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_Some Eccentrics
& a Woman_
_First Published in 1911_
[Illustration: A VIEW from the PUMP ROOM, BATH.]
_Some Eccentrics
& a Woman_
_By Lewis Melville_
_London_
_Martin Secker_
_Number Five John Street_
_Adelphi_
NOTE
Of the eight papers printed here, “Some Eighteenth-Century Men About
Town,” “A Forgotten Satirist: ‘Peter Pindar’,” “Sterne’s Eliza,”
and “William Beckford, of Fonthill Abbey,” have appeared in the
_Fortnightly Review_; “Charles James Fox” appeared in the _Monthly
Review_, “Exquisites of the Regency” in _Chambers’s Journal_, and
“The Demoniacs” in the American _Bookman_. To the editors of these
periodicals I am indebted either for permission to reprint, or
for their courtesy in having permitted me to reserve the right of
publication in book form. “Philip, Duke of Wharton” is now printed for
the first time.
LEWIS MELVILLE
_Contents_
PAGE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MEN ABOUT TOWN 13
SOME EXQUISITES OF THE REGENCY 47
A FORGOTTEN SATIRIST: “PETER PINDAR” 103
STERNE’S ELIZA 129
THE DEMONIACS 161
WILLIAM BECKFORD OF FONTHILL ABBEY 189
CHARLES JAMES FOX 219
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON 253
INDEX 283
_List of Illustrations_
“A VIEW FROM THE PUMP ROOM, BATH” _Frontispiece_
_A Facsimile Reproduction of a Drawing by Richard Deighton_
SIR JOHN LADE _To face page_ 16
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
THE PRINCE OF WALES " " 48
_From the Miniature by Cosway_
LUMLEY SKEFFINGTON " " 80
_From a Contemporary Miniature_
PETER PINDAR " " 112
_From the Painting by John Opie_
LAURENCE STERNE " " 144
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
WILLIAM BECKFORD " " 192
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
CHARLES JAMES FOX " " 224
_From the Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds_
PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON " " 256
_From a Contemporary Painting_
Some Eighteenth-Century Men about Town
When his Royal Highness George, Prince of Wales, afterwards George
IV., freed himself from parental control, and, an ill-disciplined lad,
launched himself upon the town, it is well known that he was intimate
with Charles James Fox, whom probably he admired more because the King
hated the statesman than for any other reason. Doubtless the Prince
drank with Fox, and diced with him, and played cards with him, but
from his later career it is obvious he can never have touched Fox
on that great man’s intellectual side; and, after a time, the royal
scapegrace, who would rather have reigned in hell than have served in
heaven, sought companions to whom he need not in any way feel inferior.
With this, possibly sub-conscious, desire, he gathered around him a
number of men about town, notorious for their eccentricities and for
the irregularity of their lives. With these George felt at home; but,
though he was nominally their leader, there can be little doubt that
he was greatly influenced by them at the most critical time of a young
man’s life, to his father’s disgust and to the despair of the nation.
Of these men the most remarkable were Sir John Lade, George Hanger
(afterwards fourth Lord Coleraine of the second creation), and Sir
Lumley Skeffington; and, by some chance, it happens that little has
been written about them, perhaps because what has been recorded is for
the most part hidden in old magazines and newspapers and the neglected
memoirs of forgotten worthies. Yet, as showing the temper of the times,
it may not be uninteresting to reconstruct their lives, and, as far as
the material serves, show them in their habit as they lived.
Sir John Lade, the son of John Inskipp, who assumed the name of Lade,
and in whose person the baronetcy that had been in the family was
revived, was born in 1759, and at an early age plunged into the fast
society of the metropolis with such vigour that he had earned a most
unenviable reputation by the time he came of age, on which auspicious
occasion, Dr Johnson, who knew him as the ward of Mr Thrale, greeted
him savagely in the satirical verses which conclude:
“Wealth, my lad, was made to wander:
Let it wander at its will;
Call the jockey, call the pander,
Bid them come and take their fill.
When the bonnie blade carouses,
Pockets full and spirits high--
What are acres? what are houses?
Only dirt, or wet and dry.
Should the guardian friend or mother
Tell the woes of wilful waste,
Scorn their counsels, scorn their pother,
You can hang, or drown, at last.”
Sir John became one of the Prince of Wales’s cronies, and for a while
had the management of his Royal Highness’s racing stable; but while it
has been hinted of him, as of George Hanger, that during his tenure
of that office he had some share in the transactions that resulted in
Sam Chifney, the Prince’s jockey, being warned off the turf, it is but
fair to state that there is no evidence in existence to justify the
suspicion. Indeed, he seems to have been honest, except in incurring
tradesmen’s debts that he could never hope to discharge; but this
was a common practice in fashionable circles towards the end of the
eighteenth century, and was held to throw no discredit on the man who
did so--for was it not a practice sanctioned by the example of “The
First Gentleman of Europe” himself?
Sir John’s ambition, apparently, was to imitate a groom in dress and
language. It was his pleasure to take the coachman’s place, and drive
the Prince’s “German Waggon,”[1] and six bay horses from the Pavilion
at Brighton to the Lewes racecourse; and, in keeping with his _pose_,
he was overheard on Egham racecourse to invite a friend to return to
dinner in these terms:--“I can give you a trout spotted all over like
a coach dog, a fillet of veal as white as alabaster, a ‘pantaloon’
cutlet, and plenty of pancakes as big as coach-wheels--so help me.”
[1] Barouches were so described on their first introduction into
England.
Dr Johnson naturally took an interest in Sir John, and, when Lady Lade
consulted him about the training of her son, “Endeavour, madam,” said
he, “to procure him knowledge, for really ignorance to a rich man is
like fat to a sick sheep, it only serves to call the rooks round him.”
It is easier, however, to advocate the acquisition of knowledge than
to inculcate it, and knowledge, except of horses, Sir John Lade never
obtained in any degree. Indeed, his folly was placed on record by
“Anthony Pasquin” in
AN EPIGRAMMATIC COLLOQUY,
Occasioned by Sir John Lade’s Ingenious Method of
Managing his Estates.
Said Hope to Wit, with eager looks,
And sorrow streaming eyes:
“In pity, Jester, tell me when,
Will Johnny Lade be--wise?”
“Thy sighs forego,” said Wit to Hope,
“And be no longer sad;
Tho’ other foplings grow to men,
He’ll always be--a _Lad_.”
[Illustration: _Sir John Lade_]
When Sir John was little more than a boy, Johnson, half in earnest,
proposed him as a fitting mate for the author of “Evelina,” so Mrs
Thrale states; and, indeed, Miss Burney herself records a conversation
in 1778 between that lady and the doctor. The inadvisability of the
union, however, soon became apparent, and when Sir John, a little
later, asked Johnson if he would advise him to marry, “I would advise
no man to marry, sir,” replied the great man, “who is not likely to
propagate understanding”; but the baronet, who doubtless thought this
was an excellent joke, and as such intended, crowned his follies by
espousing a woman of more than doubtful character. When Sir John met
his future wife, she was a servant at a house of ill-fame in Broad
Street, St Giles, and, rightly or wrongly, was credited with having
been the mistress of Jack Rann, the highwayman, better known as
“Sixteen-string Jack,” who deservedly ended his career on the gallows
in 1774. Marriage did not apparently mend her manners or her morals,
for, according to Huish--who, it must, however, be admitted, was an
arrant scandalmonger--she was for some time the mistress of the Duke of
York, and also acted as procuress for the Prince of Wales; while her
command of bad language was so remarkable that the Prince used to say
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THE WORKS
OF
ALEXANDER POPE.
NEW EDITION.
INCLUDING
SEVERAL HUNDRED UNPUBLISHED LETTERS, AND OTHER NEW MATERIALS.
COLLECTED IN PART BY THE LATE
R'T. HON. JOHN WILSON CROKER.
WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES.
BY REV. WHITWELL ELWIN.
VOL. I.
POETRY.--VOL. I.
WITH PORTRAITS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1871.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME OF POETRY.
PAGE
CATALOGUE OF POPE'S COLLECTED EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS vii
POPE'S MEMORIAL LIST OF RELATIONS AND FRIENDS ix
ADVERTISEMENT OF WARBURTON TO HIS EDITION OF POPE'S WORKS xi
INTRODUCTION xv
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE 1
RECOMMENDATORY POEMS 17
TRANSLATIONS 37
THE FIRST BOOK OF STATIUS'S THEBAIS 41
SAPPHO TO PHAON FROM OVID 87
THE FABLE OF DRYOPE FROM OVID 104
VERTUMNUS AND POMONA FROM OVID 108
JANUARY AND MAY, FROM CHAUCER 113
THE WIFE OF BATH, FROM CHAUCER 155
THE TEMPLE OF FAME 185
PASTORALS 231
DISCOURSE OF PASTORAL POETRY 257
1. SPRING, TO SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL 265
2. SUMMER TO DR. GARTH 276
3. AUTUMN TO MR. WYCHERLEY 285
4. WINTER, TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST 292
MESSIAH, A SACRED ECLOGUE 301
WINDSOR FOREST 319
CATALOGUE
OF POPE'S COLLECTED EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE. London: Printed by W.
BOWYER for BERNARD LINTOT, between the Temple Gates, 1717.
4to and folio.
This volume consists of all the acknowledged poems which Pope had
hitherto published, with the addition of some new pieces.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE. Volume ii. London: Printed
by J. WRIGHT, for LAWTON GILLIVER, at Homer's Head in Fleet
Street, 1735. 4to and folio.
The volume of 1735 contains, with a few exceptions, the poems which Pope
had printed since 1717. The pages of each group of pieces--Epistles,
Satires, Epitaphs, etc.--are numbered separately, and there are other
irregularities in the numbers, arising from a change in the order of the
Moral Essays after the sheets were struck off.
Letters of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE, and Several of his friends.
London: Printed by J. WRIGHT for J. KNAPTON in Ludgate
Street, L. GILLIVER in Fleet Street, J. BRINDLEY in New Bond
Street, and R. DODSLEY in Pall-Mall, 1737. 4to and folio.
This is Pope's first avowed edition of his letters. A half-title, "The
Works of Mr. Alexander Pope in Prose," precedes the title-page.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE, in Prose. Vol. ii. London:
Printed for J. and P. KNAPTON, C. BATHURST, and R. DODSLEY,
1741. 4to and folio.
The half-title is more precise: "The Works of Mr. Alexander Pope, in
Prose. Vol. ii. Containing the rest of his Letters, with the Memoirs of
Scriblerus, never before printed; and other Tracts written either
singly, or in conjunction with his friends. Now first collected
together." The letters are the Swift correspondence, and they are in a
different type from the rest of the book. The numbers of the pages are
very irregular, and show that the contents and arrangement of the volume
had been greatly altered from some previous impression. The folio copies
of the two volumes of poetry, and the two of prose, are merely the
quarto text portioned out into longer pages, without a single leaf being
reprinted. The trifling variations from the quartos were introduced when
the matter was put into the folio size.
The Works of ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ.; vol. i. with explanatory
Notes and Additions never before printed. London: Printed
for B. LINTOT, 1736. Small 8vo.
This is the first volume of an edition which extended to nine volumes,
and which from the want of uniformity in the title-pages, the dates, and
names of the publishers appears to consist of odd volumes. The copyright
of Pope's works belonged to different proprietors, and they at last
agreed to print their respective shares in small octavo, that the
several parts united might form a complete set. Each proprietor
commenced printing his particular section of the octavos when the
previous sizes he had on hand were sold, and thus it happened that the
second volume of the edition came out in 1735 before the first, which
was published in 1736. The series was not finished till 1742, when the
fourth book of the Dunciad was added to the Poems, and the Swift
Correspondence to the Letters. Some of the volumes were reprinted, and
the later editions occasionally differ slightly from their predecessors.
The Poems and Letters of Pope are more complete in the octavos than in
the quartos, but the octavos, on the other hand, omit all the prose
works except the Letters, and the Memoirs of Scriblerus, and octavos and
quartos combined are imperfect in comparison with the editions which
have been published since Pope's death.
A MEMORIAL LIST
OF
DEPARTED RELATIONS AND FRIENDS.
WRITTEN BY POPE IN AN ELZEVIR VIRGIL, NOW IN THE LIBRARY OF THE EARL OF
MANSFIELD.[1]
NATUS MAJI 21, 1688, HORA POST MERID. 6-3/4.
Quo desiderio veteres revocamus amores
Atque olim amissas flemus amicitias.
_Catullus._
Anno 1700, Maji primo, obit, semper venerandus, poetarum princeps,
Joannes Dryden, aet. 70.[2]
Anno 1708, mens. Aprili, obiit Gulielmus Walsh, criticus sagax, amicus
et vir bonus, aet. 49.
Anno 1710, Jan. 24, Avita mea piissimae mem., Eliz. Turner, migravit in
coelum, annum agens 74.
Anno 1710, mens. Aprili, Tho. Betterton, Roscius sui temporis, exit
omnium cum plausu bonorum, aet. 74.
Anno 1712, mens. Januario, decessit vir facetissimus, juventutis meae
deliciae, Antonius Englefleld, aet. 75.
Anno 1718, obit Tho. Parnell, poetica laude, et moribus suavissimis
insignis.
Anno 1715, mens. Martio, decessit Gul. Wycherley, poeta morum scientia
clarus, ille meos primus qui habebat amores, aet. 75.
Anno 1716, mens. Decemb. obit Gulielmus Trumbull, olim Regi Gul. a
secretis, annum agens 75. Amicus meus humanissimus a juvenilibus annis.
Pater meus, Alex. Pope, omnibus bonis moribus praeditus obit, an. 1717.
Simon Harcourt, filius, obit, mens. Junio 1720, Lutet. Parisior. Quem
sequitur Pater, olim M. Britann. Cancell | 2,532.379676 |
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THE MAN UPSTAIRS
AND OTHER STORIES
by P. G. Wodehouse
CONTENTS
THE MAN UPSTAIRS
SOMETHING TO WORRY ABOUT
DEEP WATERS
WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE
BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL
ROUGH-HEW THEM HOW WE WILL
THE MAN WHO DISLIKED CATS
RUTH IN EXILE
ARCHIBALD'S BENEFIT
THE MAN, THE MAID, AND THE MIASMA
THE GOOD ANGEL
POTS O' MONEY
OUT OF SCHOOL
THREE FROM DUNSTERVILLE
THE T | 2,532.48001 |
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Proofreading Team.
[Transcriber's Note: With the exception of hyphenation at the end of
lines, the text version preserves the line breaks of the original;
the html version has been treated similar to drama and starts a new
paragraph for each change of speaker. An illustration of the title
page is included to give an impression of the original.]
A mery Dia-
logue, declaringe the propertyes
of shrowde shrewes, and ho-
nest wyues, not onelie verie
pleasaunte, but also not a
lytle profitable: made
by ye famous clerke
D. Erasmus.
Roteroda-
mus.
Translated into
Englyshe.
Anno. M.CCCCC.
LVII.
Eulalia. God spede, & a thousand mine old
acqueintance. xantippa. xan. As many agayn, my dere
hert. Eulalia. me semets ye ar waren much faire now
of late. Eula. Saye you so? gyue you me a mocke at the
first dash. xan. Nay veryly but I take you so. Eula.
Happely mi new gown maketh me to loke fayrer then I
sholde doe. xan. Sothe you saye, I haue not sene a
mynioner this many dayes, I reken it Englishe cloth.
Eu. It is english stuff and dyed in Venis. xan. It is
softer then sylke what an oriente purpel colore here is
who gaue you so rich a gift. Eu. How shoulde honeste
women come by their gere? but by their husbandes.
xan. Happy arte thou that hathe suche an husband, but
I wolde to god for his passyon, that I had maryed an
husband of clowts, when I had maried col my good man.
Eula. Why say ye so. I pray you, are you at oddes now.
xan. I shal neuer be at one with him ye se how
beggerly I go. I haue not an hole smock to put on my
backe, and he is wel contente with all: I praye god I
neuer come in heuen & I be not ashamed oftimes to shewe
my head, when I se other wiues how net and trim they go
that ar matched with farre porer men then he is.
Eula. The apparell of honest wiues is not in the aray
of the body, nor in the tirements of their head as
saynte Peter the apostle teacheth vs (and that I
learned a late at a sermon) but in good lyuynge and
honest conuersacion and in the ornamentes of the soule,
the common buenes ar painted up, to please manye
mennes eies we ar trime ynough yf we please our
husbands only. xan. But yet my good man so euyll
wylling to bestow ought vpon his wyfe, maketh good
chere, and lassheth out the dowrye that hee hadde with
mee no small pot of wine. Eulaly, where vpon? xantipha,
wheron hym lykethe beste, at the tauerne, at the stewes
and at the dyce. Eulalia Peace saye not so. xan. wel
yet thus it is, then when he commeth home to me at
midnight, longe watched for, he lyeth rowtyng lyke a
sloyne all the leue longe nyght, yea and now and then
he all bespeweth his bed, and worse then I will say at
this tyme. Eulali. Peace thou dyshonesteth thy self,
when thou doest dishonesteth thy husband. xantip. The
deuyl take me bodye and bones but I had leuer lye by a
sow with pigges, then with suche a bedfelowe. Eulali.
Doest thou not then take him vp, wel favoredly for
stumbling. Xantip. As he deserueth I spare no tonge.
Eulalia. what doth he then. xantip. At the first
breake he toke me vp vengeably, trusting that he
shoulde haue shaken me of and put me to scilence with
his crabid wordes. Eula Came neuer your hote wordes
vnto handstrokes. xantip. On a | 2,532.480134 |
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The Delights of Wisdom
Pertaining To
Conjugial Love
_To Which is Added_
The Pleasures of Insanity
Pertaining To
Scortatory Love
By
Emanuel Swedenborg
_A Swede_
_Being a translation of his work_
"Delitiae Sapientiae de Amore Conjugiali; post quas sequuntur Voluptates
Insaniae de Amore Scortatorio" (Amstelodami 1768)
1892
_Published | 2,532.578889 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
VICTORIAN LITERATURE
SIXTY YEARS OF BOOKS
AND BOOKMEN
_Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety;
I do not call one greater and one smaller;
That which fills its period and place is equal to any_.
_Walt Whitman_
VICTORIAN
LITERATURE
SIXTY YEARS
OF BOOKS AND
BOOKMEN
BY
CLEMENT SHORTER
LONDON: JAMES BOWDEN
10 HENRIETTA STREET
COVENT GARDEN W.C. 1897
INTRODUCTORY
Asked by a kindly publisher to add one more to the Jubilee volumes which
commemorate the sixtieth year of the Queen's reign, I am pleased at the
opportunity thus afforded me of gathering up a few impressions of
pleasant reading hours. "Every age," says Emerson, "must write its own
books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding. The books of
an older period will not fit this." It is true, of course, and as a
result the popular favourite of to-day is well-nigh forgotten to-morrow.
In reading the critical journals of thirty years ago it is made quite
clear that they contain few judgments which would be sustained by a
consensus of critical opinion to-day. Whether time will deal as hardly
with the critical judgments of to-day we may not live to see. I have no
ambition to put this book to a personal test. So far as it has any worth
at all it is meant to be bibliographical and not critical. It aspires to
furnish the young student, in handy form, with as large a number of
facts about books as can be concentrated in so small a volume. That this
has been done under the guise of a consecutive narrative, and not in
the form of a dictionary, is merely for the convenience of the writer.
I have endeavoured to say as little as possible about living poets and
novelists. With the historians and critics the matter is of less
importance. To say that Mr Samuel Rawson Gardiner has written a useful
history, or that Professor David Masson's "Life of Milton" is a valuable
contribution to biographical literature, will excite no antagonism. But
to attempt to assign Mr W. B. Yeats a place among the poets, or "Mark
Rutherford" a position among the prose writers of the day, is to
trespass upon ground which it is wiser to leave to the critics who write
in the literary journals from week to week. It was not possible to
ignore all living writers. I have ignored as many as I dared.
It was my intention at first to devote a chapter to Sixty Years of
American Literature. But for that task an Englishman who has paid but
one short visit to the United States has no qualification. He can write
of American literature only as seen through English eyes. That is to see
much of it, it is true. Few Americans realise the enormous influence
which the literature of their own land has had upon this country.
Probably the most read poet in England during the sixty years has been
Longfellow. Probably the most read novel has been "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
Among people who claim to be distinctly literary Hawthorne has been all
but the favourite novelist, Washington Irving not the least popular of
essayists, and Emerson the most invigorating moral influence. In my
youth "The Wide, Wide World" and "Queechy" were in everybody's hands; as
the stories of Bret Harte, William Dean Howells, Thomas Bailey Aldrich,
Frank Stockton, Henry James, and Mary Wilkins are to-day. Apart from
Dickens, nearly all our laughter has come from Mark Twain and Artemus
Ward.
In history, we in England have read Prescott and Motley; in poetry we
have read Walt Whitman, William Cullen Bryant, John Greenleaf Whittier,
and, above all, James Russell Lowell, who endeared himself to us alike
as a poet, a critic, and in his own person when he represented the
United States at the Court of St James's. Lastly I recall the delight
with which as a boy I read the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," and
the joy with which as a man I visited the author, Dr Oliver Wendell
Holmes, in his pleasant study in Beacon Street, Boston. These and many
other writers have made America and the Americans very dear to
Englishmen, and this in spite of much wild and foolish talk in the
journals of the two countries.
I have to thank Mr William Mackenzie, the well-known publisher of
Glasgow, for kindly letting me draw upon some articles which I wrote
for his "National Cyclopaedia" ten years ago, and upon the literary
section, which he and his editor, Mr John Brabner, permitted me to
contribute at that time to a book entitled "The Victorian Empire." I
have also to thank my friends, Dr Robertson Nicoll and Mr L. F. Austin,
for kindly reading my proof-sheets, Mr Edward Clodd for valuable
suggestions, and Mr Sydney Webb, a friend of old student days, for
reading the chapter which treats briefly of sociology and economics.
A compilation of this kind can scarcely hope to escape the defects of
most such enterprises--errors both of date and of fact. I shall be glad
to receive corrections for the next edition.
CLEMENT K. SHORTER.
_September 27, 1897._
CHAPTER I
The Poets
When Queen Victoria came to the throne in 1837, most of the great poets
who had been inspired by the French Revolutionary epoch were dead. Keats
had died in Rome in 1821, Shelley was drowned in the Gulf of Spezzia in
1822, Byron died at Missolonghi in 1824, Scott at Abbotsford in 1832,
and Coleridge at Highgate in 1834. Southey was Poet Laureate, although
Wordsworth held a paramount place, recognised on all hands as the
greatest poet of the day.
The gulf which separates the =Southey (1774-1843)= of the laureateship
from the Southey who presents himself to our judgment to-day is almost
impossible to bridge over. Southey, as the average bookman thinks of him
now, is the author of a "Life of Nelson" and of one or two lyrics and
ballads.[1] The "Life of Nelson" is constantly republished for an age
keenly bent on Nelson worship, but for the exacting it has been
superseded by at least two biographies from living authors.[2] That
Southey should live mainly by a book which was merely a publisher's
commission, and not by the works which he and his contemporaries deemed
immortal, is one of the ironies of literature. Southey's "Cowper" is a
much better biography than his " | 2,532.582485 |
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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS
BOOKS BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
U. S. Service Series
Illustrations from Photographs taken for U. S. Government. Large 12mo.
Cloth. Price $1.50 each.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FORESTERS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. CENSUS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. INDIANS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. EXPLORERS
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
[Illustration: THE GLEAM THAT BRINGS HOPE.
Coast Guard patrol burning the Coston Light as signal to wrecked vessel
that help is at hand.
Courtesy of Outing Magazine.]
U. S. SERVICE SERIES.
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS
BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
With Forty-eight Illustrations, nearly all from Photographs Loaned by
Bureaus of the U. S. Government
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Published, August, 1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
_All rights reserved_
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
NORWOOD, MASS.
U. S. A.
PREFACE
Upon the hungry rock-bound shores of Maine, and over the treacherous
quicksands of Cape Hatteras, the billows of the Atlantic roll; the
tropical storms of the Gulf of Mexico whip a high surf over the coral
reefs of Florida; upon the Pacific coast, six thousand miles of sea
fling all their fury on the land; yet no one fears. Serene in the
knowledge that the United States Coast Guard and the Lighthouse Bureau
never sleep, vessels from every corner of the world converge to the
great seaports of America.
The towers that stand sentinel all day, or flame their unceasing
vigilance all night, hold out their message of welcome or of warning to
every ship that nears the coast, and not a point of danger is
unprotected. Should an unreckoned-with disaster cast a vessel on the
breakers, there is not a mile of beach that the Coast Guard does not
watch.
Far in the northern Bering Sea, a Coast Guard cutter blazes the hidden
trail through Polar ice for the oncoming fleet of whalers, and carries
American justice to where, as yet, no court has been; out in the
mid-Atlantic, when the Greenland icebergs follow their silent path of
ghostly menace, a Coast Guard cutter watches and warns the great ocean
liners of their peril; and when, in spite of all that skill and
watchfulness can do, the sea claims its toll of wreck, it is the Coast
Guard cutter that is first upon the scene of rescue. To show the stern
work done by the U. S. Coast Guard, to depict the indomitable men who
overcome dangers greater than are known to any others who traffic on the
sea, to point to the manly boyhood of America this arm of our country's
national defense, whose history is one long record of splendid heroism,
is the aim and purpose of
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A RESCUE BY MOONLIGHT 1
CHAPTER II
THE LIGHTS THAT NEVER SLEEP 28
CHAPTER III
HEROES OF THE UNDERGROUND 61
CHAPTER IV
SNATCHED FROM A FROZEN DEATH 96
CHAPTER V
SAVED BY THE BREECHES-BUOY 120
CHAPTER VI
A BLAZON OF FLAME AT SEA 156
CHAPTER VII
REINDEER TO THE RESCUE 187
CHAPTER VIII
THE BELCHING DEATH OF A VOLCANO 222
CHAPTER IX
DEFYING THE TEMPEST'S VIOLENCE 246
CHAPTER X
ADRIFT ON A DERELICT 274
CHAPTER XI
THE WRECKERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN 294
CHAPTER XII
THE GRAVEYARD OF THE DEEP 322
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
The Gleam That Brings Hope _Frontispiece_
The Light That Never Sleeps 10
The Lonely Watcher of the Coast 20
Where Patrols Meet. The Half-way Point 20
Breaking a Death-Clutch from Behind 32
Breaking a Death-Clutch from the Front 32
The "Eddystone" of America 42
Lighthouse Tender Approaching Buoy 54
Refilling Pintsch Gas Buoy 54
Sliding Down to Work 64
The Defier of the Pacific 76
A Beacon Masked in Ice 86
Wrecked! And the Ice Between! 100
Laying the Lyle Gun 110
Firing the Shot and Line 110
Gold Life-Saving Medal 118
Life-boat Capsize-Drill 138
Rushing the Apparatus-Cart 146
Breeches-Buoy Drill. Firing 158
Breeches-Buoy Drill. Rescuing Survivor 158
The Lightship That Went Ashore 168
Guarding the Graveyard of the Deep 168
Coast Guard Cutter, _Miami_, on July Fourth 194
The _Bear_ in the Ice Pack 202
The _Bear_ Breaking Free from the Ice 202
Reindeer Messengers of Rescue 210
Reindeer That Saved Three Hundred Lives 210
Signals That Guard Our Coast 224
Going to Pieces Fast 234
"We Saved 'Em All" 234
Native Refugees from Katmai Eruption 244
"The Iron Rim Rolling Savagely" 256
"The Boat Went into Matchwood" 266
Man's Waterspout. A Derelict's End 280
Preparing to Blow Up a Derelict 280
The Greatest Menace of the Seas 290
Burned to the Water's Edge 290
Foam--The Derelict's Only Tombstone 300
Mining a Lurking Peril 300
Stranded! After Storm Has Ceased and Tide Has Ebbed 310
The Signal of Distress That Was Never Seen 320
Iceberg with _Miami_ in the Background 330
The Ghostly Ally of Disaster 330
A Rescue on the Diamond Shoals 340
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS
CHAPTER I
A RESCUE BY MOONLIGHT
"Help! Help!"
The cry rang out despairingly over the almost-deserted beach at Golden
Gate Park.
Jumping up so suddenly that the checker-board went in one direction, the
table in another, while the checkers rolled to every corner of the
little volunteer life-saving station house, Eric Swift made a leap for
the door. Quick as he was to reach the boat, he was none too soon, for
the coxswain and two other men were tumbling over the gunwale at the
same time.
Before the echoes of the cry had ceased, the boat was through the surf
and was heading out to sea like an arrow shot from a Sioux war-bow.
Although this was the second summer that Eric had been with the
Volunteers, it had never chanced to him before to be called out on a
rescue at night. The sensation was eerie in the extreme. The night was
still, with a tang of approaching autumn in the air to set the nerves
a-tingle. Straight in the golden path of moonlight the boat sped. The
snap that comes from exerting every muscle to the full quickened the
boy's eagerness and the tense excitement made everything seem unreal.
The coxswain, with an intuition which was his peculiar gift, steered an
undeviating course. Some of the life-savers used to joke with him and
declare that he could smell a drowning man a mile away, for his instinct
was almost always right.
For once, Eric thought, the coxswain must have been at fault, for
nothing was visible, when, after a burst of speed which seemed to last
minutes--though in reality it was but seconds--the coxswain held up his
hand. The men stopped rowing.
The boy had slipped off his shoes while still at his oar, working off
first one shoe and then the other with his foot. It was so late in the
evening that not a single man in the crew was in the regulation
bathing-suit, all were more or less dressed. Eric's chum, a chap
nicknamed the "Eel" because of his curious way of swimming, with one
motion slipped off all his clothing and passed from his thwart to the
bow of the boat.
A ripple showed on the surface of the water. Eric could not have told it
from the roughness of a breaking wave, but before ever the outlines of a
rising head were seen, the Eel sprang into the sea. Two of those long,
sinuous strokes of his brought him almost within reach of the drowning
man. Blindly the half-strangled sufferer threw up his arms, the action
sending him under water again, a gurgled "Help!" being heard by those in
the boat as he went down.
The Eel dived.
Eric, who had followed his chum headforemost into the water hardly half
a second later, swam around waiting for the other to come up. In three
quarters of a minute the Eel rose to the surface with his living burden.
Suddenly, with a twist, almost entirely unconscious, the drowning man
grappled his rescuer. Eric knew that his chum was an adept at all the
various ways of "breaking away" from these grips, a necessary part of
the training of every life-saver, but he swam close up in case he might
be able to help.
"Got him all right?" he asked.
"He's got me!" grunted the Eel, disgustedly.
"P'raps I'd better give you a hand to break," suggested the boy,
reaching over with the intention of helping | 2,532.778801 |
2023-11-16 18:59:16.8588080 | 3,989 | 20 |
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Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been
incorporated to facilitate the use of the Table of Contents and Index.
* * * * *
A SHORT HISTORY OF
ENGLISH LIBERALISM
BY
W. LYON BLEASE
_No rational man ever did govern himself by abstractions and
universals.... A statesman differs from a professor in an university;
the latter has only the general view of society.... A statesman, never
losing sight of principles, is to be guided by circumstances; and,
judging contrary to the exigencies of the moment, he may ruin his
country for ever._
BURKE, "On the Petition of the Unitarians."
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE
LEIPSIC: INSELSTRASSE 20
* * * * *
TO
"THE MANCHESTER GUARDIAN"
_First Published in 1913_
(_All rights reserved._)
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LIBERALISM AND TORYISM 7
II. POLITICAL CONDITIONS IN THE REIGN OF GEORGE III 42
III. THE FIRST MOVEMENT TOWARDS LIBERALISM 69
IV. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND ENGLISH OPINION 100
V. THE DECLINE OF TORYISM 142
VI. THE MIDDLE-CLASS SUPREMACY 168
VII. THE MANCHESTER SCHOOL AND PALMERSTON 190
VIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE GLADSTONE PERIOD 230
IX. GLADSTONE VERSUS DISRAELI 265
X. THE IMPERIALIST REACTION 294
XI. LIBERALISM SINCE 1906 324
* * * * *
{7}
A Short History of English Liberalism
CHAPTER I
LIBERALISM AND TORYISM
This book attempts to trace the varying but persistent course of Liberalism
in British politics during the last hundred and fifty years. It is not so
much a history of events as a reading of them in the light of a particular
political philosophy. In the strict sense a history of Liberalism should
cover much more than politics. The same habit of mind is to be discovered
everywhere else in the history of thought, most conspicuously in religious
history, but not less certainly in the history of science and of art. The
general victory in these innumerable conflicts of opinion has been to
Liberalism, and the movement of the race, during the period with which the
writer is concerned, is precisely measured by the degree in which the
Liberal spirit has succeeded in modifying the establishments of the
preceding age. The object of this book is to investigate the course of that
process of modification in politics.
By Liberalism I mean, not a policy, but a habit of mind. It is the
disposition of the man who looks upon each of his fellows as of equal worth
with himself. He does not assume that all men and women are of equal
capacity, or equally entitled to offices and privileges. But he is always
inclined to leave and to give them equal opportunity with himself for
self-expression and for self-development. He assumes, as the basis of his
activity, that he has no right to interfere with any other person's
attempts {8} to employ his natural powers in what he conceives to be the
best way. He is unwilling to impose his judgment upon that of others, or to
force them to live their lives according to his ideas rather than their
own. They are never to be used by him for his own ends, but for theirs.
Each is to be left to himself, to work out his own salvation. The Liberal
habit of mind has its positive as well as its negative side. Just as it
leads its possessor to refrain from interfering with the development of
others, so it leads him to take active steps to remove the artificial
barriers which impede that development. Natural obstacles will remain,
though even these may be diminished. But the artificial conditions, which
prevent or hinder growth, are perpetually obnoxious to the Liberal. Upon
class distinctions in society, privileges of sex, rank, wealth, and creed,
he wages unceasing war. They are, in his eye, weights and impediments. To
one of two individuals, not distinguishable in natural capacity, they give
an advantage which is denied to the other. It is the object of the Liberal,
not to deprive any individual of such opportunities as are required for the
exercise of his natural powers, but to prevent the excessive appropriation
of such opportunities by members of the privileged class. The differences
between the practical aims and methods of Liberals at different times are
very wide. But the mental habit has always been the same. "The passion for
improving mankind, in its ultimate object, does not vary. But the immediate
object of reformers and the forms of persuasion by which they seek to
advance them, vary much in different generations. To a hasty observer they
might even seem contradictory, and to justify the notion that nothing
better than a desire for change, selfish or perverse, is at the bottom of
all reforming movements. Only those who will think a little longer about it
can discern the same old cause of social good against class interests, for
which, under altered names, Liberals are fighting now as they were fifty
years ago."[1] The constitutional Liberalism of Fox, the economical
Liberalism of Cobden, and the new collectivist Liberalism of Mr. Lloyd {9}
George exhibit great differences in comparison. But the three men are alike
in their desire to set free the individual from existing social bonds, and
to procure him liberty of growth.
The justification for this individual freedom is not that the man is left
to his own selfish motives, to develop himself for his own advantage. It is
that it is only in this way that he can realize that his own best advantage
is only secured by consulting that of his fellows. "The foundation of
liberty is the idea of growth... it is of course possible to reduce a man
to order and prevent him from being a nuisance to his neighbours by
arbitrary control and harsh punishment.... It is also possible, though it
takes a much higher skill, to teach the same man to discipline himself, and
this is to foster the development of will, of personality, of self-control,
or whatever we please to call that central harmonizing power which makes us
capable of directing our own lives. Liberalism is the belief that society
can safely be founded on this self-directing power of personality."[2] This
Liberalism has nothing to do with anarchy. Coercion may be consistently
applied wherever individual liberty is employed for the public injury, and
the imprisonment of burglars and the regulation of factories by law are
only two aspects of the same thing. But Liberalism restricts freedom only
to extend freedom. Where the individual uses his own liberty to restrict
that of others he may be coerced. But in spite of the modifications to
which all such political principles must be subject, the general rule holds
good. The ideal Liberal State is that in which every individual is equally
free to work out his own life.
The practical difficulty of working out the relations between the
individual and the society in which he is placed is of course very great,
and it will probably always be impossible to maintain a perfect
equilibrium. No doubt we shall always suffer from one or other of the two
unsatisfying conditions--the sacrifice of the individual to what the
majority thinks to be the right of the whole society, and the sacrifice of
the {10} society to the undue emancipation of the individual. But the
necessary imperfection of the result is no argument against this or any
other political system of thought. Politics are no more than a means of
getting things done, and when we have found a society of perfect human
beings, we can fairly complain that their affairs are not perfectly
managed. So far as he can, the Liberal aims at securing this balance of
social and individual good, remembering that the good of society can only
be measured by the good of all its members, and not by the good only of
some dominant rank, creed, or class. "Rights are relative to the well-being
of society, but the converse proposition is equally true, that the
well-being of society may be measured by the degree in which their moral
rights are secured to its component members.... The moral right of an
individual is simply a condition of the full development of his personality
as a moral being. Equally, the moral right of any community is the
condition of the maintenance of its common life, and since that society is
best, happiest, and most progressive which enables its members to make the
utmost of themselves, there is no necessary conflict between them. The
maintenance of rights is the condition of human progress.... To reconcile
the rule of right with the principle of the public welfare is the supreme
end of social theory."[3]
In practical politics the work of modern Liberalism has been to alter the
conditions of society so that this freedom of growth may be secured for
each member of it. The old conception of society was a conception of
classes. Human beings were graded and standardized. Certain privileges were
reserved for certain groups. Society looked, for its estimate of a man, not
to his natural powers, not to what he might make of himself, but to his
brand or mark. If within a certain degree, he had a free choice of his mode
of life; if without it, he found his condition prescribed, sometimes so
rigorously that he could hardly ever improve it. Liberalism has endeavoured
to go deeper into the man, to get beneath the outward complexion, {11} to
find out his intrinsic worth, and to give him that place in the social
estimate which his natural powers deserve. Arbitrary distinctions are
abhorrent to it. It is incapable of thinking in terms of class. Every class
is, in its eyes, only an aggregate of individuals, and to exalt one class
above another is to appreciate some individuals at the expense of others,
to place marks of comparative social worth upon the members of different
groups which do not correspond to the relative values of their natural
qualities. Against a privileged race, rank, creed, or sex Liberalism must
fight continually. By the artificial elevation of one above another, it is
made to count for more in society, its members are aggrandized and those of
its rivals are depreciated; and while the first are encouraged to abuse,
the second are hampered and fettered in their growth. The Liberal asserts
that no man, because he happens to be of a particular sect, or to be born
of a particular family, or to possess a particular form of property, or to
hold particular opinions, shall be invested by Society with privileges
which give him an advantage in social intercourse over his fellows. He does
not assert that all human beings are equal in capacity, but he demands that
their natural inequalities shall not be aggravated by artificial
conditions. For what he is worth, each shall be free to realize his highest
capacity.
The Liberal conception of equality as between individuals is extended to
the case of Churches, of nations, and of sexes. These classes are indeed
not regarded by the Liberal as classes, but simply as associations, for
limited purposes, of individuals, who are, in all essential respects,
separate and distinct. To confer a privilege upon one Church or nation or
sex is simply to confer a privilege upon the individuals who compose it,
and whether the privilege is the monopoly of political power or the sole
right to take part in a public ceremony, it does in greater or less degree
affect the relative social values of the members of the two groups, and
places the members of the inferior at the disposition of those of the
superior. To give the Established Church the sole right to take part in the
coronation of the King is a violation {12} of Liberal principle of the same
kind, though not of the same degree, as to exclude Dissenters or Catholics
from Parliament, and if men were content to exclude women only from the
legal profession, they would be arrogating to themselves a superior value
no less clearly than when they refuse to them the right to control their
own government.
The same general habit of mind is applied to foreign policy. The
acknowledgment of the equal worth of individuals within the nation becomes
the acknowledgment of the equal worth of nations among themselves.
"Nationalism has stood for liberty, not only in the sense that it has
resisted tyrannous encroachment, but also in the sense that it has
maintained the right of a community to work out its own salvation in its
own way. A nation has an individuality, and the doctrine that individuality
is an element in well-being is rightly applied to it. The world advances by
the free, vigorous growth of divergent types, and is stunted when all the
fresh bursting shoots are planed off close to the heavy, solid stem."[4]
The interference of one with another, attempts to prescribe the limits or
the cause of development, are as obnoxious in international as in
intra-national relations. It was in fact in connection with this idea of
nationality that the words "Liberal" and "Liberalism" came into use. The
first English Liberals were those statesmen who followed Canning in his
championship of Greece and the South American Republics, and some of them
were very far from being Liberals within the borders of their own State.[5]
This extension of Liberalism from individuals to nations is easy as a
mental process, but very far from easy as a matter of practical politics.
Nationality is not difficult to define in general terms. It is sometimes
infinitely difficult to decide in a particular case whether the general
definition applies. John Stuart Mill has perhaps given as much precision to
the Liberal conception of nationality as it can bear. "A portion of mankind
may be said {13} to constitute a nation if they are united among themselves
by common sympathies which do not exist between them and others. This
feeling of nationality may have been generated by various causes. Sometimes
it is the effect of identity of race and descent. Community of language and
community of religion greatly contribute to it. Geographical limits are one
of the causes. But the strongest of all is identity of political
antecedents, the possession of a national history and consequent community
of recollections, collective pride and humiliation, pleasure and regret,
connected with the same incidents in the past."[6] Nationality is not a
thing of sharp outline, any more than any other political conception, and
community of interest, the management of common concerns over a long period
of time, has triumphed over differences so potent as those of race and
creed. Such has been the fortune of Switzerland, of Canada, and of white
South Africa, and it is the hope of Liberalism that such will also be the
fortune of Ireland. Without attempting to draw hard lines between
communities, the Liberal sees in them distinctions of worth and capacity
such as he sees in individuals, and he would give the same freedom of
self-development to a nation as to a human being.
The idea that nations are to be bound by moral rules as much as individuals
is only another application of the general rule that one man is to be
treated as equally entitled with every other to the development of his own
faculties. The same rule is extended to nations as to single persons. No
one people has the right to interfere with the free development of another,
until it is clearly and unmistakably proved that that free development will
be generally injurious. Once this principle is accepted, it becomes
impossible, as in the case of single persons, for one nation to decline to
recognize moral rules in its dealings with others. Morality is nothing but
the subjection of individual wills to the common will, as expressed in
defined rules. Immorality is only the arrogance of the individual will,
refusing to submit itself to general rules, while it endeavours to enforce
general rules upon {14} others. The Liberal State is that which recognizes
the universal application of its own principles of conduct, declines to
thrust its own ideas upon unwilling associates, and works in harmony with
other races instead of in opposition to them.
It is not suggested here that it is any part of the Liberal doctrine to
seek peace at any price, or to turn the other cheek to the smiter. A vital
condition of the existence of morality is that moral persons shall be ready
at all times to defend it. To suffer wanton aggression is as fatal to a
nation as to an individual. It is a mere encouragement to the general
infringement of rights which means the dissolution of international
morality. Liberal patriotism exists, though it is of a different kind from
that patriotism which is so conspicuous a feature of our modern
Imperialism. Imperialist patriotism is often a vulgar assertion of selfish
power. Liberal patriotism is a means of diminishing national selfishness.
Just as the Liberal believes that the best life within the nation is
produced by the growth of free individuality, so he believes that the best
life in the race at large is produced by the growth of free nationality.
"If there is one condition precedent to effective internationalism or to
the establishment of any reliable relations between States, it is the
existence of strong, secure, well-developed, and responsible nations.
Internationalism can never be subserved by the suppression or forcible
absorption of nations; for these practices react disastrously upon the
springs of internationalism, on the one hand setting nations on their armed
defence and stifling the amicable approaches between them, on the other
debilitating the larger nations through excessive corpulence and
indigestion. The hope of a coming internationalism enjoins above all else
the maintenance and natural growth of independent nationalities, for
without such there could be no gradual evolution of internationalism, but
only a series of unsuccessful attempts at a chaotic and unstable | 2,532.878848 |
2023-11-16 18:59:16.8593590 | 24 | 8 |
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2023-11-16 18:59:16.8594020 | 2,143 | 14 | Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Life of General Francis Marion*
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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 10
MAY 1, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
HARD LUCK
OR THE BALLOON
HOUSE PLOT
[Illustration: "This way, Dick" yelled Motor Matt
as he struck down one of the
ruffians.]
STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._
No. 10. NEW YORK, May 1, 1909. Price Five Cents.
Motor Matt's Hard Luck
OR,
THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. AN OLD FRIEND.
CHAPTER II. A TRAP.
CHAPTER III. OVERBOARD.
CHAPTER IV. RESCUED.
CHAPTER V. BUYING THE "HAWK."
CHAPTER VI. MATT SCORES AGAINST JAMESON.
CHAPTER VII. AT THE BALLOON HOUSE.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOT OF THE BRADY GANG.
CHAPTER IX. CARL IS SURPRISED.
CHAPTER X. HELEN BRADY'S CLUE.
CHAPTER XI. JERROLD GIVES HIS AID.
CHAPTER XII. GRAND HAVEN.
CHAPTER XIII. THE LINE ON BRADY.
CHAPTER XIV. THE WOODS BY THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XV. BRADY A PRISONER.
CHAPTER XVI. BACK IN SOUTH CHICAGO.
THE RED SPIDER.
PIGEON-WHISTLE CONCERTS.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad
of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won
for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of
"Mile-a-minute Matt."
=Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a
fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness.
=Dick Ferral=, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has
served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where
he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life.
=Helen Brady=, Hector Brady's daughter, who helps Motor Matt.
=Hector Brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from
Hamilton Jerrold. His air ship is called the Hawk and is used for
criminal purposes. Brady's attempt to secure Motor Matt's services as
driver of the Hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang.
=Hamilton Jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to
aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the Eagle.
=Jameson=, a rich member of the Aëro Club, who thinks of buying the
Hawk.
=Whipple=, =Pete=, =Grove=, =Harper=, members of Brady's gang who
carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a
tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of Hector Brady.
=Ochiltree=, an ex-convict whose past record nearly got him into
trouble.
=Harris=, a policeman of South Chicago who aids Motor Matt in his
work against the Bradys.
=Dennison and Twitchell=, police officers of Grand Haven, Michigan,
who take a part in the final capture of Brady.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD FRIEND.
"Py chimineddy!" muttered Carl Pretzel to himself, starting up on the
couch, where he had been snatching forty winks by way of passing the
time. "Vat's dot? Der voice has some familiar sounds mit me. Lisden
vonce."
A loud, jovial voice floated in through the open window, a voice with a
swing to it that set Carl's nerves in a flutter.
"'In Cawsand bay lying,
And a Blue Peter flying,
All hands were turned up the anchor to weigh,
There came a young lady,
As fair as a May-day,
And modestly h | 2,533.078772 |
2023-11-16 18:59:17.1589310 | 3,919 | 19 |
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; Emma Dudding
THE WORLD'S DESIRE
by H. Rider Haggard and Andrew Lang
To
W. B. RICHMOND, A.R.A.
PREFACE
The period in which the story of _The World's Desire_ is cast, was a
period when, as Miss Braddon remarks of the age of the Plantagenets,
"anything might happen." Recent discoveries, mainly by Dr. Schliemann
and Mr. Flinders Petrie, have shown that there really was much
intercourse between Heroic Greece, the Greece of the Achaeans, and the
Egypt of the Ramessids. This connection, rumoured of in Greek legends,
is attested by Egyptian relics found in the graves of Mycenae, and by
very ancient Levantine pottery, found in contemporary sites in Egypt.
Homer himself shows us Odysseus telling a feigned, but obviously not
improbable, tale of an Achaean raid on Egypt. Meanwhile the sojourn of
the Israelites, with their Exodus from the land of bondage, though not
yet found to be recorded on the Egyptian monuments, was probably part of
the great contemporary stir among the peoples. These events, which are
only known through Hebrew texts, must have worn a very different aspect
in the eyes of Egyptians, and of pre-historic Achaean observers, hostile
in faith to the Children of Israel. The topic has since been treated in
fiction by Dr. Ebers, in his _Joshua_. In such a twilight age, fancy has
free play, but it is a curious fact that, in this romance, modern fancy
has accidentally coincided with that of ancient Greece.
Most of the novel was written, and the apparently "un-Greek" marvels
attributed to Helen had been put on paper, when a part of Furtwaengler's
recent great lexicon of Mythology appeared, with the article on Helen.
The authors of _The World's Desire_ read it with a feeling akin to
amazement. Their wildest inventions about the Daughter of the Swan, it
seemed, had parallels in the obscurer legends of Hellas. There actually
is a tradition, preserved by Eustathius, that Paris beguiled Helen
by magically putting on the aspect of Menelaus. There is a mediaeval
parallel in the story of Uther and Ygerne, mother of Arthur, and
the classical case of Zeus and Amphitryon is familiar. Again, the
blood-dripping ruby of Helen, in the tale, is mentioned by Servius in
his commentary on Virgil (it was pointed out to one of the authors
by Mr. Mackail). But we did not know that the Star of the story was
actually called the "Star-stone" in ancient Greek fable. The many voices
of Helen are alluded to by Homer in the _Odyssey_: she was also named
_Echo_, in old tradition. To add that she could assume the aspect of
every man's first love was easy. Goethe introduces the same quality
in the fair witch of his _Walpurgis Nacht_. A respectable portrait of
Meriamun's secret counsellor exists, in pottery, in the British Museum,
though, as it chances, it was not discovered by us until after the
publication of this romance. The Laestrygonian of the Last Battle is
introduced as a pre-historic Norseman. Mr. Gladstone, we think, was
perhaps the first to point out that the Laestrygonians of the _Odyssey_,
with their home on a fiord in the Land of the Midnight Sun, were
probably derived from travellers' tales of the North, borne with the
amber along the immemorial Sacred Way. The Magic of Meriamun is in
accordance with Egyptian ideas; her resuscitation of the dead woman,
Hataska, has a singular parallel in Reginald Scot's _Discovery of
Witchcraft_ (1584), where the spell "by the silence of the Night" is not
without poetry. The general conception of Helen as the World's Desire,
Ideal Beauty, has been dealt with by M. Paul de St. Victor, and Mr. J.
A. Symonds. For the rest, some details of battle, and of wounds, which
must seem very "un-Greek" to critics ignorant of Greek literature, are
borrowed from Homer.
H. R. H. A. L.
THE WORLD'S DESIRE
by H. Rider Haggard and Andrew Lang
Come with us, ye whose hearts are set
On this, the Present to forget;
Come read the things whereof ye know
_They were not, and could not be so!_
The murmur of the fallen creeds,
Like winds among wind-shaken reeds
Along the banks of holy Nile,
Shall echo in your ears the while;
The fables of the North and South
Shall mingle in a modern mouth;
The fancies of the West and East
Shall flock and flit about the feast
Like doves that cooled, with waving wing,
The banquets of the Cyprian king.
