norways and spruce.
A strong wind blew up the length of the | 2,524.083966 |
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An Estimate of the True Value of Vaccination
as a Security Against Small Pox
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN
ESTIMATE,
_&c. &c._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Newcastle; Printed by T. & J. Hodgson,
Union Street
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN
ESTIMATE
OF THE TRUE VALUE OF
VACCINATION
AS A
SECURITY AGAINST SMALL POX.
BY
T. M. GREENHOW,
MEMBER OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS IN LONDON;
SURGEON TO THE LYING-IN HOSPITAL, TO THE CHARITY
FOR POOR MARRIED WOMEN LYING IN
AT THEIR OWN HOUSES, AND TO THE
INFIRMARY FOR DISEASES OF
THE EYE, NEWCASTLE.
“And in order to stimulate the wise and good to aim strenuously at this
consummation (the total extirpation of Small Pox), let it be constantly
borne in mind, that the adversary they are contending with is the
greatest scourge that has ever afflicted humanity. That it is so, all
history, civil and medical, proclaims; for though the term Plague
carries a sound of greater horror and dismay, we should probably be
within the truth, if we were to assert, that Small Pox has destroyed a
hundred for every one that has perished by the Plague.”
_Sir Gilbert Blane._
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY; AND
EMERSON CHARNLEY, NEWCASTLE.
1825.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface.
My design, in entering upon the following little work, has been to
collect, and to compress within as narrow a compass as possible, the
principal facts and evidences upon which the claims of Vaccination are
founded; that the public may be furnished, in a concise but
comprehensive form, with the information which is essential to their
forming a correct judgment on this momentous question.
That much misapprehension and some prejudice prevail on this subject,
my recent observation and experience have convinced me; and when I
reflect on the pernicious effects, which, in Newcastle and its
neighbourhood, are at this time taking place in consequence of them,
and which they must continue to produce while they are permitted to
exist, I feel that a collective detail of the evidence calculated to
remove them is much needed, and that, being sensible of this, it
becomes a duty incumbent upon myself to endeavour to supply so
important a desideratum.
In making this attempt, I have been desirous of avoiding any
unnecessary delay, and have therefore, perhaps, been obliged to collect
facts, and to deduce arguments from them, with a degree of haste,
which, while it must have occasioned many imperfections in the
execution of my design, will, I trust, be admitted as some apology for
such defects: I am willing, however, to hope that they will not be
found of sufficient magnitude materially to interfere with the useful
tendency of the estimate.
The works of those writers whom I have consulted, and whose authority I
have quoted in support of the efficacy of Vaccination, are familiar to
the Medical Profession, and, with scarcely an exception I believe, its
members have drawn the same satisfactory conclusion from the facts
which are detailed in them. But as these works, are, for the most part,
strictly professional, they have not come before the public in general,
who have not, in consequence, had equal opportunities of convincing
themselves of the true value of Vaccination. It is, however, manifestly
more important, in proportion as their relative number is greater, that
the latter should be convinced of this, than the former only. The
present estimate, therefore, is more particularly intended to satisfy
the doubts, and to remove the apprehensions of the community at large;
though I trust, should I in any degree have succeeded in the attempt,
it may also be read by my professional brethren not without some
portion of satisfaction and of approbation.
But, after all, should my object in endeavouring to convince the more
enlightened parts of the community, (from whom alone I can hope for a
proper consideration of the evidence I have adduced,) be attained, much
will yet remain to be done: and I have endeavoured to point out the
necessity of a general co-operation, in order to give the fullest
effect to the paramount capabilities of Vaccination.—Amongst the
poorest and least informed classes of society, a written evidence of
this description, can scarcely be expected either to gain access or to
meet with the requisite consideration; and the ignorance, the
prejudices, and the _apathy_, which have been found to exist in some of
them, must therefore be overcome by other | 2,524.084676 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: لا لابرار كلّ شي تبر]
“TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE.”
(Puris omnia pura)
—_Arab Proverb._
“Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole.”
—“_Decameron_”—_conclusion_.
“Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget.”
—_Martial._
“Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes.”
—RABELAIS.
“The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories makes
us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of these truly
enchanting fictions.”
—CRICHTON’S “_History of Arabia_.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_A PLAIN AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS.
NOW ENTITULED_
_THE BOOK OF THE_
Thousand Nights and a Night
_WITH INTRODUCTION EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
MOSLEM MEN AND A TERMINAL ESSAY UPON THE HISTORY OF THE NIGHTS_
VOLUME VI.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shammar Edition
Limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is
Number _547_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME
TO MY OLD AND VALUED CORRESPONDENT,
IN WHOSE DEBT I AM DEEP,
PROFESSOR ALOYS SPRENGER
(OF HEIDELBERG),
ARABIST, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND.
R. F. BURTON.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
PAGE
SINDBAD THE SEAMAN AND SINDBAD THE LANDSMAN 1
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXII., Story of Es Sindbad of the Sea and Es
Sindbad of the Land. pp. 1–78._)
_a._ THE FIRST VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 4
_b._ THE SECOND VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 14
_c._ THE THIRD VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 22
_d._ THE FOURTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 34
_e._ THE FIFTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 48
_f._ THE SIXTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 58
_g._ THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 68
THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN (_according to 78
the version of the Calcutta Edition_)
THE CITY OF BRASS 83
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXIII. Story of the City of Brass. pp.
118–152._)
THE CRAFT AND MALICE OF WOMAN 122
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXI., Abstract of the Story of the King and
his Son and the Damsel and the Seven Wezeers. pp. 158–183._)
_a._ THE KING AND HIS WAZIR’S WIFE 129
_b._ THE CONFECTIONER, HIS WIFE, AND THE PARROT 132
_c._ THE FULLER AND HIS SON 134
_d._ THE RAKE’S TRICK AGAINST THE CHASTE WIFE 135
_e._ THE MISER AND THE LOAVES OF BREAD 137
_f._ THE LADY AND HER TWO LOVERS 138
_g._ THE KING’S SON AND THE OGRESS 139
_h._ THE DROP OF HONEY 142
_i._ THE WOMAN WHO MADE HER HUSBAND SIFT DUST 143
_j._ THE ENCHANTED SPRING 145
_k._ THE WAZIR’S SON AND THE HAMMAM-KEEPER’S WIFE 150
_l._ THE WIFE’S DEVICE TO CHEAT HER HUSBAND 152
_m._ THE GOLDSMITH AND THE CASHMERE SINGING-GIRL 156
_n._ THE MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED DURING THE REST OF HIS DAYS 160
_o._ THE KING’S SON AND THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 167
_p._ THE PAGE WHO FEIGNED TO KNOW THE SPEECH OF BIRDS 169
_q._ THE LADY AND HER FIVE SUITORS 172
_r._ THE THREE WISHES, OR THE MAN WHO LONGED TO SEE THE NIGHT 180
OF POWER
_s._ THE STOLEN NECKLACE 182
_t._ THE TWO PIGEONS 183
_u._ PRINCE BEHRAM AND THE PRINCESS AL-DATMA 184
_v._ THE HOUSE WITH THE BELVEDERE 188
_w._ THE KING’S SON AND THE IFRIT’S MISTRESS 199
_x._ THE SANDAL-WOOD MERCHANT AND THE SHARPERS 202
_y._ THE DEBAUCHEE AND THE THREE-YEAR-OLD CHILD 208
_z._ THE STOLEN PURSE 209
_aa._ THE FOX AND THE FOLK 211
JUDAR AND HIS BRETHREN 213
(_Lane, Vol. III, Chapt. XXII., Story of Joodar. pp. 183–233._)
THE HISTORY OF GHARIB AND HIS BROTHER AJIB 257
SINDBAD THE SEAMAN[1] AND SINDBAD THE LANDSMAN.
There lived in the city of Baghdad, during the reign of the Commander of
the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, a man named Sindbád the Hammál,[2] one in
poor case who bore burdens on his head for hire. It happened to him one
day of great heat that whilst he was carrying a heavy load, he became
exceeding weary and sweated profusely, the heat and the weight alike
oppressing him. Presently, as he was passing the gate of a merchant’s
house, before which the ground was swept and watered, and there the air
was temperate, he sighted a broad bench beside the door; so he set his
load thereon, to take rest and smell the air,——And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.
Now when it was the Five Hundred and Thirty-seventh Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the Hammal
set his load upon the bench to take rest and smell the air, there came
out upon him from the court-door a pleasant breeze and a delicious
fragrance. He sat down on the edge of the bench, and at once heard from
within the melodious sound of lutes and other stringed instruments, and
mirth-exciting voices singing and reciting, together with the song of
birds warbling and glorifying Almighty Allah in various tunes and
tongues; turtles, mocking-birds, merles, nightingales, cushats and
stone-curlews,[3] whereat he marvelled in himself and was moved to
mighty joy and solace. Then he went up to the gate and saw within a
great flower-garden wherein were pages and black slaves and such a train
of servants and attendants and so forth as is found only with Kings and
Sultans; and his nostrils were greeted with the savoury odours of all
manner meats rich and delicate, and delicious and generous wines. So he
raised his eyes heavenwards and said, “Glory to Thee, O Lord, O Creator
and Provider, who providest whomso Thou wilt without count or stint! O
mine Holy One, I cry Thee pardon for all sins and turn to Thee repenting
of all offences! O Lord, there is no gainsaying Thee in Thine ordinance
and Thy dominion, neither wilt Thou be questioned of that Thou dost, for
Thou indeed over all things art Almighty! Extolled be Thy perfection:
whom Thou wilt Thou makest poor and whom Thou wilt Thou makest rich!
Whom Thou wilt Thou exaltest and whom Thou wilt Thou abasest and there
is no god but Thou! How mighty is Thy majesty and how enduring Thy
dominion and how excellent Thy government! Verily, Thou favourest whom
Thou wilt of Thy servants, whereby the owner of this place abideth in
all joyance of life and delighteth himself with pleasant scents and
delicious meats and exquisite wines of all kinds. For indeed Thou
appointest unto Thy creatures that which Thou wilt and that which Thou
hast fore-ordained unto them; wherefore are some weary and others are at
rest and some enjoy fair fortune and affluence, whilst others suffer the
extreme of travail and misery, even as I do.” And he fell to reciting:—
How many by my labours, that evermore endure, ✿ All goods of life enjoy
and in cooly shade recline?
Each morn that dawns I wake in travail and in woe, ✿ And strange is my
condition and my burden gars me pine:
Many others are in luck and from miseries are free, ✿ And Fortune never
loads them with loads the like o’ mine:
They live their happy days in all solace and delight; ✿ Eat, drink and
dwell in honour ‘mid the noble and the digne:
All living things were made of a little drop of sperm, ✿ Thine origin is
mine and my provenance is thine;
Yet the difference and distance ‘twixt the twain of us are far ✿ As the
difference of savour ‘twixt vinegar and wine:
But at Thee, O God All-wise! I venture not to rail ✿ Whose ordinance is
just and whose justice cannot fail.
When Sindbad the Porter had made an end of reciting his verses, he bore
up his burden and was about to fare on, when there came forth to him
from the gate a little foot-page, fair of face and shapely of shape and
dainty of dress who caught him by the hand saying, “Come in and speak
with my lord, for he calleth for thee.” The Porter would have excused
himself to the page but the lad would take no refusal; so he left his
load with the doorkeeper in the vestibule and followed the boy into the
house, which he found to be a goodly mansion, radiant and full of
majesty, till he brought him to a grand sitting-room wherein he saw a
company of nobles and great lords, seated at tables garnished with all
manner of flowers and sweet-scented herbs, besides great plenty of
dainty viands and fruits dried and fresh and confections and wines of
the choicest vintages. There also were instruments of music and mirth
and lovely slave-girls playing and singing. All the company was ranged
according to rank; and in the highest place sat a man of worshipful and
noble aspect whose beard-sides hoariness had stricken; and he was
stately of stature and fair of favour, agreeable of aspect and full of
gravity and dignity and majesty. So Sindbad the Porter was confounded at
that which he beheld and said in himself, “By Allah, this must be either
a piece of Paradise or some King’s palace!” Then he saluted the company
with much respect praying for their prosperity, and kissing the ground
before them, stood with his head bowed down in humble attitude.——And
Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.
Now when it was the Five Hundred and Thirty-eighth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Sindbad the
Porter, after kissing ground between their hands, stood with his head
bowed down in humble attitude. The master of the house bade him draw
near and be seated and bespoke him kindly, bidding him welcome. Then he
set before him various kinds of viands, rich and delicate and delicious,
and the Porter, after saying his Bismillah, fell to and ate his fill,
after which he exclaimed, “Praised be Allah whatso be our case![4]” and,
washing his hands, returned thanks to the company for his entertainment.
Quoth the host, “Thou art welcome and thy day is a blessed. But what is
thy name and calling?” Quoth the other, “O my lord, my name is Sindbad
the Hammal, and I carry folk’s goods on my head for hire.” The
house-master smiled and rejoined, “Know, O Porter that thy name is even
as mine, for I am Sindbad the Seaman; and now, O Porter, I would have
thee let me hear the couplets thou recitedst at the gate anon.” The
Porter was abashed and replied, “Allah upon thee! Excuse me, for toil
and travail and lack of luck when the hand is empty, teach a man ill
manners and boorish ways.” Said the host, “Be not ashamed; thou art
become my brother; but repeat to me the verses, for they pleased me
whenas I heard thee recite them at the gate.” Hereupon the Porter
repeated the couplets and they delighted the merchant, who said to
him:—Know, O Hammal | 2,524.183592 |
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THE MENTOR 1918.11.01, No. 166,
Guynemer
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
NOVEMBER 1 1918 SERIAL NO. 166
THE
MENTOR
GUYNEMER
THE WINGÈD SWORD
OF FRANCE
By HOWARD W. COOK
DEPARTMENT OF VOLUME 6
BIOGRAPHY NUMBER 18
TWENTY CENTS A COPY
THE SKYMAN SUPREME
By Commandant Brocard, of the “Stork Squadron”
For more than two years all of us have seen him cleaving the heavens
above our heads, the heavens lighted up by shining sun or darkened by
lowering tempests, bearing upon his poor wings a part of our dreams,
of our faith in success, of all that our hearts held of confidence and
hope.
“Guynemer was a powerful idea in a frail body, and I lived near him
with the secret sorrow of knowing that some day the idea would slay the
container.
“Poor boy! All the children of France, who wrote to him daily, to whom
he was the marvelous ideal, vibrated with all his emotions, lived
through his joys and suffered his dangers. He will remain to them the
living model hero, greatest in all history. They love him as they have
learned to love the purest glories of our country.
“Guynemer was great enough to have done that which he did without
seeking recompense save in the silent consciousness of having done his
full duty.”
* * * * *
THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
Established for the Development of a Popular Interest in Art,
Literature, Science, History, Nature and Travel
THE MENTOR IS PUBLISHED TWICE A MONTH
BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC., AT 114-116 EAST 16TH STREET, NEW YORK.
N.Y. SUBSCRIPTION, FOUR DOLLARS A YEAR. FOREIGN POSTAGE 75 CENTS EXTRA.
CANADIAN POSTAGE 50 CENTS EXTRA. SINGLE COPIES TWENTY CENTS. PRESIDENT,
THOMAS H. BECK; VICE-PRESIDENT, WALTER P. TEN EYCK; SECRETARY, W. D.
MOFFAT; TREASURER, J. S. CAMPBELL; ASSISTANT TREASURER AND ASSISTANT
SECRETARY, H. A. CROWE.
NOVEMBER 1st, 1918. VOLUME 6 NUMBER 18
Entered as second-class matter, March 10, 1918, at the postoffice at
New York, N. Y., under the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1918, by
The Mentor Association, Inc.
* * * * *
THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, Inc., 114-116 East 16th Street, New York, N. Y.
Statement of the ownership, management, circulation, etc., required
by the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912, of The Mentor, published
semi-monthly at New York, N. Y., for October 1, 1918. State of New
York, County of New York. Before me, a Notary Public, in and for the
State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Thomas H. Beck, who
having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he
is the Publisher of the Mentor, and that the following is, to the
best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership,
management, etc., of the aforesaid publication for the date shown in
the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied
in section 443, Postal Laws and Regulations, to wit: (1) That the
names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor and
business manager are: Publisher, Thomas H. Beck, 52 East 19th Street,
New York; Editor, W. D. Moffat, 114-116 East 16th Street, New York;
Managing Editor, W. D. Moffat, 114-116 East 16th St., New York;
Business Manager, Thomas H. Beck, 52 East 19th Street, New York. (2)
That the owners are: Mentor Association, Inc., 114-116 East 16th St.,
New York; Thomas H. Beck, W. P. Ten Eyck, J. F. Knapp, J. S. Campbell,
52 East 19th Street, New York; W. D. Moffat, 114-116 East 16th St.,
New York; American Lithographic Company; 52 East 19th Street, New
York. Stockholders of American Lithographic Co. owning 1 per cent. or
more of that Corporation. J. P. Knapp, Louis Ettlinger, C. K. Mills,
52 East 19th Street, New York; Chas. Eddy, Westfield, N. J.; M. C.
Herczog, 28 West 10th Street, New York; William T. Harris, 37th Street,
Philadelphia, Pa.; Mrs. M. E. Heppenheimer, 51 East 58th Street, New
York; Emilie Schumacher, Executrix for Luise E. Schumacher and Walter
L. Schumacher, Mount Vernon, N. Y.; Samuel Untermyer, 120 Broadway, New
York. (3) That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security
holders owning or holding 1 per cent. or more of total amount of bonds,
mortgages, or other securities, are: None. (4) That the two paragraphs
next above, giving the names of the owners, stockholders, and security
holders, if any, contain not only the list of stockholders and security
holders as they appear upon the books of the Company, but also, in
cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books
of the Company as trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the
name of the person or corporation for whom such trustee is acting,
is given; also that the said two paragraphs contain statements
embracing affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the circumstances
and conditions under which stockholders and security holders who do
not appear upon the books of the Company as trustees, hold stock and
securities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; and this
affiant has no reason to believe that any other person, association,
or corporation has any interest direct or indirect in the said stock,
bonds, or other securities than as so stated by him. Thomas H. Beck,
Publisher. Sworn to and subscribed before me this twenty-fourth day
of September, 1918. J. S. Campbell, Notary Public, Queens County.
Certificate filed in New York County. My commission expires March 30,
1919.
THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, Inc., 114-116 East 16th St., New York, N.Y.
[Illustration: GEORGES GUYNEMER, WHEN HE BEGAN HIS FLIGHTS]
_GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE_
_His Ancestry and Childhood_
ONE
Not only modern, but ancient French records glorify the name of
Guynemer. In the time of Roland and Charlemagne, there was a Guinemer
that performed noble deeds. An eleventh-century history of the Crusades
extols the name of a Guinemer of Boulogne. The Treaty of Guérande,
which terminated in 1365 a war of succession in Brittany, bore the
signature of Geoffroy Guinemer among thirty knightly signers. In 1464
the old and honorable name was first spelled with a y by Yvon Guynemer,
a man of arms in the service of his country.
Bernard Guynemer, great grandfather of Georges, was an instructor
in jurisprudence in Paris during the Revolution, and was later made
president of the Tribunal of Mayence. A son, Auguste, who lived to be
ninety-three, left to posterity a remarkable collection of memoirs of
the Revolution, the Empire, and the Restoration. One of his brothers,
an officer in Napoleon’s army, was killed at the siege of Vilna in
1812; another, a naval officer, died of wounds received at Trafalgar.
A fourth brother named Achille became the grandfather of Georges, and
it was his exploits, among all the tales of his forbears, that the
youthful grandson loved best to read about. One venturous anecdote of
the child Achille became part of family history, and in its revelation
of mature purpose and utter poise under confounding circumstances
recalls instances of the boyhood of the future Ace of Aces. When the
small Achille arrived one morning at his school in Paris he found it
closed. The mistress, he was told, had been taken away, summoned before
the Revolutionary Tribunal. When he inquired where this Tribunal was,
he was laughingly informed, and straightway he set out to find it. When
the eight-year-old appeared in the court room alone, he was received by
assembly and judges with amazement, then with raillery, but, in no wise
disconcerted, he continued up the imposing aisle to the place where the
mighty Robespierre sat. Humorously, Robespierre met his request that
his teacher be allowed to return to her classes by remarking that the
child’s need of her could not be great, as doubtless she had taught
him little in the past. In his desire to refute the injustice, the
boy begged permission to recite his lessons for the day. When he had
finished, Robespierre impulsively took him in his arms and embraced
him. Then he gave into his charge the school mistress, and permitted
them both to depart.
Seven years later, Achille Guynemer was a volunteer in the army that
invaded Spain. In 1812, he was taken prisoner; later he escaped, and
in 1813, at the age of twenty-one, he was decorated with the Cross of
the Legion of Honor. His grandson, who strongly resembled his early
portraits, received the same honor when he was a few months younger.
Of the four sons of the president of the Tribunal of Mayence, only one,
Achille, had descendants. The son of the latter was Paul Guynemer,
a French army officer and military historian, and his only son was
Georges, the young chieftain of the sky.
Even as a very little boy, Georges carried his head with pride and set
his ambitions high. Adored by his mother and sisters, he was a constant
object of solicitude because of ill health. When he was of school age
he received instruction from the governess of his sisters. Very young
he showed evidences of those qualities of honor, truth and bravery that
earned him in later years all the honors France could bestow. Very
young he fell under the spell of Joan of Arc, she who was wounded in
Compiègne, the home of his boyhood, and he clamored for stories of her
and of others of his country’s warriors.
An indifferent pupil in the grammar-school at Compiègne, he was placed
in Stanislas Military College, his father’s Alma Mater. A group
photograph of the students represents Georges as a boy of twelve,
pale, thin, with dark, wilful eyes lighted by smouldering fires
of dream and ambition. As a student he was quick and intelligent,
but he was mischievous and headstrong under discipline. In play he
preferred warlike games, and invariably chose parts that gave him
opportunities to attack, which he did with agility and vigor, often
to the discomfiture of older opponents. One of his teachers wrote a
sketch of his school-boyhood that betrays many outstanding traits of
the Guynemer of the future. In playground battles he had no desire to
command; he liked above all to fight, and to fight alone. He attacked
the strongest, without consideration for any advantage they might have
of weight, height or numbers. Even as a boy, he excelled by adroitness,
suppleness of maneuver, and will-to-win.
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
[Illustration: GUYNEMER AND HIS FAITHFUL GUNNER, GUERDER]
_GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE_
_His Youth and Apprenticeship_
TWO
Though hampered by illness and enforced vacations, Guynemer graduated
from Stanislas College in his fifteenth year with honors. In the autumn
he re-entered the school for a further course of study. His leisure
hours were passed installing miniature telephones, and experimenting
with paper airplane models. His ability for invention and mechanics
was marked. All the sciences held interest for him, but he had special
liking for chemistry and mathematics. He was fond of reading, but his
choice of books fell solely on those that dealt with war, chivalry and
adventure.
One of young Guynemer’s intimates was Jean Krebs, whose father was a
pioneer in the development of aerostatics and aviation. He was then
director of the great Panhard automobile works, and on Sundays the two
youths spent hours studying motor parts. With their fellow students at
the college they were often taken to visit technical establishments
after school. Georges was always to be found beside the one that
explained the operations of the machinery. When they were permitted to
attend automobile and airplane exhibitions, his delight was boundless.
Keen, excited, agitated, he passed from one exhibit to another,
commenting, interrogating, and incidentally filling his pockets with
catalogues and pamphlets about the different makes of cars and planes.
While still at school he fashioned a small airplane, which he launched
with glee over the heads of his companions.
At that time (1910), the eyes of Europe were on the sky. Blériot had
crossed the Channel; Paulhan had soared to a record height of over four
thousand feet. It was the ambition of all French youth to fly. With
Guynemer the desire was an obsession. From the aerodrome near Compiègne
he secretly made his first flight, crouched behind an obliging pilot,
cramped and uncomfortable, but ecstatically happy. So determined
was he to follow the profession of the air that pleasures of world
travel, enjoyed for months in the fond companionship of his mother
and sisters, served in no way to distract him from his purpose. “What
career shall you adopt?” his father inquired, when they returned. And
Georges answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world,
“I shall be an aviator.” His parent protested that aviation was not
a career, but a sport. The boy was obstinate. He confessed that his
life was already dedicated to this passion. That on the morning he had
first seen a birdman fly above the college of Stanislas, he had been
possessed by a sensation he could not explain. “I felt an emotion so
deep it seemed sacred,” he told his father. “I knew then that I must
ask you to let me become an aviator.”
Refused admission to the _École Polytechnique_ because the professors
believed him too frail to finish the courses, he was taken with his
family to Biarritz on the coast of France, and there rumors came to
them of the war, in the month of July, 1914. War was declared August
second. The following day Georges presented himself for medical
examination at Bayonne,--was rejected, and when he tried still other
times, was rejected again. Finally his persistence, his devotion to
France, his resolve to serve her in the way he felt he could be of the
most value, won him the reward of acceptance in the training school at
Pau.
In January, 1915, Guynemer received his first lessons as a
student-aviator, after having studied two months as a mechanic. On
February first, according to his own narrative, his apprenticeship
as a pilot took on aerial character. “I drove a ‘taxi,’ and then
the following week I mounted an airplane, going in straight lines,
turning and gliding, and on March tenth I made two flights lasting
twenty minutes in daylight. At last I had found my wings. I passed the
examination the next day.”
Once, Guynemer barely escaped being scratched from the list of military
aviators at the school of Avord, because a head pilot complained that
he was imprudent in making flights that were too difficult for one of
his experience, and because he persisted in flying when the weather was
unfavorable.
When he had flown for six months, he was sent one day on a
photographing mission. The enemy discovered him. A rain of shells fell
on his plane. Keeping on amid the deluge, Guynemer made not a single
turn to escape the attacks. For an hour he went straight toward his
objective until his observer gave the signal to return. Even then the
pilot continued to drive on toward the guns that were trying to beat
him down, and, handing his personal photographic apparatus to his
companion, asked him to take some pictures of the mortar attacking the
airplane. From that day, no one in the squadron doubted the future of
this youth, “this eagle of the birdmen, this young Frenchman with the
face of a woman and the heart of a lion.”
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD
GUYNEMER AT THE WHEEL]
_GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE_
_Pioneer Airmen in France_
THREE
Fernand Forest, a countryman of Guynemer’s invented, thirty years ago,
an explosion motor whose operations formed the basis of many subsequent
experiments in petrol engines. And it was a Frenchman, Clement Ader,
who was the first to fly with a motor-driven flying machine. For a time
Ader experimented under the patronage of the French Ministry of War,
but he was eventually deprived of Governmental sanction and assistance
because he was deemed visionary, and his inventions impractical.
However, the machine in which he made several flights in the year 1897,
the “Avion,” was later one of the treasured exhibits of the first
Aeronautical Salon, and was placed beside the airplanes of Wilbur
Wright, Delagrange and Blériot “as convincing proof that to France
belonged the honor of making the first flying machine.” It is related
that when Ader first found himself leaving the ground for a test
flight, “he was so taken by surprise that he nearly lost his senses.”
Charles C. Turner, author of “Marvels of Aviation,” narrates the early
adventures of Alberto Santos-Dumont, the rich young Brazilian who
arrived in Paris in 1898 for the purpose of having a navigable balloon
made there. Already the name Zeppelin had received passing notice in
French and English newspapers, but most people refused to believe
reports of his inventions, and those of Santos-Dumont, concluding
that they were both mad. Santos-Dumont, “the man who initiated the
modern airship movement in France and made the first officially
observed airplane flight in Europe,” flew around the Eiffel Tower and
over the roofs and treetops of startled Paris in his small spherical
balloons, propelled by gasoline motor, and in 1902 made flights over
the Mediterranean. In Paris he built the first airship station ever
constructed. In 1903, his maneuvers above the French army review of
July fourteenth led to negotiations with the French Minister of War, to
whom the young Brazilian made the offer “to put his aerial fleet at the
disposition of France in case of hostilities with any country except
the two Americas.” He explained, “It is in France that I have met with
all my encouragement; in France and with French material I made all my
experiments. I excepted the two Americas because I am an American.”
Santos-Dumont, who had astounded the world by the success of his
airship experiments, was also the pioneer aviator in France, when he
became convinced of the practicality of the heavier-than-air machine.
When Delagrange, Blériot and the Wright brothers leapt into fame,
Santos-Dumont continued quietly to study and contrive, and in 1909
he brought out the “Demoiselle,” a small airplane on whose design he
claimed no patent rights, offering it to the world as a gift of his
invention.
Between the years 1907 and 1910 many unknown inventors and mechanics
won renown through their aerial accomplishments. Outbursts of fervor
greeted every fresh success in air endeavor. On wings the patriotism
of France soared to heights of exaltation. Lethargy gave way to
enthusiasm. Voisin, Blériot, Delagrange, Latham, Paulhan, Védrines
became national heroes. If a popular aviator flew a winning race,
crowds attended his steps and surrounded his hotel. If one was injured,
a sympathetic assembly gathered outside the hospital where he lay,
and extras were issued by the daily journals as to his condition.
Annual airplane meets and exhibitions had the patronage of the French
Government. Experts were constantly occupied in making mechanical
improvements in the motor, steering gear and wings of the wondrous new
machines that had intrigued the imagination, the very soul of awakened
France.
Though France owes a debt to American inventors, always generously
acknowledged, French aviators quickly attained supremacy on the
continent. When the war came, the country was already dotted with
aerodromes and airplane factories, and hundreds of trained aviators and
mechanicians were ready to take the air for their beloved France.
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
[Illustration: GUYNEMER BROUGHT DOWN BY A BOCHE, BUT WITHIN FRENCH
LINES]
_GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE_
_The Flying Storks_
FOUR
At the time of Guynemer’s death he was commander of the Flying Storks,
a squadron of high-record fighting aviators whose feats have for over
three years been the sensation of the Allied front. The original
membership comprised ten pilots, some of whom had already attained
national renown. Approximately fifty warriors that have carried its
emblem down the highways of the air have been killed, wounded, or
reported missing. Three squadron chiefs, Captain Auger, Lieutenant
Peretti and Captain Guynemer, have fallen in aerial battles; three
other chiefs have been gravely wounded--Commandant Brocard, Captain
Heurteaux and Lieutenant Duellin. The prowess of The Storks may
be gauged by the statement that fourteen members of this famous
escadrille, (only one of ten score flying organizations attached to the
French army), brought down a third of all the German planes destroyed
before January, 1918, or two hundred in less than three years. This is
the official count. Many more enemy planes met defeat from their guns,
but without the required number of official witnesses.
“_Les Cicognes_” (The Storks) were organized in April, 1915, by
Commandant Brocard, now retired from active fighting. The first machine
adopted by the corps was the Nieuport-3, on whose side was painted a
stork with spread wings. In 1917, Spad models supplanted the Nieuports
in the service of The Storks.
The official records of a dozen Aces of the squadron are given: Captain
Guynemer, 53 enemy planes downed; Lieutenant René Dormé, 24; Captain
Alfred Heurteaux, 21; Lieutenant Duellin, 19; Captain Armand Pinsard,
16; Lieutenant Jean Caput, 15; Lieutenant Tarascon, 11; Lieutenant
Mathieu de la Tour, 11; Captain Albert Auger, 7; Lieutenant Gond, 6;
Lieutenant Borzecky, 5; Adjutant Herrison, 5.
Captain Heurteaux, chief of the corps from December, 1916, until he was
wounded in September of the following year, rivaled the marksmanship
of Guynemer when he downed a hostile plane with a single bullet.
Heurteaux, in the words of an appreciative chronicler of The Storks,
“used to amuse himself in the midst of battle by politely bowing and
waving ironic greetings to his encircling enemies. This open contempt
for them increased their hatred, he explained, and tempted them to
shake their fists at him in reply, thus often exposing them in their
blind fury to his superior adroitness in maneuvering and attack.”
A grave young pilot named René Dormé became so skilful in handling
his machine that the superb Guynemer regarded his ability as greater
than that of any of his fellows. Dormé was also a remarkable shot. In
four months he was victor over twenty-six enemy planes, fifteen of
which were officially witnessed as they fell. The end of René Dormé
is veiled in mystery. Following a fierce combat high in the clouds
on May 25, 1917, he pursued his opponents above German territory.
Later, observation balloons reported that a French airplane had come
to earth across the enemy lines and had been consumed by fire, which
indicated to their practised vision that the pilot had been able to set
his plane ablaze before it was seized by German captors. Though the
enemy subsequently announced Dormé’s death, the report, for certain
suspicious reasons, has been given little credence. “Second only to
the crushing loss of Guynemer, France’s idol,” has his passing been
mourned by fellow aviators and by the nation. As a discriminating
observer of The Storks has stated, “While both were lads of excessive
modesty, Guynemer’s air tactics were far more spectacular than those of
Dormé, Guynemer was perhaps the better marksman of the two, but Dormé,
he conceded, was the better pilot. Dormé’s dodging maneuvers were
celebrated throughout France.”
It was on the day of Dormé’s disappearance that Guynemer achieved the
Magic Quadruple, besides defeating two more planes that fell far within
the German lines. Guynemer the avenger! Guynemer the miraculous knight
of the air! Less than four months later he fell as Dormé fell, on hated
enemy soil. And, in turn, his death was avenged by the famous French
Ace, René Fonck of Escadrille Nieuport-103, who within two weeks slew
the Hun airman that had brought to earth the Wingèd Sword of France.
“He was our friend and our master, our pride and our protection. His
loss is the most cruel of all those, so numerous, alas, that have
emblazoned our ranks. Nevertheless, our courage has not been beaten
down with him. Our victorious revenge will be hard and inexorable.”
These are the words of Lieutenant Raymond, Guynemer’s successor as
Commandant of The Flying Storks.
PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR, VOL. 6, No. 18. SERIAL No. 166
COPYRIGHT, 1918. BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC.
[Illustration: GUYNEMER AFTER A BOCHE VICTORY]
_GUYNEMER, THE WINGÈD SWORD OF FRANCE_
_Hunting in the Air, by Captain Georges Guynemer_
Translated from the French
FIVE
The public as a rule has a false idea of hunting and the hunters. They
very easily imagine that we are ’way up there at our ease, directing
events, and that the nearer we are to heaven the more we are invested
with Divine Power. I cannot express in words the enervation that I feel
sometimes while listening to the inept remarks addressed to me in the
form of compliments, and which I am compelled to accept with a smile,
which is almost a bite. I want to shout out to the speaker: “But, my
poor fellow, you ought not to speak about this subject, for you know
nothing whatever about it. You do not understand the first word of it
all, and you can hardly believe how little your eulogies please me,
under the circumstances.”
But if I answered in this way, no one would think of honoring my
sincerity, or my desire to spread sane ideas--rather all would declare
that I was a rude fellow, pretentious and a swaggerer, or something
worse.
This is the reason that I listen, remain dumb, and let the enervation
gnaw at me. Some tell me: “It is better to leave to hunting that
mysterious atmosphere which serves as an aureole to the Ace. If the
layman were to become competent to judge, he would possibly no longer
hold the same admiration for the hunters.” You will admit that this
suggestion is not very flattering to us. In fine, according to this
suggestion, we are interesting to them only because they know nothing
about our work.
They say of me: “Guynemer is a lucky dog.”
Certainly, I am a lucky dog, for I have added up forty-nine (this
was written before the grand total was made) victories and am still
alive, and I might have been killed during my first fight. If we talk
this way, every person alive today is lucky; for he might have died
yesterday.
But I might astonish some persons considerably if I answered: “It’s a
good thing that I was a lucky dog, for I have been brought down by the
enemy on seven different occasions.”
I know that they will rejoin that this was really luck, for I managed
to escape death. But, was it luck that day, when, carried along by the
great speed of my Nieuport, I rushed right past a Boche, | 2,524.183874 |
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MARTINE'S
HAND- | 2,524.18594 |
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IN THE ANDAMANS
AND NICOBARS
THE NARRATIVE OF A CRUISE IN THE SCHOONER
"TERRAPIN," WITH NOTICES OF THE ISLANDS,
THEIR FAUNA, ETHNOLOGY, ETC.
By C. BODEN KLOSS
"Where, beneath another sky,
Parrot islands anchored lie."
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1903
TO
WILLIAM LOUIS ABBOTT
IN FELLOWSHIP WITH WHOM I SPENT MANY ENJOYABLE
MONTHS ON THIS AND FORMER CRUISES
PREFACE
The following pages are the result of an attempt to record a cruise, in
a schooner, to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the Bengal Sea, the
main purpose of which was to obtain good representative collections (now
in the National Museum, Washington, U.S.A.) of natural history and
ethnological objects from the places visited. Special attention was
given to the trapping of small mammals, which, comprising the least
known section of the island fauna, were the most interesting subject for
investigation. Sixteen new varieties were obtained in the Andamans and
Nicobars together, thus raising the known mammalian fauna of those
islands from twenty-four to forty individuals, while the collections
also included ten hitherto undescribed species of birds. All the
collecting and preparation was done by my companion, whose guest I was,
and myself, for we were accompanied by no native assistants or hunters.
Broadly speaking, one half of the day passed in obtaining specimens, the
other in preserving them; and such observations as I have been able to
chronicle were, for the greater part, made during the periods of actual
collecting and the consequent going to and fro.
In order to give a certain completeness to the account, I have included
a more or less general description of the two Archipelagoes, their
inhabitants, etc.; the chapters of this nature are partly compiled from
the writings of those who had had previous experience of the islands,
and for the most part the references have been given.
I cannot but regard the illustrations, which are a selection from my
series of photographs, as the most valuable part of this work, but I
hope that my written record, in spite of its imperfections, may
stimulate some more competent observer and chronicler than myself to
visit the latter islands--for the Andamans have already been
described[1] in an admirable monograph by one who dwelt there for many
years--before it is too late. Ethnically, much remains to be done, and
every day that goes by produces some deterioration of native life and
custom. To this end I have added many details about supplies,
anchorages, etc., that might otherwise seem superfluous.
Of those who entertained and assisted us during the voyage, thanks are
specially due to Mr P. Vaux of Port Blair, for his hospitality to us
during our stay in that place;[2] and I am greatly indebted to Messrs
O. T. Mason, G. S. Miller, and Dr C. W. Richmond, respectively, for the
photographs of the Nicobarese pottery and skirt, for permission to
include here much information from the report on the Andaman and Nicobar
mammals, and for a list of the new species of birds obtained, which,
however, | 2,524.381589 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031341906
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Q U I S I S A N A
OR
REST AT LAST
From the German of F. Spielhagen
BY
H. E. GOLDSCHMIDT
ONLY TRANSLATION SANCTIONED BY THE AUTHOR AND BY
THE INTERNATIONAL LITERARY ASSOCIATION
NEW YORK:
JAMES B. MILLAR & CO., PUBLISHERS.
1885.
TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
QUISISANA.
I.
"Why have you roused me, Konski?"
"You were lying on your left side again, sir," the servant, who held
his master clasped by the shoulder, replied, as he completed the task
of restoring him to a sitting posture on the sofa; "and you have been
drinking champagne at dinner, more than a bottle, John says, and that
surely is..."
Konski broke off abruptly, and turned again to the travelling boxes,
one of which was already unlocked; he commenced to arrange its contents
in the chest of drawers, and went on, apparently talking to himself
rather than to his master--
"I am merely doing what the doctor has insisted upon. Only last night,
in Berlin, as I was showing him to the door, he said: 'Konski, when
your master is lying on his left side and begins then to moan, rouse
him, rouse him at once, be it day or night. I take the responsibility.
And, Konski, no champagne; not for the next six weeks, anyhow, and best
not at all. And when you have once got into Italy, then plenty of water
to be mixed with the wine, Konski, and...'"
"And now oblige me by holding | 2,526.987611 |
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Internet Archive.)
MEDIAEVAL BYWAYS
[Illustration: '_... | 2,526.988843 |
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E-text prepared by Martin Robb
IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES
A Story for the Young
by
Everett Evelyn-Green.
1901
CONTENTS
Prologue.
Chapter 1: A Brush with the Robbers.
Chapter 2: A Hospitable Shelter.
Chapter 3: A Strange Encounter.
| 2,526.988939 |
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CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
PURCHASING AGENCY.
FOR the accommodation of my numerous friends in various parts of the
country who prefer not to be at the expense of frequent visits to New
York, I have made arrangements with some of the most reliable houses in
the city to supply those who may favor me with their orders for
BOOKS, STATIONERY,
Hats and Caps, Dry-Goods,
DRUGS, HARDWARE, FURNITURE,
CARPETS, WALL-PAPERS, GROCERIES,
ETC., ETC.,
on such terms as can not but be satisfactory to the purchasers.
The disposition on the part of many merchants to overreach their
customers when they have an opportunity of doing so, renders it almost
as necessary for merchants to give references to their customers as
for customers to give references of their standing to the merchants;
hence I have been careful to make arrangements only with honorable and
responsible houses who can be fully relied on.
As my trade with those houses will be large in the aggregate, they can
afford to allow me a trifling commission and still supply my customers
at their _lowest rates_, which I will engage shall be as low as any
regular houses will supply them.
My friends and others are requested to try the experiment by forwarding
me orders for anything they may chance to want, and if not satisfied, I
will not ask them to repeat the experiment.
Those visiting the city are invited to give me a call before making
their purchases, and test the prices of the houses to whom I can with
confidence introduce them.
Bills for small lots of goods, if sent by express, can be paid for on
delivery, or arrangements can be made for supplying responsible parties
on time.
Address,
=O. HUTCHINSON, New York=.
CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
DAVIES & KENT,
STEREOTYPERS AND ELECTROTYPERS,
_113 Nassau Street, N. Y._
Contents.
PAGE
The Republican Platform 5
Lincoln and Victory 9
Strike for the Right 10
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GARDEN DESIGN
BY THE SAME
ALPINE FLOWERS for English Gardens. Second Edition.
THE SUB-TROPICAL GARDEN; or, Beauty of Form in the Flower Garden.
Second Edition.
HARDY FLOWERS. Description of upwards of 1300 of the most ornamental
species, with Directions for their Arrangement, Culture, etc. Fourth
and Cheaper Edition.
THE WILD GARDEN; or, Our Graves and Gardens made beautiful by the
Naturalisation of Hardy Exotic Plants. Illustrated by ALFRED PARSONS.
Second Edition. John Murray.
THE ENGLISH FLOWER GARDEN: Style, Position, and Arrangement. Followed
by a Description of all the best Plants for it--their Culture and
Arrangement. Second Edition, 1889. John Murray.
GOD'S ACRE BEAUTIFUL; or, The Cemeteries of the Future. Third Edition.
With Illustrations. London: John Murray. New York: Scribner &
Welford. Published in a cheaper form and with additions under the
name--
CREMATION AND URN-BURIAL. Cassell & Co., Limited.
THE PARKS AND GARDENS OF PARIS. Considered in Relation to the Wants of
other Cities, and of Public and Private Gardens. Being notes made in
Paris Gardens. Third Edition. Illustrated. London: John Murray.
JOURNALS
THE GARDEN. An Illustrated Weekly Journal of Gardening in all its
branches. Vol. XL.
GARDENING ILLUSTRATED. For Town and Country. A Weekly Journal for
Amateurs and Gardeners. Vol. XIII.
FARM AND HOME. A Weekly Illustrated Journal of Agriculture in all its
branches. Stock, Dairy, Tillage, Stable, Pasture, Orchard,
Market-Garden, Poultry, House. Vol. X.
WOODS AND FORESTS. A Weekly Illustrated Journal of Forestry, Ornamental
Planting, and Estate Management. Vols. I. and II. 1885.
GARDEN DESIGN
AND ARCHITECTS' GARDENS
Two reviews, illustrated, to show, by
actual examples from British gardens,
that clipping and aligning trees to make
them 'harmonise' with architecture is
barbarous, needless, and inartistic
by
W. Robinson, F.L.S.
London:
John Murray, Albemarle Street
1892
To
Sir Philip Currie, K.C.B.
PREFACE
That we might see, eyes were given us; and a tongue to tell accurately
what we had got to see. It is the alpha and omega of all intellect
that man has. No poetry, hardly even that of Goethe, is equal to the
true image of reality--had one eyes to see that.--T. CARLYLE, _Letters
to Varnhagen Von Ense_.
_The one English thing that has touched the heart of the world is the
English garden. Proof of this we have in such noble gardens as the
English park at Munich, the garden of the Emperor of Austria at
Laxenberg, the Petit Trianon at Versailles, the parks formed of recent
years round Paris, and many lovely gardens in Europe and America. The
good sense of English writers and landscape gardeners refused to accept
as right or reasonable the architect's garden, a thing set out as bricks
and stones are, and the very trees of which were mutilated to meet his
views as to "design" or rather to prove his not being able to see the
simplest elements of design in landscape beauty or natural form. And
some way or other they destroyed nearly all signs of it throughout our
land._
_In every country where gardens are made we see the idea of the
English garden gratefully accepted; and though there are as yet no
effective means of teaching the true art of landscape gardening, we see
many good results in Europe and America. No good means have ever been
devised for the teaching of this delightful English art. Here and there
a man of keen sympathy with Nature does good work, but often it is
carried out by men trained for a very different life, as engineers in
the great Paris parks, and in our own country by surveyors and others
whose training often wholly unfits them for the study of the elements of
beautiful landscape. Thus we do not often see good examples of
picturesque garden and park design, while bad work is common.
Everywhere--unhappily, even in England, the home of landscape
gardening--the too frequent presence of stupid work in landscape
gardening offers some excuse for the two reactionary books which have
lately appeared--books not worth notice for their own sake, as they
contribute nothing to our knowledge of the beautiful art of gardening or
garden design. But so many people suppose that artistic matters are mere
questions of windy argument, that I think it well to show by English
gardens and country seats of to-day that the many sweeping statements of
their authors may be disproved by reference to actual things, to be seen
by all who care for them. We live at a time when, through complexity of
thought and speech, artistic questions have got into a maze of
confusion. Even teachers by profession confuse themselves and their
unfortunate pupils with vague and hyper-refined talk about art and
"schools" and "styles," while all the time much worse work is done than
in days when simpler, clearer views were held. To prove this there is
the example of the great Master's work and the eternal laws of nature,
on the study of which all serious art must be for ever based. Beneath
all art there are laws, however subtle, that cannot be ignored without
error and waste; and in garden design there are lessons innumerable both
in wild and cultivated Nature which will guide us well if we seek to
understand them simply._
_These books are made up in great part of quotations from old books on
gardening--many of them written by men who knew books better than
gardens. Where the authors touch the ground of actuality, they soon show
little acquaintance with the subject; and, indeed, they see no design at
all in landscape gardening and admit their ignorance of it. That men
should write on things of which they have thought little is unhappily of
frequent occurrence, but to find them openly avowing their ignorance of
the art they presume to criticise is new._
_A word or two on the state of architecture itself may not be amiss.
From Gower Street to the new Law Courts our architecture does not seem
to be in a much better state than landscape gardening is, according to
the architects to whom we owe the "Formal Garden" and "Garden Craft"! It
is William Morris--whose "design" these authors may respect--who calls
London houses "mean and idiotic rabbit warrens:" so that there is plenty
to do for ambitious young architects to set their own house in artistic
order!_
_As regards "formal gardening," the state of some of the best old
houses in England--Longleat, Compton-Wynyates, Brympton, and many
others, where trees in formal lines, clipped or otherwise, are not seen
in connection with the architecture--is proof against the need of the
practice. As regards the best new houses, Clouds, so well built by Mr.
Philip Webb, is not any the worse for its picturesque surroundings,
which do not meet the architect's senseless craving for "order and
balance"; while Batsford, certainly one of the few really good new
houses in England, is not disfigured by the fashions in formality the
authors wish to see revived, and of which they give an absurd example in
a cut of Badminton. There is, in short, ample proof, furnished both by
the beautiful old houses of England and by those new ones that have any
claim to dignity, that the system they seek to revive could only bring
costly ugliness to our beautiful home-landscapes._
W. R.
July 1, 1892.
CONTENTS
PAGE
GARDEN DESIGN 1
NATURAL AND FALSE LINES 5
"UNCULTIVATED NATURE" 8
THE TRUE LANDSCAPE 13
BUILDINGS IN RELATION TO THE GARDEN 16
TIME AND GARDENS 20
TRUE USE OF A GARDEN 23
FORMAL GARDENING 25
"NATURE," AND WHAT WE MEAN BY IT 31
"ALL OUR PATHS" ARE CROOKED! 35
"THE ONLY GARDEN POSSIBLE!" 40
"NO DESIGN IN LANDSCAPE" 43
NO GRASS IN LANDSCAPE GARDENING! 46
"IMPROVING" BATTERSEA PARK! 50
NATURE AND CLIPPED YEWS 53
NO LINE IN NATURE! 62
"VEGETABLE SCULPTURE" 66
ILLUSTRATIONS
RHIANVA To face page 2
GROUP OF TREES ON GARDEN LAWN AT
GOLDER'S HILL, HAMPSTEAD Page 4
WAKEHURST To face page 6
GILBERT WHITE'S HOUSE AT SELBORNE " 10
EXAMPLE OF FORMAL GARDENING Page 12
LONGLEAT To face page 16
OLD PLACE, LINDFIELD " 18
ARUNDEL CASTLE " 20
TAILPIECE Page 22
WEST DEAN To face page 24
ATHELHAMPTON HALL, DORSET " 26
THE VICARAGE GARDEN, ODIHAM " 30
UNCLIPPED TREES AT THE LITTLE TRIANON Page 34
WESTONBIRT To face page 36
THRUMPTON HALL " 40
TAILPIECE Page 45
GOODWOOD To face page 46
AVENUE IN PARIS " 50
CLIPPED TREES AT THE LITTLE TRIANON Page 52
THE "GRANGE," HARTLEY WINTNEY To face page 54
A YEW TREE ON MOUNTAIN, N. ENGLAND " 56
BUILDING IN PARIS " 58
BROADLANDS, HANTS " 64
WARREN HOUSE, COOMBE WOOD " 66
DRUMMOND CASTLE " 68
MADRESFIELD " 70
TAILPIECE Page 73
"The number of those who really think seriously before they begin
to write is small; extremely few of them think about _the subject
itself;_ the remainder think only about the books that have been
written on it."--ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER.