Old shapes of song that do not die
Shall haunt the halls of memory,
And though the Bow shall prelude clear
Shrill as the song of Gunnar's spear,
There answer sobs from lute and lyre
That murmured of The World's Desire.
* * * * *
There lives no man but he hath seen
The World's Desire, the fairy queen.
None but hath seen her to his cost,
Not one but loves what he has lost.
None is there but hath heard her sing
Divinely through his wandering;
Not one but he has followed far
The portent of the Bleeding Star;
Not one but he hath chanced to wake,
Dreamed of the Star and found the Snake.
Yet, through his dreams, a wandering fire,
Still, still she flits, THE WORLD'S DESIRE!
BOOK I
I
THE SILENT ISLE
Across the wide backs of the waves, beneath the mountains, and between
the islands, a ship came stealing from the dark into the dusk, and from
the dusk into the dawn. The ship had but one mast, one broad brown sail
with a star embroidered on it in gold; her stem and stern were built
high, and curved like a bird's beak; her prow was painted scarlet, and
she was driven by oars as well as by the western wind.
A man stood alone on the half-deck at the bows, a man who looked always
forward, through the night, and the twilight, and the clear morning. He
was of no great stature, but broad-breasted and very wide-shouldered,
with many signs of strength. He had blue eyes, and dark curled locks
falling beneath a red cap such as sailors wear, and over a purple cloak,
fastened with a brooch of gold. There were threads of silver in his
curls, and his beard was flecked with white. His whole heart was
following his eyes, watching first for the blaze of the island beacons
out of the darkness, and, later, for the smoke rising from the far-off
hills. But he watched in vain; there was neither light nor smoke on the
grey peak that lay clear against a field of yellow sky.
There was no smoke, no fire, no sound of voices, nor cry of birds. The
isle was deadly still.
As they neared the coast, and neither heard nor saw a sign of life, the
man's face fell. The gladness went out of his eyes, his features grew
older with anxiety and doubt, and with longing for tidings of his home.
No man ever loved his home more than he, for this was Odysseus, the
son of Laertes--whom some call Ulysses--returned from his unsung second
wandering. The whole world has heard the tale of his first voyage, how
he was tossed for ten years on the sea after the taking of Troy, how
he reached home at last, alone and disguised as a beggar; how he found
violence in his house, how he slew his foes in his own hall, and won his
wife again. But even in his own country he was not permitted to rest,
for there was a curse upon him and a labour to be accomplished. He must
wander again till he reached the land of men who had never tasted salt,
nor ever heard of the salt sea. There he must sacrifice to the Sea-God,
and then, at last, set his face homewards. Now he had endured that
curse, he had fulfilled the prophecy, he had angered, by misadventure,
the Goddess who was his friend, and after adventures that have never yet
been told, he had arrived within a bowshot of Ithaca.
He came from strange countries, from the Gates of the Sun and from White
Rock, from the Passing Place of Souls and the people of Dreams.
But he found his own isle more still and strange by far. The realm of
Dreams was not so dumb, the Gates of the Sun were not so still, as the
shores of the familiar island beneath the rising dawn.
This story, whereof the substance was set out long ago by Rei, the
instructed Egyptian priest, tells what he found there, and the tale of
the last adventures of Odysseus, Laertes' son.
The ship ran on and won the well-known haven, sheltered from wind by two
headlands of sheer cliff. There she sailed straight in, till the leaves
of the broad olive tree at the head of the inlet were tangled in her
cordage. Then the Wanderer, without once looking back, or saying one
word of farewell to his crew, caught a bough of the olive tree with his
hand, and swung himself ashore. Here he kneeled, and kissed the earth,
and, covering his head within his cloak, he prayed that he might find
his house at peace, his wife dear and true, and his son worthy of him.
But not one word of his prayer was to be granted. The Gods give and
take, but on the earth the Gods cannot restore.
When he rose from his knees he glanced back across the waters, but there
was now no ship in the haven, nor any sign of a sail upon the seas.
And still the land was silent; not even the wild birds cried a welcome.
The sun was hardly up, men were scarce awake, the Wanderer said to
himself; and he set a stout heart to the steep path leading up the hill,
over the wolds, and across the ridge of rock that divides the two masses
of the island. Up he climbed, purposing, as of old, to seek the house of
his faithful servant, the swineherd, and learn from him the tidings of
his home. On the brow of a hill he stopped to rest, and looked down on
the house of the servant. But the strong oak palisade was broken, no
smoke came from the hole in the thatched roof, and, as he approached,
the dogs did not run barking, as sheep-dogs do, at the stranger. The
very path to the house was overgrown, and dumb with grass; even a dog's
keen ears could scarcely have heard a footstep.
The door of the swineherd's hut was open, but all was dark within. The
spiders had woven a glittering web across the empty blackness, a sign
that for many days no man had entered. Then the Wanderer shouted twice,
and thrice, but the only answer was an echo from the hill. He went in,
hoping to find food, or perhaps a spark of fire sheltered under the dry
leaves. But all was vacant and cold as death.
The Wanderer came forth into the warm sunlight, set his face to the hill
again, and went on his way to the city of Ithaca.
He saw the sea from the hill-top glittering as of yore, but there were
no brown sails of fisher-boats on the sea. All the land that should now
have waved with the white corn was green with tangled weeds. Half-way
down the rugged path was a grove of alders, and the basin into which
water flowed from the old fountain of the Nymphs. But no maidens were
there with their pitchers; the basin was broken, and green with mould;
the water slipped through the crevices and hurried to the sea. There
were no offerings of wayfarers, rags and pebbles, by the well; and on
the altar of the Nymphs the flame had long been cold. The very ashes
were covered with grass, and a branch of ivy had hidden the stone of
sacrifice.
On the Wanderer pressed with a heavy heart; now the high roof of his own
hall and the wide fenced courts were within his sight, and he hurried
forward to know the worst.
Too soon he saw that the roofs were smokeless, and all the court was
deep in weeds. Where the altar of Zeus had stood in the midst of the
court there was now no altar, but a great, grey mound, not of earth, but
of white dust mixed with black. Over this mound the coarse grass pricked
up scantily, like thin hair on a leprosy.
Then the Wanderer shuddered, for out of the grey mound peeped the
charred black bones of the dead. He drew near, and, lo! the whole heap
was of nothing else than the ashes of men and women. Death had been busy
here: here many people had perished of a pestilence. They had all been
consumed on one funeral fire, while they who laid them there must have
fled, for there was no sign of living man. The doors gaped open, and
none entered, and none came forth. The house was dead, like the people
who had dwelt in it.
Then the Wanderer paused where once the old hound Argos had welcomed him
and had died in that welcome. There, unwelcomed, he stood, leaning on
his staff. Then a sudden ray of the sun fell on something that glittered
in the heap, and he touched it with the end of the staff that he had in
his hand. It slid jingling from the heap; it was the bone of a forearm,
and that which glittered on it was a half-molten ring of gold. On the
gold lambda these characters were engraved:
IKMALIOS MEPOIESEN
(Icmalios made me.)
At the sight of the armlet the Wanderer fell on the earth, grovelling
among the ashes of the pyre, for he knew the gold ring which he had
brought from Ephyre long ago, for a gift to his wife Penelope. This
was the bracelet of the bride of his youth, and here, a mockery and a
terror, were those kind arms in which he had lain. Then his strength was
shaken with sobbing, and his hands clutched blindly before him, and he
gathered dust and cast it upon his head till the dark locks were defiled
with the ashes of his dearest, and he longed to die.
There he lay, biting his hands for sorrow, and for wrath against God and
Fate. There he lay while the sun in the heavens smote him, and he knew
it not; while the wind of the sunset stirred in his hair, and he stirred
not. He could not even shed one tear, for this was the sorest of all the
sorrows that he had known on the waves of the sea, or on land among the
wars of men.
The sun fell and the ways were darkened. Slowly the eastern sky grew
silver with the moon. A night-fowl's voice was heard from afar, it drew
nearer; then through the shadow of the pyre the black wings fluttered
into the light, and the carrion bird fixed its talons and its beak on
the Wanderer's neck. Then he moved at length, tossed up an arm, and
caught the bird of darkness by the neck, and broke it, and dashed it on
the ground. His sick heart was mad with the little sudden pain, and he
clutched for the knife in his girdle that he might slay himself, but
he was unarmed. At last he rose, muttering, and stood in the moonlight,
like a lion in some ruinous palace of forgotten kings. He was faint with
hunger and weak with long lamenting, as he stepped within his own doors.
There he paused on that high threshold of stone where once he had sat in
the disguise of a beggar, that very threshold whence, on another day, he
had shot the shafts of doom among the wooers of his wife and the wasters
of his home. But now his wife was dead: all his voyaging was ended here,
and all his wars were vain. In the white light the house of his kingship
was no more than the ghost of a home, dreadful, unfamiliar, empty
of warmth and love and light. The tables were fallen here and there
throughout the long hall; mouldering bones, from the funeral feast, and
shattered cups and dishes lay in one confusion; the ivory chairs were
broken, and on the walls the moonbeams glistened now and again from
points of steel and blades of bronze, though many swords were dark with
rust.
But there, in its gleaming case, lay one thing friendly and familiar.
There lay the Bow of Eurytus, the bow for which great Heracles had slain
his own host in his halls; the dreadful bow that no mortal man but the
Wanderer could bend. He was never used to carry this precious bow with
him on shipboard, when he went to the wars, but treasured it at home,
the memorial of a dear friend foully slain | 2,533.178971 |
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Produced by Irma Spehar, Michael Zeug, Lisa Reigel, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
Transcriber's Notes: Some typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected. A complete list follows the text. Variations in spelling and
hyphenation have been left as in the original. Words in Greek in the
original are transliterated and placed between +plus signs+. Words
italicized in the original are surrounded by _underscores_. Words in
bold in the original are surrounded by =equal signs=. Characters
superscripted in the original are inclosed in {} brackets.
There are diacritic accents in the original. In this text, they are
represented as follows:
[=a] = "a" with a macron
[=e] = "e" with a macron
[=i] = "i" with a macron
[=o] = "o" with a macron
[=u] = "u" with a macron
[=w] = "w" with a macron
_THE PLANT-LORE AND GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE._
PRESS NOTICES OF FIRST EDITION.
"It would be hard to name a better commonplace book for summer
lawns.... The lover of poetry, the lover of gardening, and the lover
of quaint, out-of-the-way knowledge will each find something to please
him.... It is a delightful example of gardening literature."--_Pall
Mall Gazette._
"Mr. Ellacombe, with a double enthusiasm for Shakespeare and for his
garden, has produced a very readable and graceful volume on the
Plant-Lore of Shakespeare."--_Saturday Review._
"Mr. Ellacombe brings to his task an enthusiastic love of horticulture,
wedded to no inconsiderable practical and theoretical knowledge of it; a
mind cultivated by considerable acquaintance with the Greek and Latin
classics, and trained for this special subject by a course of extensive
reading among the contemporaries of his author: and a capacity for
patient and unwearied research, which he has shown by the stores of
learning he has drawn from a class of books rarely dipped into by the
student--Saxon and Early English herbals and books of leechcraft; the
result is a work which is entitled from its worth to a place in every
Shakesperian library."--_Spectator._
"The work has fallen into the hands of one who knows not only the
plants themselves, but also their literary history; and it may be
said that Shakespeare's flowers now for the first time find an
historian."--_Field._
"A delightful book has been compiled, and it is as accurate as it is
delightful."--_Gardener's Chronicle._
"Mr. Ellacombe's book well deserves a place on the shelves of both the
student of Shakespeare and the lover of plant lore."--_Journal of
Botany._
"By patient industry, systematically bestowed, Mr. Ellacombe has
produced a book of considerable interest;... full of facts, grouped
on principles of common sense about quotations from our great
poet."--_Guardian._
"Mr. Ellacombe is an old and faithful labourer in this field of
criticism. His 'Plant-lore and Garden-craft of Shakespeare'... is the
fullest and best book on the subject."--_The Literary World (American)._
THE
PLANT-LORE & GARDEN-CRAFT
OF
SHAKESPEARE.
BY
REV. HENRY N. ELLACOMBE, M.A.,
OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD,
VICAR OF BITTON, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, AND HON. CANON OF BRISTOL.
SECOND EDITION.
PRINTED FOR
W. SATCHELL AND CO.,
AND SOLD BY,
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.,
LONDON.
1884.
"My Herbale booke in Folio I unfold.
I pipe of plants, I sing of somer flowers."
CUTWODE, _Caltha Poetarum_, st. 1.
TO THE READER.
"Faultes escaped in the Printing, correcte with your pennes; omitted by
my neglygence, overslippe with patience; committed by ignorance, remit
with favour."
LILY, _Euphues and his England_, Address to the
gentlemen Readers.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION 1
PLANT-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE 7
GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE 333
APPENDIX--
I. THE DAISY 359
II. THE SEASONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 379
III. NAMES OF PLANTS 391
INDEX OF PLAYS 421
GENERAL INDEX 431
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
Since the publication of the First Edition I have received many kind
criticisms both from the public critics and from private friends. For
these criticisms I am very thankful, and they have enabled me to correct
some errors and to make some additions, which I hope will make the book
more acceptable and useful.
For convenience of reference I have added the line numbers to the
passages quoted, taking both the quotations and the line numbers from
the Globe Shakespeare. In a few instances I have not kept exactly to the
text of the Globe Edition, but these are noted; and I have added the
"Two Noble Kinsmen," which is not in that Edition.
In other respects this Second Edition is substantially the same as the
First.
H. N. E.
BITTON VICARAGE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE,
_February, 1884_.
PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.
The following Notes on the "Plant-lore and Garden-craft of Shakespeare"
were published in "The Garden" from March to September, 1877.
They are now republished with additions and with such corrections as the
altered form of publication required or allowed.
As the Papers appeared from week to week, I had to thank many
correspondents (mostly complete strangers to myself) for useful
suggestions and inquiries; and I would again invite any further
suggestions or remarks, especially in the way of correction of any
mistakes or omissions that I may have made, and I should feel thankful
to any one that would kindly do me this favour.
In republishing the Papers, I have been very doubtful whether I ought
not to have rejected the cultural remarks on several of the plants,
which I had added with a special reference to the horticultural
character of "The Garden" newspaper. But I decided to retain them, on
finding that they interested some readers, by whom the literary and
Shakespearean notices were less valued.
The weekly preparation of the Papers was a very pleasant study to
myself, and introduced me to much literary and horticultural information
of which I was previously ignorant. In republishing them I hope that
some of my readers may meet with equal pleasure, and with some little
information that may be new to them.
H. N. E.
BITTON VICARAGE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE,
_May, 1878_.
INTRODUCTION.
All the commentators on Shakespeare are agreed upon one point, that he
was the most wonderfully many-sided writer that the world has yet seen.
Every art and science are more or less noticed by him, so far as they
were known in his day; every business and profession are more or less
accurately described; and so it has come to pass that, though the main
circumstances of his life are pretty well known, yet the students of
every art and science, and the members of every business and profession,
have delighted to claim him as their fellow-labourer. Books have been
written at various times by various writers, which have proved (to the
complete satisfaction of the writers) that he was a soldier,[1:1] a
sailor, a lawyer,[1:2] an astronomer, a physician,[1:3] a divine,[1:4] a
printer,[1:5] an actor, a courtier, a sportsman, an angler,[2:1] and I
know not what else besides.
I also propose to claim him as a fellow-labourer. A lover of flowers and
gardening myself, I claim Shakespeare as equally a lover of flowers and
gardening; and this I propose to prove by showing how, in all his
writings, he exhibits his strong love for flowers, and a very fair,
though not perhaps a very deep, knowledge of plants; but I do not intend
to go further. That he was a lover of plants I shall have no difficulty
in showing; but I do not, therefore, believe that he was a professed
gardener, and I am quite sure he can in no sense be claimed as a
botanist, in the scientific sense of the term. His knowledge of plants
was simply the knowledge that every man may have who goes through the
world with his eyes open to the many beauties of Nature that surround
him, and who does not content himself with simply looking, and then
passing on, but tries to find out something of the inner meaning of the
beauties he sees, and to carry away with him some of the lessons which
they were doubtless meant to teach. But Shakespeare was able to go
further than this. He had the great gift of being able to describe what
he saw in a way that few others have arrived at; he could communicate to | 2,533.478826 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "This is a terrible piece of work." Page 185.]
THE LOST GOLD OF
THE MONTEZUMAS
A STORY OF THE ALAMO
BY
WILLIAM O. STODDARD
AUTHOR OF "CHUMLEY'S POST," "CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD," "THE TALKING
LEAVES," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
_CHARLES H. STEPHENS_
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Gods of the Montezumas
CHAPTER II.
The Alamo Fort
CHAPTER III.
The Dream of the New Empire
CHAPTER IV.
The Race for the Chaparral
CHAPTER V.
Among the Bushes
CHAPTER VI.
The Old Cash-Box
CHAPTER VII.
The Escape of the Rangers
CHAPTER VIII.
The Camp at the Spring
CHAPTER IX.
The Skirmish in the Night
CHAPTER X.
A Baffled Pursuit
CHAPTER XI.
The Charge of the Lancers
CHAPTER XII.
The Horse-Thieves and the Stampede
CHAPTER XIII.
The Last of Tetzcatl
CHAPTER XIV.
The Perilous Path
CHAPTER XV.
The Return of the Gold Hunters
CHAPTER XVI.
The Army of Santa Anna
CHAPTER XVII.
The First Shot
CHAPTER XVIII.
Crockett's Alarm Gun
CHAPTER XIX.
The Reinforcement
CHAPTER XX.
Nearing the End
ILLUSTRATIONS
"This is a terrible piece of work"......... _Frontispiece._
"Good! Tetzcatl go to the Alamo"
"Heap dollar," remarked Red Wolf
"Ugh!" screeched the Comanche at the end of a terrific minute, and
he sank into the grass
In rode the very airy captain of lancers
A dark, stern, terrible shape half rose from a couch
CHAPTER I.
THE GODS OF THE MONTEZUMAS.
It was a gloomy place. It would have been dark but for a heap of
blazing wood upon a rock at one side. That is, it looked like a rock
at first sight, but upon a closer inspection it proved to be a cube of
well-fitted, although roughly finished, masonry. It was about six feet
square, and there were three stone steps leading up in front.
Behind this altar-like structure a vast wall of the natural rock, a
dark limestone, had been sculptured into the shape of a colossal and
exceedingly ugly human face,--as if the head of a stone giant were half
sunken in that side of what was evidently an immense cave.
There were men in the cave, but no women were to be seen. Several of
the men were standing near the altar, and one of them was putting fuel
upon the fire. The only garment worn by any of them was a ragged
blanket, the Mexican _serape_. In the middle of the blanket was a
hole, and when the wearer's head was thrust through this he was in full
dress.
There was no present need for carrying weapons, but arms of all
sorts--lances, swords, bows and sheaves of arrows--were strewn in
careless heaps along the base of the wall. Besides these, and
remarkable for their shapes and sizes, there were a number of curiously
carved and ornamented clubs. All the men visible were old and
emaciated. They were wrinkled, grimy, dark, with long, black-gray
hair, and coal-black, beady eyes. Withal, there was about them a
listless, unoccupied, purposeless air, as if they were only half alive.
They seemed to see well enough in that lurid half light, and they
wandered hither and thither, now and then exchanging a few words in
some harsh and guttural dialect that seemed to have no dividing pauses
between its interminable words.
Nevertheless, this was not the only tongue with which they were
familiar, for one of the men at the altar turned to those who were near
him and spoke to them in Spanish.
"The gods have spoken loudly," he said. "They have been long without
service. They are hungry. Tetzcatl will go. He will find if the
Americans are strong enough to strike the Spaniards in Texas. He will
bring them to serve the gods in the valley of the old kings. He will
stir up the Comanches and the Lipans. The Apaches in the west are
already busy. The gods will be quiet if he can arouse for them the
enemies of Spain."
For a moment the dark figures stood as still as so many statues, and
then a sepulchral voice arose among them.
"The men of the North will not come," it said. "The Texans cannot
defend their own towns from the locusts of Santa Anna. The Comanches
and the Lipans are scalping each other. The Apaches have been beaten
by Bravo's lancers. All white men need to be hired or they will not
fight. We have nothing wherewith to hire them."
A hoarse and mocking laugh burst from the lips of Tetzcatl. "Hire
them? Pay them?" he said. "No! But hunters can bait wolves. If the
trap is rightly set, the wolves will never reach the bait. They will
but fall into the pit they are lured to. Come! Let us look at the
fire that was kindled for Guatamoczin. The Spaniards perished in the
mountains when they came to hunt for the hidden treasures of the
Montezumas."
Slowly, as if their withered limbs almost refused to carry them, the
weird, dingy, ghastly figures followed him deeper into the cave, and
each took with him a blazing pine-knot for a torch. Not one of them
appeared to be aroused, as yet, to any especial interest, nor did they
talk as they went. Tetzcatl, however, led the way with a vigor of
movement that was in startling contrast to the listlessness of his dark
companions.
There was no door to unlock, there were no bars to remove, at the end
of their silent march. The distance travelled may have been a hundred
paces. On either side, as they went, were stalagmites of glittering
white, answering to the pointed stalactites which depended from the
vaulted cave-roof above. It was a scene the like of which can be found
in many another limestone formation the world over. There was nothing
exceptional about it, only that the specimens presented were numerous
and finely formed.
The torches flared in the strong currents of air which ventilated the
cavern, and their smoky light was reflected brilliantly from all the
irregular, alabaster surfaces.
The sculptured head of the great idol over the altar; the carefully
maintained fire; the presence of the aged keepers, whether they were to
be called priests of the shrine or only worshippers, were the
distinguishing features of the place.
On went Tetzcatl until he reached a spot where the side walls
approached each other, with a space of about thirty feet between them.
Here he paused and waited until the others, with several who had not
before made their appearance, arrived and stood beside him.
"There!" he said, loudly, pointing with outstretched hand.
"Guatamoczin turned to ashes upon the coals of the Spanish furnace,
because he refused to reveal this to their greed. Know you not that
even now, if the Spaniards did but suspect, there would shortly be an
army among the mountain passes? Aye! If the Americans believed that
this were here, their thousands would be pouring southward. All Europe
would come. Here is the god that they worship, but the secret of its
presence has been guarded from them by the old gods of Mexico."
"What good?" asked a cracked voice near him. "It cannot be used to buy
Texans. It must remain where it is until the gods come up."
"Aye! So!" shrieked Tetzcatl. "We will keep their secret chamber
until they come. But the wolf does but need to smell the bait,--not to
eat it. He will come, if he has only the scent. If the Texans were
stirred to hunt for the gold they will | 2,533.779665 |
2023-11-16 18:59:17.7596540 | 3,923 | 7 |
Produced by Jarrod Newton
THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES
By Leonid Andreyev
Translated by Herman Bernstein
CONTENTS
The Crushed Flower
A Story Which Will Never Be Finished
On the Day of the Crucifixion
The Serpent's Story
Love, Faith and Hope
The Ocean
Judas Iscariot and Others
"The Man Who Found the Truth"
THE CRUSHED FLOWER
CHAPTER I
His name was Yura.
He was six years old, and the world was to him enormous, alive and
bewitchingly mysterious. He knew the sky quite well. He knew its deep
azure by day, and the white-breasted, half silvery, half golden clouds
slowly floating by. He often watched them as he lay on his back upon the
grass or upon the roof. But he did not know the stars so well, for he
went to bed early. He knew well and remembered only one star--the green,
bright and very attentive star that rises in the pale sky just before
you go to bed, and that seemed to be the only star so large in the whole
sky.
But best of all, he knew the earth in the yard, in the street and in the
garden, with all its inexhaustible wealth of stones, of velvety grass,
of hot sand and of that wonderfully varied, mysterious and delightful
dust which grown people did not notice at all from the height of their
enormous size. And in falling asleep, as the last bright image of the
passing day, he took along to his dreams a bit of hot, rubbed off stone
bathed in sunshine or a thick layer of tenderly tickling, burning dust.
When he went with his mother to the centre of the city along the large
streets, he remembered best of all, upon his return, the wide, flat
stones upon which his steps and his feet seemed terribly small, like
two little boats. And even the multitude of revolving wheels and horses'
heads did not impress themselves so clearly upon his memory as this new
and unusually interesting appearance of the ground.
Everything was enormous to him--the fences, the dogs and the people--but
that did not at all surprise or frighten him; that only made everything
particularly interesting; that transformed life into an uninterrupted
miracle. According to his measures, various objects seemed to him as
follows:
His father--ten yards tall.
His mother--three yards.
The neighbour's angry dog--thirty yards.
Their own dog--ten yards, like papa.
Their house of one story was very, very tall--a mile.
The distance between one side of the street and the other--two miles.
Their garden and the trees in their garden seemed immense, infinitely
tall.
The city--a million--just how much he did not know.
And everything else appeared to him in the same way. He knew many
people, large and small, but he knew and appreciated better the little
ones with whom he could speak of everything. The grown people behaved
so foolishly and asked such absurd, dull questions about things that
everybody knew, that it was necessary for him also to make believe that
he was foolish. He had to lisp and give nonsensical answers; and, of
course, he felt like running away from them as soon as possible.
But there were over him and around him and within him two entirely
extraordinary persons, at once big and small, wise and foolish, at once
his own and strangers--his father and mother.
They must have been very good people, otherwise they could not have been
his father and mother; at any rate, they were charming and unlike other
people. He could say with certainty that his father was very great,
terribly wise, that he possessed immense power, which made him a person
to be feared somewhat, and it was interesting to talk with him about
unusual things, placing his hand in father's large, strong, warm hand
for safety's sake.
Mamma was not so large, and sometimes she was even very small; she was
very kind hearted, she kissed tenderly; she understood very well how he
felt when he had a pain in his little stomach, and only with her could
he relieve his heart when he grew tired of life, of his games or when he
was the victim of some cruel injustice. And if it was unpleasant to cry
in father's presence, and even dangerous to be capricious, his tears
had an unusually pleasant taste in mother's presence and filled his soul
with a peculiar serene sadness, which he could find neither in his games
nor in laughter, nor even in the reading of the most terrible fairy
tales.
It should be added that mamma was a beautiful woman and that everybody
was in love with her. That was good, for he felt proud of it, but that
was also bad--for he feared that she might be taken away. And every time
one of the men, one of those enormous, invariably inimical men who were
busy with themselves, looked at mamma fixedly for a long time, Yura felt
bored and uneasy. He felt like stationing himself between him and mamma,
and no matter where he went to attend to his own affairs, something was
drawing him back.
Sometimes mamma would utter a bad, terrifying phrase:
"Why are you forever staying around here? Go and play in your own room."
There was nothing left for him to do but to go away. He would take a
book along or he would sit down to draw, but that did not always help
him. Sometimes mamma would praise him for reading but sometimes she
would say again:
"You had better go to your own room, Yurochka. You see, you've spilt
water on the tablecloth again; you always do some mischief with your
drawing."
And then she would reproach him for being perverse. But he felt worst of
all when a dangerous and suspicious guest would come when Yura had to
go to bed. But when he lay down in his bed a sense of easiness came
over him and he felt as though all was ended; the lights went out, life
stopped; everything slept.
In all such cases with suspicious men Yura felt vaguely but very
strongly that he was replacing father in some way. And that made him
somewhat like a grown man--he was in a bad frame of mind, like a grown
person, but, therefore, he was unusually calculating, wise and serious.
Of course, he said nothing about this to any one, for no one would
understand him; but, by the manner in which he caressed father when he
arrived and sat down on his knees patronisingly, one could see in the
boy a man who fulfilled his duty to the end. At times father could not
understand him and would simply send him away to play or to sleep--Yura
never felt offended and went away with a feeling of great satisfaction.
He did not feel the need of being understood; he even feared it. At
times he would not tell under any circumstances why he was crying; at
times he would make believe that he was absent minded, that he heard
nothing, that he was occupied with his own affairs, but he heard and
understood.
And he had a terrible secret. He had noticed that these extraordinary
and charming people, father and mother, were sometimes unhappy and
were hiding this from everybody. Therefore he was also concealing his
discovery, and gave everybody the impression that all was well. Many
times he found mamma crying somewhere in a corner in the drawing room,
or in the bedroom--his own room was next to her bedroom--and one night,
very late, almost at dawn, he heard the terribly loud and angry voice of
father and the weeping voice of mother. He lay a long time, holding his
breath, but then he was so terrified by that unusual conversation in the
middle of the night that he could not restrain himself and he asked his
nurse in a soft voice:
"What are they saying?"
And the nurse answered quickly in a whisper:
"Sleep, sleep. They are not saying anything."
"I am coming over to your bed."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Such a big boy!"
"I am coming over to your bed."
Thus, terribly afraid lest they should be heard, they spoke in whispers
and argued in the dark; and the end was that Yura moved over to nurse's
bed, upon her rough, but cosy and warm blanket.
In the morning papa and mamma were very cheerful and Yura pretended that
he believed them and it seemed that he really did believe them. But that
same evening, and perhaps it was another evening, he noticed his father
crying. It happened in the following way: He was passing his father's
study, and the door was half open; he heard a noise and he looked in
quietly--father lay face downward upon his couch and cried aloud. There
was no one else in the room. Yura went away, turned about in his room
and came back--the door was still half open, no one but father was in
the room, and he was still sobbing. If he cried quietly, Yura could
understand it, but he sobbed loudly, he moaned in a heavy voice and his
teeth were gnashing terribly. He lay there, covering the entire couch,
hiding his head under his broad shoulders, sniffing heavily--and that
was beyond his understanding. And on the table, on the large table
covered with pencils, papers and a wealth of other things, stood the
lamp burning with a red flame, and smoking--a flat, greyish black strip
of smoke was coming out and bending in all directions.
Suddenly father heaved a loud sigh and stirred. Yura walked away
quietly. And then all was the same as ever. No one would have learned of
this; but the image of the enormous, mysterious and charming man who
was his father and who was crying remained in Yura's memory as something
dreadful and extremely serious. And, if there were things of which he
did not feel like speaking, it was absolutely necessary to say nothing
of this, as though it were something sacred and terrible, and in that
silence he must love father all the more. But he must love so that
father should not notice it, and he must give the impression that it is
very jolly to live on earth.
And Yura succeeded in accomplishing all this. Father did not notice that
he loved him in a special manner; and it was really jolly to live on
earth, so there was no need for him to make believe. The threads of his
soul stretched themselves to all--to the sun, to the knife and the cane
he was peeling; to the beautiful and enigmatic distance which he saw
from the top of the iron roof; and it was hard for him to separate
himself from all that was not himself. When the grass had a strong and
fragrant odour it seemed to him that it was he who had such a fragrant
odour, and when he lay down in his bed, however strange it may seem,
together with him in his little bed lay down the enormous yard, the
street, the slant threads of the rain and the muddy pools and the whole,
enormous, live, fascinating, mysterious world. Thus all fell asleep
with him and thus all awakened with him, and together with him they
all opened their eyes. And there was one striking fact, worthy of the
profoundest reflection--if he placed a stick somewhere in the garden
in the evening it was there also in the morning; and the knuckle-bones
which he hid in a box in the barn remained there, although it was dark
and he went to his room for the night. Because of this he felt a natural
need for hiding under his pillow all that was most valuable to him.
Since things stood or lay there alone, they might also disappear of
their accord, he reasoned. And in general it was so wonderful and
pleasant that the nurse and the house and the sun existed not only
yesterday, but every day; he felt like laughing and singing aloud when
he awoke.
When people asked him what his name was he answered promptly:
"Yura."
But some people were not satisfied with this alone, and they wanted to
know his full name--and then he replied with a certain effort:
"Yura Mikhailovich."
And after a moment's thought he added:
"Yura Mikhailovich Pushkarev."
CHAPTER II
An unusual day arrived. It was mother's birthday. Guests were expected
in the evening; military music was to play, and in the garden and upon
the terrace parti- lanterns were to burn, and Yura need not go
to bed at 9 o'clock but could stay up as late as he liked.
Yura got up when all were still sleeping. He dressed himself and jumped
out quickly with the expectation of miracles. But he was unpleasantly
surprised--the rooms were in the same disorder as usual in the morning;
the cook and the chambermaid were still sleeping and the door was closed
with a hook--it was hard to believe that the people would stir and
commence to run about, and that the rooms would assume a holiday
appearance, and he feared for the fate of the festival. It was still
worse in the garden. The paths were not swept and there was not a single
lantern there. He grew very uneasy. Fortunately, Yevmen, the coachman,
was washing the carriage behind the barn in the back yard and though he
had done this frequently before, and though there was nothing unusual
about his appearance, Yura clearly felt something of the holiday in the
decisive way in which the coachman splashed the water from the bucket
with his sinewy arms, on which the sleeves of his red blouse were rolled
up to his elbows. Yevmen only glanced askance at Yura, and suddenly Yura
seemed to have noticed for the first time his broad, black, wavy beard
and thought respectfully that Yevmen was a very worthy man. He said:
"Good morning, Yevmen."
Then all moved very rapidly. Suddenly the janitor appeared and started
to sweep the paths, suddenly the window in the kitchen was thrown open
and women's voices were heard chattering; suddenly the chambermaid
rushed out with a little rug and started to beat it with a stick, as
though it were a dog. All commenced to stir; and the events, starting
simultaneously in different places, rushed with such mad swiftness that
it was impossible to catch up with them. While the nurse was giving Yura
his tea, people were beginning to hang up the wires for the lanterns in
the garden, and while the wires were being stretched in the garden, the
furniture was rearranged completely in the drawing room, and while the
furniture was rearranged in the drawing room, Yevmen, the coachman,
harnessed the horse and drove out of the yard with a certain special,
mysterious mission.
Yura succeeded in concentrating himself for some time with the greatest
difficulty. Together with father he was hanging up the lanterns. And
father was charming; he laughed, jested, put Yura on the ladder; he
himself climbed the thin, creaking rungs of the ladder, and finally both
fell down together with the ladder upon the grass, but they were not
hurt. Yura jumped up, while father remained lying on the grass, hands
thrown back under his head, looking with half-closed eyes at the
shining, infinite azure of the sky. Thus lying on the grass, with a
serious expression on his face, apparently not in the mood for play,
father looked very much like Gulliver longing for his land of giants.
Yura recalled something unpleasant; but to cheer his father up he sat
down astride upon his knees and said:
"Do you remember, father, when I was a little boy I used to sit down on
your knees and you used to shake me like a horse?"
But before he had time to finish he lay with his nose on the grass; he
was lifted in the air and thrown down with force--father had thrown him
high up with his knees, according to his old habit. Yura felt offended;
but father, entirely ignoring his anger, began to tickle him under his
armpits, so that Yura had to laugh against his will; and then father
picked him up like a little pig by the legs and carried him to the
terrace. And mamma was frightened.
"What are you doing? The blood will rush to his head!"
After which Yura found himself standing on his legs, red faced,
dishevelled, feeling very miserable and terribly happy at the same time.
The day was rushing fast, like a cat that is chased by a dog. Like
forerunners of the coming great festival, certain messengers appeared
with notes, wonderfully tasty cakes were brought, the dressmaker came
and locked herself in with mamma in the bedroom; then two gentlemen
arrived, then another gentleman, then a lady--evidently the entire city
was in a state of agitation. Yura examined the messengers as though they
were strange people from another world, and walked before them with
an air of importance as the son of the lady whose birthday was to be
celebrated; he met the gentlemen, he escorted the cakes, and toward
midday he was so exhausted that he suddenly started to despise life. He
quarrelled with the nurse and lay down in his bed face downward in order
to have his revenge on her; but he fell asleep immediately. He awoke
with the same feeling of hatred for life and a desire for revenge, but
after having looked at things with his eyes, which he washed with cold
water, he felt that both the world and life were so fascinating that
they were even funny.
When they dressed Yura in a red silk rustling blouse, and he thus
clearly became part of the festival, and he found on the terrace a long,
snow white table glittering with glass dishes, he again commenced to
spin about in the whirlpool of the onrushing events.
"The musicians have arrived! | 2,533.779694 |
2023-11-16 18:59:17.7597850 | 966 | 6 |
Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen. Thank you, Iain Somerville!
[Illustration: cover art]
The Sea-girt Fortress
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
"No boy alive will be able to peruse Mr. Westerman's pages without a
quickening of his pulses."--Outlook.
The Sea-girt Fortress: A Story of Heligoland. 3_s_. 6_d_.
"Mr. Westerman has provided a story of breathless excitement, and
boys of all ages will read it with avidity."--Athenaeum.
When East meets West: A Story of the Yellow Peril. 3_s_. 6_d_.
"The book is an experience no boy should miss."--Outlook.
"A remarkable, ingenious story."--Academy.
Captured at Tripoli: A Tale of Adventure. 2_s_. 6_d_.
"We cannot imagine a better gift-book than this to put into the
hands of the youthful book-lover, either as a prize or present."
--Schoolmaster.
The Quest of the "Golden Hope": A Seventeenth-century Story of
Adventure. 2_s_. 6_d_.
"The boy who is not satisfied with this crowded story must be
peculiarly hard to please."--Liverpool Courier.
A Lad of Grit: A Story of Restoration Times. 2_s_. 6_d_.
"The tale is well written, and has a good deal of variety in the
scenes and persons."--Globe.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
[Illustration: "HAND OVER HAND HE CLIMBED TILL HE REACHED A METALLIC
BEAM" _Frontispiece_]
The
Sea-girt Fortress
A Story of Heligoland
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "When East Meets West" "Captured at Tripoli"
"The Quest of the _Golden Hope_"
"A Lad of Grit" &c.
_Illustrated by W. E. Wigfull_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Contents
CHAP.
I. MAN OVERBOARD
II. THROUGH THE FOG
III. A LOSS AND A FIND
IV. ARRESTED
V. A DISCOVERY
VI. VON WITTELSBACH'S PLAN
VII. OFFICIAL HINDRANCES
VIII. SENTENCED
IX. ON THE SCENT
X. IN THE PRISON CELL
XI. A NIGHT OF TOIL
XII. INVESTIGATIONS
XIII. AN EXPERIMENT WITH A ZEPPELIN
XIV. THE SECOND NIGHT OF LIBERTY
XV. RECAPTURED
XVI. THE NEWS LEAKS OUT
XVII. THE SANDINSEL TUNNEL
XVIII. THE ERRANT AIRSHIP
XIX. AT THE MERCY OF THE WINDS
XX. HOMEWARD BOUND
XXI. GOOD OLD HAMERTON!
XXII. A MOMENTOUS DECISION
XXIII. FIRST BLOOD
XXIV. THE BATTLE OF THE GALLOPER SANDS
XXV. THE FALL OF THE ISLAND FORTRESS
Illustrations
"HAND OVER HAND HE CLIMBED TILL HE REACHED A METALLIC BEAM"
_Frontispiece_
"WAITING TILL A WAVE BROUGHT THE MAN WITHIN ARM'S LENGTH, THE SUB
CLUTCHED HOLD OF HIM"
"'SPIES ARE NOT ENTITLED TO ANY CONSIDERATION OF THAT DESCRIPTION'"
"'IT'S THE ROUNDS, BY JOVE!' WHISPERED THE SUB"
"'GREAT SCOTT!' HE EXCLAIMED; 'IT'S HAMERTON'"
"A SEAPLANE CONTRIVED TO DROP A BOMB ON THE _ROYAL SOVEREIGN'S_
DECK"
THE
SEA-GIRT FORTRESS
CHAPTER I
Man Overboard
"WHERE are we now?" asked Oswald Detroit, emerging from the cabin of
the _Diomeda_.
"Ask me another," replied his chum, Jack Hamerton, with a merry
laugh. "We may be here, we may be there, for all I know. One thing I
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Transcribed from the 1901 Charles Scribner’s Sons edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
MEMOIR
OF
FLEEMING JENKIN
* * * * *
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
* * * * *
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1901
PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
ON the death of Fleeming Jenkin, his family and friends determined to
publish a selection of his various papers; by way of introduction, the
following pages were drawn up; and the whole, forming two considerable
volumes, has been issued in England. In the States, it has not been
thought advisable to reproduce the whole; and the memoir appearing alone,
shorn of that other matter which was at once its occasion and its
justification, so large an account of a man so little known may seem to a
stranger out of all proportion. But Jenkin was a man much more
remarkable than the mere bulk or merit of his work approves him. It was
in the world, in the commerce of friendship, by his brave attitude
towards life, by his high moral value and unwearied intellectual effort,
that he struck the minds of his contemporaries. His was an individual
figure, such as authors delight to draw, and all men to read of, in the
pages of a novel. His was a face worth painting for its own sake. If
the sitter shall not seem to have justified the portrait, if Jenkin,
after his death, shall not continue to make new friends, the fault will
be altogether mine.
R. L S.
SARANAC, _Oct._, 1887.
CHAPTER I.
The Jenkins of Stowting—Fleeming’s grandfather—Mrs. Buckner’s
fortune—Fleeming’s father; goes to sea; at St. Helena; meets King Tom;
service in the West Indies; end of his career—The
Campbell-Jacksons—Fleeming’s mother—Fleeming’s uncle John.
IN the reign of Henry VIII., a family of the name of Jenkin, claiming to
come from York, and bearing the arms of Jenkin ap Philip of St. Melans,
are found reputably settled in the county of Kent. Persons of strong
genealogical pinion pass from William Jenkin, Mayor of Folkestone in
1555, to his contemporary ‘John Jenkin, of the Citie of York, Receiver
General of the County,’ and thence, by way of Jenkin ap Philip, to the
proper summit of any Cambrian pedigree—a prince; ‘Guaith Voeth, Lord of
Cardigan,’ the name and style of him. It may suffice, however, for the
present, that these Kentish Jenkins must have undoubtedly derived from
Wales, and being a stock of some efficiency, they struck root and grew to
wealth and consequence in their new home.
Of their consequence we have proof enough in the fact that not only was
William Jenkin (as already mentioned) Mayor of Folkestone in 1555, but no
less than twenty-three times in the succeeding century and a half, a
Jenkin (William, Thomas, Henry, or Robert) sat in the same place of
humble honour. Of their wealth we know that in the reign of Charles I.,
Thomas Jenkin of Eythorne was more than once in the market buying land,
and notably, in 1633, acquired the manor of Stowting Court. This was an
estate of some 320 acres, six miles from Hythe, in the Bailiwick and
Hundred of Stowting, and the Lathe of Shipway, held of the Crown _in
capite_ by the service of six men and a constable to defend the passage
of the sea at Sandgate. It had a chequered history before it fell into
the hands of Thomas of Eythorne, having been sold and given from one to
another—to the Archbishop, to Heringods, to the Burghershes, to Pavelys,
Trivets, Cliffords, Wenlocks, Beauchamps, Nevilles, Kempes, and Clarkes:
a piece of Kentish ground condemned to see new faces and to be no man’s
home. But from 1633 onward it became the anchor of the Jenkin family in
Kent; and though passed on from brother to brother, held in shares
between uncle and nephew, burthened by debts and jointures, and at least
once sold and bought in again, it remains to this day in the hands of the
direct line. It is not my design, nor have I the necessary knowledge, to
give a history of this obscure family. But this is an age when genealogy
has taken a new lease of life, and become for the first time a human
science; so that we no longer study it in quest of the Guaith Voeths, but
to trace out some of the secrets of descent and destiny; and as we study,
we think less of Sir Bernard Burke and more of Mr. Galton. Not only do
our character and talents lie upon the anvil and receive their temper
during generations; but the very plot of our life’s story unfolds itself
on a scale of centuries, and the biography of the man is only an episode
in the epic of the family. From this point of view I ask the reader’s
leave to begin this notice of a remarkable man who was my friend, with
the accession of his great-grandfather, John Jenkin.
This John Jenkin, a grandson of Damaris Kingsley, of the family of
‘Westward Ho!’ was born in 1727, and married Elizabeth, daughter of
Thomas Frewen, of Church House, Northiam. The Jenkins had now been long
enough intermarrying with their Kentish neighbours to be Kentish folk
themselves in all but name; and with the Frewens in particular their
connection is singularly involved. John and his wife were each descended
in the third degree from another Thomas Frewen, Vicar of Northiam, and
brother to Accepted Frewen, Archbishop of York. John’s mother had
married a Frewen for a second husband. And the last complication was to
be added by the Bishop of Chichester’s brother, Charles Buckner,
Vice-Admiral of the White, who was twice married, first to a paternal
cousin of Squire John, and second to Anne, only sister of the Squire’s
wife, and already the widow of another Frewen. The reader must bear Mrs.
Buckner in mind; it was by means of that lady that Fleeming Jenkin began
life as a poor man. Meanwhile, the relationship of any Frewen to any
Jenkin at the end of these evolutions presents a problem almost
insoluble; and we need not wonder if Mrs. John, thus exercised in her
immediate circle, was in her old age ‘a great genealogist of all Sussex
families, and much consulted.’ The names Frewen and Jenkin may almost
seem to have been interchangeable at will; and yet Fate proceeds with
such particularity that it was perhaps on the point of name that the
family was ruined.
The John Jenkins had a family of one daughter and five extravagant and
unpractical sons. The eldest, Stephen, entered the Church and held the
living of Salehurst, where he offered, we may hope, an extreme example of
the clergy of the age. He was a handsome figure of a man; jovial and
jocular; fond of his garden, which produced under his care the finest
fruits of the neighbourhood; and like all the family, very choice in
horses. He drove tandem; like Jehu, furiously. His saddle horse,
Captain (for the names of horses are piously preserved in the family
chronicle which I follow), was trained to break into a gallop as soon as
the vicar’s foot was thrown across its back; nor would the rein be drawn
in the nine miles between Northiam and the Vicarage door. Debt was the
man’s proper element; he used to skulk from arrest in the chancel of his
church; and the speed of Captain may have come sometimes handy. At an
early age this unconventional parson married his cook, and by her he had
two daughters and one son. One of the daughters died unmarried; the
other imitated her father, and married ‘imprudently.’ The son, still
more gallantly continuing the tradition, entered the army, loaded himself
with debt, was forced to sell out, took refuge in the Marines, and was
lost on the Dogger Bank in the war-ship _Minotaur_. If he did not marry
below him, like his father, his sister, and a certain great-uncle
William, it was perhaps because he never married at all.
The second brother, Thomas, who was employed in the General Post-Office,
followed in all material points the example of Stephen, married ‘not very
creditably,’ and spent all the money he could lay his hands on. He died
without issue; as did the fourth brother, John, who was of weak intellect
and feeble health, and the fifth brother, William, whose brief career as
one of Mrs. Buckner’s satellites will fall to be considered later on. So
soon, then, as the _Minotaur_ had struck upon the Dogger Bank, Stowting
and the line of the Jenkin family fell on the shoulders of the third
brother, Charles.
Facility and self-indulgence are the family marks; facility (to judge by
these imprudent marriages) being at once their quality and their defect;
but in the case of Charles, a man of exceptional beauty and sweetness
both of face and disposition, the family fault had quite grown to be a
virtue, and we find him in consequence the drudge and milk-cow of his
relatives. Born in 1766, Charles served at sea in his youth, and smelt
both salt water and powder. The Jenkins had inclined hitherto, as far as
I can make out, to the land service. Stephen’s son had been a soldier;
William (fourth of Stowting) had been an officer of the unhappy
Braddock’s in America, where, by the way, he owned and afterwards sold an
estate on the James River, called, after the parental seat; of which I
should like well to hear if it still bears the name. It was probably by
the influence of Captain Buckner, already connected with the family by
his first marriage, that Charles Jenkin turned his mind in the direction
of the navy; and it was in Buckner’s own ship, the _Prothée_, 64, that
the lad made his only campaign. It was in the days of Rodney’s war, when
the _Prothée_, we read, captured two large privateers to windward of
Barbadoes, and was ‘materially and distinguishedly engaged’ in both the
actions with De Grasse. While at sea Charles kept a journal, and made
strange archaic pilot-book sketches, part plan, part elevation, some of
which survive for the amusement of posterity. He did a good deal of
surveying, so that here we may perhaps lay our finger on the beginning of
Fleeming’s education as an engineer. What is still more strange, among
the relics of the handsome midshipman and his stay in the gun-room of the
_Prothée_, I find a code of signals graphically represented, for all the
world as it would have been done by his grandson.
On the declaration of peace, Charles, because he had suffered from
scurvy, received his mother’s orders to retire; and he was not the man to
refuse a request, far less to disobey a command. Thereupon he turned
farmer, a trade he was to practice on a large scale; and we find him
married to a Miss Schirr, a woman of some fortune, the daughter of a
London merchant. Stephen, the not very reverend, was still alive,
galloping about the country or skulking in his chancel. It does not
appear whether he let or sold the paternal manor to Charles; one or
other, it must have been; and the sailor-farmer settled at Stowting, with
his wife, his mother, his unmarried sister, and his sick brother John.
Out of the six people of whom his nearest family consisted, three were in
his own house, and two others (the horse-leeches, Stephen and Thomas) he
appears to have continued to assist with more amiability than wisdom. He
hunted, belonged to the Yeomanry, owned famous horses, Maggie and Lucy,
the latter coveted by royalty itself. ‘Lord Rokeby, his neighbour,
called him kinsman,’ writes my artless chronicler, ‘and altogether life
was very cheery.’ At Stowting his three sons, John, Charles, and Thomas
Frewen, and his younger daughter, Anna, were all born to him; and the
reader should here be told that it is through the report of this second
Charles (born 1801) that he has been looking on at these confused
passages of family history.
In the year 1805 the ruin of the Jenkins was begun. It was the work of a
fallacious lady already mentioned, Aunt Anne Frewen, a sister of Mrs.
John. Twice married, first to her cousin Charles Frewen, clerk to the
Court of Chancery, Brunswick Herald, and Usher of the Black Rod, and
secondly to Admiral Buckner, she was denied issue in both beds, and being
very rich—she died worth about 60,000_l._, mostly in land—she was in
perpetual quest of an heir. The mirage of this fortune hung before
successive members of the Jenkin family until her death in 1825, when it
dissolved and left the latest Alnaschar face to face with bankruptcy.
The grandniece, Stephen’s daughter, the one who had not ‘married
imprudently,’ appears to have been the first; for she was taken abroad by
the golden aunt, and died in her care at Ghent in 1792. Next she adopted
William, the youngest of the five nephews; took him abroad with her—it
seems as if that were in the formula; was shut up with him in Paris by
the Revolution; brought him back to Windsor, and got him a place in the
King’s Body-Guard, where he attracted the notice of George III. by his
proficiency in German. In 1797, being on guard at St. James’s Palace,
William took a cold which carried him off; and Aunt Anne was once more
left heirless. Lastly, in 1805, perhaps moved by the Admiral, who had a
kindness for his old midshipman, perhaps pleased by the good looks and
the good nature of the man himself, Mrs. Buckner turned her eyes upon
Charles Jenkin. He was not only to be the heir, however, he was to be
the chief hand in a somewhat wild scheme of family farming. Mrs. Jenkin,
the mother, contributed 164 acres of land; Mrs. Buckner, 570, some at
Northiam, some farther off; Charles let one-half of Stowting to a tenant,
and threw the other and various scattered parcels into the common
enterprise; so that the whole farm amounted to near upon a thousand
acres, and was scattered over thirty miles of country. The ex-seaman of
thirty-nine, on whose wisdom and ubiquity the scheme depended, was to
live in the meanwhile without care or fear. He was to check himself in
nothing; his two extravagances, valuable horses and worthless brothers,
were to be indulged in comfort; and whether the year quite paid itself or
not, whether successive years left accumulated savings or only a growing
deficit, the fortune of the golden aunt should in the end repair all.