GARDEN DESIGN[1]
[1] _The Formal Garden in England._ By Reginald Blomfield and F. Inigo
Thomas. London: Macmillan and Co.
A beautiful house in a fair landscape is the most delightful scene of
the cultivated earth--all the more so if there be an artistic
garden--the rarest thing to find! The union--a happy marriage it should
be--between the house beautiful and the ground near it is worthy of more
thought than it has had in the past, and the best ways of effecting that
union artistically should interest men more and more as our cities grow
larger and our lovely English landscape shrinks back from them. The
views of old writers will help us little, for a wholly different state
of things has arisen in these mechanical days. My own view is that we
have never yet got from the garden, and, above all, the home landscape,
half the beauty which we may get by abolishing the needless formality
and geometry which disfigure so many gardens, both as regards plan and
flower planting. Formality is often essential in the plan of a flower
garden near a house--_never_ as regards the arrangements of its flowers
or shrubs. To array these in lines or rings or patterns can only be ugly
wherever done!
That men have never yet generally enjoyed the beauty that good garden
design may give is clear from the fact that the painter is driven from
the garden! The artist dislikes the common garden with its formality and
bedding; he cannot help hating it! In a country place he will seek
anything but the garden, but may, perhaps, be found near a wild Rose
tossing over the pigsty. This dislike is natural and right, as from most
flower gardens the possibility of any beautiful result is shut out! Yet
the beautiful garden exists, and there are numbers of cottage gardens in
Surrey or Kent that are as "paintable" as any bit of pure landscape!
[Illustration: _Rhianva. Terraced garden, but with picturesque planting
and flower gardening_]
Why is the cottage garden often a picture, and the gentleman's garden
near, wholly shut out of the realm of art, a thing which an artist
cannot look at long? It is the absence of pretentious "plan" in the
cottage garden which lets the flowers tell their tale direct; the simple
walks going where they are wanted; flowers not set in patterns; the
walls and porch alive with flowers. Can the gentleman's garden then,
too, be a picture? Certainly; the greater the breadth and means the
better the picture should be. But never if our formal "decorative" style
of design is kept to. Reform must come by letting Nature take her just
place in the garden.
[Illustration: _Group of trees on garden lawn at Golder's Hill,
Hampstead; picturesque effect in suburban garden_]
NATURAL AND FALSE LINES
After we have settled the essential approaches, levels, and enclosures
for shelter, privacy, or dividing lines around a house, the natural form
or lines of the earth herself are in nearly all cases the best to
follow, and in my work I face any labour to get the ground back into its
natural level or fall where disfigured by ugly banks, lines, or angles.
In the true Italian garden on the hills we have to alter the natural
line of the earth or "terrace" it, because we cannot otherwise cultivate
the ground or move at ease upon it. Such steep ground exists in many
countries, and where it does, a like plan must be followed. The strictly
formal in such ground is as right in its way as the lawn in a garden in
the Thames valley. But the lawn is the heart of the true English garden,
and as essential as the terrace is to the gardens on the steep hills.
English lawns have too often been destroyed that "geometrical" gardens
may be made where they are not only needless, but harmful both to the
garden and home landscape. Sometimes on level ground the terrace walls
cut off the view of the landscape from the house, and, on the other
hand, the house from the landscape!
I hold that it is possible to get every charm of a garden and every
use of a country-seat without sacrifice of the picturesque or beautiful;
that there is no reason why, either in the working or design of gardens,
there should be a single false line in them. By this I mean hard and
ugly lines such as the earth never follows, as say, to mention a place
known to many, the banks about the head of the lake in the Bois de
Boulogne. These lines are seen in all bad landscape work, though with
good workmen I find it is as easy to form true and artistic lines as
false and ugly ones. Every landscape painter or observer of landscape
will know what is meant here, though I fear it is far beyond the limits
of the ideas of design held by the authors of the _Formal Garden_. Also,
that every charm of the flower garden may be secured by avoiding wholly
the knots and scrolls which make all the plants and flowers of a garden,
all its joy and life, subordinate to the wretched conventional design in
which they are "set out." The true way is the opposite. We should see
the flowers and feel the beauty of plant forms, with only the simplest
possible plans to ensure good working, to secure every scrap of turf
wanted for play or lawn, and for every enjoyment of a garden.
[Illustration: _Wakehurst. Elizabethan house with grounds not terraced_]
"UNCULTIVATED NATURE"
Such views I have urged, and carry them out when I can, in the hope of
bringing gardening into a line with art, from which it is now so often
divorced. It is natural that these views should meet with some
opposition, and the consideration of the _Formal Garden_ gives the
opportunity of examining their value.
The question, briefly stated, is this: Are we, in laying out our
gardens, to ignore the house, and to reproduce uncultivated Nature to
the best of our ability in the garden? Or are we to treat the house
and garden as inseparable factors in one homogeneous whole, which are
to co-operate for one premeditated result?
No sane person has ever proposed to ignore the house. So far from
ignoring the house in my own work, where there is a beautiful house it
tells me what to do! Unhappily, the house is often so bad that nothing
can prevent its evil effect on the garden. "_Reproducing uncultivated
Nature_" is no part of good gardening, as the whole reason of a flower
garden is that it is a home for cultivated Nature. It is the special
charm of the garden that we may have beautiful natural objects in their
living beauty in it, but we cannot do this without care and culture to
begin with! Whether it be Atlas Cedar or Eastern Cypress, Lily-tree or
American Mountain Laurel, all must be cared for at first, and we must
know their ways of life and growth if we are to treat them so that they
will both grow well and be rightly placed--an essential point. And the
more precious and rare they are the better the place they should have in
the flower garden proper or pleasure ground,--places always the object
of a certain essential amount of care even under the simplest and wisest
plans. If we wish to encourage "uncultivated Nature" it must surely be a
little further afield! A wretched flowerless pinched bedding plant and a
great yellow climbing Tea Rose are both cultivated things, but what a
vast difference in their beauty! There are many kinds of "cultivated
Nature," and every degree of ugliness among them.
Sir C. Barry's idea was that the garden was gradually to become less
and less formal till it melted away into the park. Compromises such as
these, however, will be rejected by thoroughgoing adherents of the
formal gardens who hold that the garden should be avowedly separated
from the adjacent country by a clean boundary line, a good high wall
for choice. (_The Formal Garden._)
Would any one put this high wall in front of Gilbert White's house at
Selborne, or of Golder's Hill at Hampstead, or many English houses where
the erection of a high wall would cut off the landscape? Not a word
about the vast variety of such situations, each of which would require
to be treated in a way quite different from the rest! There are many
places in every county that would be robbed of their best charms by
separating the garden from the adjacent country by a "good high wall."
[Illustration: _Gilbert White's house at Selborne. Example of many
gardens with lawn coming to windows and flowers on its margin_]
The custom of planting avenues and cutting straight lines through the
woods surrounding the house to radiate in all directions was a
departure from that strictly logical system which separated the garden
from the park, and left the latter to take care of itself, a system
which frankly subordinated Nature to art within the garden wall, but
in return gave Nature an absolutely free hand outside it. (_The Formal
Garden._)
Nature an "_absolutely free hand_"! Imagine a great park or any part of
an estate being left to Nature with an "absolutely free hand"! If it
were, in a generation there would be very little to see but the edge of
the wood. Callous to the beauty of English parks, he does not know that
they are the object of much care, and he abuses all those who ever
formed them, Brown, Repton, and the rest.
[Illustration: _Example of formal gardening, with clipped trees and
clipped shrubs in costly tubs_]
THE TRUE LANDSCAPE
Mr. Blomfield writes nonsense, and then attributes it to me--
that is to say, we go to Claude, and having saturated our minds with
his rocks and trees, we return to Nature and try to worry her into a
resemblance to Claude.
I am never concerned with Claude, but seek the best expression I can
secure of our beautiful English real landscapes, which are far finer
than Claude's. At least I never saw any painted landscape like them--say
that from the Chestnut Walk at Shrubland, looking over the lovely
Suffolk country. That is the precious heritage we have to keep. And that
is where simple and picturesque gardening will help us by making the
garden a beautiful foreground for the true landscape, instead of cutting
it off with a "high wall" or anything else that is ugly and needless.
The lawns are not to be left in broad expanse, but to have Pampas
Grasses, foreign shrubs, etc., dotted about on the surface.
I have fought for years against the lawn-destruction by the
terrace-builders and bedding-out gardeners! But how are we to have our
lawns in "broad expanse" if we build a high wall near the house to cut
off even the possibility of a lawn? This has been done in too many cases
to the ruin of all good effect and repose, often to shut out as good
landscapes as ever were painted! There are flagrant cases in point to be
found in private gardens in the suburbs of London. There is much bad and
ignorant landscape work as there is bad building everywhere, but errors
in that way are more easily removed than mistakes in costly and aimless
work in brick and stone. At Coombe Cottage, when I first saw its useless
terrace wall shutting out the beautiful valley view from the living
rooms, I spoke of the error that had been made, but the owner thought
that, as it had cost him a thousand pounds, he had better leave it where
it was!
BUILDINGS IN RELATION TO THE GARDEN
The place of formal gardening is clear for ever. The architect can help
the gardener much by building a beautiful house! That is his work. The
true architect, it seems to me, would seek to go no farther. The better
the real work of the architect is done, the better for the garden and
landscape. If there are any difficulties of level about the house
beautiful, they should be dealt with by the architect, and the better
his work and the necessary terracing, if any, are done, the pleasanter
the work of the landscape or other gardener who has to follow him should
be.
[Illustration: _Longleat. Type of nobler English country seat with old
house and picturesque planting_]
That a garden is made for plants is what most people who care for
gardens suppose. If a garden has any use, it is to treasure for us
beautiful flowers, shrubs, and trees. In these days--when our ways of
building are the laughing-stock of all who care for beautiful
buildings--there is plenty for the architect to do without spoiling our
gardens! Most of the houses built in our time are so bad, that even the
best gardening could hardly save them from contempt. Our garden flora is
now so large, that a life's work is almost necessary to know it. How is
a man to make gardens wisely if he does not know what has to be grown in
them? I do not mean that we are to exclude other men than the landscape
gardener proper from the garden. We want all the help we can get from
those whose tastes and training enable them to help us--the landscape
painter best of all, if he cares for gardens and trees--the country
gentleman, or any keen student and lover of Nature. The landscape
gardener of the present day is not always what we admire, his work often
looking more like that of an engineer. His gardening near the house is
usually a repetition of the decorative work of the house, of which I
hope many artistic people are already tired. And as I think people will
eventually see the evil and the wastefulness of this "decorative" stuff,
and spend their money on really beautiful and artistic things, so I
think the same often-repeated "knots" and frivolous patterns must leave
the artistic garden, and simpler and dignified forms take their place.
To endeavour to apply any one preconceived plan or general idea to
every site is folly, and the source of many blunders. The authors are
not blind to the absurdities of the architectural gardeners, and say, on
page 232:--
Rows of statues were introduced from the French, costly architecture
superseded the simple terrace, intricate parterres were laid out from
gardeners' pattern books, and meanwhile the flowers were forgotten. It
was well that all this pomp should be swept away. We do not want this
extravagant statuary, these absurdities in clipped work, this
aggressive prodigality. But though one would admit that in its decay
the formal garden became unmanageable and absurd, the abuse is no
argument against the use.
Certainly not where the place calls for it, and all absolutely
necessary stone-work about a house should be controlled by the
architect; beyond that, nothing. To let him lay out our home landscapes
again with lines of trees, as shown in the old Dutch books, and with no
regard to landscape design and to the relations of the garden to the
surrounding country, would be the greatest evil that could come to the
beautiful home landscapes of Britain.
[Illustration: _Old | 2,529.181921 |
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History of Free Thought
in Reference to
The Christian Religion
Eight Lectures
Preached Before The
University of Oxford, in the year M.DCCC.LXII., on the Foundation of the
Late Rev. John Bampton, M.A., Canon of Salisbury.
By
Adam Storey Farrar, M.A.
Michel Fellow of Queen's College, Oxford.
New York:
D. Appleton And Company,
443 & 445 Broadway.
1863
CONTENTS
Will of Rev. John Bampton.
Preface.
Analysis of the lectures.
Lecture I. On The Subject, Method, And Purpose Of The Course Of Lectures.
Lecture II. The Literary Opposition of Heathens Against Christianity in
the Early Ages.
Lecture III. Free Thought During The Middle Ages, and At The Renaissance;
Together With Its Rise in Modern Times.
Lecture IV. Deism in England Previous to A.D. 1760.
Lecture V. Infidelity in France in the Eighteenth Century, and Unbelief in
England Subsequent to 1760.
Lecture VI. Free Thought In The Theology Of Germany From 1750-1835.
Lecture VII. Free Thought: In Germany Subsequently To 1835; And In France
During The Present Century.
Lecture VIII. Free Thought in England in the Present Century; Summary of
the Course of Lectures; Inferences in Reference to Present Dangers and
Duties.
Notes.
Lecture I.
Lecture II.
Lecture III.
Lecture IV.
Lecture V.
Lecture VI.
Lecture VII.
Lecture VIII.
Index.
Footnotes
WILL OF REV. JOHN BAMPTON.
Extract From The Last Will And Testament Of The Late Rev. John Bampton,
Canon Of Salisbury.
-------------------------------------
"----I give and bequeath my Lands and Estates to the Chancellor, Masters,
and Scholars of the University of Oxford for ever, to have and to hold all
and singular the said Lands or Estates upon trust, and to the intents and
purposes hereinafter mentioned; that is to say, I will and appoint that
the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford for the time being shall
take and receive all the rents, issues, and profits thereof, and (after
all taxes, reparations, and necessary deductions made) that he pay all the
remainder to the endowment of eight Divinity Lecture Sermons, to be
established for ever in the said University, and to be performed in the
manner following:
-------------------------------------
"I direct and appoint, that, upon the first Tuesday in Easter Term, a
Lecturer be yearly chosen by the Heads of Colleges only, and by no others,
in the room adjoining to the Printing-House, between the hours of ten in
the morning and two in the afternoon, to preach eight Divinity Lecture
Sermons, the year following, at St. Mary's in Oxford, between the
commencement of the last month in Lent Term, and the end of the third week
in Act Term.
"Also I direct and appoint, that the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons shall
be preached upon either of the following Subjects--to confirm and establish
the Christian Faith, and to confute all heretics and schismatics--upon the
divine authority of the holy Scriptures--upon the authority of the writings
of the primitive Fathers, as to the faith and practice of the primitive
Church--upon the Divinity of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ--upon the
Divinity of the Holy Ghost--upon the Articles of the Christian Faith as
comprehended in the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds.
"Also I direct, that thirty copies of the eight Divinity Lecture Sermons
shall be always printed, within two months after they are preached; and
one copy shall be given to the Chancellor of the University, and one copy
to the Head of every College, and one copy to the Mayor of the city of
Oxford, and one copy to be put into the Bodleian Library; and the expense
of printing them shall be paid out of the revenue of the Land or Estates
given for establishing the Divinity Lecture Sermons; and the Preacher
shall not be paid nor be entitled to the revenue before they are printed.
"Also I direct and appoint, that no person shall be qualified to preach | 2,529.281689 |
2023-11-16 18:59:13.2674800 | 916 | 10 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ROBIN HOOD
ILLUSTRATED BY N. C. WYETH
[Illustration]
DAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER
PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII
ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page
ROBIN AND HIS MOTHER GO TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR 18
The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they
came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky
ROBIN WRESTLES WILL STUTELEY AT GAMEWELL 53
"Catch him by the middle," he shouted. "Now you have
him, lording, fairly. Throw him prettily!" And sure enough
Stuteley came down
ROBIN MEETS MAID MARIAN 116
But Robin, venturing all, drew nigh. He came to the edge of
her box, and began to speak
ROBIN HOOD AND HIS COMPANIONS LEND AID TO WILL O' TH' GREEN
FROM AMBUSH 156
Their arrows flew together, marvellous shots, each finding
its prey
LITTLE JOHN FIGHTS WITH THE COOK IN THE SHERIFF'S HOUSE 197
At last he made a dart upon Roger and the chase grew furious.
Dishes, plates, covers, pots and pans--all that came in
the way of them went flying
ROBIN HOOD DEFEATS NAT OF NOTTINGHAM AT QUARTER-STAFF 257
The beggar dealt his foe a back-thrust so neatly, so heartily,
and so swiftly that Nat was swept off the stage into the crowd
as a fly off a table
LITTLE JOHN SINGS A SONG AT THE BANQUET 327
That evening, whilst Monceux raged and stormed without,
they all sat to a great feast
THE PASSING OF ROBIN HOOD 361
Leaning heavily against Little John's sobbing breast, Robin
Hood flew his last arrow out through the window, far away
into the deep green of trees
ROBIN HOOD AND HIS ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I
"Well, Robin, on what folly do you employ yourself? Do you cut sticks
for our fire o' mornings?" Thus spoke Master Hugh Fitzooth, King's
Ranger of the Forest at Locksley, as he entered his house.
Robin flushed a little. "These are arrows, sir," he announced, holding
one up for inspection.
Dame Fitzooth smiled upon the boy as she rose to meet her lord. "What
fortune do you bring us to-day, father?" asked she, cheerily.
Fitzooth's face was a mask of discontent. "I bring myself, dame,"
answered he, "neither more nor less."
"Surely that is enough for Robin and me!" laughed his wife. "Come, cast
off your shoes, and give me your bow and quiver. I have news for you,
Hugh, even if you have none for us. George of Gamewell has sent his
messenger to-day, and bids me bring Robin to him for the Fair." She
hesitated to give the whole truth.
"That cannot be," began the Ranger, hastily; then checked himself. "What
wind is it that blows our Squire's friendship toward me, I wonder?" he
went on. "Do we owe him toll?"
"You are not fair to George Montfichet, Hugh--he is an open, honest
man, and he is my brother." The dame spoke with spirit, being vexed that
her husband should thus slight her item of news. "That Montfichet is of
Norman blood is sufficient to turn your thoughts of him as sour as old
milk----"
"I am as good as all the Montfichets and De Veres hereabout, dame, for
all I am but plain Saxon," returned Fitzooth, crossly, "and the day may
come when they shall know it. Athelstane the Saxon might make full as
good a King, when | 2,529.28752 |
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E-text prepared by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/conquestorpieceo00stop
CONQUEST
Or
A Piece of Jade
A New Play in Three Acts
by
MARIE C. STOPES
D.Sc., Ph.D., F.R.S.Litt., etc.
1/- net
Copyright 1917 by Dr. Marie C. Stopes
New York
Samuel French
Publisher
28-30 West 38th Street
London
Samuel French, Ltd.
26 Southampton Street
Strand
1917
LEATHERHEAD, SURREY,
ENGLAND.
DEAR MR. DELIGHTFULEST-MANAGER-IN-THE-WORLD,--
I am sending you this play printed instead of type-written because I
think you will find it much easier to slip into your pocket and read,
and also because I don't know your address, and printed books have a
way of finding people without being addressed which typescripts have
not yet learnt. So instead of sending my play round, in what people
tell me is the usual way, to lots and lots of managers in typescript
and wasting ever so much valuable time while they don't read it, I am
sending it to you direct, and hope you will like it. When you read it
you will find that there is still another reason why I am glad to see
it in print.
First let me have just one word in your ear, please: don't look to
see how many pages long it is, and (reckoning "a page a minute") say
it is too short to fill an evening, for I ought to tell you it is a
full-length play but the printer is war-economising and has printed it
all on fewer pages than he would have done in the days of Paper, Peace
and Plenty long ago.
While I was writing the leading part I pictured one of our finest
actresses in it, and she has read it and says the play is "simply
splendid": if you want her to take the part I will tell you her name
and address, but she is such an angel she will forgive you if some one
you love better seems to you to be the heroine.
Yours sincerely,
MARIE C. STOPES.
_Registered Copyright by Marie C. Stopes._
_The Copyright of_ CONQUEST _is the sole property of the author, to
whom application should be made for a license to produce, translate,
place on the cinematograph or use in any other way._
_Addressing_: DR. MARIE STOPES,
_Craigvara, Leatherhead,
Surrey, England_.
"CONQUEST," or "A PIECE OF JADE."
A NEW PLAY IN THREE ACTS, BY
MARIE C. STOPES.
TIME: _1915_. PLACE: _New Zealand and London_.
ACT I.
An Out-station on the Hyde's Sheep Farm,
New Zealand.
Afternoon.
ACT II.
The Hyde's Homestead, New Zealand.
Morning.
Three or four months elapse between Acts I. and II.
ACT III.
The Duchess of Rainshire's Drawing-room, London.
Evening.
About two months elapse between Acts II. and III.
"CONQUEST," or "A PIECE OF JADE."
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_In the order of their appearance_:
FIRST SHEPHERD.
SECOND SHEPHERD.
GORDON HYDE, _New Zealand Sheep Farmer_.
ROTO, _an old Maori_.
NORA LEE, _A New Zealand Girl_.
LOVEDAY LEWISHAM, _Nora's Cousin, out from England_.
ROBERT HYDE, _New Zealand Sheep Farmer, Gordon's Brother_.
JOHN VARLIE _alias_ THE REV DR. CHAPMAN.
RECRUITING OFFICER.
THE DUCHESS OF RAINSHIRE.
A CABINET MINISTER.
SMITHERS.
ALSO (_Without words_):
TWO (OR PERHAPS THREE) YOUNG MEN _in New Zealand Khaki_.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, _Guests at the Duchess' Evening Party_.
MAID, _Footman's substitute in uniform_.
TWO PLAIN CLOTHES OFFICERS.
ONE OR TWO COLLIE DOGS.
SHEEP--ONE, OR MORE, _if convenient_.
"CONQUEST,"
OR
"A PIECE OF JADE."
A NEW PLAY IN THREE ACTS BY
MARIE C. STOPES.
ACT I.
_THE SCENE is set in the hills of the sheep-raising part of the S.
Island of New Zealand._
_The back-cloth is painted with fine rocky and wooded hills and
lakes, rather like Scotland but with a clearer, bluer sky and keener
atmosphere._
_The stage represents a temporary camp in a clearing, for the
mustering and marking of sheep. There are boulders and groups of
luxuriant trees. The grass is trampled under foot. RIGHT CENTRE is
an open fire with cooking utensils. BACK RIGHT the corner of sheep
enclosures. On LEFT is a temporary cover, part canvas, part tree
branches._
_TWO SHEPHERDS are DISCOVERED near the fire, binding up the leg of a
sheep. The collie dogs prowl and lie around._
1ST SHEP. (_An old, wiry man._) A fine muster, this year.
2ND SHEP. (_A dour man, about 45 years old._) Aye.
1ST SHEP. The best season I mind for ten years. (_Working with sheep's
leg._) Plague take it, it's slipped. Lie still you bleatin' fule ye!
And sheep s'd fetch a guid price this year and all.
2ND SHEP. Aye.
1ST SHEP. I'm thinkin' these sheep will be making the fortune of the
young masters, but they do nought but make work for us.
2ND SHEP. (_Spits._) Aye.
1ST SHEP. The young masters must get an extra man, we never had to
handle so many sheep.
2ND SHEP. Men'll be scarce now.
1ST SHEP. They will that. Do you hear they recruitin' fellows are
scourin' the country for likely lads?
2ND SHEP. Aye.
1ST SHEP. When did you know it?
2ND SHEP. 'Bout a week ago.
1ST SHEP. (_Reproachfully._) And ye kept a tale like that from me--and
me that glad of any bit of news in this lonesomeness. I call that nasty
of ye.
(_2ND SHEPHERD is silent; spits slowly._)
I call that nasty of ye.
2ND SHEP. Aye.
1ST SHEP. And what else do ye know ye might tell me if--if, well,
if I had a wee drop of something to loosen your lips--(_Pulls out a
flask and a tin cup and pours a small drink--the dogs come up._) Down
Jock--get out Scottie. What news have ye for this, eh?
(_2ND SHEPHERD reaches out his hand._)
1ST SHEP. Na-na. News first. It mayn't | 2,529.480191 |
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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE OLD MANSE.
The Author makes the Reader acquainted with his Abode.
Between two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itself
having fallen from its hinges at some unknown epoch) we beheld the
gray front of the old parsonage, terminating the vista of an avenue of
black-ash trees. It was now a twelvemonth since the funeral
procession of the venerable clergyman, its last inhabitant, had turned
from that gateway towards the village burying-ground. The wheel-track
leading to the door, as well as the whole breadth of the avenue, was
almost overgrown with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or
three vagrant cows and an old white horse who had his own living to
pick up along the roadside. The glimmering shadows that lay half
asleep between the door of the house and the public highway were a
kind of spiritual medium, seen through which the edifice had not quite
the aspect of belonging to the material world. Certainly it had
little in common with those ordinary abodes which stand so imminent
upon the road that every passer-by can thrust his head, as it were,
into the domestic circle. From these quiet windows the figures of
passing travellers looked too remote and dim to disturb the sense of
privacy. In its near retirement and accessible seclusion, it was the
very spot for the residence of a clergyman,--a man not estranged from
human life, yet enveloped, in the midst of it, with a veil woven of
intermingled gloom and brightness. It was worthy to have been one of
the time-honored parsonages of England, in which, through many
generations, a succession of holy occupants pass from youth to age,
and bequeath each an inheritance of sanctity to pervade the house and
hover over it as with an atmosphere.
Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupant
until that memorable summer afternoon when I entered it as my home. A
priest had built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly men
from time to time had dwelt in it; and children born in its chambers
had grown up to assume the priestly character. It was awful to
reflect how many sermons must have been written there. The latest
inhabitant alone--he by whose translation to paradise the dwelling was
left vacant--had penned nearly three thousand discourses, besides the
better, if not the greater, number that gushed living from his lips.
How often, no doubt, had he paced to and fro along the avenue,
attuning his meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs and deep and
solemn peals of the wind among the lofty tops of the trees! In that
variety of natural utterances he could find something accordant with
every passage of his sermon, were it of tenderness or reverential
fear. The boughs over my head seemed shadowy with solemn thoughts, as
well as with rustling leaves. I took shame to myself for having been
so long a writer of idle stories, and ventured to hope that wisdom
would descend upon me with the falling leaves of the avenue, and that
I should light upon an intellectual treasure in the Old Manse well
worth those hoards of long-hidden gold which people seek for in
moss-grown houses. Profound treatises of morality; a layman's
unprofessional, and therefore unprejudiced, views of religion;
histories (such as Bancroft might have written had he taken up his
abode here, as he once purposed) bright with picture, gleaming over a
depth of philosophic thought,--these were the works that might fitly
have flowed from such a retirement. In the humblest event, I resolved
at least to achieve a novel that should evolve some deep lesson, and
should possess physical substance enough to stand alone.
In furtherance of my design, and as if to leave me no pretext for not
fulfilling it, there was in the rear of the house the most delightful
little nook of a study that ever afforded its snug seclusion to a
scholar. It was here that Emerson wrote Nature; for he was then an
inhabitant of the Manse, and used to watch the Assyrian dawn and
Paphian sunset and moonrise from the summit of our eastern hill. When
I first saw the room, its walls were blackened with the smoke of
unnumbered years, and made still blacker by the grim prints of Puritan
ministers that hung around. These worthies looked strangely like bad
angels, or at least like men who had wrestled so continually and so
sternly with the Devil that somewhat of his sooty fierceness had been
imparted to their own visages. They had all vanished now; a cheerful
coat of paint and golden-tinted paper-hangings lighted up the small
apartment; while the shadow of a willow-tree that swept against the
overhanging eaves atempered the cheery western sunshine. In place of
the grim prints there was the sweet and lovely head of one of
Raphael's Madonnas, and two pleasant little pictures of the Lake of
Como. The only other decorations were a purple vase of flowers,
always fresh, and a bronze one containing graceful ferns. My books
(few, and by no means choice; for they were chiefly such waifs as
chance had thrown in my way) stood in order about the room, seldom to
be disturbed.
The study had three windows, set with little, old-fashioned panes of
glass, each with a crack across it. The two on the western side
looked, or rather peeped, between the willow branches, down into the
orchard, with glimpses of the river through the trees. The third,
facing northward, commanded a broader view of the river, at a spot
where its hitherto obscure waters gleam forth into the light of
history. It was at this window that the clergyman who then dwelt in
the Manse stood watching the outbreak of a long and deadly struggle
between two nations; he saw the irregular array of his parishioners on
the farther side of the river, and the glittering line of the British
on the hither bank. He awaited, in an agony of suspense, the rattle of
the musketry. It came; and there needed but a gentle wind to sweep the
battle-smoke around this quiet house.
Perhaps the reader, whom I cannot help considering as my guest in the
Old Manse, and entitled to all courtesy in the way of
sight-showing,--perhaps he will choose to take a nearer view of the
memorable spot. We stand now on the river's brink. It may well be called
the Concord,--the river of peace and quietness; for it is certainly the
most unexcitable and sluggish stream that ever loitered imperceptibly
towards its eternity,--the sea. Positively I had lived three weeks
beside it before it grew quite clear to my perception which way the
current flowed. It never has a vivacious aspect, except when a
northwestern breeze is vexing its surface on a sunshiny day. From the
incurable indolence of its nature, the stream is happily incapable of
becoming the slave of human ingenuity, as is the fate of so many a
wild, free mountain torrent. While all things else are compelled to
subserve some useful purpose, it idles its sluggish life away in lazy
liberty, without turning a solitary spindle or affording even water-power
enough to grind the corn that grows upon its banks. The torpor
of its movement allows it nowhere a bright, pebbly shore, nor so much
as a narrow strip of glistening sand, in any part of its course. It
slumbers between broad prairies, kissing the long meadow grass, and
bathes the overhanging boughs of elder-bushes and willows, or the
roots of elms and ash-trees and clumps of maples. Flags and rushes
grow along its plashy shore; the yellow water-lily spreads its broad,
flat leaves on the margin; and the fragrant white pond-lily abounds,
generally selecting a position just so far from the river's brink that
it cannot be grasped save at the hazard of plunging in.
It is a marvel whence this perfect flower derives its loveliness and
perfume, springing as it does from the black mud over which the river
sleeps, and where lurk the slimy eel, and speckled frog, and the
mud-turtle, whom continual washing cannot cleanse. It is the very same
black mud out of which the yellow lily sucks its obscene life and
noisome odor. Thus we see, too, in the world that some persons
assimilate only what is ugly and evil from the same moral
circumstances which supply good and beautiful results--the fragrance
of celestial flowers--to the daily life of others.
The reader must not, from any testimony of mine, contract a dislike
towards our slumberous stream. In the light of a calm and golden
sunset it becomes lovely beyond expression; the more lovely for the
quietude that so well accords with the hour, when even the wind, after
blustering all day long, usually hushes itself to rest. Each tree and
rock and every blade of grass is distinctly imaged, and, however
unsightly in reality, assumes ideal beauty in the reflection. The
minutest things of earth and the broad aspect of the firmament are
pictured equally without effort and with the same felicity of success.
All the sky glows downward at our feet; the rich clouds float through
the unruffled bosom of the stream like heavenly thoughts through a
peaceful heart. We will not, then, malign our river as gross and
impure while it can glorify itself with so adequate a picture of the
heaven that broods above it; or, if we remember its tawny hue and the
muddiness of its bed, let it be a symbol that the earthiest human soul
has an infinite spiritual capacity and may contain the better world
within its depths. But, indeed, the same lesson might be drawn out of
any mud-puddle in the streets of a city; and, being taught us
everywhere, it must be true.
Come, we have pursued a somewhat devious track in our walk to the
battle-ground. Here we are, at the point where the river was crossed
by the old bridge, the possession of which was the immediate object of
the contest. On the hither side grow two or three elms, throwing a
wide circumference of shade, but which must have been planted at some
period within the threescore years and ten that have passed since the
battle-day. On the farther shore, overhung by a clump of elder-bushes,
we discern the stone abutment of the bridge. Looking down
into the river, I once discovered some heavy fragments of the timbers,
all green with half a century's growth of water-moss; for during that
length of time the tramp of horses and human footsteps have ceased
along this ancient highway. The stream has here about the breadth of
twenty strokes of a swimmer's arm,--a space not too wide when the
bullets were whistling across. Old people who dwell hereabouts will
point out, the very spots on the western bank where our countrymen
fell down and died; and on this side of the river an obelisk of
granite has grown up from the soil that was fertilized with British
blood. The monument, not more than twenty feet in height, is such as
it befitted the inhabitants of a village to erect in illustration of a
matter of | 2,529.578632 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
War Taxation
_Some Comments and Letters_
OTTO H. KAHN
1917
War Taxation
_Contents_
Some Comments Pages | 2,529.681605 |
2023-11-16 18:59:14.0647380 | 5,256 | 14 |
Produced by Jordan, Julia Neufeld, The Internet Archive
(TIA) and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter is
superscripted (example: M^cGill). If two or more letters are
superscripted they are enclosed in curly brackets (example: xxv^{to).
[Illustration: title page]
THE WORKS
OF
JOHN KNOX
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY
DAVID LAING, LL.D.
VOLUME SECOND.
EDINBURGH:
JAMES THIN, 55 SOUTH BRIDGE.
MDCCCXCV.
WORKS
OF
JOHN KNOX.
THE WODROW SOCIETY,
INSTITUTED MAY 1841,
FOR THE PUBLICATION OF THE WORKS OF THE FATHERS AND EARLY
WRITERS OF THE REFORMED CHURCH OF SCOTLAND.
AD SCOTOS TRANSEUNTIBUS PRIMUS OCCURRIT MAGNUS ILLE JOANNES
CNOXUS, QUEM SI SCOTORUM IN VERO DEI CULTU INSTAURANDO, VELUT
APOSTOLUM QUENDAM DIXERO, DIXISSE ME QUOD RES EST EXISTIMABO.
THEOD. BEZA.
Manufactured in the United States of America
[Illustration: decoration]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
ADVERTISEMENT, vii
HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
BOOK THIRD, 1559-1561, 1
THE CONFESSION OF FAITH, 1560, 93
THE BUKE OF DISCIPLINE, 1560, 183
HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
BOOK FOURTH, 1561--1564, 261
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE TO BOOK FIFTH, 465
BOOK FIFTH, 1564-1567, 469
APPENDIX.
No. I.--INTERPOLATIONS AND VARIOUS READINGS IN BOOK
THIRD AND FOURTH IN BUCHANAN'S EDITIONS OF
THE HISTORY, IN 1644, 569
NOTICES OF THE EDITOR, DAVID BUCHANAN, 584
No. II.--ON SPOTTISWOOD'S EDITION OF THE FIRST BOOK OF
DISCIPLINE, 587
No. III.--FUNERALS OF MARY OF GUISE, QUEEN REGENT OF
SCOTLAND, 590
No. IV.--NOTICES OF JOHN BLACK, A DOMINICAN FRIAR, 592
No. V.--NOTICES OF DAVID RICCIO, 595
No. VI.--THE ABBOTS OF CULROSS AND LINDORES IN 1560;
AND JOHN LESLEY, BISHOP OF ROSS, 598
GLOSSARY, 603
INDEX OF PERSONS, 619
INDEX OF PLACES, 639
[Illustration: decoration]
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE present Volume completes THE HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN
SCOTLAND, and includes Book Fifth, which was published under Knox's
name in 1644, but of which no manuscript copy has been discovered.
Separate title pages are given, along with a Glossary and Index, as
the History forms a distinct portion of the Reformer's Works; and
these two volumes will probably be in the hands of many Members of the
WODROW SOCIETY who may not be inclined to procure the remaining three,
or more probably, four volumes of the series, in the event of some
arrangement being made by which their publication, as proposed, shall
ultimately be secured.
D. L.
EDINBURGH, _May_ 1848.
THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE PROGRESSE OF
TREW RELIGIOUN WITHIN THE REALME
OF SCOTLAND.
[Sidenote: NOTA.--HEBBURN AGAINST THE ERLE OF ARRANE BEING INNOCENT.]
[Sidenote: THE DROWNYNG OF THE FRENCHE.]
AFTER this our dolorous departing from Edinburgh,[1] the furye and the
raige of the Frenche increassed; for then durst neither man nor woman
that professed Christ Jesus within that toune be seyn. The housses of
the most honest men war gevin by the Quene to Frenchemen for a parte
of thair reward. The Erle Bothwell, by sound of trumpett, proclaimed
the Erle of Arrane traytour,[2] with other dispytefull wourdes: whiche
all was done for the pleasure and by the suggestioun of the Quene
Regent,[3] who then thought the battell was won without farther
resistance. Great practising sche maid for obteaneing of the Castell
of Edinburgh. The Frenche maid thair faggottis, with other
preparationis, to assault the said Castell either by force, or ellis
by treassone. But God wrought so potentlie with the Capitane, the Lord
Erskin,[4] at that tyme, that neither the Quene by flatterye, nor the
Frenche by treassoun prevailled. Advertisementis with all diligence
past to the Duck of Gwise, who then was King of France (as concerneing
power to command[5]), requiring him then to make expeditioun, yf he
desyred the full conquest of Scotland. Who delayed no tyme, but with a
new armye send away his brother, Marquis Dalbuf, and in his company
the Martikis,[6] promissing, that he himself should follow. But the
rychteouse God, who in mercy looketh upon the afflictioun of those
that unfeanedlye sob unto him, fought for us by his awin out-stretched
arme; for, upon one nycht, upon the coast of Holand, war drowned of
thame aughttein ensenzeis, so that onlye rested the schip in the
whiche war the two principallis foirsaid, with thair Ladyis; who,
violentlie dreven back agane to Deape,[7] war compelled to confesse,
That God fawght for the defence of Scotland.
[1] As related in vol. i. page 462, the Lords of the Congregation,
after the unfortunate skirmish at Restalrig, on the 6th November 1559,
retreated to Linlithgow that night, leaving their artillery on the
streets of Edinburgh. See also Diurnal of Occurrents, pp. 55, 271; and
Sadler's State Papers, vol. i. p. 554. Sadler describes the
Protestants as retiring from Edinburgh, "bytuene one and two a clocke
in the mornyng;" and adds, "And the Quene Dowager and her French be
now in Edynburgh in gret tryumphe, the most parte of the substanciall
men of the same being fled out of the towne, with their hole
families."
[2] In a letter to Sadler, dated Stirling, 11th November 1559, Thomas
Randall says, "Upon Thursdaye last (9th November) the Erle of Arraine
received a cartell of defiance from the Erle of Bothwell, requyering
of him the combate; the copie whereof, and aunswer to the same, I will
bring with me." (State Papers, vol. i. p. 565.)
[3] The Earl of Bothwell had previously joined himself to the party of
the Queen Regent. According to the Treasurer's Account, on the 29th
October 1558, a messenger was sent with "clois writtingis of the Quene
to the Erle Bothwell, Lieutennant." On the 12th January 1558-9, James
Earl of Bothwell received L100, "be the Queen's precept, for keiping
of the Castell of Armitage, from the 15th day of September to the 15th
of Januar instant last bipast."
[4] John Lord Erskine, afterwards Earl of Mar: see vol. i p. 416.
[5] That is, Francis the Second, the young King of France, was wholly
governed by the Duke of Guyse, brother of the Queen Regent of
Scotland.
[6] In MS. G, "Marquis D'Albufe, and his cumpanie the Maritickis." In
the MS. of 1566, the name was originally written "Marquis D'Omall,"
but is corrected to "Dalbul," or "Dalbuf."--Rene de Loraine, Marquis
of D'Albeuf, was the seventh son of Claude de Loraine, first Duke de
Guyse. He was born in 1536, and died in 1566. (Anselme, Hist. Geneal.,
vol. iii. p. 492.) He was General of the French galleys.
[7] The town of Dieppe, in France.--On the 11th January 1559-60, Queen
Elizabeth wrote to the Duke of Norfolk: "Our shipps have bene stayed
with contrary wynds, and so be the French also;" and referring to what
Knox has stated, it is added, "We be advertised that Martiges is
dryven by wether into Denmark; and one thousand Frenchmen lost by
tempest in Zeland; so as it shuld seme that God is pleased the French
purposees should not so speedely be accomplished, as their meaning
is."--(Burghley State Papers, by Haynes, p. 223.)
Frome England returned Robert Melven,[8] who past in cumpanye to
London with the Secreatarie,[9] a lytill befoir Christenmesse,[10]
and brought unto us certane Articles to be ansuered, as by the
contract that after was made, more planely shall appeir. Whairupon the
Nobilitie convened at Striveling, and returned ansuer with diligence.
Whairof the Frenche advertisshed, thei marched to Lynlythqw, spoiled
the Duckis house, and waisted his landis of Kynneill;[11] and
thairefter came to Striveling,[12] whair thei remaned certane dayis:
(the Duck, the Erles of Ergyle and Glencarne, with thair freindis,
passed to Glaskow; the Erle of Arrane, and Lord James, past to
Sanctandrois; for charge was gevin to the haill Nobilitie,
Protestantis, to keap thair awin bodyis, till that God should send
thame farther supporte.) The Frenche took purpose first to assault
Fyffe; for at it was thair great indignatioun. Thair purpose was, to
have tacken and fortifyed the Toune and Abbay, with the Castell of
Sanctandrois; and so thei cam to Culross, after to Dumfermeling, and
then to Bruntyland, whair thei began to forte; but desisted thairfra,
and marched to Kynghorne, upoun the occasioun as followeth.
[8] Robert Melville was the second son of Sir John Melville of Raith
(whose death is recorded by Knox, vol. i. p. 284.)
[9] William Maitland of Lethington, younger, was appointed by the
Queen Regent, Secretary of State, 4th December 1558. (Reg. Secr.
Sigilli.) He had previously been employed in her affairs. In September
1555, the Treasurer paid to William Maitland, "be the Quenis grace
precept, for his pensioun of this instant zeir," L150. On the 11th
February 1557-8, when sent in embassy to London, he received from the
Treasurer 600 crowns of the Sun, extending to L765; and on the 30th
March 1558-9, he received a similar sum, when "passand of Edinburgh to
London and France, on the Quenis grace affairis." He joined the
Protestants in October 1559.
[10] Maitland was accompanied by Thomas Randall, under the assumed
name of Barnabie, and they were expected at Newcastle on the 21st
November. (Sadler's State Papers, vol. i. p. 592.) Some of Maitland's
letters at this time, also the "Instructions for the Lorde of
Lidington, how to conceyve and directe the sute and complaynte of us
the Nobles, Gentlemen, and Burgesses of Scotland, in this our
distresse, to the Quenis Majestie of England," dated 24th November,
are preserved by Sadler. (Ib. pp. 604, 628, 686, 716.)
[11] Kinneill House, in the parish of that name, now conjoined with
Borrowstounness, is the property, and was occasionally used as the
family residence of the Dukes of Hamilton.--The Treasurer, in October
1553, paid, "Be my Lord Gouernouris commande, to the masonis in
Kynnele, in drinksyluer, _at the laying of the ground-stane of the
Palice of Kynnele_." The house has a beautiful exposure on the south
side of the Frith of Forth, near where the old Roman Wall terminated.
[12] In the MS. of 1566, and Vautr. edit., "Stirveling."--It may be
remarked that several leaves of the MS. in this place form one of
those quires or sets which appear to have been rewritten, about 1570,
with very little attention to minute accuracy. Occasional corrections,
chiefly in orthography, have therefore been made on the authority of
the Glasgow MS., but few of such importance as to require special
notice.
[Sidenote: THE ERLE OF SUDDERLANDE SCHOTE]
When certane knowledge came to the Erle of Arrane, and to Lord James,
that the Frenche war departed from Striveling, thei departed also from
Sanctandrois, and begane to assemble thair forces at Cowper, and send
thair men of warr to Kinghorne;[13] unto whome thair resorted diverse
of the coast syd, of mynd to resist rather at the begynnyng, than when
thei had destroyed a parte of thair townes. But the Lordis had gevin
ane expresse commandiment, that thei should hasard nothing whill that
thei thameselfis war present. And for that purpose was send unto thame
the Lord Ruthven, a man of great experience, and inferiour to few in
stowtnes. In his cumpany was the Erle of Sudderland,[14] send from the
Erle of Huntley, as he alledged, to conforte the Lordis in thair
afflictioun; butt otheris whispered, that his principall commissioun
was unto the Quene Regent. Howsoever it was, he was hurte in the arme
by the schote of ane haquebute; for the men of warr, and the rascall
multitude, perceaving certane boatis of Frenchemen landing, whiche cam
from Leyth, purposed to stoppe thair landing; and so, nott considering
the ennemeis that approched from Bruntyland, unadvisedlie thei russhed
doune to the Petticurr, (so is that bray be-west Kynghorne[15]
called,) and at the sea-coast began the skarmissing, butt never took
head to the ennemye that approached by land, till that the horsemen
charged thame upon thair backis, and the hole bandis cam directlie in
thare faces; and so war thei compelled to geve backis, with the loss
of sex or sevin of thair men, and with the takein of some, amangis
whome war twa that professed Christ Jesus, one named Paule
Lambert,[16] a Ducheman, and a Frenche boy, fervent in religioun, and
cleane of lyef, whome, in despyte, thei hanged ower the steaple.[17]
Thou shall revenge, O Lord, in thy appointed tyme! The caus that in so
great a danger thair was so small a losse, nixt unto the mercyfull
providence of God, was the suddane cuming of the Lord Ruthven; for
evin as our men had gevin backis, he and his cumpany came to the head
of the bray, and did not onlie stay the Frenche footemen, but also
some of ours brack upoun thair horsemen, and so repulsed thame that
thei did no farther hurte to oure footemen. In that rencontare was the
Erle of Sudderland foirsaid schote in the arme, and was caryed back to
Cowper. The Frenche took Kinghorne, whair they lay, and wasted the
countrey about, alsweall Papistis as Protestantis; yea, even those
that war confidderat with thame, suche as Seafield, Weames, Balmowto,
Balwearry, and otheris,[18] ennemyes to God and traytouris to thair
countrey. Of those (we say) thei spaired not the scheipe, the oxen,
the kyne, and horse; and some say that thair wyffis and doughtaris
gatt favouris of the Frenche soldiouris. And so did God recompense the
Papistis in thair awin bosomes, for, besydis the defoulling of thair
housses, as said is, tuo of thame resavit more damage then did all the
gentilmen that professed the Evangell within Fyff, the Laird of
Grange onlye excepted, whose [house][19] of the Grange the Frenche
owerthrew by gun pouder.
[13] On the 8th of January 1559-60. (Sadler's State Papers, vol. i. p.
684.)
[14] John, tenth Earl of Sutherland. The Earl of Arran, and Lord James
Stewart, in a letter to Sadler, dated Dysart, 19th January, make
mention of the Earl of Huntly having sent "in commission to us, his
cousen the Erle of Sutherland, to offer unto us adjunction in our
common actioun in his name, and all his assistance; and, at the first
skirmishe, hazarding himself too farre, was shott in the left arme,
and hurt very evill; for which cause he is departed home, and shall
cause the Erle Huntley performe his promesse." (Vol. i. p. 691.) "The
Lorde of Southerland, sithens he was hurte, is becom a greate enemye
of the Franches." (Letter to Sadler, 4th February 1559-60. Ib. p.
702.) His wound did not prove fatal, but he died from the effects of
poison, in 1567, in the forty-second year of his age.
[15] In MS. G, "that Bey betuix Kinghorne."--The places here mentioned
are all well known, stretching along the coast of Fife, on the north
side of the Frith of Forth, to the west of Kirkaldy.
[16] In MS. 1566, "Paule Lambett."
[17] In MS. G, "over the stipell of Kinghorne."
[18] The persons here referred to, with other gentlemen of Fife, are
afterwards noticed by Knox, as having been apprehended by the Earl of
Arran and Lord James Stewart for the assistance they had rendered to
the French. Seafield and Balmuto are in the parish of Kinghorn; Wemyss
in the parish of that name; and Balweary in that of Abbotshall.
[19] Omitted in the MS.--The House of Grange is about a mile to the
north-east of Kinghorn, and in that parish.
[Sidenote: THE CASTEIN DOUN OF THE HOUSE OF THE GRANGE.]
The Quene Regent, proude of this victorie, burst furth in hir
blasphemous rayling, and said, "Whair is now Johne Knox his God? My
God is now stronger than his, yea even in Fyff." Sche posted to hir
freindis in France news[20] that thousandis of the heretickis war
slaine, and the rest war fled; and thairfoir requyred, that some
Nobleman of hir freindis wald cum and tak the glorie of that victorye.
Upon that informatioun was the Martikkis, with tuo schippis, and sum
Captanis and horse, directed to cum to Scotlande; but litill to thair
awin advantage, as we sall after heare.
[20] In MS. 1566, "of new."
[Sidenote: JOAN. 6]
The Lordis of the Congregatioun, offended at the folisheness of the
rascall multitude, called to thameselfis the men of warr, and remaned
certane dayes at Cowper; unto whome repaired Johne Knox, and, in our
greatest disperatioun, preached unto us a most comfortable sermon. His
text was, "The danger in whiche the disciplis of Christ Jesus stude
quhen thei wer in the mydest of the sea, and Jesus was upon the
mountaine." His exhortatioun was, "That we sould not faint, but that
we sould still row aganis these contrarius blastis, till that Jesus
Christ sould come; for (said he,) I am as assuredlie persuaded that
God sall delyver us frome the extreme trowbill, as that I am assured
that this is the Evangell of Jesus Christ whiche I preche unto [you]
this day. 'The fourth watche is nocht yet come;' abyde a lytill: the
boit salbe saved, and Peter, whiche hes left the boit, sall not
droune. I am assured, albeit I cannot assure[21] you, be reason of
this present rage; God grant that ye may | 2,530.084778 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE: The Girl with the Golden Eyes is the third part of a
trilogy. Part one is entitled Ferragus and part two is The Duchesse de
Langeais. The three stories are frequently combined under the title The
Thirteen.
DEDICATION
To Eugene Delacroix, Painter.
THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES
One of those sights in which most horror is to be encountered is,
surely, the general aspect of the Parisian populace--a people fearful
to behold, gaunt, yellow, tawny. Is not Paris a vast field in perpetual
turmoil from a storm of interests beneath which are whirled along a crop
of human beings, who are, more often than not, reaped by death, only to
be born again as pinched as ever, men whose twisted and contorted faces
give out at every pore the instinct, the desire, the poisons with
which their brains are pregnant; not faces so much as masks; masks of
weakness, masks of strength, masks of misery, masks of joy, masks of
hypocrisy; all alike worn and stamped with the indelible signs of
a panting cupidity? What is it they want? Gold or pleasure? A few
observations upon the soul of Paris may explain the causes of its
cadaverous physiognomy, which has but two ages--youth and decay: youth,
wan and colorless; decay, painted to seem young. In looking at
this excavated people, foreigners, who are not prone to reflection,
experience at first a movement of disgust towards the capital, that
vast workshop of delights, from which, in a short time, they cannot even
extricate themselves, and where they stay willingly to be corrupted. A
few words will suffice to justify physiologically the almost infernal
hue of Parisian faces, for it is not in mere sport that Paris has been
called a hell. Take the phrase for truth. There all is smoke and fire,
everything gleams, crackles, flames, evaporates, dies out, then lights
up again, with shooting sparks, and is consumed. In no other country has
life ever been more ardent or acute. The social nature, even in fusion,
seems to say after each completed work: "Pass on to another!" just as
Nature says herself. Like Nature herself, this social nature is busied
with insects and flowers of a day--ephemeral trifles; and so, too,
it throws up fire and flame from its eternal crater. Perhaps, before
analyzing the causes which lend a special physiognomy to each tribe of
this intelligent and mobile nation, the general cause should be pointed
out which bleaches and discolors, tints with blue or brown individuals
in more or less degree.
By dint of taking interest in everything, the Parisian ends by being
interested in nothing. No emotion dominating his face, which friction
has rubbed away, it turns gray like the faces of those houses upon which
all kinds of dust and smoke have blown. In effect, the Parisian, with
his indifference on the day for what the morrow will bring forth,
lives like a child, whatever may be his age. He grumbles at everything,
consoles himself for everything, jests at everything, forgets,
desires, and tastes everything, seizes all with passion, quits all with
indifference--his kings, his conquests, his glory, his idols of bronze
or glass--as he throws away his stockings, his hats, and his fortune. In
Paris no sentiment can withstand the drift of things, and their current
compels a struggle in which the passions are relaxed: there love is
a desire, and hatred a whim; there's no true kinsman but the
thousand-franc note, no better friend than the pawnbroker. This
universal toleration bears its fruits, and in the salon, as in the
street, there is no one _de trop_, there is no one absolutely useful,
or absolutely harmful--knaves or fools, men of wit or integrity. There
everything is tolerated | 2,530.183206 |
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Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Lost Continent was originally published
under the title Beyond Thirty
THE LOST CONTINENT
by
Edgar Rice Burroughs
JTABLE 3 9 1
1
Since earliest childhood I have been strangely fascinated by the
mystery surrounding the history of the last days of twentieth century
Europe. My interest is keenest, perhaps, not so much in relation to
known facts as to speculation upon the unknowable of the two centuries
that have rolled by since human intercourse between the Western and
Eastern Hemispheres ceased--the mystery of Europe's state following the
termination of the Great War--provided, of course, that the war had
been terminated.
From out of the meagerness of our censored histories we learned that
for fifteen years after the cessation of diplomatic relations between
the United States of North America and the belligerent nations of the
Old World, news of more or less doubtful authenticity filtered, from
time to time, into the Western Hemisphere from the Eastern.
Then came the fruition of that historic propaganda which is best
described by its own slogan: "The East for the East--the West for the
West," and all further intercourse was stopped by statute.
Even prior to this, transoceanic commerce had practically ceased, owing
to the perils and hazards of the mine-strewn waters of both the
Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Just when submarine activities ended we
do not know but the last vessel of this type sighted by a Pan-American
merchantman was the huge Q 138, which discharged twenty-nine torpedoes
at a Brazilian tank steamer off the Bermudas in the fall of 1972. A
heavy sea and the excellent seamanship of the master of the Brazilian
permitted the Pan-American to escape and report this last of a long
series of outrages upon our commerce. God alone knows how many
hundreds of our ancient ships fell prey to the roving steel sharks of
blood-frenzied Europe. Countless were the vessels and men that passed
over our eastern and western horizons never to return; but whether they
met their fates before the belching tubes of submarines or among the
aimlessly drifting mine fields, no man lived to tell.
And then came the great Pan-American Federation which linked the
Western Hemisphere from pole to pole under a single flag, which joined
the navies of the New World into the mightiest fighting force that ever
sailed the seven seas--the greatest argument for peace the world had
ever known.
Since that day peace had reigned from the western shores of the Azores
to the western shores of the Hawaiian Islands, nor has any man of
either hemisphere dared cross 30dW. or 175dW. From 30d to 175d is
ours--from 30d to 175d is peace, prosperity and happiness.
Beyond was the great unknown. Even the geographies of my boyhood
showed nothing beyond. We were taught of nothing beyond. Speculation
was discouraged. For two hundred years the Eastern Hemisphere had been
wiped from the maps and histories of Pan-America. Its mention in
fiction, even, was forbidden.
Our ships of peace patrol thirty and one hundred seventy-five. What
ships from beyond they have warned only the secret archives of
government show; but, a naval officer myself, I have gathered from the
traditions of the service that it has been fully two hundred years
since smoke or sail has been sighted east of 30d or west of 175d. The
fate of the relinquished provinces which lay beyond the dead lines we
could only speculate upon. That they were taken by the military power,
which rose so suddenly in China after the fall of the republic, and
which wrested Manchuria and Korea from Russia and Japan, and also
absorbed the Philippines, is quite within the range of possibility.
It was the commander of a Chinese man-of-war who received a copy of the
edict of 1972 from the hand of my illustrious ancestor, Admiral Turck,
on one hundred seventy-five, two hundred and six years ago, and from
the yellowed pages of the admiral's diary I learned that the fate of
the Philippines was even then presaged by these Chinese naval officers.
Yes, for over two hundred years no man crossed 30d to 175d and lived to
tell his story--not until chance drew me across and back again, and
public opinion, revolting at last against the drastic regulations of
our long-dead forbears, demanded that my story be given to the world,
and that the narrow interdict which commanded peace, prosperity, and
happiness to halt at 30d and 175d be removed forever.
I am glad that it was given to me to be an instrument in the hands of
Providence for the uplifting of benighted Europe, and the amelioration
of the suffering, degradation, and abysmal ignorance in which I found
her.
I shall not live to see the complete regeneration of the savage hordes
of the Eastern Hemisphere--that is a work which will require many
generations, perhaps ages, so complete has been their reversion to
savagery; but I know that the work has been started, and I am proud of
the share in it which my generous countrymen have placed in my hands.
The government already possesses a complete official report of my
adventures beyond thirty. In the narrative I purpose telling my story
in a less formal, and I hope, a more entertaining, style; though, being
only a naval officer and without claim to the slightest literary
ability, I shall most certainly fall far short of the possibilities
which are inherent in my subject. That I have passed through the most
wondrous adventures that have befallen a civilized man during the past
two centuries encourages me in the belief that, however ill the
telling, the facts themselves will command your interest to the final
page.
Beyond thirty! Romance, adventure, strange peoples, fearsome
beasts--all the excitement and scurry of the lives of the twentieth
century ancients that have been denied us in these dull days of peace
and prosaic prosperity--all, all lay beyond thirty, the invisible
barrier between the stupid, commercial present and the carefree,
barbarous past.
What boy has not sighed for the good old days of wars, revolutions, and
riots; how I used to pore over the chronicles of those old days, those
dear old days, when workmen went armed to their labors; when they fell
upon one another with gun and bomb and dagger, and the streets ran red
with blood! Ah, but those were the times when life was worth the
living; when a man who went out by night knew not at which dark corner
a "footpad" might leap upon and slay him; when wild beasts roamed the
forest and the jungles, and there were savage men, and countries yet
unexplored.
Now, in all the Western Hemisphere dwells no man who may not find a
school house within walking distance of his home, or at least within
flying distance.
The wildest beast that roams our waste places lairs in the frozen north
or the frozen south within a government reserve, where the curious may
view him and feed him bread crusts from the hand with perfect impunity.
But beyond thirty! And I have gone there, and come back; and now you
may go there, for no longer is it high treason, punishable by disgrace
or death, to cross 30d or 175d.
My name is Jefferson Turck. I am a lieutenant in the navy--in the
great Pan-American navy, the only navy which now exists in all the
world.
I was born in Arizona, in the United States of North America, in the
year of our Lord 2116. Therefore, I am twenty-one years old.
In early boyhood I tired of the teeming cities and overcrowded rural
districts of Arizona. Every generation of Turcks for over two
centuries has been represented in the navy. The navy called to me, as
did the free, wide, unpeopled spaces of the mighty oceans. And so I
joined the navy, coming up from the ranks, as we all must, learning our
craft as we advance. My promotion was rapid, for my family seems to
inherit naval lore. We are born officers, and I reserve to myself no
special credit for an early advancement in the service.
At twenty I found myself a lieutenant in command of the aero-submarine
Coldwater, of the SS-96 class. The Coldwater was one of the first of
the air and underwater craft which have been so greatly improved since
its launching, and was possessed of innumerable weaknesses which,
fortunately, have been eliminated in more recent vessels of similar
type.
Even when I took command, she was fit only for the junk pile; but the
world-old parsimony of government retained her in active service, and
sent two hundred men to sea in her, with myself, a mere boy, in command
of her, to patrol thirty from Iceland to the Azores.
Much of my service had been spent aboard the great merchantmen-of-war.
These are the utility naval vessels that have transformed the navies of
old, which burdened the peoples with taxes for their support, into the
present day fleets of self-supporting ships that find ample time for
target practice and gun drill while they bear freight and the mails
from the continents to the far-scattered island of Pan-America.
This change in service was most welcome to me, especially as it brought
with it coveted responsibilities of sole command, and I was prone to
overlook the deficiencies of the Coldwater in the natural pride I felt
in my first ship.
The Coldwater was fully equipped for two months' patrolling--the
ordinary length of assignment to this service--and a month had already
passed, its monotony entirely unrelieved by sight of another craft,
when the first of our misfortunes befell.
We had been riding out a storm at an altitude of about three thousand
feet. All night we had hovered above the tossing billows of the
moonlight clouds. The detonation of the thunder and the glare of
lightning through an occasional rift in the vaporous wall proclaimed
the continued fury of the tempest upon the surface of the sea; but we,
far above it all, rode in comparative ease upon the upper gale. With
the coming of dawn the clouds beneath us became a glorious sea of gold
and silver, soft and beautiful; but they could not deceive us as to the
blackness and the terrors of the storm-lashed ocean which they hid.
I was at breakfast when my chief engineer entered and saluted. His
face was grave, and I thought he was even a trifle paler than usual.
"Well?" I asked.
He drew the back of his forefinger nervously across his brow in a
gesture that was habitual with him in moments of mental stress.
"The gravitation-screen generators, sir," he said. "Number one went to
the bad about an hour and a half ago. We have been working upon it
steadily since; but I have to report, sir, that it is beyond repair."
"Number two will keep us supplied," I answered. "In the meantime we
will send a wireless for relief."
"But that is the trouble, sir," he went on. "Number two has stopped.
I knew it would come, sir. I made a report on these generators three
years ago. I advised then that they both be scrapped. Their principle
is entirely wrong. They're done for." And, with a grim smile, "I
shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing my report was accurate."
"Have we sufficient reserve screen to permit us to make land, or, at
least, meet our relief halfway?" I asked.
"No, sir," he replied gravely; "we are sinking now."
"Have you anything further to report?" I asked.
"No, sir," he said.
"Very good," I replied; and, as I dismissed him, I rang for my wireless
operator. When | 2,530.18403 |
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Produced by Emmy, MWS 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: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_. Superscripted text is preceded by
a caret ^.]
LOITERINGS IN PLEASANT PATHS
BY
MARION HARLAND
_Author of “The Dinner Year-Book,” “Common Sense in the Household,”
Etc._
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
743 AND 745 BROADWAY
1880
COPYRIGHT BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.
1880.
TROW’S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
201-213 EAST 12TH STREET,
NEW YORK.
INTRODUCTION.
WHEN I began the MS. of this book, it was with the intention of
including it in the “Common Sense in the Household Series,” in which
event it was to be entitled, “FAMILIAR TALKS FROM AFAR.”
For reasons that seemed good to my publishers and to me, this purpose
was not carried out, except as it has influenced the tone of the
composition; given to each chapter the character of experiences
remembered and recounted to a few friends by the fireside, rather
than that of a sustained and formal narrative, penned in dignified
seclusion, amid guide-books and written memoranda.
This is the truthful history of the foreign life of an American family
whose main object in “going on a pilgrimage” was the restoration of
health to one of its members. In seeking and finding the lost treasure,
we found so much else which enriched us for all time, that, in the
telling of it, I have been embarrassed by a plethora of materials.
I have described some of the things we wanted to see—as we saw
them,—writing _con amore_, but with such manifold strayings from the
beaten track into by-paths and over moors, and in such homely, familiar
phrase, that I foresee criticism from the disciples of routine and
the sedate students of chronology, topography and general statistics.
I comfort myself, under the prospective infliction, with the belief
which has not played me false in days past,—to wit: that what I have
enjoyed writing some may like to read. I add to this the hope that the
fresh-hearted traveler who dares think and feel for, and of himself, in
visiting the Old World which is to him the New, may find in this record
of how we made it Home to us, practical and valuable hints for the
guidance of his wanderings.
MARION HARLAND.
SPRINGFIELD, MASS., April, 1880.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Average Briton, 1
CHAPTER II.
Olla Podrida, 14
CHAPTER III.
Spurgeon and Cummings, 29
CHAPTER IV.
The Two Elizabeths, 39
CHAPTER V.
Prince Guy, 52
CHAPTER VI.
Shakspeare and Irving, 67
CHAPTER VII.
Kenilworth, 84
CHAPTER VIII.
Oxford, 96
CHAPTER IX.
Sky-larks and Stoke-Pogis, 111
CHAPTER X.
Our English Cousins, 121
CHAPTER XI.
Over the Channel, 137
CHAPTER XII.
Versailles—Expiatory Chapel—Père Lachaise, 154
CHAPTER XIII.
Southward Bound, 170
CHAPTER XIV.
Pope, King, and Forum, 183
CHAPTER XV.
On Christmas-Day, 196
CHAPTER XVI.
L’Allegro and Il Penseroso, 216
CHAPTER XVII.
With the Skeletons, 230
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Paul—a Prisoner,” 243
CHAPTER XIX.
Tasso and Tusculum, 258
CHAPTER | 2,530.47889 |
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Produced by Beginners Projects, Suzanne Shell, Emmy and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
MOONSHINE & CLOVER
This selection of fairy-tales is reprinted from
the following original editions, now out of print:
_A Farm in Fairyland_ (1894)
_The House of Joy_ (1895)
_The Field of Clover_ (1898)
_The Blue Moon_ (1904)
[Illustration:
SHINE, MOON! GROW CLOVER!
WHEN MY DAY IS OVER. L.H.]
[Illustration: MOONSHINE & CLOVER
BY LAURENCE HOUSMAN
ENGRAVED BY CLEMENCE HOUSMAN
NEW YORK
HARCOURT, BRACE & COMPANY]
_Made and
Printed in Great Britain by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld.,
London and Aylesbury._
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS 13
HOW LITTLE DUKE JARL SAVED THE CASTLE 27
A CAPFUL OF MOONSHINE 37
THE STORY OF THE HERONS 47
THE CROWN'S WARRANTY 70
ROCKING-HORSE LAND 83
JAPONEL 95
GAMMELYN, THE DRESSMAKER 103
THE FEEDING OF THE EMIGRANTS 113
WHITE BIRCH 119
THE LUCK OF THE ROSES 129
THE WHITE DOE 138
THE MOON-STROKE 153
THE GENTLE COCKATRICE 164
THE GREEN BIRD 177
THE MAN WHO KILLED THE CUCKOO 187
A CHINESE FAIRY-TALE 198
HAPPY RETURNS 211
THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS
"Eight white peahens went down to the gate:
'Wait!' they said, 'little sister, wait!'
They covered her up with feathers so fine;
And none went out, when there went back nine."
A LONG time ago there lived a King and a Queen, who had an only son. As
soon as he was born his mother gave him to the forester's wife to be
nursed; for she herself had to wear her crown all day and had no time
for nursing. The forester's wife had just given birth to a little
daughter of her own; but she loved both children equally and nursed them
together like twins.
One night the Queen had a dream that made the half of her hair turn
grey. She dreamed that she saw the Prince her son at the age of twenty
lying dead with a wound over the place of his heart; and near him his
foster-sister was standing, with a royal crown on her head, and his
heart bleeding between her hands.
The next morning the Queen sent in great haste for the family Fairy, and
told her of the dream. The Fairy said, "This can have but one meaning,
and it is an evil one. There is some danger that threatens your son's
life in his twentieth year, and his foster-sister is to be the cause of
it; also, it seems she is to make herself Queen. But leave her to me,
and I will avert the evil chance; for the dream coming beforehand shows
that the Fates mean that he should be saved."
The Queen said, "Do anything; only do not destroy the forester's wife's
child, for, as yet at least, she has done no wrong. Let her only be
carried away to a safe place and made secure and treated well. I will
not have my son's happiness grow out of another one's grave."
The Fairy said, "Nothing is so safe as a grave when the Fates are about.
Still, I think I can make everything quite safe within reason, and leave
you a clean as well as a quiet conscience."
The little Prince and the forester's daughter grew up together till they
were a year old; then, one day, when their nurse came to look for them,
the Prince was found, but his foster-sister was lost; and though the
search for her was long, she was never seen again, nor could any trace
of her be found.
The baby Prince pined and pined, and was so sorrowful over her loss that
they feared for a time that he was going to die. But his foster-mother,
in spite of her grief over her own child's disappearance, nursed him so
well and loved him so much that after a while he recovered his strength.
Then the forester's wife gave birth to another daughter, as if to
console herself for the loss of the first. But the same night that the
child was born the Queen had just the same dream over again. She dreamed
that she saw her son lying dead at the age of twenty; and there was the
wound in his breast, and the forester's daughter was standing by with
his heart in her hand and a royal crown upon her head.
The poor Queen's hair had gone quite white when she sent again for the
family Fairy, and told her how the dream had repeated itself. The Fairy
gave her the same advice as before, quieting her fears, and assuring her
that however persistent the Fates might be in threatening the Prince's
life, all in the end should be well.
Before another year was passed the second of the forester's daughters
had disappeared; and the Prince and his foster-mother cried themselves
ill over a loss that had been so cruelly renewed. The Queen, seeing how
great were the sorrow and the love that the Prince bore for his
foster-sisters, began to doubt in her heart and say, "What have I done?
Have I saved my son's life by taking away his heart?"
Now every year the same thing took place, the forester's wife giving
birth to a daughter, and the Queen on the same night having the same
fearful dream of the fate that threatened her son in his twentieth year;
and afterwards the family Fairy would come, and then one day the
forester's wife's child would disappear, and be heard of no more.
At last when nine daughters in all had been born to the forester's wife
and lost to her when they were but a year old, the Queen fell very ill.
Every day she grew weaker and weaker, and the little Prince came and sat
by her, holding her hand and looking at her with a sorrowful face. At
last one night (it was just a year after the last of the forester's
children had disappeared) she woke suddenly, stretching out her arms
and crying. "Oh, Fairy," she cried, "the dream, the dream!" And covering
her face with her hands, she died.
The little Prince was now more than ten years old, and the very saddest
of mortals. He said that there were nine sorrows hidden in his heart, of
which he could not get rid; and that at night, when all the birds went
home to roost, he heard cries of lamentation and pain; but whether these
came from very far away, or out of his own heart he could not tell.
Yet he grew slenderly and well, and had such grace and tenderness in his
nature that all who saw him loved him. His foster-mother, when he spoke
to her of his nine sorrows, tried to comfort him, calling him her own
nine joys; and, indeed, he was all the joy left in life for her.
When the Prince neared his twentieth year, the King his father felt that
he himself was becoming old and weary of life. "I shall not live much
longer," he thought: "very soon my son will be left alone in the world.
It is right, therefore, now that he should know of the danger ahead that
threatens his life." For till then the Prince had not known anything;
all had been kept a secret between the Queen and the King and the family
Fairy.
The old King knew of the Prince's nine sorrows, and often he tried to
believe that they came by chance, and had nothing to do with the secret
that sat at the root of his son's life. But now he feared more and more
to tell the Prince the story of those nine dreams, lest the knowledge
should indeed serve but as the crowning point of his sorrows, and
altogether break his heart for him.
Yet there was so much danger in leaving the thing untold that at last he
summoned the Prince to his bedside, meaning to tell him all. The King
had worn himself so ill with anxiety and grief in thinking over the
matter, that now to tell all was the only means of saving his life.
The Prince came and knelt down, and leaned his head on his father's
pillow; and the King whispered into his ear the story of the dreams, and
of how for his sake all the Prince's foster-sisters had been spirited
away.
Before his tale was done he could no longer bear to look into his son's
face, but closed his eyes, and, with long silences between, spoke as one
who prayed.
When he had ended he lay quite still, and the Prince kissed his closed
eyelids and went softly out of the room.
"Now I know," he said to himself; "now at last!" And he came through the
wood and knocked at his foster-mother's door. "Other mother," he said to
her, "give me a kiss for each of my sisters, for now I am going out into
the world to find them, to be rid of the sorrows in my heart."
"They can never be found!" she cried, but she kissed him nine times.
"And this," she said, "was Monica, and this was Ponica, and this was
Veronica," and so she went over every name. "But now they are only
names!" she wept, as she let him go.
He went along, and he went along, mile after mile. "Where may you be
going to, fair sir?" asked an old peasant, at whose cabin the Prince
sought shelter when night came to the first day of his wanderings.
"Truly," answered the Prince, "I do not know how far or whither I need
to go; but I have a finger-post in my heart that keeps pointing me."
So that night he stayed there, and the next day he went on.
"Where to so fast?" asked a woodcutter when the second night found him
in the thickest and loneliest parts of the forest. "Here the night is so
dark and the way so dangerous, one like you should not go alone."
"Nay, I know nothing," said the Prince, "only I feel like a weather-cock
in a wind that keeps turning me to its will!"
After many days he came to a small long valley rich in woods and
water-courses, but no road ran through it. More and more it seemed like
the world's end, a place unknown, or forgotten of its old inhabitants.
Just at the end of the valley, where the woods opened into clear <DW72>s
and hollows towards the west, he saw before him, low and overgrown, the
walls of a little tumble-down grange. "There," he said to himself when
he saw it, "I can find shelter for to-night. Never have I felt so tired
before, or such a pain at my heart!"
Before long he came to a little gate, and a winding path that led in
among lawns and trees to the door of an old house. The house seemed as
if it had been once lived in, but there was no sign of any life about
it now. He pushed open the door, and suddenly there was a sharp rustling
of feathers, and nine white peahens rose up from the ground and flew out
of the window into the garden.
The Prince searched the whole house over, and found it a mere ruin; the
only signs of life to be seen were the white feathers that | 2,530.584735 |
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Transcriber's Note
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text has
been surrounded by _underscores_.
| 2,530.58589 |
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[Illustration: GUTENBERG TAKES THE FIRST PROOF]
Historic Inventions
By
RUPERT S. HOLLAND
_Author of "Historic Boyhoods," "Historic Girlhoods,"
"Builders of United Italy," etc._
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS AND COMPANY
_Published August, 1911_
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U.S.A.
_To
J. W. H._
CONTENTS
I. GUTENBERG AND THE PRINTING PRESS 9
II. PALISSY AND HIS ENAMEL 42
III. GALILEO AND THE TELESCOPE 53
IV. WATT AND THE STEAM-ENGINE 70
V. ARKWRIGHT AND THE SPINNING-JENNY 84
VI. WHITNEY AND THE COTTON-GIN 96
VII. FULTON AND THE STEAMBOAT 111
VIII. DAVY AND THE SAFETY-LAMP 126
IX. STEPHENSON AND THE LOCOMOTIVE 140
X. MORSE AND THE TELEGRAPH 168
XI. MCCORMICK AND THE REAPER 189
XII. HOWE AND THE SEWING-MACHINE 206
XIII. BELL AND THE TELEPHONE 215
XIV. EDISON AND THE ELECTRIC LIGHT 233
XV. MARCONI AND THE WIRELESS TELEGRAPH 261
XVI. THE WRIGHTS AND THE AIRSHIP 273
ILLUSTRATIONS
Gutenberg Takes the First Proof _Frontispiece_
Palissy the Potter After an Unsuccessful
Experiment _Facing page_ 46
Galileo's Telescope " " 58
Watt First Tests the Power of Steam " " 72
Sir Richard Arkwright " " 88
The Inventor of the Cotton Gin " " 104
_The Clermont_, the First Steam Packet " " 120
The Davy Safety Lamp " " 136
One of the First Locomotives " " 156
Morse and the First Telegraph " " 180
The Earliest Reaper " " 194
Elias Howe's Sewing-Machine " " 210
The First Telephone " " 222
Edison and the Early Phonograph " " 258
Wireless Station in New York City Showing
the Antenna " " 268
The Wright Brothers' Airship " " 281
I
GUTENBERG AND THE PRINTING PRESS
About 1400-1468
The free cities of mediaeval Germany were continually torn asunder by
petty civil wars. The nobles, who despised commerce, and the burghers,
who lived by it, were always fighting for the upper hand, and the
laboring people sided now with one party, and now with the other.
After each uprising the victors usually banished a great number of the
defeated faction from the city. So it happened that John Gutenberg, a
young man of good family, who had been born in Mainz about 1400, was
outlawed from his home, and went with his wife Anna to live in the
city of Strasburg, which was some sixty miles distant from Mainz. He
chose the trade of a lapidary, or polisher of precious stones, an art
which in that age was held in almost as high esteem as that of the
painter or sculptor. He had been well educated, and his skill in
cutting gems, as well as his general learning and his interest in all
manner of inventions, drew people of the highest standing to his
little workshop, which was the front room of his dwelling house.
One evening after supper, as Gutenberg and his wife were sitting in
the room behind the shop, he chanced to pick up a playing-card. He
studied it very carefully, as though it were new to him. Presently
his wife looked up from her sewing, and noticed how much absorbed he
was. "Prithee, John, what marvel dost thou find in that card?" said
she. "One would think it the face of a saint, so closely dost thou
regard it."
"Nay, Anna," he answered thoughtfully, "but didst thou ever consider
how the picture on this card was made?"
"I suppose it was drawn in outline, and then painted, as other
pictures are."
"But there is a better way," said Gutenberg, still studying the
playing-card. "These lines were first marked out on a wooden block,
and then the wood was cut away on each side of them, so that they were
left raised. The lines were then smeared with ink and pressed on the
cardboard. This way is shorter, Anna, than by drawing and painting
each picture separately, because when the block is once engraved it
can be used to mark any number of cards."
Anna took the playing-card from her husband's hand. It represented a
figure that was known as the Knave of Bells. "It's an unsightly
creature," she said, studying it, "and not to be compared with our
picture of good St. Christopher on the wall yonder. Surely that was
made with a pen?"
"Nay, it was made from an engraved block, just like this card," said
the young lapidary.
"St. Christopher made in that way!" exclaimed his wife. "Then what a
splendid art it must be, if it keeps the pictures of the blessed
saints for us!"
The picture of the saint was a curious woodcut, showing St.
Christopher carrying the child Jesus across the water. Under it was an
inscription in Latin, and the date 1423.
"Yes, thou art right, dear," Gutenberg went on. "Pictures like that
are much to be prized, for they fill to some extent the place of
books, which are so rare and cost so much. But there are much more
valuable pictures in the Cathedral here at Strasburg. Dost thou
remember the jewels the Abbot gave me to polish for him? When I
carried them back, he took me into the Cathedral library, and showed
me several books filled with these engraved pictures, and they were
much finer than our St. Christopher. The books I remember were the
'Ars Memorandi,' the 'Ars Moriendi,' and the 'Biblia Pauperum,' and
the last had no less than forty pictures, with written explanations
underneath."
"That is truly wonderful, John! And what are they about?"
"The 'Biblia Pauperum' means 'Bible for the Poor,' and is a series of
scenes from the Old and New Testaments."
"I think I've heard of it; but I wish you'd tell me more about it."
John leaned forward, his keen face showing unusual interest. "The
forty pictures in it were made by pressing engraved blocks of wood on
paper, just like the St. Christopher, or this playing-card. The lines
are all brown, and the pictures are placed opposite each other, with
their blank backs pasted together, so they form one strong leaf."
"And how big are the pictures?"
"They are ten inches high and seven or eight inches wide, and each is
made up of three small pictures, separated by lines. More than that,
there are four half-length figures of prophets, two above and two
below the larger pictures. Then there are Latin legends and rhymes at
the bottom of each page."
"And all that is cut on wood first?" said Anna, doubtfully. "It sounds
almost like a miracle."
"Aye. I looked very closely, and the whole book is made from blocks,
like the playing-card."
"Art thou sure it's not the pencraft of some skilful scribe?"
"Assuredly I am. Dost thou see, Anna, how much better these blocks are
than the slower way of copying by hand? When they're once cut many
books can be printed as easily as one."
"Aye," answered his wife, "and they will be cheaper than the works
written out by the scribes, and still be so costly that whoever can
make them ought to grow rich from the sale. If thou canst do it, it
will make thy fortune. Thou art so ingenious. Canst thou not make a
'Bible for the Poor'?"
"Little wife, thou must be dreaming!" But John Gutenberg smiled, for
he saw that she had discovered the thought that had been in his mind.
"But couldst thou not?" Anna persisted. "Thou art so good at inventing
better ways of doing things."
Gutenberg laughed and shook his head. "I have found new ways to polish
stones and mirrors," said he, "but those are in my line of work. This
is quite outside it, and much more difficult."
Nothing more was said on the subject that night, but Anna could see,
as day followed day, that her husband was planning something, and she
felt very certain that he was thinking out a way of making books more
quickly than by the old process of copying them word for word by hand.
A few weeks later the young lapidary surprised his wife by showing her
a pile of playing-cards. "See my handicraft," said he. "Aren't these
as good as the Knave of Bells I gave thee?"
She looked at them, delight in her eyes. "They are very much better,
John. The lines are much clearer, and the color brighter."
"Still, that is only a step. It is of little use unless I can cut
letters, and press them on vellum as I did these cards. I shall try
thy name, Anna, and see if I cannot engrave it here on wood."
He took a small wooden tablet from the work-table in his shop, and
marking certain lines upon it, cut away the wood so that it left a
stamp of his wife's name. Brushing ink over the raised letters he
pressed the wood upon a sheet of paper, and then, lifting it
carefully, showed her her own name printed upon the paper.
"Wonderful!" she cried. "The letters have the very likeness of
writing!"
"Aye," agreed Gutenberg, looking at the four letters, "it is not a
failure. I think with patience and perseverance I could even impress a
copy of our picture of St. Christopher. It must have been made from
some manner of engraved block. See." He took the rude print from the
wall, and showed her on the back of it the marks of the stylus, or
burnisher, by which it had been rubbed upon the wood. "Thou mayst be
sure from this that these lines were not produced by a pen, as in
ordinary writing," said he.
"Well," said Anna, "it would surely be a pious act to multiply
pictures of the holy St. Christopher."
Encouraged by his wife's great interest, and spurred on by the passion
for invention, Gutenberg now set himself seriously to study the
problem of engraving. First of all he found it very difficult to find
the right kind of wood. Some kinds were too soft and porous, others
were liable to split easily. Finally he chose the wood of the
apple-tree, which had a fine grain, was dense and compact, and firm
enough to stand the process of engraving. Another difficulty was the
lack of proper tools; but he worked at these until his box was
supplied with a stock of knives, saws, chisels, and gravers of many
different patterns. Then he started to draw the portrait of the saint.
At his first attempt he made the picture and the inscription that went
with it on the same block, but as soon as he had finished it a better
idea occurred to him. The second time he drew the picture and the
inscription on separate blocks. "That's an improvement," he said to
his wife, "for I can draw the picture and the letters better
separately, and if I want I can use different inks for
printing the two parts." Then he cut the wood away from the drawings,
and inking them, pressed them upon the paper. The result was a much
clearer picture than the old "St. Christopher" had been.
He studied his work with care. "So far so good," said he, "but it's
not yet perfect. The picture can't be properly printed without thicker
ink. This flows too easily, and even using the greatest care I can
hardly keep from blotting it."
He had to make a great many experiments to solve this difficulty of
the ink. At last he found that a preparation of oil was best. He could
vary the color according to the substances he used with this. Umber
gave him lines of a darkish brown color, lampblack and oil gave him
black ink. At first he used the umber chiefly, in imitation of the old
drawings that he was copying.
When his ink was ready he turned again to his interested wife. "Now
thou canst help me," said he. "Stuff and sew this piece of sheepskin
for me, while I get the paper ready for the printing."
Anna had soon done as he asked. Then Gutenberg added a handle to the
stuffed ball. "I need this to spread the ink evenly upon the block,"
said he. "One more servant of my new art is ready."
He had ground the ink upon a slab. Now he dipped his printer's dabber
in it, and spread the ink over the wood. Then he laid the paper on it,
and pressed it down with the polished handle of one of his new graving
tools. He lifted it carefully. The picture was a great improvement
over his first attempt. "This ink works splendidly!" he exclaimed in
delight.
"Now I shall want a picture of St. Christopher in every room in the
house," said Anna.
"But what shall I do?" said Gutenberg. "I can't afford the time and
money to make these pictures, unless I can sell them in some way."
"And canst thou not do that?"
"I know of no way at present; but I will hang them on the wall of the
shop, and perhaps some of my customers will see them and ask about
them."
The young lapidary was poor, and he had spent part of his savings in
working out his scheme of block-printing. He could give no more time
to this now, but he hung several copies of the "St. Christopher" in
his front room. Several days later a young woman, stopping at
Gutenberg's shop for her dowry jewels, noticed the pictures. "What are
those?" said she. "The good saint would look well on our wall at home.
If thou wilt wrap the picture up and let me take it home I will show
it to my husband, and if he approves I will send thee the price of it
to-morrow."
Gutenberg consented, and the next day the woman sent the money for the
"St. Christopher." A few days later it happened that several people,
calling at the shop to buy gems, chose to purchase pictures instead.
Anna was very much pleased by the sales, and told her husband so at
supper that evening. But he was less satisfied. "In spite of the sales
I have lost money today," said he. "Those who bought the prints had
meant to buy jewels and mirrors, and | 2,530.58854 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE GHOSTS
AND OTHER LECTURES.
By Robert G. Ingersoll.
New York, N. Y. C.
P. FARRELL, PUBLISHER,
1892.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1878,
by Robert G. Ingersoll
ECKLER, PRINTER, 35 FULTON ST., N. Y.
The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and
flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope
and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and
fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any
religion. It was born of human affection, and it will
continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of
doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death.
CONTENTS:
PREFACE.
THE GHOSTS.
THE LIBERTY OF MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD
LIBERTY OF WOMAN.
THE LIBERTY OF CHILDREN.
CONCLUSION.
1776. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
ABOUT FARMING IN ILLINOIS.
SPEECH AT CINCINNATI
"THE PAST RISES BEFORE ME LIKE A DREAM."
THE GRANT BANQUET
A TRIBUTE TO THE Rev. ALEXANDER CLARK.
A TRIBUTE TO EBON C. INGERSOLL,
PREFACE.
These lectures have been so maimed and mutilated by orthodox malice;
have been made to appear so halt, crutched and decrepit by those who
mistake the pleasures of calumny for the duties of religion, that in
simple justice to myself I concluded to publish them.
Most of the clergy are, or seem to be, utterly incapable of discussing
anything in a fair and catholic spirit. They appeal, not to reason,
but to prejudice; not to facts, but to passages of scripture. They can
conceive of no goodness, of no spiritual exaltation beyond the horizon
of their creed. Whoever differs with them upon what they are pleased to
call "fundamental truths" is, in their opinion, a base and infamous man.
To re-enact the tragedies of the Sixteenth Century, they lack only
the power. Bigotry in all ages has been the same. Christianity simply
transferred the brutality of the Colosseum to the Inquisition. For the
murderous combat of the gladiators, the saints substituted the _auto de
fe_. What has been called religion is, after all, but the organization
of the wild beast in man. The perfumed blossom of arrogance is Heaven.
Hell is the consummation of revenge.
The chief business of the clergy has always been to destroy the joy of
life, and multiply and magnify the terrors and tortures of death and
perdition. They have polluted the heart and paralyzed the brain; and
upon the ignorant altars of the Past and the Dead, they have endeavored
to sacrifice the Present and the Living.
Nothing can exceed the mendacity of the religious press. I have had some
little experience with political editors, and am forced to say, that
until I read the religious papers, I did not know what malicious and
slimy falsehoods could be constructed from ordinary words. The ingenuity
with which the real and apparent meaning can be tortured out of
language, is simply amazing. The average religious editor is intolerant
and insolent; he knows nothing of affairs; he has the envy of failure,
the malice of impotence, and always accounts for the brave and generous
actions of unbelievers, by low, base and unworthy motives.
By this time, even the clergy should know that the intellect of the
Nineteenth Century needs no, guardian. They should cease to regard
themselves as shepherds defending flocks of weak, silly and fearful
sheep from the claws and teeth of ravening wolves. By this time they
should know that the religion of the ignorant and brutal Past no
longer satisfies the heart and brain; that the miracles have become
contemptible; that the "evidences" have ceased to convince; that the
spirit of investigation cannot be stopped nor stayed; that the Church
is losing her power; that the young are holding in a kind of tender
contempt the sacred follies of the old; that the pulpit and pews no
longer represent the culture and morality of the world, and that the
brand of intellectual inferiority is upon the orthodox brain.
Men should be liberated from the aristocracy of the air. Every chain
of superstition should be broken. The rights of men and women should
be equal and sacred--marriage should be a perfect partnership--children
should be governed by kindness,--every family should be a
republic--every fireside a democracy.
It seems almost impossible for religious people to really grasp the idea
of intellectual freedom. They seem to think that man is responsible for
his honest thoughts; that unbelief is a crime; that investigation is
sinful; that credulity is a virtue, and that reason is a dangerous
guide. They cannot divest themselves of the idea that in the realm of
thought there must be government--authority and obedience--laws and
penalties--rewards and punishments, and that somewhere in the universe
there is a penitentiary for the soul.
In the republic of mind, _one_ is a majority. There, all are monarchs,
and all are equals. The tyranny of a majority even is unknown. Each one
is crowned, sceptered and throned. Upon every brow is the tiara, and
around every form is the imperial purple. Only those are good citizens
who express their honest thoughts, and those who persecute for opinion's
sake, are the only traitors. There, nothing is considered infamous
except an appeal to brute force, and nothing sacred but love, liberty,
and joy. The church contemplates this republic with a sneer. From the
teeth of hatred she draws back the lips of scorn. She is filled with the
spite and spleen born of intellectual weakness. Once she was egotistic;
now she is envious.
Once she wore upon her hollow breast false gems, supposing them to be
real. They have been shown to be false, but she wears them still. She
has the malice of the caught, the hatred of the exposed.
We are told to investigate the bible for ourselves, and at the same time
informed that if we come to the conclusion that it is not the inspired
word of God, we will most assuredly be damned. Under such circumstances,
if we believe this, investigation is impossible. Whoever is held
responsible for his conclusions cannot weigh the evidence with impartial
scales. Fear stands at the balance, and gives to falsehood the weight of
its trembling hand.
I oppose the Church because she is the enemy of liberty; because her
dogmas are infamous and cruel; because she humiliates and degrades
woman; because she teaches the doctrines of eternal torment and the
natural depravity of man; because she insists upon the absurd, the
impossible, and the senseless; because she resorts to falsehood and
slander; because she is arrogant and revengeful; because she allows men
to sin on a credit; because she discourages self-reliance, and laughs
at good works; because she believes in vicarious virtue and vicarious
vice--vicarious punishment and vicarious reward; because she regards
repentance of more importance than restitution, and because she
sacrifices the world we have to one we know not of.
The free and generous, the tender and affectionate, will understand me.
Those who have escaped from the grated cells of a creed will appreciate
my motives. The sad and suffering wives, the trembling and loving
children will thank me: This is enough.
Robert G. Ingersoll.
Washington, D. C,
April 13, 1878.
THE GHOSTS.
Let them cover their Eyeless Sockets with their
Fleshless Hands and fade forever from the imagination of Men.
THERE are three theories by which men account for all phenomena,
for everything that happens: First, the Supernatural; Second, the
Supernatural and Natural; Third, the Natural. Between these theories
there has been, from the dawn of civilization, a continual conflict. In
this great war, nearly all the soldiers have been in the ranks of the
supernatural. The believers in the supernatural insist that matter
is controlled and directed entirely by powers from without; while
naturalists maintain that Nature acts from within; that Nature is not
acted upon; that the universe is all there is; that Nature with infinite
arms embraces everything that exists, and that all supposed powers
beyond the limits of the material are simply ghosts. You say, "Oh, this
is materialism!" What is matter? I take in my hand some earth:--in this
dust put seeds. Let the arrows of light from the quiver of the sun smite
upon it; let the rain fall upon it. The seeds will grow and a plant will
bud | 2,530.682601 |
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The
House
Opposite
A Mystery
By
Elizabeth Kent
[Illustration]
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1903
COPYRIGHT 1902
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Published, August, 1902
Reprinted, January, 1903; March, 1903; October, 1903
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
THROUGH MY NEIGHBOUR'S WINDOWS 1
CHAPTER II
I AM INVOLVED IN THE CASE 7
CHAPTER III
A CORONER'S INQUEST 25
CHAPTER IV
UNWILLING WITNESSES 36
CHAPTER V
MRS. ATKINS HOLDS SOMETHING BACK 49
CHAPTER VI
A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER 66
CHAPTER VII
MR. MERRITT INSTRUCTS ME 72
CHAPTER VIII
AN IDENTIFICATION 93
CHAPTER IX
I INSTRUCT MR. MERRITT 107
CHAPTER X
THE MISSING HAT 129
CHAPTER XI
MADAME ARGOT'S MAD HUSBAND 148
CHAPTER XII
A PROFESSIONAL VISIT OUT OF TOWN 160
CHAPTER XIII
MR. AND MRS. ATKINS AT HOME 179
CHAPTER XIV
MY HYSTERICAL PATIENT 198
CHAPTER XV
A SUDDEN FLIGHT 208
CHAPTER XVI
THAT TACTLESS DETECTIVE 220
CHAPTER XVII
ONE WOMAN EXONERATED 231
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRUTH OF THE WHOLE MATTER 249
THE HOUSE OPPOSITE
CHAPTER I
THROUGH MY NEIGHBOUR'S WINDOWS
What I am about to relate occurred but a few years ago--in the summer
of '99, in fact. You may remember that the heat that year was something
fearful. Even old New Yorkers, inured by the sufferings of many summers,
were overcome by it, and everyone who could, fled from the city. On
the particular August day when this story begins, the temperature had
been even more unbearable than usual, and approaching night brought
no perceptible relief. After dining with Burton (a young doctor like
myself), we spent the evening wandering about town trying to discover
a cool spot.
At last, thoroughly exhausted by our vain search, I decided to turn in,
hoping to sleep from sheer fatigue; but one glance at my stuffy little
bedroom discouraged me. Dragging a divan before the window of the front
room, I composed myself for the night with what resignation I could
muster.
I found, however, that the light and noise from the street kept me
awake; so, giving up sleep as a bad job, I decided to try my luck on the
roof. Arming myself with a rug and a pipe, I stole softly upstairs. It
was a beautiful starlight night, and after spreading my rug against a
chimney and lighting my pipe I concluded that things really might be
worse.
Across the street loomed the great Rosemere apartment-house, and I noted
with surprise that, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour and of
the season, several lights were still burning there. From two windows
directly opposite, and on a level with me, light filtered dimly through
lowered shades, and I wondered what possible motive people could have
for shutting out the little air there was on such a night. My neighbours
must be uncommonly suspicious, I thought, to fear observation from so
unlikely a place as my roof; and yet that was the only spot from which
they could by any chance be overlooked.
The only other light in the building shone clear and unobstructed
through the open windows of the corresponding room two floors higher up.
I was too far below to be able to look into this room, but I caught a
suggestion of sumptuous satin hangings and could distinguish the tops of
heavy gilt frames and of some flowering plants and palms.
As I sat idly looking upwards at these latter windows, my attention was
suddenly arrested by the violent movement of one of the lace curtains.
It was rolled into a cord by some unseen person who was presumably on
the floor, and then dragged across the window. A dark object, which I
took to be a human head, moved up and down among the palms, one of which
fell with an audible crash. At the same moment I heard a woman's voice
raised in a cry of terror. I leaped to my feet in great excitement, but
nothing further occurred.
After a minute or so the curtain fell back into its accustomed folds,
and I distinctly saw a man moving swiftly away from the window
supporting on his shoulder a fair-haired woman. Soon afterwards the
lights in this room were extinguished, to be followed almost immediately
by the illumination of the floor above.
What I had just seen and heard would not have surprised me in a
tenement, but that such scenes could take place in a respectable house
like the Rosemere, inhabited largely by fashionable people, was indeed
startling. Who could the couple be? And what could have happened?
Had the man, coming home drunk, proceeded to beat the woman and been
partially sobered by her cry; or was the woman subject to hysteria, or
even insane? I remembered that the apartments were what are commonly
known as double-deckers. That is to say: each one contained two
floors, connected by a private staircase--the living rooms below, the
bedrooms above. So I concluded, from seeing a light in what was in all
probability a bedroom, that the struggle, or whatever the commotion had
been, was over, and that the victim and her assailant, or perhaps the
patient and her nurse, had gone quietly, and I trusted amicably, to bed.
Still ruminating over these different conjectures, I heard a
neighbouring clock strike two. I now noticed for the first time signs of
life in the lower apartment which I first mentioned; shadows, reflected
on the blinds, moved swiftly to and fro, and, growing gigantic,
vanished.
But not for long. Soon they reappeared, and the shades were at last
drawn up. I had now an unobstructed view of the room, which proved to
be a drawing-room, as I had already surmised. It was dismantled for the
summer, and the pictures and furniture were hidden under brown holland.
A man leant against the window with his head bowed down, in an attitude
expressive of complete exhaustion or of great grief. It was too dark
for me to distinguish his features; but I noticed that he was tall and
dark, with a youthful, athletic figure.
After standing there a few minutes, he turned away. His actions now
struck me as most singular. He crawled on the floor, disappeared under
sofas, and finally moved even the heavy pieces of furniture from their
places. However valuable the thing which he had evidently lost might be,
yet 2 A.M. seemed hardly the hour in which to undertake a search for it.
Meanwhile, my attention had been a good deal distracted from the man by
observing a woman in one of the bedrooms of the floor immediately above,
and consequently belonging to the same suite. When I first caught sight
of her, the room was already ablaze with light and she was standing by
the window, gazing out into the darkness. At last, as if overcome by her
emotions, she threw up her hands in a gesture of despair, and, kneeling
down with her elbows on the window sill, buried her head in her arms.
Her hair was so dark that, as she knelt there against the light, it was
undistinguishable from her black dress.
I don't know how long she stayed in this position, but the man below had
given up his search and turned out the lights long before she moved.
Finally, she rose slowly up, a tall black-robed figure, and disappeared
into the back of the room. I waited for some time hoping to see her
again, but as she remained invisible and nothing further happened, and
the approaching dawn held out hopes of a more bearable temperature
below, I decided to return to my divan; but the last thing I saw before
descending was that solitary light, keeping its silent vigil in the
great black building.