On this understanding Charles Jenkin transported his family to Church
House, Northiam: Charles the second, then a child of three, among the
number. Through the eyes of the boy we have glimpses of the life that
followed: of Admiral and Mrs. Buckner driving up from Windsor in a coach
and six, two post-horses and their own four; of the house full of
visitors, the great roasts at the fire, the tables in the servants’ hall
laid for thirty or forty for a month together; of the daily press of
neighbours, many of whom, Frewens, Lords, Bishops, Batchellors, and
Dynes, were also kinsfolk; and the parties ‘under the great spreading
chestnuts of the old fore court,’ where the young people danced and made
merry to the music of the village band. Or perhaps, in the depth of
winter, the father would bid young Charles saddle his pony; they would
ride the thirty miles from Northiam to Stowting, with the snow to the
pony’s saddle girths, and be received by the tenants like princes.
This life of delights, with the continual visible comings and goings of
the golden aunt, was well qualified to relax the fibre of the lads.
John, the heir, a yeoman and a fox-hunter, ‘loud and notorious with his
whip and spurs,’ settled down into a kind of Tony Lumpkin, waiting for
the shoes of his father and his aunt. Thomas Frewen, the youngest, is
briefly dismissed as ‘a handsome beau’; but he had the merit or the good
fortune to become a doctor of medicine, so that when the crash came he
was not empty-handed for the war of life. Charles, at the day-school of
Northiam, grew so well acquainted with the rod, that his floggings became
matter of pleasantry and reached the ears of Admiral Buckner. Hereupon
that tall, rough-voiced, formidable uncle entered with the lad into a
covenant: every time that Charles was thrashed he was to pay the Admiral
a penny; everyday that he escaped, the process was to be reversed. ‘I
recollect,’ writes Charles, ‘going crying to my mother to be taken to the
Admiral to pay my debt.’ It would seem by these terms the speculation
was a losing one; yet it is probable it paid indirectly by bringing the
boy under remark. The Admiral was no enemy to dunces; he loved courage,
and Charles, while yet little more than a baby, would ride the great
horse into the pond. Presently it was decided that here was the stuff of
a fine sailor; and at an early period the name of Charles Jenkin was
entered on a ship’s books.
From Northiam he was sent to another school at Boonshill, near Rye, where
the master took ‘infinite delight’ in strapping him. ‘It keeps me warm
and makes you grow,’ he used to say. And the stripes were not altogether
wasted, for the dunce, though still very ‘raw,’ made progress with his
studies. It was known, moreover, that he was going to sea, always a
ground of pre-eminence with schoolboys; and in his case the glory was not
altogether future, it wore a present form when he came driving to Rye
behind four horses in the same carriage with an admiral. ‘I was not a
little proud, you may believe,’ says he.
In 1814, when he was thirteen years of age, he was carried by his father
to Chichester to the Bishop’s Palace. The Bishop had heard from his
brother the Admiral that Charles was likely to do well, and had an order
from Lord Melville for the lad’s admission to the Royal Naval College at
Portsmouth. Both the Bishop and the Admiral patted him on the head and
said, ‘Charles will restore the old family’; by which I gather with some
surprise that, even in these days of open house at Northiam and golden
hope of my aunt’s fortune, the family was supposed to stand in need of
restoration. But the past is apt to look brighter than nature, above all
to those enamoured of their genealogy; and the ravages of Stephen and
Thomas must have always given matter of alarm.
What with the flattery of bishops and admirals, the fine company in which
he found himself at Portsmouth, his visits home, with their gaiety and
greatness of life, his visits to Mrs. Buckner (soon a widow) at Windsor,
where he had a pony kept for him, and visited at Lord Melville’s and Lord
Harcourt’s and the Leveson-Gowers, he began to have ‘bumptious notions,’
and his head was ‘somewhat turned with fine people’; as to some extent it
remained throughout his innocent and honourable life.
In this frame of mind the boy was appointed to the _Conqueror_, Captain
Davie, humorously known as Gentle Johnnie. The captain had earned this
name by his style of discipline, which would have figured well in the
pages of Marryat: ‘Put the prisoner’s head in a bag and give him another
dozen!’ survives as a specimen of his commands; and the men were often
punished twice or thrice in a week. On board the ship of this
disciplinarian, Charles and his father were carried in a billy-boat from
Sheerness in December, 1816: Charles with an outfit suitable to his
pretensions, a twenty-guinea sextant and 120 dollars in silver, which
were ordered into the care of the gunner. ‘The old clerks and mates,’ he
writes, ‘used to laugh and jeer me for joining the ship in a billy-boat,
and when they found I was from Kent, vowed I was an old Kentish smuggler.
This to my pride, you will believe, was not a little offensive.’
The _Conqueror_ carried the flag of Vice-Admiral Plampin, commanding at
the Cape and St. Helena; and at that all-important islet, in July, 1817,
she relieved the flagship of Sir Pulteney Malcolm. Thus it befel that
Charles Jenkin, coming too late for the epic of the French wars, played a
small part in the dreary and disgraceful afterpiece of St. Helena. Life
on the guard-ship was onerous and irksome. The anchor was never lifted,
sail never made, the great guns were silent; none was allowed on shore
except on duty; all day the movements of the imperial captive were
signalled to and fro; all night the boats rowed guard around the
accessible portions of the coast. This prolonged stagnation and petty
watchfulness in what Napoleon himself called that ‘unchristian’ climate,
told cruelly on the health of the ship’s company. In eighteen months,
according to O’Meara, the _Conqueror_ had lost one hundred and ten men
and invalided home one hundred and seven, being more than a third of her
complement. It does not seem that our young midshipman so much as once
set eyes on Bonaparte; and yet in other ways Jenkin was more fortunate
than some of his comrades. He drew in water-colour; not so badly as his
father, yet ill enough; and this art was so rare aboard the _Conqueror_
that even his humble proficiency marked him out and procured him some
alleviations. Admiral Plampin had succeeded Napoleon at the Briars; and
here he had young Jenkin staying with him to make sketches of the
historic house. One of these is before me as I write, and gives a
strange notion of the arts in our old English Navy. Yet it was again as
an artist that the lad was taken for a run to Rio, and apparently for a
second outing in a ten-gun brig. These, and a cruise of six weeks to
windward of the island undertaken by the _Conqueror_ herself in quest of
health, were the only breaks in three years of murderous inaction; and at
the end of that period Jenkin was invalided home, having ‘lost his health
entirely.’
As he left the deck of the guard-ship the historic part of his career
came to an end. For forty-two years he continued to serve his country
obscurely on the seas, sometimes thanked for inconspicuous and honourable
services, but denied any opportunity of serious distinction. He was
first two years in the _Larne_, Captain Tait, hunting pirates and keeping
a watch on the Turkish and Greek squadrons in the Archipelago. Captain
Tait was a favourite with Sir Thomas Maitland, High Commissioner of the
Ionian Islands—King Tom as he was called—who frequently took passage in
the _Larne_. King Tom knew every inch of the Mediterranean, and was a
terror to the officers of the watch. He would come on deck at night; and
with his broad Scotch accent, ‘Well, sir,’ he would say, ‘what depth of
water have ye? Well now, sound; and ye’ll just find so or so many
fathoms,’ as the case might be; and the obnoxious passenger was generally
right. On one occasion, as the ship was going into Corfu, Sir Thomas
came up the hatchway and cast his eyes towards the gallows.
‘Bangham’—Charles Jenkin heard him say to his aide-de-camp, Lord
Bangham—‘where the devil is that other chap? I left four fellows hanging
there; now I can only see three. Mind there is another there to-morrow.’
And sure enough there was another Greek dangling the next day. ‘Captain
Hamilton, of the _Cambrian_, kept the Greeks in order afloat,’ writes my
author, ‘and King Tom ashore.’
From 1823 onward, the chief scene of Charles Jenkin’s activities was in
the West Indies, where he was engaged off and on till 1844, now as a
subaltern, now in a vessel of his own, hunting out pirates, ‘then very
notorious’ in the Leeward Islands, cruising after slavers, or carrying
dollars and provisions for the Government. While yet a midshipman, he
accompanied Mr. Cockburn to Caraccas and had a sight of Bolivar. In the
brigantine _Griffon_, which he commanded in his last years in the West
Indies, he carried aid to Guadeloupe after the earthquake, and twice
earned the thanks of Government: once for an expedition to Nicaragua to
extort, under threat of a blockade, proper apologies and a sum of money
due to certain British merchants; and once during an insurrection in San
Domingo, for the rescue of certain others from a perilous imprisonment
and the recovery of a ‘chest of money’ of which they had been robbed.
Once, on the other hand, he earned his share of public censure. This was
in 1837, when he commanded the _Romney_ lying in the inner harbour of
Havannah. The _Romney_ was in no proper sense a man-of-war; she was a
slave-hulk, the bonded warehouse of the Mixed Slave Commission; where
<DW64>s, captured out of slavers under Spanish colours, were detained
provisionally, till the Commission should decide upon their case and
either set them free or bind them to apprenticeship. To this ship,
already an eye-sore to the authorities, a Cuban slave made his escape.
The position was invid | 2,534.081227 |
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The Tent Dwellers
[Illustration: "He was swearing steadily and I think still blaming me
for most of his troubles."--_Page_ 83.]
THE TENT
DWELLERS
BY
ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE
_Author of "The Van Dwellers," "The Lucky Piece," etc_.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HY. WATSON_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE OUTING PUBLISHING CO.
MCMVIII
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chapter One
_Come, shape your plans where the fire is bright,_
_And the shimmering glasses are--_
_When the woods are white in the winter's night,_
_Under the northern star._
Chapter One
It was during the holiday week that Eddie proposed the matter. That is
Eddie's way. No date, for him, is too far ahead to begin to plan
anything that has vari- flies in it, and tents, and the prospect
of the campfire smell. The very mention of these things will make his
hair bristle up (rather straight, still hair it is and silvered over
with premature wisdom) and put a new glare into his spectacles (rather
wide, round spectacles they are) until he looks even more like an
anarchist than usual--more indeed than in the old Heidelberg days, when,
as a matter of truth, he is a gentle soul; sometimes, when he has
transgressed, or thinks he has, almost humble.
As I was saying, it was during the holidays--about the end of the week,
as I remember it--and I was writing some letters at the club in the
little raised corner that looks out on the park, when I happened to
glance down toward the fireplace, and saw Eddie sitting as nearly on his
coat collar as possible, in one of the wide chairs, and as nearly in the
open hickory fire as he could get, pawing over a book of Silver
Doctors, Brown Hackles and the like, and dreaming a long, long dream.
Now, I confess there is something about a book of trout flies, even at
the year's end, when all the brooks are flint and gorged with white,
when all the north country hides under seamless raiment that stretches
even to the Pole itself--even at such a time, I say, there is something
about those bits of gimp, and gut, and feathers, and steel, that prick
up the red blood of any man--or of any woman, for that matter--who has
ever flung one of those gaudy things into a swirl of dark water, and
felt the swift, savage tug on the line and heard the music of the
singing reel.
I forgot that I was writing letters and went over there.
"Tell me about it, Eddie," I said. "Where are you going, this time?"
Then he unfolded to me a marvelous plan. It was a place in Nova
Scotia--he had been there once before, only, this time he was going a
different route, farther into the wilderness, the deep unknown,
somewhere even the guides had never been. Perhaps stray logmen had been
there, or the Indians; sportsmen never. There had been no complete
surveys, even by the government. Certain rivers were known by their
outlets, certain lakes by name. It was likely that they formed the usual
network and that the circuit could be made by water, with occasional
carries. Unquestionably the waters swarmed with trout. A certain
imaginative Indian, supposed to have penetrated the unknown, had
declared that at one place were trout the size of one's leg.
Eddie became excited as he talked and his hair bristled. He set down a
list of the waters so far as known, the names of certain guides, a
number of articles of provision and an array of camp paraphernalia.
Finally he made maps and other drawings and began to add figures. It was
dusk when we got back. The lights were winking along the park over the
way, | 2,534.181497 |
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_Wet Magic_
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _The sea came pouring in._]
_Wet Magic_
E. NESBIT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. R. MILLAR
_Copyright © 1913 by E Nesbit_
_Illustrations copyright © 1913 by H. R. Millar_
_To
Dr. E. N. da C. Andrade_,
FROM
E. NESBIT
[Illustration]
WELL HALL,
KENT
_Contents_
CHAPTER I
SABRINA FAIR 1
CHAPTER II
THE CAPTIVE 13
CHAPTER III
THE RESCUE 30
CHAPTER IV
GRATITUDE 51
CHAPTER V
CONSEQUENCES 61
CHAPTER VI
THE MERMAID’S HOME 69
CHAPTER VII
THE SKIES ARE FALLING 84
CHAPTER VIII
THE WATER-WAR 101
CHAPTER IX
THE BOOK PEOPLE 116
CHAPTER X
THE UNDER FOLK 135
CHAPTER XI
THE PEACEMAKER 154
CHAPTER XII
THE END 167
_Illustrations_
_The sea came pouring in._ _Frontispiece_
“_We die in captivity._” _26_
“_‘Translucent wave,’ indeed!_” _42_
“_The police._” _54_
_And disappeared entirely._ _59_
_She caught Kathleen in her arms._ _79_
_The golden door._ _82_
_The Swordfish Brigade._ _103_
_The First Dipsys._ _110_
_Book Hatefuls._ _122_
_Book Heroines._ _130_
_In the net._ _137_
_The Hall of Public Archives._ _149_
_The chargers of the Horse Marines._ _152_
CHAPTER ONE
_Sabrina Fair_
THAT GOING TO THE SEASIDE was the very beginning of everything—only it
seemed as though it were going to be a beginning without an end, like
the roads on the Sussex downs which look like roads and then look like
paths, and then turn into sheep tracks, and then are just grass and
furze bushes and tottergrass and harebells and rabbits and chalk.
The children had been counting the days to The Day. Bernard indeed had
made a calendar on a piece of cardboard that had once been the bottom
of the box in which his new white sandshoes came home. He marked the
divisions of the weeks quite neatly in red ink, and the days were
numbered in blue ink, and every day he crossed off one of those numbers
with a piece of green chalk he happened to have left out of a penny
box. Mavis had washed and ironed all the dolls’ clothes at least a
fortnight before The Day. This was thoughtful and farsighted of her, of
course, but it was a little trying to Kathleen, who was much younger
and who would have preferred to go on playing with her dolls in their
dirtier and more familiar state.
“Well, if you do,” said Mavis, a little hot and cross from the ironing
board, “I’ll never wash anything for you again, not even your face.”
Kathleen somehow felt as if she could bear that.
“But mayn’t I have just one of the dolls” was, however, all she said,
“just the teeniest, weeniest one? Let me have Lord Edward. His head’s
half gone as it is, and I could dress him in a clean hanky and pretend
it was kilts.”
Mavis could not object to this, because, of course, whatever else she
washed she didn’t wash hankies. So Lord Edward had his pale kilts, and
the other dolls were put away in a row in Mavis’s corner drawer. It was
after that that Mavis and Francis had long secret consultations—and
when the younger ones asked questions they were told, “It’s secrets.
You’ll know in good time.” This, of course, excited everyone very
much indeed—and it was rather a comedown when the good time came, and
the secret proved to be nothing more interesting than a large empty
aquarium which the two elders had clubbed their money together to buy,
for eight-and ninepence in the Old Kent Road. They staggered up the
front garden path with it, very hot and tired.
“But what are you going to do with it?” Kathleen asked, as they all
stood around the nursery table looking at it.
“Fill it with seawater,” Francis explained, “to put sea anemones in.”
“Oh yes,” said Kathleen with enthusiasm, “and the crabs and starfish
and prawns and the yellow periwinkles—and all the common objects of the
seashore.”
“We’ll stand it in the window,” Mavis added: “it’ll make the lodgings
look so distinguished.”
“And then perhaps some great scientific gentleman, like Darwin or
Faraday, will see it as he goes by, and it will be such a joyous
surprise to him to come face-to-face with our jellyfish; he’ll offer
to teach Francis all about science for nothing—I see,” said Kathleen
hopefully.
“But how will you get it to the seaside?” Bernard asked, leaning his
hands on the schoolroom table and breathing heavily into the aquarium,
so that its shining sides became dim and misty. “It’s much too big to
go in the boxes, you know.”
“Then I’ll carry it,” said Francis, “it won’t be in the way at all—I
carried it home today.”
“We had to take the bus, you know,” said truthful Mavis, “and then I
had to help you.”
“I don’t believe they’ll let you take it at all,” said Bernard—if you
know anything of grown-ups you will know that Bernard proved to be
quite right.
“Take an aquarium to the seaside—nonsense!” they said. And “What for?”
not waiting for the answer. “They,” just at present, was | 2,534.279644 |
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EMILE:
OR, CONCERNING EDUCATION
BY
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
EXTRACTS
_CONTAINING THE PRINCIPAL ELEMENTS OF PEDAGOGY FOUND IN THE FIRST THREE
BOOKS; WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY_
JULES STEEG, DEPUTE, PARIS, FRANCE
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[Illustration: Cover]
AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO
AND OTHER STORIES
Works of
Annie Fellows Johnston
THE LITTLE COLONEL SERIES
[Illustration: Decoration]
The Little Colonel $.50
The Giant Scissors .50
Two Little Knights of Kentucky .50
The Little Colonel Stories 1.50
(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The
Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two
Little Knights of Kentucky.")
The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50
The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50
The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50
(_In Preparation_)
The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50
[Illustration: Decoration]
OTHER BOOKS
Joel: A Boy of Galilee $1.50
Big Brother .50
Ole Mammy's Torment .50
The Story of <DW55> .50
Cicely .50
Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50
The Quilt That Jack Built .50
Asa Holmes 1.00
Flip's "Islands of Providence" 1.00
Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon) 1.00
[Illustration: Decoration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
200 Summer Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "AT FIRST HE ALWAYS BROUGHT SOME BOY WITH HIM"
(_See page 43_)]
Cosy Corner Series
AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO
AND OTHER STORIES
By Annie Fellows Johnston
Author of
"The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother," "The
Story of <DW55>," "Ole Mammy's Torment," etc.
_Illustrated by_
W. L. Taylor and others
[Illustration]
_Boston_ [Illustration: Decoration]
_L. C. Page & Company_
[Illustration: Decoration] _1904._
_Copyright 1889, 1890, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1899,_
BY PERRY MASON COMPANY
_Copyright, 1903_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published August, 1903
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
These stories first appeared in the _Youth's Companion_. The author
wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of the editors in permitting her to
republish them in the present volume.
Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to acknowledge the courtesy of
the editors in granting them permission to use the original
illustrations.
CONTENTS
PAGE
AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO 13
THE CAPTAIN'S CELEBRATION 35
JODE'S CIRCUS MONEY 51
JIMMY'S ERRAND 71
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY AT HARDYVILLE 89
AN OLD DAGUERREOTYPE 113
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"AT FIRST HE ALWAYS BROUGHT SOME BOY WITH HIM" (_See page 43_)
_Frontispiece_
"SHE LISTENED INTENTLY, EXPECTANTLY" 28
"SHE SAT SMILING HAPPILY IN THE DEPTHS OF THE BLACK SUNBONNET" 31
"MR. GATES KICKED HIS FEET AGAINST THE ANDIRONS" 93
AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO
AUNT 'LIZA BARNES leaned over the front gate at the end of the garden
path, and pulled her black sunbonnet farther over her wrinkled face to
shade her dim eyes from the glare of the morning sun. Something unusual
was happening down the street, judging from the rapidly approaching
noise and dust.
Aunt 'Liza had been weeding her little vegetable garden at the back of
the house when she first heard the confused shouting of many voices. She
thought it was a runaway, and hurried to the gate as fast as her
rheumatic joints would allow.
Runaway teams had often startled the sleepy streets of this little
Indiana village, but never before had such a wild procession raced
through its thoroughfares. Two well-grown calves dashed past, dragging
behind them an overturned, home-made cart, to which they were harnessed
by pieces of clothes-lines and rusty trace-chains.
Behind them came a breathless crowd of shouting boys and barking dogs.
They were gasping in the heat and the clouds of yellow dust their feet
had kicked up. Aunt 'Liza's black sunbonnet leaned farther over the gate
as she called shrilly to the boy who brought up the rear, "What's the
matter, Ben?"
The boy dropped out of the race and came back and leaned against the
fence, still grinning.
"Running isn't much in my line," he panted, as he wiped his fat,
freckled face on his shirtsleeve. "But it was too funny to see them
calves kick up their heels and light out. One is Joe Meadows's and one
is Jeff Whitman's. They're broke in to work single, and pull all right
that way. But the boys took a notion to make 'em work double. This is
the first time they've tried it. Put bits in their mouths, too, and
drive 'em with reins like horses. My! But didn't they go lickety-split!"
Aunt 'Liza chuckled. Seventy-five years had made her bent and feeble,
but her sense of fun and her sympathies were still fresh and quick.
Every boy in the place felt that she was his friend.
In her tumble-down cottage on the outskirts of the town she lived alone,
excepting when her drunken, thriftless son Henry came back to be taken
care of awhile. She supported herself by selling vegetables, chickens,
and eggs.
Most people had forgotten that she had once lived in much better
circumstances. Whatever longings she may have had for the prosperity of
her early days, no one knew about them. Perhaps it was because she never
talked of herself, and was so ready to listen to the complaints of
others, that everybody went to her with their troubles.
The racing calves soon came to a halt. In a few minutes the procession
came back, and halted quietly in front of the little garden gate. Jeff
was leading the calves, which looked around with mild, reproachful eyes,
as if wondering at the disturbance.
"Aunt 'Liza," said Jeff, "can you lend me a strap or something? The
reins broke. That's how they happened to get away from me."
"You can take the rope hanging up in the well-shed if you'll bring it
back before night."
"All right, Aunt 'Liza. I'll do as much for you some day. Just look at
Daisy and Bolivar! We're going to take them to the fair next fall, and
enter them as the fastest trotting calves on record."
"Boys are such harum-scarum creatures," said the old woman, as she bent
painfully over her weeding again. "Likely enough Jeff'll never think of
that rope another time."
But after dinner, as she sat out on a bench by the back door, smoking
her cob-pipe, Jeff came around the house with the rope on his arm.
"Sit down and rest a spell," insisted the old woman. "I get powerful
lonesome day in and day out, with scarcely anybody to pass a word with."
"Where's Henry?" Jeff asked.
"Off on another spree," she answered, bitterly. "I tell you, Jeff, it's
a hard thing for a mother to have to say about a son, but many and
many's the time I've wished the Lord had a-taken him when he was a
baby."
"Maybe he'll come all right yet, Aunt 'Liza," said Jeff.
"Not he. Not an honest day's work has he done since he left the army,"
she went on. "He was steady enough before the war, but camp life seemed
to upset him like. He was just a boy, you see, and he fell in with a
rough lot that started him to drinking and gambling. He's never been the
same since. Pity the war took my poor Mac instead. _He_ never would 'a'
left his old mother to drudge and slave to keep soul and body together."
Jeff listened in amazement to this sudden burst of confidence. He had
never heard her complain before, and scarcely knew how to answer her.
"Why, Aunt 'Liza, I never knew before that you had two sons!" he said.
"No, I suppose not," answered the old woman, sadly. "I suppose
everybody's forgotten him but me. My Mac never had his dues. He never
had justice done him. No, he never had justice done him." She kept
repeating the words.
"He ought to have come home a captain, with a sword, for he was a brave
boy, my Mac was. His picture is in the front room, if you've a mind to
step in and look at it, and his cap and his canteen are hanging on the
peg where he left them. Dear, dear! what a long time that's been!"
Jeff had all a boy's admiration for a hero. He took the faded cap
reverently from its peg to examine the bullet-hole in the crown. He
turned the battered canteen over and over, wishing he knew how it came
by all its dents and bruises. The face that looked out from the old
ambrotype with such steadfast eyes showed honesty in every line.
"Doesn't look much like old Henry," thought Jeff.
"Won't you tell me about him, Aunt 'Liza?" he asked, as he seated
himself on the door-step again. "I always did love to hear about the
war."
It was not often she had such an attentive listener. He questioned her
eagerly, and she took a childish delight in recalling every detail
connected with her "soldier-boy." It had been so many, many years since
she had spoken of him to any one.
"Yes, he was wounded twice," she told him, "and lay for weeks in a
hospital. Then he was six months in a Southern prison, and escaped and
joined the army again. He had risked his own life, too, to save his
colonel. Nobody had shown more courage and daring than he. Everybody
told me that, but other men were promoted and sent home with titles. My
boy came home to die, with only scars and a wasting fever."
Thrilled by her story, Jeff entered so fully into the spirit of the
recital that he, too, forgot that McIntyre Barnes was only one among
many thousands of heroes who were never raised above the rank of
private. Mother-love transfigured simple patriotism into more than
heroism.
As age came on she brooded over the thought more and more. Even the loss
of one son and the neglect by the other did not cause her now such
sorrow as that her country failed to recognize in her Mac the hero whom
she all but worshipped.
Jeff found himself repeating the old woman's words as he went toward
home late in the afternoon:
"No, Mac never had justice done him--he never had his dues."
Several days after that Jeff and Joe stopped at the house again to
borrow a pail.
"We forgot to water the calves this morning," Jeff explained, "and
they've had a pretty tough time hauling brush. They pull together
splendidly now. We've been clearing out Mr. Spalding's orchard."
"Look around and help yourselves," Aunt 'Liza answered, briskly. "When
once I get down on my knees to weed I'm too stiff to get up again in a
hurry. You'll find how it is, maybe, when you get into your seventies."
"Have you heard the news?" asked Joe, as he held the pail for Daisy to
drink.
"No. What, boys?"
"You know Decoration Day comes next week, and for once Stone Bluff is
going to celebrate. A brass band is coming over from Riggsville, and
they've sent to Indianapolis for some big speaker. There's going to be a
procession, and a lot of girls will march around, all dressed in white,
to decorate the graves."
Aunt 'Liza raised herself up painfully from the roll of carpet on which
she had been kneeling. A bunch of weeds was still clasped in her stiff
old fingers.
"Is it really so, Jeff?" she asked, tremulously, as | 2,556.608552 |
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_Grimm Library_
No. 15
THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT
(_Appendix to No. 12, 'The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac'_)
_The Grimm Library._
(_Crown 8vo. Net Prices._)
I. GEORGIAN FOLK-TALES. Translated by Marjory Wardrop. _Cr. 8vo, pp._
xii + 175. 5_s._
II., III., V. THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS. By Edwin Sidney Hartland, F.S.A.
3 vols. L1, 7_s._ 6_d._
Vol. I. THE SUPERNATURAL BIRTH. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxiv + 228 (_not
sold separately_).
Vol. II. THE LIFE-TOKEN. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ viii + 445. 12_s._ 6_d._
Vol. III. ANDROMEDA. MEDUSA. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxvii + 225. 7_s._
6_d._
IV., VI. THE VOYAGE OF BRAN, SON OF FEBAL. An Eighth-century Irish
Saga, now first edited and translated by Kuno Meyer.
Vol. I. With an Essay upon the Happy Otherworld in Irish Myth, by
Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xvii + 331. 10_s._ 6_d._
Vol. II. With an Essay on the Celtic Doctrine of Rebirth, by Alfred
Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 352. 10_s._ 6_d._
VII. THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN. Studies upon its Original Scope and
Significance. By Jessie L. Weston, translator of Wolfram von
Eschenbach's 'Parzival.' _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xiv + 111. 4_s._
VIII. THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE. Being a Collection of
Stories relating to the Hero Cuchullin, translated from the
Irish by various Scholars. Compiled and Edited, with
Introduction and Notes, by Eleanor Hull. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix
+ 316. 7_s._ 6_d._
IX., X. THE PRE- AND PROTO-HISTORIC FINNS, both Eastern and Western,
with the Magic Songs of the West Finns. By the Hon. John
Abercromby. I., _pp._ xxiv + 363. II., _pp._ xiii + 400. L1,
1_s._
XI. THE HOME OF THE EDDIC POEMS. With Especial Reference to the 'Helgi
Lays,' by Sophus Bugge, Professor in the University of
Christiania. Revised Edition, with a new Introduction
concerning Old Norse Mythology. Translated from the Norwegian
by William Henry Schofield, Instructor in Harvard University.
_Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 408. 12_s._ 6_d._
XII. THE LEGEND OF SIR LANCELOT DU LAC. Studies upon its Origin,
Development, and Position in the Arthurian Romantic Cycle. By
Jessie L. Weston. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 252. 7_s._ 6_d._
XIII. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. Its Sources and Analogues. By C. F.
Maynadier. _Pp._ xii + 222. 6_s._
XIV. SOHRAB AND RUSTEM. The Epic Theme of a Combat between Father and
Son. A Study of its Genesis and Use in Literature and Popular
Tradition. By Murray Anthony Potter, A.M. _Pp._ xii + 235.
6_s._
_All rights reserved_
THE
Three Days' Tournament
A Study in Romance and Folk-Lore
_Being an Appendix to the Author's 'Legend of Sir Lancelot'_
By
Jessie L. Weston
AUTHOR OF 'THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN' ETC., ETC.
London
Published by David Nutt
At the Sign of the Phoenix
Long Acre
1902
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
PREFACE
The Study comprised in the following pages should, as the title
indicates, be regarded as an Appendix to the Studies on the Lancelot
Legend previously published in the Grimm Library Series. As will be
seen, they not only deal with an adventure ascribed to that hero, but
also provide additional arguments in support of the theory of romantic
evolution there set forth. Should the earlier volume ever attain to the
honour of a second edition, it will probably be found well to include
this Study in the form of an additional chapter; but serious students of
Arthurian romance are unfortunately not so large a body that the speedy
exhaustion of an edition of any work dealing with the subject can be
looked for, and, therefore, as the facts elucidated in the following
pages are of considerable interest and importance to all concerned in
the difficult task of investigating the sources of the Arthurian legend,
it has been thought well to publish them without delay in their present
form.
In the course of this Study I have, as opportunity afforded, expressed
opinions on certain points upon which Arthurian scholars are at issue.
Here in these few introductory words I should like, if possible, to make
clear my own position with regard to the question of Arthurian criticism
as a whole. I shall probably be deemed presumptuous when I say that, so
far, I very much doubt whether we have any one clearly ascertained and
established fact that will serve as a definite and solid basis for the
construction of a working hypothesis as to the origin and development of
this immense body of romance. We all of us have taken, and are taking,
far too much for granted. We have but very few thoroughly reliable
critical editions, based upon a comparative study of all the extant
manuscripts. Failing a more general existence of such critical editions,
it appears impossible to hope with any prospect of success to 'place'
the various romances.[1]
Further, it may be doubted if the true conditions of the problem, or
problems, involved have even yet been adequately realised. The Arthurian
cycle is not based, as is the Charlemagne cycle, upon a solid substratum
of fact, which though modified for literary purposes is yet more or less
capable of identification and rectification; such basis of historic fact
as exists is extremely small, and for critical purposes may practically
be restricted to certain definite borrowings from the early chronicles.
The great body of Arthurian romance took shape and form in the minds of
a people reminiscent of past, hopeful of future, glory, who interwove
with their dreams of the past, and their hopes for the future, the
current beliefs of the present. To thoroughly understand, and to be able
intelligently and helpfully to criticise the Arthurian Legend, it is
essential that we do not allow ourselves to be led astray by what we may
call the 'accidents' of the problem--the moulding into literary shape
under French influence--but rather fix our attention upon the
'essentials'--the radically Celtic and folk-lore character of the
material of which it is composed.
We need, as it were, to place ourselves _en rapport_ with the mind alike
of the conquered and the conquerors. It is not easy to shake ourselves
free from the traditions and methods of mere textual criticism and treat
a question, which is after all more or less a question of scholarship,
on a wider basis than such questions usually demand. Yet, unless I am
much mistaken, this adherence to traditional methods, and consequent
confusion between what is essential and what merely accidental, has
operated disastrously in retarding the progress of Arthurian criticism;
because we have failed to realise the true character of the material
involved, we have fallen into the error of criticising Arthurian romance
as if its beginnings synchronised more or less exactly with its
appearance in literary form. A more scientific method will, I believe,
before long force us to the conclusion that the majority of the stories
existed in a fully developed, coherent, and what we may fairly call a
romantic form for a considerable period before they found literary
shape. We shall also, probably, find that in their gradual development
they owed infinitely less to independent and individual imagination than
they did to borrowings from that inexhaustible stock of tales in which
all peoples of the world appear to have a common share.
Thus I believe that the first two lessons which the student of Arthurian
romance should take to heart are (_a_) the extreme paucity of any
definite critical result, (_b_) the extreme antiquity of much of the
material with which we are dealing.
But there is also a third point as yet insufficiently realised--the
historic factors of the problem. We hear a great deal of the undying
hatred which is supposed to have existed between the Britons and their | 2,556.89777 |
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THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL
BY LEW. WALLACE
VOL. II.
_Rise, too | 2,556.9014 |
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Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
Not Paul, But Jesus
BY JEREMY BENTHAM, ESQR.,--The Eminent
Philosopher of Sociology, Jurisprudence,
&c., of London.
With Preface Containing Sketches of His Life and
Works Together with Critical Notes by John
J. Crandall, Esqr., of the New Jersey Bar--author
of Right to Begin and Reply
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
Jeremy Bentham, an eminent English judicial or jural philosopher, was
born in London, February 15, 1748, and died at Westminster, his
residence for six years previously, June 6, 1832. His grandfather was a
London Attorney; his father, who followed the same profession, was a
shrewd man of business, and added considerably to his patrimony by land
speculations. These London Benthams were probably an offshoot from an
ancient York family of the same name, which boasted a Bishopric among
its members; but our author did not trouble himself to trace his
genealogy beyond the pawnbroker. His mother, Alicia Groove, was the
daughter of an Andover shopkeeper. Jeremy, the eldest, and for nine
years the only child of this marriage, was for the first sixteen years
of his life exceedingly puny, small and feeble. At the same time, he
exhibited a remarkable precocity which greatly stimulated the pride and
affection of his father. At five years of age he acquired a knowledge of
musical notes and learned to play the violin. At four or earlier, having
previously learned to write, he was initiated into Latin grammar, and in
his seventh year entered Westminster School. Meanwhile, he was taught
French by a private master at home and at seven read Telemaque, a book
which strongly impressed him. Learning to dance was a much more serious
undertaking, as he was so weak in his legs.
Young as he was, he acquired distinction at Westminster as a fabricator
of Latin and Greek verses, the great end and aim of the instruction
given there.
When twelve years old, he was entered as a Commoner at Queen's College,
Oxford, where he spent the next three years. Though very uncomfortable
at Oxford, he went through the exercises of the College with credit and
even with some distinction. Some Latin verses of his, on the accession
of George III, attracted a great deal of attention as the production of
one so young. Into all of the disputations which formed a part of the
College exercises, he entered with zeal and much satisfaction; yet he
never felt at home in the University because of its historical monotony,
and of all of which he retained the most unfavorable recollections.
In 1763, while not yet sixteen, he took the degree of A.B. Shortly
after this he began his course of Law in Lincoln's Inn, and journeyed
back and forth to Oxford to hear Blackstone's Lectures. These lectures
were published and read throughout the realm of England and particularly
in the American Colonies. These were criticised by the whole school of
Cromwell, Milton and such followers as Priestly and others in England
and many in the Colonies in America. Young Bentham returned to London
and attended as a student the Court of the King's Bench, then presided
over by Mansfield, of whom he continued for some years a great admirer.
Among the advocates, Dunning's clearness, directness and precision most
impressed him. He took the degree of A.M. at the age of 18, the
youngest graduate that had been known at the Universities; and in 1772
he was admitted to the Bar.
Young Bentham had breathed from infancy, at home, at school, at college
and in the Courts, an atmosphere conservative and submissive to
authority, yet in the progress of his law studies, he found a striking
contrast between the structural imperialism of the British Empire as
expounded by Blackstone and others of his day, and the philosophical
social state discussed by Aristotle, Plato, Aurelius, the struggling
patriots of France, and the new brotherhood, then agitating the colonies
of America.
His father had hoped to see him Lord-Chancellor, and took great pains to
push him forward. But having perceived a shocking contrast between the
law as it was under the Church imperial structure and such as he
conceived it ought to be, he gradually abandoned the position of a
submissive and admiring student and assumed a position among the school
of reformers and afterwards the role of sharp critic and indignant
denouncer.
He heroically suffered privations for several years in Lincoln's Inn
garrett, but persevered in study. He devoted some of his time to the
study of science. The writings of Hume, Helvetius and others led him to
adopt utility as the basis of Morals and Legislation. There had
developed two distinct parties in England: The Radicals and
Imperialists. The Radicals contended that the foundation of Legislation
was that utility which produced the greatest happiness to the greatest
number.
Blackstone and the Ecclesiastics had adopted the theory of Locke, that
the foundation of Legislation was a kind of covenant of mankind to
conform to the laws of God and Nature, as interpreted by hereditarily
self-constituted rulers.
Bentham contended that this was only a vague and uncertain collection of
words well adapted to the promotion of rule by dogmatic opinions of the
Lords and King and Ecclesiastics in combination well calculated to
deprive the people of the benefits of popular government. He conceived
the idea of codifying the laws so as to define them in terms of the
greatest good to the greatest number, and devoted a large share of the
balance of his life to this work.
In 1775 he published a small book in defense of the policy of Lord North
toward the Colonies, but for fear of prosecution it was issued by one
John Lind and extensively read. A little later he published a book
entitled "A Fragment on Government." This created a great deal of
attention. Readers variously ascribed the book to Mansfield, to Camden
and to Dunning. The impatient pride of Bentham's father betrayed this
secret. It was variously interpreted as a philosophical Treatise and a
Critical Personal Attack upon the Government. But he persevered in the
advocacy of his principals of Morals and Government. He hoped also to be
appointed Secretary of the Commission sent out by Lord North to propose
terms to the revolted American Colonies. But as King George III had
contracted a dislike to him, he was disappointed in his plan of
Conference with the Colonies. His writings were, however, more
appreciated in France. He was openly espoused as a philosopher and
reformer by D'Alimbert, Castillux, Brissat and others. But in the
meantime some such men as Lord Shelbourne, Mills and others became his
friends and admirers, and encouraged him to persevere with his
philosophical Code of laws, largely gleaned from the ancient
philosophers of liberty and equality which had been smothered and
superseded by military and Church imperialism.
In 1785 he took an extensive tour across the Alps and while at Kricov on
the Dou, he wrote his letters on Usury. These were printed in London,
which were now welcomed by the people largely on account of his
reputation in France as a philosopher of popular government. In the
meantime, Paley had printed a treatise on the Principle of applying
utility to morals and legislation. He determined to print his views in
French and address them to that people then struggling for liberal
government.
He revised his sheets on his favorite penal Code and published them
under the title of "An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and
Legislation." The Principles enunciated in this treatise attracted the
attention of the liberals in France, as well as England and America.
Mirabeau and other French publishers spread his reputation far and wide.
Meanwhile, Bentham with the idea of aiding the deliberations of the
States General of France, and encouraged by the liberals on both
continents, and especially such men as Franklin, Jefferson and others,
printed a "Draft of a Code for the organization of a Judicial
Establishment in France," for which services the National Assembly
conferred on him the Citizenship of France by a decree, August 23, 1792,
in which his name was included with those of Priestly, Paine,
Wilberforce, Clarkson, Mackintosh, Anacharsis, Clootz, Washington,
Klopstock, Kosiosco, and several others.
In the meantime, in his travels, he conceived an extensive plan of
Prison reform which he strenuously urged the Crown Officers and the
English Parliament to adopt. After several years of strenuous labors and
the expenditure of a large part of the patrimony left him by his father,
the enterprise was thwarted by the refusal of the King to concur with
Parliament in the enterprise. This scheme is fully set forth in the
histories of the reign of George III. But to avoid persecution under the
drastic penal Codes of England, Bentham boasted that he was a man of no
party but a man of all countries and a fraternal unit of the human race,
he had come to occupy at home the position of a party chief.
He espoused with characteristic zeal and enthusiasm the ideas of the
radicals, who, in spite of themselves, were ranked as a political party.
He went, indeed, the whole length, not merely republicanism, but on many
points of ancient democracy including Universal Suffrage and the
Emancipation of all Colonies.
No matter how adroitly the Contention was managed, the Imperialists
insisted that it was merely resurrecting the historic struggle of the
days of Cromwell and his "bare bones." The Church establishment by way
of the Lords and Bishops and Bishop Lords was the real foundation of the
Crown rule in all its ramifications. This superstructure was protected
by all forms of penal laws against "lease" Majesty and even the
appearance of Church Creed heresy. The Radicals always confronted by
Crown detectives were compelled to be very wary in their attacks upon
this that they called imperial idolatry and were compelled to move by
indirect and flank attacks.
The upheaval by Martin Luther in the reign of Henry VIII at the Council
of Trent and others over the Divine authenticity of the | 2,556.904396 |
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ALONZO FITZ
AND OTHER STORIES
by Mark Twain
Contents:
THE LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE AND ROSANNAH ETHELTON
ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING
ABOUT MAGNANIMOUS-INCIDENT LITERATURE
PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH
THE GREAT REVOLUTION IN PITCAIRN
THE CANVASSER'S TALE
AN ENC | 2,556.904727 |
2023-11-16 18:59:40.9774740 | 2,081 | 7 |
Produced by Rosanna Yuen and PG Distributed Proofreaders
ROLLO AT PLAY;
OR,
SAFE AMUSEMENTS.
[Illustration: "Now he is standing perfectly still. O, Jonas, come and
see him."]
ROLLO AT PLAY.
THE ROLLO SERIES
IS COMPOSED OF FOURTEEN VOLUMES. VIZ.
Rollo Learning to Talk.
Rollo Learning to Read.
Rollo at Work.
Rollo at Play.
Rollo at School.
Rollo's Vacation.
Rollo's Experiments.
Rollo's Museum.
Rollo's Travels.
Rollo's Correspondence.
Rollo's Philosophy--Water.
Rollo's Philosophy--Air.
Rollo's Philosophy--Fire.
Rollo's Philosophy--Sky.
A NEW EDITION, REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.
NOTICE TO PARENTS.
Although this little book, and its fellow, "ROLLO AT WORK," are intended
principally as a means of entertainment for their little readers, it is
hoped by the writer that they may aid in accomplishing some of the
following useful purposes:--
1. In cultivating _the thinking powers_; as frequent occasions occur, in
which the incidents of the narrative, and the conversations arising from
them, are intended to awaken and engage the reasoning and reflective
faculties of the little readers.
2. In promoting the progress of children _in reading_ and in knowledge
of language; for the diction of the stories is intended to be often in
advance of the natural language of the reader, and yet so used as to be
explained by the connection.
3. In cultivating the _amiable and gentle qualities of the heart_. The
scenes are laid in quiet and virtuous life, and the character and
conduct described are generally--with the exception of some of the
ordinary exhibitions of childish folly--character and conduct to be
imitated; for it is generally better, in dealing with children, to
allure them to what is right by agreeable pictures of it, than to
attempt to drive them to it by repulsive delineations of what is wrong.
CONTENTS.
ROLLO AT PLAY.
STORY 1. ROLLO AT PLAY IN THE WOODS.--The Setting out. Bridge-Building.
A Visitor. Difficulty. Hearts wrong. Hearts right again.
STORY 2. THE STEEPLE-TRAP.--The Way to catch a Squirrel. The Way to lose
a Squirrel. How to keep a Squirrel. Fires in the Woods.
STORY 3. THE HALO ROUND THE MOON; OR LUCY'S VISIT.--A Round Rainbow. Who
knows best, a Little Boy or his Father! Repentance.
STORY 4. THE FRESHET.--Maria and the Caravan Small Craft. The Principles
of Order. Clearing up.
STORY 5. BLUEBERRYING.--Old Trumpeter. Deviation. Little Mosette. Going
up. The Secret out.
STORY 6. TROUBLE ON THE MOUNTAIN.--Boasting. Getting in Trouble. A Test
of Penitence.
ROLLO AT PLAY IN THE WOODS.
THE SETTING OUT.
One pleasant morning in the autumn, when Rollo was about five years old,
he was sitting on the platform, behind his father's house, playing. He
had a hammer and nails, and some small pieces of board. He was trying to
make a box. He hammered and hammered, and presently he dropped his work
down and said, fretfully,
"O dear me!"
"What is the matter, Rollo?" said Jonas,--for it happened that Jonas was
going by just then, with a wheelbarrow.
"I wish these little boards would not split so. I cannot make my box."
"You drive the nails wrong; you put the wedge sides _with_ the grain."
"The wedge sides!" said Rollo; "what are the wedge sides,--and the
grain? I do not know what you mean."
But Jonas went on, trundling his wheelbarrow; though he looked round and
told Rollo that he could not stop to explain it to him then.
Rollo was discouraged about his box. He thought he would look and see
what Jonas was going to do. Jonas trundled the wheelbarrow along, until
he came opposite the barn-door, and there he put it down. He went into
the barn, and presently came out with an axe. Then he took the sides of
the wheelbarrow off, and placed them up against the barn. Then he laid
the axe down across the wheelbarrow, and went into the barn again.
Pretty soon he brought out an iron crowbar, and laid that down also in
the wheelbarrow, with the axe.
Then Rollo called out,
"Jonas, Jonas, where are you going?"
"I am going down into the woods beyond the brook."
"What are you going to do?"
"I am going to clear up some ground."
"May I go with you?"
"I should like it--but that is not for me to say."
Rollo knew by this that he must ask his mother. He went in and asked
her, and she, in return, asked him if he had read his lesson that
morning. He said he had not; he had forgotten it.
"Then," said his mother, "you must first go and read a quarter of an
hour."
Rollo was sadly disappointed, and also a little displeased. He turned
away, hung down his head, and began to cry. It is not strange that he
was disappointed, but it was very wrong for him to feel displeased, and
begin to cry.
"Come here, my son," said his mother.
Rollo came to his mother, and she said to him kindly,
"You have done wrong now twice this morning; you have neglected your
duty of reading, and now you are out of humor with me because I require
you to attend to it. Now it is _my_ duty not to yield to such feelings
as you have now, but to punish them. So I must say that, instead of a
quarter of an hour, you must wait _half_ an hour, before you go out
with Jonas."
Rollo stood silent a minute,--he perceived that he had done wrong, and
was sorry. He did not know how he could find Jonas in the woods, but he
did not say any thing about that then. He only asked his mother what he
must do for the half hour. She said he must read a quarter of an hour,
and the rest of the time he might do as he pleased.
So Rollo took his book, and went out and sat down upon the platform, and
began to read aloud. When he had finished one page, which usually took a
quarter of an hour, he went in to ask his mother what time it was. She
looked at the clock, and told him he had been reading seventeen minutes.
"Is seventeen minutes more than a quarter of an hour, or not so much?"
asked Rollo.
"It is more;--_fifteen_ minutes is a quarter of an hour. Now you may do
what you please till the other quarter has elapsed."
Rollo thought he would go and read more. It is true he was tired; but he
was sorry he had done wrong, and he thought that if he read more than
he was obliged to, his mother would see that he _was_ penitent, and that
he acquiesced in his punishment.
So he went on reading, and the rest of the half hour passed away very
quickly. In fact, his mother came out before he got up from his reading,
to tell him it was time for him to go. She said she was very glad he had
submitted pleasantly to his punishment, and she gave him something
wrapped up in a paper.
"Keep this till you get a little tired of play, down there, and then sit
down on a log and open it."
Rollo wondered what it was. He took it gladly, and began to go. But in a
minute he turned round and said,
"But how shall I find Jonas?"
"What is he doing?" said his mother.
"He said he was going to clear up some land."
"Then you will hear his axe. Go down to the edge of the woods and
listen, and when you hear him, call him. But you must not go into the
woods unless you hear him."
BRIDGE BUILDING
Rollo went on, down the green lane, till he came to the turn-stile, and
then went through into the field. He then followed a winding path until
he came to the edge of the trees, and there stopped to listen.
He heard the brook gurgling along over the stones, and that was all at
first; but presently he began to hear the strokes of an axe. He called
out as loud as he could,
"Jonas! Jonas!"
But Jonas did not hear.
Then he walked along the edge of the woods till he came nearer the place
where he heard the axe. He found here a little opening among the trees
and bushes, so that he could look in. He saw the brook, and over beyond
it, on the opposite bank, was Jonas, cutting down a small tree.
So Rollo walked on until he came to the brook, and then asked Jonas how
he should get over. The brook was pretty wide and deep.
Jonas said, if he would wait a few minutes, he would build him a bridge.
"_You_ cannot build a bridge," said Rollo.
"Wait a little and see."
So Rollo sat down on a mossy bank, and Jonas, having cut | 2,556.997514 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
[Illustration: Michael J. Schaack.]
ANARCHY AND ANARCHISTS.
A HISTORY OF
THE RED TERROR AND THE SOCIAL REVOLUTION
IN AMERICA AND EUROPE.
COMMUNISM, SOCIALISM, AND NIHILISM
IN DOCTRINE AND IN DEED.
THE CHICAGO HAYMARKET CONSPIRACY,
AND THE DETECTION AND TRIAL OF THE CONSPIRATORS.
BY
MICHAEL J. SCHAACK,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS FROM AUTHENTIC PHOTOGRAPHS,
AND FROM ORIGINAL | 2,557.000126 |
2023-11-16 18:59:40.9829470 | 229 | 123 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE HUBBLE-SHUE.
BY
MISS CARSTAIRS.
Harry, harry, hobillischowe!
Se quha is cummyn nowe.
THE CRYING OF ANE PLAYE.
[THIRTY COPIES PRINTED.]
EDINBURGH:
Printed by ANDREW SHORTREDE, Thistle Lane.
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
If originality be a test of genius, the authoress of the _Hubble-Shue_
bids fair to rank highest amongst the dramatic writers of the last
century. This rare merit even the most fastidious critic must allow:
but her histrionic essay is, in another respect, equally remarkable. We
are told that obscurity is one of the sources of the sublime; and who
will presume to deny that this drama is not sufficiently obscure?
Perhaps the most remarkable feature in it is that singular, partially
intelligible mystification, which we in vain look for in | 2,557.002987 |
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Robert Laporte, Steen Christensen and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
DAYBREAK
A ROMANCE OF AN OLD WORLD
By James Cowan
[Illustration: "HE MADE THE STARS ALSO"]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. AN ASTR | 2,557.007464 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
IN THE
YULE-LOG GLOW
CHRISTMAS POEMS FROM
'ROUND THE WORLD
"Sic as folk tell ower at a winter ingle"
_Scott_
EDITED BY
HARRISON S. MORRIS
IN FOUR BOOKS
Book IV.
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1900.
[Illustration: Christmas Weather]
Copyright, 1891, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA.
ILLUSTRATIONS, BOOK IV.
CHRISTMAS WEATHER Frontispiece.
"WHAT CAN I GIVE HIM?" Page 90
THE SEASON'S REVERIES " 174
"TOO HAPPY, HAPPY TREE" " 212
CONTENTS OF BOOK IV.
SUNG UNDER THE WINDOW. PAGE
Who's There? 9
God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen 10
Welcome Yule 12
Angel Heralds 14
The Matchless Maiden 15
Remember, O Thou Man 16
The Singers in the Snow 19
A Christmas Chorus 21
Three Ships 22
Jacob's Ladder 24
Saint Stephen, the Clerk 26
The Carnal and the Crane 29
The Holy Well 35
The Holly and the Ivy 38
The Contest of the Vines 39
Ane Sang of the Birth of Christ 41
Christmas Minstrelsy 43
The Old, Old Story 47
A Christmas Ballad 49
A French Noel[A] 52
Masters, in this Hall 54
THE WORSHIP OF THE BABE.
To His Saviour, a Child; a Present, by a Child 59
Honor to the King 60
New Prince, New Pomp 62
Of the Epiphany 64
A Hymn for the Epiphany 66
A Hymn on the Nativity of My Saviour 68
At Christmas 70
New Heaven, New War 72
For Christmas Day 73
Sung to the King in the Presence at Whitehall 75
And They Laid Him in a Manger 77
The Burning Babe 79
Christ's Nativity 81
An Ode on the Birth of Our Saviour 83
Who Can Forget? 85
The Child Jesus 87
Long Ago 89
Star of Bethlehem 91
No Room 92
On Christmas Day 94
The Heavenly Choir 96
THE WASSAIL-BOWL.
Wassail 103
Invitation a Faire Noel 105
A Thanksgiving 107
Around the Wassail-Bowl 108
From Door to Door 111
Wassailing Carol 113
A Carol at the Gates 116
Wandering Wassailers 118
Bring Us in Good Ale 120
About the Board 122
Before the Feast | 2,557.009464 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS,
MOUNT ETNA,
AND OTHER VOLCANOS:
IN
A SERIES OF LETTERS,
Addressed to THE ROYAL SOCIETY,
From the Honourable Sir W. HAMILTON,
K.B. F.R.S.
His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary
at the Court of NAPLES.
To which are added,
Explanatory NOTES by the AUTHOR,
hitherto unpublished.
A NEW EDITION.
LONDON,
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand.
M DCC LXXIV.
THE EDITOR
TO
THE PUBLIC.
Having mentioned to Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON the general Desire of all
Lovers of Natural History, that his Letters upon the Subject of VOLCANOS
should be collected together in one Volume, particularly for the
Convenience of such as may have an Opportunity of visiting the curious
Spots described in them: He was not only pleased to approve of my
having undertaken this Publication, but has likewise favoured with the
additional explanatory Notes and Drawings,
The PUBLIC's most obliged,
and devoted
humble Servant,
T. CADELL.
May 30, 1772.
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS, &c.
LETTER I.
To the Right Honourable the Earl of MORTON, President of the Royal
Society.
Naples, June 10, 1766.
My LORD,
As I have attended particularly to the various changes of Mount
Vesuvius, from the 17th of November 1764, the day of my arrival at this
capital; I flatter myself, that my observations will not be unacceptable
to your Lordship, especially as this Volcano has lately made a very
considerable eruption. I shall confine myself merely to the many
extraordinary appearances that have come under my own inspection, and
leave their explanation to the more learned in Natural Philosophy.
During the first twelvemonth of my being here, I did not perceive any
remarkable alteration in the mountain; but I observed, the smoke from
the Volcano was much more considerable in bad weather than when it was
fair[1]; and I often heard (even at Naples, six miles from Vesuvius) in
bad weather, the inward explosions of the mountain. When I have been at
the top of Mount Vesuvius in fair weather, I have sometimes found so
little smoke, that I have been able to see far down the mouth of the
Volcano; the sides of which were incrusted with salts and mineral of
various colors, white, green, deep and pale yellow. The smoke that
issued from the mouth of the Volcano in bad weather was white, very
moist, and not near so offensive as the sulphureous steams from various
cracks on the sides of the mountain.
Towards the month of September last, I perceived the smoke to be more
considerable, and to continue even in fair weather; and in October I
perceived sometimes a puff of black smoke shoot up a considerable height
in the midst of the white, which symptom of an approaching eruption grew
more frequent daily; and soon after, these puffs of smoke appeared in
the night tinged like clouds with the setting sun.
About the beginning of November, I went up the mountain: it was then
covered with snow; and I perceived a little hillock of sulphur had been
thrown up, since my last visit there, within about forty yards of the
mouth of the Volcano; it was near six feet high, and a light blue flame
issued constantly from its top. As I was examining this phaenomenon, I
heard a violent report; and saw a column of black smoke, followed by a
reddish flame, shoot up with violence from the mouth of the Volcano; and
presently fell a shower of stones, one of which, falling near me, made
me retire with some precipitation, and also rendered me more cautious of
approaching too near, in my subsequent journies to Vesuvius.
From November to the 28th of March, the date of the beginning of this
eruption, the smoke increased, and was mixed with ashes, which fell, and
did great damage to the vineyards in the neighbourhood of the
mountain[2]. A few days before the eruption I saw (what Pliny the
younger mentions having seen, before that eruption of Vesuvius which
proved fatal to his uncle) the black smoke take the form of a pine-tree.
The smoke, that appeared black in the day-time, for near two months
before the eruption, had the appearance of flame in the night.
On Good Friday, the 28th of March, at 7 o'clock at night, the lava began
to boil over the mouth of the Volcano, at first in one stream; and soon
after, dividing itself into two, it took its course towards Portici. It
was preceded by a violent explosion, which caused a partial earthquake
in the neighbourhood of the mountain; and a shower of red hot stones and
cinders were thrown up to a considerable height. Immediately upon sight
of the lava, I left Naples, with a party of my countrymen, whom I found
as impatient as myself to satisfy their curiosity in examining so
curious an operation of nature. I passed the whole night upon the
mountain; and observed that, though the red hot stones were thrown up in
much greater number and to a more considerable height than before the
appearance of the lava, yet the report was much less considerable than
some days before the eruption. The lava ran near a mile in an hour's
time, when the two branches joined in a hollow on the side of the
mountain, without proceeding farther. I approached the mouth of the
Volcano, as near as I could with prudence; the lava had the appearance
of a river of red hot and liquid metal, such as we see in the
glass-houses, on which were large floating cinders, half lighted, and
rolling one over another with great precipitation down the side of the
mountain, forming a most beautiful and uncommon cascade; the color of
the fire was much paler and more bright the first night than the
subsequent nights, when it became of a deep red, probably owing to its
having been more impregnated with sulphur at first than afterwards. In
the day-time, unless you are quite close, the lava has no appearance of
fire; but a thick white smoke marks its course.
The 29th, the mountain was very quiet, and the lava did not continue.
The 30th, it began to flow again in the same direction, whilst the mouth
of the Volcano threw up every minute a girandole of red hot stones, to
an immense height. The 31st, I passed the night upon the mountain: the
lava was not so considerable as the first night; but the red hot stones
were perfectly transparent, some of which, I dare say of a ton weight,
mounted at least two hundred feet perpendicular, and fell in, or near,
the mouth of a little mountain, that was now formed by the quantity of
ashes and stones, within the great mouth of the Volcano, and which made
the approach much safer than it had been some days before, when the
mouth was near half a mile in circumference, and the stones took every
direction. Mr. Hervey, brother to the Earl of Bristol, was very much
wounded in the arm some days before the eruption, having approached too
near; and two English gentlemen with him were also hurt. It is
impossible to describe the beautiful appearance of these girandoles of
red hot stones, far surpassing the most astonishing artificial
fire-work.
From the 31st of March to the 9th of April, the lava continued on the
same side of the mountain, in two, three, and sometimes four branches,
without descending much lower than the first night. I remarked a kind of
intermission in the fever of the mountain[3], which seemed to return
with violence every other night. On the 10th of April, at night, the
lava disappeared on the side of the mountain towards Naples, and broke
out with much more violence on the side next the _ | 2,557.102828 |
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LEGAL CHEMISTRY.
A GUIDE
TO THE
DETECTION OF POISONS,
EXAMINATION OF TEA, STAINS, ETC.,
AS APPLIED TO
CHEMICAL JURISPRUDENCE.
TRANSLATED WITH ADDITIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF
A. NAQUET,
_Professor to the Faculty of Medicine of Paris_.
BY
J. P. BATTERSHALL, Nat. Sc. D., F.C.S.
_SECOND EDITION, REVISED, WITH ADDITIONS._
NEW YORK:
D. VAN NOSTRAND, PUBLISHER,
23 MURRAY STREET AND 27 WARREN STREET.
1884.
COPYRIGHT.
D. VAN NOSTRAND.
1876.
Transcriber's Note:
Text originally marked up as bold is surrounded by *, text in italics by
_. Obvious printer errors have been corrected. A list of all other
changes can be found at the end of the document. In the Appendix of the
book, only the most obvious errors of punctuation were remedied.
PREFACE.
The importance of exact chemical analysis in a great variety of cases
which come before the courts is now fully recognized, and the
translation of this excellent little book on Legal Chemistry, by one of
the most distinguished French Chemists, will be appreciated by a large
class of American readers who are not able to consult the original.
While it is to be regretted that the author has not presented a much
more complete work, there is an advantage in the compact form of this
treatise which compensates, in some degree, for its brevity.
The translator has greatly increased the value of the book by a few
additions and his copious index, and especially by the lists of works
and memoirs which he has appended; and while he could have further
increased its value by additions from other authors, we recognize the
weight of the considerations which induced him to present it in the form
given to it by the author. Some chapters will have very little value in
this country at this day, but the translator could not, with propriety,
omit anything contained in the original.
C. F. CHANDLER.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The principal change to note in this edition of the LEGAL CHEMISTRY is
the addition of a chapter on Tea and its Adulteration. The general
interest at present evinced concerning this species of sophistication
appeared to call for a simple and concise method of examination which
would include the requisite tests without entering upon an exhaustive
treatment of the subject. The translator's practical experience in the
testing of tea at the United States Laboratory of this city has enabled
him to make a few suggestions in this regard which, he trusts, may be of
use to those interested in food-analysis. Numerous additions have also
been made to the bibliographical appendix.
J. P. B.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 5
METHODS OF DESTRUCTION OF THE ORGANIC SUBSTANCES
By means of Nitric Acid 8
" " Sulphuric Acid 9
" " Nitrate of Potassa 10
" " Potassa and Nitrate of Lime 12
" " Potassa and Nitric Acid 12
" " Chlorate of Potassa 13
" " Chlorine 13
" " _Aqua Regia_ 14
Dialysis 15
DETECTION OF POISONS, THE PRESENCE OF WHICH IS SUSPECTED.
Detection of Arsenic 17
_Method used prior to Marsh's test_ 17
_Marsh's test_ 21
_Raspail's test_ 29
_Reinsch's test_ 30
Detection of Antimony 30
_Flandin and Danger's apparatus_ 32
_Naquet's apparatus_ 34
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AN ESSAY
ON THE
TRIAL BY JURY.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY.
CLEVELAND, OHIO:
JEWETT, PROCTOR & WORTHINGTON.
1852.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
LYSANDER SPOONER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
NOTICE TO ENGLISH PUBLISHERS.
The author claims the copyright of this book in England, on Common Law
principles, without regard to acts of parliament; and if the main
principle of the book itself be true, viz., that no legislation, in
conflict with the Common Law, is of any validity, his claim is a legal
one. He forbids any one to reprint the book without his consent.
Stereotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS;
New England Type and Stereotype Foundery,
BOSTON.
NOTE.
This volume, it is presumed by the author, gives what will generally be
considered satisfactory evidence,--though not all the evidence,--of what
the Common Law trial by jury really is. In a future volume, if it should
be called for, it is designed to corroborate the grounds taken in this;
give a concise view of the English constitution; show the
unconstitutional character of the existing government in England, and
the unconstitutional means by which the trial by jury has been broken
down in practice; prove that, neither in England nor the United States,
have legislatures ever been invested by the people with any authority to
impair the powers, change the oaths, or (with few exceptions) abridge
the jurisdiction, of juries, or select jurors on any other than Common
Law principles; and, consequently, that, in both countries, legislation
is still constitutionally subordinate to the discretion and consciences
of Common Law juries, in all cases, both civil and criminal, in which
juries sit. The same volume will probably also discuss several political
and legal questions, which will naturally assume importance if the trial
by jury should be reestablished.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. THE RIGHT OF JURIES TO JUDGE OF THE JUSTICE OF LAWS, 5
SECTION 1, 5
SECTION 2, 11
CHAPTER II. THE TRIAL BY JURY, AS DEFINED BY MAGNA CARTA, 20
SECTION 1. _The History of Magna Carta_, 20
SECTION 2. _The Language of Magna Carta_, 25
CHAPTER III. ADDITIONAL PROOFS OF THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF JURORS, 51
SECTION 1. _Weakness of the Regal Authority_, 51
SECTION 2. _The Ancient Common Law Juries were mere
Courts of Conscience_, 63
SECTION 3. _The Oaths of Jurors_, 85
SECTION 4. _The Right of Jurors to fix the Sentence_, 91
SECTION 5. _The Oaths of Judges_, 98
SECTION 6. _The Coronation Oath_, 102
CHAPTER IV. THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF JURIES IN CIVIL SUITS, 110
CHAPTER V. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED, 128
CHAPTER VI. JURIES OF THE PRESENT DAY ILLEGAL, 142
CHAPTER VII. ILLEGAL JUDGES, 157
CHAPTER VIII. THE FREE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE, 172
CHAPTER IX. THE CRIMINAL INTENT, 178
CHAPTER X. MORAL CONSIDERATIONS FOR JURORS, 189
CHAPTER XI. AUTHORITY OF MAGNA CARTA, 192
CHAPTER XII. LIMITATIONS IM | 2,559.50004 |
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AT SUVLA BAY
Being The Notes And Sketches Of Scenes, Characters
And Adventures Of The Dardanelles Campaign
By John Hargrave
("White Fox" of "The Scout ")
While Serving With The 32nd Field Ambulance, X Division, Mediterranean
Expeditionary Force, During The Great War
To
MINOBI
We played at Ali Baba,
On a green linoleum floor;
Now we camp near Lala Baba,
By the blue Aegean shore.
We sailed the good ship Argus,
Behind the studio door;
Now we try to play at "Heroes"
By the blue Aegean shore.
We played at lonely Crusoe,
In a pink print pinafore;
Now we live like lonely Crusoe,
By the blue Aegean shore.
We used to call for "Mummy,"
In nursery days of yore;
And still we dream of Mother,
By the blue Aege | 2,559.599327 |
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ELEMENTS OF MORALS:
WITH
SPECIAL APPLICATION OF THE MORAL LAW TO THE
DUTIES OF THE INDIVIDUAL AND OF
SOCIETY AND THE STATE.
BY PAUL JANET,
MEMBER | 2,559.799657 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. Obvious punctuation errors
have been repaired however the unusual use of quotation marks in
continuing paragraphs was retained as printed.]
[Illustration: "The lady came into the room to find out why the dog had
called out. Mew-Mew... crept out." _Page 19._]
BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW
BY
GEORGIANA M. CRAIK
EDITED BY
JOSEPH C. SINDELAR
_Author of_ NIXIE BUNNY IN MANNERS-LAND
NIXIE BUNNY IN WORKADAY-LAND
NIXIE BUNNY IN HOLIDAY-LAND
NIXIE BUNNY IN FARAWAY-LANDS
FATHER THRIFT AND HIS ANIMAL FRIENDS
MORNING EXERCISES FOR ALL THE YEAR
BEST MEMORY GEMS
[Illustration]
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY
CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
JOSEPH C. SINDELAR
_Made in U. S. A._
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW 7
II BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW ARE NOT HAPPY 9
III MEW-MEW FALLS ASLEEP 11
IV THE CHICKS, THE PIGS, THE DUCKS 13
V BOW-WOW IS HURT 16
VI BOW-WOW IN BED 18
VII MEW-MEW BY THE FIRE 20
VIII BOW-WOW IN GREAT PAIN 21
IX MEW-MEW A NURSE 24
X BOW-WOW FEELS VERY ILL 27
XI WILL BOW-WOW DIE? 29
XII BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW BECOME FRIENDS 31
XIII MEW-MEW SEEKS SOME FOOD 34
XIV BOW-WOW DOES NOT DIE 37
XV BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW ARE VERY GREAT FRIENDS 39
XVI BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW WILL GO AWAY 41
XVII SHALL THEY START SO SOON? 44
XVIII SAYING "GOOD-BY" 46
XIX BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW SET OFF 48
XX RUNNING AWAY 51
XXI IS IT GOOD FUN? 52
XXII IN THE FIELDS 55
XXIII PUSS FALLS LAME 57
XXIV IN THE CORN-FIELD 59
XXV THE FIRST MEAL 62
XXVI THE WORK OF EACH RUNAWAY 64
XXVII THE BIG SHEEP-DOG 66
XXVIII BOW-WOW IS BADLY HURT 69
XXIX PUSS TURNS NURSE 71
XXX CROSS WORDS 73
XXXI HOW THE RUNAWAYS FARED 76
XXXII KIND FRIENDS 78
XXXIII BAD BLOWS 80
XXXIV THOUGHTS OF HOME 83
XXXV WHERE WAS HOME? 85
XXXVI PUSS FALLS ILL 87
XXXVII THE OLD FARM-HOUSE 88
XXXVIII HOME 90
XXXIX TELL US MORE 92
ABOUT THE BOOK 95
[Illustration]
Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew
[Illustration]
I
BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW
"Get out of the way," said a little fat dog, as he came near the fire.
"I shall not get out of your way," said the white puss, | 2,559.900387 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team, from images
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[Transcriber's Note: Footnotes have been numbered sequentially and
moved to the end of the text.]
LIVES OF THE NECROMANCERS:
OR
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MOST | 2,559.999844 |
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INHERITANCE OF CHARACTERISTICS IN DOMESTIC FOWL.
BY
CHARLES B. DAVENPORT,
DIRECTOR OF THE STATION FOR EXPERIMENTAL EVOLUTION, CARNEGIE
INSTITUTION OF WASHINGTON.
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON, D. C.
PUBLISHED BY THE CARNEGIE INSTITUTION OF WASHINGTON. 1909
CARNEGIE INSTITUTION OF WASHINGTON PUBLICATION NO. 121.
PAPERS OF THE STATION FOR EXPERIMENTAL EVOLUTION, NO. 14.
PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
CHAPTER I. THE SPLIT OR Y COMB 5
A. Interpretation of the Y Comb 5
B. Variability of the Y Comb and Inheritance of the
Variations 12
CHAPTER II. POLYDACTYLISM 17
A. Types of Polydactylism 17
B. Results of Hybridization 18
CHAPTER III. SYNDACTYLISM 29
A. Statement of Problem 29
B. Results of Hybridization 32
CHAPTER IV. RUMPLESSNESS 37
CHAPTER V. WINGLESSNESS 42
CHAPTER VI. BOOTING 43
A. Types of Booting 43
B. Normal Variability 43
C. Results of Hybridization 46
CHAPTER VII. NOSTRIL-FORM 59
CHAPTER VIII. CREST 67
CHAPTER IX. COMB-LOP 69
CHAPTER X. PLUMAGE COLOR 71
A. The Gametic Composition of the Various Races 71
1. White 71
2. Black 72
3. Buff 72
B. Evidence 72
1. Silkie × Minorca (or Spanish) 72
2. Silkie × White Leghorn 75
3. Silkie × Buff Cochin 76
4. White Leghorn × Black Minorca 77
5. White Leghorn × Buff Cochin 77
6. Black Cochin × Buff Cochin 78
CHAPTER XI. INHERITANCE OF BLUE COLOR, SPANGLING, AND BARRING 79
A. Blue Color 79
B. Spangling 80
C. Barring 81
1. White Cochin × Tosa 81
2. White Leghorn Bantam × Dark Brahma 82
3. White Leghorn Bantam × Black Cochin 82
CHAPTER XII. GENERAL DISCUSSION 85
A. Relation of Heredity and Ontogeny 85
B. Dominance and Recessiveness 88
C. Potency 92
D. Reversion and the Factor Hypothesis 93
E. The Limits of Selection 94
1. Increasing the Red in the Dark Brahma × Minorca
Cross 94
2. Production of a Buff Race by Selection 95
F. Non-inheritable Characters 96
G. The Rôle of Hybridization in Evolution 97
LITERATURE CITED 99
===============================================
INHERITANCE OF CHARACTERISTICS
IN DOMESTIC FOWL.
BY
CHARLES B. DAVENPORT.
===============================================
INTRODUCTION.
A series of studies is here presented bearing on the question of
dominance and its varying potency. Of these studies, that on the Y
comb presents a case where relative dominance varies from perfection
to entire absence, and through all intermediate grades, the average
condition being a 70 per cent dominance of the median element. When
dominance is relatively weak or of only intermediate grade the
second generation of hybrids contains extracted pure dominants in
the expected proportions of 1:2:1; but as the potency of dominance
increases in the parents the proportion of offspring with the
dominant (single) comb increases from 25 per cent to 50 per cent.
This leads to the conclusion that, on the one hand, dominance varies
quantitatively and, on the other, that the degree of dominance is
inheritable.
The studies on polydactylism reveal a similar variation of potency in
dominance and show, in Houdans at least, an inheritance of potency
(table 11), and moreover they suggest a criticism of Castle's
conclusion of inheritance of the degree of polydactylism.
Syndactylism illustrates another step in the series of decreasing
potency of the dominant. On not one of the F1 generation was the
dominant (syndactyl) condition observed; and when these hybrids were
mated together the dominant character appeared not in 75 per cent but
in from 10 per cent to 0 per cent of the offspring. The question may
well be asked: What is then the criterion of dominance? The reply
is elaborated to the effect that, since dominance is due to the
presence of a character and recessiveness to its absence, dominance
may fail to develop, but recessiveness never can do so. Consequently
two extracted recessives mated _inter se_ can not throw the dominant
condition; but two imperfect dominants, even though indistinguishable
from recessives, will throw dominants. On the other hand, owing to
the very fact that the dominant condition often fails of development,
two extracted "pure" dominants will, probably always, throw some
apparent "recessives." Now, two syndactyls have not been found that
fail (in large families) to throw normals, but extracted normals
have been found which, bred _inter se_, throw only normals; hence,
"normal-toe" is recessive. In this character, then, dominance almost
always fails to show itself in the heterozygote and often fails in
pure dominants.
The series of diminishing potency has now brought us to a point
where we can interpret a case of great difficulty, namely, a case of
rumplessness. Here a dominant condition was originally mistaken for
a recessive condition, because it never fully showed itself in F1
and F2. Nevertheless, in related individuals, the condition is fully
dominant. We thus get the notion that a factor that normally tends to
the development of a character may, although present, fail to develop
the character. Dominance is lacking through _impotence_.
The last term of the series is seen in the wingless cock which left
no wingless offspring in the F1 and F2 generations. In comparison
with the results gained with the rumpless cock, winglessness in this
strain is probably dominant but impotent.
When a character, instead of being simply present or absent, is
capable of infinite gradations, inheritance seems often to be
blending and without segregation. Two cases of this sort--booting
and nostril-height--are examined, and by the aid of the principle
of imperfect dominance the apparent blending is shown to follow
the principle of segregation. Booting is controlled by a dominant
inhibiting factor that varies greatly in potency, and nostril-height
is controlled by an inhibiting factor that stops the over-growth of
the nasal flap which produces the narrow nostril.
The extracted dominants show great variability in their progeny, but
the extracted recessives show practically none. This is because a
positive character may fail to develop; but an absent character can
not develop even a little way. The difference in variability of the
offspring of two extracted recessives and two extracted dominants
is the best criterion by which they may be distinguished, or by
which the presence (as opposed to the absence) of a factor may be
determined.
The crest of fowl receives especial attention as an example of a
character previously regarded as simple but now known to comprise two
and probably more factors--a factor for erectness, one for growth,
and probably one or more that determine the restriction or extension
of the crested area.
The direction of lop of the single comb is an interesting example
of a character that seems to be undetermined by heredity. In this
it agrees with numerous right and left handed characters. It is not
improbable that the character is determined by a _complex_ of causes,
so that many independent factors are involved.
A series of studies is presented on the inheritance of plumage color.
It is shown that each type of bird has a gametic formula that is
constant for the type and which can be used with success to predict
the outcome of particular combinations. New combinations of color
and "reversions" receive an easy explanation by the use of these
factors. The cases of blue, spangled, and barred fowl are shown also
to contain mottling or spangling factors.
CHAPTER I.
THE SPLIT OR Y COMB.
A. INTERPRETATION OF THE Y COMB.
When a bird with a single comb, which may be conveniently symbolized
as I, is crossed with a bird with a "V" comb such as is seen in
the Polish race, and may be symbolized as oo, the product is a
split or Y comb. This Y comb is a _new form_. As we do not expect
new forms to appear in hybridization, the question arises, How is
this Y comb to be interpreted? Three interpretations seem possible.
According to one, the antagonistic characters (allelomorphs) are I
comb and oo comb, and in the product neither is recessive, but both
dominant. The result is a case of particulate inheritance--the single
comb being inherited anteriorly and the oo comb posteriorly. On
this interpretation the result is not at all Mendelian.
According to the second interpretation the hereditary units are
not what appear on the surface, but each type of comb contains two
factors, of which (in each case) one is positive and the other
negative. In the case of the I comb the factors are presence of
median element and absence of lateral or paired element; and in the
case of the oo comb the factors are absence of median element and
presence of lateral element. On this hypothesis the two positive
factors are dominant and the two negative factors are recessive.
The third hypothesis is intermediate between the others. According
to it the germ-cells of the single-combed bird contain a median unit
character which is absent in the germ-cells of the Polish or Houdan
fowl. This hypothesis supposes further that the absence of the median
element is accompanied by a fluctuating quantity of lateral cere, the
so-called V comb.
The split comb is obtained whenever the oo comb is crossed with a
type containing the median element. Thus, the offspring of a oo
comb and a pea comb is a split pea comb, and the offspring of a
oo comb and a rose comb is a split rose. The three hypotheses may
consequently be tested in three cases where a split comb is produced.
TABLE 1.
+-----------------------+-----+-----+------------+
| | I | Y | No median. |
+-----------------------+-----+-----+------------+
| I × I | 100 | 0 | 0 |
| I × Y | 50 | 50 | 0 |
| I × no median | 0 | 100 | 0 |
| Y × no median | 0 | 50 | 50 |
| No median × no median | 0 | 0 | 100 |
+-----------------------+-----+-----+------------+
The first and third hypotheses will give the same statistical result,
namely, the products of two Y-combed individuals of F1 used as
parents, will exhibit the following proportions: median element, 25
per cent; split comb, 50 per cent; and no median element, 25 per
cent. These proportions will show themselves, whatever the generation
to which the Y-combed parents belong, whether both are of
generation F1, or F2, or F3, or one parent of one generation and the
other of another. Other combinations of parental characters should
give the proportions in the progeny shown in table 1.
On the second hypothesis, on the other hand, the proportions of
the different kinds occurring in the progeny will vary with the
generation of the parents. This hypothesis assumes the existence in
each germ-cell of the original parent of two comb allelomorphs, _M_
and _l_ in single-combed birds and _m_ and _L_ in the Polish fowl,
the capital letter standing for the presence of a character (Median
element or Lateral element) and the small letter for the absence of
that character. Consequently, after mating, the zygote of F1 contains
all 4 factors, _MmLl_, and the soma has a Y comb; but in the
germ-cells, which contain each only 2 unlike factors, these factors
occur in the following 4 combinations, so that there are now 4 kinds
of germ-cells instead of the 2 with which we started. These are _ML_,
_Ml_, _mL_, and _ml_. Furthermore, since in promiscuous mating of
birds these germ-cells unite in pairs in a wholly random fashion, 16
combinations are possible, giving 16 F2 zygotes (not all different)
as shown in table 2.
TABLE 2.
+-------+---------------+---------+
| Type. | Zygotic | Soma. |
| | constitution. | |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _a_ | M2L2[A] | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _b_ | M2Ll | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _c_ | MmL2 | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _d_ | MmLl | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _e_ | M2Ll | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _f_ | M2l2 | I |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _g_ | MmLl | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _h_ | Mml2 | I |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _i_ | mLML | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _k_ | mLMl | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _l_ | m2L2 | oo |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _m_ | m2Ll | oo |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _n_ | mlML | Y |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _o_ | mlMl | I |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _p_ | m2Ll | oo |
+-------+---------------+---------+
| _q_ | m2l2 | Absent |
+-------+---------------+---------+
[A] This convenient form of zygotic formulæ, using a
subscript 2 instead of doubling the letter, is proposed
by Prof. W. E. Castle.
It is a consequence of this second hypothesis that, in F2, of every
16 young 9 should have the Y comb; 3 the I comb; 3 the oo comb,
and 1 no comb at all. It follows further that the progeny of two F2
parents will differ in different families. Thus if a Y-combed bird
of type _a_ be mated with a bird of any type, _all_ of the progeny
will have the Y comb.
From Y-combed parents of various types taken at random 4 kinds of
families will arise having the following percentage distribution of
the different types of comb:
1. Y comb, 100 per cent.
2. Y comb, 75 per cent; I comb, 25 per cent.
3. Y comb, 75 per cent; oo comb, 25 per cent.
4. Y comb, 56.25 per cent; I comb, 18.75 per cent; oo comb,
18.75 per cent; absent, 6.25 per cent.
Again, mating two extracted I combs of F2 should yield, in F3, two
types of families in equal frequency as follows:
1. I comb, 100 per cent.
2. I comb, 75 per cent; no comb, 25 per cent.
Again, mating two extracted oo combs of F2 should yield, in F3, two
types of families in equal frequency, as follows:
1. oo comb, 100 per cent.
2. oo comb, 75 per cent; no comb, 25 per cent.
Single comb × Y comb should give families of the types:
1. Y comb, 100 per cent.
2. Y comb, 50 per cent; I comb, 50 per cent.
3. Y comb, 50 per cent; oo comb, 50 per cent.
4. Y comb, 25 per cent; I comb, 25 per cent; oo comb, 25
per cent; absent, 25 per cent.
Mating oo comb and Y comb should give the family types:
1. Y comb, 100 per cent.
2. Y comb, 50 per cent; oo comb, 50 per cent.
3. Y comb, 50 per cent; I comb, 50 per cent.
4. Y comb, 25 per cent; oo comb, 25 per cent; I comb, 25
per cent; no comb, 25 per cent.
Finally, I comb and oo comb should give the following types of
families:
1. Y comb, 100 per cent.
2. I comb, 100 per cent.
3. Y comb, 50 per cent; oo comb, 50 per cent.
4. I comb, 50 per cent; no comb, 50 per cent.
Now, what do the facts say as to the relative value of these three
hypotheses? Abundant statistics give a clear answer. In the first
place, the progeny of two Y-combed F1 parents is found to show the
following distribution of comb types: Y comb 471, or 47.3 per cent;
I comb 289, or 29.0 per cent; oo comb 226, or 22.7 per cent; and
no comb 10, or 1 per cent. The presence of no comb in F2 speaks for
the second hypothesis, but instead of the 6.25 per cent combless
expected on that hypothesis only 1 per cent appears. There is no
close accord with expectation on the second hypothesis.
Coming now to the F3 progeny of two Y-combed parents, we get the
distribution of families shown in table 3.
TABLE 3.
+--------+-------------------------+---------------------------+
| Pen No.| Parents. | Comb in offspring. |
| |-------------------------+------+-----+-----+--------|
| | ♀ (F2) | ♂ (F2) | I | Y | oo | Absent.|
|--------+-------------+-----------+------+-----+-----+--------+
| 707 | { 366 | 1378 | 18 | 16 | 9 | .... |
| | { 522 | 1378 | 1 | 1 | 0 | .... |
| | | | | | | |
| | { 2250 | 2247 | 9 | 5 | 4 | 1 |
| 763 | { 2700 | 2247 | 3 | 5 | 3 | 1 |
| | { 3799 | 2247 | 5 | 4 | 3 | .... |
| | | | | | | |
| 769 | { 1305 | 911 | 7 | 4 | 6 | .... |
| | { 2254 | 911 | 15 | 15 | 7 | .... |
| |------+-----+-----+--------+
| Totals (142) | 58 | 50 | 32 | 2 |
| Proportions (per cent) | 40.8 | 35.2| 22.5| 1.4 |
| | | | ⎿⎵⎵⎵⏌ |
| | | | 23.9 |
+---------+-------------+----------+------+-----+--------------+
An examination of these families shows not one composed exclusively
of Y-combed individuals nor those (of significant size) containing
Y-combed and I-combed or oo-combed individuals exclusively,
much less in the precise proportion of 3:1, yet such should
be the commonest families if the second hypothesis were true.
Notwithstanding the marked deviation--to be discussed later--from
the expected proportions of I, 25 per cent; Y, 50 per cent;
oo, 25 per cent, the result accords better with the first or third
hypothesis. Since on either of these hypotheses the same proportions
of the various types of comb are to be expected in the progeny of
Y-combed parents of whatever generation, it is worth recording that
from such parents belonging to all generations except the first the
results given in table 4 were obtained, and it will be noticed that
these results approach expectation on the first or third hypothesis.
TABLE 4.
+-----------+-------+-------+-------+---------+--------+
| | I | Y | oo | Absent. | Total. |
+-----------+-------+-------+-------+---------+--------+
|Frequency | 235 | 291 | 144 | 12 | 682 |
| | | | | | |
|Percentage | 34.5 | 42.7 | 21.1 | 1.8 | .... |
+-----------+-------+-------+-------+---------+--------+
The progeny of two extracted single-combed parents of the F2
generation give in 3 families the following totals: Of 95 F3
offspring, 94 have single combs; one was recorded from an unhatched
chick as having a _slightly_ split comb, but this was probably a
single comb with a slight side-spur, a form that is associated with
purely I-combed germ-cells. This result is in perfect accord with
the second and third hypotheses, but is irreconcilable with the first
hypothesis.
The progeny of two extracted oo-combed parents is given in table 5.
TABLE 5.
+-----+-----------------+----------------------+
| | Parents. | Comb in offspring. |
| Pen +--------+--------+----+----+----+-------+
| No. | ♀ | ♂ | I | Y | oo |Absent.|
| 2,560.000084 |
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Produced by David Widger
SKETCHES NEW AND OLD
by Mark Twain
Part 3.
DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY
In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed boy, on his way to
Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the city prison for stoning
Chinamen."
What a commentary is this upon human justice! What sad prominence it
gives to our human disposition to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco
has little right to take credit to herself for her treatment of this poor
boy. What had the child's education been? How should he suppose it was
wrong to stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him, along with
outraged San Francisco, let us give him a chance--let us hear the
testimony for the defense.
He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and therefore
the chances are that his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people,
with just enough natural villainy in their composition to make them yearn
after the daily papers, and enjoy them; and so this boy had opportunities
to learn all through the week how to do right, as well as on Sunday.
It was in this way that he found out that the great commonwealth of
California imposes an unlawful mining-tax upon John the foreigner, and
allows Patrick the foreigner to dig gold for nothing--probably because
the degraded Mongol is at no expense for whisky, and the refined Celt
cannot exist without it.
It was in this way that he found out that a respectable number of the
tax-gatherers--it would be unkind to say all of them--collect the tax
twice, instead of once; and that, inasmuch as they do it solely to
discourage Chinese immigration into the mines, it is a thing that is much
applauded, and likewise regarded as being singularly facetious.
It was in this way that he found out that when a white man robs a
sluice-box (by the term white man is meant Spaniards, Mexicans,
Portuguese, Irish, Hondurans, Peruvians, Chileans, etc., etc.), they make
him leave the camp; and when a Chinaman does that thing, they hang him.
It was in this way that he found out that in many districts of the vast
Pacific coast, so strong is the wild, free love of justice in the hearts
of the people, that whenever any secret and mysterious crime is
committed, they say, "Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," and
go straightway and swing a Chinaman.
It was in this way that he found out that by studying one half of each
day's "local items," it would appear that the police of San Francisco
were either asleep or dead, and by studying the other half it would seem
that the reporters were gone mad with admiration of the energy, the
virtue, the high effectiveness, and the dare-devil intrepidity of that
very police-making exultant mention of how "the Argus-eyed officer
So-and-so" captured a wretched knave of a Chinaman who was stealing
chickens, and brought him gloriously to the city prison; and how "the
gallant officer Such-and-such-a-one" quietly kept an eye on the movements
of an "unsuspecting, almond-eyed son of Confucius" (your reporter is
nothing if not facetious), following him around with that far-off look.
of vacancy and unconsciousness always so finely affected by that
inscrutable being, the forty-dollar policeman, during a waking interval,
and captured him at last in the very act of placing his hands in a
suspicious manner upon a paper of tacks, left by the owner in an exposed
situation; and how one officer performed this prodigious thing, and
another officer that, and another the other--and pretty much every one of
these performances having for a dazzling central incident a Chinaman
guilty of a shilling's worth of crime, an unfortunate, whose misdemeanor
must be hurrahed into something enormous in order to keep the public from
noticing how many really important rascals went uncaptured in the mean
time, and how overrated those glorified policemen actually are.
It was in this way that the boy found out that the legislature, being
aware that the Constitution has made America, an asylum for the poor and
the oppressed of all nations, and that, therefore, the poor and oppressed
who fly to our shelter must not be charged a disabling admission fee,
made a law that every Chinaman, upon landing, must be vaccinated upon the
wharf, and pay to the state's appointed officer ten dollars for the
service, when there are plenty of doctors in San Francisco who would be
glad enough to do it for him for fifty cents.
It was in this way that the boy found out that a Chinaman had no rights
that any man was bound to respect; that he had no sorrows that any man
was bound to pity; that neither his life nor his liberty was worth the
purchase of a penny when a white man needed a scapegoat; that nobody
loved Chinamen, nobody befriended them, nobody spared them suffering when
it was convenient to inflict it; everybody, individuals, communities, the
majesty of the state itself, joined in hating, abusing, and persecuting
these humble strangers.
And, therefore, what could have been more natural than for this
sunny-hearted-boy, tripping along to Sunday-school, with his mind teeming
with freshly learned incentives to high and virtuous action, to say to
himself:
"Ah, there goes a Chinaman! God will not love me if I do not stone him."
And for this he was arrested and put in the city jail.
Everything conspired to teach him that it was a high and holy thing to
stone a Chinaman, and yet he no sooner attempts to do his duty than he is
punished for it--he, poor chap, who has been aware all his life that one
of the principal recreations of the police, out toward the Gold Refinery,
is to look on with tranquil enjoyment while the butchers of Brannan
Street set their dogs on unoffending Chinamen, and make them flee for
their lives.
--[I have many such memories in my mind, but am thinking just at present
of one particular one, where the Brannan Street butchers set their dogs
on a Chinaman who was quietly passing with a basket of clothes on his
head; and while the dogs mutilated his flesh, a butcher increased the
hilarity of the occasion by knocking some of the Chinaman's teeth down
his throat with half a brick. This incident sticks in my memory with a
more malevolent tenacity, perhaps, on account of the fact that I was in
the employ of a San Francisco journal at the time, and was not allowed to
publish it because it might offend some of the peculiar element that
subscribed for the paper.]
Keeping in mind the tuition in the humanities which the entire "Pacific
coast" gives its youth, there is a very sublimity of incongruity in the
virtuous flourish with which the good city fathers of San Francisco
proclaim (as they have lately done) that "The police are positively
ordered to arrest all boys, of every description and wherever found, who
engage in assaulting Chinamen."
Still, let us be truly glad they have made the order, notwithstanding its
inconsistency; and let us rest perfectly confident the police are glad,
too. Because there is no personal peril in arresting boys, provided they
be of the small kind, and the reporters will have to laud their
performances just as loyally as ever, or go without items.
The new form for local items in San Francisco will now be: "The
ever-vigilant and efficient officer So-and-so succeeded, yesterday
afternoon, in arresting Master Tommy Jones, after a determined
resistance," etc., etc., followed by the customary statistics and final
hurrah, with its unconscious sarcasm: "We are happy in being able to
state that this is the forty-seventh boy arrested by this gallant officer
since the new ordinance went into effect. | 2,560.599822 |
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Produced by David Widger
RICHARD CARVEL
By Winston Churchill
CONTENTS OF THE COMPLETE BOOK
Volume 1.
I. Lionel Carvel, of Carvel Hall
II. Some Memories of Childhood
III. Caught by the Tide
IV. Grafton would heal an Old Breach
V. "If Ladies be but Young and Fair"
VI. I first suffer for the Cause
VII. Grafton has his Chance
Volume 2.
VIII. Over the Wall
IX. Under False Colours
X. The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI. A Festival and a Parting
XII. News from a Far Country
Volume 3.
XIII. Mr. Allen shows his Hand
XIV. The Volte Coupe
XV. Of which the Rector has the Worst
XVI. In which Some Things are made Clear
XVII. South River
XVIII. The Black Moll
Volume 4.
XIX. A Man of Destiny
XX. A Sad Home-coming
XXI. The Gardener's Cottage
XXII. On the Road
XXIII. London Town
XXIV. Castle Yard
XXV. The Rescue
Volume 5.
XXVI. The Part Horatio played
XXVII. In which I am sore tempted
XXVIII. Arlington Street
XXIX. I meet a very Great Young Man
XXX. A Conspiracy
XXXI. "Upstairs into the World"
XXXII. Lady Tankerville's Drum-major
XXXIII. Drury Lane
Volume 6.
XXXIV. His Grace makes Advances
XXXV. In which my Lord Baltimore appears
XXXVI. A Glimpse of Mr. Garrick
XXXVII. The Serpentine
XXXVIII. In which I am roundly brought to task
XXXIX. Holland House
XL. Vauxhall
XLI. The Wilderness
Volume 7.
XLII. My Friends are proven
XLIII. Annapolis once more
XLIV. Noblesse Oblige
XLV. The House of Memories
XLVI. Gordon's Pride
XLVII. Visitors
XLVIII. Multum in Parvo
XLIX. Liberty loses a Friend
Volume 8.
L. Farewell to Gordon's
LI. How an Idle Prophecy came to pass
LII. How the Gardener's Son fought the Serapis
LIII. In which I make Some Discoveries
LIV. More Discoveries.
LV. The Love of a Maid for a Man
LVI. How Good came out of Evil
LVII. I come to my Own again
FOREWORD
My sons and daughters have tried to persuade me to remodel these memoirs
of my grandfather into a latter-day romance. But I have thought it wiser
to leave them as he wrote them. Albeit they contain some details not of
interest to the general public, to my notion it is such imperfections as
these which lend to them the reality they bear. Certain it is, when
reading them, I live his life over again.
Needless to say, Mr. Richard Carvel never intended them for publication.
His first apology would be for his Scotch, and his only defence is that
he was not a Scotchman.
The lively capital which once reflected the wit and fashion of Europe has
fallen into decay. The silent streets no more echo with the rumble of
coaches and gay chariots, and grass grows where busy merchants trod.
Stately ball-rooms, where beauty once reigned, are cold and empty and
mildewed, and halls, where laughter rang, are silent. Time was when
every wide-throated chimney poured forth its cloud of smoke, when every
andiron held a generous log,--andirons which are now gone to decorate Mr.
Centennial's home in New York or lie with a tag in the window of some
curio shop. The mantel, carved in delicate wreaths, is boarded up, and
an unsightly stove mocks the gilded ceiling. Children romp in that room
with the silver door-knobs, where my master and his lady were wont to sit
at cards in silk and brocade, while liveried blacks entered on tiptoe.
No marble Cupids or tall Dianas fill the niches in the staircase, and the
mahogany board, round which has been gathered many a famous toast and
| 2,560.900963 |
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Produced by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed
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Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A QUEEN OF TEARS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
THE LOVE OF
AN UNCROWNED QUEEN:
SOPHIE DOROTHEA, CONSORT OF GEORGE I.,
AND HER CORRESPONDENCE WITH PHILIP
CHRISTOPHER, COUNT KONIGSMARCK.
NEW AND REVISED EDITION.
_With 24 Portraits and Illustrations._
_8vo., 12s. 6d. net._
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.,
LONDON, NEW YORK AND BOMBAY.
[Illustration:
_Queen Matilda in the uniform of Colonel of the Holstein Regiment of
Guards._
_After the painting by Als, 1770._]
A QUEEN OF TEARS
CAROLINE MATILDA, QUEEN OF
DENMARK AND NORWAY AND
PRINCESS OF GREAT BRITAIN
AND IRELAND
BY
W. H. WILKINS
_M.A._, _F.S.A._
_Author of "The Love of an Uncrowned Queen," and
"Caroline the Illustrious, Queen Consort of George II."_
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1904
CONTENTS
PAGE
CONTENTS v
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS vii
CHAPTER I.
THE TURN OF THE TIDE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE GATHERING STORM 23
CHAPTER III.
THE MASKED BALL 45
CHAPTER IV.
THE PALACE REVOLUTION 63
CHAPTER V.
THE TRIUMPH OF THE QUEEN-DOWAGER 88
CHAPTER VI.
"A DAUGHTER OF ENGLAND" 110
CHAPTER VII.
THE IMPRISONED QUEEN 129
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DIVORCE OF THE QUEEN 149
CHAPTER IX.
THE TRIALS OF STRUENSEE AND BRANDT 177
CHAPTER X.
THE EXECUTIONS 196
CHAPTER XI.
THE RELEASE OF THE QUEEN 216
CHAPTER XII.
REFUGE AT CELLE 239
CHAPTER XIII.
THE RESTORATION PLOT 268
CHAPTER XIV.
THE DEATH OF THE QUEEN 295
CHAPTER XV.
RETRIBUTION 315
APPENDIX.
LIST OF AUTHORITIES 327
INDEX 331
CATALOG
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
QUEEN MATILDA IN THE UNIFORM OF COLONEL OF THE
HOLSTEIN REGIMENT OF GUARDS. (_Photogravure._)
_From a Painting by Als, 1770_ _Frontispiece_
THE ROSENBORG CASTLE, COPENHAGEN _Facing page_ 6
STRUENSEE. _From the Painting by Jens Juel, 1771, now
in the possession of Count Bille-Brahe_ " " 20
ENEVOLD BRANDT. _From a Miniature at Frederiksborg_ " " 38
QUEEN JULIANA MARIA, STEP-MOTHER OF CHRISTIAN VII.
_From the Painting by Clemens_ " " 54
KING CHRISTIAN VII.'S NOTE TO QUEEN MATILDA INFORMING
HER OF HER ARREST " " 74
THE ROOM IN WHICH QUEEN MATILDA WAS IMPRISONED
AT KRONBORG _Page_ 85
COUNT BERNSTORFF _Facing page_ 96
FREDERICK, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF DENMARK, STEP-BROTHER
OF CHRISTIAN VII. " " 108
THE COURTYARD OF THE CASTLE AT KRONBORG. _From | 2,560.901232 |
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Produced by Nicole Apostola, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS
RUSSIAN
MUMU.................BY IVAN TURGENEV
THE SHOT.............BY ALEXANDER POUSHKIN
ST. JOHN'S EVE.......BY NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE..BY LYOF N. TOLSTOI
NEW YORK 1898
CONTENTS
MUMU...................Ivan Turgenev
THE SHOT...............Alexander Poushkin
ST. JOHN'S EVE.........Nikolai Vasilievitch Gogol
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE... Lyof N. Tolstoi
MUMU
BY
IVAN TURGENEV
From "Torrents of Spring." Translated by Constance Garnett.
In one of the outlying streets of Moscow, in a gray house with white
columns and a balcony, warped all askew, there was | 2,560.902399 |
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Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES
THE EXPLOITS OF ELAINE
BY
ARTHUR B. REEVE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE CLUTCHING HAND
II THE TWILIGHT SLEEP
III THE VANISHING JEWELS
IV "THE FROZEN SAFE"
V THE POISONED ROOM
VI THE VAMPIRE
VII THE DOUBLE TRAP
VIII THE HIDDEN VOICE
IX THE DEATH RAY
X THE LIFE CURRENT
XI THE HOUR OF THREE
XII THE BLOOD CRYSTALS
XIII THE DEVIL WORSHIPPERS
XIV THE RECKONING
THE EXPLOITS OF ELAINE
CHAPTER I
THE CLUTCHING HAND
"Jameson, here's a story I wish you'd follow up," remarked the managing
editor of the Star to me one evening after I had turned in an
assignment of the late afternoon.
He handed me a clipping from the evening edition of the Star and I
quickly ran my eye over the headline:
"THE CLUTCHING HAND" WINS AGAIN
NEW YORK'S MYSTERIOUS MASTER CRIMINAL
PERFECTS ANOTHER COUP
CITY POLICE COMPLETELY BAFFLED
"Here's this murder of Fletcher, the retired banker and trustee of the
University," he explained. "Not a clue--except a warning letter signed
with this mysterious clutching fist. Last week it was the robbery of
the Haxworth jewels and the killing of old Haxworth. Again that curious
sign of the hand. Then there was the dastardly attempt on Sherburne,
the steel magnate. Not a trace of the assailant except this same
clutching fist. So it has gone, Jameson--the most alarming and most
inexplicable series of murders that has ever happened in this country.
And nothing but this uncanny hand to trace them by."
The editor paused a moment, then exclaimed, "Why, this fellow seems to
take a diabolical--I might almost say pathological--pleasure in crimes
of violence, revenge, avarice and self-protection. Sometimes it seems
as if he delights in the pure deviltry of the thing. It is weird."
He leaned over and spoke in a low, tense tone. "Strangest of all, the
tip has just come to us that Fletcher, Haxworth, Sherburne and all the
rest of those wealthy men were insured in the Consolidated Mutual Life.
Now, Jameson, I want you to find Taylor Dodge, the president, and
interview him. Get what you can, at any cost."
I had naturally thought first of Kennedy, but there was no time now to
call him up and, besides, I must see Dodge immediately.
Dodge, I discovered over the telephone, was not at home, nor at any of
the clubs to which he belonged. Late though it was I concluded that he
was at his office. No amount of persuasion could get me past the door,
and, though I found out later and shall tell soon what was going on
there, I determined, about nine o'clock, that the best way to get at
Dodge was to go to his house on Fifth Avenue, if I had to camp on his
front doorstep until morning. The harder I found the story to get, the
more I wanted it.