CHAPTER II
I AM INVOLVED IN THE CASE
It seemed to me that I had only just got to sleep on my divan when I was
awakened by a heavy truck lumbering by. The sun was already high in the
heavens, but on consulting my watch I found that it was only ten minutes
past six. Annoyed at having waked up so early I was just dozing off
again when my sleepy eyes saw the side door leading to the back stairs
of the Rosemere slowly open and a young man come out.
Now I do not doubt that, except for what I had seen and heard the night
before, I should not have given the fellow a thought; but the house
opposite had now become for me a very hotbed of mystery, and everything
connected with it aroused my curiosity. So I watched the young man
keenly, although he appeared to be nothing but a grocer's or baker's
boy going on his morning rounds. But looking at him again I thought him
rather old for an errand boy, for they are seldom over eighteen, while
this young fellow was twenty-five at the very least. He was tall, dark,
and clean-shaven, although not very recently so. He wore no collar, and
had on a short, black coat over which was tied a not immaculate white
apron. On his arm hung a covered basket, which, from the way he carried
it, I judged to be empty, or nearly so.
It may have been my imagination,--in fact, I am inclined to think it
was,--but it certainly seemed to me that he stole furtively from the
house and glanced apprehensively up and down the street, casting a look
in my direction. I thought that he started on encountering my eyes. Be
that as it may, he certainly drew his battered hat farther over his
face, and, with both | 2,530.682613 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Chjarles M. Bidwell
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace
The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_,
Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes
To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
My self from all insuing heats and fires
Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games
That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;
No more the company of fresh fair Maids
And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away; by whose dear side
How often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowers
For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy
Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,
And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,
And all are dead but thy dear memorie;
That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring
Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.
And here will I in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,
That former times made precious to mine eyes,
Only remembring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,
Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,
Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears
Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,
These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies
In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,
The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit
Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;
On these I'le feed with free content and rest,
When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
_Enter a_ Satyr.
_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kist the Sun
Since the lusty Spring began,
All to please my master _Pan,_
Have I trotted without rest
To get him Fruit; for at a Feast
He entertains this coming night
His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:
But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._
By that Heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful Majesty,
Than dull weak mortalitie
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mold
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy Deitie;
Deign it Goddess from my hand,
To receive what e're this land
From her fertil Womb doth send
Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
Belief to that the Satyre tells,
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day ne're grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud
Is the learned Poets good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown
Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;
Deign O fairest fair to take them.
For these black ey'd _Driope_
Hath oftentimes commanded me,
With my clasped knee to clime;
See how well the lusty time
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spred,
Here be Berries for a Queen,
Some be red, some be green,
These are of that luscious meat,
The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,
Till when humbly leave I take,
Lest the great _Pan_ do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad Beeches shade,
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. And all my fears go with thee.
What greatness or what private hidden power,
Is there in me to draw submission
From this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal:
The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:
And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand
And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,
And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink,
Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:
Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)
And now I do believe it, if I keep
My Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend,
Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves,
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires;
Or voyces calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so tole me on
Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:
Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats
Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen,
Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power
In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines: then strong Chastity
Be thou my strongest guard, for here I'le dwell
In opposition against Fate and Hell.
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds
_and_ Shepherdesses.
_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy Festival
In honour of our great God, and his rites
Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste
And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,
With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows
His pure and holy water, ye may be
From all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free.
Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of _Pan_.
_Enter_ Priest.
_Priest_. Shepherds, thus I purge away,
Whatsoever this great day,
Or the past hours gave not good,
To corrupt your Maiden blood:
From the high rebellious heat
Of the Grapes, and strength of meat;
From the wanton quick desires,
They do kindle by their fires,
I do wash you with this water,
Be you pure and fair hereafter.
From your Liver and your Veins,
Thus I take away the stains.
All your thoughts be smooth and fair,
| 2,530.687446 |
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Produced by Stephen D. Leary
BORIS GODUNOV
A Drama in Verse
By Alexander Pushkin
Rendered into English verse by Alfred Hayes
DRAMATIS PERSONAE*
BORIS GODUNOV, afterwards Tsar.
PRINCE SHUISKY, Russian noble.
PRINCE VOROTINSKY, Russian noble.
SHCHELKALOV, Russian Minister of State.
FATHER PIMEN, an old monk and chronicler.
GREGORY OTREPIEV, a young monk, afterwards the Pretender
to the throne of Russia.
THE PATRIARCH, Abbot of the Chudov Monastery.
MISSAIL, wandering friar.
VARLAAM, wandering friar.
ATHANASIUS MIKAILOVICH PUSHKIN, friend of Prince Shuisky.
FEODOR, young son of Boris Godunov.
SEMYON NIKITICH GODUNOV, secret agent of Boris Godunov.
GABRIEL PUSHKIN, nephew of A. M. Pushkin.
PRINCE KURBSKY, disgraced Russian noble.
KHRUSHCHOV, disgraced Russian noble.
KARELA, a Cossack.
PRINCE VISHNEVETSKY.
MNISHEK, Governor of Sambor.
BASMANOV, a Russian officer.
MARZHERET, officer of the Pretender.
ROZEN, officer of the Pretender.
DIMITRY, the Pretender, formerly Gregory Otrepiev.
MOSALSKY, a Boyar.
KSENIA, daughter of Boris Godunov.
NURSE of Ksenia.
MARINA, daughter of Mnishek.
ROUZYA, tire-woman of Ksenia.
HOSTESS of tavern.
Boyars, The People, Inspectors, Officers, Attendants, Guests,
a Boy in attendance on Prince Shuisky, a Catholic Priest, a
Polish Noble, a Poet, an Idiot, a Beggar, Gentlemen, Peasants,
Guards, Russian, Polish, and German Soldiers, a Russian
Prisoner of War, Boys, an old Woman, Ladies, Serving-women.
*The list of Dramatis Personae which does not appear in the
original has been added for the convenience of the reader--
A.H.
PALACE OF THE KREMLIN
(FEBRUARY 20th, A.D. 1598)
PRINCE SHUISKY and VOROTINSKY
VOROTINSKY. To keep the city's peace, that is the task
Entrusted to us twain, but you forsooth
Have little need to watch; Moscow is empty;
The people to the Monastery have flocked
After the patriarch. What thinkest thou?
How will this trouble end?
SHUISKY. How will it end?
That is not hard to tell. A little more
The multitude will groan and wail, Boris
Pucker awhile his forehead, like a toper
Eyeing a glass of wine, and in the end
Will humbly of his graciousness consent
To take the crown; and then--and then will rule us
Just as before.
VOROTINSKY. A month has flown already
Since, cloistered with his sister, he forsook
The world's affairs. None hitherto hath shaken
His purpose, not the patriarch, not the boyars
His counselors; their tears, their prayers he heeds not;
Deaf is he to the wail of Moscow, deaf
To the Great Council's voice; vainly they urged
The sorrowful nun-queen to consecrate
Boris to sovereignty; firm was his sister,
Inexorable as he; methinks Boris
Inspired her with this spirit. What if our ruler
Be sick in very deed of cares of state
And hath no strength to mount the throne? What
Say'st thou?
SHUISKY. I say that in that case the blood in vain
Flowed of the young tsarevich, | 2,530.687498 |
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Transcribed from the [1832] W. Upcroft edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE TRIBUTE;
A
_Panegyrical Poem_
DEDICATED
TO THE HONORABLE
THE LADY ANN COKE,
OF
_HOLKHAM HALL_.
* * * * *
BY PHILO.
* * * * *
“So be it mine to touch the sounding string,
The FRIEND, the PATRIOT, and the MAN to sing,
And though unused to raise the tuneful song,
The MIGHTY THEME shall make my numbers strong;
Bright TRUTH shall guide me like the solar rays,
Illume my darkness and direct my praise!
Inspire each thought and breathe in ev’ry line,
And grace my Eulogy with rays divine;
And, while I paint the scene, the fact recite,
Still burst upon me in a blaze of light.”
_Page_ 2.
* * * * *
NORWICH:
PRINTED BY W. UPCROFT, ST. CLEMENT’S.
* * * * *
DEDICATION,
TO THE HONORABLE
THE LADY ANN COKE.
PRAISE—when it is fairly earned and justly due, is that meed which virtue
delights to bestow upon merit; and, as it is highly gratifying to every
worthy mind to receive, so next to those who merit it, it is to none more
delightful than to those who are allied to, and love and regard the
object of the Eulogy. Most grateful then must it be to the feelings of a
beloved wife, to hear and even read of the honorable and praise-worthy
actions of a kind and tender husband. It is indeed like the oil of
gladness to the heart, which, while it softens and lubricates, rejoices
and refines: while it is read it delights—inspires a desire to
imitate—infuses a portion of the spirit it celebrates into the bosom of
rectitude—and cherishes the noble incentive to “go and do likewise.”
Under this impression it is, that the Author has presumed to dedicate to
your Ladyship, this humble tribute of his respect and esteem. If he must
not be allowed to rank it with the brighter effusions of imagination;
yet, being founded in truth, it is intrinsically superior to the flights
of fancy, and he trusts when you consider the justness of the panegyric,
and the sincerity which inspires it; you will look over the imperfection
of the Performance, in regard to the goodness of the intention; and
readily pardon the writers defects of genius in justice to the warmth of
his feelings.
Should this humble attempt tend to circulate more widely the Virtues it
aspires to praise, or induce some more elevated Bard to
“Touch the sounding strings,
And in more fervid pœans sing his fame.”
the Author will be highly gratified and rejoice in the happy effects of
his labours.
He begs most respectfully
to subscribe himself,
your Ladyship’s very obedient,
humble Servant,
_PHILO_.
TO THE READER.
The principal part of the following little Poem (if it deserves so high a
character) was composed ten or a dozen years ago, and is extracted from a
much longer Eulogy upon our Great Patriot, his Holkham, and his
Agriculture; but which, for reasons not necessary to mention here, has
never met the public eye; nor would what is here published, have done so
now, had the Author been aware of any Competitor in the same field, who
had attempted to do justice to the great and good man whose fame he
aspires to sing. But now the Guardian of our County’s rights, her
liberties and laws, has resigned his seat in Parliament, and after seeing
the great measures for which he so long contended in the House of Commons
(namely, a Reform in the Representation—a repeal of the Corporation and
Test Acts—and the destruction of the rotten Boroughs;) granted to the
energetic exertions of a great People, aided by the support of a
Patriotic Monarch, and a wise Ministry; has retired to the Sylvan shades
of his wide domain, to enjoy the well earned meed of public virtue and
private spirit; the Author could no longer delay presenting this humble
tribute to his fame, and he trusts it will now be deemed neither
misplaced nor ill timed, and although its pretensions are so humble, yet
as they are ardent and sincere, he hopes it will be received with the
candour and indulgence such trifles (while they survive) are usually
received, when the praise is so justly due—so dearly earned—and so seldom
deserved; in which case he will be highly gratified and his labour amply
rewarded.
_PHILO_.
North Walsham, Dec. 25th, 1832
THE TRIBUTE.
YES—BRITONS BOAST! in these dark times to know
A man whose Virtue gilds the world below;
And, like the glory of the Northern star,
Is known, admired and gazed at from afar;
Who though he shines so high above his kind,
Is Polar light to Peasantry and Hind;
And yet his county, to her lasting shame,
No Bard has roused to eulogize his name;
To paint the Virtues in a mortal shrine,
And point the gem by its refulgent shine.
So be it mine to touch the sounding string,
The FRIEND; the PATRIOT; and the MAN to sing.
O could I reach the famed Apollo’s lyre;
I’d chaunt his praises with a Poets fire;
But if unequal to such lofty flights,
My subject warms me, and my task delights;
And though unused to raise the tuneful song,
The MIGHTY THEME shall make my numbers strong;
Bright TRUTH shall guide me, like the solar rays,
Illume my darkness and direct my praise!
Inspire each thought, and breathe in ev’ry line,
And grace my Eulogy with rays divine;
And, while I paint the scene, the fact recite,
Still burst upon me in a blaze of light.
Wake then my MUSE the gen’rous trump of fame,
And let her clarion laud the Patriot’s name;
Whose glorious actions well deserve the lay,
In deathless strains his merits to pourtray;
Who, while he makes his much loved HOLKHAM smile,
Exalts the glory of our Sea girt Isle.
What though short lived, my tribute I will bring,
And add my feather to the Eagle’s wing;
Upon his pinions striving, thus to climb,
Upborne awhile along the stream of time,
And tho’ my garland may fall off, his plumes
A grateful Muse her transient song presumes.
See the great FARMER at his rural seat,
When cares of state admit of his retreat;
Within his noble hospitable dome,
The Prince as well as Peasant finds a home;
Born for the _world_ and for his race designed,
His Godlike bounty flows for all mankind;
Receives the Stranger, as a welcome guest,
Who while he tarries, feels no wish unbless’d;
The Patriot there with gay and cheerful heart,
Mid’ all his greatness has the happy art,
To set each timid visitor at ease,
By courteous manners ever apt to please;
Where, open as his hand, th’expanding door,
Receives the wealthy where he feeds the poor;
Where none are seen to sorrow or complain;
Within the circle of his wide domain,
Abundance reigns; and comfort sweetly flows;
And, like the shadow, follows where he goes:
No discontent is felt when he is nigh,
And anxious cares before his presence fly;
The faithful hind rejoicing in his smile,
With cheerful industry pursues his toil;
The gen’rous rustic glories in his sight,
Who makes his heavy burden weigh more light;
And feels exalted and rejoiced to find;
The best of masters of the human kind;
Proud of his kindred, then he seems to scan,
His inbred worth, and deems himself a man.
O if the man who makes a single blade,
Lift its green head above the parched glade;
Where never verdure did before appear,
Deserves the plaudits of the world to hear;
What shall we say of him whose arts contrive,
To make whole fields of smiling herbage thrive;
Who turns the moor, into a fertile vale,
Where flocks and herds inhale the vernal gale;
Congeals the sand upon the northern breeze
And decorates the waste with shrubs and trees:
Such worth as this should like the sunbeams blaze,
And sculptur’d marbles speak to sing his praise;
Fame raise him pillars in each land and clime,
And Poets praise him in the song sublime;
The deathless laurel round his temples twine,
And his immortal wreath untarnish’d shine.
* * * * *
On lib’ral terms his Tenants are posses’d;
Their contracts made, they feel themselves at rest;
Their tenures permanent, at easy rents,
None make a bargain which | 2,530.785593 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Print project.)
SAMBOE;
OR,
THE AFRICAN BOY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"Twilight Hours Improved," &c. &c.
And man, where Freedom's beams and fountains rise,
Springs from the dust, and blossoms to the skies.
Dead to the joys of light and life, the slave
Clings to the clod; his root is in the grave.
Bondage is winter, darkness, death, despair;
Freedom the sun, the sea, the mountain, and the air!
Montgomery.
London:
PRINTED FOR HARVEY AND DARTON,
GRACECHURCH-STREET.
1823.
TO
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq.
M. P.
THIS SMALL VOLUME,
DIFFIDENTLY AIMING TO SERVE THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY
IS,
BY HIS KIND PERMISSION
TO GIVE IT THE SANCTION OF HIS NAME,
HUMBLY DEDICATED;
WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF UNFEIGNED VENERATION
AND RESPECT FOR HIS
EXALTED PATRIOTIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUES,
And grateful acknowledgment
OF HIS CONDESCENSION, IN HONOURING WITH HIS
ATTENTION THE HUMBLE EFFORTS OF
THE AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It has been justly remarked, "that all who read may become
enlightened;" for readers, insensibly imbibing the sentiments of
others, and having their own latent sensibilities called forth,
contract, progressively, virtuous inclinations and habits; and thereby
become fitted to unite with their fellow-beings, in the removal or
amelioration of any of the evils of life. With a full conviction
of this, I have attempted, and now offer to my young readers, the
present little work. To the rising generation, I am told, the great
question of the slave-trade is little known; the abolition of it, by
our legislature, having taken place either before many of them existed,
or at too early a period of their lives to excite any interest. Present
circumstances, however, in reference to the subject, ensure for it
an intense interest, in every heart feeling the blessing of freedom
and all the sweet charities of home; blessings which it is our care
to dispose the youthful heart duly to appreciate, and hence to feel
for those, deprived, by violence and crime, of these high privileges
of man.
It is true, England has achieved the triumph of humanity, in effacing
from her Christian character so dark a stain as a traffic in human
beings; a commerce, "the history of which is written throughout in
characters of blood." Yet there are but too strong evidences that
it is yet pursued to great and fearful extent by other nations,
notwithstanding the solemn obligations they have entered into to
suppress it; obligations "imposed on every Christian state, no less by
the religion it professes, than by a regard to its national honour;"
and notwithstanding it has been branded with infamy, at a solemn
congress of the great Christian powers, as a crime of the deepest
dye. Of this there has long been most abundant melancholy proof; yet,
under its present contraband character, it has been attended by, if
possible, unprecedented enormities and misery, as well as involving
the base and cruel agents of it in the further crime of deliberate
perjury, in order to conceal their nefarious employment.
Surely, then, no age can scarcely be too immature, in which to sow the
seeds of abhorrence in the young breast, against this blood-stained,
demoralizing commerce! Surely, no means, however trivial, should
be neglected, to arouse the spirit of youth against it! It would be
tedious, and, indeed, inconsistent with the brevity of this little
work, to name the number of the great and the good who have protested
against, and sacrificed their time and their treasure to abolish
it. Suffice it to say, that an apparently trifling incident first
aroused the virtuous energies of the ardent, persevering Clarkson, in
the great cause;--that a view of the produce of Africa, and proofs of
the ingenuity of Africans, kindled the fire of enthusiasm in the noble
and comprehensive mind of a Pitt. Nor did the flame quiver or become
dim while he was the pilot of the state, though he was not decreed to
see the success of perseverance in the cause of justice and humanity.
Let me, therefore, be acquitted of presumption, when I express a hope,
that, trifling as is the present work, yet, as the leading events
it records are not the creations of fancy, but realities that have
passed; that they have not been collected for effect, or uselessly
to awaken the feelings; but having been actually presented in the
pursuit of a disgraceful and cruel commerce, are now offered to the
view of my young readers, in order to confirm the great truths, that
cruelty and oppression encouraged, soon brutalize the nature of man;
divesting him of every distinguishing trait which unites him with
superior intelligences, and sinking him in the scale of being far
below the ravening wolf and insatiate tiger; and that the slave-trade,
more especially, never fails effectually to destroy all the sympathies
of humanity, and so far to barbarize those who are concerned in it,
as assuredly to cause civilized man to resume the ferocity of the
savage whom he presumes to despise.
The Author.
"Offspring of love divine, Humanity!
---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Come thou, and weep with me substantial ills,
And execrate the wrongs that Afric's sons,
Torn from their native shore, and doom'd to bear
The yoke of servitude in foreign climes,
Sustain. Nor vainly let our sorrows flow,
Nor let the strong emotion rise in vain.
But may the kind contagion widely spread,
Till, in its flame, the unrelenting heart
Of avarice melt in softest sympathy,
And one bright ray of universal love,
Of grateful incense, rises up to heaven!"
Roscoe's Wrongs of Africa.
"E'en from my pen some heartfelt truths may fall;
For outrag'd nature claims the care of all."
SAMBOE; OR, THE AFRICAN BOY.
CHAPTER I.
"Slaves of gold! whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that ye have human feelings,
Ere ye proudly question ours."
"Encourage the chiefs to go to war, that they may obtain slaves; for
as on many accounts we require a large number, we desire you to exert
yourself, and not stand out for a price." Such was the direction,
and such the order, of the slave-merchants at Cape Coast Castle,
to one of their factors in the interior, for the collection and
purchase of slaves; who, dreadful as was his occupation, yet at all
times faithfully endeavoured to obey the orders of his | 2,530.785737 |
2023-11-16 18:59:14.7657900 | 1,073 | 52 |
Produced by Steve Schulze and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_Nancy Stair_
_A NOVEL_
_By ELINOR MACARTNEY LANE_
_Author of "Mills of God"_
_A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers
NEW YORK_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published May, 1904_
_To_ Frank Brett Noyes
_Who accepted, with a kind letter,
The first story I ever wrote,
This tale of_ Nancy Stair _is dedicated,
As a tribute of affection,
From one old friend to another._
"For woman is not undeveloped man,
But diverse; could we make her as the man,
Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this,
Not like to like, but like in difference."
TENNYSON.
"Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears,
Her noblest work she classes, O,
Her 'prentice hand she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O."
ROBERT BURNS.
"Ye can't educate women as you can men. They're
elemental creatures; and ye can no more change their
natures than ye can stop fire from burning."
HUGH PITCAIRN.
PREFACE BY LORD STAIR
Two excellent accounts of the beautiful Nancy Stair have already been
published; the first by Mrs. George Opie, in the Scots News, giving a
detailed account of the work on the burnside, and a more recent one by
Professor Erskine, of our own University, which is little more than a
critical dissertation upon Nancy as a poet; the heart of the matter
with him being to commend her English verses, as well as those in "gude
braid Scot."
With these accounts to be secured so easily it may seem presumptuous,
as well as superfluous, for me to undertake a third. I state at the
outset, therefore, that it is beyond my ambition and my abilities to
add a word to stories told so well. Nor do I purpose to mention either
the work on the burn or Nancy's song-making, save when necessary for
clearness.
For me, however, the life of Nancy Stair has a far deeper significance
than that set forth by either of these gifted authors. My knowledge of
her was naturally of the most intimate; I watched her grow from a
wonderful child into a wonderful woman; and saw her, with a man's
education, none but men for friends, and no counselings save from her
own heart, solve most wisely for the race the problem put to every
woman of gift; and with sweetest reasoning and no bitter renouncings
enter the kingdom of great womanhood.
To tell this intimate side of her life with what skill I have is the
chief purpose of my writing, but there are two other motives almost as
strong. The first of these is to clear away the mystery of the murder
which for so long clouded our lives at Stair. To do this there is no
man in Scotland to-day so able as myself. It was I who bid the Duke to
Stair; the quarrel which brought on the meeting fell directly beneath
my eyes; I heard the shots and found the dead upon that fearful night,
and afterward went blindfolded through the bitter business of the
trial. I was the first, as well, to scent the truth at the bottom of
the defense, and have in my possession, as I write, the confession
which removed all doubt as to the manner in which the deed was
committed.
The second reason is to set clear Nancy's relation to Robert Burns, of
which too much has been made, and whose influence upon her and her
writings has been grossly exaggerated. Her observation of natural
genius in him changed her greatly, and I have tried to set this forth
with clearness; but it affected her in a very different manner from
that which her two famous biographers have told, and I have it from her
own lips that it was because of the Burns episode that she stopped
writing altogether.
If it be complained against me that the tale has my own life's story in
it, I would answer to the charge that only a great and passionate first
love could have produced a child like Nancy, and I believe that the
world is ever a bit interested in the line of people whose loves and
hates have produced a recognized genius. Then, too, the circumstances
attending her birth had more influence on her after life than may at
first be seen, giving me as they did such a tenderness for her that I
have never been able to cross her in any matter whatever.
Much of the story, of which I was not directly a witness, comes from
Nancy herself. I have sent the tale to Alexander Carmichael as well,
and in all important matters his recollections accord with mine.
There came to me but yesterday | 2,530.78583 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE
By Jennette Lee
Illustrated by A. I. Keller And Arthur E. Becher
Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York
1914
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009 | 2,530.88416 |
2023-11-16 18:59:14.8649510 | 2,088 | 8 | VOLUME I (OF 4)***
E-text prepared by Al Haines
Transcriber's note:
Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page
breaks occurred in the original book. For its Index, a page
number has been placed only at the start of that section.
In the original volumes in this set, each even-numbered page
had a header consisting of the page number, the volume title,
and the chapter number. The odd-numbered page header consisted
of the year with which the page deals, a subject phrase, and
the page number. In this set of e-books, the odd-page year
and subject phrase have been converted to sidenotes, usually
positioned between the first two paragraphs of the even-odd
page pair. If such positioning was not possible for a given
sidenote, it was positioned where it seemed most logical.
In the original book set, consisting of four volumes, the
master index was in Volume 4. In this set of e-books, the
index has been duplicated into each of the other volumes, with
its first page re-numbered as necessary, and an Index item
added to each volume's Table of Contents.
A HISTORY OF THE FOUR GEORGES
by
JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M.P.
Author of "A History of Our Own Times" Etc.
In Four Volumes
VOL. I.
New York
Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square
1901
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAP. PAGE
I. "MORE, ALAS! THAN THE QUEEN'S LIFE!"....... 1
II. PARTIES AND LEADERS ............... 16
III. "LOST FOR WANT OF SPIRIT" ............ 39
IV. THE KING COMES.................. 55
V. WHAT THE KING CAME TO .............. 63
VI. OXFORD'S HALL; BOLINGBKOKE'S FLIGHT ....... 91
VII. THE WHITE COCKADE ................ 116
VIII. AFTER THE REBELLION ............... 135
IX. "MALICE DOMESTIC.--FOREIGN LEVY"......... 158
X. HOME AFFAIRS................... 168
XI. "THE EARTH HATH BUBBLES"............. 183
XII. AFTER THE STORM ................. 202
XIII. THE BANISHMENT OF ATTERBURY ........... 211
XIV. WALPOLE IN POWER AS WELL AS OFFICE........ 224
XV. THE DRAPIER'S LETTERS .............. 240
XVI. THE OPPOSITION.................. 249
XVII. "OSNABRUCK! OSNABRUCK!"............. 262
XVIII. GEORGE THE SECOND ................ 272
XIX. "THE PATRIOTS".................. 284
XX. A VICTORY FOR THE PATRIOTS............ 299
INDEX ...................... 322
{1}
A HISTORY
OF
THE FOUR GEORGES.
CHAPTER I.
"MORE, ALAS! THAN THE QUEEN'S LIFE!"
"The Queen is pretty well," Swift wrote to Lord Peterborough on May 18,
1714, "at present, but the least disorder she has puts all in alarm."
Swift goes on to tell his correspondent that "when it is over we act as
if she were immortal; neither is it possible to persuade people to make
any preparations against an evil day." Yet on the condition of Queen
Anne's health depended to all appearance the continuance of peace in
England. While Anne was sinking down to death, rival claimants were
planning to seize the throne; rival statesmen and rival parties were
plotting, intriguing, sending emissaries, moving troops, organizing
armies, for a great struggle. Queen Anne had reigned for little more
than twelve years. She succeeded William the Third on March 8, 1702,
and at the time when Swift wrote the words we have quoted, her reign
was drawing rapidly to a close.
Anne was not a woman of great capacity or of elevated moral tone. She
was moral indeed in the narrow and more limited sense which the word
has lately come to have among us. She always observed decorum and
propriety herself; she always discouraged vice in others; but she had
no idea of political morality or of high {2} political purpose, and she
had allowed herself to be made the instrument of one faction or
another, according as one old woman or the other prevailed over her
passing mood. While she was governed by the Duchess of Marlborough,
the Duke of Marlborough and his party had the ascendant. When Mrs.
Masham succeeded in establishing herself as chief favorite, the Duke of
Marlborough and his followers went down. Burnet, in his "History of My
Own Times," says of Queen Anne, that she "is easy of access, and hears
everything very gently; but opens herself to so few, and is so cold and
general in her answers, that people soon find that the chief
application is to be made to her ministers and favorites, who, in their
turns, have an entire credit and full power with her. She has laid
down the splendor of a court too much, and eats privately; so that,
except on Sundays, and a few hours twice or thrice a week, at night, in
the drawing-room, she appears so little that her court is, as it were,
abandoned." Although Anne lived during the Augustan Age of English
literature, she had no literary capacity or taste. Kneller's portrait
of the Queen gives her a face rather agreeable and intelligent than
otherwise--a round, full face, with ruddy complexion and dark-brown
hair. A courtly biographer, commenting on this portrait, takes
occasion to observe that Anne "was so universally beloved that her
death was more sincerely lamented than that of perhaps any other
monarch who ever sat on the throne of these realms." A curious comment
on that affection and devotion of the English people to Queen Anne is
supplied by the fact which Lord Stanhope mentions, that "the funds rose
considerably on the first tidings of her danger, and fell again on a
report of her recovery."
[Sidenote: 1714--Fighting for the Crown]
England watched with the greatest anxiety the latest days of Queen
Anne's life; not out of any deep concern for the Queen herself, but
simply because of the knowledge that with her death must come a crisis
and might come a revolution. Who was to snatch the crown as it fell
from Queen Anne's dying head? Over at Herrenhausen, in {3} Hanover,
was one claimant to the throne; flitting between Lorraine and St.
Germains was another. Here, at home, in the Queen's very
council-chamber, round the Queen's dying bed, were the English heads of
the rival parties caballing against each other, some of them deceiving
Hanover, some of them deceiving James Stuart, and more than one, it
must be confessed, deceiving at the same moment Hanoverians and Stuarts
alike. Anne had no children living; she had borne to her husband, the
feeble and colorless George of Denmark, a great many children--eighteen
or nineteen it is said--but most of them died in their very infancy,
and none lived to maturity. No succession therefore could take place,
but only an accession, and at such a crisis in the history of England
any deviation from the direct line must bring peril with it. At the
time when Queen Anne lay dying, it might have meant a new revolution
and another civil war.
While Anne lies on that which is soon to be her death-bed, let us take
a glance at the rival claimants of her crown, and the leading English
statesmen who were partisans on this side or on that, or who were still
hesitating about the side it would be, on the whole, most prudent and
profitable to choose.
The English Parliament had | 2,530.884991 |
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Produced by Judith Smith and Natalie Salter
THE DIVINE COMEDY: PURGATORY
BY DANTE ALIGHIERI
Complete
Translated By
The Rev. H. F. Cary
PURGATORY
Cantos 1 - 33
CANTO I
O'er better waves to speed her rapid course
The light bark of my genius lifts the sail,
Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;
And of that second region will I sing,
In which the human spirit from sinful blot
Is purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares.
Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your train
I follow, here the deadened strain revive;
Nor let Calliope refuse to sound
A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone,
Which when the wretched birds of chattering note
Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope.
Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread
O'er the serene aspect of the pure air,
High up as the first circle, to mine eyes
Unwonted joy renew'd, soon as I'scap'd
Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom,
That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief.
The radiant planet, that to love invites,
Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneath
The Pisces' light, that in his escort came.
To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mind
On the' other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays
Seem'd joyous. O thou northern site, bereft
Indeed, and widow'd, since of these depriv'd!
As from this view I had desisted, straight
Turning a little tow'rds the other pole,
There from whence now the wain had disappear'd,
I saw an old man standing by my side
Alone, so worthy of rev'rence in his look,
That ne'er from son to father more was ow'd.
Low down his beard and mix'd with hoary white
Descended, like his locks, which parting fell
Upon his breast in double fold. The beams
Of those four luminaries on his face
So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear
Deck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun.
"Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream,
Forth from th' eternal prison-house have fled?"
He spoke and moved those venerable plumes.
"Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure
Lights you emerging from the depth of night,
That makes the infernal valley ever black?
Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss
Broken, or in high heaven new laws ordain'd,
That thus, condemn'd, ye to my caves approach?"
My guide, then laying hold on me, by words
And intimations given with hand and head,
Made my bent knees and eye submissive pay
Due reverence; then thus to him replied.
"Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven
Descending, had besought me in my charge
To bring. But since thy will implies, that more
Our true condition I unfold at large,
Mine is not to deny thee thy request.
This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom.
But erring by his folly had approach'd
So near, that little space was left to turn.
Then, as before I told, I was dispatch'd
To work his rescue, and no way remain'd
Save this which I have ta'en. I have display'd
Before him all the regions of the bad;
And purpose now those spirits to display,
That under thy command are purg'd from sin.
How I have brought him would be long to say.
From high descends the virtue, by whose aid
I to thy sight and hearing him have led.
Now may our coming please thee. In the search
Of liberty he journeys: that how dear
They know, who for her sake have life refus'd.
Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweet
In Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds,
That in the last great day will shine so bright.
For us the' eternal edicts are unmov'd:
He breathes, and I am free of Minos' power,
Abiding in that circle where the eyes
Of thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in look
Prays thee, O hallow'd spirit! to own her shine.
Then by her love we' implore thee, let us pass
Through thy sev'n regions; for which best thanks
I for thy favour will to her return,
If mention there below thou not disdain."
"Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,"
He then to him rejoin'd, "while I was there,
That all she ask'd me I was fain to grant.
Now that beyond the' accursed stream she dwells,
She may no longer move me, by that law,
Which was ordain'd me, when I issued thence.
Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst,
Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs.
Enough for me that in her name thou ask.
Go therefore now: and with a slender reed
See that thou duly gird him, and his face
Lave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence.
For not with eye, by any cloud obscur'd,
Would it be seemly before him to come,
Who stands the foremost minister in heaven.
This islet all around, there far beneath,
Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bed
Produces store of reeds. No other plant,
Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk,
There lives, not bending to the water's sway.
After, this way return not; but the sun
Will show you, that now rises, where to take
The mountain in its easiest ascent."
He disappear'd; and I myself uprais'd
Speechless, and to my guide retiring close,
Toward him turn'd mine eyes. He thus began;
"My son! observant thou my steps pursue.
We must retreat to rearward, for that way
The champain to its low extreme declines."
The dawn had chas'd the matin hour of prime,
Which deaf before it, so that from afar
I spy'd the trembling of the ocean stream.
We travers'd the deserted plain, as one
Who, wander'd from his track, thinks every step
Trodden in vain till he regain the path.
When we had come, where yet the tender dew
Strove with the sun, and in a place, where fresh
The wind breath'd o'er it, while it slowly dried;
Both hands extended on the watery grass
My master plac'd, in graceful act and kind.
Whence I of his intent before appriz'd,
Stretch'd out to him my cheeks suffus'd with tears.
There to my visage he anew restor'd
That hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal'd.
Then on the solitary shore arriv'd,
That never sailing on its waters saw
Man, that could after measure back his course,
He girt me in such manner as had pleas'd
Him who instructed, and O, strange to tell!
As he selected every humble plant,
Wherever one was pluck'd, another there
Resembling, straightway in its place arose.
CANTO II
Now had the sun to that horizon reach'd,
That covers, with the most exalted point | 2,530.886087 |
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Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Internet Archive)
CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
PURCHASING AGENCY.
FOR the accommodation of my numerous friends in various parts of the
country who prefer not to be at the expense of frequent visits to New
York, I have made arrangements with some of the most reliable houses in
the city to supply those who may favor me with their orders for
BOOKS, STATIONERY,
Hats and Caps, Dry-Goods,
DRUGS, HARDWARE, FURNITURE,
CARPETS, WALL-PAPERS, GROCERIES,
ETC., ETC.,
on such terms as can not but be satisfactory to the purchasers.
The disposition on the part of many merchants to overreach their
customers when they have an opportunity of doing so, renders it almost
as necessary for merchants to give references to their customers as
for customers to give references of their standing to the merchants;
hence I have been careful to make arrangements only with honorable and
responsible houses who can be fully relied on.
As my trade with those houses will be large in the aggregate, they can
afford to allow me a trifling commission and still supply my customers
at their _lowest rates_, which I will engage shall be as low as any
regular houses will supply them.
My friends and others are requested to try the experiment by forwarding
me orders for anything they may chance to want, and if not satisfied, I
will not ask them to repeat the experiment.
Those visiting the city are invited to give me a call before making
their purchases, and test the prices of the houses to whom I can with
confidence introduce them.
Bills for small lots of goods, if sent by express, can be paid for on
delivery, or arrangements can be made for supplying responsible parties
on time.
Address,
=O. HUTCHINSON, New York=.
CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
DAVIES & KENT,
STEREOTYPERS AND ELECTROTYPERS,
_113 Nassau Street, N. Y._
Contents.
PAGE
The Republican Platform 5
Lincoln and Victory 9
Strike for the Right 10
Hurrah Chorus 11
Hurrah for Abe Lincoln 12
Lincoln and Liberty 14
The People’s Nominee 15
Flag of the Brave 17
Come On! 18
Abe of Illinois 19
Our Country’s Call 20
The Grand Rally 21
Lincoln Going to Washington 22
For Freedom and Reform 24
Lincoln and Hamlin 25
Campaign Song 26
Ridden by the Slave Power 27
“Vive La Honest Abe” 29
The Gathering of the Republican Army 30
Lincoln’s Nomination 31
Freedom’s Call 32
Hope for the Slave 33
Freemen Win when Lincoln Leads 34
Uncle Sam’s Farm 35
Song of Freedom 37
The “Neb-Rascality.” 38
Free Soil Chorus 40
The Bay State Hurrah 42
For Liberty 43
Voice of Freedom 44
The Cause of Liberty 45
Lincoln, the Pride of the Nation 46
Rallying Song 47
Abe Lincoln is the Man 48
The Fate of a Fowler 49
Rallying Song of Rocky Mountain Club 51
The Liberty Army 52
Have You Heard the Loud Alarm? 53
Hark! ye Freemen 55
From Bad to Worse 56
The March of the Free 57
Our Flag is There 58
Lincoln and Victory 59
“Wide Awake” 61
We’ll Send Buchanan Home 62
Rallying Song 64
Lincoln 65
Song 66
Campaign Song 68
Freemen, Banish All Your Fears 69
“Wide-Awake Club” Song 70
A Jolly Good Crew We’ll Have 71
THE
REPUBLICAN PLATFORM.
_Resolved_, That we, the delegated representatives of the Republican
electors of the United States, in convention assembled, in the
discharge of the duty we owe to our constituents and our country, unite
in the following declarations:
_First_—That the history of the nation, during the last four years, has
fully established the propriety and necessity of the organization and
perpetuation of the Republican party, and that the causes which called
it into existence are permanent in their nature, and now, more than
ever before, demand its peaceful and constitutional triumph.
_Second_—That the maintenance of the principles promulgated in the
Declaration of Independence, and embodied in our federal Constitution,
is essential to the preservation of our Republican institutions, and
that the federal Constitution, the rights of the States, and the Union
of the States must and shall be preserved.
_Third_—That to the Union of the States this nation owes its
unprecedented increase in population; its surprising development of
material resources; its rapid augmentation of wealth; its happiness
at home and its honor abroad, and we hold in abhorrence all schemes
for disunion, come from whatever source they may; and we congratulate
the country that no Republican member of Congress has uttered or
countenanced a threat of disunion, so often made by Democratic members
of Congress, without rebuke and with applause from their political
associates; and we denounce those threats of disunion, in case of a
popular overthrow of their ascendancy, as denying the vital principles
of a free government, and as an avowal of contemplated treason, which
it is the imperative duty of an indignant people strongly to rebuke and
forever silence.
_Fourth_—That the maintenance inviolate of the rights of the States,
and especially the right of each State to order and control its own
domestic institutions, according to its own judgment exclusively,
is essential to that balance of power on which the perfection and
endurance of our political faith depend, and we denounce the lawless
invasion by armed force of any state or territory, no matter under what
pretext, as among the gravest of crimes.
_Fifth_—That the present Democratic administration has far exceeded
our worst apprehensions, in its measureless subserviency to the
exactions of a sectional interest, as is especially evident in its
desperate exertions to force the infamous Lecompton Constitution upon
the protesting people of Kansas—in construing the personal relation
between master and servant, to involve an unqualified property in
persons—in its attempted enforcement everywhere, on land and sea,
through the intervention of Congress and the federal courts, of the
extreme pretensions of a purely local interest, and in its general and
unvarying abuse of the power intrusted to it by a confiding people.
_Sixth_—That the people justly view with alarm the reckless
extravagance which pervades every department of the federal government;
that a return to rigid economy and accountability is indispensable
to arrest the system of plunder of the public treasury by favored
partisans; while the recent startling developments of fraud and
corruption at the federal metropolis show that an entire change of
administration is imperatively demanded.
_Seventh_—That the new dogma that the constitution of its own force
carries slavery into any or all the territories of the United States,
is a dangerous political heresy, at variance with the explicit
provisions of that instrument itself, with contemporaneous exposition,
and with legislative and judicial precedent, is revolutionary in its
tendency, and subversive of the peace and harmony of the country.
_Eighth_—That the normal condition of all the territory of the United
States is that of freedom; that as our republican fathers, when
they had abolished slavery in all our national territory, ordained
that no person should be deprived of life, liberty, or property
without due process of law, it becomes our duty, by legislation,
whenever legislation is necessary, to maintain this provision of
the constitution against all attempts to violate it; and we deny
the authority of Congress, of a territorial legislature, or of any
individuals, to give legal existence to slavery in any territory of the
United States.
_Ninth_—That we brand the recent reopening of the African slave trade,
under the cover of our national flag, aided by perversions of judicial
power, as a crime against humanity, a burning shame to our country and
age, and we call upon Congress to take prompt and efficient measures
for the total and final suppression of that execrable traffic.
_Tenth_—That in the recent vetoes by their federal governors of the
acts of the Legislature of Kansas and Nebraska, prohibiting slavery
in those territories, we find a practical illustration of the boasted
Democratic principle of non-intervention and popular sovereignty,
embodied in the Kansas and Nebraska bill, and a denunciation of the
deception and fraud involved therein.
_Eleventh_—That Kansas should of right be immediately admitted as a
State under the constitution recently formed and adopted by her people,
and accepted by the House of Representatives.
_Twelfth_—That while providing revenue for the support of the general
government, by duties upon imposts, sound policy requires such an
adjustment of these imposts as to encourage the development of the
industrial interest of the whole country, and we commend that policy
of national exchanges which secures to the workingmen liberal wages,
to agriculture remunerating prices, to mechanics and manufacturers an
adequate reward for their skill, labor, and enterprise, and to the
nation commercial prosperity and independence.
_Thirteenth_—That we protest against any sale or alienation to others
of the public lands held by actual settlers, and against any view of
the free homestead policy, which regards the settlers as paupers or
supplicants for public bounty, and we demand the passage by Congress
of the complete and satisfactory homestead measure, which has already
passed the house.
_Fourteenth_—That the National Republican party is opposed to any
change in our naturalization laws, or any State legislation by which
the rights of citizenship, hitherto accorded to immigrants from foreign
lands shall be abridged or impaired; and in favor of giving a full and
efficient protection to the rights of all classes of citizens, whether
native or naturalized, both at home or abroad.
_Fifteenth_—That appropriations by Congress for river and harbor
improvements of a national character, required for the accommodation
and security of an existing commerce, are authorized by the
constitution, and justified by an obligation of the government to
protect the lives and property of its citizens.
_Sixteenth_—That a railroad to the Pacific Ocean is imperatively
demanded by the interests of the whole country | 2,530.981185 |
2023-11-16 18:59:14.9621060 | 2,953 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
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THE GOLDEN FLOOD
By Edwin Lefevre
Illustrated By W. R. Leigh
New York
McClure, Phillips & Co.
1905
TO
DANIEL GRAY REID
PART ONE: THE FLOOD
The president looked up from the underwriters’ plan of the latest
“Industrial” consolidation capital stock, $100,000,000; assets, for
publication, $100,000,000 which the syndicate’s lawyers had pronounced
perfectly legal. Judiciously advertised, the stock probably would be
oversubscribed. The profits ought to be enormous. He was one of the
underwriters.
“What is it?” he asked. He did not frown, but his voice was as though
hung with icicles. The assistant cashier, an imaginative man in the
wrong place, shivered.
“This gentleman,” he said, giving a card to the president, “wishes to
make a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars.”
The president looked at the card. He read on it:
_MR. GEORGE KITCHELL GRINELL_
“Who sent him to us?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir. He said he had a letter of introduction to you,”
answered the assistant cashier, disclaiming all responsibility in the
matter.
The president read the card a second time. The name was unfamiliar.
“Grinnell?” he muttered. “Grinnell? Never heard of him.” Perhaps he felt
it was poor policy to show ignorance on any matter whatever. When he
spoke again, it was in a voice overflowing with a dignity that was a
subtle rebuke to all assistant cashiers:
“I will see him.”
He busied himself once more with the typewritten documents before him,
lost in its alluring possibilities, until he became conscious of a
presence near him. He still waited, purposely, before looking up. He was
a very busy man, and all the world must know it. At length he raised his
head majestically, and turned--an animated fragment of a glacier--until
his eyes rested on the stranger’s.
“Good-morning, sir,” he said politely.
“Good-morning, Mr. Dawson,” said the stranger. He was a young man,
conceivably under thirty, of medium height, square of shoulders,
clean-shaven, and clear-skinned. He had brown hair and brown eyes.
His dress hinted at careful habits rather than at fashionable tailors.
Gold-rimmed spectacles gave him a studious air, which disappeared
whenever he spoke. As if at the sound of his own voice, his eyes took on
a look of alert self-confidence which interested the bank president.
Mr. Dawson was deeply prejudiced against the look of extreme astuteness,
blended with the desire to create a favourable impression, so familiar
to him as the president of the richest bank in Wall Street.
“You are Mr.----” The president looked at the stranger’s card as though
he had left it unread until he had finished far more important business.
It really was unnecessary; but it had become a habit, which he lost only
when speaking to his equals or his superiors in wealth.
“Grinnell,” prompted the stranger, very calmly. He was so unimpressed by
the president that the president was impressed by him.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Williams tells me you wish to become one of our
depositors?”
“Yes, sir. I have here,” taking a slip of paper from his pocket-book,
“an Assay Office check on the Sub-Treasury. It is for a trifle over a
hundred thousand dollars.”
Even the greatest bank in Wall Street must have a kindly feeling toward
depositors of a hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Dawson permitted himself
to smile graciously.
“I am sure we shall be glad to have your account, Mr. Grinnell,” he
said. “You are in business in----” The slight arching of his eyebrows,
rather than the inflection of his voice, made his words a delicate
interrogation. He was a small, slender man, greyhaired and
grey-moustached, with an air of polite aloofness from trivialities. His
manners were what you might expect of a man whose grandfather had been
Minister to France, and had never forgotten it; nor had his children.
His self-possession was so great that it was not noticeable.
“I am not in any business, Mr. Dawson, unless,” said the young man
with a smile that deprived his voice of any semblance of pertness or of
premeditated discourtesy, “it is the business of depositing $103,648.67
with the Metropolitan National Bank. My friend, Professor Willetts, of
Columbia, gave me a letter of introduction. Here it is. I may say,
Mr. Dawson, that I haven’t the slightest intention of disturbing this
account, as far as I know now, for an indefinite period.” The president
read the letter. It was from the professor of metallurgy at Columbia,
who was an old acquaintance of Dawson’s. It merely said that George K.
Grinnell was one of his old students, a graduate of the School of
Mines, who had asked him to suggest a safe bank of deposit. This the
Metropolitan certainly was. He had asked his young friend to attach his
own signature at the bottom, since Grinnell had no other bank accounts,
and no other way of having his signature verified. Mr. Grinnell had said
he wished his money to be absolutely safe, and Professor Willetts took
great pleasure in sending him to Mr. Dawson.
Mr. Dawson bowed his head--an acquiescence meant to be encouraging.
To the young man the necessity for such encouragement was not clear.
Possibly it showed in his eyes, for Mr. Dawson said very politely, in
an almost courtly way he had at times to show some people that an
aristocrat could do business aristocratically:
“It is not usual for us to accept accounts from strangers. We do not
really know.” very gently, “that you are the man to whom this letter was
given, nor that your signature is that of Mr. George K. Grinnell.”
The young man laughed pleasantly. “I see your position, Mr. Dawson, but,
really, I am not important enough to be impersonated by anybody. As for
my being George K. Grinnell, I’ve laboured under that impression for
twenty-nine years. I’ll have Professor Willetts in person introduce me,
if you wish. I have some letters----” He made a motion toward his breast
pocket, but Mr. Dawson held up a hand in polite dissent; he was above
suspicions. “And as for my signature, if you will send a clerk with me
to the Assay Office, next door they will doubtless verify it to your
satisfaction; I can just as easily bring legal tender notes, I suppose.
In any case, as I have no intention of touching this money for some time
to come, I suppose the bank will be safe from----”
“Oh,” interrupted Dawson, with a sort of subdued cordiality, “as I told
you before, while we do not usually take accounts from people of whom we
know nothing in a business way, we will make an exception in your case.”
That the young man might not think the bank’s eagerness for deposits
made its officers unbusinesslike, the president added, with a
politely explanatory smile: “Professor Willetts’s letter is sufficient
introduction. As you say you are not in business--”
He paused and looked at the young man for confirmation.
“No, sir; I happen to have this money, and I desire a safe place to
keep it in. I may bring a little more. It depends upon certain family
matters. But that is for the future to decide. In the meantime, I should
like to leave this money here, untouched.”
“Very well, sir.” The president pushed a button on his desk.
A bright-looking, neatly dressed office-boy appeared, his face
exaggeratedly attentive.
“Ask Mr. Williams to come in, please.” The office-boy turned on his
heels as by a military command, and hastened away. It was the bank’s
training; the president’s admirers said it showed his genius for
organization down to the smallest detail. Presently the assistant
cashier entered.
“Mr. Williams, Mr. Grinnell will be one of our most valued depositors.
We must show him that we appreciate his confidence in us. Kindly attend
to the necessary details.” Mr. Dawson paused. Perhaps his hesitancy
was meant as an invitation to Mr. George Kitchell Grinnell to vouchsafe
further information of a personal nature. But Mr. Grinnell said, with a
smile: “Many thanks, Mr. Dawson,” and Mr. Dawson smiled back, politely.
As the men turned to go, he took up the underwriting plan and forgot
all about the incident. It was a Thursday. It might as well have been a
Monday or a Tuesday; but it was not.