With some misgivings about being admitted, I rang the bell of the
splendid, though not very modern, Dodge residence. An English butler,
with a nose that must have been his fortune, opened the door and
gravely informed me that Mr. Dodge was not at home, but was expected at
any moment.
Once in, I was not going lightly to give up that advantage. I bethought
myself of his daughter, Elaine, one of the most popular debutantes of
the season, and sent in my card to her, on a chance of interesting her
and seeing her father, writing on the bottom of the card: "Would like
to interview Mr. Dodge regarding Clutching Hand."
Summoning up what assurance I had, which is sometimes considerable, I
followed the butler down the hall as he bore my card. As he opened the
door of the drawing room I caught a vision of a slip of a girl, in an
evening gown.
Elaine Dodge was both the ingenue and the athlete--the thoroughly
modern type of girl--equally at home with tennis and tango, table talk
and tea. Vivacious eyes that hinted at a stunning amber brown sparkled
beneath masses of the most wonderful auburn hair. Her pearly teeth,
when she smiled, were marvellous. And she smiled often, for life to her
seemed a continuous film of enjoyment.
Near her I recognized from his pictures, Perry Bennett, the rising
young corporation lawyer, a mighty good looking fellow, with an
affable, pleasing way about him, perhaps thirty-five years old or so,
but already prominent and quite friendly with Dodge.
On a table I saw a book, as though Elaine had cast it down when the
lawyer arrived to call on the daughter under pretense of waiting for
her father. Crumpled on the table was the Star. They had read the story.
"Who is it, Jennings?" she asked.
"A reporter, Miss Dodge," answered the butler glancing superciliously
back at me, "and you know how your father dislikes to see anyone here
at the house," he added deferentially to her.
I took in the situation at a glance. Bennett was trying not to look
discourteous, but this was a call on Elaine and it had been
interrupted. I could expect no help from that quarter. Still, I fancied
that Elaine was not averse to trying to pique her visitor and
determined at least to try it.
"Miss Dodge," I pleaded, bowing as if I had known them all my life,
"I've been trying to find your father all the evening. It's very
important."
She looked up at me surprised and in doubt whether to laugh or stamp
her pretty little foot in indignation at my stupendous nerve.
She laughed. "You are a very brave young man," she replied with a
roguish look at Bennett's discomfiture over the interruption of the
tete-a-tete.
There was a note of seriousness in it, too, that made me ask quickly,
"Why?"
The smile flitted from her face and in its place came a frank earnest
expression which I later learned to like and respect very much. "My
father has declared he will eat the very next reporter who tries to
interview him here," she answered.
I was about to prolong the waiting time by some jolly about such a
stunning girl not having by any possibility such a cannibal of a
parent, when the rattle of the changing gears of a car outside told of
the approach of a limousine.
The big front door opened and Elaine flung herself in the arms of an
elderly, stern-faced, gray-haired man. "Why, Dad," she cried, "where
have you been? I missed you so much at dinner. I'll be so glad when
this terrible business gets cleared up. Tell--me. What is on your mind?
What is it that worries you now?"
I noticed then that Dodge seemed wrought-up and a bit unnerved, for he
sank rather heavily into a chair, brushed his face with his
handkerchief and breathed heavily. Elaine hovered over him
solicit | 2,561.005333 |
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[Illustration: VISCOUNT MILNER
The new British War Secretary in succession to Lord Derby. He had been a
member of the War Cabinet since its creation in December, 1916
(_Central News_)]
[Illustration: GENERAL SIR W. R. MARSHALL
Commander in Chief of the British forces in Mesopotamia
(_Central News_)]
[Illustration]
CURRENT HISTORY
_A Monthly Magazine of The New York Times_
Published by The New York Times Company, Times Square, New York, N. Y.
Vol. VIII.
Part I.
No. 3
June, 1918
25 Cents a Copy
$3.00 a Year
[Illustration]
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED 381
BATTLES IN PICARDY AND FLANDERS 389
THE GREATEST BATTLE OF THE WAR, By Philip Gibbs 398
America's Sacrifice, By Harold Begbie 410
AMERICAN SOLDIERS IN BATTLE 411
Overseas Forces More Than Half a Million 413
American Troops in Central France, By Laurence Jerrold 415
American Shipbuilders Break All Records 418
THIRD LIBERTY LOAN OVERSUBSCRIBED 419
Former War Loans of the United States 421
AMERICAN LABOR MISSION IN EUROPE 424
PROGRESS OF THE WAR 426
GERMAN LOSSES ON ALL FRONTS 431
GREAT BRITAIN'S FINANCES 432
TRADE AFTER THE WAR 434
FINLAND UNDER GERMAN CONTROL 438
Peace Treaty Between Finland and Germany 445
GERMAN AGGRESSION IN RUSSIA 449
MORE BOLSHEVIST LEGISLATION, By Abraham Yarmolinsky 455
LITHUANIA'S EFFORTS TOWARD AUTONOMY, By A. M. Martus 458
THE RAID ON ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND 460
GERMAN U-BOAT CLAIMS: Address by Admiral von Capelle 467
The Admiral's Statements Attacked 469
The Month's Submarine Record 470
A Secret Chapter of U-Boat History 471
SEA-RAIDER WOLF AND ITS VICTIMS 473
Career and Fate of the Raider Seeadler 476
TREATMENT OF BRITISH PRISONERS: Official Report 479
American Prisoners Exploited 484
THE TOTAL DESTRUCTION OF RHEIMS, By G. H. Perris 485
The Abomination of Desolation, By Dr. Norman Maclean 486
LLOYD GEORGE AND GENERAL MAURICE 488
THE NEW BRITISH SERVICE ACT 491
British Aid to Italy: General Plumer's Report 492
EMPEROR CHARLES'S "DEAR SIXTUS" LETTER 494
THE ISSUES IN IRELAND: Report of the Irish Convention 496
Greatest Gas Attack of the War 504
PLUCKY DUNKIRK By Anna Milo Upjohn 505
GERMANY'S ATTEMPT TO DIVIDE BELGIUM 511
STRIPPING BELGIAN INDUSTRIES: The Rathenau Plan 516
Spoliation of Belgian Churches: Cardinal Mercier's Protest 523
Belgium's Appeal to the Bolsheviki 525
SERBIA'S HOPES AND RUSSIA'S DEFECTION By Nicholas Pashitch 526
RUMANIA'S PEACE TREATY 529
Summary of the Peace of Bucharest 531
Bessarabia Voluntarily United to Rumania 535
THE WAR AND THE BAGDAD RAILWAY By Dr. Morris Jastrow 536
LICHNOWSKY'S MEMORANDUM 539
Full Text of von Jagow's Reply 541
German Comments on von Jagow's Views 545
Germany's Long Plotting for Domination By H. Charles Woods 548
THE EUROPEAN WAR AS SEEN BY CARTOONISTS: 31 Cartoons 551
ROTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS
VISCOUNT MILNER _Frontis_
GENERAL SIR W. R. MARSHALL "
CHARLES M. SCHWAB 394
JOHN D. RYAN 395
STAFF OFFICERS WITH PERSHING 410
LEADERS IN WAR ACTIVITIES 411
BARON STEPHAN BURIAN 426
LEADERS IN IRISH CONTROVERSY 427
BRITISH WAR LEADERS 458
FRENCH AND AMERICAN TANKS 459
AMERICAN REGIMENT IN FRANCE 474
FRENCH CHATEAU IN RUINS 475
MARCHING TO THE FRONT 506
HARVARD REGIMENT IN BOSTON 507
TRAFALGAR SQUARE IN WARTIME 522
TYPICAL SCENE IN FLANDERS 523
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED
[PERIOD ENDED MAY 19, 1918.]
SUMMARY OF WAR ACTIVITIES
Four weeks of comparative calm on the western front intervened after the
furious fighting that had continued throughout the preceding month. The
Germans made several desperate efforts to smash their way through the
British lines to the channel ports, but they failed. The British and
French lines stood firm as granite, and the enemy suffered frightful
losses. The battle lines remained practically unchanged.
From the English Channel to the Adriatic there was complete union of the
British, French, American, and Italian forces under a single command;
these forces, including reserves, were estimated at 6,000,000 men. No
military event of importance occurred on the other fronts, though the
British made some further advances in Palestine and Mesopotamia.
In political matters the month brought events of more importance, chief
of which was the renewal of an alliance between Germany and Austria;
this was accomplished at a meeting of the Emperors.
The acceleration of troop movements from the United States to France was
a feature of the month, the estimate for the four weeks running as high
as 150,000; it was semi-officially stated that in April, 1918, more than
500,000 American soldiers were in France, and that by Jan. 1, 1919,
there would be 1,500,000 of our fighting men at the front, with 500,000
more at transportation, supply, and civil work; the speeding up of
shipbuilding and other war work was significant. The Third Liberty Loan
aggregated more than $4,000,000,000, with 17,000,000 subscribers,
proving a brilliant success. The President by proclamation extended
enemy alien restrictions to women also. A bill was passed enabling the
President to consolidate and co-ordinate executive bureaus, thus giving
him extraordinary executive powers. The sedition law was strengthened. A
new commercial agreement was made with Norway.
In Great Britain the chief event was the triumph of the Premier over a
military group that tried to overthrow his Ministry. There was a
recrudescence of the spirit of rebellion in Ireland. In France the
conviction of the Bonnet Rouge editors on a charge of treason deepened
confidence in the stability of the Government. The German penetration of
Russia continued, and all the evidence indicated that the country was
coming under Teutonic control, economically, industrially, and
financially. The humiliating peace forced on Rumania was ratified, and
the country passed practically under German and Austrian domination.
The month's record of enemy U-boat losses strengthened faith that this
menace was being eliminated and that new allied tonnage would exceed
losses in increasing ratio from May 1, 1918.
The chief naval event was the daring British raid on the German
submarine bases at Zeebrugge and Ostend; the channel at the first named
port was blocked, and the harbor entrance at Ostend, by means of a
second raid, was partially blocked, resulting in a serious hampering of
submarine operations. The Italians penetrated Pola Harbor, May 14, with
a small torpedo boat and sank a 20,000-ton Austrian dreadnought.
SINN FEIN PLOT FRUSTRATED
During the night of May 18 the British authorities in Ireland suddenly
arrested at their homes about 500 of the leading Sinn Feiners on the
charge of having treasonable communication with the German enemy. Among
those arrested were the Sinn Fein members of Parliament, also the
conspicuous Irish agitators and irreconcilables, both men and women. A
proclamation was issued by the Lord Lieutenant declaring that a
conspiracy with Germany had been discovered, calling upon all loyal
Irishmen to assist in suppressing it, and urging voluntary enlistments.
It was believed that this prompt action had prevented a contemplated
uprising, which was being aided by German spies. Comparative calm
followed the arrests.
FOCH'S ARMY COMPRISES ALL RACES OF EARTH
It seems certain that never in the world's history were so many
different races, peoples, and tongues united under the command of a
single man as are now gathered together in the army of Generalissimo
Foch. If we divide the human races into White, Yellow, Red, and Black,
all four are largely represented. Among the white races there are
Frenchmen, Italians, Portuguese, English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish,
Canadians, Australians, South Africans, (of both British and Dutch
descent,) New Zealanders; in the American Army, probably every other
European nation is represented, with additional contingents from those
already named, so that every branch of the white race figures in the
ethnological total. There are representatives of many Asiatic races,
including not only the volunteers from the native States of India, but
elements from the French colony in Cochin China, with Annam, Cambodia,
Tonkin, Laos, and Kwang Chau Wan. England and France both contribute
many African tribes, including Arabs from Algeria and Tunis, Senegalese,
Saharans, and many of the South African races. The red races of North
America are represented in the armies of both Canada and the United
States, while the Maoris, Samoans, and other Polynesian races are
likewise represented. And as, in the American Army, there are men of
German, Austrian, and Hungarian descent, and, in all probability,
contingents also of Bulgarian and Turkish blood, it may be said that
Foch commands an army representing the whole human race, united in
defense of the ideals of the Allies. The presence, among Foch's
strategic reserves, of 250,000 Italian soldiers is peculiarly
interesting, as no Italian force at all comparable to this in numbers
seems ever to have operated on French soil, though French armies have
again and again fought in Italy. During the early wars of Napoleon this
was the case, and again in 1859, when the battles of Magenta and
Solferino gave names to two new shades of red. In 1870 also there were
French troops in Rome; their withdrawal, in the Summer of that year,
opened the way for the final union of Italy.
MEETING OF THE GERMAN AND AUSTRIAN EMPERORS
The German and Austrian Emperors held a consultation at German Great
Headquarters on May 12 to discuss future relations between the two
empires. Emperor Karl was accompanied by Foreign Minister Burian, Field
Marshal von Arz, Chief of the General Staff, and Prince Hohenlohe,
Austrian Ambassador at Berlin. Germany was represented by Imperial
Chancellor von Hertling, Field Marshal von Hindenburg, General
Ludendorff, Foreign Secretary von Kuehlmann, and Count von Wedel,
Ambassador at Vienna.
According to an official statement issued in Berlin, all the fundamental
political, economic, and military questions affecting present and future
relations were thoroughly discussed, and "there was complete accord on
all these questions, tending to deepen the existing alliance." In many
quarters the impression prevailed that the result of the meeting
was to define and recognize formally the subservient relations of
Austria-Hungary toward the German Empire. The State Department at
Washington made public a report based upon indications given by the
Berlin newspapers that the agreement made at the meeting concerned three
points:
1. The duration of the alliance was fixed for twenty-five years.
2. Germany and Austria-Hungary are to sign a military convention
imposing upon each much stricter military obligations than did the
preceding treaty.
3. The economic relations will be regulated so as to realize the
plan of Mitteleuropa.
A solution of the Polish question was also arrived at, according to a
newspaper statement published in Berlin, on the lines of complete union
between Austria-Hungary and Poland. Another message said that the German
and Austrian Emperors had selected monarchs for Poland, Lithuania,
Courland, and Esthonia. It was officially stated that no actual treaty
was signed.
One of the most interesting subsequent revelations was that King Ludwig
of Bavaria and King Frederick August of Saxony were also present at the
meeting at German Great Headquarters. Some of the reports represented
these two monarchs as having been present uninvited.
THE PRINCE SIXTUS LETTER
Arthur J. Balfour, British Secretary of Foreign Affairs, replying to
inquiries in the House of Commons, May 16, stated that Emperor Karl's
peace letter to Prince Sixtus, which had been received while Mr. Balfour
was in America, was
a private letter written by Emperor Charles to a relative (Prince
Sixtus of Bourbon) and conveyed by him to President Poincare and the
French Premier under seal of the strictest secrecy, but with no
permission to communicate it to any one except the Sovereign and
Premier of this country, [Great Britain.] The letter was
communicated to the French and English Premiers under these pledges.
He stated that he had no secrets from President Wilson, and added:
"Every thought I have on the war or on the diplomacy connected with the
war is as open to President Wilson as to any other human being." He
declared that he regarded the Sixtus letter as not a peace effort, but a
manoeuvre to divide the Allies. He declared that they were not fighting
for "a bigger Alsace-Lorraine than in 1870," and added:
If any representative of any belligerent country desires seriously
to lay before us any proposals we are ready to listen to them.
Lord Robert Cecil, Minister of Blockade, in the same debate, after
indorsing the preceding statement of Mr. Balfour, added this reference
to Russia:
We have no quarrel with Russia at all. On the contrary, with the
Russian people we have always desired to be on the closest possible
terms of friendship. We are anxious to do all we can to support and
assist the Russian people to preserve Russia as a great country, not
only now, but in the period after the war.
Lord Robert denied that Great Britain had any quarrel with the
Bolsheviki over their domestic policy, saying:
That is a matter for Russia, and Russia alone; we have no other
desire than to see Russia great, powerful, and non-German.
ATTACKS ON HOSPITAL SHIPS
The British Admiralty issued an official announcement on May 1, stating
that it was considered proved conclusively that the British hospital
ship Guildford Castle was attacked by a German submarine in the Bristol
Channel, March 10, and narrowly escaped destruction. At the time the
Guilford Castle was carrying 438 wounded soldiers and flying a Red
Cross flag of the largest size with distinguishing marks distinctly
illuminated. The attack occurred at 5:35 P. M., in clear weather. Two
torpedoes were fired. In evidence of attacks on hospital ships the
British Admiralty quotes the following extracts from the German official
message, sent through the German wireless stations on April 24, 1918:
With respect to the results of the submarine war for the month of
march, the Deutsche Tageszeitung says: "Lloyd George and Geddes
falsify the losses of ships plying in the military service (?
ignoring) so-called naval losses, auxiliary cruisers, guard ships,
_hospital ships_, and very probably also troop transports and
munition steamers, that is to say, precisely that shipping space
_which is particularly exposed to and attacked by the U-boats_.
TWO MORE LATIN-AMERICAN REPUBLICS ALIGNED AGAINST GERMANY
On April 22, 1918, the National Assembly of Guatemala declared that that
republic occupied the same position toward the European belligerents as
did the | 2,561.097887 |
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[Illustration: Birds in Winter]
The
“LOOK ABOUT YOU”
Nature Study Books
BY
THOMAS W. HOARE
TEACHER OF NATURE STUDY
to the Falkirk School Board and Stirlingshire County Council
BOOK III.
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
16 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
AND EDINBURGH
_Printed by M‘Farlane & Erskine, Edinburgh._
PREFACE.
This little book should be used as a simple guide to the practical study
of Nature rather than as a mere reader.
Every lesson herein set down has, during the author’s many years’
experience in teaching Nature Study, been taught by observation and
practice again and again; and each time with satisfactory result. The
materials required for most of the lessons—whether they be obtained | 2,561.098004 |
2023-11-16 18:59:45.1847560 | 2,571 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV. AND OF THE REGENCY
Being the Secret Memoirs of the Mother of the Regent,
MADAME ELIZABETH-CHARLOTTE OF BAVARIA, DUCHESSE D'ORLEANS.
BOOK 2.
Philippe I., Duc d'Orleans
Philippe II., Duc d'Orleans, Regent of France
The Affairs of the Regency
The Duchesse d'Orleans, Consort of the Regent
The Dauphine, Princess of Bavaria.
Adelaide of Savoy, the Second Dauphine
The First Dauphin
The Duke of Burgundy, the Second Dauphin
Petite Madame
SECTION VIII.--PHILIPPE I., DUC D'ORLEANS.
Cardinal Mazarin perceiving that the King had less readiness than his
brother, was apprehensive lest the latter should become too learned; he
therefore enjoined the preceptor to let him play, and not to suffer him
to apply to his studies.
"What can you be thinking of, M. la Mothe le Vayer," said the Cardinal;
"would you try to make the King's brother a clever man? If he should be
more wise than his brother, he would not be qualified for implicit
obedience."
Never were two brothers more totally different in their appearance than
the King and Monsieur. The King was tall, with light hair; his mien was
good and his deportment manly. Monsieur, without having a vulgar air,
was very small; his hair and eye-brows were quite black, his eyes were
dark, his face long and narrow, his nose large, his mouth small, and his
teeth very bad; he was fond of play, of holding drawing-rooms, of eating,
dancing and dress; in short, of all that women are fond of. The King
loved the chase, music and the theatre; my husband rather affected large
parties and masquerades: his brother was a man of great gallantry, and I
do not believe my husband was ever in love during his life. He danced
well, but in a feminine manner; he could not dance like a man because his
shoes were too high-heeled. Excepting when he was with the army, he
would never get on horseback. The soldiers used to say that he was more
afraid of being sun-burnt and of the blackness of the powder than of the
musket-balls; and it was very true. He was very fond of building.
Before he had the Palais Royal completed, and particularly the grand
apartment, the place was, in my opinion, perfectly horrible, although in
the Queen-mother's time it had been very much admired. He was so fond of
the ringing of bells that he used to go to Paris on All Souls' Day for
the purpose of hearing the bells, which are rung during the whole of the
vigils on that day he liked no other music, and was often laughed at for
it by his friends. He would join in the joke, and confess that a peal of
bells delighted him beyond all expression. He liked Paris better than
any other place, because his secretary was there, and he lived under less
restraint than at Versailles. He wrote so badly that he was often
puzzled to read his own letters, and would bring them to me to decipher
them.
"Here, Madame," he used to say, laughing, "you are accustomed to my
writing; be so good as to read me this, for I really cannot tell what I
have been writing." We have often laughed at it.
He was of a good disposition enough, and if he had not yielded so
entirely to the bad advice of his favourites, he would have been the best
master in the world. I loved him, although he had caused me a great deal
of pain; but during the last three years of his life that was totally
altered. I had brought him to laugh at his own weakness, and even to
take jokes without caring for them. From the period that I had been
calumniated and accused, he would suffer no one again to annoy me; he had
the most perfect confidence in me, and took my part so decidedly, that
his favourites dared not practise against me. But before that I had
suffered terribly. I was just about to be happy, when Providence thought
fit to deprive me of my poor husband. For thirty years I had been
labouring to gain him to myself, and, just as my design seemed to be
accomplished, he died. He had been so much importuned upon the subject
of my affection for him that he begged me for Heaven's sake not to love
him any longer, because it was so troublesome. I never suffered him to
go alone anywhere without his express orders.
The King often complained that he had not been allowed to converse
sufficiently with people in his youth; but taciturnity was a part of his
character, for Monsieur, who was brought up with him, conversed with
everybody. The King often laughed, and said that Monsieur's chattering
had put him out of conceit with talking. We used to joke Monsieur upon
his once asking questions of a person who came to see him.
"I suppose, Monsieur," said he, "you come from the army?"
"No, Monsieur," replied the visitor, "I have never joined it."
"You arrive here, then, from your country house?"
"Monsieur, I have no country house."
"In that case, I imagine you are living at Paris with your family?"
"Monsieur, I am not married."
Everybody present at this burst into a laugh, and Monsieur in some
confusion had nothing more to say. It is true that Monsieur was more
generally liked at Paris than the King, on account of his affability.
When the King, however, wished to make himself agreeable to any person,
his manners were the most engaging possible, and he won people's hearts
much more readily than my husband; for the latter, as well as my son, was
too generally civil. He did not distinguish people sufficiently, and
behaved very well only to those who were attached to the Chevalier de
Lorraine and his favourites.
Monsieur was not of a temper to feel any sorrow very deeply. He loved
his children too well even to reprove them when they deserved it; and if
he had occasion to make complaints of them, he used to come to me with
them.
"But, Monsieur," I have said, "they are your children as well as mine,
why do you not correct them?"
He replied, "I do not know how to scold, and besides they would not care
for me if I did; they fear no one but you."
By always threatening the children with me, he kept them in constant fear
of me. He estranged them from me as much as possible, but he left me to
exercise more authority over my elder daughter and over the Queen of
Sicily than over my son; he could not, however, prevent my occasionally
telling them what I thought. My daughter never gave me any cause to
complain of her. Monsieur was always jealous of the children, and was
afraid they would love me better than him: it was for this reason that he
made them believe I disapproved of almost all they did. I generally
pretended not to see this contrivance.
Without being really fond of any woman, Monsieur used to amuse himself
all day in the company of old and young ladies to please the King: in
order not to be out of the Court fashion, he even pretended to be
amorous; but he could not keep up a deception so contrary to his natural
inclination. Madame de Fiennes said to him one day, "You are in much
more danger from the ladies you visit, than they are from you." It was
even said that Madame de Monaco had attempted to give him some violent
proofs of her affection. He pretended to be in love with Madame de
Grancey; but if she had had no other lover than Monsieur she might have
preserved her reputation. Nothing culpable ever passed between them; and
he always endeavoured to avoid being alone with her. She herself said
that whenever they happened to be alone he was in the greatest terror,
and pretended to have the toothache or the headache. They told a story
of the lady asking him to touch her, and that he put on his gloves before
doing so. I have often heard him rallied about this anecdote, and have
often laughed at it.
Madame de Grancey was one of the most foolish women in the world. She
was very handsome at the time of my arrival in France, and her figure was
as good as her face; besides, she was not so much disregarded by others
as by my husband; for, before the Chevalier de Lorraine became her lover,
she had had a child. I knew well that nothing had passed between
Monsieur and Grancey, and I was never jealous of them; but I could not
endure that she should derive a profit from my household, and that no
person could purchase an employment in it without paying a douceur to
her. I was also often indignant at her insolence to me, and at her
frequently embroiling me with Monsieur. It was for these reasons, and
not from jealousy, as was fancied by those who knew nothing about it,
that I sometimes sharply reprimanded her. The Chevalier de Lorraine,
upon his return from Rome, became her declared lover. It was through his
contrivances, and those of D'Effiat, that she was brought into the house
of Monsieur, who really cared nothing about her. Her continued
solicitations and the behaviour of the Chevalier de Lorraine had so much
disgusted Monsieur, that if he had lived he would have got rid of them
both.
He had become tired of the Chevalier de Lorraine because he had found out
that his attachment to him proceeded from interested motives. When
Monsieur, misled by his favourites, did something which was neither just
nor expedient, I used to say to him, "Out of complaisance to the
Chevalier de Lorraine, you put your good sense into your pocket, and
button it up so tight that it cannot be seen."
After my husband's death I saw Grancey only once; I met her in the
garden. When she ceased to be handsome, she fell into utter despair;
and so great a change took place in her appearance that no one would have
known her. Her nose, before so beautiful, grew long and large, and was
covered with pimples, over each of which she put a patch; this had a very
singular effect; the red and white paint, too, did not adhere to her
face. Her eyes were hollow and sunken, and the alteration which this had
caused in her face cannot be imagined. In Spain they, lock up all the
ladies at night, even to the septuagenary femmes de chambre. When
Grancey followed our Queen to Spain as dame d'atour, she was locked up in
the evening, and was in great grief about it.
When she was dying, she cried, "Ah, mon Dieu, must I die, who have never
once thought of death?"
She had never done anything but sit at play with her lovers until five or
six o'clock in the morning, feast, and smoke tobacco, and follow
| 2,561.204796 |
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Transcriber's Note
Dagger symbols are shown as a + sign. A female/Venus symbol occurs
once (+ sign with a circle on top), and is noted as | 2,562.501741 |
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Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland, Music transcribed by
June Troyer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. III. MAY, 1883. NO. 8.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_, J. H. Vincent, D. D., Plainfield, N. J.
_General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.
_Office Secretary_, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.
_Counselors_, Lyman Abbott, | 2,562.501889 |
2023-11-16 18:59:46.6838010 | 1,437 | 27 |
E-text prepared by David Clarke, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
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file which includes the original illustrations.
See 27683-h.htm or 27683-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h/27683-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h.zip)
THE WORLD I LIVE IN
* * * * *
HELEN KELLER
"The autobiography of Helen Keller is
unquestionably one of the most remarkable records
ever published."--_British Weekly._
"This book is a human document of intense
interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
the history of literature."--_Yorkshire Post._
"Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
full of practical interest in all sides of life,
literary, artistic and social, records an
extraordinary victory over physical
disabilities."--_Times._
"This book is a record of the miraculous. No one
can read it without being profoundly touched by
the patience and devotion which brought the blind,
deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
without being filled with wonder at the quick
intelligence which made such communication with
the outside world possible."--_Queen._
_Illustrated, price 7s. 6d._
POPULAR EDITION, _net, 1s._
The Story of My Life
By HELEN KELLER
* * * * *
The Practice of Optimism
_Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s._
* * * * *
LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, E.C.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
Helen Keller in Her Study]
THE WORLD I LIVE IN
by
HELEN KELLER
Author of "The Story of My Life," Etc.
Illustrated
Hodder and Stoughton
London New York Toronto
Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.
TO
HENRY H. ROGERS
MY DEAR FRIEND OF
MANY YEARS
PREFACE
The essays and the poem in this book appeared originally in the "Century
Magazine," the essays under the titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
and Sensibility," and "My Dreams." Mr. Gilder suggested the articles,
and I thank him for his kind interest and encouragement. But he must
also accept the responsibility which goes with my gratitude. For it is
owing to his wish and that of other editors that I talk so much about
myself.
Every book is in a sense autobiographical. But while other
self-recording creatures are permitted at least to seem to change the
subject, apparently nobody cares what I think of the tariff, the
conservation of our natural resources, or the conflicts which revolve
about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer to reform the education system of
the world, my editorial friends say, "That is interesting. But will you
please tell us what idea you had of goodness and beauty when you were
six years old?" First they ask me to tell the life of the child who is
mother to the woman. Then they make me my own daughter and ask for an
account of grown-up sensations. Finally I am requested to write about my
dreams, and thus I become an anachronical grandmother; for it is the
special privilege of old age to relate dreams. The editors are so kind
that they are no doubt right in thinking that nothing I have to say
about the affairs of the universe would be interesting. But until they
give me opportunity to write about matters that are not-me, the world
must go on uninstructed and unreformed, and I can only do my best with
the one small subject upon which I am allowed to discourse.
In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not intend to set up as a poet. I
thought I was writing prose, except for the magnificent passage from Job
which I was paraphrasing. But this part seemed to my friends to separate
itself from the exposition, and I made it into a kind of poem.
H. K.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE SEEING HAND 3
CHAPTER II
THE HANDS OF OTHERS 19
CHAPTER III
THE HAND OF THE RACE 33
CHAPTER IV
THE POWER OF TOUCH 45
CHAPTER V
THE FINER VIBRATIONS 63
CHAPTER VI
SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL 77
CHAPTER VII
RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES 95
CHAPTER VIII
THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD 103
CHAPTER IX
INWARD VISIONS 115
CHAPTER X
ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION 129
CHAPTER X
BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN 141
CHAPTER XII
THE LARGER SANCTIONS 153
CHAPTER XIII
THE DREAM WORLD 169
CHAPTER XIV
DREAMS AND REALITY 195
CHAPTER XV
A WAKING DREAM 209
A CHANT OF DARKNESS 229
ILLUSTRATIONS
HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY _Frontispiece_
THE MEDALLION _Facing page_ 22
"LISTENING" TO THE TREES " " 70
THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR " " 120
THE SEEING HAND
I
THE SEEING HAND
I HAVE just touched my dog. He was rolling on the grass, with pleasure
in every muscle and limb. I wanted to catch a picture of him in my
fingers, and I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs; but lo, his
fat body revolved, stiffened and solidified into an upright position,
and his tongue gave my hand a lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
were fain to crowd himself into my hand. He loved it with his tail, with
his paw, with his tongue. If he could speak, I believe | 2,562.703841 |
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[Illustration: Frontispiece THE TWO WAYS.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DOWN THE SNOW STAIRS;
OR,
FROM GOOD-NIGHT TO GOOD-MORNING.
BY ALICE CORKRAN,
Author of “Margery Merton’s Girlhood,” etc., etc.
WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY GORDON BROWNE.
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
----------
CHAP. PAGE
I. Christmas Eve 1
II. Kitty and Johnnie 17
III. Down the Snow Stairs 34
IV. Naughty Children Land 48
V. “To Daddy Coax’s House” 67
VI. Daddy Coax 85
VII. On the Other Side of the 112
Stream
VIII. Pictures in the Fog 122
IX. Love Speaks 151
X. In the Wood 162
XI. Kitty Dances with Strange 177
Partners
XII. “Eat or Be Eaten” 192
XIII. Play-Ground, and After 206
XIV. “I and Myself” 215
XV. Was it Johnnie’s Face? 229
XVI. At the Gate 242
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
----------
PAGE
The Two Ways FRONTISPIECE.
Restless Kitty 1
Johnnie and His Art Treasures 5
The Snow-Man 16
Down the Wide Staircase 16
Kitty’s Tears 22
Sliding Down the Balusters 28
The Snow-Man Visits Kitty 35
Following the Snow-Man 39
The Drollest Creature 40
Kitty and the Elf 45
Broken Toy Land 49
A Dismal Chorus 51
“A black creature glared at 54
her”
A Disagreeable Acquaintance 56
Little Cruel-Heart 61
A Good Fight 64
The Song of the Sillies 69
“I am not vain” 73
A Jam-Tart Too Many 78
Kitty and Daddy Coax 87
A Lively Wig 89
Sweetening the Fury 95
All Jam and No Powder 98
Little Spitfire 100
The Fight for the Flute 108
The Shadow of the Rod 111
“Peering out of the mist” 114
The White-Robed Stranger 119
Entangled in the Web 123
The Tramp of Weary Feet 126
Ice-Children 130
The Right One to Kick 133
A Hard Lesson 139
“Oh, to be hungry again!” 141
Faces! Faces!—a World of 145
Faces!
The Cry for the Kiss 152
Kitty’s Guardian Child 155
Kitty’s Naughty-Self Goblin 161
The Hanging Dwarf 166
Goblin Sloth 169
“Real yawning” 172
“At one bound she sprang 176
across”
The Frog-Like One 178
Step, Wriggle, and Bow 181
The Little Courtiers 185
Kitty’s Musings 188
Apple-Pie Corner 193
The Boy with the Suetty Voice 199
Struggling Onward 204
I and Myself 217
Mr. Take-care-of-himself 220
“A <DW36> like Johnnie” 226
A Merry Game 232
The Goblin Crew 236
Out of the Mist 241
At the Locked Gate 244
The Mist of Punishment Land 248
Home Again 251
“It is a secret” 254
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
CHRISTMAS EVE.
TOSS! toss! from one side to the other; still Kitty could not sleep.
The big round moon looked in at the window, for the curtain had not been
drawn, and it made a picture of the window on the wall opposite, and
showed the pattern on the paper; nosegays of roses, tied with blue
ribbon; roses and knots of blue ribbon; like no roses Kitty had ever
seen, and no blue ribbon she had ever bought.
Toss! toss! toss! she shut her eyes not to see the picture of the window
on the wall or the roses and the blue ribbon, yet she could not go to
sleep. It was always toss! toss! from one side to the other.
It was Christmas Eve, and outside the world was white with snow.
“It had been a dreadful day,” Kitty said to herself. “The last nine days
had been dreadful days, and this had been the dreadfulest of all.”
Her brother Johnnie was very ill; he was six years old, just two years
younger than herself; but he was much smaller, being a tiny <DW36>.
Next to her mother Kitty loved him more than anybody in the whole world.
All through those “dreadful” nine days she had not been allowed to see
him. She had many times knelt outside his door, and listened to his
feeble moan, but she had not been permitted to enter his room.
That morning she had asked the doctor if she could see Johnnie, as it
was Christmas Eve. The doctor had shaken his head and patted her hair.
“He must not be excited; he is still very ill. If he gets better after
to-night—then—perhaps!” he said.
She had overheard what he whispered to Nurse. “To-night will decide; if
he pulls through to-night.”
All day Kitty had thought of those words.
“To-night, if he pulls through to-night.” What did they mean? did they
mean that Johnnie might die to-night?
She had waited outside Johnnie’s room; but her mother had said, “No; you
cannot go in;” and Nurse had said, “You will make Johnnie worse if you
stand about, and he hears your step.”
Kitty’s heart was full of misery. “It was unkind not to let me in to see
Johnnie,” she said again and again to herself. She loved him so much!
She loved him so much! Then there was a “dreadful” reason why his
illness was worse for her to bear than for any one else. Kitty
remembered that ten days ago there had been a snow-storm; when the snow
had ceased she had gone out and made snowballs in the garden, and she
had asked her mother if Johnnie might come out and make snow-balls also.
“On no account,” her mother had answered; “Johnnie is weak; if he caught
a cold it would be very bad for him.”
Kitty remembered how the next morning she had gone into the meadow
leading out of the garden. There the gardener had helped her to make a
snow-man; and they had put a pipe into his mouth. She had danced around
the snow-man, and she had longed for Johnnie to see it.
Kitty remembered how she had run indoors and found Johnnie sitting by
the fire in his low crimson chair, his tiny crutch beside him, his
paint-box on the little table before him. He was painting a yellow sun,
with rays all round it.
It was Johnnie’s delight to paint. He would make stories about his
pictures; he told those stories to Kitty only. They were secrets. He
kept his pictures in an old tea-chest which their mother had given him,
and it had a lock and key. Johnnie kept all his treasures there—all his
little treasures, all his little secrets. They were so pretty and so
pitiful! They were his tiny pleasures in life. Johnnie was painting
“Good Children Land” and “Naughty Children Land.” Good Children Land he
painted in beautiful yellow gamboge; Naughty Children Land in black
India ink.
[Illustration]
Kitty in her bed to-night seemed to see the whole scene, and to hear her
own and Johnnie’s voices talking. She had rushed in, and Johnnie had
looked up, and he had begun to tell her the story of his picture.
“Look, Kitty!” he had said; “this is the portrait of the naughtiest
child, the very, very naughtiest that ever was; and he has come into
Good Children Land—by mistake, you know. Look! he has furry legs like a
goat, and horns and a tail, just because he is so naughty; but he is
going to become good. I will paint him getting good in my next picture.”
Kitty remembered how she had just glanced at the picture; “the
naughtiest child that ever was” looked rather like a big blot with a
tail, standing in front of the yellow sun. But she had been so full of
the thought of the snow-man that she had begun to speak about him at
once.
“Oh, Johnnie!” she had said, skipping about first on one foot, then on
the other. “The gardener and I have made such a snow-man. He’s as big as
the gardener, and ever so much fatter; and he’s got hands, but no legs,
only a stump, you know; and we’ve put a pipe into his mouth.”
[Illustration: THE SNOW-MAN.—Page 6.]
At this description Johnnie’s eyes had sparkled, and he had cried, “Oh!
I wish I could see him!”
Then she had gone on to say, still skipping about: “He has two holes for
his eyes, and they seem to look at me; and his face is as round as a
plate; he just looks like the man in the moon smoking a pipe.”
This description had roused Johnnie’s excitement, and he had stretched
an eager little hand toward his crutch.
“Please take me to see him! please take me to see him!” he had
entreated.
Kitty remembered that she had hesitated. “I am afraid it would give you
a cold,” she had said, looking at Johnnie with her head on one side.
“I shall put on my hat and comforter,” Johnnie had replied, grasping his
crutch.
Still, she remembered, she had hesitated.
Her mother had said, “Johnnie must not go out in the snow.” But then
Kitty had thought: “The sun is shining; and it will be for a moment
only.” She did so long for Johnnie to see the snow-man, and he wished it
so much. She remembered she had thought: “It can do him no harm just for
a moment.”
She had helped Johnnie on with his overcoat, and wrapped his comforter
round him, and put on his hat, and together they had gone out. There was
no one in the hall, or on the stairs; they had gone out unobserved.
Johnnie had not a notion he was disobeying his mother. His tiny crutch
danced merrily along with a muffled thud in the snow. He swung his small
body as he hopped along; and he laughed as he looked round on the
glistening white garden. So brisk and joyous was his laugh that Kitty
had thought it was like the crow of a little cock. When Johnnie saw the
snow-man he shouted a feeble hurrah! and he laughed more and more
merrily as Kitty danced about and pelted the snow-man with snow-balls.
Kitty remembered how she had gone on dancing awhile. Then all at once
she noticed that Johnnie looked pinched and blue. She had run up to him,
just in time to catch him as he was falling; his arm had lost its power,
and his crutch had dropped. She had held him tight; but he looked so
pale and thin that she thought he was going to die. Her screams had
brought the gardener to the rescue, and Johnnie had been carried
indoors. That night Johnnie’s illness had begun, and ever since the
doctor had come twice a day.
Kitty had never been able to tell any one of the load that had been
weighing on her heart during those nine “dreadful days.” Once she had
tried to say it to her mother; but she burst into such a fit of sobbing
that the words refused to come. No one had reproached her for having
taken Johnnie out, no one had even mentioned it to her; but she knew it
was she who had brought all this suffering on him. She who loved him so
much! she who loved him so much!
As she was thinking of all this a voice sounded by her bedside; it said:
“Now, missy dear, you must not take on so. You must not fret. Look what
old cooksie-coaxy has brought you—a mince-pie—a big—beautiful
mince-pie—all for missy—alone.”
It was cook who had stolen softly into the room. She was a fat,
good-natured soul, and she spoilt Kitty terribly. All during that sad
week cook had petted her, giving her cakes and sweets. She had kept
assuring Kitty she was the dearest, best little girl in the
world—“Cooksie-coaxy’s little angel-darling, and that Johnnie would soon
get quite well.”
This sympathy had sometimes been very agreeable to Kitty, and she had
accepted it and the sweet things it brought gratefully; but at other
times she had repelled it, feeling angry with cook for saying what was
not true only to please her.
Now Kitty buried her face deeper in the pillow, stopped her ears, and
waved away cook and the mince-pie with an impatient elbow.
“Go away! go away!” she cried. “You spoil me; mamma says you spoil me. I
would not be so naughty if you did not spoil me.”
Cook continued to hold out the mince-pie, but Kitty would not look
round.
“Go away! go away!” she repeated.
Poor cook departed, leaving the mince-pie on a chair by Kitty’s bed. As
she reached the door she looked round, and murmured: “Poor little dear,
she doesn’t mean to be unkind to old cooksie-coaxy.”
Toss! toss! went Kitty again as soon as she was left alone. She had
never been so wakeful.
It was as if some little creature was sitting on her pillow and talking
to her. It was not a real voice; it was her memory that was wide awake.
“You have teased Johnnie,” it said. “He is so helpless. And how often
when he has asked for his treasures you have brought him rulers, books,
all sorts of things he did not want. Did you see the gush of tears in
his eyes when you continued to tease, and when you ceased, the grateful,
forgiving little lips put up to kiss you?”
As Kitty listened she tossed about even more restlessly.
Presently the voice that was her memory went on again: “There was that
peach last summer; your mother gave it you to share with Johnnie. You
gave him the smaller half; you kept the bigger one for yourself.”
Kitty tried not to hear, but the voice went on speaking: “How often you
have run out to amuse yourself and left him pining alone. Do you
remember that day when the Punch and Judy man brought his show into the
garden, how impatient you were? Tap! tap! his eager little crutch could
scarcely follow you. You dropped his hand suddenly and he fell to the
ground. What a piteous, helpless little heap he looked. He could not
raise himself; but when you lifted him he stroked your cheek and said:
‘Never mind, Kitsie,’ and he never told. Do you remember how pale he
looked all day, as if he were in pain?”
Kitty could not bear listening to that voice any longer, so she sat up
in bed. And there, on the wall opposite, there seemed written in the
moonlight what the doctor had said: “If he pulls through to-night.”
Did it mean that Johnnie might die to-night?
She must see Johnnie—she must. She would be so gentle, so good. If he
would only get well again she would never tease him again—she would
never be impatient—she would always be good to him. She would put aside
all her money and buy | 2,562.70487 |
2023-11-16 18:59:46.7811960 | 7,436 | 25 |
Produced by Shaun Pinder, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE KINGDOM OF THE YELLOW ROBE
[Illustration: "THE SHRINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WATERS."--PAKNAM.
_Page 30._]
THE KINGDOM OF THE
YELLOW ROBE
BEING SKETCHES OF THE DOMESTIC AND
RELIGIOUS RITES AND CEREMONIES
OF THE SIAMESE
BY
ERNEST YOUNG
Late of the Education Department, Siam.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. A. NORBURY, R.C.A.
(Late Director of the Royal School of Art,
Bangkok, Siam)
And from Photographs by the Author.
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & Co
1898
PREFACE
The following pages are intended to present to the reader an account
of the domestic and religious rites and ceremonies of the Siamese.
They are the outcome of several years' residence in the Capital of
Siam. In order to verify some of my own observations or to amplify
some points with regard to which my own knowledge was rather scanty,
I have consulted most of the books which in recent years have been
published concerning the country of Siam. I am particularly indebted
to the works of two writers whose knowledge was both wide and deep;
viz., H. Alabaster, whose "Wheel of the Law" deals with Siamese
Buddhism; and Captain Gerini, whose various monographs on domestic
or religious customs are full of valuable and reliable information
concerning their misty origin and meaning. I must also acknowledge
my indebtedness to "The Siam Repository" (a weekly paper long since
extinct, but whose pages are a treasure-house of information to
the enquirer), and to my friend Mr. R. L. Morant for much helpful
criticism and advice.
The illustration "Planting out young Rice" is from a sketch in the
possession of Mrs. Smith, of Tarrawatta, Beckenham, who has kindly
lent it for the purpose of illustrating this book.
The following five illustrations are also from sketches, kindly lent
by E. Lloyd Williams, Esq., of James St., Buckingham Gate.
"Offering Rice to the Priests."
"Making Curry."
"Ploughing a Rice-field."
"Collecting ripe Grain."
"Rice Boats coming down the Menam."
E. Y.
_Chingford_, 1898.
CONTENTS
_Page_
_Preface_ ix
CHAPTER I. STREET SCENES IN THE VENICE OF THE EAST 1
" II. BY KHLONG AND RIVER 25
" III. THE CHILDREN 44
" IV. THE SHAVING OF THE TOP-KNOT 64
" V. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 85
" VI. DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS 103
" VII. DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS (_continued_) 125
" VIII. POPULAR AMUSEMENTS 147
" IX. OUTSIDE THE CAPITAL 171
" X. THE CULTIVATION OF RICE 196
" XI. LAWS AND LEGISLATION 218
" XII. CEREMONIES FOR THE DYING AND THE DEAD 235
" XIII. THE ORDER OF THE YELLOW ROBE 251
" XIV. AMONG THE TEMPLES 272
" XV. AMONG THE TEMPLES (_continued_) 297
" XVI. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES 316
" XVII. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_) 338
" XVIII. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_) 358
" XIX. A PILGRIMAGE TO PRABAT 375
" XX. THE ELEPHANTS 388
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Page_
THE SHRINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WATERS. (_Frontispiece._) vi
A SCAVENGER 3
THE CURRY VENDOR 6
THE KEROSINE DEALER 10
THE THREE HEADED GATE. (_Full page._) 15
A GHARRY 23
RICE BOATS COMING DOWN THE MENAM 27
A LIGHTER 31
SIAMESE CANOES 33
CHINESE TRADING JUNK 36
"CAN I GIVE YOU A LIFT, REVEREND FATHERS?" 40
MOTHER AND CHILD 58
MOUNT KAILASA AS ERECTED FOR THE HAIR CUTTING CEREMONIES
OF H.R.H. THE CROWN PRINCE OF SIAM. (_Full page._) 81
A CHINESE MERCHANT 97
A SIAMESE TEAKWOOD HOUSE. (_Full page._) 106
MAKING CURRY 119
STEAMING RICE 123
A RICKSHAW 135
LAYING WAGERS ON FIGHTING FISH. (_Full page._) 151
A WRITER OF LOTTERY TICKETS 155
FACES FROM A SIAMESE THEATRE 165
PREPARING RATTAN FOR CHAIR-MAKING 172
FISHING LUGGER 174
FISHING BOATS AT THE BAR 177
KHLONG NEAR PETCHABOORREE. (_Full page._) 181
A BUFFALO CART. (_Full page._) 185
A SIAMESE BULLOCK CART 189
THE SWINGING FESTIVAL. (_Full page._) 197
COLLECTING RIPE GRAIN. (_Full page._) 199
A SIAMESE RICE PLOUGH. (_Full page._) 203
PLANTING OUT YOUNG RICE--FOOT OF KORAT HILLS 206
PLOUGHING A RICE FIELD 208
BUFFALOES RETURNING FROM THE RICE FIELDS. (_Full page._) 215
A ROYAL FUNERAL PROCESSION. (_Full page._) 237
THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL 245
PRIEST AND ATTENDANT 255
OFFERING RICE TO THE PRIEST 264
A VILLAGE TEMPLE. (_Full page._) 275
SALA IN A JUNGLE CLEARING. (_Full page._) 279
TEMPLE BELL TOWER. (_Full page._) 291
WAT CHANG, BANGKOK. (_Full page._) 299
THE SLEEPING BUDDHA. (_Full page._) 309
THE FESTIVAL OF KAW PRASAI. (_Full page._) 319
WAT CHANG AT SUNSET. (_Full page._) 345
PRABAT HILLS FROM NEAR AYUTHIA. (_Full page._) 379
TO
MY WIFE
THE KINGDOM
OF THE YELLOW ROBE.
CHAPTER I.
STREET SCENES IN THE VENICE OF THE EAST.
Bangkok, the Venice of the East, was not the Capital of Siam during
the earlier period of that country's history. Formerly the seat of
government was at Ayuthia; but the ancient capital is now a heap of
ruined temples and dwellings, an attraction for travellers, but of
little importance to the people themselves. At the time when this
mouldering city was the home of the Sovereign, a man of Chinese origin
was sent to govern one of the northern provinces of the country.
He is known in Siamese history as Phya Tak, and was a man of great
administrative ability. When the invading armies of Burmah, in their
triumphant march through Siam, reached the neighbourhood of the
ancient capital, Phya Tak was sent for by the king, to aid him with
his counsel and strength. His reputation as a brave and powerful
warrior secured for him his appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the
Siamese army. Mustering all the available forces of the kingdom, he
set out to do battle with the enemy. It was hoped that he would
utterly rout the invading army, and so free the land from its powerful
enemies. But when the valiant Tak came in sight of the foe, he was
not long in realising that any attack that might be made by his small
army against the much greater numbers of the Burmese, could only end
in his utter defeat. He promptly fled with all his own retainers,
and with as many of the soldiers as cared to follow him, to the port
of Chantaboon. Here he leagued himself with all the fighting men and
chiefs of the neighbouring provinces, and finally collected an army
of about ten thousand men. He supported himself and his soldiers by
robbing and pillaging all the villages along the coast.
[Illustration: A SCAVENGER.]
The Burmese, carrying with them many captives, and much treasure
of gold and silver gained at the sack of Ayuthia in 1767, at last
returned once more to their own land. Then Phya Tak came north again,
and on the spot where the Regent's palace now stands, built himself
a home and proceeded to found the walled city of Bangkok. Having
accomplished this work, he several times defeated the Burmese, then
re-organised some form of administration and caused himself to be
acknowledged as king of the land. Associated with him in all his
adventures and successes was a close personal friend and confidential
adviser. This man was of noble birth and vigorous character, and it
was to his counsel and assistance that the new sovereign owed much
of his success. Soon after the king had completed his great work of
re-organisation he unfortunately became insane. The priests brought
against him accusations of sacrilege and impiety, and tried to stir
the people to revolt. He was extremely unpopular on account of the
heavy taxes he had levied on the wealthier classes, as also for the
extreme cruelty with which he had treated all ranks of his subjects.
Stimulated both by the exhortations of the priests, and by the
oppressive treatment to which they were daily subjected, the citizens
of the new capital at length rose in rebellion. Their sovereign fled
from his angry subjects and took refuge in a neighbouring monastery,
where he donned the yellow robe and declared himself a priest. This
declaration saved his life for a short time, but soon after his flight
he was put to death by his favourite friend and general, who then
followed the promptings of his ambition and the suggestions of his
fellow-noblemen, in assuming the royal robes and crown. He called
himself Somdetch Pra Boroma Rahcha Pra Putta Yaut Fah, and became the
first king of the present dynasty. It is with the fall of Ayuthia,
the rise of these two usurpers, and the founding of Bangkok that the
authentic history of Siam commences. A period of about one hundred
and forty years comprises the limits within which the chief facts
of Siamese history can be substantiated. Bishop Pallegoix, compiled
from native annals an account of Siam and its people, extending back
to a very remote period; but His Majesty the late King has somewhat
lessened one's confidence in these annals by declaring that they are
"all full of fable, and are not in satisfaction for believe."