Mr. Williams called up Professor Willetts on the telephone, who said he
had given a letter of introduction to George K. Grinnell. He described
Grinnell’s appearance, and added that Grinnell had been one of his
students, and was quite well up on metallurgy, but was not, so far as
the professor knew, engaged in active business. He thought Grinnell had
some private means. The Assay Office people had identified Grinnell and
his signature. It was not much information, but it was enough.
On the following Thursday, after the close of the business day, Mr.
Dawson, reading over some routine memoranda submitted by the cashier,
found his gaze arrested by a line that told of the deposit of $151,008
by “George K. Grinnell.” He sent for the cashier.
“What about this $151,000 deposit by George K. Grinnell?” he asked.
“He deposited an Assay Office check, the same as he did last week.”
The president frowned. He was puzzled.
“If he should happen to make any further deposits of this character,
tell the receiving teller to say I should like to see him, please.”
“Very well, sir.”
The president turned to his desk again, and promptly forgot the
incident--forgot it for exactly one week. On the following Thursday,
shortly before noon, Williams, the assistant cashier--a short, stout
man, with an oleaginous smile--approached his feared chief.
“Excuse me, Mr. Dawson,”--the assistant cashier’s habitual attitude
before the president was one uninterrupted apology for existing at
all--“Mr. Grinnell is here.”
“Grinnell? Grinnell?” mused the president, frowning.
“He has just deposited $250,000--an Assay Office check, the same as last
Thursday. You said if he should----”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Mr. Dawson sharply. “Tell him to be kind enough
to come in.” He muttered to himself: “That makes half a million in
gold in a fortnight. H’m!” When Mr. Dawson h’mmed to himself it meant
business--usually, woe to the vanquished!
He rose to greet the h’m-compelling depositor.
“How do you do, Mr. Grinnell?” He smiled with a cordiality that was more
than mere affability and extended his hand. The president’s grasp was
firm. Wall Street said that his soul had been in cold storage some
thirty thousand centuries before it came down to earth to animate
the body of Richard Dawson. But Mr. Dawson, just as there are men who
endeavour to seem honest by habitually looking you straight in the eyes,
believed that strong pressure must indicate genuine friendliness in a
hand clasp.
Mr. Grinnell smiled. There was not the faintest trace of hostility in
the young man’s smile; but it was not a fatuous smile, nevertheless.
“The cashier said you----”
“Yes; I told him to ask you to be good enough to see me. I hope I am not
inconveniencing you?”
“Not at all. But I fancy you are very busy.”
The president smiled in self-defence.
“Mr. Grinnell,” he said, with a sort of quizzical joviality, “you have
been a source of some--I’ll own up”--with the amused smile of men when
they confess to an essentially feminine sin--“curiosity. I tell you
frankly that I’d very much like to know more about you--what you are
doing, what you have done, what you intend to do. In the past fifteen
days you have deposited with us a half-million in gold.” He again
smiled; this time interrogatively.
“Mr. Dawson,” the young man answered, very seriously, though not in the
slightest degree rebukingly, “really I can add nothing to what I told
you when I first had the pleasure of seeing you. As I said then, I have
not the slightest intention of disturbing the account, not to the extent
of one cent, so far as I can see now. Indeed, you may safely assume that
this money will remain untouched for an indefinite period. I’d rather
keep the money here than in a safe-deposit vault. Still,” with a smile
for the first time, “if you think I’d better transfer my account to the
Eastern National, or the Marshall National, to save you further----”
“Oh, my dear Mr. Grinnell!” in a tone that conveyed to a nicety | 2,530.982146 |
2023-11-16 18:59:15.2607740 | 1,157 | 13 |
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{253}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 176.]
SATURDAY, MARCH 12. 1853
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
Marlowe's "Lust's Dominion" 253
Dover Castle: a Note to Hasted 254
Dean Swift: Autographs in Books, by George Daniel 255
Shakspeare Elucidations, by Thomas Keightley 255
Imprecatory Epitaphs, by Dr. E. Charlton 256
Derivation of "Lad" and "Lass" 256
MINOR NOTES:--Iona--Inscriptions in Parochial Registers--
Lieutenant--"Prigging Tooth" or "Pugging Tooth"--
London--Note from the Cathedral at Seville--Riddles
for the Post Office 257
QUERIES:--
National Portraits: Portrait of the Duke of Gloucester,
Son of Charles I., by Albert Way 258
Boston Queries, by Pishey Thompson 258
Welborne Family 259
Descendants of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, by C. Gonville 259
MINOR QUERIES:--English Bishops deprived by Queen
Elizabeth, 1559--John Williams of Southwark, Esq.--
"A Screw"--Tanner's MSS.--The Westminster Assembly of
Divines--The Witch Countess of Morton--Mary, Daughter
of King James I. of Scotland--Hibernicis Hibernior--
The Cucking-stool, when last used--Grafts and the
Parent Tree--Conway Family--Salt--Geological
Query--Wandering Jew--Frescheville Family--The
Wednesday Club--Oratories--Arms of De Turneham--
Poisons--Open Seats or Pews in Churches--Burial of
unclaimed Corpse 260
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Sir John Powell--"Reynard
the Fox"--Campvere, Privileges of--Bishops Inglis and
Stanser of Nova Scotia 262
REPLIES:--
Monument to Barbara Mowbray and Elizabeth Curle at Antwerp 263
Rigby Correspondence 264
Marigmerii--Melinglerii--Berefellarii 264
PHOTOGRAPHIC NOTES AND QUERIES:--Replies to Photographic
Questions--Developing Paper Pictures with Pyrogallic
Acid--Photography in the Open Air; Improved Camera--
New Effect in Collodion Pictures--Powdered Alum:
How does it act? 265
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Chatterton--Princes'
Whipping-boys--"Grub Street Journal"--"Pinch of
Snuff"--Race for Canterbury--Chichester Pallant--Scarfs
worn by Clergymen--Alicia Lady Lisle--Major-General
Lambert--Mistletoe--The Sizain--Venda--Meaning of
"Assassin"--Dimidium Scientiae--Epigrams--Use of Tobacco
before the Discovery of America--Oldham, Bishop of
Exeter--Tortoiseshell Tom Cat--Irish Rhymes--Consecrated
Rings--Brasses since 1688--Derivation of Lowbell--The
Negative given to the Demand of the Clergy at
Merton--Nugget--Blackguard 267
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 273
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 274
Notices to Correspondents 274
Advertisements 274
* * * * *
Notes.
MARLOWE'S "LUST'S DOMINION."
The Rev. Mr. Dyce omits the play of _Lust's Dominion, or the Lascivious
Queen_, from the excellent, and (in all other respects) complete edition of
Marlowe's _Works_ which he has lately published, considering it to have
been "distinctly shown by Mr. Collier" that it could not have been the work
of that poet. I must say, however, that the argument for its rejection does
not appear to me by any means conclusive. It runs thus: in the first act is
presented the death of a certain King Philip of Spain; and this King Philip
must be Philip II., because in a tract printed in the _Somers' Collection_,
giving an account of the "last words" of that monarch, are | 2,531.280814 |
2023-11-16 18:59:15.3627920 | 2,320 | 20 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
[Illustration: Rudyard Kipling]
[Illustration]
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
[Illustration]
DECORATED BY
JOHN LOCKWOOD KIPLING, C.I.E.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1906
Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY CO.
How Fear Came, The Law of the Jungle;
The Miracle of Purun Bhagat, a Song of Kabir;
The Undertakers, a Ripple-song.
Copyright, 1894, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.
Quiquern, "Angutivun tina."
Copyright, 1895, by Irving Bacheller.
The Spring Running, The Outsong.
Copyright, 1895, by John Brisben Walker.
Letting in the Jungle, Mowgli's Song Against People.
Copyright, 1894, by Rudyard Kipling.
Red Dog, Chil's Song.
Copyright, 1895, by Rudyard Kipling.
The King's Ankus, The Song of the Little Hunter.
Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co.
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
"_Now these are the Laws of the Jungle,
and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law
and the haunch and the hump is--Obey!_"
CONTENTS
PAGE
HOW FEAR CAME 1
THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE 29
THE MIRACLE OF PURUN BHAGAT 33
A SONG OF KABIR 61
LETTING IN THE JUNGLE 63
MOWGLI'S SONG AGAINST PEOPLE 112
THE UNDERTAKERS 115
A RIPPLE-SONG 155
THE KING'S ANKUS 157
THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER 191
QUIQUERN 193
"ANGUTIVUN TINA" 234
RED DOG 237
CHIL'S SONG 281
THE SPRING RUNNING 283
THE OUTSONG 321
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
The stream is shrunk--the pool is dry,
And we be comrades, thou and I;
With fevered jowl and sunken flank
Each jostling each along the bank;
And, by one drouthy fear made still,
Foregoing thought of quest or kill.
Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see
The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he,
And the tall buck, unflinching, note
The fangs that tore his father's throat.
_The pools are shrunk--the streams are dry,
And we be playmates, thou and I,
Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--loose
The rain that breaks the Water Truce._
[Illustration]
HOW FEAR CAME
The Law of the Jungle--which is by far the oldest law in the
world--has arranged for almost every kind of accident that may befall
the Jungle People, till now its code is as perfect as time and custom
can make it. If you have read the other book about Mowgli, you will
remember that he spent a great part of his life in the Seeonee
Wolf-Pack, learning the Law from Baloo, the Brown Bear; and it was
Baloo who told him, when the boy grew impatient at the constant
orders, that the Law was like the Giant Creeper, because it dropped
across every one's back and no one could escape. "When thou hast lived
as long as I have, Little Brother, thou wilt see how all the Jungle
obeys at least one Law. And that will be no pleasant sight," said
Baloo.
This talk went in at one ear and out at the other, for a boy who
spends his life eating and sleeping does not worry about anything till
it actually stares him in the face. But, one year, Baloo's words came
true, and Mowgli saw all the Jungle working under the Law.
It began when the winter Rains failed almost entirely, and Ikki, the
Porcupine, meeting Mowgli in a bamboo-thicket, told him that the wild
yams were drying up. Now everybody knows that Ikki is ridiculously
fastidious in his choice of food, and will eat nothing but the very
best and ripest. So Mowgli laughed and said, "What is that to me?"
"Not much _now_," said Ikki, rattling his quills in a stiff,
uncomfortable way, "but later we shall see. Is there any more diving
into the deep rock-pool below the Bee-Rocks, Little Brother?"
"No. The foolish water is going all away, and I do not wish to break
my head," said Mowgli, who, in those days, was quite sure that he
knew as much as any five of the Jungle People put together.
"That is thy loss. A small crack might let in some wisdom." Ikki
ducked quickly to prevent Mowgli from pulling his nose-bristles, and
Mowgli told Baloo what Ikki had said. Baloo looked very grave, and
mumbled half to himself: "If I were alone I would change my
hunting-grounds now, before the others began to think. And
yet--hunting among strangers ends in fighting; and they might hurt the
Man-cub. We must wait and see how the _mohwa_ blooms."
That spring the _mohwa_ tree, that Baloo was so fond of, never
flowered. The greeny, cream-, waxy blossoms were heat-killed
before they were born, and only a few bad-smelling petals came down
when he stood on his hind legs and shook the tree. Then, inch by inch,
the untempered heat crept into the heart of the Jungle, turning it
yellow, brown, and at last black. The green growths in the sides of
the ravines burned up to broken wires and curled films of dead stuff;
the hidden pools sank down and caked over, keeping the last least
footmark on their edges as if it had been cast in iron; the
juicy-stemmed creepers fell away from the trees they clung to and died
at their feet; the bamboos withered, clanking when the hot winds
blew, and the moss peeled off the rocks deep in the Jungle, till they
were as bare and as hot as the quivering blue boulders in the bed of
the stream.
The birds and the monkey-people went north early in the year, for they
knew what was coming; and the deer and the wild pig broke far away to
the perished fields of the villages, dying sometimes before the eyes
of men too weak to kill them. Chil, the Kite, stayed and grew fat, for
there was a great deal of carrion, and evening after evening he
brought the news to the beasts, too weak to force their way to fresh
hunting-grounds, that the sun was killing the Jungle for three days'
flight in every direction.
Mowgli, who had never known what real hunger meant, fell back on stale
honey, three years old, scraped out of deserted rock-hives--honey
black as a sloe, and dusty with dried sugar. He hunted, too, for
deep-boring grubs under the bark of the trees, and robbed the wasps of
their new broods. All the game in the Jungle was no more than skin and
bone, and Bagheera could kill thrice in a night, and hardly get a full
meal. But the want of water was the worst, for though the Jungle
People drink seldom they must drink deep.
And the heat went on and on, and sucked up all the moisture, till at
last the main channel of the Waingunga was the only stream that
carried a trickle of water between its dead banks; and when Hathi, the
wild elephant, who lives for a hundred years and more, saw a long,
lean blue ridge of rock show dry in the very center of the stream, he
knew that he was looking at the Peace Rock, and then and there he
lifted up his trunk and proclaimed the Water Truce, as his father
before him had proclaimed it fifty years ago. The deer, wild pig, and
buffalo took up the cry hoarsely; and Chil, the Kite, flew in great
circles far and wide, whistling and shrieking the warning.
By the Law of the Jungle it is death to kill at the drinking-places
when once the Water Truce has been declared. The reason of this is
that drinking comes before eating. Every one in the Jungle can
scramble along somehow when only game is scarce; but water is water,
and when there is but one source of supply, all hunting stops while
the Jungle People go there for their needs. In good seasons, when
water was plentiful, those who came down to drink at the Waingunga--or
anywhere else, for that matter--did so at the risk of their lives, and
that risk made no small part of the fascination of the night's doings.
To move down so cunningly that never a leaf stirred; to wade
knee-deep in the roaring shallows that drown all noise from behind; to
drink, looking backward over one shoulder, every muscle ready for the
first desperate bound of keen terror; to roll on the sandy margin, and
return, wet-muzzled and well plumped out, to the admiring herd, was a
thing that all tall-antlered young bucks took a delight in, precisely
because they knew that at any moment Bagheera or Shere Khan might leap
upon them and bear them down. But now all that life-and-death fun was
ended, and the Jungle People came up, starved and weary, to the
shrunken river,--tiger, bear, deer, buffalo, and | 2,531.382832 |
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Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. A printer
error has been changed, and it is listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
[Illustration: CHALK, HOUSE WHERE DICKENS SPENT HIS HONEYMOON]
DICKENS-LAND
Described by J. A. NICKLIN
Pictured by E. W. HASLEHUST
[Illustration]
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY 1911
Beautiful England
_Volumes Ready_
OXFORD
THE ENGLISH LAKES
CANTERBURY
SHAKESPEARE-LAND
THE THAMES
WINDSOR CASTLE
CAMBRIDGE
NORWICH AND THE BROADS
THE HEART OF WESSEX
THE PEAK DISTRICT
THE CORNISH RIVIERA
DICKENS-LAND
WINCHESTER
THE ISLE OF WIGHT
CHESTER AND THE DEE
YORK
_Uniform with this Series_
Beautiful Ireland
LEINSTER
ULSTER
MUNSTER
CONNAUGHT
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Chalk, House where Dickens spent his honeymoon _Frontispiece_
Gadshill Place from the Gardens 8
Rochester from Strood 14
Restoration House, Rochester 20
Cobham Park 26
Cooling Church 32
Aylesford 38
Maidstone, All Saints' Church and the Palace 42
Jasper's Gateway 46
Chalk Church 50
Shorne Church 54
The Leather Bottle, Cobham 58
[Illustration]
The central shrine of a literary cult is at least as often its hero's
home of adoption as his place of birth. To the Wordsworthian,
Cockermouth has but a faint, remote interest in comparison with Grasmere
and Rydal Mount. Edinburgh, for all its associations with the life and
the genius of Scott, is not as Abbotsford, or as that beloved Border
country in which his memory has struck its deepest roots. And so it is
with Dickens. The accident of birth attaches his name but slightly to
Landport in South-sea. The Dickens pilgrim treads in the most palpable
footsteps of "Boz" amongst the landmarks of a Victorian London, too
rapidly disappearing, and through the "rich and varied landscape" on
either side of the Medway, "covered with cornfields and pastures, with
here and there a windmill or a distant church", which Dickens loved from
boyhood, peopled with the creatures of his teeming fancy, and chose for
his last and most-cherished habitation.
What Abbotsford was to Scott, that, almost, to Dickens in his later
years was Gadshill Place. From his study window in the "grave red-brick
house" "on his little Kentish freehold"--a house which he had "added to
and stuck bits upon in all manner of ways, so that it was as pleasantly
irregular and as violently opposed to all architectural ideas as the
most hopeful man could possibly desire"--he looked out, so he wrote to a
friend, "on as pretty a view as you will find in a long day's English
ride.... Cobham Park and Woods are behind the house; the distant Thames
is in front; the Medway, with Rochester and its old castle and
cathedral, on one side." On every side he could not fail to reach, in
those brisk walks with which he sought, too strenuously, perhaps, health
and relaxation, some object redolent of childish dreams or mature
achievement, of intimate joys and sorrows, of those phantoms of his
brain which to him then, as to hundreds of thousands of his readers
since, were not less real than the men and women of everyday encounter.
On those seven miles between Rochester and Maidstone, which he
discovered to be one of the most beautiful walks in England, he might be
tempted to strike off at Aylesford for a short stroll to such a
pleasant old Elizabethan mansion as Cobtree Hall, the very type, it may
be, of Manor Farm, Dingley Dell, or for a longer tramp to Town Malling,
from which he may well have borrowed many strokes for the picture of
Muggleton, that town of sturdy Kentish cricket. Sometimes he would walk
across the marshes to Gravesend, and returning through the village of
Chalk, would pause for a retrospective glance at the house where his
honeymoon was spent and a good part of _Pickwick_ planned. In the latter
end of the year, when he could take a short cut through the stubble
fields from Higham to the marshes lying further down the Thames, he
would often visit the desolate churchyard where little Pip was so
terribly frightened by the convict. Or, descending the long <DW72> from
Gadshill to Strood, and crossing Rochester Bridge--over the balustrades
of which Mr. Pickwick leaned in agreeable reverie when he was accosted
by Dismal Jemmy--the author of _Great Expectations_ and _Edwin Drood_
would pass from Rochester High Street--where Mr. Pumblechook's seed shop
looks across the way at Miss Twinkleton's establishment--into the Vines,
to compare once more the impression on his unerring "inward eye" with
the actual features of that Restoration House which, under another name,
he assigned to Miss Havisham, and so round by Fort Pitt to the Chatham
lines. And there--who can doubt?--if he seemed to hear the melancholy
wind that whistled through the deserted fields as Mr. Winkle took his
reluctant stand, a wretched and desperate duellist, his thoughts would
also stray to the busy dockyard town and "a blessed little room" in a
plain-looking plaster-fronted house from which dated all his early
readings and imaginings.
Between the "very small and not-over-particularly-taken-care-of boy" and
the strong, self-reliant man whose fame had filled two continents,
Gadshill Place was an immediate link. Everyone knows the story which
Dickens tells of a vision of his former self meeting him on the road to
Canterbury.
"So smooth was the old high road, and so fresh were the horses, and
so fast went I, that it was midway between Gravesend and Rochester,
and the widening river was bearing the ships, white-sailed or
black-smoked, out to sea, when I noticed by the wayside a very
queer small boy.
| 2,531.487106 |
2023-11-16 18:59:15.5601050 | 2,089 | 13 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Gary Toffelmire, Greg Dunham and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Powers and Maxine
_By C.N. and A.M. Williamson_
Author of
"The Princess Virginia," "My Friend the Chauffeur,"
"The Car of Destiny," "The Princess Passes,"
"Lady Betty Across the Water," Etc.
Copyright, 1907, by C.N. and A.M. Williamson.
_With Illustrations
By FRANK T. MERRILL_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. LISA'S KNIGHT AND LISA'S SISTER
II. LISA LISTENS
III. LISA MAKES MISCHIEF
IV. IVOR TRAVELS TO PARIS
V. IVOR DOES WHAT HE CAN FOR MAXINE
VI. IVOR HEARS THE STORY
VII. IVOR IS LATE FOR AN APPOINTMENT
VIII. MAXINE ACTS ON THE STAGE AND OFF
IX. MAXINE GIVES BACK THE DIAMONDS
X. MAXINE DRIVES WITH THE ENEMY
XI. MAXINE OPENS THE GATE FOR A MAN
XII. IVOR GOES INTO THE DARK
XIII. IVOR FINDS SOMETHING IN THE DARK
XIV. DIANA TAKES A MIDNIGHT DRIVE
XV. DIANA HEARS NEWS
XVI. DIANA UNDERTAKES A STRANGE ERRAND
XVII. MAXINE MAKES A BARGAIN
XVIII. MAXINE MEETS DIANA
XIX. MAXINE PLAYS THE LAST HAND OF THE GAME
LISA DRUMMOND'S PART
The Powers and Maxine
CHAPTER I
LISA'S KNIGHT AND LISA'S SISTER
It had come at last, the moment I had been thinking about for days. I
was going to have him all to myself, the only person in the world I ever
loved.
He had asked me to sit out two dances, and that made me think he really
must want to be with me, not just because I'm the "pretty girl's
sister," but because I'm myself, Lisa Drummond.
Being what I am,--queer, and plain, I can't bear to think that men like
girls for their beauty; yet I can't help liking men better if they are
handsome.
I don't know if Ivor Dundas is the handsomest man I ever saw, but he
seems so to me. I don't know if he is very good, or really very
wonderful, although he's clever and ambitious enough; but he has a way
that makes women fond of him; and men admire him, too. He looks straight
into your eyes when he talks to you, as if he cared more for you than
anyone else in the world: and if I were an artist, painting a picture of
a dark young knight starting off for the crusades, I should ask Ivor
Dundas to stand as my model.
Perhaps his expression wouldn't be exactly right for the pious young
crusader, for it isn't at all saintly, really: still, I have seen just
that rapt sort of look on his face. It was generally when he was talking
to Di: but I wouldn't let myself believe that it meant anything in
particular. He has the reputation of having made lots of women fall in
love with him. This was one of the first things I heard when Di and I
came over from America to visit Lord and Lady Mountstuart. And of course
there was the story about him and Maxine de Renzie. Everyone was talking
of it when we first arrived in London.
My heart beat very fast as I guided him into the room which Lady
Mountstuart has given Di and me for our special den. It is separated by
another larger room from the ballroom; but both doors were open and we
could see people dancing.
I told him he might sit by me on the sofa under Di's book shelves,
because we could talk better there. Usually, I don't like being in front
of a mirror, because--well, because I'm only the "pretty girl's sister."
But to-night I didn't mind. My cheeks were red, and my eyes bright.
Sitting down, you might almost take me for a tall girl, and the way my
gown was made didn't show that one shoulder is a little higher than the
other. Di designed the dress.
I thought, if I wasn't pretty, I did look interesting, and original. I
looked as if I could _think_ of things; and as if I could feel.
And I was feeling. I was wondering why he had been so good to me lately,
unless he cared. Of course it might be for Di's sake; but I am not so
queer-looking that no man could ever be fascinated by me.
They say pity is akin to love. Perhaps he had begun by pitying me,
because Di has everything and I nothing; and then, afterwards, he had
found out that I was intelligent and sympathetic.
He sat by me and didn't speak at first. Just then Di passed the
far-away, open door of the ballroom, dancing with Lord Robert West, the
Duke of Glasgow's brother.
"Thank you so much for the book," I said.
(He had sent me a book that morning--one he'd heard me say I wanted.)
He didn't seem to hear, and then he turned suddenly, with one of his
nice smiles. I always think he has the nicest smile in the world: and
certainly he has the nicest voice. His eyes looked very kind, and a
little sad. I willed him hard to love me.
"It made me happy to get it," I went on.
"It made me happy to send it," he said.
"Does it please you to do things for me?" I asked.
"Why, of course."
"You do like poor little me a tiny bit, then?" I couldn't help
adding--"Even though I'm different from other girls?"
"Perhaps more for that reason," he said, with his voice as kind as his
eyes.
"Oh, what shall I do if you go away!" I burst out, partly because I
really meant it, and partly because I hoped it might lead him on to say
what I wanted so much to hear. "Suppose you get that consulship at
Algiers."
"I hope I may," he said quickly. "A consulship isn't a very great
thing--but--it's a beginning. I want it badly."
"I wish I had some influence with the Foreign Secretary," said I, not
telling him that the man actually dislikes me, and looks at me as if I
were a toad. "Of course, he's Lord Mountstuart's cousin, and
brother-in-law as well, and that makes him seem quite in the family,
doesn't it? But it isn't as if I were really related to Lady
Mountstuart. I was never sorry before that Di and I are only
step-sisters--no, not a bit sorry, though her mother had all the money,
and brought it to my poor father; but now I wish I were Lady
Mountstuart's niece, and that I had some of the coaxing, 'girly' ways Di
can put on when she wants to get something out of people. I'd make the
Foreign Secretary give you exactly what you wanted, even if it took you
far, far from me."
With that, he looked at me suddenly, and his face grew slowly red, under
the brown.
"You are a very kind Imp," he said. "Imp" is the name he invented for
me. I loved to hear him call me by it.
"Kind!" I echoed. "One isn't kind when one--likes--people."
I saw by his eyes, then, that he knew. But I didn't care. If only I
could make him say the words I longed to hear--even because he pitied
me, because he had found out how I loved him, and because he had really
too much of the dark-young-Crusader-knight in him, to break my heart! I
made up my mind that I would take him at his word, quickly, if he gave
me the chance; and I would tell Di that he was dreadfully in love with
me. That would make her writhe.
I kept my eyes on him, and I let them tell him everything. He saw; there
was no doubt of that; but he did not say the words I hoped for. A moment
or two he was silent; and then, gazing away towards the door of the
ballroom, he spoke very gently, as if I had been a child--though I am
older than Di by three or four years.
"Thank you, Imp, for letting me see that you are such a staunch little
friend," said he. "Now that I know you really do take an interest in my
affairs, I think I may tell you why I want so much to go to
Algiers--though very likely you've guessed already--you are such an
'intuitive' girl. And besides, I haven't tried very hard to hide my
feelings--not as hard as I ought, perhaps, when I realise how little I
have to offer to your sister. Now you understand all, don't you--even if
you didn't before? I love her, and if I go to Algiers--"
"Don't say any more," I managed to cut him short. "I can't | 2,531.580145 |
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Produced by Dianne Bean
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES
By Hans Christian Andersen
CONTENTS
The Emperor's New Clothes
The Swineherd
The Real Princess
The Shoes of Fortune
The Fir Tree
The Snow Queen
The Leap-Frog
The Elderbush
The Bell
The Old House
The Happy Family
The Story | 2,531.586089 |
2023-11-16 18:59:15.5661490 | 1,589 | 20 |
Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines,
Jonathan Ingram, Wayne Hammond, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: “‘CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!’ CAME THE ANSWER FROM CUTLER’S
GUN.”
(SEE PAGE 319.)]
THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE.
Vol. XXII. JANUARY, 1909. No. 130.
The Beulah County “War.”
BY H. M. VERNON.
One of the most striking characteristics of the Westerner
is the high regard in which he holds womankind. Even in the
roughest mining camps a woman is absolutely safe, and is
treated with a consideration unknown in many more civilized
centres. This remarkable story illustrates the Westerner’s
innate chivalry in a very striking fashion. Sooner than drag
the name of a young schoolmistress into a quarrel, a resident
of Three Corners, Montana, allowed himself to be made an
outlaw, and for weeks defied the population of a whole county
to arrest him, even when a field gun was brought out to shell
his fastness. How in his extremity the girl he had befriended
came to his rescue and put an end to this extraordinary “war”
is graphically told in the narrative.
In the extreme western part of the State of Montana, U.S.A., in the
County of Beulah, lies a little town called Three Corners. At first
only a junction on the Rio Grande Railway, from which point countless
thousands of cattle were shipped to all parts of the world, Three
Corners grew to be a flourishing place. The wooden shanties, gambling
“joints,” and dance halls gave way to brick buildings, several banks,
a school, and other signs of progress, as respectable settlers moved
farther toward the Golden West. Of course, a part of the old town
remained, and with it a few of the characters typical of a Western “cow
town.” Among these was a tall, raw-boned man who had drifted West in
the ‘eighties, settling at Three Corners and opening a gambling-house.
His name was “Jim” Cutler. He was a man of very few words, but with
one great failing--he would shoot first and argue afterwards. Yet this
gambler, who was known and feared far and wide as a “gun-fighter,”
was at heart the mildest of men, beloved by all the children in the
town, to whom he gave coppers galore. Furthermore, Cutler would put up
with all manner of insult from a man under the influence of liquor,
or from “Tenderfeet” who did not know their danger. Cutler’s shooting
propensities were directed solely toward avowed “bad men” or those who
delighted in being known as bullies. In the course of his altercations
with such characters this tall, raw-boned man--who could, and did,
“pull his gun” like a streak of lightning--added to the population of
the local cemetery with a score of six.
Among the new-comers to Three Corners during the rehabilitation of that
town was a Hebrew named Moses Goldman. This man, a good-looking fellow
of some twenty-eight years, hailed from New York. He opened a shop,
and, with the business ability of his race, soon succeeded in making
it the principal draper’s establishment of the place. Before long,
however, reports began to circulate that the handsome young Hebrew was
not quite so respectful in demeanour towards his lady customers as he
should have been, and, although highly popular with a certain element,
the major portion of Three Corners’ female population gave Goldman’s
shop a wide berth.
One Monday morning Jim Cutler, who had been up all night looking after
the “game” in his establishment, was just leaving the place when a
young woman, whom he recognised as the schoolmistress, ran up to
him and said: “Oh, Mr. Cutler, would you mind walking as far as the
school-house with me?”
Cutler, somewhat astonished, did so, and was gratefully thanked for
his trouble. After leaving her he walked slowly back to his rooms,
wondering why he of all men should have been chosen to escort the
pretty “school ma’am.”
Some days afterwards Cutler, who passed the school on his way to and
from the Gem Saloon (his place), saw the mistress deliberately cross
the street just before reaching Goldman’s shop, and continue on her
way on the other side. He also saw Goldman come to the door and try
to attract the girl’s attention. When he reached Goldman, the latter;
twirling his moustache, remarked, laughingly, “Shy girl, that, eh?”
Cutler looked at the Hebrew for a moment, and then answered quietly, as
he moved away, “She ain’t your kind.”
Three weeks after this little episode there was a ball at the City
Hotel, and, naturally, almost the entire youth and beauty of Three
Corners “turned out.” The City Hotel was just opposite Cutler’s saloon,
and at about one o’clock the gambler was sitting in a chair outside his
place, listening to the music, when the schoolmistress and her mother
left the hotel on their way home. A moment later a man also quitted the
building and followed them. Presently he stopped the two ladies and
attempted to converse with them. The younger of the women apparently
expostulated with him, and then the two went on, leaving him standing
at the corner. Cutler recognised the solitary figure as that of
Goldman, the draper, and drew his own conclusions. Next morning Cutler
made it his business to leave the Gem Saloon just as the schoolmistress
was passing, and strode up to her.
“Miss Thurloe,” he said, “you were stopped last night on your way home.
Can I be of any assistance to you? I know you have only your mother to
protect you.”
The girl gave him a grateful look, and explained that Goldman had
repeatedly forced his attentions on her. She had done her best to send
him about his business, but he continually annoyed her, even going
so far as to enter the school-house, interrupting lessons and making
himself generally obnoxious.
Cutler smiled grimly during the girl’s hesitating recital, saw her
safely to her destination, and then went home for a sleep. At three
o’clock that afternoon he walked leisurely towards the school-house,
stopped at the fence just by the rear door, and chatted with the boys,
it being the recess hour. Suddenly, approaching from the opposite
direction, he beheld Goldman, who walked straight into the school-house
without having seen the gambler. The latter waited for a few moments,
then he also entered the building. Reaching the schoolroom, at the end
of a short hall, he found the door locked, and promptly threw himself
against it with all his strength. The door gave way with a crash and
Cutler leapt in, to see the schoolmistress struggling in the arms of
Goldman. She was fighting like a tigress, but the Jew’s hand, held
tightly | 2,531.586189 |
2023-11-16 18:59:15.5670150 | 920 | 13 | SCOTLAND A.D. 1803***
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
RECOLLECTIONS
OF A
TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND
A.D. 1803
* * * * *
BY DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
* * * * *
Edited by J. C. Shairp
CONTENTS.
DAY PAGE
PREFACE ix
First Week.
1. Left Keswick--Grisdale--Mosedale--Hesket 1
Newmarket--Caldbeck Falls
2. Ross Castle--Carlisle--Hatfield--Longtown 2
3. Solway Moss--Enter Scotland--Springfield--Gretna 3
Green--Annan--Dumfries
4. Burns's Grave 5
Ellisland--Vale of Nith 7
Brownhill 8
Poem to Burns's Sons 10
5. Thornhill--Drumlanrig--River Nith 11
Turnpike House 12
Sportsman 13
Vale of Menock 14
Wanlockhead 15
Leadhills 18
Miners 19
Hopetoun mansion 20
Hostess 20
6. Road to Crawfordjohn 22
Douglas Mill 28
Clyde--Lanerk 31
Boniton Linn 33
Second Week.
7. Falls of the Clyde 35
Cartland Crags 40
Fall of Stonebyres--Trough of the Clyde 43
Hamilton 44
8. Hamilton House 45
Baroncleuch--Bothwell Castle 48
Glasgow 52
9. Bleaching ground (Glasgow Green) 53
Road to Dumbarton 55
10. Rocks and Castle of Dumbarton 58
Vale of Leven 62
Smollett's Monument 63
Loch Achray 64
Luss 67
11. Islands of Loch Lomond 71
Road to Tarbet 75
The Cobbler 78
Tarbet 79
12. Left Tarbet for the Trossachs 81
Rob Roy's Caves 82
Inversneyde Ferryhouse and Waterfall 83
Singular building 84
Loch Ketterine 86
Glengyle 88
Mr. Macfarlane's 89
13. Breakfast at Glengyle 91
Lairds of Glengyle--Rob Roy 92
Burying ground 94
Ferryman's Hut 95
Trossachs 96
Loch Achray 101
Return to Ferryman's Hut 102
Third Week.
14. Left Loch Ketterine 106
Garrison House--Highland Girls 107
Ferryhouse at Inversneyde 108
Poem to the Highland Girl 113
Return to Tarbet 115
15. Coleridge resolves to go home 117
Arrochar--Loch Long 118
Parted with Coleridge 119
Glen Croe--The Cobbler 121
Glen Kinglas--Cairndow 123
16. Road to Inverary 124
Inverary 126
17. Vale of Arey 129
Loch Awe 134
Kilchurn Castle 138
Dalmally 139
18. Loch Awe 141
Taynuilt 143
Bunawe--Loch Etive 144
Tinkers 149
| 2,531.587055 |
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E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
A TEXAS MATCHMAKER
by
ANDY ADAMS
Author of 'The Log of a Cowboy'
ILLUSTRATED BY E. BOYD SMITH
1904
[Illustration: ROLLING THE BULL OVER LIKE A HOOP (page 207)]
TO
FRANK H. EARNEST
MOUNTED INSPECTOR U.S. CUSTOMS SERVICE
LAREDO, TEXAS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. LANCE LOVELACE
II. SHEPHERD'S FERRY
III. LAS PALOMAS
IV. CHRISTMAS
V. A PIGEON HUNT
VI. SPRING OF '76
VII. SAN JACINTO DAY
VIII. A CAT HUNT ON THE FRIO
IX. THE ROSE AND ITS THORN
X. AFTERMATH
XI. A TURKEY BAKE
XII. SUMMER OF '77
XIII. HIDE HUNTING
XIV. A TWO YEARS' DROUTH
XV. IN COMMEMORATION
XVI. MATCHMAKING
XVII. WINTER AT LAS PALOMAS
XVIII. AN INDIAN SCARE
XIX. HORSE BRANDS
XX. SHADOWS
XXI. INTERLOCUTORY PROCEEDINGS
XXII. SUNSET
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ROLLING THE BULL OVER LIKE A HOOP
WE GOT THE AMBULANCE OFF BEFORE SUNRISE
FLASHED A MESSAGE BACK
GAVE THE WILDEST HORSES THEIR HEADS
HE SPED DOWN THE COURSE
UTTERING A SINGLE PIERCING SNORT
CHAPTER I
LANCE LOVELACE
When I first found employment with Lance Lovelace, a Texas cowman, I
had not yet attained my majority, while he was over sixty. Though not
a native of Texas, "Uncle Lance" was entitled to be classed among its
pioneers, his parents having emigrated from Tennessee along with a party
of Stephen F. Austin's colonists in 1821. The colony with which his
people reached the state landed at Quintana, at the mouth of the Brazos
River, and shared the various hardships that befell all the early Texan
settlers, moving inland later to a more healthy locality. Thus the
education of young Lovelace was one of privation. Like other boys in
pioneer families, he became in turn a hewer of wood or drawer of
water, as the necessities of the household required, in reclaiming the
wilderness. When Austin hoisted the new-born Lone Star flag, and called
upon the sturdy pioneers to defend it, the adventurous settlers came
from every quarter of the territory, and among the first who responded
to the call to arms was young Lance Lovelace. After San Jacinto, when
the fighting was over and the victory won, he laid down his arms,
and returned to ranching with the same zeal and energy. The first
legislature assembled voted to those who had borne arms in behalf of the
new republic, lands in payment for their services. With this land scrip
for his pay, young Lovelace, in company with others, set out for the
territory lying south of the Nueces. They were a band of daring spirits.
The country was primitive and fascinated them, and they remained. Some
settled on the Frio River, though the majority crossed the Nueces, many
going as far south as the Rio Grande. The country was as large as the
men were daring, and there was elbow room for all and to spare. Lance
Lovelace located a ranch a few miles south of the Nueces River, and,
from the cooing of the doves in the encinal, named it Las Palomas.
"When I first settled here in 1838," said Uncle Lance to me one morning,
as we rode out across the range, "my nearest neighbor lived forty miles
up the river at Fort Ewell. Of course there were some Mexican families
nearer, north on the Frio, but they don't count. Say, Tom, but she was a
purty country then! Why, from those hills yonder, any morning you could
see a thousand antelope in a band going into the river to drink. And
wild turkeys? Well, the first few years we lived here, whole flocks
roosted every night in that farther point of the encinal. And in the
winter these prairies were just flooded with geese and brant. If you
wanted venison, all you had to do was to ride through those mesquite
thickets north of the river to jump a hundred deer in a morning's ride.
Oh, I tell you she was a land of plenty."
The pioneers of Texas belong to a day and generation which has almost
gone. If strong arms and daring spirits were required to | 2,531.587147 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. 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
PEARL STORY BOOK
_Stories and Legends of
Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day_
COMPILED BY
ADA M. SKINNER
AND
ELEANOR L. SKINNER
_Editors of "The Emerald Story Book,"
"The Topaz Story Book," "The Turquoise
Story Book," "Children's Plays," Etc._
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1919
Copyright 1910 by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
[Illustration: {Three shepherds look up at the sky, amazed}
_Drawn by Maxfield Parrish_]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers
for the use of valuable material in this book:
To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for permission to use "Holly" and
the legend of the "Yew" from "Shown to the Children Series"; to
Frederick A. Stokes Company for "The Voice of the Pine Trees," from
"Myths and Legends of Japan"; to the Wessels Company for "The First
Winter" by W. W. Canfield; to Julia Dodge for permission to use two
poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian Herald for a poem by
Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd for "The Pine
and the Flax" by Albrekt Segerstedt; to the Outlook Company for a
story by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for the poem "Who Loves
the Trees Best?"; to Laura E. Richards for her story "Christmas
Gifts"; to George Putnam and Sons for "Silver Bells" by Hamish Hendry,
and "The Happy Prince" by Oscar Wilde; to the Churchman for a story
by John P. Peters; to Dodd, Mead and Company for the story "Holly"
from the "Story Hour"; and "Prince Winter" from "The Four Seasons" by
Carl Ewald; to George Jacobs for "A Legend of St. Nicholas" from "In
God's Garden" by Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for "The New
Year's Bell" from "Christ-Child Tales" by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to
Jay T. Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for "The Snowball That Didn't
Melt" from "The Golden Goblet"; to the New York State Museum for
permission to use two stories contained in Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M.
Converse; to Small, Maynard and Company for "A Song of the Snow," from
"Complete Works of Madison Cawein."
The selections from James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, Celia
Thaxter, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret Deland, John
Townsend Trowbridge, and Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission
of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company,
authorized publishers of their works.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
PAGE
Winter (selection) _James Russell Lowell_ 2
The Ice King (Indian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 3
A Song of the Snow (poem) _Madison Cawein_ 9
King Frost and King Winter
(adapted) _Margaret T. Canby_ 11
The Snowstorm (poem) _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 18
The First Winter (Iroquois
legend) _W. W. Canfield_ 20
Snow Song (poem) _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 24
The Snow Maiden (Russian
legend. Translated from
the French) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 25
The Frost King (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 30
King Winter's Harvest _Selected_ 32
Old King Winter (poem) _Anna E. Skinner_ 36
Sheltering Wings _Harriet Louise Jerome_ 37
Snowflakes (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41
The Snow-Image _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 42
WINTER WOODS
The First Snow-Fall _James Russell Lowell_ 62
The Voice of the Pine Trees
(Japanese legend) _Frank Hadland Davis_ 63
The Pine Tree Maiden (Indian
legend) _Ada M. Skinner_ 68
The Holly _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 73
The Fable of the Three
Elms (poem) _Margaret E. Sangster, Jr._ 79
The Pine and the Willow _Mine Morishima_ 82
Why the Wild Rabbits Are
White in Winter
(Algonquin legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 86
The Yew _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 93
How the Pine Tree Did
Some Good _Samuel W. Duffield_ 95
A Wonderful Weaver (poem) _George Cooper_ 105
The Pine and the Flax _Albrekt Segerstedt_ 107
The Fir Tree (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 110
Why Bruin Has a Stumpy Tail
(Norwegian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 111
Pines and Firs _Mrs. Dyson_ 116
Who Loves the Trees Best?
(poem) _Selected_ 131
CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE
A Christmas Song _Phillips Brooks_ 134
The Shepherd Maiden's Gift
(Eastern legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 135
Christmas Gifts _Laura E. Richards_ 141
Silver Bells (poem) _Hamish Hendry_ 146
The Animals' Christmas Tree _John P. Peters_ 147
A Christmas Carol _Christina Rossetti_ 162
Holly _Ada M. Marzials_ 164
The Willow Man (poem) _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 175
The Ivy Green (selection) _Charles Dickens_ 178
Legend of St. Nicholas _Amy Steedman_ 179
Christmas Bells (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 197
A Night With Santa Claus _Anna R. Annan_ 198
A Child's Thought About
Santa Claus (poem) _Sydney Dayre_ 208
Charity in a Cottage _Jean Ingelow_ 210
The Waits (poem) _Margaret Deland_ 223
Where Love Is There God
Is Also (adapted) _Leo Tolstoi_ 225
God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen _Dinah Mulock Craik_ 234
THE GLAD NEW YEAR
The Glad New Year (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 236
The Bad Little Goblin's
New Year _Mary Stewart_ 237
Selection _Robert Herrick_ 248
The Queen of the Year (poem) _Edna Dean Proctor_ 249
The New Year's Bell _Andrea Hofer Proudfoot_ 250
The New Year _Selected_ 256
The Child and the Year (poem) _Celia Thaxter_ 257
A Masque of the Days _Charles Lamb_ 258
Ring Out, Wild Bells (poem) _Alfred Tennyson_ 262
MIDWINTER
The Bells (selection) _Edgar Allen Poe_ 264
A January Thaw _Dallas Lore Sharp_ 265
The Snow Man _Hans Christian Andersen_ 276
The Happy Prince _Oscar Wilde_ 284
The Legend of King Wenceslaus
(adapted) _John Mason Neale_ 303
Midwinter (poem) _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 310
WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET
Old Winter (poem) _Thomas Noel_ 314
The Snowball That Didn't Melt _Jay T. Stocking_ 315
Gau-wi-di-ne and Go-hay
(Iroquois legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 330
Naming the Winds (Indian
legend retold) _Ada M. Skinner_ 339
North Wind's Frolic
(translated) _Montgomery Maze_ 343
The Months: A Pageant
(adapted) _Christina Rossetti_ 346
Prince Winter _Carl Ewald_ 366
How Spring and Winter
Met (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 376
INTRODUCTION
"Once upon a time," in the winter season suggests happy, young faces
grouped about a blazing fire. A heavy snowstorm promises plenty of
sport for tomorrow, but at present the cosiness indoors is very
attractive, especially now that the evening story hour is at hand. And
while the story-teller is slowly choosing his subjects he hears the
children's impatient whispers of "The Snow Man," "Prince Winter," "The
Legend of Holly," "The Animals' Christmas Tree."
Silence! The story-teller turns his eyes from the glowing fire to the
faces of his eager audience. He is ready to begin.
Each season of the year opens a treasury of suggestion for stories. In
the beauty and wonder of nature are excellent themes for tales which
quicken children's interest in the promise of joyous springtime, in
the rich pageantry of ripening summer, in the blessings of generous
autumn, and in the merry cheer of grim old winter.
The Pearl Story Book is the fourth volume in a series of nature books
each of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic of a
particular season. The central theme of this volume is winter,
"snow-wrapped and holly-decked."
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
WINTER
Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek.
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him winter-proof;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars:
He sculptured every summer delight
In his halls and chambers out of sight.
James Russell Lowell.
THE ICE KING
(Indian Legend)
Once upon a time there was an Indian village built on the bank of a
wide river. During the spring, summer, and autumn the people were very
happy. There was plenty of fuel and game in the deep woods; the river
afforded excellent fish. But the Indians dreaded the months when the
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THE MIDDLE PERIOD
_THE AMERICAN HISTORY SERIES_
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
1817-1858
BY
JOHN W. BURGESS, PH.D., LL.D.
PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE AND CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, AND DEAN OF THE
FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE, IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY IN THE CITY OF
NEW YORK
_WITH MAPS_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
To the memory of my former teacher, colleague, and friend,
JULIUS HAWLEY SEELYE,
philosopher, theologian, statesman, and educator, this volume is
reverently and affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
There is no more serious and delicate task in literature and morals
than that of writing the history of the United States from 1816 to
1860. The periods which precede this may be treated without fear of
arousing passion, prejudice, and resentment, and with little danger of
being misunderstood. Even the immaculateness of Washington may be
attacked without exciting anything worse than a sort of uncomfortable
admiration for the reckless courage of the assailant. But when we pass
the year 1820, and especially when we approach the year 1860, we find
ourselves in a different world. We find ourselves in the midst of the
ideas, the motives, and the occurrences which, and of the men who,
have, in large degree, produced the animosities, the friendships, and
the relations between parties and sections which prevail to-day.
Serious and delicate as the task is, however, the time has arrived
when it should be undertaken in a thoroughly impartial spirit. The
continued misunderstanding between the North and the South is an ever
present menace to the welfare of both sections and of the entire
nation. It makes it almost impossible to decide any question of our
politics upon its merits. It offers an almost insuperable obstacle to
the development of a national opinion upon the fundamental principles
of our polity. If we would clear up this confusion in the common
consciousness, we must do something to dispel this misunderstanding;
and I know of no means of accomplishing this, save the rewriting of
our history from 1816 to 1860, with an open mind and a willing spirit
to see and to represent truth and error, and right and wrong, without
regard to the men or the sections in whom or where they may appear.
I am by no means certain that I am able to do this. I am old enough to
have been a witness of the great struggle of 1861-65, and to have
participated, in a small way, in it. My early years were embittered by
the political hatreds which then prevailed. I learned before my
majority to regard secession as an abomination, and its chief cause,
slavery, as a great evil; and I cannot say that these feelings have
been much modified, if any at all, by longer experiences and maturer
thought. I have, therefore, undertaken this work with many misgivings.
Keenly conscious of my own prejudices, I have exerted my imagination
to the utmost to create a picture in my own mind of the environment of
those who held the opposite opinion upon these fundamental subjects,
and to appreciate the processes of their reasoning under the
influences of their own particular situation. And I have with sedulous
care avoided all the histories written immediately after the close of
the great contest of arms, and all rehashes of them of later date. In
fact I have made it an invariable rule to use no secondary material;
that is, no material in which original matter is mingled with
somebody's interpretation of its meaning. If, therefore, the facts in
my narration are twisted by prejudices and preconceptions, I think I
can assure my readers that they have suffered only one twist. I have
also endeavored to approach my subject in a reverent spirit, and to
deal with the characters who made our history, in this almost tragic
period, as serious and sincere men having a most perplexing and
momentous problem to solve, a problem not of their own making, but a
fatal inheritance from their predecessors.
I have been especially repelled by the flippant superficiality of the
foreign critics of this period of our history, and their evident
delight in representing the professions and teachings of the "Free
Republic" as canting hypocrisy. It has seemed to me a great misfortune
that the present generation and future generations should be taught to
regard so lightly the earnest efforts of wise, true, and honorable men
to rescue the country from the great catastrophe which, for so long,
impended over it. The passionate onesidedness of our own writers is
hardly more harmful, and is certainly less repulsive.