The city which was thus founded by Phya Tak, has ever since remained
the chief home of the sovereign, and the seat of government. It is now
one of the most interesting of Oriental towns. From the break of day
till scorching noon, from scorching noon till the first cool breeze
of evening, from sunset until midnight, and from then on through the
small hours of the morning, the busy streets of Siam's capital present
a never ending procession of curious and picturesque scenes. With the
first faint glimmer of light in the east, the life of the city begins.
The approach of day is heralded with the sonorous voices of the huge
gongs that are being vigorously beaten by the official welcomer of the
dawn, in a turret within the walls of the Royal Palace. The cocks,
who have crowed the whole night through with troublesome persistency,
greet the rising of the sun in notes both long and shrill, as if they
were trying to impress upon their hearers the belief that they have
but just awakened from the profoundest of slumbers. The bull-frog
croaks his surly good morning. The pariah dogs howl or bark with an
amount of vigour and determination, that shows that they too are
anxious to contribute their share to the combination of discordant
sounds, that forms a fitting prelude to the noise and bustle of the
coming day.
It is not to be supposed that the wealthier members of Siamese society
rise at this early hour. As a matter of fact, they have but recently
retired to rest, and will not appear again either for business or
pleasure until the sun has crossed the meridian. All the business
of the State, and all the pleasures of Society are conducted in the
cool hours of evening, night, or early morning, while during the
broiling heat that comes and goes with the daylight, officialdom
sleeps and rests. It is an excellent arrangement. The lower classes,
however, are soon awake and astir. First to arise are the Chinese
inhabitants. Here, as everywhere in the East, the subjects of the
Celestial Empire have found their way, and, by their untiring energy
and their wonderful adaptability to all changes of custom, life, and
government, have managed to establish themselves so securely that any
attempt to dislodge them would, if successful, be fatal to the best
interests of the country. They live and die in the same atmosphere of
superstition that surrounded them at their birth. No matter to what
country their industry and enterprise may lead them, they never forget
during their daily toil to give frequent evidence of their keen faith
in the supernatural. Their first act on rising in the morning is to
explode a number of noisy fire-crackers in every doorway, to dispel
the crowds of evil spirits, who, during the dark hours of the night
may have congregated round their thresholds with intent to do them
harm. In the swarms of buzzing flies and stinging mosquitoes there are
innumerable emissaries of the powers of ill, and these the noise and
smoke effectually disperse for a brief interval. So that the daily
practice of one superstitious custom is not without its immediate if
temporary effect upon the well-being of its devout observers.
[Illustration: THE CURRY VENDOR.]
The shops and workshops are open in front to the street on account of
the intense tropical heat. There is no difficulty whatever in seeing
and hearing every native dealer or craftsman as he pursues his daily
employment. The foot-lathe of the woodturner, rude but efficient,
whirls busily round, scattering its chips into the street; the barber
sharpens his razors, sets his pans and chairs at the edge of the
roadway in view of every passer-by, and prepares to shave a head
or trim a pig-tail; and the idol-maker spreads his gold and silver
leaf upon representations of Buddha made in wood or plaster after a
strictly orthodox and ancient pattern.
Numerous Buddhist priests in robes of yellow, saffron or orange,
pace slowly along with alms-bowls of wood or brass, receiving their
daily food from the believers in their ancient faith. Their garments
borrow new hues from the lately risen sun, and stand out in vivid
and picturesque relief against the more sober tints of the roads and
dwellings. The itinerant curry-vendor wastes no time in preparing his
unsavoury messes, and is soon busy trying to dispose of them to the
passers-by. A pole slung over his shoulder, bears at one end a small
earthenware stove with a supply of charcoal and water. At this end
he cooks, to order, the various delicacies suspended from the other
end of the pole. The water in the pot is drawn from the nearest canal
or stagnant pool and is almost a meal in itself. For a farthing you
may purchase a bowl of rice, which is warmed in the boiling water
while you wait. Another farthing will provide you with a number of
attendant luxuries in the form of very fiery pepper or very strong
and unhealthy smelling vinegar. The basis of the curry may be frog
or chicken, stale meat, fermented fish, decayed prawn, or one of a
thousand articles of equally evil taste and pungent odour. Most things
are either cooked or re-warmed for the purchaser by the simple plan
of suspending them in a sieve inside the pot of boiling water. The
same pot and the same water serve for all customers alike, so that the
hundredth hungry individual gets for his farthing, not only all that
he bargains for, but various tastes of the other delicacies that his
predecessors at the counter have elected to buy. No charge is made
for the use of the china basin which has not been washed since the
last man used it, or for the loan of the leaden or earthenware spoons,
or a couple of chopsticks. Neither the proprietor of this strolling
restaurant nor the force of public opinion demand that these articles
be used, and for many, fingers take the place of either chopsticks or
spoons.
"Isa-kee! Isa-kee!" It is a queer sound when you hear it for the first
time. A Chinaman comes staggering along the road, carrying two heavy
pails at the ends of the usual bamboo pole. He bawls in long, loud,
nasal tones, "Isa-kee! Isa-kee!" The man is wet with the perspiration
that streams down his bare yellow body and soaks the cloth round his
loins, that forms his only clothing. Presently, crowds of little boys,
dressed in even less than the noisy vendor, collect round him and
purchase with avidity the strange-looking mess denominated "isa-kee."
He collects the coppers, and places them in a small leather purse,
tied round his waist with a bit of string, there to lie in company
with a little rank, black tobacco, or opium, until time will permit
him to lose them in the maddening excitement of the gambling
dens. "Isa-kee" is the vendor's reproduction of the English word
"ice-cream", though there is little resemblance between the commodity
he disposes of with such extraordinary rapidity, and the fashionable
European delicacy whose name it has borrowed. A more truthful name and
description of the article sold in the streets of Bangkok, would be
"ice-mud." It is apparently a concoction of dirty water, half-frozen
slush, and sugar. Being cold and sweet it is a favourite sweetmeat
with the native children, and the ice-cream merchant may generally
be found doing a roaring trade outside the different schools during
playtime. When ice itself was first introduced to the Siamese by
the European residents, they promptly coined for it the short and
expressive name of "hard-water." It is amusing to hear the little ones
exclaim as they swallow the frozen fluid, "Golly! How it _burns_!"
As far as the casual observer can judge, in this capital of Siam
there are no Siamese engaged in any hard manual labour at all. There
are of course, many Siamese employed in various kinds of domestic or
official work, but in the streets nearly every workman is Chinese.
There are nearly as many Chinese in the country as there are Siamese.
They marry Siamese women, and their children make excellent subjects,
as they possess both the natural brightness of the mother and the
industry of the father. Unless they renounce their own nationality
they are subject to a poll-tax of about five or six shillings, payable
once every four years. At a date made known by proclamation, each
Chinaman must present himself at the police-station and pay the tax.
The receipt given is a small piece of bee's-wax about the size of a
three-penny piece. This bears a seal, and is worn on the wrist for a
certain time, fastened by a piece of string. The police are very busy
at this time, as there is nothing the Siamese policeman so much enjoys
as leading some unfortunate Chinaman to pay the tax. Should the seal
be lost, the alien is bound to buy another as soon as he is requested
by some officer of the law.
[Illustration: THE KEROSINE DEALER.]
Carpenters, blacksmiths, butchers, bakers and scavengers are all
Chinese. It is a Chinaman who sits all through the heat of the day,
under a tent made of an old sheet supported by a central bamboo pole,
displaying an array of strange-looking liquids, placed in thick
glass tumblers in a long row. Great lumps of vermicelli float in the
blue, green, red, or yellow liquids, presenting the appearance of
curious anatomical specimens preserved in spirits. It is a
Chinaman who hawks about great pails of slimy, black jelly having the
consistency and colour of blacking, but said to be extremely palatable
with coarse brown sugar. The men who are watering the roads with
wooden buckets fitted with long bamboo spouts; the men who sweep the
roads, and mend them; the coolies in the wharves; the clerks in the
offices; the servants in the hotels and houses: are all subjects of
"The Lord of the Vermilion Pencil."
No Siamese pulls a rickshaw, though he frequently rides in one. The
Chinese are the beasts of burden as far as the Bangkok rickshaw is
concerned. This vehicle, as seen in Siam is a very sorry-looking
object, bearing only a distant resemblance to those met with in every
Eastern port from Colombo to Yokohama. Nowhere do you ever find such
dilapidated rickety structures as those that the coolies pull through
the streets of this city. A new one would be a veritable curiosity.
When the rickshaws of Singapore and Hong-kong have reached a condition
of extreme old age, and are so broken down that the authorities in
those ports refuse to grant them licences any longer, they are sent on
to Bangkok, where no licences are required. There the poorer classes
use them freely, and there too are they as often used for the removal
of household furniture, or the transportation of pigs, as they are
for the carriage of passengers. The coolies tear through the streets,
regardless of anyone's comfort or safety except their own; though, be
it said, that they never resent the cut of a driver's whip when some
coachman thus forcibly reminds them which is the right side of the
road.
Pigs are not always allowed the luxury of riding in rickshaws. They
are more usually transported in a far less comfortable fashion.
Their two front feet are tied together, and then their hind feet are
similarly fastened. A stout piece of wood is passed under the two
loops thus formed, and the pig is carried by two men, each bearing one
end of the pole. The animals generally object very strongly to this
form of motion, and signify their disgust, and perhaps their pain,
by the most heart-rending, ear-piercing shrieks. Thus another set of
discordant sounds is added to the medley that roars from morning to
night.
The rickshaw was borrowed from Japan; the "gharry" has been imported
from India. It is a square box-like structure, the upper half being
fitted with sliding windows similar to those in the door of a London
four-wheeler. These windows, when open, admit of a free circulation
of air, and they can easily be closed to keep out either rain, dust,
or sun, at the will of the passenger. The sliding window-frames are
always badly fitted, and they rattle and shake with such a terribly
deafening noise, that two people sitting side by side, are compelled
to shout when they wish to address each other. Riding in these
coaches gives one the sensation of being a kind of marble inside a
gigantic rattle-box that is being vigorously shaken for the driver's
amusement. The majority of the gharries are not in a very much better
condition than the rickshaws. The harness is generally made of rope
or string, instead of leather, and even if a leather strap or trace
is visible, it is nearly always in two or three pieces temporarily
connected with string. At very short intervals of time and space, the
driver is compelled to descend and repair as best he can the broken
connections. These drivers are chiefly Siamese or Malays, and so many
of them have adopted the red Turkish fez as a head-dress, that it can
safely be taken as the badge of coachmen. In fine weather both Malay
and Siamese drivers wear their own national costumes, but should it
rain, they promptly divest themselves of every stitch of clothing
except a cloth round the loins. They place their garments in a box
under the seat, and drive about in a state of almost perfect nudity
until the sun reappears and dries them with his rays, when they once
more clothe themselves in their native apparel.
The "omnibus" is a variation of the English one, with extensive and
important modifications. It is of local construction, and without
springs. It consists of a long shallow box on four wheels. A rickety
roof is supported by equally rickety pillars, and serves to keep out
the sun and rain. Omnibuses are very popular amongst the poor, on
account of their exceedingly low fares, several miles being travelled
for a few cents. Every kind of vehicle is crowded to its fullest
capacity. A rickshaw will ordinarily hold two; you may often see four
or five in one. A gharry should carry four, but by crowding inside and
piling one person on top of the other, with the addition of a couple
hanging on behind, one on each door-step, and one on each hub of the
wheels, a whole family manages to get conveyed to its destination by
means of a single conveyance. Omnibuses are similarly crowded and
packed, to an extent which is only possible on account, first, of
the absence of any law to prevent it, and secondly, of the genial
good-temper of the natives themselves.
Klings and Tamils from Southern India have introduced the bullock
cart as a convenient method of carrying heavy goods. These Indian
settlers are the bullock drivers, the dairymen, and the owners of
cattle. They export a large number of lean bullocks to Singapore and
the Malay Archipelago, where they are subsequently fattened to feed
the residents. The value of the animals thus exported, is about two
hundred and forty thousand Mexican dollars annually.
An electric tramway, and bicycles of the most modern construction,
tell their own tale of the way in which European influences are making
themselves felt in this land. The only real Siamese land carriage is a
curious buffalo cart. It is rarely seen in the streets of the capital,
as its peculiar form and construction fit it more particularly for
traffic through the jungle.
[Illustration: THE THREE-HEADED GATE.
_Page 22._]
The varied colours of the different costumes worn by the members of
many nationalities, form a strikingly bright and cheerful picture.
Blue being the colour of every Chinaman's work-a-day clothing, is at
once a conspicuous and pleasant tint. It is only during the three
days' festivities that usher in the Celestial New Year, that the
wearers of the pig-tail disport themselves in any other colour.
During those three days, however, they are adorned with the richest
of heliotrope, lavender, pale blue, green or yellow silks. In the
intervals between successive New Years these gorgeous garments are
safely deposited in the pawnshops. The various shades of yellow and
brown that predominate in every crowd, are not the result of the
dyer's art, but the effect of the hot bright sunlight upon the bare
bodies of those who go uncovered. The same bright light intensifies
the whiteness of the European linen jackets, now adopted by so many
Siamese in lieu of the gaily scarf that formerly was the
only clothing worn on the upper part of the body. Even now most of
the women wind a long sash of some vivid hue round the breast, thus
forming a cheerful band of colour against the whiteness of the jacket.
In every crowd may be seen not only Siamese and Chinese, but Sikhs in
scarlet turbans, Burmese in yellow and pink, Malays in gaudy sarongs,
Laos in dark striped petticoats; as well as Annamese, Klings, Tamils
and Japanese, each of whom is ever dressed in the garb that centuries
of custom have defined as his own particular method of clothing his
nakedness. When to the effect of all these pleasing colours, is
added the happy merriment of thousands of faces that have never yet
experienced the fierce struggle for existence that characterises the
life of the poor of the West, a scene is realised which is nowhere to
be met with except in the sun-kissed lands of the East.
In the licensed gambling-houses there is always a little crowd of
excited men and women, who, when they have lost their trifling
earnings, speedily proceed to the pawnshops with any article of
clothing or furniture that is not absolutely indispensable to their
existence. When their own property has all been squandered they take
that belonging to other people, thus producing an endless succession
of daily thefts. The city is full of pawnshops, some streets
containing scarcely any other form of business. It is in these places
that the Europeans hunt for their frequently stolen property, or
search for the curios that are afterwards presented to friends or sold
to museums at home.
The numbers of civil, genial postmen in their yellow kharki uniforms
faced with red, and carrying big Japanese umbrellas under their arms,
are sufficiently numerous and busy to testify to the efficiency of
this branch of the Civil Service. Most of the policemen are Siamese,
but their appearance is always a decided contrast to that of the
neatly clad postmen. Their uniforms, made of blue cloth, are intended
to be reproductions of those worn by their London brethren. But as
they are made of a cloth that rapidly shrinks and fades, a caricature
rather than an imitation is the result. They are partial to umbrellas,
roll their trousers above their knees, wear no shoes, and seem to
revel in the possession of battered helmets. There is nothing whatever
in their bearing that is characteristic of authority, neither are they
men of great stature or commanding strength. Yet they seldom meet with
any resistance in the exercise of their duties, and it is a common
sight to see a puny-looking policeman leading three or four natives to
the police-station, each prisoner being merely fastened by the arm to
the one behind, with his own scarf or pocket-handkerchief.
So many of the native houses with their quaint gables and double or
triple roofs have been pulled down, and brick ones of European pattern
erected instead, that scarcely any purely native street remains. The
one truly native quarter is a long narrow bazaar known as Sampeng. It
is about a mile and a quarter in length, and contains a very mixed
population of Indians, Siamese, and Chinese. It resembles somewhat
a street in Canton, but lacks the wealth of elaborately carved and
gilded sign-boards, that gives such a decidedly local atmosphere to
a purely Chinese street. Stretched overhead, from side to side, are
pieces of torn cloth and matting, that act quite as effectively in
keeping out the sun as in imprisoning that awful combination of foul
odours that seems to be the possession of all Oriental thoroughfares.
The small gutter which runs in front of each house is full of stagnant
water or of the accumulated domestic rubbish of the people who dwell
by its side. This long narrow bazaar, however, is not without its own
attractions. Here are gathered together specimens of all the native
produce, and here too work a few exponents of each of the native
crafts. Blacksmiths and weavers are plying their several trades;
workers in gold and silver are fashioning boxes and ornaments for the
rich, and the lapidaries are polishing stones for the jewellers to
set. Peep-shows and open-air theatres tempt the idle to linger, and
numbers of busy toilers jostle each other as they make their way to
and fro over the uneven, roughly paved foot-path. At night, the shops
are closed, but the gambling-houses, opium dens, and brothels are
thronged by the lowest of the low. At one end of the bazaar is the
chief idol manufactory of the country. The thousands of temples that
are scattered all over Siam, require a large stock of images; and the
devout are frequent donors of representations of Buddha, of values
proportionate to their means. Most of the | 2,562.801236 |
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| 2,563.406048 |
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Produced by David Schwan
A SKETCH OF THE CAUSES, OPERATIONS AND RESULTS OF THE SAN FRANCISCO
VIGILANCE COMMITTEE IN 1856
By Stephen Palfrey Webb
1874
Stephen Palfrey Webb was born in Salem on March 20, 1804, the son of
Capt. Stephen and Sarah (Putnam) Webb. He was graduated from Harvard
in 1824, and studied law with Hon. John Glen King, after which he
was admitted to the Essex Bar. He practiced law in Salem, served as
Representative and Senator in the Massachusetts Legislature, and was
elected Mayor of Salem in 1842, serving three years. He was Treasurer of
the Essex Railroad Company in the late forties.
About 1853, he went to San Francisco, where he resided several years,
serving as Mayor of that city in 1854 and 1855. It was during this time
that he witnessed the riotous mobs following the Gold Rush of 1849, and
upon his return Salem made notes for a lecture, which he delivered in
Salem; and later, with many additions, prepared this sketch, probably
about 1874. He was again elected Mayor of Salem, 1860-1862, and City
Clerk, 1863-1870. He died in Salem on September 29, 1879. On May 26,
1834, he married Hannah H. B. Robinson of Salem.
There have been several accounts of the activities of the Vigilance
Committee, but this is firsthand information from one who was on the
ground at the time, and for this reason it is considered a valuable
contribution to the history of those troublous days. It certainly is a
record of what a prominent, intelligent and observing eye-witness saw
regarding this important episode in the history of California. The
original paper is now in the possession of his granddaughter, Mrs.
Raymond H. Oveson of Groton, Massachusetts.
Many of the evils which afflicted the people of San Francisco may be
traced to the peculiar circumstances attendant upon the settlement of
California. The effect all over the world of the discovery of gold at
Sutter's Mill in 1848 was electric. A movement only paralleled by that
of the Crusades at once commenced. Adventurers of every character and
description immediately started for the far away land where gold was to
be had for the gathering. The passage round Cape Horn, which from the
earliest times had been invested with a dreamy horror, and had inspired
a vague fear in every breast, was now dared with an audacity which only
the all absorbing greed for gold could have produced. Old condemned
hulks which, at other times, it would not have been deemed safe to
remove from one part of the harbor to another, were hastily fitted up,
and with the aid of a little paint and a few as deceptive assurances of
the owners, were instantly filled with eager passengers and dispatched
to do battle, as they might, with the storms and perils of the deep
during the tedious months through which the passage extended. The
suffering and distress consequent upon the packing so many human beings
in so confined a space; the miserable quality and insufficient quantity
of the provisions supplied; the weariness and lassitude engendered by
the intolerable length of the voyage; the ill-temper and evil passions
so sure to be roused and inflamed by long and forced companionship
without sympathy or affection, all tended to make these trips, for the
most part, all but intolerable, and in many cases left feelings of hate
and desire for revenge to be afterwards prosecuted to bloody issues.
The miseries generally endured were however sometimes enlivened
and relieved by the most unexpected calls for exertion. A passenger
described his voyage from New York to San Francisco in 1849, in company
with several hundred others in a steamer of small size and the most
limited capacity in all respects, as an amusing instance of working
one's passage already paid for in advance. The old craft went groaning,
creaking, laboring and pounding on for seven months before she arrived
at her destination. Short of provisions, every sailing vessel that
was encountered was boarded for supplies, and almost every port on the
Atlantic and Pacific was entered for the same purpose. Out of fuel,
every few days, axes were distributed, and crew and passengers landed to
cut down trees to keep up steam for a few days longer. He expressed his
conviction that every point, headland, island and wooded tract on the
coast from the Cape to San Francisco had not only been seen by him, but
had resounded with the sturdy blows of his axe during the apparently
interminable voyage. His experience, with the exception of the axe
exercise, was that of thousands.
The extent to which the gold fever had impelled people on shipboard
may be judged by the facts that from the first of January, 1849, five
hundred and nine vessels arrived in the harbor of San Francisco; and the
number of passengers in the same space of time was eighteen thousand,
nine hundred and seventy-two. Previous to this time, one or two ships
in the course of a year found their way through the Golden Gate and
into the beautiful harbor of San Francisco in quest of hides, horns and
tallow, and gave languid employment to two or three Americans settled
on the sand hills, and engaged in collecting these articles of trade and
commerce. In the closing days of 1849, there were ninety-four thousand,
three hundred and forty-four tons of shipping in the harbor. The stream
of immigration moved over the Plains, likewise; and through privation,
fatigue, sickness, and the strife of the elements, passed slowly and
painfully on to the goal of their hopes.
Thus pouring into California in every direction and by every route,
this strange and heterogeneous mass of men, the representatives of every
occupation, honest and dishonest, creditable and disgraceful; of every
people under the sun, scattered through the gulches and ravines in the
mountains, or grouped themselves at certain points in cities, towns and
villages of canons or adobe. Perhaps never in the world's history did
cities spring into existence so instantaneously, and certainly never was
their population so strangely diverse in language, habits and customs.
Of course gamblers of every kind and color; criminals of every shade and
degree of atrocity; knaves of every grade of skill in the arts of fraud
and deceit abounded in every society and place. In these early times
gold was abundant, and any kind of honest labor was most richly and
extravagantly rewarded. The honest, industrious and able men of every
community, therefore, applied themselves strictly to business and would
not be diverted from it by any considerations of duty or of patriotism.
Studiously abstaining from politics; positively refusing to accept
office; shirking constantly and systematically all jury and other public
duty, which, onerous in every community, was doubly so, as they thought,
in that new country, they seemed never to reflect that there was a
portion, and that the worst, of the population, who would take advantage
of their remissness, and direct every institution of society to the
promotion of their own nefarious purposes.
Absorbed in their own pursuits, confident that a short time would enable
them to realize their great object of making a fortune and then leaving
the country, the better portion of the community abandoned the control
of public affairs to whoever might be willing or desirous to assume
it. Of course there was no lack of men who had no earthly objection to
assume all public duties and fill all public offices. Politicians void
of honesty and well-skilled in all the arts of intrigue, whose great end
and aim in life was to live out of the public treasury and grow rich by
public plunder, and whose most blissful occupation was to talk politics
in pot houses and groggeries; men of desperate fortunes who sought
to mend them, not by honest labor, but by opportunities for official
pickings and stealings; bands of miscreants resembling foul and unclean
birds which clamor and fight for the chance of settling down upon and
devouring the body to which their keen scent hag directed them; all were
astir and with but little effort obtained | 2,563.70201 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
TWO ARROWS
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
NEW LARGE-TYPE E | 2,563.702063 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TOLD IN THE COFFEE HOUSE
Told in the Coffee House
Turkish Tales
Collected and done into English
by
CYRUS ADLER AND ALLAN RAMSAY
New York
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1898
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE
In the course of a number of visits to Constantinople, I became much
interested in the tales that are told in the coffee houses. These are
usually little more than rooms, with walls made of small panes of
glass. The furniture consists of a tripod with | 2,563.898642 |
2023-11-16 18:59:47.8814610 | 5,428 | 42 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE SAINT
By Antonio Fogazzaro
Since the condemnation of _The Saint_ by the Congregation of the Index,
the publishers of the authorized translation of this novel feel that, in
justice to its author, Senator Antonio Fogazzaro, they owe to the public
a word of explanation by way of making plain (what the author has in
more than one letter made plain to them) how it comes about that, in
spite of the decree of the Index, the Senator sanctions the appearance
of the book in America. The explanation is found in the fact that the
American publishers secured, before the sentence of the Congregation had
been passed, the sanction for the publication of their translation--a
sanction which the author, as a loyal Catholic, could not have given
later, but which, once it was given, he did not feel justified in
withdrawing.
NEW YORK, July, 1906.
NOTE:
_The Saint_, though it is independent of Fogazzaro's earlier romances,
and though it explains itself completely when read in its entirety,
will perhaps be more readily understood and enjoyed, especially in the
opening chapters, if a few words are said with regard to certain of its
characters who have made an appearance in preceding stories by the
me author. All needful information of this kind is conveyed in the
following paragraph, for which we are indebted to Mrs. Crawford's
article, "The Saint in Fiction," which appeared in _The Fortnightly
Review_ for April, 1906:
"Readers of Fogazzaro's earlier novels will recognise in Piero Maironi,
the Saint, the son of the Don Franco Maironi who, in the _Piccolo Mondo
Antico_, gives his life for the cause of freedom, while he himself is
the hero of the _Piccolo Mondo Moderno_. For those who have not read
the preceding volumes it should be explained that his wife being in a
lunatic asylum, Maironi, artist and dreamer, had fallen in love with
a beautiful woman separated from her husband, Jeanne Dessalle, who
professed agnostic opinions. Recalled to a sense of his faith and his
honour by an interview with his wife, who sent for him on her death-bed,
he was plunged in remorse, and disappeared wholly from the knowledge
of friends and relatives after depositing in the hands of a venerable
priest, Don Giuseppe Flores, a sealed paper describing a prophetic
vision concerning his life that had largely contributed to his
conversion. Three years are supposed to have passed between the close of
the _Piccolo Mondo Moderno_ and the opening of _Il Santo_, when Maironi
is revealed under the name of Benedetto, purified of his sins by a life
of prayer and emaciated by the severity of his mortifications, while
Jeanne Dessalle, listless and miserable, is wandering around Europe
with Noemi d'Arxel, sister to Maria Selva, hoping against hope for the
reappearance of her former lover."
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION (BY WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER)
CHAPTER
I.--LAC D'AMOUR
II.--DON CLEMENTE
III.--A NIGHT OF STORMS
IV.--FACE TO FACE
V.--THE SAINT
VI.--THREE LETTERS
VII.--IN THE WHIRLPOOL OF THE WORLD
VIII.--JEANNE
IX.--IN THE WHIRLWIND OF GOD
Introduction
By William Roscoe Thayer
Author of "The Dawn of Italian Independence"
ANTONIO FOGAZZARO AND HIS MASTERPIECE
I
Senator Fogazzaro, in _The Saint_, has confirmed the impression of
his five and twenty years' career as a novelist, and now, through
the extraordinary power and pertinence of this crowning work, he has
suddenly become an international celebrity. The myopic censors of the
_Index_ have assured the widest circulation of his book by condemning it
as heretical. In the few months since its publication, it has been
read by hundreds of thousands of Italians; it has appeared in French
translation in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ and in German in the
_Hochland_; and it has been the storm centre of religious and literary
debate. Now it will be sought by a still wider circle, eager to see what
the doctrines are, written by the leading Catholic layman in Italy, at
which the Papal advisers have taken fright. Time was when it was the
books of the avowed enemies of the Church--of some mocking Voltaire,
some learned Renan, some impassioned Michelet--which they thrust on the
_Index_; now they pillory the Catholic layman with the largest following
in Italy, one who has never wavered in his devotion to the Church.
Whatever the political result of their action may be, they have made the
fortune of the book they hoped to suppress; and this is good, for _The
Saint_ is a real addition to literature.
Lovers of Italy have regretted that foreigners should judge her
contemporary ideals and literary achievements by the brilliant, but
obscene and degenerate books of Gabriele d'Annunzio. Such books, the
products of disease no matter what language they may be written in,
quickly circulate from country to country. Like epidemics they sweep
up and down the world, requiring no passports, respecting no frontiers,
while benefits travel slowly from people to people, and often lose much
in the passage. D'Annunzio, speaking the universal language--Sin,--has
been accepted as the typical Italian by foreigners who know Carducci
merely as a name and have perhaps never heard of Fogazzaro. Yet it is in
these men that the better genius of modern Italy has recently expressed
itself. Carducci's international reputation as the foremost living poet
in Europe and a literary critic of the first class gains slowly, but
its future is secure. Thanks to the wider circulating medium of fiction,
Fogaz-* *zaro's name is a household word in thousands of Italian
families, and he combines in his genius so many rare and important
strands that the durability of his literary renown cannot be questioned.
II
Antonio Fogazzaro, the most eminent Italian novelist since Manzoni, was
born at Vicenza on March 25th, 1842. He was happy in his parents, his
father, Mariano Fogazzaro, being a man of refined tastes and sound
learning, while his mother, Teresa Barrera, united feminine sweetness
with wit and a warm heart. From childhood they influenced all sides of
his nature, and when the proper time came they put him in charge of a
wise tutor, Professor Zanella, who seems to have divined his pupil's
talents and the best way to cultivate them. Young Fogazzaro, having
completed his course in the classics went on to the study of the law,
which he pursued first in the University of Padua and then at Turin,
where his father had taken up a voluntary exile. For Vicenza, during the
forties and fifties, lay under Austrian subjection, and any Italian
who desired to breathe freely in Italy had to seek the liberal air of
Piedmont.
Fogazzaro received his diploma in due season, and began to practise as
advocate, but in that casual way common to young men who know that their
real leader is not Themis but Apollo. Erelong he abandoned the bar and
devoted himself with equal enthusiasm to music and poetry, for both of
which he had unusual aptitude. Down to 1881 he printed chiefly volumes
of verse which gave him a genuine, if not popular reputation. In that
year he brought out his first romance, _Malombra_, and from time to time
during the past quarter of a century he has followed it with _Daniele
Cortis_, _Il Mistero del Poeta_, _Piccolo Mondo Antico_, _Piccolo Mondo
Moderno_, and finally, in the autumn of 1905, _Il Santo_. This list by
no means exhausts his productivity, for he has worked in many fields,
but it includes the books by which, gradually at first, and with
triumphant strides of late, he has come into great fame in Italy and
has risen into the small group of living authors who write for a
cosmopolitan public.
For many years past Signor Fogazzaro has dwelt in his native Vicenza,
the most honoured of her citizens, round whom has grown up a band of
eager disciples, who look to him for guidance not merely in matters
intellectual or aesthetic, but in the conduct of life. He has conceived
of the career of man of letters as a great opportunity, not as a mere
trade. Nothing could show better his high seriousness than his waiting
until the age of thirty-nine before publishing his first novel, unless
it be the restraint which led him, after having embarked on the career
of novelist to devote four or five years on the average to his studies
in fiction. So his books are ripe, the fruits of a deliberate and rich
nature, and not the windfalls of a mere literary trick. And now the
publication of _The Saint_ confirms all his previous work, and entitles
him, at a little more than threescore years, to rank among the few
literary masters of the time.
III
Many elements in _The Saint_ testify to its importance; but these would
not make it a work of art. And after all it is as a work of art that it
first appeals to readers, who may care little for its religious purport.
It is a great novel--so great, that, after living with its characters,
we cease to regard it as a novel at all. It keeps our suspense on the
stretch through nearly five hundred pages. Will the Saint triumph--will
love victoriously claim its own? We hurry on, at the first reading,
for the solution; then we go back and discover in it another world of
profound interest. That is the true sign of a masterpiece.
In English we have only _John Inglesant_ and _Robert Elsmere_ to compare
it with; but such a comparison, though obviously imperfect, proves
at once how easily _The Saint_ surpasses them both, not merely by
the greater significance of its central theme, but by its subtler
psychology, its wider horizon, its more various contacts with life.
Benedetto, the Saint, is a new character in fiction, a mingling of St.
Francis and Dr. Dollinger, a man of to-day in intelligence, a medieval
in faith. Nothing could be finer than the way in which Signor Fogazzaro
depicts his zeal, his ecstasies, his visions, his depressions, his
doubts; shows the physical and mental reactions; gives us, in a word,
a study in religious morbid psychology--for, say what we will,
such abnormalities are morbid--without rival in fiction. We follow
Benedetto's spiritual fortunes with as much eagerness as if they were a
love story.
And then there is the love story. Where shall one turn to find another
like it? Jeanne seldom appears in the foreground, but we feel from first
to last the magnetism of her presence. There is always the possibility
that at sight or thought of her Benedetto may be swept back from
his ascetic vows to the life of passion. Their first meeting in the
monastery chapel is a masterpiece of dramatic climax, and Benedetto's
temptation in her carriage, after the feverish interview with the
cabinet officer, is a marvel of psychological subtlety. Both scenes
illustrate Signor Fogazzaro's power to achieve the highest artistic
results without exaggeration. This naturalness is the more remarkable
because the character of a saint is unnatural according to our modern
point of view. We have a healthy distrust of ascetics, whose anxiety
over their soul's condition we properly regard as a form of egotism;
and we know how easily the unco' guid become prigs. Fogazzaro's hero is
neither an egotist of the ordinary cloister variety, nor a prig.
That our sympathy goes out to Jeanne and not to him shows that we
instinctively resent the sacrifice of the deepest human cravings to
sacerdotal prescriptions. The highest ideal of holiness which medievals
could conceive does not satisfy us.
Why did Signor Fogazzaro in choosing his hero revert to that outworn
type? He sees very clearly how many of the Catholic practices are what
he calls "ossified organisms." Why did he set up a lay monk as a model
for 20th century Christians who long to devote their lives to uplifting
their fellow-men? Did he not note the artificiality of asceticism--the
waste of energy that comes with fasts and mortification of the flesh and
morbidly pious excitement? When asked these questions by his followers
he replied that he did not mean to preach asceticism as a rule for all;
but that in individual cases like Benedetto's, for instance, it was a
psychological necessity. Herein Signor Fogazzaro certainly discloses his
profound knowledge of the Italian heart--of that heart from which in
its early medieval vigour sprang the Roman religion, with its message
of renunciation. Even the Renaissance and the subsequent period of
scepticism have not blotted out those tendencies that date back more
than a thousand years: so that today, if an Italian is engulfed in a
passion of self-sacrifice, he naturally thinks first of asceticism as
the method. Among Northern races a similar religious experience does
not suggest hair shirts and debilitating pious orgies (except among
Puseyites and similar survivals from a different epoch); it suggests
active work, like that of General Booth of the Salvation Army.
No one can gainsay, however, the superb artistic effects which Signor
Fogazzaro attains through his Saint's varied experiences. He causes to
pass before you all classes of society,--from the poorest peasant of
the Subiaco hills, to duchesses and the Pope himself,--some incredulous,
some mocking, some devout, some hesitating, some spell-bound, in the
presence of a holy man. The fashionable ladies wish to take him up and
make a lion of him; the superstitious kiss the hem of his garment and
believe that he can work miracles, or, in a sudden revulsion, they
jeer him and drive him away with stones. And what a panorama of
ecclesiastical life in Italy! What a collection of priests and monks and
prelates, and with what inevitableness one after another turns the cold
shoulder on the volunteer who dares to assert that the test of religion
is conduct! There is an air of mystery, of intrigue, of secret messages
passing to and fro--the atmosphere of craft which has hung round the
ecclesiastical institution so many, many centuries. Few scenes in modern
romance can match Benedetto's interview with the Pope--he pathetic
figure who, you feel, is in sad truth a prisoner, not of the Italian
Government, but of the crafty, able, remorseless cabal of cardinals who
surround him, dog him with eavesdroppers, edit his briefs, check his
benign impulses, and effectually prevent the truth from penetrating to
his lonely study. Benedetto's appeal to the Pope to heal the four wounds
from which the Church is languishing is a model of impassioned argument.
The four wounds, be it noted, are the "spirit of falsehood," "the spirit
of clerical domination," "the spirit of avarice," and "the spirit of
immobility." The Pope replies in a tone of resignation; he does not
disguise his powerlessness; he hopes to meet Benedetto again--in heaven!
IV
_The Saint_ may be considered under many aspects--indeed, the critics,
in their efforts to classify it, have already fallen out over its real
character. Some regard it as a thinly disguised statement of a creed;
others, as a novel pure and simple; others, as a campaign document (in
the broadest sense); others, as no novel at all, but a dramatic sort of
confession. The Jesuits have had it put on the _Index_; the Christian
Democrats have accepted it as their gospel: yet Jesuits and Christian
Democrats both profess to be Catholics. Such a divergence of opinion
proves conclusively that the book possesses unusual power and that it
is many-sided. Instead of pitching upon one of these views as right
and declaring all the rest to be wrong, it is more profitable to try to
discover in the book itself what grounds each class of critics finds to
justify its particular and exclusive verdict.
On the face of it what does the book say? This is what it says: That
Piero Maironi, a man of the world, cultivated far beyond his kind, after
having had a vehement love-affair is stricken with remorse, "experiences
religion," becomes penitent, is filled with a strange zeal--an ineffable
comfort--and devotes himself, body, heart, and soul to the worship of
God and the succour of his fellow-men. As Benedetto, the lay brother, he
serves the peasant populations among the Sabine hills, or moves on his
errands of hope and mercy among the poor of Rome. Everybody recognises
him as a holy man--"a saint." Perhaps, if he had restricted himself to
taking only soup or simple medicines to the hungry and sick, he would
have been unmolested in his philanthropy; but after his conversion, he
had devoured the Scriptures and studied the books of the Fathers, until
the spirit of the early, simple, untheological Church had poured into
him. It brought a message the truth of which so stirred him that
he could not rest until he imparted it to his fellows. He preached
righteousness,--the supremacy of conduct over ritual,--love as the test
and goal of life; but always with full acknowledgment of Mother
Church as the way of salvation. Indeed, he seems neither to doubt the
impregnability of the foundations of Christianity, nor the validity of
the Petrine corner-stone; taking these for granted he aims to live the
Christian life in every act, in every thought. The superstructure--the
practices of the Catholic Church to-day, the failures and sins of
clerical society, the rigid ecclesiasticism--these he must in loyalty
to fundamental truth, criticise, and if need be, condemn, where they
interfere with the exercise of pure religion. But Benedetto engages very
little in controversy; his method is to glorify the good, sure that the
good requires only to be revealed in all its beauty and charm in order
to draw irresistibly to itself souls that, for lack of vision, have been
pursuing the mediocre or the bad.
Yet these utterances, so natural to Benedetto, awaken the suspicions of
his superiors, who--we cannot say without cause--scent heresy in them.
Good works, righteous conduct--what are these in comparison with blind
subscription to orthodox formulas? Benedetto is persecuted not by an
obviously brutal or sanguinary persecution,--although it might have
come to that except for a catastrophe of another sort,--but by the
very finesse of persecution. The sagacious politicians of the Vatican,
inheritors of the accumulated craft of a thousand years, know too much
to break a butterfly on a wheel, to make a martyr of an inconvenient
person whom they can be rid of quietly. Therein lies the tragedy of
Benedetto's experience, so far at least as we regard him, or as he
thought himself, an instrument for the regeneration of the Church.
On the face of it, therefore, _The Saint_ is the story of a man with a
passion for doing good, in the most direct and human way, who found the
Church in which he believed, the Church which existed ostensibly to do
good according to the direct and human ways of Jesus Christ, thwarting
him at every step. Here is a conflict, let us remark in passing, worthy
to be the theme of a great tragedy. Does not _Antigone_ rest on a
similar conflict between Antigone's simple human way of showing her
sisterly affection and the rigid formalism of the orthodoxy of her day?
V
Or, look next at _The Saint_ as a campaign document, the aspect under
which it has been most hotly discussed in Italy. It has been accepted
as the platform, or even the gospel of the Christian Democrats. Who are
they? They are a body of the younger generation of Italians, among them
being a considerable number of religious, who yearn to put into practice
the concrete exhortations of the Evangelists. They are really carried
forward by that ethical wave which has swept over Western Europe and
America during the past generation, and has resulted in "slumming,"
in practical social service, in all kinds of efforts to improve
the material and moral condition of the poor, quite irrespective of
sectarian or even Christian initiative. This great movement began,
indeed, outside of the churches, among men and women who felt grievously
the misery of their fellow-creatures and their own obligation to do what
they could to relieve it. From them, it has reached the churches,
and, last of all, the Catholic Church in Italy. No doubt the spread of
Socialism, with its superficial resemblance to some of the features
of primitive Christianity, has somewhat modified the character of this
ethical movement; so far, in fact, that the Italian Christian Democrats
have been confounded, by persons with only a blurred sense of outlines,
with the Socialists themselves. Whatever they may become, however,
they now profess views in regard to property which separate them by an
unbridgeable chasm from the Socialists.
In their zeal for their fellow-men, and especially for the poor
and down-trodden classes, they find the old agencies of charity
insufficient. To visit the sick, to comfort the dying, to dole out broth
at the convent gate, is well, but it offers no remedy for the cause
behind poverty and blind remediable suffering. Only through better
laws, strictly administered, can effectual help come. So the Christian
Democrats deemed it indispensable that they should be free to influence
legislation. At this point, however, the stubborn prohibition of the
Vatican confronted them. Since 1870, when the Italians entered Rome and
established there the capital of United Italy, the Vatican had forbidden
faithful Catholics to take part, either as electors or as candidates, in
any of the national elections, the fiction being that, were they to go
to the polls or to be elected to the Chamber of Deputies, they would
thereby recognise the Royal Government which had destroyed the temporal
power of the Pope. Then what would become of that other fiction--the
Pope's prisonership in the Vatican--which was to prove for thirty years
the best paying asset among the Papal investments? So long as the Curia
maintained an irreconcilable attitude towards the Kingdom, it could
count on kindling by irritation the sympathy and zeal of Catholics all
over the world. In Italy itself many devout Catholics had long protested
that, as it was through the acquisition of temporal power that the
Church had become worldly and corrupt, so through the loss of temporal
power it would regain its spiritual health and efficiency. They urged
that the Holy Father could perform his religious functions best if he
were not involved in political intrigues and governmental perplexities.
No one would assert that Jesus could have better fulfilled his mission
if he had been king of Judea; why, then, should the Pope, the Vicar of
Jesus, require worldly pomp and power that his Master disdained?
Neither Pius IX nor Leo XIII, however, was open to arguments of this
kind. Incidentally, it was clear that if Catholics as such were kept
away from the polls, nobody could say precisely just how many they
numbered. The Vatican constantly asserted that its adherents were in a
majority--a claim which, if true, meant that the Kingdom of Italy rested
on a very precarious basis. But other Catholics sincerely deplored the
harm which the irreconcilable attitude of the Curia caused to religion.
They regretted to see an affair purely political treated as religious;
to have the belief in the Pope's temporal power virtually set up as a
part of their creed. The Lord's work was waiting to be done; yet they
who ought to be foremost in it were handicapped. Other agencies had
stepped in ahead of them. The Socialists were making converts by
myriads; skeptics and cynics were sowing hatred not of the Church
merely but of all religion. It was time to | 2,563.901501 |
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THE MAN WHO WINS
BY
ROBERT HERRICK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK, 1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
_TO_
H. H.
THE MAN WHO WINS
I
The Four Corners in Middleton made a pleasant drive from the
university town of Camberton. Many a time in the history of the house
a party of young fellows had driven over the old turnpike that started
where the arsenal used to stand in the sacred quarter of Camberton,
and as the evening sun gilded the low, fresh-water marshes beyond
Spring Pond, would trot on toward the rolling hills of Middleton.
After dinner, or a dance | 2,563.902585 |
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THE PARASITE
A Story
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
AUTHOR OF "THE REFUGEES" "MICAH CLARKE" ETC.
1894
THE PARASITE
I
March 24. The spring is fairly with us now. Outside my laboratory
window the great chestnut-tree is all covered with the big, glutinous,
gummy buds, some of which have already begun to break into little green
shuttlecocks. As you | 2,564.003784 |
2023-11-16 18:59:47.9872420 | 3,741 | 7 |
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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)
Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is indicated by _underscores_, boldface
by =equals signs=.
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
BY
LOUIS D. BRANDEIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1913, 1914, by_
THE MCCLURE PUBLICATIONS
_Copyright, 1914, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
FASCo _March, 1914_
PREFACE
While Louis D. Brandeis’s series of articles on the money trust was
running in Harper’s Weekly many inquiries came about publication in
more accessible permanent form. Even without such urgence through the
mail, however, it would have been clear that these articles inevitably
constituted a book, since they embodied an analysis and a narrative
by that mind which, on the great industrial movements of our era, is
the most expert in the United States. The inquiries meant that the
attentive public recognized that here was a contribution to history.
Here was the clearest and most profound treatment ever published on
that part of our business development which, as President Wilson and
other wise men have said, has come to constitute the greatest of our
problems. The story of our time is the story of industry. No scholar
of the future will be able to describe our era with authority unless
he comprehends that expansion and concentration which followed the
harnessing of steam and electricity, the great uses of the change, and
the great excesses. No historian of the future, in my opinion, will
find among our contemporary documents so masterful an analysis of why
concentration went astray. I am but one among many who look upon Mr.
Brandeis as having, in the field of economics, the most inventive and
sound mind of our time. While his articles were running in Harper’s
Weekly I had ample opportunity to know how widespread was the belief
among intelligent men that this brilliant diagnosis of our money trust
was the most important contribution to current thought in many years.
“Great” is one of the words that I do not use loosely, and I look upon
Mr. Brandeis as a great man. In the composition of his intellect, one
of the most important elements is his comprehension of figures. As one
of the leading financiers of the country said to me, “Mr. Brandeis’s
greatness as a lawyer is part of his greatness as a mathematician.”
My views on this subject are sufficiently indicated in the following
editorial in Harper’s Weekly.
ARITHMETIC
About five years before the Metropolitan Traction Company of New
York went into the hands of a receiver, Mr. Brandeis came down
from Boston, and in a speech at Cooper Union prophesied that that
company must fail. Leading bankers in New York and Boston were
heartily recommending the stock to their customers. Mr. Brandeis
made his prophecy merely by analyzing the published figures. How
did he win in the Pinchot-Glavis-Ballinger controversy? In various
ways, no doubt; but perhaps the most critical step was when he
calculated just how long it would take a fast worker to go through
the Glavis-Ballinger record and make a judgment of it; whereupon he
decided that Mr. Wickersham could not have made his report at the
time it was stated to have been made, and therefore it must have
been predated.
Most of Mr. Brandeis’s other contributions to current history
have involved arithmetic. When he succeeded in preventing a raise
in freight rates, it was through an exact analysis of cost. When
he got Savings Bank Insurance started in Massachusetts, it was
by being able to figure what insurance ought to cost. When he
made the best contract between a city and a public utility that
exists in this country, a definite grasp of the gas business was
necessary--combined, of course, with the wisdom and originality
that make a statesman. He could not have invented the preferential
shop if that new idea had not been founded on a precise knowledge
of the conditions in the garment trades. When he established
before the United States Supreme Court the constitutionality of
legislation affecting women only, he relied much less upon reason
than upon the amount of knowledge displayed of what actually
happens to women when they are overworked--which, while not
arithmetic, is built on the same intellectual quality. Nearly two
years before Mr. Mellen resigned from the New Haven Railroad, Mr.
Brandeis wrote to the present editor of this paper a private letter
in which he said:
“When the New Haven reduces its dividends and Mellen resigns, the
‘Decline of New Haven and Fall of Mellen’ will make a dramatic
story of human interest with a moral--or two--including the evils
of private monopoly. Events cannot be long deferred, and possibly
you may want to prepare for their coming.
“Anticipating the future a little, I suggest the following as an
epitaph or obituary notice:
“Mellen was a masterful man, resourceful, courageous, broad
of view. He fired the imagination of New England; but, being
oblique of vision, merely distorted its judgment and silenced its
conscience. For a while he trampled with impunity on laws human and
divine; but, as he was obsessed with the delusion that two and two
make five, he fell, at last, a victim to the relentless rules of
humble arithmetic.
“‘Remember, O Stranger, Arithmetic is the first of the sciences and
the mother of safety.’”
The exposure of the bad financial management of the New Haven railroad,
more than any other one thing, led to the exposure and comprehension
of the wasteful methods of big business all over the country and
that exposure of the New Haven was the almost single-handed work of
Mr. Brandeis. He is a person who fights against any odds while it is
necessary to fight and stops fighting as soon as the fight is won. For
a long time very respectable and honest leaders of finance said that
his charges against the New Haven were unsound and inexcusable. He
kept ahead. A year before the actual crash came, however, he ceased
worrying, for he knew the work had been carried far enough to complete
itself. When someone asked him to take part in some little controversy
shortly before the collapse, he replied, “That fight does not need me
any longer. Time and arithmetic will do the rest.”
This grasp of the concrete is combined in Mr. Brandeis with an equally
distinguished grasp of bearing and significance. His imagination is
as notable as his understanding of business. In those accomplishments
which have given him his place in American life, the two sides of his
mind have worked together. The arrangement between the Gas Company
and the City of Boston rests on one of the guiding principles of Mr.
Brandeis’s life, that no contract is good that is not advantageous
to both parties to it. Behind his understanding of the methods of
obtaining insurance and the proper cost of it to the laboring man lay
a philosophy of the vast advantage to the fibre and energy of the
community that would come from devising methods by which the laboring
classes could make themselves comfortable through their whole lives
and thus perhaps making unnecessary elaborate systems of state help.
The most important ideas put forth in the Armstrong Committee Report
on insurance had been previously suggested by Mr. Brandeis, acting
as counsel for the Equitable policy holders. Business and the more
important statesmanship were intimately combined in the management of
the Protocol in New York, which has done so much to improve conditions
in the clothing industry. The welfare of the laborer and his relation
to his employer seems to Mr. Brandeis, as it does to all the most
competent thinkers today, to constitute the most important question we
have to solve, and he won the case, coming up to the Supreme Court of
the United States, from Oregon, establishing the constitutionality of
special protective legislation for women. In the Minimum Wage case,
also from the State of Oregon, which is about to be heard before the
Supreme Court, he takes up what is really a logical sequence of the
limitation of women’s hours in certain industries, since it would be
a futile performance to limit their hours and then allow their wages
to be cut down in consequence. These industrial activities are in
large part an expression of his deep and ever growing sympathy with
the working people and understanding of them. Florence Kelley once
said: “No man since Lincoln has understood the common people as Louis
Brandeis does.”
While the majority of Mr. Brandeis’s great progressive achievements
have been connected with the industrial system, some have been
political in a more limited sense. I worked with him through the
Ballinger-Pinchot controversy, and I never saw a grasp of detail more
brilliantly combined with high constructive ethical and political
thinking. After the man who knew most about the details of the Interior
Department had been cross-examined by Mr. Brandeis he came and sat
down by me and said: “Mr. Hapgood, I have no respect for you. I do
not think your motives in this agitation are good motives, but I want
to say that you have a wonderful lawyer. He knows as much about the
Interior Department today as I do.” In that controversy, the power of
the administration and of the ruling forces in the House and Senate
were combined to protect Secretary Ballinger and prevent the truth
from coming to light. Mr. Brandeis, in leading the fight for the
conservation side, was constantly haunted by the idea that there was a
mystery somewhere. The editorial printed above hints at how he solved
the mystery, but it would require much more space to tell the other
sides, the enthusiasm for conservation, the convincing arguments for
higher standards in office, the connection of this conspiracy with the
country’s larger needs. Seldom is an audience at a hearing so moved as
it was by Mr. Brandeis’s final plea to the committee.
Possibly his work on railroads will turn out to be the most significant
among the many things Mr. Brandeis has done. His arguments in 1910–11
before the Interstate Commerce Commission against the raising of rates,
on the ground that the way for railroads to be more prosperous was to
be more efficient, made efficiency a national idea. It is a cardinal
point in his philosophy that the only real progress toward a higher
national life will come through efficiency in all our activities. The
seventy-eight questions addressed to the railroads by the Interstate
Commerce Commission in December, 1913, embody what is probably the most
comprehensive embodiment of his thought on the subject.
On nothing has he ever worked harder than on his diagnosis of the
Money Trust, and when his life comes to be written (I hope many years
hence) this will be ranked with his railroad work for its effect in
accelerating industrial changes. It is indeed more than a coincidence
that so many of the things he has been contending for have come to
pass. It is seldom that one man puts one idea, not to say many ideas,
effectively before the world, but it is no exaggeration to say that
Mr. Brandeis is responsible for the now widespread recognition of
the inherent weakness of great size. He was the first person who set
forth effectively the doctrine that there is a limit to the size of
greatest efficiency, and the successful demonstration of that truth is
a profound contribution to the subject of trusts. The demonstration
is powerfully put in his testimony before the Senate Committee in
1911, and it is powerfully put in this volume. In destroying the
delusion that efficiency was a common incident of size, he emphasized
the possibility of efficiency through intensive development of the
individual, thus connecting this principle with his whole study of
efficiency, and pointing the way to industrial democracy.
Not less notable than the intellect and the constructive ability that
have gone into Mr. Brandeis’s work are the exceptional moral qualities.
Any powerful and entirely sincere crusader must sacrifice much. Mr.
Brandeis has sacrificed much in money, in agreeableness of social life,
in effort, and he has done it for principle and for human happiness.
His power of intensive work, his sustained interest and will, and his
courage have been necessary for leadership. No man could have done what
he has done without being willing to devote his life to making his
dreams come true.
Nor should anyone make the mistake, because the labors of Mr. Brandeis
and others have recently brought about changes, that the system which
was being attacked has been undermined. The currency bill has been
passed, and as these words are written, it looks as if a group of
trust bills would be passed. But systems are not ended in a day. Of
the truths which are embodied in the essays printed in this book, some
are being carried out now, but it will be many, many years before the
whole idea can be made effective; and there will, therefore, be many,
many years during which active citizens will be struggling for those
principles which are here so clearly, so eloquently, so conclusively
set forth.
The articles reprinted here were all written before November, 1913.
“The Failure of Banker Management” appeared in Harper’s Weekly Aug. 16,
1913; the other articles, between Nov. 22, 1913 and Dec. 17, 1914.
NORMAN HAPGOOD.
_March, 1914._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I OUR FINANCIAL OLIGARCHY 1
II HOW THE COMBINERS COMBINE 28
III INTERLOCKING DIRECTORATES 51
IV SERVE ONE MASTER ONLY! 69
V WHAT PUBLICITY CAN DO 92
VI WHERE THE BANKER IS SUPERFLUOUS 109
VII BIG MEN AND LITTLE BUSINESS 135
VIII A CURSE OF BIGNESS 162
IX THE FAILURE OF BANKER-MANAGEMENT 189
X THE INEFFICIENCY OF THE OLIGARCHS 201
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
CHAPTER I
OUR FINANCIAL OLIGARCHY
President Wilson, when Governor, declared in 1911:
“The great monopoly in this country is the money monopoly. So long
as that exists, our old variety and freedom and individual energy
of development are out of the question. A great industrial nation
is controlled by its system of credit. Our system of credit is
concentrated. The growth of the nation, therefore, and all our
activities are in the hands of a few men, who, even if their actions
be honest and intended for the public interest, are necessarily
concentrated upon the great undertakings in which their own money
is involved and who, necessarily, by every reason of their own
limitations, chill and check and destroy genuine economic freedom. This
is the greatest question of all; and to this, statesmen must address
themselves with an earnest determination to serve the long future and
the true liberties of men.”
The Pujo Committee--appointed in 1912--found:
“Far more dangerous than all that has happened to us in the past in
the way of elimination of competition in industry is the control of
credit through the domination of these groups over our banks and
industries.”...
“Whether under a different currency system the resources in our
banks would be greater or less is comparatively immaterial if they
continue to be controlled by a small group.”...
“It is impossible that there should be competition with all the
facilities for raising money or selling large issues of bonds in
the hands of these few bankers and their partners and allies, who
together dominate the financial policies of most of the existing
systems.... The acts of this inner group, as here described, have
nevertheless been more destructive of competition than anything
accomplished by the trusts, for they strike at the very vitals
of potential competition in every industry that is under their
protection, a condition which if permitted to continue, will
render impossible all attempts to restore normal competitive
conditions in the industrial world....
“If the arteries of credit now clogged well-nigh to choking by the
obstructions created through the control of these groups are opened
so that they may be permitted freely to play their important part
in the financial system, competition in large enterprises will
become possible and business can be conducted on its merits instead
of being subject to the tribute and the good will of this handful
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THE LIFE
OF
THOMAS WANLESS,
PEASANT.
Manchester:
JOHN DALE, 296 & 298, STRETFORD ROAD.
ABEL HEYWOOD & SON, 56 & 58, OLDHAM STREET.
London:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
INDEX.
CHAP. PAGE.
INTRODUCTORY, 1
I. A HELOT'S NURTURE, 11
II. A PHILANTHROPIC PARSON, 24
III. THE "ALLOTMENT" CURE FOR HUNGER, 31
IV. MANUFACTURING CRIMINALS, 48
V. JAIL LIFE, 69
VI. NATURE OF A SERMON, 85
VII. MEN FOR A STANDING ARMY, 96
VIII. VERY ARISTOCRATIC COMPANY, 115
IX. AN OLD, OLD STORY, 123
X. THE PARSONAGE, 131
XI. A MERE PEASANT MAIDEN, 139
XII. HIGH AND LOW BREEDING, 150
XIII. PREACHERS OF "WORDS", 157
XIV. "CHRISTIAN" RESPECTABILITY, 166
XV. TOO BAD FOR DESCRIPTION, 179
XVI. A BETTER QUEST, 186
XVII. NOTHING THAT IS NEW, 195
XVIII. SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY, 209
XIX. THE LOST ONE IS FOUND, 217
XX. THE LAST LONG SLEEP OF ALL, 226
XXI. THE JOURNEY'S END, 236
THE LIFE OF
THOMAS WANLESS,
PEASANT.
INTRODUCTORY.
Some years ago it was my habit to spend the long vacation in a quiet
Warwickshire village, not far from the fashionable town of Leamington. I
chose this spot for its sweet peace and its withdrawnness; for the
opportunities it gave me of wandering along the beautiful tree-shaded
country lanes; for its nearness to such historical spots as Warwick,
Kenilworth, and Stratford-on-Avon, to all of which I could either walk
or ride in a morning. But I love a quiet village for its own sake above
most things, and would rather spend my leisure amongst its simple
cottage folk, take my rest on the bench at the village alehouse door,
and walk amid the smock-frocked peasantry to the grey village church,
than mingle with the fashionable, over-dressed, prurient,
hollow-hearted, and artificial products of civilisation that constitute
themselves society--yea a thousand-fold rather. To me the restfulness
of a little village, with its cots nestling among the drowsy trees in a
warm summer day, is a foreshadowing of the rest of heaven. So I settled
myself in little Ashbrook, in a room sweet and cool, of its little inn,
and laughed at the foolish creatures who, with weary, purposeless steps
trode daily the Leamington Parade with hearts full of all envy and
jealousy at sight of such other descendants of our tattooed ancestors as
fortune might enable to gaud their bodies more lavishly than they. These
droned their idle life away flirting, reading the skim-milk, often
unwholesome, literature of the fashionable library; jabbering about
dress, and picking characters to pieces; shooting in the gardens at
archery meetings; patronising religious shows and thinking it
refinement. And I? I wander forth alone, filling my sketch-book with
whatsoever takes my fancy, or, in sociable moods, drink my ale in rustic
company, talking of hard winters and low wages, the difficulty of
living, of rural incidents, and the joys and sorrows of those toilers by
whose hard labour the few are made rich. They are not faultless, these
rustics, but they are very human, and their vices are unsophisticated
vices--the art of gilding iniquity, of luxuriously tricking out a
frivolous existence in the most subtle conceits of dress and demeanour,
has not yet reached them. When they sin they do not sublimise their sins
into the little peccadilloes and amusements incident to civilisation. So
I love them; marred and crooked and dull-witted though they may be, they
suit my humour, and fall in with my tastes for the open air, the free
expanse of landscape, the grand old trees, and the verdure-clothed
banks of the sleepy streams.
It was in this village that I met my peasant. He was not a man easy to
pick acquaintance with, for he mingled little among the gossips of the
place. Never once did I see him at the village inn or in church. He
lived apart in a little cottage near the Warwick end of the village,
with his wife and a little lass of ten or eleven summers--his
granddaughter. I often met him in the early morning going to market with
his baskets of vegetables, or in the cool of the evening, when he would
go out with his little girl skipping and dancing by his side. And the
very first time I saw him he awakened in me a strong interest. There was
something striking in his aspect--a still calm was on his face, and at
the same time a hardness lay about the mouth, and in the wrinkles around
the eyes, which was almost repellant. His figure had been above the
middle height; and although now bent and gaunt-looking, had still an
aspect of calm energy and decayed strength. But what struck me most was
the grand, almost majestic outline of his profile, and the keenness of
his yet undimmed eye, which flashed from beneath grey shaggy eyebrows
with a light that entered one's soul. The face was thoroughly English in
type, with features singularly regular, the forehead broad, the nose
aquiline, the chin large; and still in old age round and clean and full,
though the cheeks had fallen in and the mouth had become drawn and hard.
Had one met this man in "society," dressed in correct evening costume,
surrounded by courtly dames in half-dress, one would have been struck
by the individuality of that grand, grey face. Meanly clad, bent, and
leaning on a common oaken staff, the face and figure of this old peasant
were such as once looked at could not be easily forgotten. This also was
a man with a soul in him; ay, and with a heart too; for does not his eye
rest with an inexpressibly sad tenderness on the slim girl by his side
when she interrupts his reverie with the eager query, "Grand-dad,
grand-dad! Oh look at this poor dead bird in the path; who could have
killed it?"
My interest in this solitary man was keenly roused; and, from the
inquiries I made, I learned enough of his history to make me anxious to
know him. But that was not a desire easily gratified. Although always
courteous in returning my "good evening," he did so with an air that
forbade conversation, and gave me back but monosyllables to any remarks
I might make about the weather, the crops, or the child. He was not
rude, only reserved and dry, and that not with me only. To nearly all
the villagers his manner was the same. Only two may be said to have been
frequenters of his house, the old schoolmaster and the sexton. Even his
wife had few or no gossips. Yet everyone seemed to respect him, and many
spoke of him with a kind of friendly pity. Whether or not the respect
was partly due to the fact that the old man was supposed to have
means--that is, that although no longer able to do more than cultivate
his little garden and allotment patch, he was yet not on the parish--I
cannot say, but it was clear that the kindliness at least was genuine.
And so no one intruded on him. All saluted him respectfully and left
him to himself, save perhaps when one of the village milk dealers might
give him a lift on his way to market. Sometimes on a warm evening I have
seen him seated at his cottage door with a newspaper on his knee,
smoking his evening pipe, and answering the greetings of passers by. But
except his two old friends, and perhaps some village children playing
with his little one, there was no gathering of neighbours; no gossips
leant over his fence to discuss village scandals and local politics. He
was a man apart; and thus it happened that my first holiday in the
village passed away leaving me still a stranger to old Thomas Wanless.
But for an accident we might have been strangers still, and I would not
have troubled the world with this old peasant's history. I was walking
home one morning from Leamington, whither I had gone to buy some fresh
colours and a sketch-book, when I heard in a hollow behind me a vehicle
of some sort coming along the road at a great pace. Almost immediately a
dog-cart driven tandem overtook and passed me. It contained a stout,
rather blotched-looking man, who might be any age from thirty-five to
fifty, and a groom. Just beyond the road took rather a sharp turn to the
right, dipping into another hollow, and the dog-cart had hardly
disappeared round the corner when I heard a shrill scream of pain,
followed by oaths, loud and deep, uttered in a harsh, metallic, but
husky voice. I ran forward and immediately came upon Thomas Wanless's
little girl lying moaning in the road, white and unable to move,
grasping a bunch of wild flowers in one hand. Half-a-crown lay amongst
the dust near her, and the dog-cart was dashing over the crest of the
further <DW72>, apparently on its way to the Grange. Without pausing to
think, but cursing the while the heartlessness of those who seemed to
think half-a-crown compensation enough for the injury done to this
little one, I flung my parcel over the hedge, and gathering the
half-fainting child as gently as I could in my arms, hurried with her to
her grandfather's cottage. It was a good half-mile walk, partly through
the village. The child was heavy, and I arrived hot and out of breath,
followed by several matrons who had caught sight of me as I passed by,
and who stood round the door with anxious faces. A milkman's cart met me
on the way, and I begged its occupant to drive with all speed to Warwick
for a surgeon, as the child had been run over. The man answered yes, and
went.
When I burst into Thomas's house he was dozing in his armchair, but the
noise woke him and brought his wife in from the garden. "Oh, my God,"
cried Thomas, as he caught sight of the child; and he tried to rise, but
sank again into his seat pale as death, and trembling all over. His wife
burst into tears, but immediately swept an old couch clear of some
clothes and child's playthings, and there I laid poor Sally, as the old
woman called her, half unconscious and still moaning. Rapidly Mrs.
Wanless loosened the child's clothes, and as she did so I told them what
had occurred. When I described the man who had run over the child, I was
startled by a sudden flash of angry scorn, almost of hate, that mantled
over the old man's face. He clutched the arms of his chair
convulsively, and half rose from his seat as he almost hissed out the
words--"By Heaven, the child has been killed by its own father." He
seemed to regret the words as soon as uttered, and tried to hide his
confusion by eagerly inquiring of his wife if she had found out where
Sally was hurt. The effort failed him, however, and he remained visibly
embarrassed by my presence. I would have left, but I too was anxious to
see where Sarah was hurt, so I turned to the couch to give Thomas time
to recover himself. As I did so, Sally screamed. Her grandmother had
attempted to draw down her loosened dress, and in doing so had disturbed
the child's legs, causing acute pain.
I judged at once that a leg was either bruised or broken, and begged
Mrs. Wanless to feel gently for the hurt. Almost immediately the child
uttered a scream, crying, "Oh, my right leg, my right leg;" and a brief
examination proved the fact that it was broken just a little way below
the knee. The sobbing of the child unnerved Mrs. Wanless, and she seemed
about to faint, so I led her to a seat, gave her a glass of water, and
returned to Sarah, turning her carefully flat on her back, and kneeling
down, gently removed her stocking from the broken limb, which I then
laid straight out on the couch, propping it on either side with such
soft articles as I could lay hands on. That done, I told Sarah to lie as
still as she could until the doctor came, when he would soon ease her
pain. Soothing the child thus, and hardly thinking of the old people, I
was suddenly interrupted by Thomas. He had risen from his chair, and,
leaning on his staff, had approached the couch. He stood there for a
little, looking at his little maiden with an expression of intense pain
and sorrow on his face. Then he turned to me, and, without speaking,
held out his hand. I rose to my feet, grasped it, and, suddenly
bethinking myself for the first time, uncovered my head. The tears
gathered in my eyes in spite of myself. I knew in my heart that Thomas
Wanless and I were friends.
And great friends we became in time. At first I went to the cottage
daily to enquire after little Sarah, who progressed favourably under the
Warwick surgeon's care; and when she was past all danger and pain, I
went to talk with old Thomas. Gradually his heart opened to me; and bit
by bit I gathered up the main incidents of his history. A commonplace
history enough, yet tragic too; for Thomas was no commonplace man. There
was a depth of passion beneath that still hard face; a wealth of
feeling, a range of thought that to me was utterly astounding. What had
not this village labourer known and suffered; what sorrow; what baffled
hope; yea, what despair; and, through despair, what peace! As I sat by
his chair on the summer evenings and listened to his talk with his old
friends, or walked with him in the by-lanes, gathering from his lips the
leading events of his life, my heart often burned within me. Yet,
refined reader, gentle reader, Thomas Wanless was only a peasant; a man
that sold vegetables and flowers from door to door in little Warwick
town to eke out his means of subsistence. His was the toiler's lot; the
lot without hope for this world, whose natural end is want, and a
pauper's grave.
Can I hope to interest you in this man's history? I confess I have my
doubts. There is tragedy in it; it is mostly tragedy; but then it is the
tragedy of the low born. I shall not be able to introduce you to any
arch plotter; to groups of refined adulteresses clad in robes of satin
and blazoned with jewels and gold, at once the sign and the fruit of
their shame. Nor can I promise to unweave startling plots, or to deal in
mysterious horrors such | 2,564.007319 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.4797090 | 82 | 17 | THE ANCIENT WELSH BARDS***
Transcribed from the [1862] John Pryse, Llanidloes edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
SOME
SPECIMENS OF THE POETRY
OF
THE ANCIENT WELSH BARDS.
Translated into English,
WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE | 2,564.499749 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.4857340 | 797 | 13 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (University of Minnesota)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=zeQxAQAAMAAJ
(University of Minnesota)
Appletons'
Town and Country
Library
No. 265
FORTUNE'S MY FOE
By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.
------------------------
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
------------------------
Fortune's my Foe.
Mr. Bloundelle-Burton has proved his ability to interest readers so
thoroughly that it is sufficient merely to announce this new and
entertaining romance. His story moves briskly as usual, and there is a
constantly sustained interest and plenty of dramatic action.
The Clash of Arms.
"Well written, and the interest is sustained from the beginning to the
end of the tale"--_Brooklyn Eagle_.
"Vividness of detail and rare descriptive power give the story life
and excitement."--_Boston Herald_.
Denounced.
"The author of 'Denounced' is second to none in the romantic
recounting of the tales of earlier days. A story of the critical times
of the vagrant and ambitious Charles I, it is so replete with incident
and realistic happenings that one seems translated to the very scenes
and days of that troublous era in English history."--_Boston Courier_.
The Scourge of God.
"The story is one of the best in style, construction, information, and
graphic power, that have been written in recent years."--_Dial,
Chicago_.
In the Day of Adversity.
"Mr. Burton's creative skill is of the kind which must fascinate those
who revel in the narratives of Stevenson, Rider Haggard, and Stanley
Weyman. Even the author of 'A Gentleman of France' has not surpassed
the writer of 'In the Day of Adversity' in the moving interest of his
tale."--_St. James's Gazette_.
---------------
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
FORTUNE'S MY FOE
_A ROMANCE_
BY
JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON
AUTHOR OF THE SCOURGE OF GOD, THE CLASH OF ARMS,
DENOUNCED, IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY, ETC.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE--OFF CARTAGENA.
I.--THE LION AND THE JACKAL.
II.--AN HEIRESS.
III.--A "COUNTRY CLOD."
IV.--AN UNKNOWN VISITOR.
V.--THE HAPPY MAN.
VI.--LOVE'S CONTEST.
VII.--THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE.
VIII.--FOREBODINGS.
IX.--THE END OF THE FIRST ACT.
X.--"THE MIGNONNE."
XI.--THE COLONISTS.
XII.--VENGEANCE IS SWEET.
XIII.--A BROKEN SWORD.
XIV.--BUFTON IS IMPLACABLE.
XV.--PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.
XVI.--WEAVING THE NET.
XVII.--A DISCOVERY.
XVIII.--RUSE CONTRE RUSE.
XIX.--THE SECOND MAN.
XX.--ARIADNE'S COMPASSION.
XXI.--A DIVINE DESPAIR.
XXII.--"AS YE SOW."
XXIII | 2,564.505774 |
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Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENTS
BY ALICE M. KELLOGG
CONTAINING
FANCY DRILLS, ACROSTICS, MOTION SONGS, TABLEAUX, SHORT PLAYS,
RECITATIONS IN COSTUME
FOR CHILDREN OF FIVE TO FIFTEEN YEARS
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
NEW SONGS TO OLD TUNES:
Time for Santa Claus M. Nora Boylan
Santa Claus is Coming Maud L. Betts
Old Santa Claus M. Nora Boylan
FANCY DRILLS:
A Christmas-bell Drill Ella M. Powers
The Snow Brigade Marian Loder
Christmas Stockings A.S. Webber
ACROSTICS:
Christmas Children M. Nora Boylan
Santa Claus W.S.C.
Charity Jay Bee
Merry Christmas | 2,564.506096 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.5823500 | 233 | 30 |
E-text prepared by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/dialogueinhades00john
A DIALOGUE IN HADES.
A Parallel of Military Errors, of Which the French
and English Armies Were Guilty, During the
Campaign of 1759, in Canada.
ATTRIBUTED TO CHEVALIER JOHNSTONE.
Published under the Auspices of the
Literary and Historical Society of Quebec
[Reprinted.]
Quebec:
Printed at the "Morning Chronicle" Office.
1887.
[The original of this manuscript is deposited in the French war
archives, in Paris; a copy was, with the permission of the French
Government, taken in 1855, and deposited in the Library of the
Legislative Assembly of Canada. The Literary and Historical Society
of Quebec, through the kindness of Mr. Todd, the Librarian, was
per | 2,564.60239 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.5824780 | 72 | 21 |
E-text prepared by Chuck Greif and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/grand | 2,564.602518 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.5854450 | 1,679 | 30 |
Transcribed from the text of the first edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE AND DUTY RECONCIL'D
A NOVEL
by William Congreve
TO THE
Honoured and Worthily Esteem'd
Mrs. _Katharine Leveson_.
_Madam_,
A Clear Wit, sound Judgment and a Merciful Disposition, are things so
rarely united, that it is almost inexcusable to entertain them with any
thing less excellent in its kind. My knowledge of you were a sufficient
Caution to me, to avoid your Censure of this Trifle, had I not as intire
a knowledge of your Goodness. Since I have drawn my Pen for a
Rencounter, I think it better to engage where, though there be Skill
enough to Disarm me, there is too much Generosity to Wound; for so shall
I have the saving Reputation of an unsuccessful Courage, if I cannot make
it a drawn Battle. But methinks the Comparison intimates something of a
Defiance, and savours of Arrogance; wherefore since I am Conscious to my
self of a Fear which I cannot put off, let me use the Policy of Cowards
and lay this Novel unarm'd, naked and shivering at your Feet, so that if
it should want Merit to challenge Protection, yet, as an Object of
Charity, it may move Compassion. It has been some Diversion to me to
Write it, I wish it may prove such to you when you have an hour to throw
away in Reading of it: but this Satisfaction I have at least beforehand,
that in its greatest failings it may fly for Pardon to that Indulgence
which you owe to the weakness of your Friend; a Title which I am proud
you have thought me worthy of, and which I think can alone be superior to
that
_Your most Humble and_
_Obliged Servant_
CLEOPHIL.
THE PREFACE TO THE READER.
Reader,
Some Authors are so fond of a Preface, that they will write one tho'
there be nothing more in it than an Apology for its self. But to show
thee that I am not one of those, I will make no Apology for this, but do
tell thee that I think it necessary to be prefix'd to this Trifle, to
prevent thy overlooking some little pains which I have taken in the
Composition of the following Story. Romances are generally composed of
the Constant Loves and invincible Courages of Hero's, Heroins, Kings and
Queens, Mortals of the first Rank, and so forth; where lofty Language,
miraculous Contingencies and impossible Performances, elevate and
surprize the Reader into a giddy Delight, which leaves him flat upon the
Ground whenever he gives of, and vexes him to think how he has suffer'd
himself to be pleased and transported, concern'd and afflicted at the
several Passages which he has Read, viz. these Knights Success to their
Damosels Misfortunes, and such like, when he is forced to be very well
convinced that 'tis all a lye. Novels are of a more familiar nature;
Come near us, and represent to us Intrigues in practice, delight us with
Accidents and odd Events, but not such as are wholly unusual or
unpresidented, such which not being so distant from our Belief bring also
the pleasure nearer us. Romances give more of Wonder, Novels more
Delight. And with reverence be it spoken, and the Parallel kept at due
distance, there is something of equality in the Proportion which they
bear in reference to one another, with that betwen Comedy and Tragedy;
but the Drama is the long extracted from Romance and History: 'tis the
Midwife to Industry, and brings forth alive the Conceptions of the Brain.
Minerva walks upon the Stage before us, and we are more assured of the
real presence of Wit when it is delivered viva voce--
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, & quae
Ipse sibi tradit spectator.--Horace.
Since all Traditions must indisputably give place to the Drama, and since
there is no possibility of giving that life to the Writing or Repetition
of a Story which it has in the Action, I resolved in another beauty to
imitate Dramatick Writing, namely, in the Design, Contexture and Result
of the Plot. I have not observed it before in a Novel. Some I have seen
begin with an unexpected accident, which has been the only surprizing
part of the Story, cause enough to make the Sequel look flat, tedious and
insipid; for 'tis but reasonable the Reader should expect it not to rise,
at least to keep upon a level in the entertainment; for so he may be kept
on in hopes that at some time or other it may mend; but the 'tother is
such a balk to a Man, 'tis carrying him up stairs to show him the Dining-
Room, and after forcing him to make a Meal in the Kitchin. This I have
not only endeavoured to avoid, but also have used a method for the
contrary purpose. The design of the Novel is obvious, after the first
meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito with Incognita and Leonora, and the
difficulty is in bringing it to pass, maugre all apparent obstacles,
within the compass of two days. How many probable Casualties intervene
in opposition to the main Design, viz. of marrying two Couple so oddly
engaged in an intricate Amour, I leave the Reader at his leisure to
consider: As also whether every Obstacle does not in the progress of the
Story act as subservient to that purpose, which at first it seems to
oppose. In a Comedy this would be called the Unity of Action; here it
may pretend to no more than an Unity of Contrivance. The Scene is
continued in Florence from the commencement of the Amour; and the time
from first to last is but three days. If there be any thing more in
particular resembling the Copy which I imitate (as the Curious Reader
will soon perceive) I leave it to show it self, being very well satisfy'd
how much more proper it had been for him to have found out this himself,
than for me to prepossess him with an Opinion of something extraordinary
in an Essay began and finished in the idler hours of a fortnight's time:
for I can only esteem it a laborious idleness, which is Parent to so
inconsiderable a Birth. I have gratified the Bookseller in pretending an
occasion for a Preface; the other two Persons concern'd are the Reader
and my self, and if he be but pleased with what was produced for that
end, my satisfaction follows of course, since it will be proportion'd to
his Approbation or Dislike.
INCOGNITA:
OR,
Love & Duty
RECONCIL'D
Aurelian was the only Son to a Principal Gentleman of Florence. The
Indulgence of his Father prompted, and his Wealth enabled him, to bestow
a generous Education upon him, whom, he now began to look upon as the
Type of himself; an Impression he had made in the Gayety and Vigour of
his Youth, before the Rust of Age had debilitated and obscur'd the
Splendour of the Original: He was sensible, That he ought not to | 2,564.605485 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.7809380 | 105 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
WEBSTER--MAN'S MAN
By Peter B. Kyne
Author Of “Cappy Ricks”
“The Three Godfathers,” Etc.
Illustrated By Dean Cornwell
[Illustration:ustration: 0006]
[Illustration:ustration: 0007]
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1917
WEBSTER-MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER I | 2,564.800978 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.7835030 | 109 | 20 |
Produced by Greg Lindahl, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr)
[Transcriber's Notes:
About this book: _The Art or crafte of Rhetoryke_ was originally
published c. 1530; the second edition was | 2,564.803543 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.7884420 | 7,354 | 26 |
E-text prepared by John Campbell 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/canada1535presen17munr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
Bell's English History Source Books
General Editors: S. E. Winbolt, M.A., and Kenneth Bell, M.A.
CANADA
(1535--PRESENT-DAY)
* * * * * *
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready. 1s. net each._
=1307-1399. War and Misrule= (special period for the School
Certificate Examination, July and December, 1913). Edited by A.
A. LOCKE.
=1154-1216. The Angevins and the Charter.= Edited by S. M.
TOYNE, M.A., Headmaster of St. Peter's School, York, late
Assistant Master at Haileybury College.
=1485-1547. The Reformation and the Renaissance.= Edited by F.
W. BEWSHER, Assistant Master at St. Paul's School.
=1547-1603. The Age of Elizabeth.= Edited by ARUNDELL ESDAILE,
M.A.
=1603-1660. Puritanism and Liberty.= Edited by KENNETH BELL,
M.A.
=1660-1714. A Constitution in Making.= Edited by G. B. PERRETT,
M.A.
=1714-1760. Walpole and Chatham.= Edited by K. A. ESDAILE.
=1760-1801. American Independence and the French Revolution.=
Edited by S. E. WINBOLT, M.A.
=1801-1815. England and Napoleon.= Edited by S. E. WINBOLT, M.A.
=1815-1837. Peace and Reform.= Edited by A. C. W. EDWARDS,
Assistant Master at Christ's Hospital.
=1876-1887. Imperialism and Mr. Gladstone.= Edited by R. H.
GRETTON.
=1535-Present-day. Canada.= Edited by JAMES MUNRO, M.A.,
Lecturer in Colonial and Indian History in the University of
Edinburgh.
_Other volumes, covering the whole range of English History
from Roman Britain to 1887, are in active preparation, and will
be issued at short intervals._
LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
* * * * * *
CANADA
(1535--PRESENT-DAY)
by
JAMES MUNRO, M.A.
Lecturer in Colonial and Indian History
in the University of Edinburgh
[Illustration]
London
G. Bell and Sons, Ltd.
1913
INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use
with any ordinary textbook of English History. Experience has
conclusively shown that such apparatus is a valuable--nay, an
indispensable--adjunct to the history lesson. It is capable of
two main uses: either by way of lively illustration at the close
of a lesson, or by way of inference-drawing, before the textbook
is read, at the beginning of the lesson. The kind of problems
and exercises that may be based on the documents are legion, and
are admirably illustrated in a _History of England for Schools_,
Part I., by Keatinge and Frazer, pp. 377-381. However, we have no
wish to prescribe for the teacher the manner in which he shall
exercise his craft, but simply to provide him and his pupils with
materials hitherto not readily accessible for school purposes. The
very moderate price of the books in this series should bring them
within the reach of every secondary school. Source books enable
the pupil to take a more active part than hitherto in the history
lesson. Here is the apparatus, the raw material: its use we leave
to teacher and taught.
Our belief is that the books may profitably be used by all grades
of historical students between the standards of fourth-form boys
in secondary schools and undergraduates at Universities. What
differentiates students at one extreme from those at the other is
not so much the kind of subject-matter dealt with, as the amount
they can read into or extract from it.
In regard to choice of subject-matter, while trying to satisfy the
natural demand for certain "stock" documents of vital importance,
we hope to introduce much fresh and novel matter. It is our
intention that the majority of the extracts should be lively in
style--that is, personal, or descriptive, or rhetorical, or even
strongly partisan--and should not so much profess to give the
truth as supply data for inference. We aim at the greatest possible
variety, and lay under contribution letters, biographies, ballads
and poems, diaries, debates, and newspaper accounts. Economics,
London, municipal, and social life generally, and local history,
are represented in these pages.
The order of the extracts is strictly chronological, each being
numbered, titled, and dated, and its authority given. The text
is modernised, where necessary, to the extent of leaving no
difficulties in reading.
We shall be most grateful to teachers and students who may send us
suggestions for improvement.
S. E. WINBOLT.
KENNETH BELL.
NOTE TO THIS VOLUME
For liberty to reproduce the more recent of the extracts here
quoted, I have to acknowledge the kindness of Miss E. Pauline
Johnson of Vancouver (No. 52); of Mr. Charles G. D. Roberts (No.
57); of Mr. F. A. Talbot and Messrs. Seeley, Service & Co., author
and publishers of _The Making of a Great Canadian Railway_ (No.
55); and of Messrs. Constable & Co., the publishers of the late
Lord Wolseley's _Story of a Soldier's Life_ (No. 48). To several
of the sources quoted I was directed by the volume of selections
published in 1907 under the title _Canadian Constitutional
Development_, by Professor H. E. Egerton of Oxford and Professor W.
L. Grant of Kingston, Ontario, both of whom have also made other
helpful suggestions, as has Mr. H. P. Biggar, the representative
of the Canadian Archives Office in this country. Finally, the task
of finding what one wanted has been very greatly facilitated by
the sympathetic aid of Mr. P. E. Lewin, who never loses a chance
of making the superb collection over which he presides in the
Library of the Royal Colonial Institute useful to anyone who may
be interested in the Britains overseas.
J. M.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
1. A GREAT LAND OF RIVERS AND
LAKES _Speech by Lord Dufferin_ 1
2. JACQUES CARTIER AT HOCHELAGA,
1535 _Lescarbot's "History"_ 3
3. THE FRENCH SETTLEMENT AT ST.
CROIX, 1604 " " 5
4. "THE ANCIENT MARINER," 1631-2 _T. James's "Voyage"_ 7
5. TWO ENGLISH EXPLORERS IN
HUDSON BAY, 1631 _"The North-west Fox"_ 8
6. THE BIRTHDAY OF MONTREAL,
1642 _F. Parkman_ 10
7. GOVERNOR FRONTENAC LEADS THE
WAR-DANCE, 1690 " 11
8. MADELAINE DE VERCHÈRES, 1696 _Her Own Narrative_ 13
9. THE FRENCH CANADIANS, 1737
(in French) _Memoir by G. Hocquart_ 17
10. THE "WHITE" MEN OF THE
PRAIRIES, 1738 _La Vérendrye's "Journal"_ 18
11. THE EXPULSION OF THE ACADIANS, _Lieut.-Gov. Lawrence's
1755 Circular Letter_ 21
12. THE CONQUEST OF CANADA, _H. Walpole's "Letters"_ 23
1757-60
13. THE SIEGE OF QUEBEC, 1759 "_Gentleman's Magazine_" 26
14. WOLFE'S DIFFICULTIES, 1759 " " 28
15. THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM, 1759 _Capt. J. Knox's
"Journal"_ 30
16. THE GOVERNMENT OF QUEBEC _SHORTT AND DOUGHTY'S
UNDER THE BRITISH, 1763-74 "Const. Docts."_ 33
17. THE COPPERMINE RIVER, 1771 _S. Hearne's "Journey"_ 35
18. THE QUEBEC ACT, 1774 _Shortt and Doughty's
"Const. Docts."_ 37
19. ONE OF THE LOYALISTS, 1783 _Transactions of U.E.
Loyalists' Association_ 38
20. THE MACKENZIE RIVER, 1789 _Sir A. Mackenzie's
"Voyages"_ 41
21. THE CONSTITUTIONAL ACT, 1791 _Shortt and Doughty's
"Const. Docts."_ 43
22. TO THE PACIFIC OVERLAND, 1793 _Sir A. Mackenzie's
"Voyages"_ 45
23. A SERVANT OF THE NORTH-WEST _MASSON'S "BOURGEOIS DU
COMPANY, 1800 Nord-Ouest"_ 48
24. THE BEAVER, 1807 _G. Heriot's "Travels"_ 49
25. A RAPID ON THE FRASER RIVER, _Masson's "Bourgeois du
1808 Nord-Ouest"_ 52
26. LAURA SECORD, 1813 _Her Own Narrative_ 54
27. LUNDY'S LANE, 1814 _"The Annual Register"_ 55
28. ATTACK ON LORD SELKIRK'S _A "STATEMENT" PUBLISHED
COLONY, 1816 in 1817_ 57
29. PROPOSED UNION OF THE CANADAS, _Canadian Archives Report,
1822 1897_ 59
30. THE FOUNDING OF GUELPH _THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
(ONTARIO), 1827 John Galt_ 62
31. SAM SLICK CRITICISES THE _T. C. HALIBURTON'S "THE
"BLUENOSES," 1836 Clockmaker"_ 64
32. A STRUGGLE NOT OF PRINCIPLES _SIR C. LUCAS'S EDITION OF
BUT OF RACES, 1838 Lord Durham's Report_ 67
33. THE FRENCH CANADIANS IN 1838 _Sir C. Lucas's edition of
Lord Durham's Report_ 69
34. THE IRRESPONSIBLE OPPOSITION _SIR C. LUCAS'S EDITION OF
IN LOWER CANADA, 1838 Lord Durham's Report_ 71
35. DURHAM'S RECOMMENDATIONS _Sir C. Lucas's edition of
Lord Durham's Report_ 73
36. DURHAM RESIGNS AND APPEALS TO _1839 EDITION OF THE
PUBLIC OPINION "Report and Despatches"_ 75
37. THE EVILS OF THE OLD COLONIAL _J. HOWE'S "LETTERS AND
SYSTEM, 1839 Public Speeches"_ 77
38. THE BENEFITS OF RESPONSIBLE _J. HOWE'S "LETTERS AND
GOVERNMENT Public Speeches"_ 79
39. THE UNION ACT, 1840 _Houston's "Documents"_ 80
40. EDMONTON IN 1841 _Sir G. Simpson's "Journey"_ 81
41. THE MOHAWK INDIANS IN ONTARIO, _J. R. Godley's "Letters
1842 from America"_ 84
42. THE POSITION OF THE GOVERNOR, _Elgin's "Letters and
1854 Journals"_ 86
43-45. THE CONFEDERATION DEBATES, _Debates in the Parliament
1865 of Canada_ 87
46. THE BRITISH NORTH AMERICA ACT, _Egerton's "Federations
1867 and Unions"_ 91
47. THE WORK OF THE HUDSON BAY
COMPANY (to 1869) _Paper by Lord Strathcona_ 96
48. RED RIVER REBELLION, 1870 _Lord Wolseley's "Story
of a Soldier's Life"_ 98
49. ENTERING THE ROCKIES, 1872 _"Ocean to Ocean," by G.
M. Grant_ 100
50. THE DESTINY OF CANADA (1873) _"Ocean to Ocean," by G.
M. Grant_ 102
51. TARIFF REFORM IN CANADA IN _SPEECH BY SIR J. A.
1876 Macdonald_ 104
52. PRAIRIE GREYHOUNDS (SINCE _POEM BY E. PAULINE
1885) Johnson_ 105
53. LAURIER'S TRIBUTE TO _SPEECH IN CANADIAN
MACDONALD, 1891 House of Commons_ 106
54. CANADIAN TROOPS IN THE BOER _SPEECH IN CANADIAN
WAR, 1900 House of Commons_ 108
55. PIONEERS OF THE RAILWAY, 1910 _Talbot's "Making of a
Great Canadian Railway"_ 110
56. CANADIAN NAVAL POLICY, 1912 _"The Times" Supplement_ 112
57. CANADIAN STREAMS _Poem by C. G. D.
Roberts_ 115
NOTES ON PERSONS NAMED IN THE EXTRACTS 117
CANADA
(1535--PRESENT-DAY)
1. A GREAT LAND OF RIVERS AND LAKES.
=Source.=--A Speech delivered by Lord Dufferin at Winnipeg, quoted
in _Round the Empire_, by Mr. G. R. Parkin. London, 1893.
As a poor man cannot live in a big house, so a small country cannot
support a big river.
Now to an Englishman or a Frenchman the Severn or the Thames, the
Seine or the Rhone, would appear considerable streams; but in the
Ottawa, a mere affluent of the St. Lawrence, an affluent, moreover,
which reaches the parent stream six hundred miles from its mouth,
we have a river nearly five hundred and fifty miles long, and three
or four times as big as any of them.
But even after having ascended the St. Lawrence itself to Lake
Ontario, and pursued it across Lake Erie, St. Clair, Lake Huron,
and Lake Superior to Thunder Bay--a distance of fifteen hundred
miles, where are we? In the estimation of a person who has made
the journey, at the end of all things; but to us, who know better,
scarcely at the beginning of the great fluvial systems of the
Dominion; for from that spot, that is to say, from Thunder Bay,
we are able at once to ship our astonished traveller on to the
Kaministiquia, a river of some hundred miles long. Thence, almost
in a straight line, we launch him on to Lake Shebandowan and Rainy
Lake and River--a magnificent stream three hundred yards broad
and a couple of hundred miles long, down whose tranquil bosom he
floats to the Lake of the Woods, where he finds himself on a sheet
of water which, though diminutive as compared with the inland
seas he has left behind him, will probably be found sufficiently
extensive to render him fearfully sea-sick during his passage
across it.
For the last eighty miles of his voyage, however, he will be
consoled by sailing through a succession of land-locked channels,
the beauty of whose scenery, while it resembles, certainly excels,
the far-famed Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence.
From this lacustrine paradise of sylvan beauty we are able at once
to transfer our friend to the Winnipeg, a river whose existence
in the very heart and centre of the continent is in itself one of
Nature's most delightful miracles--so beautiful and varied are its
rocky banks, its tufted islands; so broad, so deep, so fervid is
the volume of its waters, the extent of their lake-like expansions,
and the tremendous power of their rapids.
At last let us suppose we have landed our traveller at the town
of Winnipeg, the half-way house of the continent, the capital of
the Prairie Province.... Having had so much of water, having now
reached the home of the buffalo, like the extenuated Falstaff he
naturally "babbles of green fields" and careers in imagination
over the green grasses of the prairie. Not at all.... We take him
down to your quay and ask him which he will ascend first--the Red
River or the Assiniboine--two streams, the one five hundred miles
long, the other four hundred and eighty, which so happily mingle
their waters within your city limits. After having given him a
preliminary canter up these respective rivers, we take him off
to Lake Winnipeg, an inland sea 300 miles long and upwards of 60
broad, during the navigation of which, for many a weary hour, he
will find himself out of sight of land, and probably a good deal
more indisposed than ever he was on the Lake of the Woods, or even
the Atlantic.
At the north-west angle of Lake Winnipeg he hits upon the mouth
of the Saskatchewan, the gateway of the North-West, and the
starting-point to another 1500 miles of navigable water flowing
nearly due East and West between its alluvial banks.
Having now reached the foot of the Rocky Mountains, our Ancient
Mariner--for by this time he will be quite entitled to such an
appellation--knowing that water cannot run uphill, feels certain
his aquatic experiences are concluded.
He was never more mistaken. We immediately launch him upon the
Athabasca and Mackenzie Rivers, and start him on a longer trip than
he has yet undertaken--the navigation of the Mackenzie River alone
exceeding 2500 miles. If he survives this last experience we wind
up his peregrinations by a concluding voyage of 1400 miles down the
Fraser River, or, if he prefers it, the Thompson River, to Victoria
in Vancouver, whence, having previously provided him with a first
class return ticket for that purpose, he will probably prefer
getting home _via_ the Canadian Pacific.
Now, in this enumeration, those who are acquainted with the country
are aware that, for the sake of brevity, I have omitted thousands
of miles of other lakes and rivers which water various regions
of the North-West: the Qu'Appelle River, the Belly River, Lake
Manitoba, Lake Winnipegosis, Shoal Lake, and others, along whose
interminable banks and shores I might have dragged, and finally
exterminated, our way-worn guest.
2. JACQUES CARTIER'S VISIT TO HOCHELAGA IN OCTOBER (1535).
=Source.=--Lescarbot's _History of New France_, edited for the
Champlain Society, by W. L. Grant and H. P. Biggar. Toronto, 1911.
Early next morning the captain donned his armour and ordered his
men to be marshalled in order to visit the town and habitation of
this tribe, and a mountain which lies close to the town, whither
the captain went with the noblemen and twenty mariners, leaving
the rest to guard the boats, and taking three men from the town
of Hochelaga to be his guides and escort to the spot. And when on
the road we found it as well beaten as could be, in a fair country
like a park; with as fine oaks as in any forest in France, and the
whole ground beneath them thick with acorns. When we had gone about
a league and a half, we came upon one of the chiefest lords of the
town of Hochelaga, with a large company, who made sign to us to
rest there beside a fire which they had lighted in the roadway. And
then this chief began to make a sermon and discourse, which, as we
have already said, is their mode of showing joy and friendship,
welcoming the captain and his company; and our captain gave him
two hatchets and two knives, with a cross and a crucifix which he
made him kiss, and then hung it around his neck, whereof the chief
thanked our captain. This done, we went along, and about half a
league further on began to come upon ploughed fields, and fair
large meadows full of their manner of corn, which resembles the
millet of Brazil, as large as a pea or larger, whereon they live
as we do on wheat. And amid these fields is situated and placed
the said town of Hochelaga, stretching up to a mountain which
lies beside it, which is well cultivated and most fertile, and
from whose top one can see to a great distance. This mountain we
called Mount Royal. The town is built in a circle, and surrounded
with a wooden palisade in three tiers, like a pyramid; the top
row is crosswise, the centre row upright, and the bottom row is
laid lengthwise; the whole compactly joined and lashed together
after their manner, rising to about twice the height of a lance.
The town has but one gate or entry, closed with bars; on it and at
several points along the wall are galleries of a kind, with ladders
ascending to them, provided with rocks and stones for its guard
and defence. In the town are about fifty houses, each about fifty
paces long or more, and twelve to fifteen broad, built all of wood,
with roofs and sides made of strips of bark or of wood as broad as
a table, well and cunningly knotted together after their fashion;
within these are several rooms, large and small; in the midst of
each house, on the ground, is a large hall where they light their
fire and live in common, afterwards retiring, the men with their
women and children, to their said chambers. They also have garners
at the top of their houses, where they store their corn, which
they call caraconi, whereof they make their bread in the following
manner. They have wooden mortars, like those for beating hemp, and
in these with wooden beetles they beat the corn to powder, then
make paste of it and cakes of the paste, which they put on a hot
stone and cover with hot pebbles, and thus they bake their bread,
for want of an oven. They also make many stews of this corn, and
also of beans and peas, of which they have good store; also of
large cucumbers and other fruits. They have also in their houses
large vats like tuns, wherein they store their eels and other fish,
which they smoke during the summer and live upon in winter; of
these they gather great plenty, as we by experience have seen. None
of their viands have any touch of salt; and they sleep on strips of
bark laid on the ground, covered with wretched skins, whereof they
also make their garments, such as otters, beavers, martens, foxes,
wild cats, roes, stags and other wild beasts, though indeed the
greater part of them go practically stark naked.
3. THE FRENCH SETTLEMENT IN THE ISLAND OF ST. CROIX (1604).
=Source.=--Grant and Biggar's edition of Lescarbot's _History_.
During the above voyage M. de Monts worked away at his fort, which
he had placed at the foot of the island, opposite the end on which,
as we have said, he had lodged his cannon. This was well thought
on, in order to control the whole river both up stream and down.
But the trouble was that the said fort faced the north, and was
without any shelter, save the trees along the shore of the island,
which in the vicinity of the fort he had forbidden to be cut down.
And outside the said fort was the barracks for the Swiss, large and
spacious, and other small buildings like a suburb. Some had built
log-huts on the mainland near the stream. But inside the fort was
the dwelling of the said M. de Monts, built of fair sawn timber,
with the banner of France overhead. Elsewhere within the fort was
the magazine, wherein lay the safety and the life of each, built
likewise of fair timber, and covered with shingles. And opposite
the magazine were the lodgings and dwellings of MM. d'Orville,
Champlain, Champdoré, and other notable persons. Opposite the
quarters of the said M. de Monts was a covered gallery, to be used
either for sports or by the workmen in wet weather. And the whole
space between the said fort and the battery was taken up with
gardens, at which every man worked lightheartedly. Thus passed
the whole autumn; and it was not bad progress to have built their
houses and cleared the island before winter; while in these parts
pamphlets were being circulated under the name of Master William,
stuffed with all sorts of news, wherein among other things this
prognosticator said that M. de Monts was pulling out thorns in
Canada. And when all is well considered, it may truly be called
pulling out thorns to take in hand such enterprises, full of
toils and of continual danger, care, vexation and discomfort.
But virtue and the courage which overcomes all such obstacles
make these thorns to be but gilly-flowers and roses to those who
set themselves to these heroic deeds in order to win glory in
the memory of men, closing their eyes to the pleasures of those
weaklings who are good for nothing but to stay at home.
Having done the things of greatest urgency, and grey-bearded father
Winter being come, they needs must keep indoors, and live every man
under his own roof-tree. During this time our friends had three
special discomforts in this island, to wit, want of wood (for that
on the said island had been used for the buildings), want of fresh
water, and the night watch for fear of a surprise from the Indians
who were encamped at the foot of the said island, or from some
other enemy; for such is the evil disposition and fury of many
Christians, that one must be more on one's guard against them than
against the infidel. This it grieveth me to say; would indeed that
I were a liar herein, and that I had no cause to speak it. Thus
when water or wood was required they were constrained to cross the
river, which on either side is more than three times as broad as
the Seine at Paris. This was both painful and tedious; so that very
often one had to bespeak the boat a day in advance before being
able to get the use of it. On top of this came cold and snow and
frost so hard that the cider froze in the casks, and each man was
given his portion by weight. As for wine, it was only given out
on certain days of the week. Some lazy fellows drank melted snow
without troubling to cross the river. In short, unknown diseases
broke out, like those which Captain Jacques Cartier has already
described for us, of which for fear of vain repetition I shall
therefore not give an account. No remedy could be found.
4. THE ANCIENT MARINER (1631).
=Source.=--_The Strange and Dangerous Voyage of Captain Thomas
James to Hudson Bay, 1631-2_: which is believed to be the source
of much of Coleridge's _Ancient Mariner_. Reprinted by the Hakluyt
Society, 1894.
[Nov.] I lay ashore till the 17, all which time our miseries did
increase. It did snow and freeze most extremely. At which time, we
looking from the shore towards the ship, she did look like a piece
of ice in the fashion of a ship, or a ship resembling a piece of
ice. The snow was all frozen about her....
The three-and-twentieth, the ice did increase extraordinarily, and
the snow lay on the water in flakes as it did fall; much ice withal
drove by us, yet nothing hard all this while. In the evening, after
the watch was set, a great piece came athwart our hawse, and four
more followed after him, the least of them a quarter of a mile
broad; which, in the dark, did very much astonish us, thinking it
would have carried us out of the harbour upon the shoals Easter
Point, which was full of rocks. It was newly congealed, a matter of
two inches thick, and we broke thorough it, the cable and anchor
enduring an incredible stress, sometimes stopping the whole ice....