I recently heard a distinguished professor of history and politics say
that he thought the history of the United States, in this period,
could be truthfully written only by a Scotch-Irishman. I suppose he
meant that the Scotch element in this ideal historian would take the
Northern point of view, and the Irish element the Southern; but I
could not see how this would produce anything more than another pair
of narratives from the old contradictory points of view; and he did
not explain how it would.
My opinion is, on the contrary, that this history must be written by
an American and a Northerner, and from the Northern point of
view--because an American best understands Americans, after all;
because the victorious party can be and will be more liberal,
generous, and sympathetic than the vanquished; and because the
Northern view is, in the main, the correct view. It will not improve
matters to concede that the South had right and the North might, or,
even, that both were equally right and equally wrong. Such a doctrine
can only work injury to both, and more injury to the South than to the
North. Chewing the bitter cud of fancied wrong produces both spiritual
misery and material adversity, and tempts to foolish and reckless
action for righting the imagined injustice. Moreover, any such
doctrine is false, and acquiescence in it, however kindly meant, is
weak, and can have no other effect than the perpetuation of error and
misunderstanding. The time has come when the men of the South should
acknowledge that they were in error in their attempt to destroy the
Union, and it is unmanly in them not to do so. When they appealed the
great question from the decision at the ballot-box to the "trial by
battle," their leaders declared, over and over again, in calling their
followers to arms, that the "God of battles" would surely give the
victory to the right. In the great movements of the world's history
this is certainly a sound philosophy, and they should have held to it
after their defeat. Their recourse to the crude notion that they had
succumbed only to might was thus not only a bitter, false, and
dangerous consolation, but it was a stultification of themselves when
at their best as men and heroes.
While, therefore, great care has been taken, in the following pages,
to attribute to the Southern leaders and the Southern people sincerity
of purpose in their views and their acts, while their ideas and their
reasoning have been, I think, duly appreciated, and patiently
explained, while the right has been willingly acknowledged to them and
honor accorded them whenever and wherever they have had the right and
have merited honor, and while unbounded sympathy for personal
suffering and misfortune has been expressed, still not one scintilla
of justification for secession and rebellion must be expected. The
South must acknowledge its error as well as its defeat in regard to
these things, and that, too, not with lip service, but from the brain
and the heart and the manly will, before any real concord in thought
and feeling, any real national brotherhood, can be established. This
is not too much to demand, simply because it is right, and nothing can
be settled, as Mr. Lincoln said, until it is settled right. Any
interpretation of this period of American history which does not
demonstrate to the South its error will be worthless, simply because
it will not be true; and unless we are men enough to hear and accept
and stand upon the truth, it is useless to endeavor to find a bond of
real union between us. In a word, the conviction of the South of its
error in secession and rebellion is absolutely indispensable to the
establishment of national cordiality; and the history of this period
which fails to do this will fail in accomplishing one of the highest
works of history, the reconciliation of men to the plans of Providence
for their perfection.
I have not, in the following pages, undertaken to treat _all_ of the
events of our experience from 1816 to 1860. The space allowed me would
not admit of that. And even if it had, I still would have selected
only those events which, in my opinion, are significant of our
progress in civilization, and, as I am writing a political history,
only those which are significant of our progress in political
civilization. The truthful record, connection, and interpretation of
such events is what I call history in the highest sense, as
distinguished from chronology, narrative, and romance. Both necessity
and philosophy have confined me to these.
I cannot close these prefatory sentences without a word of grateful
acknowledgment to my friend and colleague, Dr. Harry A. Cushing, for
the important services which he has rendered me in the preparation of
this work.
JOHN W. BURGESS.
323 WEST FIFTY-SEVENTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY.
JANUARY 22, 1897.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE NATIONALIZATION OF THE OLD REPUBLICAN PARTY,....... 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ACQUISITION OF FLORIDA, ................. 19
CHAPTER III.
SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES BEFORE 1820, .......... 39
CHAPTER IV.
THE CREATION OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF MISSOURI, ........ 61
CHAPTER V.
THE BEGINNING OF THE PARTICULARISTIC REACTION,........ 108
CHAPTER VI.
THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF 1824,.............. 131
CHAPTER VII.
THE DIVISION OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY, ............ 145
CHAPTER VIII.
DEMOCRATIC OPPOSITION TO INTERNAL IMPROVEMENTS AND PROTECTION, 166
CHAPTER IX.
THE UNITED STATES BANK AND THE PRESIDENTIAL CONTEST OF 1832,. 190
CHAPTER X.
NULLIFICATION,........................ 210
CHAPTER XI.
ABOLITION,.......................... 242
CHAPTER XII.
THE BANK, THE SUB-TREASURY, AND PARTY DEVELOPMENT BETWEEN 1832
AND 1842, .......................... 278
CHAPTER XIII.
TEXAS,............................ 289
CHAPTER XIV.
OREGON, ........................... 311
CHAPTER XV.
THE "RE-ANNEXATION OF TEXAS AND THE RE-OCCUPATION OF OREGON," 318
CHAPTER XVI.
THE WAR WITH MEXICO,..................... 327
CHAPTER XVII.
THE ORGANIZATION OF OREGON TERRITORY AND THE COMPROMISE OF
1850, ............................ 340
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE EXECUTION OF THE FUGITIVE SLAVE LAW, AND THE ELECTION OF
1852, ............................ 365
CHAPTER XIX.
THE REPEAL OF THE MISSOURI COMPROMISE,............ 380
CHAPTER XX.
THE STRUGGLE FOR KANSAS,................... 407
CHAPTER XXI.
THE DRED SCOTT CASE,..................... 449
CHAPTER XXII.
THE STRUGGLE FOR KANSAS CONCLUDED,.............. 460
APPENDIX I.
THE ELECTORAL VOTE IN DETAIL, 1820-1856,........... 475
APPENDIX II.
THE CABINETS OF MONROE, ADAMS, JACKSON, VAN BUREN, HARRISON,
TYLER, POLK, TAYLOR, FILLMORE, PIERCE, AND
BUCHANAN--1816-1858,..................... 485
CHRONOLOGY, .......................... 491
BIBLIOGRAPHY, ......................... 497
INDEX,............................. 503
LIST OF MAPS.
FACING
PAGE
FLORIDA AT THE TIME OF ACQUISITION, .............. 32
TEXAS AT THE TIME OF ANNEXATION,................ 296
OREGON AS DETERMINED BY THE TREATY OF 1846, .......... 312
CALIFORNIA AND NEW MEXICO IN 1850,............... 336
NEBRASKA AND KANSAS, 1854-1861, ................ 468
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
{1}
CHAPTER I.
THE NATIONALIZATION OF THE OLD REPUBLICAN PARTY
General Character of the Acts of the Fourteenth Congress--Madison's
Message of December 5th, 1815--Change in the Principles of the
Republican Party--The United States Bank Act of 1816--Report of the
Bank Bill by Mr. Calhoun--Mr. Calhoun's Argument in Favor of the
Bill--Webster's Objections to the Bank Bill--Mr. Clay's Support of the
Bank Bill--Passage of the Bank Bill by the House of
Representatives--The Passage of the Bank Bill by the Senate--The
United States Bank of 1816 a Southern Measure--The Tariff Bill Framed
by the Committee on Ways and Means--The Tariff Bill Reported--The
Character of the Tariff Bill--Mr. Calhoun's Speech upon the Tariff
Bill--The Passage of the Tariff Bill--The Army and Navy Bills--The
Bill for National Improvements--Mr. Calhoun's Advocacy of this
Bill--The Opposition to the Internal Improvements Bill--Passage of the
Bill by Congress--Veto of the Bill by the President--The Failure of
Congress to Override the Veto.
It is no part of my task to relate the events of the War of 1812-15.
That has already been sufficiently done in the preceding volume of
this series. I take up the threads of the narrative at the beginning
of the year 1816, and my problem in this chapter will be to expound
the acts and policies of the Fourteenth Congress in the light of the
experiences of that War.
{2} [Sidenote: General character of the acts of the Fourteenth
Congress.]
Those acts and policies were shaped and adopted under the influence of
those experiences, and this influence was so predominant, at the
moment, in the minds of the leading men in the Government and
throughout the country as to exclude, or at least to overbalance, all
other influences. This is especially manifest in the attitude of the
statesmen of the slave-holding Commonwealths, and most especially in
the attitude of their great leader, Mr. Calhoun, who was the chief
champion of some of the most national measures voted by that Congress.
A clear appreciation of his views and his acts at that period of his
career will enable us far better than anything else to understand the
terrible seriousness of the slavery question, which subsequently drove
him into lines of thought and action so widely divergent from those
upon which he set out in early life.
[Sidenote: Madison's message of December 5th, 1815.]
It was the President himself, however, one of the chief founders of
the "States' rights" party, Mr. Madison, who set the direction toward
centralization in the Congressional legislation of 1815-17. In his
annual message of December 5th, 1815, he recommended the increase and
better organization of the army and the navy, the enlargement of the
existing Military Academy and the founding of such academies in the
different sections of the country, the creation of a national
currency, the protection of manufactures, the construction of roads
and canals, and the establishment of a national university.
This is a very different political creed from that promulgated by
President Jefferson when the Republican party first gained possession
of the Government at Washington. Then, decrease in all the elements of
power in the hands of the central Government, and careful maintenance
of all the rights and powers of the {3} "States," were recommended and
urged upon the attention of the national lawgivers.
[Sidenote: Change in the principles of the Republican party.]
From a "States'-sovereignty" party in 1801, the Republican party had
manifestly become a strong national party in 1816; that is, if we are
to take the two Presidential messages, to which we have referred, as
containing the political principles of that party at these two periods
of its existence.
As the Congress of 1801 showed itself, in its legislation, to be in
substantial accord with President Jefferson's views and sentiments, so
did the Congress of 1815 manifest, in its legislation, the same
general harmony with the views and sentiments of President Madison. In
order that the latter part of this statement may be set down as an
established fact of history, we will review with some particularity
the two cardinal acts of this Congress--the United States Bank Act and
the Tariff Act.
[Sidenote: The United States Bank Act of 1816.]
So soon as the reading of President Madison's message before the House
of Representatives was completed, that body resolved to refer that
part of the message which related to the establishment of an uniform
national currency to a select committee. The committee chosen was
composed of Mr. Calhoun, Mr. Macon, Mr. Pleasants, Mr. Tucker, Mr.
Robertson, Mr. Hopkinson, and Mr. Pickering. The first five of these
gentlemen were from Commonwealths south of the Pennsylvania line, and
only two, therefore, from what began now to be called the
"non-slave-holding States." In other words, it was a Southern
committee, and the great South Carolinian was its chairman. It is,
therefore, just to regard the bill which this committee brought in,
and the arguments with which they supported it, as containing the
views and the sentiments of the leading Southern Republicans in the
House.
{4} [Sidenote: Report of the Bank Bill by Mr. Calhoun.]
This committee came speedily to the conclusion that the
nationalization of the monetary system was the most pressing need of
the country, and within a month from the date of the appointment of
its members the chairman of the committee reported a bill for the
creation of an United States Bank, a mammoth national banking
corporation, which should have a capital of thirty-five millions of
dollars; in which the central Government should own one-fifth of the
stock and be represented by one-fifth of the directors; the president
of which should always be selected from among the Government's
directors; the demand notes and bills of which should be received in
all payments to the United States; and the chartered privileges of
which should be made a monopoly for twenty years.
[Sidenote: Mr. Calhoun's argument in favor of the Bill.]
In his great argument in support of the bill, delivered on February
26th, Mr. Calhoun dismissed at the outset any consideration of the
constitutionality of the bill. That is, he simply assumed that
Congress had the power to pass the bill, and declared that the public
mind was entirely made up and settled upon that point.
Only five years before this, even the national-minded Clay had
pronounced the dictum that Congress had no power to grant a national
bank charter, and the fact that Congress then declined to grant such a
charter is good evidence that the majority of the people of the
country held the same view. There can be little question that the
Republican party, down to 1812, regarded the establishment of an
United States bank by Congress as an usurpation of power not granted
by the Constitution.
Five years constitute a short period of time for the accomplishment of
so important a change in the public {5} opinion. Five years of
ordinary experience would not have produced it. It was, without doubt,
the strain brought upon the finances of the country by the necessities
of the War that had developed a powerful national opinion upon the
subject of the financial system of the country.
Mr. Calhoun also declined to discuss the question whether banks were
favorable or unfavorable to "public liberty and prosperity." He
assumed, here again, that public experience had settled that question,
and said that such an inquiry was now purely metaphysical. This
statement is certainly prime evidence that the practical experiences,
made in conducting the Government under the pressure of war, had about
knocked the metaphysics of the year 1800 out of the Republican party,
and had led the party on to a much more positive stage of political
opinion.
Mr. Calhoun furthermore dismissed the question whether a "national
bank would be favorable to the administration of the finances of the
Government," since there was not enough doubt, he said, in the public
mind upon that point to warrant a discussion of it.
He declared, finally, that the only questions which demanded
consideration were those relative to the existing disorders of the
currency, and the efficiency of a national bank in working their cure.
Upon these two points he was distinct, decided, and thoroughly
national. He said that the Constitution had without doubt placed the
monetary system of the country entirely within the control of
Congress; that the "States" had usurped the power of making money by
chartering banks of issue in the face of the constitutional provision
forbidding the "States" to emit bills of credit; that the two hundred
millions of dollars of irredeemable bank-notes, paper, and credits,
issued by these banks, were the cause of the {6} financial disorders
of the country; and that the remedy for this condition of things was,
in his opinion, to be found in a great specie-paying national bank,
sustained by the power of the general Government in the work of
bringing such a pressure upon these "State" banks as would force them
either to pay specie or go into liquidation. This was clear, generous,
and patriotic. No one made a fairer statement of the case, and no one
advocated a more national remedy in its treatment.
[Sidenote: Webster's objections to the Bank Bill.]
On the other hand, it was Webster who, at this time, appeared narrow
and particularistic. He objected to the large amount of the capital,
and to the stock feature of the proposed bank, and expressed alarm at
the proposition to place it under such strong governmental control. He
thought that the bills and paper of the "State" banks would be good
enough, if the general Government would only force them to redeem
their currency in specie by refusing to accept for Government dues the
bills of banks which did not pay specie on demand.
Whatever may be thought of Webster's attitude from the point of view
of political economy, it was certainly, from the point of view of
political science, the attitude of a "States'-rights" man rather than
that of a nationalist. Webster did not, however, call the
constitutionality of the bill in question. That was conceded upon all
sides.
The friends of the measure felt more anxiety in regard to Mr. Clay. He
had, only five years before, as we have seen, pronounced a similar
bill unconstitutional in his opinion, and he was now the Speaker of
the House, with all the power over the procedure in the House which
that position involved. It was generally felt that the fate of the
measure would be largely determined by his attitude toward it.
[Sidenote: Mr. Clay's support of the Bank Bill.]
Mr. Clay did not leave the House long in doubt {7} concerning his
views. He quickly revealed and avowed that noted change of opinion
upon this subject, which has been commonly accounted one of his
greatest inconsistencies, but which may be very properly considered as
simply manifesting that growth in patriotism and national spirit
experienced by almost all the leading men of the country, outside of
New England, in consequence of the vicissitudes of the period of war
under which the nation suffered between the dates of Mr. Clay's two
utterances. He frankly confessed that he had changed his opinion, and
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
FACINO CANE
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Clara Bell and others
FACINO CANE
I once used to live in a little street which probably is not known
to you--the Rue de Lesdiguieres. It is a turning out of the Rue
Saint-Antoine, beginning just opposite a fountain near the Place de
la Bastille, and ending in the Rue de la Cerisaie. Love of knowledge
stranded me in a garret; my nights I spent in work, my days in reading
at the Bibliotheque d'Orleans, close by. I lived frugally; I had
accepted the conditions of the monastic life, necessary conditions for
every worker, scarcely permitting myself a walk along the Boulevard
Bourdon when the weather was fine. One passion only had power to draw me
from my studies; and yet, what was that passion but a study of another
kind? I used to watch the manners and customs of the Faubourg, its
inhabitants, and their characteristics. As I dressed no better than a
working man, and cared nothing for appearances, I did not put them on
their guard; I could join a group and look on while they drove bargains
or wrangled among themselves on their way home from work. Even then
observation had come to be an instinct with me; a faculty of penetrating
to the soul without neglecting the body; or rather, a power of grasping
external details so thoroughly that they never detained me for a moment,
and at once I passed beyond and through them. I could enter into the
life of the human creatures whom I watched, just as the dervish in the
_Arabian Nights_ could pass into any soul or body after pronouncing a
certain formula.
If I met a working man and his wife in the streets between eleven
o'clock and midnight on their way home from the Ambigu Comique, I used
to amuse myself by following them from the Boulevard du Pont aux Choux
to the Boulevard Beaumarchais. The good folk would begin by talking
about the play; then from one thing to another they would come to their
own affairs, and the mother would walk on and on, heedless of complaints
or question from the little one that dragged at her hand, while she and
her husband reckoned up the wages to be paid on the morrow, and spent
the money in a score of different ways. Then came domestic details,
lamentations over the excessive dearness of potatoes, or the length
of the winter and the high price of block fuel, together with forcible
representations of amounts owing to the baker, ending in an acrimonious
dispute, in the course of which such couples reveal their characters in
picturesque language. As I listened, I could make their lives mine, I
felt their rags on my back, I walked with their gaping shoes on my feet;
their cravings, their needs, had all passed into my soul, or my soul had
passed into theirs. It was the dream of a waking man. I waxed hot with
them over the foreman's tyranny, or the bad customers that made them
call again and again for payment.
To come out of my own ways of life, to be another than myself through
a kind of intoxication of the intellectual faculties, and to play this
game at will, such was my recreation. Whence comes the gift? Is it a
kind of second sight? Is it one of those powers which when abused end in
madness? I have never tried to discover its source; I possess it, I use
it, that is all. But this it behooves you to know, that in those days
I began to resolve the heterogeneous mass known as the People into
its elements, and to evaluate its good and bad qualities. Even then I
realized the possibilities of my suburb, that hotbed of revolution
in which heroes, inventors, and practical men of science, rogues and
scoundrels, virtues and vices, were all packed together by poverty,
stifled by necessity, drowned in drink, and consumed by ardent spirits.
You would not imagine how many adventures, how many tragedies, lie
buried away out of sight in that Dolorous City; how much horror and
beauty lurks there. No imagination can reach the Truth, no one can go
down into that city to make discoveries; for one must needs descend too
low into its depths to see the wonderful scenes of tragedy or comedy
enacted there, the masterpieces brought forth by chance.
I do not know how it is that I have kept the following story so long
untold. It is one of the curious things that stop in the bag from which
Memory draws out stories at haphazard, like numbers in a lottery. There
are plenty of tales just as strange and just as well hidden still left;
but some day, you may be sure, their turn will come.
One day my charwoman, a working man's wife, came to beg me to honor
her sister's wedding with my presence. If you are to realize what this
wedding was like you must know that I paid my charwoman, poor creature,
four francs a month; for which sum she came every morning to make my
bed, clean my shoes, brush my clothes, sweep the room, and make ready
my breakfast, before going to her day's work of turning the handle of
a machine, at which hard drudgery she earned five-pence. Her husband, a
cabinetmaker, made four francs a day at his trade; but as they had three
children, it was all that they could do to gain an honest living. Yet I
have never met with more sterling honesty than in this man and wife. For
five years after I left the quarter, Mere Vaillant used to come on my
birthday with a bunch of flowers and some oranges for me--she that had
never a sixpence to put by! Want had drawn us together. I never could
give her more than a ten-franc piece, and often I had to borrow the
money for the occasion. This will perhaps explain my promise to go
to the wedding; I hoped to efface myself in these poor people's
merry-making.
The banquet and the ball were given on a first floor above a wineshop in
the Rue de Charenton. It was a large room, lighted by oil lamps with
tin reflectors. A row of wooden benches ran round the walls, which were
black with grime to the height of the tables. Here some eighty persons,
all in their Sunday best, tricked out with ribbons and bunches of
flowers, all of them on pleasure bent, were dancing away with heated
visages as if the world were about to come to an end. Bride and
bridegroom exchanged salutes to the general satisfaction, amid a chorus
of facetious "Oh, ohs!" and "Ah, ahs!" less really indecent than the
furtive glances of young girls that have been well brought up. There was
something indescribably infectious about the rough, homely enjoyment in
all countenances.
But neither the faces, nor the wedding, nor the wedding-guests have
anything to do with my story. Simply bear them in mind as the odd
setting to it. Try to realize the scene, the shabby red-painted
wineshop, the smell of wine, the yells of merriment; try to feel that
you are really in the faubourg, among old people, working men and poor
women giving themselves up to a night's enjoyment.
The band consisted of a fiddle, a clarionet, and a flageolet from the
Blind Asylum. The three were paid seven francs in a lump sum for the
night. For the money, they gave us, not Beethoven certainly, nor yet
Rossini; they played as they had the will and the skill; and every one
in the room (with charming delicacy of feeling) refrained from finding
fault. The music made such a brutal assault on the drum of my ear, that
after a first glance round the room my eyes fell at once upon the blind
trio, and the sight of their uniform inclined me from the first to
indulgence. As the artists stood in a window recess, it was difficult
to distinguish their faces except at close quarters, and I kept away at
first; but when I came nearer (I hardly know why) I thought of nothing
else; the wedding party and the music ceased to exist, my curiosity was
roused to the highest pitch, for my soul passed into the body of the
clarionet player.
The fiddle and the flageolet were neither of them interesting; their
faces were of the ordinary type among the blind--earnest, attentive, and
grave. Not so the clarionet player; any artist or philosopher must have
come to a stop at the sight of him.
Picture to yourself a plaster mask of Dante in the red lamplight, with
a forest of silver-white hair above the brows. Blindness intensified the
expression of bitterness and sorrow in that grand face of his; the dead
eyes were lighted up, as it were, by a thought within that broke forth
like a burning flame, lit by one sole insatiable desire, written large
in vigorous characters upon an arching brow scored across with as many
lines as an old stone wall.
The old man was playing at random, without the slightest regard for time
or tune. His fingers traveled mechanically over the worn keys of his
instrument; he did not trouble himself over a false note now and again
(a _canard_, in the language of the orchestra), neither did the dancers,
nor, for that matter, did my old Italian's acolytes; for I had made
up my mind that he must be Italian, and an Italian he was. There was
something great, something too of the despot about this old Homer
bearing within him an _Odyssey_ doomed to oblivion. The greatness was so
real that it triumphed over his abject position; the despotism so much a
part of him, that it rose above his poverty.
There are violent passions which drive a man to good or evil, making of
him a hero or a convict; of these there was not one that had failed to
leave its traces on the grandly-hewn, lividly Italian face. You trembled
lest a flash of thought should suddenly light up the deep sightless
hollows under the grizzled brows, as you might fear to see brigands with
torches and poniards in the mouth of a cavern. You felt that there was
a lion in that cage of flesh, a lion spent with useless raging against
iron bars. The fires of despair had burned themselves out into ashes,
the lava had cooled; but the tracks of the flames, the wreckage, and a
little smoke remained to bear witness to the violence of the eruption,
the ravages of the fire. These images crowded up at the sight of the
clarionet player, till the thoughts now grown cold in his face burned
hot within my soul.
The fiddle and the flageolet took a deep interest in bottles and
glasses; at the end of a country-dance, they hung their instruments from
a button on their reddish-colored coats, and stretched out their hands
to a little table set in the window recess to hold their liquor supply.
Each time they did so they held out a full glass to the Italian, who
could not reach it for himself because he sat in front of the table,
and each time the Italian thanked them with a friendly nod. All their
movements were made with the precision which always amazes you so much
at the Blind Asylum. You could almost think that they can see. I came
nearer to listen; but when I stood beside them, they evidently guessed I
was not a working man, and kept themselves to themselves.
"What part of the world do you come from, you that are playing the
clarionet?"
"From Venice," he said, with a trace of Italian accent.
"Have you always been blind, or did it come on afterwards--"
"Afterwards," he answered quickly. "A cursed gutta serena."
"Venice is a fine city; I have always had a fancy to go there."
The old man's face lighted up, the wrinkles began to work, he was
violently excited.
"If I went with you, you would not lose your time," he said.
"Don't talk about Venice to our Doge," put in the fiddle, "or you will
start him off, and he has stowed away a couple of bottles as it is--has
the prince!"
"Come, strike up, Daddy Canard!" added the flageolet, and the three
began to play. But while they executed the four figures of a square
dance, the Venetian was scenting my thoughts; he guessed the great
interest I felt in him. The dreary, dispirited look died out of his
face, some mysterious hope brightened his features and slid like a blue
flame over his wrinkles. He smiled and wiped his brow, that fearless,
terrible brow of his, and at length grew gay like a man mounted on his
hobby.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Eighty-two."
"How long have you been blind?"
"For very nearly fifty years," he said, and there was that in his tone
which told me that his regret was for something more than his lost
sight, for great power of which he had been robbed.
"Then why do they call you 'the Doge'?" I asked.
"Oh, it is a joke. I am a Venetian noble, and I might have been a doge
like any one else."
"What is your name?"
"Here, in Paris, I am Pere Canet," he said. "It was the only way of
spelling my name on the register. But in Italy I am Marco Facino Cane,
Prince of Varese."
"What, are you descended from the great _condottiere_ Facino Cane, whose
lands won by the sword were taken by the Dukes of Milan?"
"_E vero_," returned he. "His son's life was not safe under the
Visconti; he fled to Venice, and his name was inscribed on the Golden
Book. And now neither Cane or Golden Book are in existence." His gesture
startled me; it told of patriotism extinguished and weariness of life.
"But if you were once a Venet | 2,531.679937 |
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Produced by Carlos Colón, University of California and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
SIXPENCE NET
Cloth Bound, 1s. net
THREE DAYS
IN THE
VILLAGE
AND OTHER SKETCHES
BY
LEO TOLSTOY
These sketches are written
in the style of Tolstoy's
"Popular Stories and Legends,"
and give the reader
various glimpses into modern
village life in Russia
THE FREE AGE PRESS
Publisher: C. W. DANIEL
3 Amen Corner, London, E. C.
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE
_And Other Sketches_
_No Rights Reserved_
THREE DAYS IN
THE VILLAGE
_And Other Sketches_
_Written from September 1909 to July 1910_
BY
LEO TOLSTOY
_Translated by_ L. _and_ A. MAUDE
LONDON
THE FREE AGE PRESS
(C. W. DANIEL)
3 AMEN CORNER, E. C.
1910
CONTENTS
PAGE
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE--
FIRST DAY--TRAMPS 7
SECOND DAY--THE LIVING AND THE DYING 20
THIRD DAY--TAXES 33
CONCLUSION--A DREAM 41
SINGING IN THE VILLAGE 55
TRAVELLER AND PEASANT 63
A TALK WITH A WAYFARER 75
FROM THE DIARY 79
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE
_FIRST DAY_
TRAMPS
Something entirely new, unseen and unheard-of formerly, has lately
shown itself in our country districts. To our village, consisting of
eighty homesteads, from half a dozen to a dozen cold, hungry, tattered
tramps come every day, wanting a night's lodging.
These people, ragged, half-naked, barefoot, often ill, and extremely
dirty, come into the village and go to the village policeman. That
they should not die in the street of hunger and exposure, he quarters
them on the inhabitants of the village, regarding only the peasants as
"inhabitants." He does not take them to the squire, who besides his own
ten rooms has ten other apartments: office, coachman's room, laundry,
servants' and upper-servants' hall and so on; nor does he take them to
the priest or deacon or shopkeeper, in whose houses, though not large,
there is still some spare room; but he takes them to the peasants,
whose whole family, wife, daughters-in-law, unmarried daughters, and
big and little children, all live in one room--sixteen, nineteen, or
twenty-three feet long. And the master of the hut takes the cold,
hungry, stinking, ragged, dirty man, and not merely gives him a night's
lodging, but feeds him as well.
"When you sit down to table yourself," an old peasant householder told
me, "it's impossible not to invite him too, or your own soul accepts
nothing. So one feeds him and gives him a drink of tea."
Those are the nightly visitors. But during the day, not two or three,
but ten or more such visitors call at each hut, and again it is: "Why,
it is impossible...," etc.
And for almost every tramp the housewife cuts a slice of bread, thinner
or thicker according to the man's appearance--though she knows her rye
will not last till next harvest.
"If you were to give to all who come, a loaf [the big peasant loaf of
black bread] would not last a day," some housewives said to me. "So
sometimes one hardens one's heart and refuses!"
And this goes on every day, all over Russia. An enormous
yearly-increasing army of beggars, <DW36>s, administrative exiles,
helpless old men, and above all unemployed workmen, lives--that is to
say, shelters itself from cold and wet--and is actually fed by the
hardest-worked and poorest class, the country peasants.
We have Workhouses,[1] Foundlings' Hospitals, Boards of Public Relief,
and all sorts of philanthropic organisations in our towns; and in all
those institutions, in buildings with electric light, parquet floors,
neat servants, and various well-paid attendants, thousands of helpless
people of all sorts are sheltered. But however many such there may
be, they are but a drop in the ocean of the enormous (unnumbered, but
certainly enormous) population which now tramps destitute over Russia,
and is sheltered and fed apart from any institutions, solely by the
village peasants whose own Christian feelings induce them to bear this
heavy and gigantic tax.
[1] Not in the English sense, for there is no Poor-Law system
entitling the destitute to demand maintenance.
Just think what people who are not peasants would say, if--even once
a week--such a shivering, starving, dirty, lousy tramp were placed in
each of their bedrooms! But the peasants not only house them, but feed
them and give them tea, because "one's own soul accepts nothing unless
one has them to table."
In the more remote parts of Sarátof, Tambóf, and other Provinces, the
peasants do not wait for the policeman to bring these tramps, but
always receive them and feed them of their own accord.
And, as is the case with all really good deeds, the peasants do this
without knowing that they are doing a good deed; and yet it is not
merely a good deed "for one's soul," but is of enormous importance
for the whole of Russian society. It is of such importance for Russian
society because, but for this peasant population and the Christian
feeling that lives so strongly in it, it is difficult to imagine
what the fate would be, not only of these hundreds of thousands
of unfortunate, houseless tramps, but of all the well-to-do--and | 2,531.780036 |
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Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
THE
ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.
* * * * *
BY
COVENTRY PATMORE.
* * * * *
“Par la grace infinie, Dieu les mist au monde ensemble.”
_Rousier des Dames_.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE_.
1891.
* * * * *
THIS POEM
IS INSCRIBED
TO
THE MEMORY OF HER
BY WHOM AND FOR WHOM I BECAME A POET.
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION.
THERE could be but one answer to the suggestion of Mr. Coventry Patmore
that his “Angel in the House” might usefully have a place in this
“National Library.” The suggestion was made with the belief that wide
and cheap diffusion would not take from the value of a copyright library
edition, while the best use of writing is fulfilled by the spreading of
verse dedicated to the sacred love of home. The two parts of the Poem
appeared in 1854 and 1856, were afterwards elaborately revised, and have
since obtained a permanent place among the Home Books of the English
People. Our readers will join, surely, in thanks to the author for the
present he has made us.
H. M.
CONTENTS
BOOK I.
PAGE
THE PROLOGUE. 13
CANTO
I. THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE 17
Preludes:
1. The Impossibility 17
2. Love’s Really 17
3. The Poet’s Confidence 18
The Cathedral Close 19
II. MARY AND MILDRED 24
Preludes:
1. The Paragon 24
2. Love at Large 26
3. Love and Duty 27
4. A Distinction 28
Mary and Mildred 28
III. HONORIA 32
Preludes:
1. The Lover 32
2. Love a Virtue 34
3. The Attainment 34
Honoria 35
IV. THE MORNING CALL 39
Preludes:
1. The Rose of the World 39
2. The Tribute 41
3. Compensation 42
The Morning Call 42
V. THE VIOLETS 46
Preludes:
1. The Comparison 46
2. Love in Tears 48
3. Prospective Faith 48
4. Venus Victrix 49
The Violets 49
VI. THE DEAN 53
Preludes:
1. Perfect Love rare 53
2. Love Justified 54
3. Love Serviceable 55
4. A Riddle Solved 56
The Dean 56
VII. ÆTNA AND THE MOON 60
Preludes:
1. Love’s Immortality 60
2. Heaven and Earth 61
Ætna and the Moon 62
VIII. SARUM PLAIN 66
Preludes:
1. Life of Life 66
2. The Revelation 67
3. The Spirit’s Epochs 67
4. The Prototype 68
5. The Praise of Love 68
Sarum Plain 69
IX. SAHARA 74
Preludes:
1. The Wife’s Tragedy 74
2. Common Graces 75
3. The Zest of Life 76
4. Fool and Wise 76
Sahara 77
X. CHURCH TO CHURCH 81
Preludes:
1. The Joyful Wisdom 81
2. The Devices 84
Going to Church 84
XI. THE DANCE 89
Preludes:
1. The Daughter of Eve 89
2. Aurea Dicta 91
The Dance 93
XII. THE ABDICATION 97
Preludes:
1. The Chace 97
2. Denied 100
3. The Churl 101
The Abdication 102
BOOK II.
THE PROLOGUE 105
I. ACCEPTED 109
Preludes:
1. The Song of Songs 109
2. The Kites 110
3. Orpheus 111
4. Nearest the Dearest 111
5. Perspective 112
Accepted 112
II. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 116
Preludes:
1. The Changed Allegiance 116
2. Beauty 120
3. Lais and Lucretia 120
The Course of True Love 121
III. THE COUNTRY BALL 126
Preludes:
1. Love Ceremonious 126
2. The Rainbow 127
3. A Paradox 127
The County Ball 128
IV. LOVE IN IDLENESS 132
Preludes:
1. Honour and Desert 132
2. Love and Honour 133
3. Valour Misdirected 134
Love in Idleness 134
V. THE QUEEN’S ROOM 139
Preludes:
1. Rejected 139
2. Rachel 140
3. The Heart’s Prophecies 141
The Queen’s Room 141
VI. THE LOVE-LETTERS 145
Preludes:
1. Love’s Perversity 145
2. The Power of Love 147
The Love-Letters 148
VII. THE REVULSION 152
Preludes:
1. Joy and Use 152
2. ‘She was Mine’ 153
The Revulsion 153
VIII. THE KOH-I-NOOR 158
Preludes:
1. In Love 158
2. Love Thinking 160
3. The Kiss 161
The Koh-i-noor 161
IX. THE FRIENDS 165
Preludes:
1. The Nursling of Civility 165
2. The Foreign Land 166
3. Disappointment 166
The Friends 167
X. THE EPITAPH 170
Preludes:
1. Frost in Harvest 170
2. Felicity 171
3. Marriage Indissoluble 172
The Epitaph 172
XI. THE WEDDING 176
Preludes:
1. Platonic Love 176
2. A Demonstration 177
3. The Symbol 178
4. Constancy Rewarded 178
The Wedding 179
XII. HUSBAND AND WIFE 183
Preludes:
1. The Married Lover 183
2. The Amaranth 184
Husband and Wife 185
The Epilogue 189
Book I.
THE PROLOGUE.
1
‘MINE is no horse with wings, to gain
The region of the spheral chime;
He does but drag a rumbling wain,
Cheer’d by the coupled bells of rhyme;
And if at Fame’s bewitching note
My homely Pegasus pricks an ear,
The world’s cart-collar hugs his throat,
And he’s too wise to prance or rear.’
2
Thus ever answer’d Vaughan his Wife,
Who, more than he, desired his fame;
But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife
How for her sake to earn a name.
With bays poetic three times crown’d,
And other college honours won,
He, if he chose, might be renown’d,
He had but little doubt, she none;
And in a loftier phrase he talk’d
With her, upon their Wedding-Day,
(The eighth), while through the fields they walk’d,
Their children shouting by the way.
3
‘Not careless of the gift of song,
Nor out of love with noble fame,
I, meditating much and long
What I should sing, how win a name,
Considering well what theme unsung,
What reason worth the cost of rhyme,
Remains to loose the poet’s tongue
In these last days, the dregs of time,
Learn that to me, though born so late,
There does, beyond desert, befall
(May my great fortune make me great!)
The first of themes, sung last of all.
In green and undiscover’d ground,
Yet near where many others sing,
I have the very well-head found
Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.’
4
Then she: ‘What is it, Dear? The Life
Of Arthur, or Jerusalem’s Fall?’
‘Neither: your gentle self, my Wife,
And love, that grows from one to all.
And if I faithfully proclaim
Of these the exceeding worthiness,
Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame
Shall, to your hope, my brows caress;
And if, by virtue of my choice
Of this, the most heart-touching theme
That ever tuned a poet’s voice,
I live, as I am bold to dream,
To be delight to many days,
And into silence only cease
When those are still, who shared their bays
With Laura and with Beatrice,
Imagine, Love, how learned men
Will deep-conceiv’d devices find,
Beyond my purpose and my ken,
An ancient bard of simple mind.
You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse,
Were you for mortal woman meant?
Your praises give a hundred clues
To mythological intent!
And, severing thus the truth from trope,
In you the Commentators see
Outlines occult of abstract scope,
A future for philosophy!
Your arm’s on mine! these are the meads
In which we pass our living days;
There Avon runs, now hid with reeds,
Now brightly brimming pebbly bays;
Those are our children’s songs that come
With bells and bleatings of the sheep;
And there, in yonder English home,
We thrive on mortal food and sleep!’
She laugh’d. How proud she always was
To feel how proud he was of her!
But he had grown distraught, because
The Muse’s mood began to stir.
5
His purpose with performance crown’d,
He to his well-pleased Wife rehears’d,
When next their Wedding-Day came round,
His leisure’s labour, ‘Book the First.’
CANTO I
The Cathedral Close.
PRELUDES.
I.
_The Impossibility_.
Lo, love’s obey’d by all. ’Tis right
That all should know what they obey,
Lest erring conscience damp delight,
And folly laugh our joys away.
Thou Primal Love, who grantest wings
And voices to the woodland birds,
Grant me the power of saying things
Too simple and too sweet for words!
II.
_Love’s Really_.
I walk, I trust, with open eyes;
I’ve travell’d half my worldly course;
And in the way behind me lies
Much vanity and some remorse;
I’ve lived to feel how pride may part
Spirits, tho’ match’d like hand and glove;
I’ve blush’d for love’s abode, the heart;
But have not disbelieved in love;
Nor unto love, sole mortal thing
Of worth immortal, done the wrong
To count it, with the rest that sing,
Unworthy of a serious song;
And love is my reward; for now,
When most of dead’ning time complain,
The myrtle blooms upon my brow,
Its odour quickens all my brain.
III.
_The Poet’s Confidence_.
The richest realm of all the earth
Is counted still a heathen land:
Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth
To give it into Israel’s hand.
I will not hearken blame or praise;
For so should I dishonour do
To that sweet Power by which these Lays
Alone are lovely, good, and true;
Nor credence to the world’s cries give,
Which ever preach and still prevent
Pure passion’s high prerogative
To make, not follow, precedent.
From love’s abysmal ether rare
If I to men have here made known
New truths, they, like new stars, were there
Before, though not yet written down.
Moving but as the feelings move,
I run, or loiter with delight,
Or pause to mark where gentle Love
Persuades the soul from height to height.
Yet, know ye, though my words are gay
As David’s dance, which Michal scorn’d.
If kindly you receive the Lay,
You shall be sweetly help’d and warn’d.
THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE.
1
Once more I came to Sarum Close,
With joy half memory, half desire,
And breathed the sunny wind that rose
And blew the shadows o’er the Spire,
And toss’d the lilac’s scented plumes,
And sway’d the chestnut’s thousand cones,
And fill’d my nostrils with perfumes,
And shaped the clouds in waifs and zones,
And wafted down the serious strain
Of Sarum bells, when, true to time,
I reach’d the Dean’s, with heart and brain
That trembled to the trembling chime.
2
’Twas half my home, six years ago.
The six years had not alter’d it:
Red-brick and ashlar, long and low,
With dormers and with oriels lit.
Geranium, lychnis, rose array’d
The windows, all wide open thrown;
And some one in the Study play’d
The Wedding-March of Mendelssohn.
And there it was I last took leave:
’Twas Christmas: I remember’d now
The cruel girls, who feign’d to grieve,
Took down the evergreens; and how
The holly into blazes woke
The fire, lighting the large, low room,
A dim, rich lustre of old oak
And crimson velvet’s glowing gloom.
No change had touch’d Dean Churchill: kind,
By widowhood more than winters bent,
And settled in a cheerful mind,
As still forecasting heaven’s content.
Well might his thoughts be fix’d on high,
Now she was there! Within her face
Humility and dignity
Were met in a most sweet embrace.
She seem’d expressly sent below
To teach our erring minds to see
The rhythmic change of time’s swift flow
As part of still eternity.
Her life, all honour, observed, with awe
Which cross experience could not mar,
The fiction of the Christian law
That all men honourable are;
And so her smile at once conferr’d
High flattery and benign reproof;
And I, a rude boy, strangely stirr’d,
Grew courtly in my own behoof.
The years, so far from doing her wrong,
Anointed her with gracious balm,
And made her brows more and more young
With wreaths of amaranth and palm.
4
Was this her eldest, Honor; prude,
Who would not let me pull the swing;
Who, kiss’d at Christmas, call’d me rude,
And, sobbing low, refused to sing?
How changed! In shape no slender Grace,
But Venus; milder than the dove;
Her mother’s air; her Norman face;
Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love.
Mary I knew. In former time
Ailing and pale, she thought that bliss
Was only for a better clime,
And, heavenly overmuch, scorn’d this.
I, rash with theories of the right,
Which stretch’d the tether of my Creed,
But did not break it, held delight
Half discipline. We disagreed.
She told the Dean I wanted grace.
Now she was kindest of the three,
And soft wild roses deck’d her face.
And, what, was this my Mildred, she
To herself and all a sweet surprise?
My Pet, who romp’d and roll’d a hoop?
I wonder’d where those daisy eyes
Had found their touching curve and droop.
5
Unmannerly times! But now we sat
Stranger than strangers; till I caught
And answer’d Mildred’s smile; and that
Spread to the rest, and freedom brought.
The Dean talk’d little, looking on,
Of three such daughters justly vain.
What letters they had had from Bonn,
Said Mildred, and what plums from Spain!
By Honor I was kindly task’d
To excuse my never coming down
From Cambridge; Mary smiled and ask’d
Were Kant and Goethe yet outgrown?
And, pleased, we talk’d the old days o’er;
And, parting, I for pleasure sigh’d.
To be there as a friend, (since more),
Seem’d then, seems still, excuse for pride;
For something that abode endued
With temple-like repose, an air
Of life’s kind purposes pursued
With order’d freedom sweet and fair.
A tent pitch’d in a world not right
It seem’d, whose inmates, every one,
On tranquil faces bore the light
Of duties beautifully done,
And humbly, though they had few peers,
Kept their own laws, which seem’d to be
The fair sum of six thousand years’
Traditions of civility.
CANTO II.
Mary And Mildred.
PRELUDES.
I.
_The Paragon_.
WHEN I behold the skies aloft
Passing the pageantry of dreams,
The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft,
A couch for nuptial Juno seems,
The ocean broad, the mountains bright,
The shadowy vales with feeding herds,
I from my lyre the music smite,
Nor want for justly matching words.
All forces of the sea and air,
All interests of hill and plain,
I so can sing, in seasons fair,
That who hath felt may feel again.
Elated oft by such free songs,
I think with utterance free to raise
That hymn for which the whole world longs,
A worthy hymn in woman’s praise;
A hymn bright-noted like a bird’s,
Arousing these song-sleepy times
With rhapsodies of perfect words,
Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes.
But when I look on her and hope
To tell with joy what I admire,
My thoughts lie cramp’d in narrow scope,
Or in the feeble birth expire;
No mystery of well-woven speech,
No simplest phrase of tenderest fall,
No liken’d excellence can reach
Her, thee most excellent of all,
The best half of creation’s best,
Its heart to feel, its eye to see,
The crown and complex of the rest,
Its aim and its epitome.
Nay, might I utter my conceit,
’Twere after all a vulgar song,
For she’s so simply, subtly sweet,
My deepest rapture does her wrong.
Yet is it now my chosen task
To sing her worth as Maid and Wife;
Nor happier post than this I ask,
To live her laureate all my life.
On wings of love uplifted free,
And by her gentleness made great,
I’ll teach how noble man should be
To match with such a lovely mate;
And then in her may move the more
The woman’s wish to be desired,
(By praise increased), till both shall soar,
With blissful emulations fired.
And, as geranium, pink, or rose
Is thrice itself through power of art,
So may my happy skill disclose
New fairness even in her fair heart;
Until that churl shall nowhere be
Who bends not, awed, before the throne
Of her affecting majesty,
So meek, so far unlike our own;
Until (for who may hope too much
From her who wields the powers of love?)
Our lifted lives at last shall touch
That happy goal to which they move;
Until we find, as darkness rolls
Away, and evil mists dissolve,
That nuptial contrasts are the poles
On which the heavenly spheres revolve.
II.
_Love at Large_.
Whene’er I come where ladies are,
How sad soever I was before,
Though like a ship frost-bound and far
Withheld in ice from the ocean’s roar,
Third-winter’d in that dreadful dock,
With stiffen’d cordage, sails decay’d,
And crew that care for calm and shock
Alike, too dull to be dismay’d,
Yet, if I come where ladies are,
How sad soever I was before,
Then is my sadness banish’d far,
And I am like that ship no more;
Or like that ship if the ice-field splits,
Burst by the sudden polar Spring,
And all thank God with their warming wits,
And kiss each other and dance and sing,
And hoist fresh sails, that make the breeze
Blow them along the liquid sea,
Out of the North, where life did freeze,
Into the haven where they would be.
III.
_Love and Duty_.
Anne lived so truly from above,
She was so gentle and so good,
That duty bade me fall in love,
And ‘but for that,’ thought I, ‘I should!’
I worshipp’d Kate with all my will,
In idle moods you seem to see
A noble spirit in a hill,
A human touch about a tree.
IV.
_A Distinction_.
The lack of lovely pride, in her
Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs,
And still the maid I most prefer
Whose care to please with pleasing comes.
MARY AND MILDRED.
1
One morning, after Church, I walk’d
Alone with Mary on the lawn,
And felt myself, howe’er we talk’d,
To grave themes delicately drawn.
When she, delighted, found I knew
More of her peace than she supposed,
Our confidences heavenwards grew,
Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed.
Our former faults did we confess,
Our ancient feud was more than heal’d,
And, with the woman’s eagerness
For amity full-sign’d and seal’d,
She, offering up for sacrifice
Her heart’s reserve, brought out to show
Some verses, made when she was ice
To all but Heaven, six years ago;
Since happier grown! I took and read
The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile,
Too late repenting, blush’d, and said,
I must not think about the style.
2
‘Day after day, until to-day,
Imaged the others gone before,
The same dull task, the weary way,
The weakness pardon’d o’er and o’er,
‘The thwarted thirst, too faintly felt,
For joy’s well-nigh forgotten life,
The restless heart, which, when I knelt,
Made of my worship barren strife.
‘Ah, whence to-day’s so sweet release,
This clearance light of all my care,
This conscience free, this fertile peace,
These softly folded wings of prayer,
‘This calm and more than conquering love,
With which nought evil dares to cope,
This joy that lifts no glance above,
For faith too sure, too sweet for hope?
‘O, happy time, too happy change,
It will not live, though fondly nurst!
Full soon the sun will seem as strange
As now the cloud which seems dispersed.’
3
She from a rose-tree shook the blight;
And well she knew that I knew well
Her grace with silence to requite;
And, answering now the luncheon bell,
I laugh’d at Mildred’s laugh, which made
All melancholy wrong, its mood
Such sweet self-confidence display’d,
So glad a sense of present good.
4
I laugh’d and sigh’d: for I confess
I never went to Ball, or Fête,
Or Show, but in pursuit express
Of my predestinated mate;
And thus to me, who had in sight
The happy chance upon the cards,
Each beauty blossom’d in the light
Of tender personal regards;
And, in the records of my breast,
Red-letter’d, eminently fair,
Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest,
By turns till then had been my care:
At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud,
At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one,
At Ely four, in London two,
Two at Bowness, in Paris none,
And, last and best, in Sarum three;
But dearest of the whole fair troop,
In judgment of the moment, she
Whose daisy eyes had learn’d to droop.
Her very faults my fancy fired;
My loving will, so thwarted, grew;
And, bent on worship, I admired
Whate’er she was, with partial view.
And yet when, as to-day, her smile
Was prettiest, I could not but note
Honoria, less admired the while,
Was lovelier, though from love remote.
CANTO III.
Honoria
PRELUDES.
I.
_The Lover_.
HE meets, by heavenly chance express,
The destined maid; some hidden hand
Unveils to him that loveliness
Which others cannot understand.
His merits in her presence grow,
To match the promise in her eyes,
And round her happy footsteps blow
The authentic airs of Paradise.
For joy of her he cannot sleep;
Her beauty haunts him all the night;
It melts his heart, it makes him weep
For wonder, worship, and delight.
O, paradox of love, he longs,
Most humble when he most aspires,
To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs
From her he honours and desires.
Her graces make him rich, and ask
No guerdon; this imperial style
Affronts him; he disdains to bask,
The pensioner of her priceless smile.
He prays for some hard thing to do,
Some work of fame and labour immense,
To stretch the languid bulk and thew
Of love’s fresh-born magnipotence.
No smallest boon were bought too dear,
Though barter’d for his love-sick life;
Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer,
To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife
He notes how queens of sweetness still
Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate;
How, self-consign’d with lavish will,
They ask but love proportionate;
How swift pursuit by small degrees,
Love’s tactic, works like miracle;
How valour, clothed in courtesies,
Brings down the haughtiest citadel;
And therefore, though he merits not
To kiss the braid upon her skirt,
His hope, discouraged ne’er a jot,
Out-soars all possible desert.
II.
_Love a Virtue_.
Strong passions mean weak will, and he
Who truly knows the strength and bliss
Which are in love, will own with me
No passion but a virtue ’tis.
Few hear my word; it soars above
The subtlest senses of the swarm
Of wretched things which know not love,
Their Psyche still a wingless worm.
Ice-cold seems heaven’s noble glow
To spirits whose vital heat is hell;
And to corrupt hearts even so
The songs I sing, the tale I tell.
These cannot see the robes of white
In which I sing of love. Alack,
But darkness shows in heavenly light,
Though whiteness, in the dark, is black!
III.
_The Attainment_.
You love? That’s high as you shall go;
For ’tis as true as Gospel text,
Not noble then is never so,
Either in this world or the next.
HONORIA.
1
Grown weary with a week’s exile
From those fair friends, I rode to see
The church-restorings; lounged awhile,
And met the Dean; was ask’d to tea,
And found their cousin, Frederick Graham
At Honor’s side. Was I concern’d,
If, when she | 2,531.783448 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Rod Crawford, Keith Edkins 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: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A carat character
is used to denote superscription: a single character following the carat is
superscripted (example: A^4). The degree sign is rendered ^o. [)e]
indicates "e breve" (short e), and so forth.
On pp. 237-257 the extinct genera and species referred to as being in
"black type" are marked by a + sign.
Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been
incorporated to facilitate the use of the Alphabetical Index.
Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43991
* * * * *
PLATE XXVI.
[Illustration: ST. JOHN'S MACAQUE]
_LLOYD'S NATURAL HISTORY._
EDITED BY R. BOWDLER SHARPE, LL.D., F.L.S., &c.
A HAND-BOOK
TO THE
PRIMATES.
BY
HENRY O. FORBES, LL.D., F.R.G.S., F.Z.S., ETC.,
DIRECTOR OF MUSEUMS TO THE CORPORATION OF LIVERPOOL,
_Author of "A Naturalist's Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago,"
etc., etc., etc._
_VOL. II._
LONDON:
EDWARD LLOYD, LIMITED,
12, SALISBURY SQUARE, FLEET STREET.
1897.
PREFACE.
The prefatory remarks in the preceding volume explain the purport of the
"Hand-book" of the Primates, which has been undertaken by Dr. Forbes. I
hope that the portion of the work devoted to the geographical distribution
of these animals will be found to be of some interest; but, as explained by
the author, the meagreness of the material in Museums renders the
definition of the exact habitats of Monkeys extremely difficult.
R. BOWDLER SHARPE.
INTRODUCTION.
I have little to add to the remarks given in the first volume of this
"Hand-book." I may refer, however, to the interest which attaches to the
study of the extinct forms of life, in relation to those which exist at the
present day. Although I have endeavoured, to the best of my ability, to
present to the student as complete a review of the species of Monkeys known
to us at the present time, I am well aware that there is an enormous amount
of work to be done before our knowledge of the Primates can be said to be
complete. There is a natural repugnance to collecting specimens of Monkeys
on the part of sportsmen. To shoot one feels like killing a sort of
relation, and even our best collectors, who thoroughly understood the
necessity of obtaining specimens in the interests of science, speak with a
feeling of pain of the human-like distress which a wounded Monkey exhibits;
and it is, therefore, difficult to induce travellers to shoot animals which
offer so much of a "counterfeit presentment" to human beings.
The loose way in which the older naturalists expressed themselves in regard
to geographical distribution, has also rendered a correct appreciation of
the ranges of some of the Primates exceedingly difficult. Thus "Brazil"
may mean any portion of the South American continent from the Argentine
Republic to the Amazons, and "Mexique" has done duty in many Museums for
any locality between Mexico and Panama. Much, therefore, remains to be done
to define the exact areas which the different species of Primates inhabit.
HENRY O. FORBES.
SYSTEMATIC INDEX.
PAGE
ORDER PRIMATES (_continued_), 1
SUB ORDER II.--ANTHROPOIDEA (_continued_), 1
FAMILY CERCOPITHECIDAE (_continued_), 1
SUB-FAMILY CERCOPITHECINAE (_continued_), 1
IV. MACACUS, Lacep., 1, 213
1. inuus (L.), 4, 213
2. arctoides, Is. Geoffr., 8
3. rufescens, Anders., 11
4. maurus, F. Cuv., 11
5. fuscatus, Blyth, 13
6. leoninus, Blyth, 14
7. nemestrinus (L.), 16
8. silenus (L.), 18
9. assamensis, McClell., 20
10. rhesus (Audeb.), 22
11. lasiotis, Gray, 25
12. tcheliensis, Milne-Edw., 26
13. sancti-johannis (Swinh.), 28
14. cyclops, Swinh., 28
15. cynomologus (L.), 31
16. pileatus (Shaw), 33
17. sinicus (L.), 35
V. CERCOCEBUS, Geoffr., 36
1. fuliginosus, Geoffr., 37
2. collaris, Gray, 38
3. aethiops (L.), 39
4. albigena, Gray, 40
5. aterrimus, Oudem., 40
6. galeritus, Peters, 41
VI. CERCOPITHECUS, Erxl. 41
Group I.--Cercopitheci rhinosticti 44
1. petaurista (Schreb.) 44
2. signatus, Jentink 45
3. erythrogaster, Gray 46
4. buettikoferi, Jentink 47
5. martini, Waterh. 47
6. ludio, Gray 48
7. melanogenys, Gray 49
8. stampflii, Jentink 50
9. schmidti, Matschie 50
10. nictitans (L.) 51
11. erythrotis, Waterh. 52
12. cephus (L.) 53
Group II.--Cercopitheci chloronoti 54
13. cynosurus (Scop.) 55
14. sabaeus (L.) 56
15. werneri, Geoffr. 58
16. callitrichus, Is. Geoffr. 58
17. pygerythrus, F. Cuv. 60
18. tantalus, Ogilby 62
Group III.--Cercopitheci erythronoti 63
19. patas (Schreb.) 63
20. pyrrhonotus, H. and E. 64
21. rufo-viridis, Geoffr. 65
Group IV.--Cercopitheci melanochiri 66
| 2,531.885746 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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[Illustration: From left to right, back row--Private Thrower, Orderly
Sergeant George Little, Sergeant John Little, Bugler Minardo Rosser.
Second row, left--Lieut. Harvey Cribbs; right, Artificer William
Johnson. Front row, left--Corporal Thos. Owen, Walter Guild. Seated,
on right--Sergeant James R. Maxwell; left, Rufus Jones or "Rube,"
T. A. Dearing's servant.]
A HISTORY
_of_
LUMSDEN'S BATTERY
C. S. A.
Written by Dr. George Little
_and_
Mr. James R. Maxwell
Published by R. E. Rhodes Chapter
United Daughters of the Confederacy
Tuskaloosa, Alabama
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Original spellings, punctuation and discrepancies have
been retained, including the list of Privates with numerous names out
of alphabetical order.
This History of Lumsden's Battery was written from memory in 1905 by
Dr. Maxwell and Dr. Little, with the help of a diary kept by Dr. James
T. Searcy.
From organization Nov. 4, 1861, to Oct. 15, 1863, this data is the work
of Dr. George Little, from Oct. 15, 1863, to its surrender May 4, 1865,
the work of Mr. James R. Maxwell.
LUMSDEN'S BATTERY
Its Organization and Services in the Army of the Confederate States.
At the close of the spring term of the Circuit Court of Tuscaloosa
County, Alabama, in May, 1861, Judge Wm. S. Mudd announced from the
bench that Mr. Harvey H. Cribbs would resign the office of Sheriff of
the County for the purpose of volunteering into the Army of the
Confederate States and would place on the desk of the Clerk of the
Court an agreement so to volunteer signed by himself, and invited all
who wished to volunteer to come forward and sign the same agreement.
Many of Tuscaloosa's young men signed the same day.
By the end of the week following the list had grown to about 200 men.
Capt. Charles L. Lumsden, a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute
was commandant of Cadets at the University of Alabama and had been
contemplating the getting up of a company for service in Light or Field
Artillery and had been corresponding with the War Department and Army
officers already in service concerning the matter.
These volunteers, on learning this fact, at once offered themselves to
Capt. Lumsden as a company of such artillery.
Dr. George W. Vaughn, son of Edward Bressie Vaughn (who afterwards gave
two other younger sons to the cause) and Mr. Ebenezer H. Hargrove, also
of Tuscaloosa County, had married two Mississippi girls, sisters, the
Misses Sykes of Columbus, Mississippi, and were engaged in planting in
Lowndes County, Miss. Hearing of this Artillery Co. they sent their
names to be added to the list. Dr. George Little, Professor of
Chemistry in Oakland College, Mississippi, and his younger brother,
John Little, Principal of the Preparatory Department, resigned their
places and returned to Tuscaloosa to join this Company. Edward Tarrant,
Superintendent of Education for Tuscaloosa County, had a flourishing
educational institute called the Columbian Institute at Taylorville
four and a half miles south of Tuscaloosa. He gave up his school and
joined the Company, where two of his sons, Ed William and John F.,
afterwards followed him.
Joseph Porter Sykes, a nephew of the Sykes sisters, had been appointed
by Pres. Davis a Cadet in the regular C. S. Army and at his request was
assigned to this Company. Dr. Nicholas Perkins Marlowe and Drs. Caleb
and Wm. Toxey served as surgeons at different times and Dr. Jarretts
and McMichael and Dr. Hill also later. We mention these doctors who
entered the ranks as privates as emphasizing the spirit that was moving
the young men of the time in every trade and profession. But their
country had too crying a need of medical men, in a few weeks, to permit
them to continue to serve with arms in their hands, and all of them
were soon promoted to the service for which their education fitted
them, serving as Regimental and Brigade surgeons and high in their
profession after the close of the war. In May the election of officers
was held and resulted in election of Charles Lumsden, Captain; George
W. Vaughn, Sr., First Lieutenant; Henry H. Cribbs, Jr., First
Lieutenant; Ebenezer H. Hargrove, Sr., Second Lieutenant; Edward
Tarrant, Jr., Second Lieutenant; Joseph Porter Sykes, Cadet.
The following were appointed non-commissioned Officers:
George Little, Orderly Sergeant; John Snow, Quartermaster Sergeant;
John A. Caldwell, Sergeant; A. Coleman Hargrove, Sergeant; Sam
Hairston, Sergeant; Wiley G. W. Hester, Sergeant; Horace W. Martin,
Sergeant; James L. Miller, Sergeant; Wm. B. Appling, Corporals; Wade
Brooks, J. Wick Brown, James Cardwell, Thomas Owen, Alex T. Dearing,
Wm. Hester, Seth Shepherd, Wm. Morris, Artificer, Wheelwright; Wm.
Worduff, Artificer, Harness; C. W. Donoho, Bugler; John Drake, Farrier.
At the request of Capt. Lumsden, Dr. George Little went to Mobile and
offered the service of the Company to Maj. Gen. Jones M. Witters, who
accepted it and promised a six gun Battery fully equipped and ordered
the Company to report at once for duty at Mobile. It went down on a
service steamboat and was first quartered in a cotton warehouse,
Hitchock's, on Water St., and mustered into service by Capt. Benjamin C.
Yancy of the regular C. S. Army. Horses and equipments were furnished
and the Captain was ordered to take two 24-lb. siege guns to Hall's
mills, a turpentine still fourteen and a half miles south west of
Mobile where Gen. Gladden was encamped with a Brigade of Infantry and
where a battalion of artillery was organized under the command of Major
James H. Hallonquist, a West Point graduate, and when in a camp of
instruction we were broken into the life and duties of soldiers, a life
very different from the experience of any of the company hitherto. On
March 3, 1862, the command was marched to Dog River Factory, a march of
about fifteen miles, when we boarded the Steamer Dorrance and were
carried to Ft. Gaines on Dauphin Island at the mouth of Mobile Bay.
At Ft. Gaines the drudgery of camp life was experienced in mounting
guns, blistering hands with shovels and crowbars and noses and ears by
the direct rays of a semi-tropical sun.
When bounty money was paid to the command, another new experience was
had by many, for released from restraints of home, church and public
sentiment, it did not take long for many to learn to be quite expert
gamblers. But the more thoughtful sent most of their money home to
their families and parents, and the general sentiment being against
such a lowering of the moral tone of the command, Capt. Lumsden issued
orders, absolutely forbidding all gambling in the camp, with the
approval of the great majority of his men.
About this time by some unknown means, it was reported in Tuscaloosa
that Capt. Lumsden was intemperate or addicted to drink. As soon as the
command heard of this report, they took immediate steps to "sit down on
the lie," to the great relief of friends and relatives at home. Neither
then nor in any succeeding years could any such charge have been
truthfully made against him. The boys thought this year's service
around Mobile a tough experience. They could not keep cleanly in their
dress nor enjoy all luxuries of life to which they had been accustomed
but the time soon came when they could look back to their first year's
experience of soldier life as luxurious, in comparison to rags and
semi-starvation that afterwards fell to their lot for months at a time.
Two steamboats were each making their weekly trips to Tuscaloosa and
back. Parents and friends came and went. The least expression of a
need, to the folks at home brought the wished for articles. Nothing was
too good for the boys at the front and fish and oysters were abundant
in season. The latter were in those days only considered eatable in the
R. months, as the saying was: i.e., during the months whose names
contained the letter R. So that from May to August, the poor things
could enjoy life without the fear of man. Ice was not then available to
preserve them during the summer months.
At Fort Gaines, Lt. Cribbs was given charge of the Ordnance Department.
In the early spring, the company received as recruits from Tuscaloosa
many good men. Feb. 24, 1862 there arrived with Lt. Tarrant, James T.
Searcy, John Chancellor, James Manly, Ed. King, Jno. Molette, T. Alex
Dearing and ten or twelve others, E. R. Prince, Jas. F. Prince. It is
from a personal diary kept by James T. Searcy that much of this first
and second year's experience of the command has been culled and all of
the dates.
On the trip down the boat "scraped the woods" considerably, butted out
one tree by the roots, butted another that staggered the boat without
injuring the tree, but left about twenty feet of the guards in the
water as the tree's trophy in the encounter. Such incidents were in
those days quite common in steamboat travel in low water.
Mumps, measles and kindred camp diseases made their usual inroads on
the health of the command, and many of them had to spend a part of the
time in the hospital in Mobile, George W. Smith and James L. Miller
among them.
Major Hallonquist was in command of the Artillery at Ft. Gaines but on
April 4th was ordered to join Gen. Bragg at Corinth, Tenn., and Col.
Melanclhan Smith took command of the Fort. Officers and men were
longing to meet the enemy in battle.
At Ft. Gaines, a few Yankee vessels blockading could be seen in the
distance, but the monotony was wearing, and each commanding officer was
pulling all possible ropes to secure orders to proceed to the front, in
this case to Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston's army near Corinth. Capt.
Lumsden got promises but by perhaps some political pull Gage's Mobile
battery secured the deserved privilege to report at Corinth and in the
battle of Shiloh got badly cut up and after the battle was ordered back
to Mobile to recuperate and Lumsden's was ordered to Corinth and given
the same guns and equipment.
On Sundays near Mobile Dr. Hill, a private, often officiated as a
preacher so that during this first year, Sundays could be distinguished
from the other days of the week. He was from near Columbus,
Mississippi, and a practicing physician as well. Tuesday, April 15,
1862, three days after the battle of Shiloh, found the command at
Corinth, having left Mobile on Monday and it took possession of Gage's
guns, etc., on April 16th, got tents 4:00 p.m. April 17th, so for the
first time for two nights, they slept on the ground in the open air, a
new thing then, the general rule thereafter.
Several Tuscaloosa Doctors were near Corinth, assisting in caring for
the wounded, amongst them Drs. Leland and Cochrane. Even to see so many
gathered as in this first army was a new sight and experience to these
raw troops.
On April 23rd the battery was attached to Chalmers Brigade, and marched
twelve miles over awful roads of sticky mud and water to Monterey,
where everything was next morning put in line of battle but the rifle
and cannon firing was a mere reconnaissance of the enemy and all hands
bivouaced in place on the wet ground.
Here much sickness prevailed and the rains were continuous. The
hospital tent was soon filled and on one day Orderly Sergeant Little,
out of a roll of 170 men took to a church in Corinth used as a hospital
in charge of Dr. N. P. Marlowe, sixty men sick. They had measles,
pneumonia, erysipelas, typhoid fever and chronic diarrhea. At this
evacuation of Corinth, the battery had barely enough men to drive the
horses and Gen. Chalmers made a detail from the 10th Mississippi
infantry to fill out the company.
Want of vegetable food, drinking water from seep wells and exposure to
cold rains caused the sickness. It was general in the army and probably
made necessary the retreat to Tupelo when, with better water, the
company and army quickly secured usual health. The evening of May 3,
1862 and that night found company under arms in line of battle with
Chalmer's Brigade, but no enemy appeared. Within two weeks ending May
8th, five of the men died: Fulgham, Hall, Hyche, Sims and Lingler. They
gave their lives to the cause.
To die in hospital was harder, much harder, than to die in the
excitement of battle, on the field. J. T. Searcy was unable to walk
from a carbuncle on his knee.
On Friday, May 9th, one section of two guns with their complement of
men, having been sent forward on Monterey road, at noon opened fire on
a considerable body of Yankee Infantry and a battery near Farmington.
The battery replied and a considerable duel was fought. Lumsden had no
causalities, but did fine shooting, as scouts reported, who passed over
ground that had been occupied by the enemy, that quite a number of
bodies were left by them on the field. This was the first time under
fire and their action was commended by the General in command. The
other section was on the Purdy road at the time, but did not get
engaged.
On May 9th, Friday, two new scouts reached the battery from Tuscaloosa,
Chas. J. Fiquet and John Little, the latter having given up a good
position in a Mississippi College.
On the 8th a gentleman named Bozeman came to the command and proved up
his son to be a minor, thus releasing him from service. The battery
remained near Tupelo about two months. Lieutenant Vaughn left the
battery here on sick furlough. On July 26th battery left Tupelo for
Chattanooga, Tennessee marching through Columbus, Mississippi, and
Tuscaloosa, Alabama. On Sunday, Aug. 3rd, at Columbus many of the
command were glad of the opportunity to attend church once more, in
civilized fashion, with friends and relatives of many of the command.
Nothing was too good to be lavished upon the soldier boys. Before
reaching Columbus, Gen. Bragg in passing the column noticed Lt. Cribb's
condition; inquired about him and ordered that he report at
Headquarters on reaching Columbus. When Lt. Cribbs did so, Gen. Bragg
furnished him one of his ambulances and ordered him to Tuscaloosa
ahead, to stay until recovered. John A. Caldwell was sent with him. He
was down with camp fever for some weeks and reached the battery again
near Cumberland Gap, after the retreat from Kentucky.
On Friday, Aug. 8th, the Battery reached Tuscaloosa where it remained
with the home people until Sunday, the 16th.
For one week, they had the freedom of the city and county, and were
with their families at their own homes for the last time 'till the
close of the war.
Leaving Tuscaloosa, Aug. 16th, for one week they were on the road to
Chattanooga and all sorts of a time was experienced. Some "<DW53> juice"
"tangle-foot" was occasionally in evidence and caused some exhilaration
and subsequent depression and some insubordination temporary. One good
man, the Captain felt compelled to buck near Ringston, Ga., and some
excitement was created among the men thereby. It is often hard for
volunteers to submit to punishment of that sort even when deserved, but
patriotism prevented any outbreak among the party's friends.
Sunday, August 31st, found the battery near a little town called
Dunlap, the county seat of Sequatchie County, Tennessee, having been
crossing the Cumberland mountains for two days. Thence to Sparta, White
County, Tennessee on Sept. 6th on an air line 40 miles from Dunlap, but
much more over the Cumberland mountain route. Friday, Sept. 19th, found
the battery on a hill overlooking the Federal fort at Munfordville,
Kentucky, having marched from Sparta some 120 miles during the 12
preceding days. Part of time in bivouac at Red Sulphur Springs, part of
the time marching, drenched to the skin for 24 hours at a stretch,
passing Glasgow and Cave City. At midnight of Tuesday the 16th, the
Federal force in the front surrendered and the next day marched out and
surrendered their arms, with due pomp and circumstances of war, 4200
men well clad in new uniforms of blue. Sergeant Little says, he had the
night before one corn nubbin and that day a piece of pumpkin of the
size of two fingers and sat on the fence eating it, while the prisoners
stacked arms and thought of the 10th Satire of Juvenal and the vanity
of military glory.
As our General entered the Fort, he volunteered as an aid to Gen. Bragg
and passed the picket line and seeing a box of crackers on the side of
the hill resigned the honorary position on the Staff and began
foraging. Just as he had filled his haversack, he was halted by a
sentinel and told that it was against Gen. Bragg's orders, whereupon he
desisted, but soon found another box and filled his "nose bag" with
crackers and returned to the battery, giving Capt. Lumsden and others a
cracker apiece until all were exhausted and he then distributed a
handfull of crumbs to the rest of the men.
On Sept. 22nd at Hagonsville, on 23rd at Bardstown, through a land
flowing with milk and honey, but themselves out of bread and living on
parched corn.
There was at Bardstown a Catholic College and some of the men purchased
here paper and envelopes and Dr. Little going through the library saw a
volume of Humboldt's Kasmas and on telling the Librarian that he had
breakfasted with Humboldt in 1858, at the home of the American
Minister, Gov. Wright of Indiana, at Berlin, Prussia, he told him that
this was an odd volume and he could have it. While reading it the next
day, seated on the top of a rail fence, he was called off suddenly by
an order for the battery to move and the battle of Perryville was on,
after the fight he returned to look for his book and the fence had
disappeared to make a temporary breastwork and the ground was
disfigured by the debris of battle.
Battery remained in camp in a beech grove for 11 days until Saturday,
Oct. 4th, and surely did enjoy the rest and the hospitality of many of
the citizens, who visited the camp daily. Buell's army was at
Louisville and to the southwest of that city and the close proximity of
the enemy, prevented much foraging at any distance from camp, for there
was a liability of a call to arms at any moment. Yet some of the
available supplies of the country fell to our lot, both eatable and
drinkable. Frank's forge was kept busy. Vandiver told his yarns about
his brother-in-law in Arkansas. Shepard's discourses came with heavy
weight through his ponderous beard. Peterson and his crowd entertained
the camp with music and song describing how "He sighed and she sighed
and she sighed again and she fatched another sigh and her head dropped
in." Billy Buck, Reuben, and Isham (Caldwell's servant) cooking biscuit
and meat and pumpkins.
Charley Fiquet and others watching the cooking wistfully, a little
having to go a long ways. All these remembrances of the camp near
Bardstown pass in review, and then it is remembered that we had a foot
deep of wheat straw, between our bodies and the wet earth, under the
stretched blanket or tarpaulin. All this while the regular military
duties, to care for man and beast go forward in regular routine, and
all ready at a moment's notice to be rushed into line of battle at some
indicated move of the enemy.
On Oct. 4th leaving vicinity of Bardstown, the battery passed through
Springfield, just as citizens were leaving church on the 5th Sunday,
and on the 6th passed through Perryville and on to within a mile of
Harrodsburg and bivouaced for the night.
On Tuesday 7th, the command retraced its march back to within two miles
of Perryville, sleeping at their guns during the night.
Next morning Lumsden's and Selden's (Montgomery, Alabama) Batteries
opened the fight in a duel with two Yankee batteries, Lumsden going
forward into the battle and unlimbering under fire of the enemy, losing
one horse from the fourth gun.
The fighting was severe during two hours, 4:00 p.m. to dark. Sims and
another man were wounded in the head by pieces of shell and Goodwyn by
rifle ball. The 4th piece was dismounted and two more horses killed,
then our infantry charged and drove the enemy for two miles with
considerable loss to the Federals.
The battery fired about 2000 rounds, the distance being about one half
mile and after the battle, the battery opposing us was seen knocked all
to pieces, horses piled up and haversacks and canteens strewn over the
ground, while in rear was a long line of knapsacks and overcoats laid
down by the infantry before going into battle and left in their hurried
retreat. Many of our men secured blue overcoats which they wore until
the close of the war. Sergt. Little says he saw a thousand of them but
never thought of securing any booty, but that night as it was very
cold, paid a member of the company $7.00 for one which he wore until it
was shot off him at Nashville.
Eventually Yankees fell back nine miles. The ground was strewed with
Yankee dead, overcoats, canteens, muskets etc. Lumsden got wheels from
Captain Greene to fix up the dismounted gun and remained in field until
noon the next day. This was Lumsden's first battle with the whole
battery. Leaving battle field about noon next day, the battery passed
through Harrodsburg and on Sunday the 12th passed Camp Dick Robinson
and on through Lancaster on the 13th toward Chab Orchard, the army
retreating through Cumberland Gap, via Wild Cat, through a very poor
and thinly settled country, mostly mountains. Troops lived on parched
corn and beef broiled on coals without salt.
Private Kahnweiler was left sick at Munfordville, Sergt. James Cardell,
at Harrodsburg. Private Wooley and Bates missing after Perryville,
supposed to have been killed.
At Camp Dick Robinson, we buried some cannons in an apple orchard
inscribed with Spanish to prevent the Yankees getting them. Here were
4000 barrels of pork, that had been collected from the country and a
good many barrels of whiskey, for which there was no transportation and
they were burned. Bushwhackers lined the route to Cumberland Gap and it
was not safe to get away from the main road.
Near Knoxville on Saturday, Oct. 25th, members of the company who had
been left behind sick at commencement of the Kentucky campaign rejoined
the company. Letters from home, decent clothing and more rations made
the men feel better, yet still clothing was too thin for on Oct. 26th
the whole army found itself covered with a blanket of snow about
daylight which continued to fall the entire day. At Knoxville, Dr.
Moore of the company died as also Dr. Jarrett's <DW64> man Wash. Henry
Donoho rejoined command. Ed King was left at Knoxville sick and Brown
was transferred to the Ordnance Department.
Nov. 9th found battery again at Dunlap, Tenn., whence it went to
Shelbyville by the 25th.
On Thursday, Nov. 27th, Sergt. Horace Martin was detailed to go to
Tuscaloosa to obtain clothing for the company. Lt. Eb Hargrove left
same day on furlough. Friday, Dec. 5th, it was snowing heavily, but the
orders were received to cook two day's rations and be ready to move by
12:00 o'clock but weather proved too bad for any movement.
On Dec. 7th John F. Tarrant got his discharge for disability. Left
Shelbyville on Dec. 7th, travelled pike 6 or 8 miles and bivouaced for
night. A stable made quite comfortable quarters for as many as it would
hold. On Monday marched through Unionville to one and a half miles from
Eaglesville and camped. Friday, Dec. 20th, Eaglesville to Murfreesboro,
joining again Reserve Battalion and meeting Wick Brown just arrived
with three boxes of goods from Tuscaloosa, bringing something for
nearly everybody.
On Dec. 28th Capt. Lumsden started for Richmond, Va., sick, taking
Corporal Sheperd with him. Lt. Cribbs was left in charge of the reserve
artillery, and Lt. Ed Tarrant in command of the Battery.
On Dec. 30th the rifle section was ordered to report to Gen.
Breckenridge on the extreme right of the army, facing the enemy on
Stone River north of Murfreesboro. The other section was in position in
yard | 2,531.888686 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif (This file was produced from images
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Lady Maude's Mania, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
LADY MAUDE'S MANIA, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A HIGH FAMILY.
"Con-found those organs!" said the Earl of Barmouth.
"And frustrate their grinders," cried Viscount Diphoos.
"They are such a nuisance, my boy."
"True, oh sire," replied the viscount, who had the heels of his patent
leather shoes on the library chimney-piece of the town mansion in
Portland Place. He had reached that spot with difficulty, and was
smoking a cigar, to calm his nerves for what he called the operation.
"Tom, my boy."
"Yes, gov'nor."
"If her ladyship faints--"
"If what?" cried the viscount, bringing his heels into the fender with a
crash.
"If--if--don't speak so sharply, my dear Tom; it jars my back, and sets
that confounded gout jigging and tearing at me all up my leg. I say, if
her ladyship faints when we come back from the church, will you be ready
to catch her. I'm afraid if I tried I should let her down, and it would
look so bad before the servants."
"Be too heavy for you, eh, gov'nor?" said Tom, grinning, as he mentally
conjured up the scene.
"Yes, my boy, yes. She has grown so much stouter and heavier, and I
have grown thinner and lighter since--since the happy day twenty-six
years ago when I married her, Tom--when I married her. Yes, much
stouter since I married her. How well I remember it all. Yes: it was
an easterly wind, I recollect, and your poor dear mamma--her ladyship,
Tom--had the toothache very badly. It made her face swell out on one
side as we went across to Paris, and I had a deal of bother to get the
waiter and chamber-maid to understand what a linseed-meal poultice was.
Very objectionable thing a linseed-meal poultice; I never did like the
smell."
"I should think not," said the son, watching his father seriously, the
old man having a worn look, as if he had been engaged in a severe
struggle with time.
"Peculiarly faint odour about them. Seems only last night, and now one
girl going to be married--her ladyship looking out for a rich husband
for the other. Er--er--does my wig look all right, Tom?" he continued,
patting his head as he turned towards a mirror.
The speaker, who was a very thin, highly-dilapidated old gentleman of
sixty-five, heaved a deep sigh, and then bent down to softly rub his
right leg.
"Spiff," replied Viscount Diphoos, a dapper little boyish fellow of
four-and-twenty, most carefully dressed, and looking as if, as really
was the case, he had just been shampooned, scented, and washed by
Monsieur Launay, the French barber. "I say, gov'nor, that tremendous
sigh don't sound complimentary to your son and heir."
"My dear boy--my dear Tom," said the old man affectionately, as he
toddled up to the back of his son's chair, and stood there patting his
shoulders. "It isn't that--it isn't that. I'm very, very proud of my
children. Bless you, my dear Tom; bless you, my dear boy! You're a
very good son to me, but I'm--I'm a bit weak this morning about Diana;
and that confounded fellow with his organ playing those melancholy tunes
quite upset me."
"But he has gone now, governor," said Tom.
"Yes, my boy, but--but he'll come back again, he always does. Grind,
grind, grind, till he seems to me to be grinding me; and I do not like
to swear, Tom, it's setting you such a bad example; but at times I feel
as if I must say damn, or something inside me would go wrong."
"Say it then, gov'nor, I'll forgive you. There, I have granted you my
indulgence."
"Thank you, Tom; thank you, Diphoos."
"No, no, gov'nor. Tom!--don't Diphoos me. I wish that confounded old
wet sponge of a Welsh mountain had been `diffoosed' before it gave me my
name."
"Ye-es, it is ugly, Tom. But they are family names, you see, Barmouth--
Diphoos. Very old family the Diphooses. And now this wedding--but
there, I'm all right now."
"To be sure you are, gov'nor."
"Yes, yes, yes; you are very good to me, Tom. Bless you, my boy, bless
you."
The weak tears stood in the old man's eyes, and his voice shook as he
spoke.
"Nonsense, gov'nor, nonsense," said Tom, taking one of the thin withered
hands. "I'm not much good to you; I think more of cigars and billiards
than anything else. Have a cigar, guv'nor?"
"No, my boy, no thank you; it would make me smell so, and her ladyship
might notice it. But, my boy, I see everything, though I'm getting a
little old and weak, and don't speak. You stand between her ladyship
and me very often, Tom, and make matters more easy. But don't you take
any notice of me, my boy, and don't you think I sighed because I was
unhappy, for--for I'm very proud of you, Tom, I'm deuced proud of you,
my boy; but it does upset me a bit about Diana going. India's a long
way off, Tom."
"Yes, gov'nor, but old Goole isn't a bad sort. The old lady wanted a
rich husband for Di, and she has got him. Di will be quite a Begum out
in India."
"Ye-es, Tom; and I suppose all the female Diphooses marry elderly
husbands and marry well. I am a bit anxious about Maude, now."
"No good to be. The old girl will settle all that. But I say, gov'nor,
what a set of studs! Come here; one of them's unfastened. You'll lose
it."
"I hope not, my boy--I hope not," said the old man, anxiously as his son
busied himself over the shirt-front. "Her ladyship would be so vexed.
She has taken care of them these ten years, and said I had better wear
them to-day."
"Did she?" said Tom, gruffly. "There: that will do. Why, you look
quite a buck this morning. That wig's a regular fizzer. Old Launay has
touched you up."
"I'm glad I look well, Tom, deuced glad," said the old man, brightening
up with pleasure. "And you think Goole's a nice fellow?"
"Ye-es," said Tom, "only, hang it all, gov'nor, there's no romance about
it. They are both so confoundedly cool and matter-of-fact. Why if I
were going to be married, I should feel all fire and excitement."
"No, my boy, no--oh, no," said the old man sadly; and he shook his head,
glancing nervously at the glass the next moment to see if his wig was
awry. "You read about that sort of thing in books, but it doesn't often
come off in fashionable life. I--I--I remember when--when I married her
ladyship, it was all very matter-of-fact and quiet. And there was that
poultice. But you will stand by and catch her if she faints, Tom?"
"Oh, she won't faint, gov'nor," said Tom, curling up his lip.
"I--I--I don't know, my boy, I don't know. She said that very likely
she should. Mammas do faint, you know, when they are losing their
children. I feel very faint myself, Tom: this affair upsets me. I
should like just one glass of port."
"No, no, don't have it, gov'nor; it will go right down into your toe.
Have a brandy and seltzer."
"Thank you, Tom, my boy, I will," said the old man, rubbing his hands,
"I will--I will. Ring for it, will you, Tom, and let Robbins think it's
for you."
"Why, gov'nor?" cried Tom, staring, as he rang the bell.
"Well, you see, my boy," said the old man, stooping to gently rub his
leg; "after that last visit of the doctor her ladyship told the
servants--told the servants that they were not to let me have anything
but what she ordered."
Tom uttered an angry ejaculation, waited a few moments, leaped from his
chair, and began sawing away furiously at the unanswered bell.
"He's--he's a fine bold young fellow, my son Tom," muttered the old man
to himself as he sat down, and began rubbing his leg; "I dare not ring
the bell like that--like that."
"Look here, gov'nor," cried Tom, passionately, "I won't have it. I will
not stand by and see you sat upon like this. Are you the master of this
house or no?"
"Well, Tom, my boy," said the old man, feebly, and with a weak smile
upon his closely shaven face, "I--I--I ought to be."
"Then do, for goodness' sake, take your position. It hurts me, dad, it
does indeed, to see you humbled so before the servants. I'll pay proper
respect to her ladyship, and support her in everything that's just, but
when it comes to my old father being made the laughing-stock of every
body in the house, I--I--there, damme, sir, I rebel against it."
As Tom seized the bell again, and dragged at it savagely, the old man
seemed deeply moved. He tried to speak, but no words would come, and
rising hastily he limped to the window, and stood looking out with
blurred eyes, trying to master his emotion.
"Thank you, Tom," he said, speaking as he looked out of the window.
"But after the doctor's last visit her ladyship told all the servants--
Todd's very particular, you know."
Tom said something about Doctor Todd that sounded condemnatory.
"Yes, my dear boy," said the earl, "but--"
Just then the door opened, and a ponderous-looking butler, carefully
dressed, with his hair brushed up into a brutus on the top of his head,
and every bristle closely scraped from a fat double-chin which reposed
in folds over his stiff white cravat, slowly entered the room.
"Why the devil isn't this bell answered, Robbins?" cried Tom.
"Very sorry, my lord, but I thought--"
"Confound you! how dare you think? You thought my father rang, and that
you might be as long as you liked."
"Ye-yes, my lord. I thought his lordship rang."
"Yes, you thought right," cried Tom. "His lordship rang for some brandy
and seltzer. Look sharp and get it."
"Yes, my lord, but--"
"Only a very little of the pale brandy in it, Robbins--about a
dessert-spoonful," said the earl, apologetically.
" | 2,531.981001 |
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Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A Girl of Virginia
[Illustration: "He had stepped from his own room far up the corridor."]
A Girl of Virginia
BY
LUCY M. THRUSTON
Author of "Mistress Brent"
_With a Frontispiece by Ch. Grunwald_
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
_Copyright, 1902_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
_To_
GOVERNOR MONTAGUE, OF VIRGINIA
_A former Student of the University_
A Girl of Virginia
I
"Good morning!" The voice was cheery, insistent. It brought the young
girl on the porch above to the white wooden rail about its edge.
"Good morning!" she called back lightly.
"Beautiful day!" persisted the young man saying inanely the first words
he could think of for the sole purpose of keeping her there in sight.
"Lovely!" cried the girl enthusiastically, leaning a little further over
the rail. A vine, which had climbed the round pillar and twined its
tendrils about the porch's edge, set waving by the slight motion, sent a
shower of scarlet leaves about the young man below; one fluttered upon
his breast, he caught it and held it over his heart as if it were a
message from her to him; and then he fastened it in his button-hole.
The young woman laughed carelessly as he did so; she was too used to
students to exaggerate the meaning of their words or deeds, and there
was no answering flash in her gray eyes as she looked down on him.
"Don't you think it too fine to stay indoors?"
"I'm not in," answered the girl turning her head to look up at the blue
arch of the sky overhead.
"Oh, well"--the young fellow bit his lip, and flushed hotly,--"you know
it's--Come, take a walk across the quadrangle," he added boldly.
"There's no one around."
Frances leaned further for a survey of campus and corridor. "All right!"
she cried, and he could hear her footsteps as she ran down the polished
stair in the big old house. When she opened the great hall door she was
charmingly demure. "Glad to see you Mr. Lawson!" she exclaimed
mischievously to the young man, who stood hat in hand by the wide step.
"Delighted, I'm sure!" he flashed back, holding the hand she extended as
long as he dared,--so long that the young woman had drawn herself up
quite straight and was looking gravely along the corridor when he
released it.
"You haven't mailed your letter!" she said looking at the missive he
still held.
"Oh! and I came--"
"There's the box, don't forget it!"
"Which way are you going?"
"Up to the Rotunda, of course."
"See how it commands everything else," said Frances, pausing at the
sunken, well-worn steps in the terraced corridor to look about her. The
morning shadows of the maples on the quadrangle stretched to the brick
pavement at their feet, scarlet and yellow leaves, blown across the
green grass, rustled about them; the picturesque buildings on the other
side the campus loomed in deep shadowings, for the sun was yet behind
them. A late student slammed his door and went hurrying down the
corridor, his footsteps echoing along the way.
"It is beautiful!" said Frances softly, as she went up the few steps.
"Beautiful, yes, and you don't appreciate it half as much--"
"Appreciate it!"
"Don't you hear the men raving over it everywhere? Those from a good
long distance especially--Oregon, for instance, that's my state you
know; but you Virginians--"
"Are not given to boasting!" said the girl proudly.
"There you are! You are"--"a queer lot," he was about to say, but
remembered himself in time. "You are--" he blundered; "one scarce knows
how to take you."
"Don't take us!" said the girl quietly.
"Now, Miss Holloway," deprecated the young man, "you see, the things
other people think you would be proudest of, you don't care for at all,
and the things other people don't care for--"
"Perhaps there are some people who don't talk about the things they care
for most. Perhaps," she went on, her flushing cheek and darkening eye
belying her light tone, "that's a secret you haven't found out, and it
may be the reason you don't know how to take us," she repeated.
"I'm not going to quarrel about it a morning like this," declared the
young man as they went up the wide steps to the Rotunda and along the
marble floor of the east wing which roofed over the rooms devoted to the
learning of law.
"No, nothing is worth it," answered the girl as she leaned against the
balustrade at the edge and looked off towards the mountains, and they
both were silent.
It was a scene the young man had not yet gotten used to, nor the girl
either, though she was born in its sight. Beyond the stretch of the
outer grounds of the University, beyond the far-reaching roofs and
spires of Charlottesville and the narrow valley of the Rapidan, rose,
high and bold, the last spur of the Ragged Mountains. The blue haze
veiled it even at this early hour; the frost clothing much of it showed
all colors save those of sombre hue; and, set on its crown, just where
it began to dip downwards, shone the whiteness of Monticello.
"He was a great man!" said the young man presently.
The girl nodded. No one ever sat thus, the buildings of the University
stretching at their feet, Monticello gleaming on its mountain crest and
asked the name of the man they lauded.
By and by she asked a question. "For what is Jefferson noted?"
"For being the founder of the democratic--"
"I thought so!" indignantly.
"Indeed! Oh! for founding the University of Virginia."
"You know your lesson quite well," with a little tinge of sarcasm; "if
you stay here long enough you'll find he did a great many other things.
Ah! he knew the beautiful. Look! were there ever any buildings more in
harmony, more exquisite in design, more fitted for living--Pshaw!" she
broke off petulantly at the young man's laugh, "you've made me boast!
You've seen Monticello?" she asked a little haughtily, as she
straightened from her leaning position.
"Of course."
The girl's eyes darkened as she stood looking down the campus from her
point of vantage, and though she was too proud to speak again of its
beauty--for it was her home--the young man's glances followed hers and
he noted it all; the inner quadrangle framed in its buildings of quaint
architecture, the velvet green of the campus, set with maples, and
dipping thrice and then deeply toward the gleaming buildings at the end;
the long stretch of corridors and white pillars, the professors' houses
rising two-storied above the students' homes: and about these, outside,
the wide grounds, the embowering trees, yellow and russet and red; rows
of cottages showing their tops here and there; and far off, rimming it
all, the misty, hazy mountain tops.
"I'm going into the library," announced Frances, all the banter gone
from her voice.
"Have you been to breakfast?" in astonishment.
"Haven't you? Oh! you are lazy! You must go at once. Mrs. Lancey won't
save it for you."
"Yes she will!" He followed her into the fairy white interior of the
Rotunda, with its great pillars bearing above their Corinthian pilasters
the carved circle on which were written the names of the giants of the
book world.
He had some faint desire to see before which of the cases she would
pause. He was proud of his knowledge of his fellow beings, but this
young woman puzzled him. It was a pleasure to his beauty-loving eyes to
gaze on her--tall, slender, but well set up, frank-eyed, clear-skinned
with an air of utter independence; the things he had heard her say and
seen her do kept her from any place in his category.
The long serge gown rustling softly on the marble pavement, she went
straight to the books she wanted. It was late, and she wished to avoid
the stream of students that would soon be setting roomwards and
hallwards.
She took down the volumes instantly--Fiske's "Old Virginia and her
Neighbors," and Byrd's "History of the Dividing Line." If Lawson was
astonished she gave him no chance to express it.
"You must hurry to breakfast," she insisted as they went out.
The young man looked down at the sunlit quadrangle. "Won't you go for a
drive about ten?" he asked abruptly.
"I'm going."
He caught his breath, but before he could answer--
"Susan wants some chickens. I promised her I'd get them. You are not
going out?" severely.
"It's such a temptation!"
"Young men who come all the way from Oregon come to study."
He strove for answer, but the young woman's nod was positive. It sent
him to the mess hall, while she hurried along the corridor, hurried to
avoid the crowd that would soon be abroad. So she had been trained, and
such was second nature. She was not afraid of any student or of all of
them. She had had delightful friends among them. But she was not a
students' belle; her dear father's abhorrence of such had kept her
unscathed.
She lived among them, but the traditions of her household kept her
apart. She was motherless, but her mother's influence had set her feet
in the path of freedom and her father saw to it that they kept their
way. In all the gay students' life that surged about her she was somehow
untouched. She was keenly alive to its phases, to all the life as a
whole, but not to any unit forming it. She saw the belles of the season
come and go at Christmas, at Easter, or the Finals, without the least
desire to outshine them, or shine with them; yet it would have been easy
enough had she wished it. Had she social aspirations she would find many
matrons in the professors' homes to chaperon her; had she been
sentimental she could have made many a bosom friend in the young girls
of the town; had she been trained otherwise, her record from her first
long skirt might have been one of reckless flirtations--for there is no
limit to a student's daring--but as it was, she lived among them quite
simply.
She ordered her father's house; she read, few knew how deeply; she rode,
she drove, and went her own way happily.
One lesson she had at heart. She took the young men about her without an
atom of seriousness. It was this which nettled Frank Lawson.
His attentions had been taken quite seriously usually, too seriously
once, he might have remembered. It aroused his insistence; it sent him
loitering by the gate to the grounds when Frances came driving down the
ribbony road winding outwards.
"I think you might take me," he declared, as she drove slowly by.
"Jump in!" Frances pulled the horse around and left the wheels towards
him hospitably opened.
Lawson thought of the beauty he had driven the afternoon before, of the
roses on her breast for which she had thanked him so graciously, of the
shining skins of his horses and the glittering wheels of his carriage,
and he set his teeth; but he climbed up into the trap and sat down by
Frances' side.
She did not offer him the reins, and he hated being driven by a woman.
"You know most of the roads about here?"
The young man assented.
"Out towards Monticello and down beyond the University and Park Street;
but you don't know this."
Frances had turned towards town, and was driving smartly past
Chancellor's and Anderson's, bookstore and drug store and loitering
grounds of the students, though the porches were empty now, along the
long street, across the high bridge spanning the narrow valley through
which the Southern railroad swept into the town, on down a steep hill;
and then she pulled sharply to the left, down a rough road past <DW64>
cabins, another sharp hill, across a clear mountain stream, and they
were in the country.
"You've never been this way before," repeated Frances as she began to
point out the features of the country. She spoke of house and cabin and
mill; but Lawson's eyes were turned towards the misty mountains. The
keen air blew in his face, the frosty touch sent his pulses tingling:
the smell of green grass and falling leaves and fresh earth was abroad,
and over there, to right to left, swam the mountain-tops in purple
mists. Each hill they topped showed vistas of hill and valley and
far-reaching crest.
The horse went at a good pace; his driver was the most companionable of
drivers; Lawson was absurdly happy.
"What's that little blue flower?" he asked, pointing to a starry bloom,
daisy-shaped, blossoming on a weed-like stem.
"That's another of the beauties for which we thank Jefferson, that and
the Scotch broom in the woods; you saw it?"
"But where does this come from?"
"Don't ask me! Scotland, also, perhaps; here we are!" She pulled up
sharply before a cabin by the road, and, before he could take the reins
she threw down, sprang out.
Lawson sat feeling like a chagrined schoolboy. It was one of the small
accomplishments of which he was proud, to lift a woman from carriage or
saddle. He had strong muscles well trained, and he had a fashion of
putting his hands at the woman's waist and giving her a lift, quick,
light, and sure, and setting her on her feet with a look of pleased
astonishment in her eyes; now he sat holding the reins like any good boy
and watching the flutter of a blue skirt around the clusters of zinnias
and marigolds by the cabin corner. And then he heard voices and laughter
and the squawks of terrified chickens.
Frances was coming back,--a <DW52> woman, with a bunch of chickens in
either hand, walking by her side. He listened to the woman with intense
amusement.
"Why don't you say thanky?" she was demanding.
Frances only laughed.
"I done tole yuh how pretty yuh is; now why don't yuh say thanky?"
"She ought to, that she ought," called Lawson from the trap.
"Hi, honey!" cried the delighted darkey, "is dat him? La, chile, now he
suttenly is a nice beau!"
"Aunt Roxie," said Frances haughtily, "put the chickens in the back of
the trap. You're sure you've got them tied all right?"
"'Co'se I is!"
Lawson, delighted with Frances' discomfiture, was fussing about, helping
the <DW52> woman.
"Jes lissen at her, jes as mighty as you please," she muttered to him,
and then quite loudly, "some folks suttenly is hard to please; yuh
praises dem, dey got nutten to say; yuh praises de beau an' dey looks
mad!"
"Never mind!" cried Frances, "never mind! I'm not going to bring you any
tobacco next time I come!"
"La! Miss Frances, what mattah long yuh now--yuh know--hyar, chile,
lemme pull yuh some dese hyar flowers; de fros' done totch dem anyhow!"
But Frances was not listening; she was off fast as her horse would
trot, the chickens squawking indignantly, and Roxie by her zinnias and
marigolds gazing in open-mouthed astonishment. Lawson was shaking with
laughter. He was even with her he felt, and perhaps a little ahead. He
was sure he was ahead when, just outside the University gate, one of the
chickens, freed after much straining, fluttered under the edge of
Frances' skirt and shrieked a loud and triumphant squawk. Frances sprang
to her feet; but for Lawson she would have been out and under the wheel.
There was no laughter about that young man for one swift instant, when
he threw his arm out, pulled her back into the seat and snatched the
falling reins. The danger past, he caught the offending fowl, fluttering
now in the dash-board, handed it gravely to Frances and then, without a
word of excuse, leaned back and laughed until the tears were in his
eyes.
As for Frances, she was white, she was cold. She had been frightened for
the first time in her life into a silly deed. She was mad through and
through, but it was useless. Under that ringing laugh all else gave
way; she must join in it.
"Never mind," she declared, when Lawson drew rein outside the quadrangle
and lifted her out impressively. "I shall have that chicken for supper."
"I'm coming to help eat him!"
"Come on!" she called gayly, as she disappeared along the walk to the
campus.
II
Frances lingered in the dining-room after dinner was done. She pretended
to be rearranging the flowers on the table; in reality she was thinking
what to say to the little, spare, bent <DW52> woman who was busily
clearing away the dishes.
"Susan," she began, "I think I'll make a | 2,531.98348 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
JUNE 21, 1894.
* * * * *
A RIVERSIDE LAMENT.
In my garden, where the rose
By the hundred gaily blows,
And the river freshly flows
Close to me,
I can spend the summer day
In a quite idyllic way;
Simply charming, you would say,
Could you see.
I am far from stuffy town,
Where the soots meander down,
And the air seems--being brown--
Close to me.
I am far from rushing train;
_Bradshaw_ does not bore my brain,
Nor, comparatively plain,
_A B C_.
To my punt I can repair,
If the weather's fairly fair,
But one grievance I have there;
Close to me,
As I sit and idly dream,
Clammy corpses ever seem
Floating down the placid stream
To the sea.
Though the boats that crowd the lock--
Such an animated block!--
Bring gay damsels, quite a flock,
Close to me,
Yet I heed not tasty togs,
When, as motionless as logs,
Float defunct and dismal dogs
There _aussi_.
As in Egypt at a feast,
With each party comes at least
One sad corpse, departed beast,
Close to me;
Till a Canon might go off,
Till a Dean might swear or scoff,
Or a Bishop--tip-top toff
In a see.
Floating to me from above,
If it stick, with gentle shove,
To my neighbour, whom I love,
Close to me,
I send on each gruesome guest.
Should I drag it out to rest
In my garden? No, I'm blest!
_Non, merci!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE 'ARDEN-ING PROCESS.
_Orlando._ "TIRED, ROSALIND?" _Rosalind._ "PNEUMATICALLY."]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"For a modest dish of camp-pie, suited to barracks and youth militant,
commend me," quoth one of the Baron's Baronites, "to _Only a
Drummer-Boy_, a maiden effort, and unpretentious, like its author, who
calls himself ARTHUR AMYAND, but is really Captain ARTHUR DRUMMER
HAGGARD. He has the rare advantage, missed by most people who write
soldier novels, of knowing what he is talking about. If there are faults
'to pardon in the drawing's lines,' they are faults of technique and not
of anatomy." "The Court is with you," quoth the BARON DE B.-W.
* * * * *
HOTEL NOTE.--The _chef_ at every Gordon Hotel ought to be a "_Gordon
Bleu_."
* * * * *
THE VOLUNTEER'S VADE MECUM.
(_Bisley Edition._)
_Question._ What is the ambition of every rifleman?
_Answer._ To become an expert marksman.
_Q._ How is this to be done?
_A._ By practice at the regimental butts (where such accommodation
exists), and appearing at Bisley.
_Q._ Is the new site of the National Rifle Association better than the
last?
_A._ Certainly, for those who come to Bisley intend to shoot.
_Q._ But did any one turn up at Wimbledon for any purpose other than
marksmanship?
_A._ Yes, for many of those who occupied the tents used their _marquees_
merely as a suitable resting-place for light refreshments.
_Q._ Is there anything of that kind at Bisley?
_A._ Not much, as the nearest place of interest is a crematorium, and
the most beautiful grounds in the neighbourhood belong to a cemetery.
_Q._ Then the business of Bisley is shooting?
_A._ Distinctly. Without the rifle, the place would be as melancholy as
its companion spot, Woking.
_Q._ In this place of useful work, what is the first object of the
marksman?
_A._ To score heavily, if possible; but, at any rate, to score.
_Q._ Is it necessary to appear in uniform?
_A._ That depends upon the regulations commanding the prize
competitions.
_Q._ What is uniform?
_A._ As much or as little of the dress of a corps that a judge will
order a marksman to adopt.
_Q._ If some marksmen were paraded with their own corps, how would they
look?
_A._ They would appear to be a sorry sight.
_Q._ Why would they appear to be a sorry sight?
_A._ Because over a tunic would appear a straw hat, and under a
pouch-belt fancy tweed trousers.
_Q._ But surely if the Volunteers are anxious to improve themselves they
will practise "smartness"?
_A._ But they do not want to promote smartness; they want to win cups,
or the value of cups.
_Q._ What is the greatest reward that a marksman can obtain?
_A._ Some hundreds of pounds.
_Q._ And the smallest?
_A._ A dozen of somebody's champagne, or a box of someone else's soap.
_Q._ Under all the circumstances of the case, what would be an
appropriate rule for Bisley?
_A._ Look after the cup-winning, and everything else will take care of
itself.
* * * * *
LATEST PARLIAMENTARY BETTING.
GENERAL ELECTION STAKES.
2 to 1 on Rosebery and Ladas (coupled).
25 to 1 agst Harcourt's Resignation.
50 to 1 -- Nonconformist Conscience.
70 to 1 -- Budget Bill (off--75 to 1 taken).
100 to 1 -- Ministerial Programme.
FOR PLACES (NEXT SESSION STAKES).
2 to 1 on Asquith for the Leadership.
12 to 1 agst the Labouchere Peerage.
NEW PREMIERSHIP SELLING STAKES.
12 to 1 on Gladstone Redivivus.
200 to 1 agst any other.
* * * * *
AS WE LIKE IT.
(JAQUES _resumes_.)
--All the world's upon the stage,
And here and there you really get a player:
The exits rather than the entrances
Are regulated by the County Council;
And one man in a season sees a lot--
Seven plays a week, including _matinees_,
And several acts in each. And first the infant,
A vernal blossom of the Garrick Caste,
Playing the super in his bassinet,
And innocently causing some chagrin
To Mr. ECCLES. Then there's _Archibald_,
_New Boy_, and nearly father to the man,
With mourning on his face and kicks behind,
Returning under strong connubial stress
Unwillingly to school. And next the lover,
Sighing like | 2,531.983659 |
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Produced by Turgut Dincer, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_; superscripts
are indicated by ^carets. Other Notes are at the end of this eBook.
SOME MEDICAL ASPECTS
OF OLD AGE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
SOME MEDICAL ASPECTS
OF OLD AGE
BEING THE LINACRE LECTURE, 1922,
ST. JOHN’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
BY
SIR HUMPHRY ROLLESTON, K.C.B.
M.D., D.C.L., LL.D.
PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS OF LONDON
EMERITUS PHYSICIAN, ST. GEORGE’S HOSPITAL
SOMETIME FELLOW OF ST. JOHN’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1922
COPYRIGHT
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.
PREFACE
The material in this small volume was collected in connexion with
the Linacre Lecture at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and has been
somewhat expanded since its delivery on 6th May 1922. The introduction
is chiefly of local interest in connexion with the history of the
Linacre Lecture. Without attempting a complete account of old age and
its diseases I have passed in review some ancient and modern medical
aspects of this subject, but, except for incidental references, medical
treatment has not been considered.
For ready help, especially as regards the illustrations, my cordial
thanks are due to C. J. S. Thompson, Esq., M.B.E., of the Wellcome
Historical Museum, and for the index I am much indebted to H. M.
Barlow, Esq., Assistant Librarian of the Royal College of Physicians of
London.
H. R.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 1
II. DURATION OF LIFE 9
III. ONSET OF OLD AGE 26
IV. FACTORS INFLUENCING LONGEVITY 32
V. CAUSES OF SEN | 2,532.084043 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
by
FERGUS HUME,
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "For the Defense," "The
Harlequin Opal," "The Girl from Malta," Etc.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Copyright, 1906, by Rand, McNally & Co.
PREFACE.
In his earlier works, notably in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" and "The
Silent House in Pimlico," Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for
plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising
kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English.
In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and
style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of
characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and
women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made
to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the
reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people.
Mr. Hume's treatment of the peculiar and exclusive ecclesiastical
society of a small English cathedral city is quite worthy of Anthony
Trollope, and his leading character, Bishop Pendle, is equal to
Trollope's best bishop. The Reverend Mr. Cargrim, the Bishop's poor and
most unworthy protege, is a meaner Uriah Heep. Mrs. Pansey is the
embodiment of all shrewishness, and yields unlimited amusement. The
Gypsies are genuine--such as George Borrow, himself, would have pictured
them--not the ignorant caricatures so frequently drawn by writers too
lazy to study their subject.
Besides these types, there are several which seem to have had no exact
prototypes in preceding fiction. Such are Doctor Graham, "The Man with a
Scar," the Mosk family--father, mother, and daughter--Gabriel Pendle,
Miss Winchello, and, last but not least, Mr. Baltic--a detective so
unique in character and methods as to make Conan Doyle turn green with
envy.
All in all, this story is so rich in the essential elements of worthy
fiction--in characterization, exciting adventure, suggestions of the
marvelous, wit, humor, pathos, and just enough of tragedy--that it is
offered to the American public in all confidence that it will be
generally and heartily welcomed.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CHAPTER I
'ENTER MRS PANSEY AS CHORUS'
Of late years an anonymous mathematician has declared that in the
British Isles the female population is seven times greater than the
male; therefore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that
seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his
name. Miss Daisy Norsham, a veteran Belgravian spinster, decided, after
some disappointing seasons, that this text was particularly applicable
to London. Doubtful, therefore, of securing a husband at the rate of one
chance in seven, or dissatisfied at the prospect of a seventh share in a
man, she resolved upon trying her matrimonial fortunes in the country.
She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said
to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than that
of man-catching she was shallow past belief. Still, she did hope, by
dint of some brisk campaigning in the diocese of Beorminster, to capture
a whole man unto herself.
Her first step was to wheedle an invitation out of Mrs Pansey, an
archdeacon's widow--then on a philanthropic visit to town--and she
arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of
Beorminster, in time to attend a reception at the bishop's palace. Thus
the autumn manoeuvres of Miss Norsham opened most auspiciously.
Mrs Pansey, with whom this elderly worshipper of Hymen had elected to
stay during her visit, was a gruff woman, with a scowl, who 'looked all
nose and eyebrows.' Few ecclesiastical matrons were so well known in
the diocese of Beorminster as was Mrs Pansey; not many, it must be
confessed, were so ardently hated, for there were few pies indeed in
which this dear lady had not a finger; few keyholes through which her
eye did not peer. Her memory and her tongue, severally and combined, had
ruined half the reputations in the county. In short, she was a renowned
social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by scaring the
lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself. These latter
feared her'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew the pasts
of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived, by a
pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so ill-advised
as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall,
gaunt figure--invariably arrayed in the blackest of black silks--was
sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the way or
judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's talent for
twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape calculated to get
its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular method of
making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample leisure, both of
these helped her materially to build up her reputation of a
philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking
one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided according
to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she demanded an
unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have an opinion but
Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for them unless their ideas
coincided with those of their patroness--which they never did. Mrs
Pansey had never been a mother, yet, in her own opinion, there was
nothing about children she did not know. She had not studied medicine,
therefore she dubbed the doctors a pack of fools, saying she could cure
where they failed. Be they tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, Mrs
Pansey invariably knew more about their vocations than they themselves
did or were ever likely to do. In short, this celebrated lady--for her
reputation was more than local--was what the American so succinctly
terms a'she-boss'; and in a less enlightened age she would indubitably
have been ducked in the Beorflete river as a meddlesome, scolding,
clattering jade. Indeed, had anyone been so brave as to ignore the
flight of time and thus suppress her, the righteousness of the act would
most assuredly have remained unquestioned.
Now, as Miss Norsham wanted, for her own purposes, to 'know the ropes,'
she was fortunate to come within the gloom of Mrs Pansey's silken robes.
For Mrs Pansey certainly knew everyone, if she did not know everything,
and whomsoever she chaperoned had to be received by Beorminster society,
whether Beorminster society liked it or not. All _protegees_ of Mrs
Pansey sheltered under the aegis of her terrible reputation, and woe to
the daring person who did not accept them as the most charming, the
cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of their sex. But in the
memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle against Mrs Pansey, and
so this feminine Selkirk remained monarch of all she surveyed, and ruled
over a community consisting mainly of canons, vicars and curates, with
their respective wives and offsprings. There were times when her
subjects made use of language not precisely ecclesiastic, and not
infrequently Mrs Pansey's name was mentally included in the Commination
Service.
Thus it chanced that Daisy, the spinster, found herself in Mrs Pansey's
carriage on her way to the episcopalian reception, extremely well
pleased with herself, her dress, her position, and her social guardian
angel. The elder lady was impressively gloomy in her usual black silk,
fashioned after the early Victorian mode, when elegance invariably gave
place to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian epoch.
It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet ornaments. Her
bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel beads, finished
off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the portrait and hair
of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and voluminous, so that
they swept the floor with a creepy rustle like the frou-frou of a
brocaded spectre. She wore black silk mittens, and on either bony wrist
a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set hideously in pale
gold. Thus attired--a veritable caricature by Leech--this survival of a
prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled the reputations of all
and sundry.
Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was lean;
her arms were thin. She made up for lack of quality by display of
quantity. In her _decollete_ costume she appeared as if composed of
bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss Norsham's
wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her uncomely
person, but for the deception of any possible suitor into the belief
that she was well dowered. She affected gauzy fabrics and fluttering
baby ribbons, so that her dress was as the fleecy flakes of snow
clinging to a well-preserved ruin.
For the rest she had really beautiful eyes, a somewhat elastic mouth,
and a straight nose well powdered to gloss over its chronic redness. Her
teeth were genuine and she cultivated what society novelists term
silvery peals of laughter. In every way she accentuated or obliterated
nature in her efforts to render herself attractive.
Ichabod was writ large on her powdered brow, and it needed no great
foresight to foresee the speedy approach of acidulated spinsterhood.
But, to do her justice, this regrettable state of single blessedness was
far from being her own fault. If her good fortune had but equalled her
courage and energy she should have relinquished celibacy years ago.
'Oh, dear--dear Mrs Pansey,' said the younger lady, strong in adjectives
and interjections and reduplication of both, 'is the bishop very, very
sweet?'
'He's sweet enough as bishops go,' growled Mrs Pansey, in her deep-toned
voice. 'He might be better, and he might be worse. There is too much
Popish superstition and worship of idols about him for my taste. If the
departed can smell,' added the lady, with an illustrative sniff, 'the
late archdeacon must turn in his grave when those priests of Baal and
Dagon burn incense at the morning service. Still, Bishop Pendle has his
good points, although he _is_ a time-server and a sycophant.'
'Is he one of the Lancashire Pendles, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'A twenty-fifth cousin or thereabouts. He says he is a nearer relation,
but I know much more about it than he does. If you want an ornamental
bishop with good legs for gaiters, and a portly figure for an apron, Dr
Pendle's the man. But as a God-fearing priest' (with a groan), 'a
simple worshipper' (groan) 'and a lowly, repentant sinner' (groan), 'he
leaves much--much to be desired.'
'Oh, Mrs Pansey, the dear bishop a sinner?'
'Why not?' cried Mrs Pansey, ferociously; 'aren't we all miserable
sinners? Dr Pendle's a human worm, just as you are--as I am. You may
dress him in lawn sleeves and a mitre, and make pagan genuflections
before his throne, but he is only a worm for all that.'
'What about his wife?' asked Daisy, to avert further expansion of this
text.
'A poor thing, my dear, with a dilated heart and not as much blood in
her body as would fill a thimble. She ought to be in a hospital, and
would be, too, if I had my way. Lolling all day long on a sofa, and
taking glasses of champagne between doses of iron and extract of beef;
then giving receptions and wearing herself out. How he ever came to
marry the white-faced doll I can't imagine. She was a Mrs Creagth when
she caught him.'
'Oh, really! a widow?'
'Of course, of course. You don't suppose she's a bigamist even though
he's a fool, do you?' and the eyebrows went up and down in the most
alarming manner. 'The bishop--he was a London curate then--married her
some eight-and-twenty years ago, and I daresay he has repented of it
ever since. They have three children--George' (with a whisk of her fan
at the mention of each name), 'who is a good-looking idiot in a line
regiment; Gabriel, a curate as white-faced as his mother, and no doubt
afflicted as she is with heart trouble. He was in Whitechapel, but his
father put him in a curacy here--it was sheer nepotism. Then there is
Lucy; she is the best of the bunch, which is not saying much. They've
engaged her to young Sir Harry Brace, and now they are giving this
reception to celebrate having inveigled him into the match.'
'Engaged?' sighed the fair Daisy, enviously. 'Oh, do tell me if this
girl is really, really pretty.'
'Humph,' said the eyebrows, 'a pale, washed-out rag of a creature--but
what can you expect from such a mother? No brains, no style, no
conversation; always a simpering, weak-eyed rag baby. Oh, my dear, what
fools men are!'
'Ah, you may well say that, dear Mrs Pansey,' assented the spinster,
thinking wrathfully of this unknown girl who had succeeded where she had
failed. 'Is it a very, very good match?'
'Ten thousand a year and a fine estate, my dear. Sir Harry is a nice
young fellow, but a fool. An absentee landlord, too,' grumbled Mrs
Pansey, resentfully. 'Always running over the world poking his nose into
what doesn't concern him, like the Wandering Jew or the _Flying
Dutchman_. Ah, my dear, husbands are not what they used to be. The late
archdeacon never left his fireside while I was there. I knew better than
to let him go to Paris or Pekin, or some of those sinks of iniquity.
Cook and Gaze indeed!' snorted Mrs Pansey, indignantly; 'I would abolish
them by Act of Parliament. They turn men into so many Satans walking to
and fro upon the earth. Oh, the immorality of these latter days! No
wonder the end of all things is predicted.'
Miss Norsham paid little attention to the latter portion of this
diatribe. As Sir Harry Brace was out of the matrimonial market it
conveyed no information likely to be of use to her in the coming
campaign. She wished to be informed as to the number and the names of
eligible men, and forewarned with regard to possible rivals.
'And who is really and truly the most beautiful girl in Beorminster?'
she asked abruptly.
'Mab Arden,' replied Mrs Pansey, promptly. 'There, now,' with an
emphatic blow of her fan,'she is pretty, if you like, though I daresay
there is more art than nature about her.'
'Who is Mab Arden, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'She is Miss Whichello's niece, that's who she is.'
'Whichello? Oh, good gracious me! what a very, very funny name. Is Miss
Whichello a foreigner?'
'Foreigner? Bah!' cried Mrs Pansey, like a stentorian ram,'she belongs
to a good old English family, and, in my opinion, she disgraces them
thoroughly. A meddlesome old maid, who wants to foist her niece on to
George Pendle; and she's likely to succeed, too,' added the lady,
rubbing her nose with a vexed air, 'for the young ass is in love with
Mab, although she is three years older than he is. Mr Cargrim also likes
the girl, though I daresay it is money with him.'
'Really! Mr Cargrim?'
'Yes, he is the bishop's chaplain; a Jesuit in disguise I call him, with
his moping and mowing and sneaky ways. Butter wouldn't melt in his
mouth; oh, dear no! I gave my opinion about him pretty plainly to Dr
Graham, I can tell you, and Graham's the only man with brains in this
city of fools.'
'Is Dr Graham young?' asked Miss Norsham, in the faint hope that Mrs
Pansey's list of inhabitants might include a wealthy bachelor.
'Young? He's sixty, if you call that young, and in his second childhood.
An Atheist, too. Tom Payn, Colonel Ingersoll, Viscount Amberly--those
are his gods, the pagan! I'd burn him on a tar-barrel if I had my way.
It's a pity we don't stick to some customs of our ancestors.'
'Oh, dear me, are there no young men at all?'
'Plenty, and all idiots. Brainless officers, whose wives would have to
ride on a baggage-waggon; silly young squires, whose ideal of womanhood
is a brazen barmaid; and simpering curates, put into the Church as the
fools of their respective families. I don't know what men are coming
to,' groaned Mrs Pansey. 'The late archdeacon was clever and pious; he
honoured and obeyed me as the marriage service says a man should do. I
was the light of the dear man's eyes.'
Had Mrs Pansey stated that she had been the terror of the late
archdeacon's life she would have been vastly nearer the truth, but such
a remark never occurred to her. Although she had bullied and badgered
the wretched little man until he had seized the first opportunity of
finding in the grave the peace denied him in life, she really and truly
believed that she had been a model wife. The egotism of first person
singular was so firmly ingrained in the woman that she could not
conceive what a scourge she was to mankind in general; what a trial she
had been to her poor departed husband in particular. If the late
Archdeacon Pansey had not died he would doubtless have become a
missionary to some cannibal tribe in the South Seas in the hope that
his tough helpmate would be converted into 'long-pig.' But, unluckily
for Beorminster, he was dead and his relict was a mourning widow, who
constantly referred to her victim as a perfect husband. And yet Mrs
Pansey considered that Anthony Trollope's celebrated Mrs Proudie was an
overdrawn character.
As to Miss Norsham, she was in the depths of despair, for, if Mrs Pansey
was to be believed, there was no eligible husband for her in
Beorminster. It was with a heavy heart that the spinster entered the
palace, and it was with the courage born of desperation that she perked
up and smiled on the gay crowd she found within.
CHAPTER II
THE BISHOP IS WANTED
The episcopalian residence, situate some distance from the city, was a
mediaeval building, enshrined in the remnant of a royal chase, and in its
perfect quiet and loneliness resembled the palace of the Sleeping
Beauty. Its composite architecture was of many centuries and many
styles, for bishop after bishop had pulled down portions and added
others, had levelled a tower here and erected a wing there, until the
result was a jumble of divers designs, incongruous but picturesque. Time
had mellowed the various parts into one rich whole of perfect
beauty, and elevated on a green rise, surrounded by broad stone
terraces, with towers and oriels and turrets and machicolated
battlements; clothed with ivy, buried amid ancient trees, it looked like
the realisation of a poet's dream. Only long ages and many changing
epochs; only home-loving prelates, ample monies, and architects of
genius, could have created so beautiful and unique a fabric. It was the
admiration of transatlantic tourists with a twang; the desire of
millionaires. Aladdin's industrious genii would have failed to build
such a masterpiece, unless their masters had arranged to inhabit it five
centuries or so after construction. Time had created it, as Time would
destroy it, but at present it was in perfect preservation, and figured
in steel-plate engravings as one of the stately homes of England. No
wonder the mitre of Beorminster was a coveted prize, when its gainer
could dwell in so noble and matchless a mansion.
As the present prelate was an up-to-date bishop, abreast of his time and
fond of his creature comforts, the interior of the palace was modernised
completely in accordance with the luxurious demands of nineteenth
century civilisation. The stately reception-rooms--thrown open on this
night to what the _Beorminster Weekly Chronicle_, strong in foreign
tongues, tautologically called 'the _elite_ and _creme de la creme_ of
the diocese'--were brilliantly illuminated by electric lamps and
furnished magnificently throughout, in keeping with their palatial
appearance. The ceilings were painted in the Italian style, with
decently-clothed Olympian deities; the floors were of parquetry,
polished so highly, and reflecting so truthfully, that the guests seemed
to be walking, in some magical way, upon still water. Noble windows,
extending from floor to roof, were draped with purple curtains, and
stood open to the quiet moonlit world without; between these, tall
mirrors flashed back gems and colours, moving figures and floods of
amber radiance, and enhanced by reduplicated reflections the size of the
rooms. Amid all this splendour of warmth and tints and light moved the
numerous guests of the bishop. Almost every invitation had been
accepted, for the receptions at the palace were on a large and liberal
scale, particularly as regards eating and drinking. Dr Pendle, in
addition to his official salary, possessed a handsome income, and spent
it in the lavish style of a Cardinal Wolsey. He was wise enough to know
how the outward and visible signs of prosperity and dignity affect the
popular imagination, and frequently invited the clergy and laity to
feast at the table of Mother Church, to show that she could dispense
loaves and fishes with the best, and vie with Court and Society in the
splendour | 2,532.084996 |
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THE
CARE OF BOOKS
London: C. J. CLAY AND SONS,
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,
AVE MARIA LANE,
Glasgow: 50, WELLINGTON STREET.
[Illustration]
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS.
New York: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Bombay: E. SEYMOUR HALE.
[_All Rights reserved._]
THE
CARE OF BOOKS
An Essay on the
Development of Libraries and
their Fittings, from the earliest times to
the end of the Eighteenth Century
By
JOHN WILLIS CLARK, M.A., F.S.A.
Registrary of the University
and formerly Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge
CAMBRIDGE
at the University Press
1901
Cambridge:
PRINTED BY J. AND C. F. CLAY,
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
FRANCISCO AIDANO GASQUET
MONACHO BENEDICTINO
D.D.
MAGISTRO DISCIPULUS
PREFACE.
When engaged in editing and completing _The Architectural History of the
University and Colleges of Cambridge_, I devoted much time and attention
to the essay called _The Library_. The subject was entirely new; and the
more I looked into it, the more convinced did I become that it would well
repay fuller investigation than was then possible. For instance, I felt
certain that the Customs affecting monastic libraries would, if one could
only discover them, throw considerable light on collegiate statutes
relating to the same subject.
The _Architectural History_ having been published, I had leisure to study
libraries from my new point of view; and, while thus engaged, I
fortunately met with the admirable paper by Dom Gasquet which he modestly
calls _Some Notes on Medieval Monastic Libraries_. This brief essay--it
occupies only 20 pages--opened my eyes to the possibilities that lay
before me, and I gladly place on record here the debt I owe to the
historian to whom I have dedicated this book.
When I had the honour of delivering the Rede Lecture before the University
of Cambridge in June 1894, I attempted a reconstruction of the monastic
library, shewing its relationship, through its fittings, to the
collegiate libraries of Oxford and Cambridge; and I was also able,
following the example set by Dom Gasquet in the above-mentioned essay, to
indicate the value of illuminated manuscripts as illustrating the life of
a medieval student or scribe. In my lectures as Sandars Reader in
Bibliography, delivered before the University of Cambridge in 1900, I
developed the subject still further, extending the scope of my enquiries
so as to include the libraries of Greece and Rome.
In writing my present book I have availed myself freely of the three works
above mentioned. At the same time I have incorporated much fresh material;
and I am glad to take this opportunity of stating, that, with the single
exception of the Escorial, I have personally examined and measured every
building which I have had occasion to describe; and many of the
illustrations are from my own sketches.
I call my book an _Essay_, because I wish to indicate that it is only an
attempt to deal, in a summary fashion, with an extremely wide and
interesting subject--a subject, too, which might easily be subdivided into
separate heads each capable of more elaborate treatment. For instance,
with regard to libraries in Religious Houses, I hope to see a book
written, dealing not merely with the way in which the books were cared
for, but with the subjects most generally studied, as indicated to us by
the catalogues which have survived.
A research such as I have had to undertake has naturally involved the
co-operation of numerous librarians and others both in England and on the
Continent. From all these officials I have experienced unfailing courtesy
and kindness, and I beg them to accept this collective expression of my
gratitude. To some, however, I am under such particular obligations, that
I wish to mention them by name.
In the first place I have to thank my friends Dr Jackson of Trinity
College, Dr Sandys of S. John's College, Dr James of King's College, and
F. J. H. Jenkinson, M.A., University Librarian, for their kind help in
reading proofs and making suggestions. Dr Sandys devoted much time to the
revision of the first chapter. As my work deals largely with monastic
institutions it is almost needless to say that I have consulted and
received efficient help from my old friend W. H. St John Hope, M.A.,
Assistant Secretary to the Society of Antiquaries.
My researches in Rome were made easy to me by the unfailing kindness and
ready help accorded on every occasion by Father C. J. Ehrle, S.J., Prefect
of the Vatican Library. My best thanks are also due to Signor Rodolfo
Lanciani, to Professor Petersen of the German Archeological Institute,
Rome, and to Signor Guido Biagi of the Biblioteca Laurenziana, Florence.
At Milan Monsignor Ceriani of the Ambrosian Library was so kind as to have
the library photographed for my use.
The courteous officials who administer the great libraries of Paris with
so much ability, have assisted me in all my researches. I wish specially
to thank in this place M. Leopold Delisle and M. Leon Dorez of the
Bibliotheque Nationale; M. A. Franklin of the Bibliotheque Mazarine; M. H.
Martin of the Bibliotheque de l'Arsenal; and M. A. Perate,
Sous-Conservateur du Chateau de Versailles.
I have also to thank Senor Ricardo Velasquez for his beautiful elevation
of the bookcases in the Escorial Library; Father J. van den Gheyn, S.J.,
of the Royal Library, Brussels, for his trouble in shewing me, and
allowing me to have photographed, several MSS. from the library under his
charge; my friends Mr T. G. Jackson, R.A., Architect, for lending me his
section of Bishop Cobham's library at Oxford; E. W. B. Nicholson, M.A.,
Librarian, and Falconer Madan, M.A., Sub-Librarian, in the Bodleian
Library, for information respecting the building and its contents; Mr F.
E. Bickley of the British Museum for much help in finding and examining
MSS.; and Lionel Cust, M.A., Director of the National Portrait Gallery,
for general direction and encouragement.
Messrs Macmillan have allowed me to use three illustrations which appear
in the first chapter; Mr Murray has given the same permission for the
woodcut of the carrells at Gloucester; and Messrs Blades for the
representation of James Leaver's book-press.
Lastly I wish to thank the staff of the University Press for using their
best efforts to produce the work rapidly and well, and for many acts of
personal kindness to myself.
JOHN WILLIS CLARK.
SCROOPE HOUSE,
CAMBRIDGE,
_September 23rd, 1901._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Introduction. Assyrian Record-Rooms. Libraries in Greece, Alexandria,
Pergamon, Rome. Their size, use, contents, and fittings. Armaria or
presses. The Vatican Library of Sixtus V. a type of an ancient
Roman library 1
CHAPTER II.
Christian libraries connected with churches. Use of the apse. Monastic
communities. S. Pachomius. S. Benedict and his successors. Each
House had a library. Annual audit of books. Loan on security. Modes
of protection. Curses. Prayers for donors. Endowment of libraries.
Use of the cloister. Development of Cistercian book-room. Common
press. Carrells 61
CHAPTER III.
Increase of monastic collections. S. Riquier, Bobbio, Durham, Canterbury.
Books kept in other places than the cloister. Expedients for housing
them at Durham, Citeaux, and elsewhere. Separate libraries built in
fifteenth century at Durham, S. Albans, Citeaux, Clairvaux, etc.
Gradual extension of library at S. Germain des Pres. Libraries
attached to Cathedrals. Lincoln, Salisbury, Wells, Noyon, Rouen,
etc. 101
CHAPTER IV.
The fittings of monastic libraries and of collegiate libraries probably
identical. Analysis of some library-statutes. Monastic influence at
the Universities. Number of books owned by Colleges. The collegiate
library. Bishop Cobham's library at Oxford. Library at
Queens' College, Cambridge. At Zutphen. The lectern-system.
Chaining of books. Further examples and illustrations 131
CHAPTER V.
Recapitulation. Invention of the stall-system. Library of Corpus Christi
College, Oxford, taken as a type. System of chaining in Hereford
Cathedral. Libraries of Merton College, Oxford, and Clare College,
Cambridge. The stall-system copied at Westminster Abbey, Wells,
and Durham Cathedrals. This system possibly monastic. Libraries
at Canterbury, Dover Priory, Clairvaux 171
CHAPTER VI.
The lectern-system in Italy. Libraries at Cesena, at the Convent of
S. Mark, Florence, and at Monte Oliv | 2,532.089019 |
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THE CHEMISTRY OF COOKERY
_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS_
ON
THE CHEMISTRY OF COOKERY.
‘The reader who wants to satisfy himself as to the value of this book,
and the novelty which its teaching possesses, need not go beyond the
first chapter, on “The Boiling of Water.” But if he reads this he
certainly will go further, and will probably begin to think how he can
induce his cook to assimilate some of the valuable lessons which Mr.
Williams gives. If he can succeed in that he will have done a very good
day’s work for his health and house.... About the economical value
of the book there can be no doubt.’—SPECTATOR.
‘Will be welcomed by all who wish to see the subject of the preparation
of food reduced to a science.... Perspicuously and pleasantly Mr.
Williams explains the why and the wherefore of each successive step
in any given piece of culinary work. Every mistress of a household
who wishes to raise her cook above the level of a mere automaton
will purchase two copies of Mr. Williams’s excellent book—the one
for the kitchen, and the other for her own careful and studious
perusal.’—KNOWLEDGE.
‘Thoroughly readable, full of interest, with enough of the author’s
personality to give a piquancy to the stories told.’—WESTMINSTER REVIEW.
‘Mr. Williams is a good chemist and a pleasant writer: he has evidently
been a keen observer of dietaries in various countries, and his little
book contains much that is worth reading.’—ATHENÆUM.
‘There is plenty of room for this excellent book by Mr. Mattieu
Williams.... There are few conductors of cookery classes who are so
thoroughly grounded in the science of the subject that they will not
find many valuable hints in Mr. Williams’s pages.’—SCOTSMAN.
‘Throughout the work we find the signs of care and thoughtful
investigation.... Mr. Williams has managed most judiciously to
compress into a very small compass a vast amount of authoritative
information on the subject of food and feeding generally—and the volume
is really quite a compendium of its subject.’—FOOD.
‘The British cook might derive a good many useful hints from Mr.
Williams’s latest book.... The author of “The Chemistry of Cookery”
has produced a very interesting work. We heartily recommend it to
theorists, to people who cook for themselves, and to all who are
anxious to spread abroad enlightened ideas upon a most important
subject.... Hereafter, cookery will be regarded, even in this
island, as a high art and science. We may not live to those delightful
days; but when they come, and the degree of Master of Cookery is
granted to qualified candidates, the “Chemistry of Cookery” will be
a text-book in the schools, and the bust of Mr. Mattieu Williams
will stand side by side with that of Count Rumford upon every
properly-appointed kitchen dresser.’—PALL MALL GAZETTE.
‘Housekeepers who wish to be fully informed as to the nature of
successful culinary operations should read “The Chemistry of
Cookery.”’—CHRISTIAN WORLD.
‘In all the nineteen chapters into which the work is divided there
is much both to interest and to instruct the general reader, while
deserving the attention of the “dietetic reformer.”... The author
has made almost a life-long study of the subject.’—ENGLISH MECHANIC.
_OTHER WORKS BY MR. MATTIEU WILLIAMS._
Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7_s._ 6_d._
SCIENCE IN SHORT CHAPTERS.
‘Few writers on popular science know better how to steer a middle
course between the Scylla of technical abstruseness and the Charybdis
of empty frivolity than Mr. Mattieu Williams. He writes for intelligent
people who are not technically scientific, and he expects them to
understand what he tells them when he has explained it to them in his
perfectly lucid fashion without any of the embellishments, in very
doubtful taste, which usually pass for popularisation. The papers are
not mere réchauffés of common knowledge. Almost all of them are marked
by original thought, and many of them contain demonstrations or aperçus
of considerable scientific value.’—PALL MALL GAZETTE.
‘There are few writers on the subjects which Mr. Williams selects whose
fertility and originality are equal to his own. We read all he has to
say with pleasure, and very rarely without profit.’—SCIENCE GOSSIP.
‘Mr. Mattieu Williams is undoubtedly able to present scientific
subjects to the popular mind with much clearness and force: and these
essays may be read with advantage by those, who, without having had
special training, are yet sufficiently intelligent to take interest in
the movement of events in the scientific world.’—ACADEMY.
Crown 8vo. cloth limp, 2_s._ 6_d._
A SIMPLE TREATISE ON HEAT.
‘This is an unpretending little work, put forth for the purpose of
expounding, in simple style, the phenomena and laws of heat. No
strength is vainly spent in endeavouring to present a mathematical view
of the subject. The Author passes over the ordinary range of matter
to be found in most elementary treatises on heat, and enlarges upon
the applications of the principles of his science—a subject which is
naturally attractive to the uninitiated. Mr. Williams’s object has
been well carried out, and his little book may be recommended to those
who care to study this interesting branch of physics.’—POPULAR SCIENCE
REVIEW.
‘We can recommend this treatise as equally exact in the information it
imparts, and pleasant in the mode of imparting it. It is neither dry
nor technical, but suited in all respects to the use of intelligent
learners.’—TABLET.
‘Decidedly a success. The language is as simple as possible,
consistently with scientific soundness, and the copiousness of
illustration with which Mr. Williams’s pages abound, derived from
domestic life and from the commonest operations of nature, will commend
this book to the ordinary reader as well as to the young student of
science.’—ACADEMY.
London : CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly, W.
Demy 8vo. cloth extra, price 7_s._ 6_d._
THE FUEL OF THE SUN.
‘The work is well deserving of careful study, especially by the
astronomer, too apt to forgot the teachings of other sciences than his
own.’—FRASER’S MAGAZINE.
‘It is characterised throughout by a carefulness of thought and an
originality that command respect, while it is based upon observed facts
and not upon mere fanciful theory.’—ENGINEERING.
‘Mr. Williams’s interesting and valuable work called “The Fuel of the
Sun.”’—POPULAR SCIENCE REVIEW.
London: SIM | 2,532.183887 |
2023-11-16 18:59:16.1673280 | 3,918 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Burning of the Parliament Buildings, Montreal, 1849.
From a colour drawing by C. W. Jefferys]
THE WINNING OF
POPULAR GOVERNMENT
A Chronicle of the Union of 1841
BY
ARCHIBALD MACMECHAN
TORONTO
GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY
1916
Copyright in all Countries subscribing to
the Berne Convention
TO
ROBERT ALEXANDER FALCONER
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
STUDENT OF HISTORY AND ENCOURAGER
OF HISTORIANS
{ix}
CONTENTS
Page
I. DURHAM THE DICTATOR .............. 1
II. POULETT THOMSON, PEACEMAKER .......... 25
III. REFORM IN THE SADDLE.............. 66
IV. THE GREAT ADMINISTRATION............ 97
V. THE PRINCIPLE ESTABLISHED ........... 132
EPILOGUE.................... 161
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.............. 166
INDEX ..................... 167
{xi}
ILLUSTRATIONS
BURNING OF THE PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS, MONTREAL, 1849 _Frontispiece_
From a colour drawing by C. W. Jefferys.
THE EARL OF DURHAM................. _Facing page_ 6
After the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence.
LORD SYDENHAM ................... " 34
From an engraving by G. Browning in M'Gill
University Library.
SIR CHARLES BAGOT ................. " 74
From an engraving in the Dominion Archives.
SIR CHARLES METCALFE................ " 82
After a painting by Bradish.
CHARLES, EARL GREY................. " 98
From the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence.
SIR LOUIS H. LAFONTAINE .............. " 108
After a photograph by Notman.
THE EARL OF ELGIN ................. " 136
From a daguerreotype.
{1}
CHAPTER I
DURHAM THE DICTATOR
And let him be dictator
For six months and no more.
The curious sightseer in modern Toronto, conducted through the
well-kept, endless avenues of handsome dwellings which are that city's
pride, might be surprised to learn that at the northern end of the
street which cuts the city in two halves, east and west, bands of armed
Canadians met in battle less than a century ago. If he continued his
travels to Montreal, he might be told, at a certain point, 'Here stood
the Parliament Buildings, when our city was the capital of the country;
and here a governor-general of Canada was mobbed, pelted with rotten
eggs and stones, and narrowly escaped with his life.' And if the
intelligent traveller asked the reason for such scenes, where now all
is peace, the answer might be given in one word--Politics.
To the young, politics seems rather a stupid {2} sort of game played by
the bald and obese middle-aged, for very high stakes, and governed by
no rules that any player is bound to respect. Between the rival teams
no difference is observable, save that one enjoys the sweets of office
and the mouth of the other is watering for them. But this is, of
course, the hasty judgment of uncharitable youth. The struggle between
political parties in Canada arose in the past from a difference in
political principles. It was a difference that could be defined; it
could be put into plain words. On the one side and the other the
guiding ideas could be formulated; they could be defended and they
could be attacked in logical debate. Sometimes it might pass the wit
of man to explain the difference between the Ins and the Outs.
Sometimes politics may be a game; but often it has been a battle. In
support of their political principles the strongest passions of men
have been aroused, and their deepest convictions of right and wrong.
The things by which men live, their religious creeds, their pride of
race, have been enlisted on the one side and the other. This is true
of Canadian politics.
That ominous date, 1837, marks a certain climax or culmination in the
political {3} development of Canada. The constitution of the country
now works with so little friction that those who have not read history
assume that it must always have worked so. There is a real danger in
forgetting that, not so very long ago, the whole machinery of
government in one province broke down, that for months, if not for
years, it looked as if civil government in Lower Canada had come to an
end, as if the colonial system of Britain had failed beyond all hope.
_Deus nobis haec otia fecit_. But Canada's present tranquillity did
not come about by miracle; it came about through the efforts of faulty
men contending for political principles in which they believed and for
which they were even ready to die. The rebellions of 1837 in Upper and
Lower Canada, and what led up to them, the origins and causes of these
rebellions, must be understood if the subsequent warfare of parties and
the evolution of the scattered colonies of British North America into
the compact united Dominion of Canada are not to be a confused and
meaningless tale.[1]
{4}
Futile and pitiful as were the rebellions, whether regarded as attempts
to set up new government or as military adventures, they had widespread
and most serious consequences within and without the country. In
Britain the news caused consternation. Two more American colonies were
in revolt. Battles had been fought and British troops had been
defeated. These might prove, as thought Storrow Brown, one of the
leaders of the 'Sons of Liberty' in Lower Canada, so many Lexingtons,
with a Saratoga and a Yorktown to follow. Sir John Colborne, the
commander-in-chief, was asking for reinforcements. In Lower Canada
civil government was at an end. There was danger of international
complications. For disorders almost without precedent the British
parliament found an almost unprecedented remedy. It invested one man
with extraordinary powers. He was to be captain-general and
commander-in-chief over the provinces of British North America, and
also 'High Commissioner for the adjustment of certain important
questions depending in the... Provinces of Lower and Upper Canada
respecting the form and future government of the said Provinces.' He
was given 'full power and authority... by {5} all lawful ways and
means, to inquire into, and, as far as may be possible, to adjust all
questions... respecting the Form and Administration of the Civil
Government' of the provinces as aforesaid. These extraordinary powers
were conferred upon a distinguished politician in the name of the young
Queen Victoria and during her pleasure. The usual and formal language
of the commission, 'especial trust and confidence in the courage,
prudence, and loyalty' of the commissioner, has in this case deep
meaning; for courage, prudence, and loyalty were all needed, and were
all to be put to the test.
The man born for the crisis was a type of a class hardly to be
understood by the Canadian democracy. He was an aristocratic radical.
His recently acquired title, Lord Durham, must not be allowed to
obscure the fact that he was a Lambton, the head of an old county
family, which was entitled by its long descent to look down upon half
the House of Peers as parvenus. At the family seat, Lambton Castle, in
the county of Durham, Lambton after Lambton had lived and reigned like
a petty prince. There John George was born in August 1792. His father
had been a Whig, a consistent friend of Charles James {6} Fox, at a
time when opposition to the government, owing to the wars with France,
meant social ostracism; and he had refused a peerage. The son had
enjoyed the usual advantages of the young Englishman in his position.
He had been educated at Eton and at the university of Cambridge. Three
years in a crack cavalry regiment at a time when all England was under
arms could have done little to lessen his feeling for his caste. A
Gretna Green marriage with an heiress, while he was yet a minor, is
characteristic of his impetuous temperament, as is also a duel which he
fought with a Mr Beaumont in 1820 during the heat of an election
contest. After the period of political reaction following Waterloo,
reaction in which all Europe shared, England proceeded on the path of
reform towards a modified democracy; and Lambton, entering parliament
at the lucky moment, found himself on the crest of the wave. His Whig
principles had gained the victory; and his personal ability and energy
set him among the leaders of the new reform movement. He was a
son-in-law of Earl Grey, the author of the Reform Bill of 1832, and he
became a member of the Grey Cabinet. Before the Canadian crisis he had
shown his {7} ability to cope with a difficult situation in a
diplomatic mission to Russia, where he is said to have succeeded by the
exercise of tact. He was nicknamed 'Radical Jack,' but any one less
'democratic,' as the term is commonly understood, it would be hard to
find. He surrounded himself with almost regal state during his brief
overlordship of Canada. In Quebec, at the Castle of St Louis, he lived
like a prince. Many tales are told of his arrogant self-assertion and
hauteur. In person he was strikingly handsome. Lawrence painted him
when a boy. He was an able public speaker. He had a fiery temper
which made co-operation with him almost impossible, and which his weak
health no doubt aggravated. He was vain and ambitious. But he was
gifted with powers of political insight. He possessed a febrile energy
and an earnest desire to serve the common weal. Such was the physician
chosen by the British government to cure the cankers of misrule and
disaffection in the body politic of Canada.
[Illustration: The Earl of Durham. After the painting by Sir Thomas
Lawrence.]
Lord Durham received his commission in March 1838. But, though the
need was urgent for prompt action, he did not immediately set out for
Canada. For the delay {8} he was criticized by his political
opponents, particularly by Lord Brougham, once his friend, but now his
bitterest enemy. On the twenty-fourth of April, however, Durham sailed
from Plymouth in H.M.S. _Hastings_ with a party of twenty-two persons.
Besides his military aides for decorative purposes, he brought in his
suite some of the best brains of the time, Thomas Turton, Edward Gibbon
Wakefield, and Carlyle's gigantic pupil, Charles Buller. It is
characteristic of Durham that he should bring a band of music with him
and that he should work his secretaries hard all the way across the
Atlantic. On the twenty-ninth of May the _Hastings_ was at Quebec.
Lord Durham was received by the acting administrator, Sir John
Colborne, and conducted through the crowded streets between a double
hedge of soldiery to the Castle of St Louis, the vice-regal residence.
If Durham had been slow in setting out for the scene of his labours, he
wasted no time in attacking his problems upon his arrival in Canada.
'Princely in his style of living, indefatigable in business, energetic
and decided, though haughty in manner, and desirous to benefit the
Canadas,' is the {9} judgment of a contemporary upon the new ruler. On
the day he was sworn to office he issued his first proclamation. Its
most significant statements are: 'The honest and conscientious
advocates of reform... will receive from me, without distinction of
party, race, or politics, that assistance and encouragement which their
patriotism has a right to command... but the disturbers of the public
peace, the violators of the law, the enemies of the Crown and of the
British Empire will find in me an uncompromising opponent, determined
to put in force against them all the powers civil and military with
which I have been invested.' It was a policy of firmness united to
conciliation that Durham announced. He came bearing the sheathed sword
in one hand and the olive branch in the other. The proclamation was
well received; the Canadians were ready to accept him as 'a friend and
arbitrator.' He was to earn the right to both titles.
Durham was determined to begin with a clean slate. With a
characteristic disregard for precedent, he dismissed the existing
Executive Council as well as Colborne's special band of advisers, and
formed two new councils in their place, consisting of {10} members of
his personal staff, military officers, Canadian judges, the provincial
secretary, and the commissary-general. Together they formed a
committee of investigation and advice; and, being composed of both
local and non-local elements, it was a committee specially fitted to
supply the necessary information, and to judge all questions
dispassionately from an outside point of view. This committee acting
with the High Commissioner took the place of regular constitutional
government in Lower Canada. It was an arbitrary makeshift adopted to
meet a crisis.
During the long, tedious voyage of the _Hastings_ the High Commissioner
had not been idle. He had worked steadily for many hours a day at the
knotty Canadian question, studying papers, drafting plans, discussing
point after point with his secretaries. Once in the country, he set to
work in the most thoroughgoing and systematic way to gather further
knowledge. He appointed commissions to report on all special problems
of government--education, immigration, municipal government, the
management of the crown lands. He obtained reports from all sources;
he conferred with men of all shades {11} of political opinion; he
called representative deputations from the uttermost regions under his
sway; he made a flying visit to Niagara in order to see the country
with his own eyes and to study conditions. Such labours were beyond
the capacity of any one man; but Durham was ably supported by his band
of loyal helpers and a public eager to co-operate. The result of all
this activity was the amassing of the priceless data from which was
formed the great document known as Lord Durham's Report.
It is generally overlooked that at this period Canada stood in danger
from external as well as internal enemies. Hardly had Durham landed at
Quebec when there occurred a series of incidents which might have led
to war between Great Britain and the United States. A Canadian
passenger steamer, the _Sir Robert Peel_, sailing from Prescott to
Kingston, was boarded at Wells Island by one 'Bill' Johnson and a band
of armed men with blackened faces. The passengers and crew were put
ashore without their effects, and the steamer was set on fire and
destroyed. Very soon afterwards an American passenger steamer was
fired on by over-zealous sentries at Brockville. Together {12} the
twin outrages were almost enough, in the state of feeling on both
sides, to set the Empire and the Republic by the ears.
The significance of these and other similar incidents can only be
understood by recalling the mental attitude of Americans of the day.
They had a robust detestation of everything British. It is not grossly
exaggerated by Dickens in Martin Chuzzlewit. And that attitude was
entirely natural. The Americans had, or thought they had, beaten the
British in two wars. The very reason for the existence of their nation
was their opposition to British tyranny. They saw that tyranny in all
its balefulness blighting the two Canadas. They saw those oppressed
colonies rising, as they themselves had risen, against their
oppressors. To make the danger all the more acute, the exiled
Canadians, notably William Lyon Mackenzie, went from place to place in
the United States inciting the freeborn citizens of the Republic to aid
the cause of freedom across the line. There was precedent for
intervention. Just a year before the fight at St Charles, an American
hero, Sam Houston, had wrested the huge state of Texas from the misrule
of Mexico and founded a new and independent republic. {13} | 2,532.187368 |
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