[May.] The second, it did snow and blow, and was so cold that we
were fain to keep house all day. This unexpected cold at this time
of the year did so vex our sick men that they grew worse and worse.
We cannot now take them out of their beds but they would swound,
and we had much ado to fetch life in them.
The third, those that were able went aboard betimes to heave out
the ice. The snow was now melted in many places upon the land, and
stood in plashes. And now there came some cranes and geese to it.
The fourth, while the rest wrought aboard, I and the surgeon went
with a couple of pieces to see if we could kill any of these fowl
for our sick men; but never did I see such wild-fowl: they would
not endure to see anything move....
[July.]... We were continually till the 22 so pestered and
tormented with ice that it would seem incredible to relate it.
Sometimes we were so blinded with fog that we could not see about
us; and, being now become wilful in our endeavours, we should so
strike against the ice that the forepart of the ship would crack
again, and make our cook and others to run up all amazed and think
the ship had been beaten all to pieces. Indeed we did hourly strike
such unavoidable blows that we did leave the hatches open; and, 20
times in a day, the men would run down into the hold to see if she
were bulged.
Sometimes, when we had made her fast in the night to a great piece
of ice, we should have such violent storms that our fastening would
break, and then the storm would beat us from piece to piece most
fearfully; other-while, we should be fast enclosed amongst great
ice as high as our poop.
5. TWO ENGLISH EXPLORERS MEET IN HUDSON BAY (1631).
=Source.=--_The North-West Fox_, Captain Luke Fox's account of his
voyage. Reprinted by the Hakluyt Society, 1894.
[30 Aug.] I was well entertained and feasted by Captain James with
variety of such cheer as his sea provisions could afford, with
some partridges; we dined betwixt decks, for the great cabin was
not big enough to receive ourselves and followers; during which
time the ship... threw in so much water as we could not have
wanted sauce if | 2,564.808482 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.7886040 | 1,681 | 6 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Canada
Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration: A Day with Byron]
[Illustration]
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."
(_Hebrew Melodies._)
A DAY WITH LORD BYRON
_by_
M.C.
GILLINGTON
LONDON
HODDER & STOUGHTON
_In the same Series._
_Longfellow._
_Tennyson._
_Keats._
_Browning._
_Wordsworth._
_Burns._
_Scott._
_Shelley._
A DAY WITH BYRON.
One February afternoon in the year 1822, about two o'clock,--for this
is the hour at which his day begins,--"the most notorious personality
of his century" arouses himself, in the Palazzo Lanfranchi at Pisa.
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron, languidly arises and dresses, with the
assistance of his devoted valet Fletcher. Invariably he awakes in very
low spirits, "in actual despair and despondency," he has termed it: this
is in part constitutional, and partly, no doubt, a reaction after the
feverish brain-work of the previous night. It is, at any rate, in
unutterable melancholy and _ennui_ that he surveys in the mirror that
slight and graceful form, which had been idolised by London drawing-rooms,
and that pale, scornful, beautiful face, "like a spirit, good or evil,"
which the enthusiastic Walter Scott has termed a thing to dream of. He
notes the grey streaks already visible among his dark brown locks, and
mutters his own lines miserably to himself,--
Through life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragg'd to three-and-thirty.
What have these years left to me?
Nothing--except thirty-three.
An innumerable motley crowd of reminiscences--most of them bitter,
sorrowful, or contemptuous, throng across his mind, shaping themselves
into poignant verse:
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
* * * * *
Oh! could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been,
Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanished scene;
As springs in desert found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
So,'midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
A meagre breakfast,--of claret and soda with a few mouthfuls of some
Italian dish,--somewhat restores his natural vivacity: and he listens
with cynical amusement to Fletcher's blood-curdling stories of the
phantoms who have made night hideous. For the famous old feudal Palazzo,
with its dungeons and secret chambers, has been immemorially infested
with ghosts, and harassed by inexplicable noises. Fletcher has already
begged leave to change his room, and then refused to occupy his new
room, because, as his master reports, "there are more ghosts there than
in the other!... There is one place where people were evidently walled
up... I am bothered about these spectres, as they say the last occupants
were too." However, he is laughing as he descends the magnificent
staircase,--the reputed work of Michael Angelo,--laughing until the
shrill querulous cries of peevish children make him stop and frown. He
has allowed the Leigh Hunts, with their large and fractious family, to
occupy for the present the ground-floor of the Palazzo; and children
are his pet abhorrence. "I abominate the sight of them so much," he has
already told Moore, "that I have always had the greatest respect for
the character of Herod!" No child figures in any of his poems: his own
paternal feeling towards "Ada, sole daughter of my house and home," is
merely a fluctuating sentiment.
He shrugs his shoulders and enters his great _salon_, again moody and
with a downcast air: and throws himself upon a couch in gloomy reverie.
Snatches of poetry wander through his thoughts--poetry intrinsically
autobiographical, for "the inequalities of his style are those of his
career," and his imaginary heroes are endless reproductions of himself,
"the wandering outlaw of his own dark mind." He has drawn his own
picture more effectively in _Lara_ than any strange hand could do.
In him, inexplicably mix'd, appear'd
Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd;
Opinion, varying o'er his hidden lot,
In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot....
There was in him a vital scorn of all:
As if the worst had fall'n which could befall;
He stood a stranger in this breathing world,
An erring spirit from another hurl'd....
His early dreams of good outstripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.
His men, in short, as has been observed, are "made after his own image,
and his women after his own heart." Yet the inveterate family likeness
of these heroes is not shared by the heroines of his romantic stanzas:
for Byron has an eclectic taste in beauty. One can hardly imagine a
wider dissimilarity than between the _Bride of Abydos_, the gentle
Zuleika, with her
"Nameless charms unmark'd by her alone--
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonised the whole,
And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul."
and "Circassia's daughter," the stately Leila of _The Giaour_, whose
black and flowing hair "swept the marble where her feet gleamed whiter
than the mountain sleet." Or, if the reader seek a further choice, there
is Medora, beloved of the Corsair,--Medora of the deep blue eye and long
fair hair; or the nameless Eastern maiden of the _Hebrew Melodies_:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Yet all these heroines are alike in one respect--their potentiality of
passionate emotion: since Byron's "passions and his powers," | 2,564.808644 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.8798580 | 143 | 19 |
Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WINTERSLOW
ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
WRITTEN THERE
BY
WILLIAM HAZLITT
[Decoration]
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
48 LEICESTER SQUARE
1902
The World's Classics
XXV
THE WORKS OF
WILLIAM HAZLITT--III
WINTERSLOW
ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS
WRITTEN THERE
_These Essays were first published collectively in the year
| 2,564.899898 |
2023-11-16 18:59:48.9800660 | 7,429 | 6 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, David E. Brown, 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
LEGACY OF FUN
BY
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
WITH
A SHORT SKETCH OF HIS LIFE.
LONDON:
FREDERICK FARRAH, 282, STRAND.
1865.
MEMOIR.
Abe Lincoln, the late President of the United States of America, was
born on the 12th of February, 1809, in Hardin County, in the State of
Kentucky. His grandfather, who emigrated from Virginia to the above
State, was slain by the Indians in 1784. Thomas Lincoln, father of
the President, and Nancy Hawks, his mother, were natives of Virginia.
The opportunities for education enjoyed by Abraham were few and
far between, for at an early age his father needed his assistance
in clearing the forest, and making it a fitting dwelling place for
man. Still, whenever an opportunity presented itself, it was eagerly
grasped, and the result was that, despite of untoward circumstances,
Abraham succeeded in acquiring a decent knowledge of his mother tongue
and the rudiments of an ordinary education.
“At nineteen,” says one of his biographers, “we find him serving as a
common bargeman on a boat plying to New Orleans. In March, 1830, he
accompanied his father to Macon County, Illinois, and helped him to
build a log cabin for the family home, and he made enough rails to
fence in ten acres of land. The next year he was employed as a boat
builder to assist in building a flat-bottomed boat, which he afterwards
took to New Orleans, and upon his return his employer put him in charge
of a store in Illinois.
“In 1832, when the ‘Black Hawk War’ broke out, he joined a company
of Volunteer Rifles; and such was his popularity that he was almost
immediately unanimously chosen captain by his comrades--an unexpected
piece of good fortune which he often said gave him greater pleasure
than any subsequent success in life. Here he served for three months
only, when he was proposed as a candidate for the Legislature of
Illinois, but his opponents being in a majority he was defeated. Soon
after this he was appointed post-master of New Salem; and now, having
a little leisure time on his hands, he began to study law, borrowing
of an evening books from a neighbouring lawyer, and returning them the
next morning.
“A survey of Sangamon County was ordered by the Government about this
time, and the surveyor offered to depute Mr. Lincoln to survey that
portion of the work lying in his part of the county. Nothing daunted,
he procured a treatise on surveying, and after reading it, purchased a
compass and chain, and _did the work_.
“In 1834 he was elected member of the Legislature of Illinois by a
large majority, and was re-elected in 1836, 1838, and 1840. In 1836 he
obtained a licence to practice law, and he removed to Springfield,
where he entered into partnership with a Mr. Stuart, and rose rapidly
in public favour, being very successful as an advocate in jury trials.
“In 1834 he was elected as one of the members of Congress for Illinois.
As soon as his Congressional term had expired, he returned to the
study of the law until 1856, when we find him nominated for the
Vice-Presidency by the Illinois delegates to the Republican States
Convention of that year, but this nomination was overruled.
“Two years afterwards and the Convention met at Springfield, and he
was unanimously elected as a candidate for the Senate in opposition
to Mr. Douglas. In 1860 the Convention met at Chicago to ballot for a
candidate for the Presidency, and after a severe and prolonged struggle
Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the United States of America.”
The fearful struggle which commenced upon his elevation to the high
office of President, is by far too recent to necessitate description.
Suffice it to say that from the commencement to the end, the great
trait in Lincoln’s character was ever active, viz., indomitable
perseverance. This valuable characteristic served him in lieu of more
brilliant qualities, and enabled him to outreach men of far larger
capacity and infinitely higher genius. He was brutally assassinated
in the presence of his wife and friends by John Wilkes Booth, while
witnessing a dramatic representation at Washington, on the 14th day of
April, 1865.
ABE LINCOLN, THE GREAT AMERICAN JESTER.
_Lincoln and Meagher._
On Lincoln’s receiving a dispatch from Meagher, the Irish General,
stating that he had succeeded in capturing an entire division of the
seceders, the president remarked that “it was good news, if true; but
he suspected it was _Meagher_ (mere) humbug!”
_Hooker’s Appointment._
When Seaward proposed that fighting Joe Hooker should have the command
of an entire brigade, Lincoln expressed an approval upon the ground
that they “must win by Hook-_er_ by Crook” (hook or by crook).
_Cut Cavendish._
Upon being interrogated why Americans used so much tobacco, Abe replied
“because they _chews_” (choose).
_Commodore Wilks._
When the president heard of the capture of Slidell and Mason on board
the _Trent_, he foresaw that it would be likely to breed a rupture with
England, but dismissed the consideration of it by saying that “should
the commander’s foolish conduct place him in difficulties, he would not
fail to give Wilks a _hoister_ (an oyster).” On another occasion in
alluding to the same personage and affair, he remarked that “it would
serve _Wilks_ right if he lost his _place_” (plaice).
_A proper Cognomen._
When Captain Frye, the son of Canon Frye, was, for his distinguished
bravery at the Battle of Bull’s Run, jokingly alluded to by Sumner
as a son of a gun. Old Abe remarked that “he could with far greater
propriety call him a son of a _Canon_” (cannon).
_A Princely Pun._
Upon hearing that our Prince, Alfred, had declined to become King of
the Greeks, Abraham remarked that “the reason he did not mount the
throne of Greece was because he preferred his own native _isle_” (oil).
_A Severe Retort._
General Grant once applied for permission to be employed in a special
service on the ground that he commanded none but tried men. “Yes,”
replied the president, “I admit the truthfulness of your plea, for if
they have not been tried in the field they have been _tried_ elsewhere!”
_Conundrum._
“Come, Chase,” said Lincoln, on one occasion while sitting
_tete-a-tete_ with the great American financier, “I will give you a
conundrum: Why is a man who deals in stale jokes like a stock-jobber?”
After sundry ineffectual attempts upon the part of his friend to find
an answer, the presidential joker gave the following for a reply:
“Because he deals in _fun dead_ (funded) property.”
_A Grumbler Answered._
A certain well-known American grumbler once appeared before the
president to obtain the dismissal of General Grant upon the ground of
drunkenness. “Why,” exclaimed the faultfinder, “he, on one occasion,
drank twelve bottles of wine at a sitting.” “That,” said Lincoln, “is
more than I can swallow.”
_Loquacity._
A very loquacious personage once applied for a government situation
upon the ground that he had no other mode of obtaining a living, having
tried several shops and failed at each! “I cannot grant your request,”
was the president’s reply, “but I would suggest that you tried a
_tongue_ shop.”
_A Slashing Inuendo._
When President Lincoln visited the army of the Potomac, a captain with
a face cut and slashed in all directions, complained of the great want
of ambulances and the consequent sufferings of the wounded. “I will do
my best,” replied Abe, “to supply the deficiency,” and then, turning to
another, he remarked that “the captain had no right to complain of the
number of his (s) cars.”
_Scriptural Criticism._
Abe Lincoln, who is by no means a bad judge of paintings, was shewn a
picture done by a very indifferent hand, and asked to give an opinion
of it. “Why,” said the president, the “painter is a very good painter,
and observes the Lord’s commandments.” “What do you mean by that, Mr.
Lincoln?” said a well-known member of the senate, who was standing by.
“Why, I think,” answered Abraham, “that he hath not made to himself the
likeness of anything that is in the heaven above, or that is in the
earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.”
_A Poultry (paltry) War._
A crony of Abe’s--a man named Payne, was appointed a general at
Illinois; in reference to his election the following is recorded, which
the president tells with great _gusto_: One day a wealthy old lady,
whose plantation was in the vicinity of the camp, came in and inquired
for General Payne. When the commander made his appearance, the old
lady in warm language told him that his men had stolen her last coop
of chickens, and demanded its restoration or its value in money. “I am
sorry for you, madam,” replied the general, “but I can’t help it. The
fact is, Madam, we are determined to squelch out the rebellion, if it
cost every d----d chicken in Tennessee.”
_Lincoln on Physic._
Lincoln once said of an apothecary, that his employment was to pour
drugs, of which he knew little, into a body of which he knew less.
_False Accusation._
When General Peck attempted to take Blackwater, in Virginia, fear was
expressed, that from his known sternness, he would compromise the
honour of the Federal cause by giving the place up to pillage. “No
fear,” said Lincoln, “it takes more _pecks_ than one to make a _sack_.”
_How to make Foes._
“When I give away a place,” said Lincoln, to a person who was
continually importuning him, “I discover that I always make a hundred
foes to one friend.”
_Tough Job._
“Constant practice as a rail-splitter,” said Lincoln “gave me a
thorough knowledge of the various grain found in wood, but I never
thought ebony would be so tough to work upon, as I have found it to be
since I took to dealing with these d--d <DW65>s.”
_The only alternative._
“How shall we get cotton” said a northern manufacturer to the
president. “Well, I suppose you must just wait till the southerners
_get worsted_,” was Abe’s reply.
_Abe’s Difficulties._
A celebrated American Explorer, while chatting with the president, said
that in his late attempt to discover the remains of the unfortunate Sir
John Franklin and his crew, he passed through Davis’-straits. “Did you,
by God,” said Abe, “then, I should think you are the only person on
earth who could pass through mine.”
_Misnomers._
“What are you?” said Lincoln, to a man dressed in fustian, who rudely
accosted him in the streets of Washington. “I am a civil engineer”
was the reply. “Then,” said the president, “you are like the war now
raging, sadly mis-named, for there is nothing civil about you.”
_Deficiency of Fuel._
A ship was lately dispatched by Welles to endeavour to capture the
celebrated Southern cruiser, yclept the _Alabama_. After the ship had
been absent a short time it was discovered that the supply of coals was
deficient. The coals had been supplied by a celebrated New York dealer
in that commodity named Heaven. Upon the matter being mentioned to
Lincoln, he replied, “Well, he ought to have telegraphed to _Heaven_
for more coals.”
_A Queer Compliment._
When Lincoln sent Admiral ---- to enforce the blockade at Charlestown
and Wellington, he said “there was no chance of failure, as the person
sent carried with him a _blockhead_ that nothing could penetrate.”
_A slight addition._
A New York lawyer was desirous of being appointed as a judge. “There
are only ten,” he exclaimed, “to transact the whole of the state’s
affairs.” “And so you want to increase them to one hundred,” said
Lincoln. “How so,” said the applicant. “Why, by adding a cipher to
them.”
_Preaching out West._
Lincoln is very fond of repeating the following: “I knew an old
preacher, out west, who, on a very cold day, when describing hell,
said ‘it was an awful place and that the cold was unbearable.’ One of
his congregation, at the close of the sermon, took upon himself to ask
the preacher why he had described hell as being cold, when all eminent
divines said it was the very reverse. ‘Oh, sir,’ said the preacher, ‘I
had good reason, for if I had preached the reverse, I should have had
them running away to warm themselves.’”
_Tom Thumb._
“I understand, General,” said Lincoln, addressing the celebrated
dwarf, Tom Thumb, “that you are about to have the first instalment of
a family.” “Yes,” was the general’s reply. “Well,” said the president,
“I trust it will be a boy.” “Why,” interrogated the dwarf. “Because I
should like your infant to increase my infantry.”
_How a Black’s Made._
“I tell you,” said Seward to Lincoln, one day,
“Everything you proclaim is quite right,
But to arm the poor <DW65> is not quite the thing,
For two blacks never yet made a white.”
“You are wrong, they are equal, no matter their hue,
And I’ll prove that in judgment you lack:
Only give me your help, and united I’ll prove,
That two _whites_ can at least make a _black_.”
“My service you claim, and freely ’tis given;
Now, the truth of your promise let’s see.”
He wrote, “manumission,” then cried, “It is done:
_For a black’s never made till he’s free!_”
_Abe’s First Joke._
Abe Lincoln, when a boy, had an uncle who kept a mill down west.
Noticing that the mill was going very slow, the young joker, on
meeting the miller, said, he could eat the meal faster than the mill
ground it. “How long could you do so?” said his uncle, struck by the
boy’s remark. “Why, ’till I _starved to death_,” replied the young
incorrigible.
_A Wonderful Child._
“American babies,” said Lincoln, during the time of the celebrated
baby show, “lick all babies. I have seen one in Massachusetts, only
six months old, sitting in its mother’s lap, viewing its own cradle,
to see if it could not invent a better, or, at least, suggest some
improvement.”
_How to stop thieves._
“Friend Lincoln,” said a celebrated Western farmer, one day, to the
president, “thee knows almost everything; can thee tell me how I am
to preserve my small beer in the back yard? My neighbours are often
tapping it of nights.”--“Put a barrel of old Madeira by the side of it,
let the rogues but get a taste of that, and I warrant they’ll never
touch your small beer any more.”
_Hopping the twig._
“It is no use, president; wherever I go,” said an officer appointed to
enforce the draft, “I find the houses shut up, and the bird flown.” “I
see,” said the president, “they are _afraid of the draft_.”
_The best saddles._
There was a dispute at Washington about which were the best saddles
for the Federal Cavalry. Lincoln said “the best saddles were decidedly
saddles of mutton.”
_An offer rejected._
When Blondin was performing his daring feats at Niagara, he asked
Lincoln “if he would mind trusting himself on his back.” The answer
was somewhat prophetic, and as follows: “I shall not trust your rope!”
(Europe).
_A decided smasher._
“That paper must be rigorously dealt with,” said Welles. “I have
already,” said Lincoln “contrived to divide America, and you now want
me to smash the _Globe_!”
_Artillery Practice._
When is was reported that General Blunt had let the rebel cavalry
escape. The President remarked to the Chief of the War Department,
that “the appointment of such a man was a piece of folly, for how
could it be expected that _Blunt_ could be _Sharp_.”
_A curious addition._
“Is it not curious, General,” said Abe to McClellan, “that whenever a
piece of field artillery is fired, that the number of animals attending
it is increased?” “How so?” said the famous Northern General. “Why,”
said Lincoln, “it then has not only its four horses in front, but it
has also _its moke_ behind.”
_The Cost of War._
“Your fighting, General,” said Lincoln, to a general who had returned
disabled, “has been an expensive affair to you.” “How so” “Why,” said
the president, “it has cost you a _leg I see_” (legacy.)
_In memory of._
To commemorate the battle of Bull’s run, the Yankees are about to build
an hotel there. On hearing of this, Lincoln remarked that “there was a
_hot hell_ there before.”
_A Crocodile’s age._
Abe Lincoln prides himself on being the first to make known the means
of ascertaining the age of crocodiles. He says that a <DW64> acquainted
him with the fact that a sort of bag is placed in the intestines of
the crocodiles, which always contains a number of stones corresponding
with the years of its life, it being the custom of these animals to
swallow a stone on their birthday.
_No Thanks._
Abe, at one of his morning levees, had a visitor who introduced
himself as one of the President’s best friends, and soliciting a
government post then vacant as the gift of Abe, urged his claim for the
appointment upon the ground that it was solely through the applicant’s
exertions Mr. Lincoln was elected president. “Oh, indeed;” said Abe, “I
now look upon the man, who of all men, has crowned my existence with a
crown of thorns--no post for you in my gift, I assure you; I wish you
good morning.”
_Merry-Making._
When the Merrimac was about to be christened. The president remarked,
“that it was a somewhat strange _title_ as the ship was built, to make
mourning rather than _make merry_.”
_A Husband’s Wit._
MRS. L-- was, one day, engaged in making an apple pie, and in the
operation contrived to besmear her face with the _batter_. The
president observing the same, asked her “the loan of her _batter eye_”
(battery).
_The cause discovered._
When the Federals flew before the Southerners at Bull’s run. Lincoln
remarked that “it resulted from the army having _too many wings_.”
_Byronic._
Lincoln, upon hearing that an old friend of his had gone to Utah, said
“he supposed he had gone to spend his _latter days_ among the _Mormon
knights_.”
_A satisfactory conclusion._
When Lincoln read the account of Bull’s run, wherein it said that the
Northern army was knocked into a cocked hat. Lincoln drily remarked
that “he supposed it had been caught _napping_.”
_A mother’s alarm._
A lady was lamenting to the president that her only son had gone to
the war, and asked him what she had better do. “Oh,” he replied, “you
can’t do better than buy him _a life preserver_.”
_Punning again._
Governor Seymour telegraphed to Lincoln during the late riots in New
York City, that there was no occasion to act so harshly and drag so
many citizens off to prison. The reply was that “he (the president)
thought quite differently, and that he should never be content till
he’d _see more_ (Seymour) there.”
_Idol._
“There you are,” said Mrs. Lincoln one day to her husband--at your idol
again--alluding to his well-known love of tobacco. “Yes, my dear,” was
his reply, “_I am burning it._”
_A Word for the Irish._
A lieutenant told the president that of all the men that composed his
regiment, the Irish gave him the greatest amount of uneasiness. “Sir,”
was Lincoln’s reply, “our enemies, the rebels, make the same complaint.”
_Skill of a Young Officer._
McClellan was once speaking to the President of a promising young
officer who was slain at the cattle of Bull’s run. “Oh,” said the
American Chief, “if there was doubt about his being skilled while
living, no one doubts but that _he’s_ (s) _killed_ now.”
_A foot in it._
When Admiral Foote was appointed to command the South Atlantic
squadron, he bade Welles to see that the Admiral’s ship was quite
sea-worthy. “How is it you are so particular,” said the Naval Chief.
“Why,” said Lincoln, with a chuckle, “have I not placed my _Foot_ in
it.”
_Lincoln to Ewell_,
ON HIS NOT FORCING HILL TO CROSS THE POTOMAC.
“Dear Ewell,” wrote Lincoln, one day in a pet,
“Your tactics have ended in loss;
You have let Hill escape, I will venture to bet,
It’s _myself_ and not him you made _cross_.
Why were you so blinded by Hill’s little _ruse_?
It is shameful--nay, more; it is cruel;
Your failures, disasters, really give one the blues,
And I wish I could only make _you Hill_” (you ill).
_Shakspearian Query._
Abraham is known to be very fond of Shakspeare, yet at times, to
indulge in a joke, even at the expense of his favourite. A short time
since, he wrote as follows to a popular actor, with whom he is known
to be on intimate terms:--
“In _Hamlet_, Act II., Scene 2, is this:--
“‘_King._ He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found the head and
source of all your son’s distemper.’
“‘_Queen._ I doubt it is no other but the _main_.’
“Tell me, does her Majesty imply that _Hamlet_ suffered from
sea-sickness?”
The reply was that the actor believed that it was not the _main_ cause.
_Running Comment._
On hearing that an American composer was engaged in writing a national
hymn----, the President hinted that “He hoped that it would not have
too many _runs_ in it.”
_An Impossibility._
“The Americans,” said Chase, “at the present crisis, must not be
extravagant--they must live _under_ their incomes.” “How can they do
that,” said the President, “when there is no alternative but their
living _on_ them.”
_Jack’s Opinion._
The President narrates the following story:--“While passing along
the streets of New York, one day, I met a Jack Tar. ‘What ship,’ I
enquired, ‘do you belong to?’ ‘What odds is that to you,’ was the
reply. ‘Do you know who I am,’ I exclaimed. ‘No.’ ‘Why, I am the
President.’ Then, said Jack, ‘_You have a damned good berth of it!_’”
_The House of Congress._
“That house,” said Abe, “is a swan house--all white and fair outside,
but only think of the black-legs that are working out of sight.”
[This, if ever said by the President, is an adaptation from Douglas
Jerrold.]
_Abe Lincoln’s opinion of a man’s strength._
Upon the receipt of the news that ---- had carried Fort Nagher--the
President drily remarked that “He must be a very _strong man_!”
_The Fall of Pride._
An enthusiastic Englishman once said to the President, that the Niagara
river was the pride of rivers. “Yes,” was the reply, “but that pride
has a tremendous fall.”
_The Captain’s Reply._
“We’re short of prog, said Captain B----,
When going on a trip;
And as we’ve little got to eat,
We’ll dine off the ship.
Fear not, but keep your powder dry,
And place faith in the Lord;
You’ve naught to fear, for seamen cooks
Can always cook a-board.
The captain quickly did reply,
While standing by the wheel,
’Tis little, Abe’rm, that we have--
How can we cook _a deal_.”
_A Strange Similarity._
“Why is the Northern army,” asked the President, “like the post-office
at Washington?” “Because it is made up of columns, wings, and squares,
and, judging from the past, it is also _doomed_.”
_Economy._
“There is no nonsense about these sardines,” said Mrs. Lincoln, “they
are genuine, and came from the Mediterranean.” “Yes,” said Lincoln,
“and if you leave them to themselves _they will go a great deal
farther_.”
_Where Punch got his Cartoon from._
When Lincoln sent contributions to the Northern army, he wrote to
General ---- as follows:--“Dear Sir,--Knowing that the army under your
charge requires purging, I herewith send you a _black draft_.”--Yours,
Lincoln.
_Pun upon Pun._
The facetious president thus wrote to a friend in Scotland:--
“As however, I am somewhat partial to female authors (Scotch or
otherwise), don’t forget to remember me to all the _blue belles_ of
Scotland, and to as many _primroses_ as you can find. The remembrance
may produce a little _heart’s ease_, and cause their _two-lips_ to
bless you.”
_Lincoln at the Play._
I had the pleasure on Monday night of seeing “Macbeth” rendered upon
the stage of Messrs. Wallack and Devonport, and also of seeing Mr.
Lincoln present at the same time. It is Mr. Lincoln’s favourite play,
and one could not repress a certain curiosity to know (though he
is familiar with them as he is with stump speaking, doubtless) how
certain passages would strike him. When the following passage between
Malcolm and Macduff was pronounced the audience was suddenly silent as
the grave:--
_Mal._--Let me seek out some desolate shade,
and there weep our bosoms empty.
_Macd._ Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our downfall’n birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike on the face of heaven, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yelled out
Like syllable of dolour.
Mr. Lincoln leaned back in his chair in the shade after this sentence
was pronounced, and for a long time wore a sad, sober face, as if
suddenly his thoughts had wandered from the playroom far away to where
his great armies contest with the rebellious of a vast empire.
_A Ludicrous Mistake._
“Who has been guilty of these crimes,” said Lincoln, alluding to those
committed by New York electioneering agents, “Donohue,” was the reply.
“Then learn out as speedily as possible.”
_A Southern Estimate._
When informed that General Stoughton had been captured by the rebels at
Fairfax, the President is reported to have said that he did not mind
the loss of the Brigadier as much as he did the loss of the horses.
“For,” said he, “I can make a much better Brigadier in five minutes,
but the horses cost a hundred and twenty-five dollars a-piece.”
_Strong Habits._
“Well,” said the President, after the last repulse before Richmond,
“them blessed ‘babies’ do fight, and the old chaps lifted from their
graves are at any rate from the right _mould_; the babies are like
young puppies that can stand a deal of licking, and the old boys are
too old to _run_!”
_How to Fight._
“Those Southerners fight! its all blarney,” said Abe;
“Put your swords in your sheath, boys, and lick Hills;
“But a man without a sword is at fighting a babe
“Then, damn-me, said Abe, use your _Sickles_!”
_A Majority Wanted._
When it was reported to Abe Lincoln that the men engaged in the coal
pits had refused to fight the old joker said, “He didn’t expect miners
(minors) to fight;” “but stay,” said Lincoln, “is there no way of
making Majors of these minors?”
_A Story concerning a Second Term._
It is said that, some time ago, a gentleman hinted to the President
that it was deemed quite settled that he would accept a re-nomination
for his present office, whereupon Mr. Lincoln was reminded of a story
of Jesse Dubois, out in Illinois. Jesse as State Auditor, had charge of
the State House at Springfield. An itinerant preacher came along and
asked the use of it for a lecture.
“On what subject?” asked Jesse.
“On the second coming of our Saviour,” answered the long-faced
Millerite.
“Oh, bosh,” retorted Uncle Jesse, testily; “I guess if our Saviour had
ever been to Springfield, and had got away with his life, he’d be too
smart to think of coming back again.”
This, Mr. Lincoln said, was very much his case about the succession.
_Estimate of Official Honours._
As a further elucidation of Mr. Lincoln’s estimation of Presidential
honours, a story is told of how a supplicant for office of more than
ordinary pretensions called upon him, and, presuming on the activity
he had shown in behalf of the Republican ticket, asserted, as a reason
why the office should be given to him, that he had made Mr. Lincoln
president.
“You made me President, did you?” said Mr. Lincoln, with a twinkle of
his eye.
“I think I did,” said the applicant.
“Then a precious mess you’ve got me into, that’s all,” replied the
President, and closed the discussion.
_Truly Awful._
“When do you think this war will be ended, Mr. Lincoln?” said an
impatient citizen. “Why, when we have whipped the slaveowners.” “Then
I’m thinking,” replied the citizen, “that you will never live to see
its close. I have already seen its clothes, and they are the most
blood-stained and bespattered lot I ever saw. But I _trow_, sir, war
is sure to spoil the _habits_ of a people, especially when they go to
sleep in breeches.”
_Presidential Puns._
When it was told to Lincoln that a division of Burnside’s had been
entrapped into a _cul de sac_, Lincoln _said_ he’d cull the _sack_ for
his stupidity.
_A Liberal Giver._
Mr. Lincoln, in his happier moments, is not always reminded of a
“little story,” but often indulges in a veritable joke. One of the
latest reported is his remark when he found himself attacked by the
varioloid; he had been recently very much worried by people asking
favours. “Well,” said he, when the contagious disease was coming upon
him, “I’ve got something now that I can give to everybody.” About
the time when there was considerable grumbling as to the delay in
forwarding to the troops the money due to them, a western paymaster,
in full major’s attire, was one day introduced at a public reception.
“Being here, Mr. Lincoln,” said he, “I thought I’d call and pay my
respects.” “From the complaints of the soldiers,” responded the
President, “I guess that’s about all any of you can pay.”
_Coffee versus Tea._
It is told by a Federal correspondent, who is probably “reliable,”
that Mr. Lincoln was walking up Pennsylvania Avenue the other day,
relating “a little story” to Secretary Seward, when the latter called
his attention to a new sign bearing the name of “T. R. Strong.” “Ha!”
says old Abe, his countenance lighting up with a peculiar smile, “T. R.
Strong, but coffee are stronger.” Seward smiled, but made no reply. [We
don’t see how he could reply after so atrocious a thing as that.]
_Lincoln on Skedaddle._
“Don’t talk to me bosh! I am sick | 2,565.000106 |
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TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
OR
THE CASTAWAYS OF EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
BY VICTOR APPLETON
AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR
BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE
BOAT," | 2,565.000183 |
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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.
Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
normalized. Inconsistent capitalizations of christian and christianity
have been left as in the original.
A SERMON DELIVERED BEFORE HIS EXCELLENCY EDWARD EVERETT, GOVERNOR, HIS
HONOR GEORGE HULL, LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR, THE HONORABLE COUNCIL, AND THE
LEGISLATURE OF MASSACHUSETTS, ON THE ANNIVERSARY ELECTION, JANUARY 2,
1839.
BY MARK HOPKINS, D. D. President of Williams College.
Boston:
DUTTON AND WENTWORTH, PRINTERS TO THE STATE.
1839.
Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
SENATE, JANUARY 3, 1839.
_Ordered_, That Messrs. Filley, Quincy, and Kimball, be a Committee
to present the thanks of the Senate to the Rev. MARK HOPKINS, D. D.
for the discourse yesterday delivered by him, before the Government
of the Commonwealth, and to request a copy thereof for publication.
Attest,
CHARLES CALHOUN, _Clerk_.
SERMON.
Acts v. 29.
WE OUGHT TO OBEY GOD RATHER THAN MAN.
Man was made for something higher and better, than either to make, or
to obey, merely human laws. He is the creature of God, is subject to
his laws, and can find his perfection, and consequent happiness, only
in obeying those laws. As his moral perfection, the life of his life,
is involved in this obedience, it is impossible that any power should
lay him under obligation to disobey. The known will of God, if not the
foundation of right, is its paramount rule, and it is because human
governments are ordained by him, that we owe them obedience. We are
bound to them, not by compact, but only as God's institutions for the
good of the race. This is what the Bible, though sometimes referred to
as supporting arbitrary power, really teaches. It does not support
arbitrary power. Rightly understood, it is a perfect rule of duty, and
as in every thing else, so in the relations of subjects and rulers.
It lays down the true principles, it gives us the guiding light. When
the general question is whether human governments are to be obeyed,
the answer is, "He that resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance
of God." "The powers that be are ordained of God." But when these
powers overstep their appointed limits, and would lord it over the
conscience, and come between man and his maker, then do we hear it
uttered in the very face of power, and by the voice of inspiration, no
less than of indignant humanity, "We ought to obey God rather than
men."
It has been in connexion with the maintenance of this principle, first
proclaimed by an Apostle of Christ eighteen hundred years ago, that
all the civil liberty now in the world has sprung up. It is to the
fearless assertion of this principle by our forefathers, that we owe
it that the representatives of a free people are assembled here this
day to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences,
to seek to Him for wisdom in their deliberations, and to acknowledge
the subordination of all human governments to that which is divine.
Permit me then, as appropriate to the present occasion, to call the
attention of this audience, 1st. To the grounds on which all men are
bound to adhere to the principle stated in the text; and
2d. To the consequences of such adherence, on the part, both of
subjects, and of rulers.
* * * * *
I observe, then, that we ought to obey God rather than men, because
human governments are comparatively so limited and negative in their
bearing upon the great purposes, first, of individual, and second, of
social existence.
The purposes for which man was made, must evidently involve in their
accomplishment, both his duty and his happiness; and nothing can be
his duty which would contravene those purposes. Among them, as already
intimated, the highest is the moral perfection of the individual; for
as it is by his moral nature that man is distinguished from the
inferior animals, so it is only in the perfection of that nature, that
his perfection, as man, can consist. As absolute perfection can belong
only to God, that of man must be relative, that is, it must consist in
the proper adjustment of relations, and especially in the relation of
his voluntary actions to the end for which God designed him. This is
our idea of perfection, when we affirm it of the works of man. It
involves, mainly, such a relation of parts as is necessary to the
perfect accomplishment of the end in view. A watch is perfect when it
is so constructed that its motions exactly correspond in their little
revolutions with those of the sun in the heavens; and man is perfect
when his will corresponds in its little circle of movement with the
will of God in heaven. This correspondence, however, is not to be
produced by the laws of an unconscious mechanism, but by a voluntary,
a cheerful, a filial co-operation. It is this power of controlling his
faculties with reference to an ultimate end, of accepting or rejecting
the purpose of his being, as indicated by God in the very structure of
his powers, and proclaimed in his word, that contradistinguishes man
from every inferior being, and gives scope for what is properly
termed, character. Inferior beings have qualities by which they are
distinguished, they have characteristics, but not _character_, which
always involves a moral element. A brute does not govern its own
instincts, it is governed by them. A tree is the product of an agency
which is put forth through it, but of which it is not conscious, and
which it does not control. But God gives man to himself, and then sets
before him, in the tendency of every thing that has unconscious life
towards its own perfection, the great moral lesson that nature was
intended to teach. He then causes every blade of grass, and every
tree, to become a preacher and a model, calling upon him to put forth
his faculties | 2,565.000262 |
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LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
BY MARK TWAIN
Part 11.
Chapter 51 Reminiscences
WE left for St. Louis in the 'City of Baton Rouge,' on a delightfully
hot day, but with the main purpose of my visit but lamely accomplished.
I had hoped to hunt up and talk with a hundred steamboatmen, but got so
pleasantly involved in the social life of the town that I got nothing
more than mere five-minute talks with a couple of dozen of the craft.
I was on the bench of the pilot-house when we backed out and
'straightened up' for the start--the boat pausing for a 'good ready,' in
the old-fashioned way, and the black smoke piling out of the chimneys
equally in the old-fashioned way. Then we began to gather momentum, and
presently were fairly under way and booming along. It was all as natural
and familiar--and so were the shoreward sights--as if there had been no
break in my river life. There was a 'cub,' and I judged that he would
take the wheel now; and he did. Captain Bixby stepped into the pilot-
house. Presently the cub closed up on the rank of steamships. He made
me nervous, for he allowed too much water to show between our boat and
the ships. I knew quite well what was going to happen, because I could
date back in my own life and inspect the record. The captain looked on,
during a silent half-minute, then took the wheel himself, and crowded
the boat in, till she went scraping along within a hand-breadth of the
ships. It was exactly the favor which he had done me, about a quarter
of a century before, in that same spot, the first time I ever steamed
out of the port of New Orleans. It was a very great and sincere pleasure
to me to see the thing repeated--with somebody else as victim.
We made Natchez (three hundred miles) in twenty-two hours and a half--
much the swiftest passage I have ever made over that piece of water.
The next morning I came on with the four o'clock watch, and saw Ritchie
successfully run half a dozen crossings in a fog, using for his guidance
the marked chart devised and patented by Bixby and himself. This
sufficiently evidenced the great value of the chart.
By and by, when the fog began to clear off, I noticed that the
reflection of a tree in the smooth water of an overflowed bank, six
hundred yards away, was stronger and blacker than the ghostly tree
itself. The faint spectral trees, dimly glimpsed through the shredding
fog, were very pretty things to see.
We had a heavy thunder-storm at Natchez, another at Vicksburg, and still
another about fifty miles below Memphis. They had an old-fashioned
energy which had long been unfamiliar to me. This third storm was
accompanied by a raging wind. We tied up to the bank when we saw the
tempest coming, and everybody left the pilot-house but me. The wind bent
the young trees down, exposing the pale underside of the leaves; and
gust after gust followed, in quick succession, thrashing the branches
violently up and down, and to this side and that, and creating swift
waves of alternating green and white according to the side of the leaf
that was exposed, and these waves raced after each other as do their
kind over a wind-tossed field of oats. No color that was visible
anywhere was quite natural--all tints were charged with a leaden tinge
from the solid cloud-bank overhead. The river was leaden; all distances
the same; and even the far-reaching ranks of combing white-caps were
dully shaded by the dark, rich atmosphere through which their swarming
legions marched. The thunder-peals were constant and deafening;
explosion followed explosion with but inconsequential intervals between,
and the reports grew steadily sharper and higher-keyed, and more trying
to the ear; the lightning was as diligent as the thunder, and produced
effects which enchanted the eye and sent electric ecstasies of mixed
delight and apprehension shivering along every nerve in the body in
unintermittent procession. The rain poured down in amazing volume; the
ear-splitting thunder-peals broke nearer and nearer; the wind increased
in fury and began to wrench off boughs and tree-tops and send them
sailing away through space; the | 2,565.003545 |
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Internet Archive.)
[Illustration: _William Morris_]
WILLIAM MORRIS
POET
CRAFTSMAN
SOCIALIST
BY
ELISABETH
LVTHER
CARY
ILLVSTRATED
G. P. PVTNAM'S SONS
THE KNICKERBOCKER PRESS
NEW YORK & LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1902
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Published, October, 1902
Reprinted, June, 1903; December, 1905
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFACE.
The personal life of William Morris is already known to us through Mr.
Mackail's admirable biography as fully, probably, as we shall ever know
it. My own endeavour has been to present a picture of Morris's busy career
perhaps not less vivid for the absence of much detail, and showing only
the man and his work as they appeared to the outer public.
I have used as a basis for my narrative, the volumes by Mr. Mackail;
_William Morris, his Art, his Writings, and his Public Life_, by Aymer
Vallance; _The Books of William Morris_, by H. Buxton Forman; numerous
articles in periodicals, and Morris's own varied works.
I wish to express my indebtedness to Mr. Bulkley of 42 East 14th Street,
New York City, for permission to reproduce a number of Morris patterns in
his possession, notably a fragment of the St. James's wall-paper.
Much material for the letter-press and for the illustrations I have
obtained through the Boston Public Library. The _Froissart_ pages were
found there and most of the Kelmscott publications from which I have
quoted.
The bibliography is that prepared by Mr. S. C. Cockerell for the last
volume of Mr. Morris issued by the Kelmscott Press, under the title of _A
Note by William Morris on His Aims in Founding the Kelmscott Press_. To
the Cockerell bibliography have been added a few notes of my own.
E. L. C.
BROOKLYN, Sept. 10, 1902.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--BOYHOOD 1
II.--OXFORD LIFE 21
III.--FROM ROSSETTI TO THE RED HOUSE 46
IV.--MORRIS AND COMPANY 69
V.--FROM THE RED HOUSE TO KELMSCOTT 96
VI.--POETRY 114
VII.--PUBLIC LIFE AND SOCIALISM 146
VIII.--PUBLIC LIFE AND SOCIALISM (_Continued_) 174
IX.--LITERATURE OF THE SOCIALIST PERIOD 194
X.--THE KELMSCOTT PRESS 219
XI.--LATER WRITINGS 239
XII.--THE END 255
BIBLIOGRAPHY 269
INDEX 291
ILLUSTRATIONS.
_Page_
_William Morris_ _Frontispiece_
_From Life._
_Title-page of "The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine"_ _32_
_Portrait of Rossetti_ _36_
_By Watts._
_Illustration by Rossetti to "The Lady of Shalott" in the
Moxon "Tennyson." The Head of Launcelot is a Portrait of
Morris_ _42_
_Portrait of Jane Burden (Mrs. Morris)_ _58_
_By Rossetti_
_Wall-Paper and Cotton-Print Designs_ _60_
_"Acanthus" Wall-Paper_
_"Pimpernel" Wall-Paper_
_"African Marigold" Cotton-Print_
| 2,565.005541 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Sir Walter Scott]
THE COUNTRY OF
SIR WALTER SCOTT
BY
CHARLES S. OLCOTT
_Author of George Eliot: Scenes and People of Her Novels_
ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY CHARLES S. OLCOTT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1913
TO
MY WIFE
THE COMPANION OF MY TRAVELS
TO WHOSE SYMPATHETIC COOPERATION I AM
INDEBTED FOR MUCH OF THE MATERIAL
THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
CONTENTS
Introduction
I. The 'Making' of Sir Walter
II. | 2,565.005624 |
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HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
FROM THE
QUARTERLY JOURNAL
OF ECONOMICS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. DALLAS
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE
VALUE OF MONEY
BY
B. M. ANDERSON, JR., PH. D.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ECONOMICS, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
AUTHOR OF "SOCIAL VALUE"
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1917
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1917.
To
B. M. A., III
AND
J. C. A.
WHO OFTEN INTERRUPTED THE WORK
BUT NONE THE LESS INSPIRED IT
PREFACE
The following pages have as their central problem the value of money.
But the value of money cannot be studied successfully as an isolated
problem, and in order to reach conclusions upon this topic, it has been
necessary to consider virtually the whole range of economic theory; the
general theory of value; the role of money in economic theory and the
functions of money in economic life; the theory of the values of stocks
and bonds, of "good will," established trade connections, trade-marks,
and other "intangibles"; the theory of credit; the causes governing the
volume of trade, and particularly the place of speculation in the volume
of trade; the relation of "static" economic theory to "dynamic" economic
theory.
"Dynamic economics" is concerned with change and readjustment in
economic life. A distinctive doctrine of the present book is that the
great bulk of exchanging grows out of dynamic change, and that
speculation, in particular, constitutes by far the major part of all
trade. From this it follows that the main work of money and credit, as
instruments of exchange, is done in the process of dynamic readjustment,
and, consequently, that the theory of money and credit _must be a
dynamic theory_. It follows, further, that a theory like the "quantity
theory of money," which rests in the notions of "static equilibrium" and
"normal adjustment," abstracting from the "transitional process of
readjustment," touches the real problems of money and credit not at all.
This thesis has seemed to require statistical verification, and the
effort has been made to measure the elements in trade, to assign
proportions for retail trade and for wholesale trade, to obtain
_indicia_ of the extent and variation of speculation in securities,
grain, and other things on the organized exchanges, and to indicate
something of the extent of less organized speculation running through
the whole of business. The ratio of foreign to domestic trade has been
studied, for the years, 1890-1916.
The effort has also been made to determine the magnitudes of banking
transactions, and the relation of banking transactions to the volume of
trade. The conclusion has been reached that the overwhelming bulk of
banking transactions occur in connection with speculation. The effort
has been made to interpret bank clearings, both in New York and in the
country outside, with a view to determining quantitatively the major
factors that give rise to them.
In general, the inductive study would show that modern business and
banking centre about the stock market to a much greater degree than most
students have recognized. The analysis of banking assets would go to
show that the main function of modern bank credit is in the direct or
indirect financing of corporate and unincorporated _industry_.
"Commercial paper" is no longer the chief banking asset.
It is not concluded from this, however, that commerce in the ordinary
sense is being robbed by modern tendencies of its proper banking
accommodation, or that the banks are engaged in dangerous practices. On
the contrary it is maintained that the ability of the banks to aid
ordinary commerce is increased by the intimate connection of the banks
with the stock market. The thesis is advanced--though with a recognition
of the political difficulties involved--that the Federal Reserve Banks
should not be forbidden to rediscount loans on stock exchange
collateral, if they are to perform their best services for the country.
The quantity theory of money is examined in detail, in various
formulations, and the conclusion is reached that the quantity theory is
utterly invalid.
The theory of value set forth in Chapter I, and presupposed in the
positive argument of the book, is that first set forth in an earlier
book by the present writer, _Social Value_, published in 1911. That book
grew out of earlier studies in the theory of money, in the course of
| 2,565.006512 |
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JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR,
Kept During A Residence In The Island Of Jamaica.
By Matthew Gregory Lewis
Author of “The Monk,” “The Castle Spectre,” “Tales Of Wonder,” &c.
London: John Murray, Albemarle Street.
MDCCCXXXIV
“I WOULD GIVE MANY A SUGAR CANE,
MAT. LEWIS WERE ALIVE AGAIN!”
BYRON.
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Journals of two residences in Jamaica, in 1815-16, and in
1817, are now printed from the MS. of Mr. Lewis; who died at sea, on the
voyage homewards from the West Indies, in the year 1818.
JOURNAL OF A WEST INDIA PROPRIETOR
Expect our sailing in a few hours. But although the vessel left the
Docks on Saturday, she did not reach this place till three o’clock on
Thursday, the 9th. The captain now tells me, that we may expect to sail
certainly in the afternoon of to-morrow, the 10th. I expect the ship’s
cabin to gain greatly by my two days’ residence at the “--------------,”
which nothing can exceed for noise, dirt, and dulness. Eloisa would
never have established “black melancholy” at the Paraclete as its
favourite residence, if she had happened to pass three days at an inn
at Gravesend: nowhere else did I ever see the sky look so dingy, and the
river “_Nunc alio patriam quaero sub sole jacentem_.”--Virgil.
1815. NOVEMBER 8.
(WEDNESDAY)
I left London, and reached Gravesend at nine in the morning, having been
taught to exso dirty; to be sure, the place has all the advantages of
an English November to assist it in those particulars. Just now, too,
a carriage passed my windows, conveying on board a cargo of passengers,
who seemed sincerely afflicted at the thoughts of leaving their dear
native land! The pigs squeaked, the ducks quacked, and the fowls
screamed; and all so dolefully, as clearly to prove, that _theirs_ was
no dissembled sorrow? And after them (more affecting than all) came
a wheelbarrow, with a solitary porker tied in a basket, with his head
hanging over on one side, and his legs sticking out on the other, who
neither grunted nor moved, nor gave any signs of life, but seemed to
be of quite the same opinion with Hannah More’s heroine, “Grief is for
_little_ wrongs; despair for mine!”
As Miss O’Neil is to play “Elwina” for the first time to-morrow, it is
a thousand pities that she had not the previous advantage of seeing the
speechless despondency of this poor pig; it might have furnished her
with some valuable hints, and enabled her to convey more perfectly to
the audience the “expressive silence” of irremediable distress.
NOVEMBER 10.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, I embarked on board the “Sir Godfrey
Webster,” Captain Boyes. On approaching the vessel, we heard the loudest
of all possible shrieks proceeding from a boat lying near her: and who
should prove to be the complainant, but my former acquaintance, the
despairing pig, He had recovered his voice to protest against entering
the ship: I had already declared against climbing up the accommodation
ladder; the pig had precisely the very same objection. So a _soi-disant_
chair, being a broken bucket, was let down for us, and the pig and
myself entered the vessel by the same conveyance; only pig had the
precedence, and was hoisted up first. The ship proceeded three miles,
and then the darkness obliged us to come to an anchor. There are only
two other cabin passengers, a Mr. J------ and a Mr. S------; the
latter is a planter in the “May-Day Mountains,” Jamaica: he wonders,
considering how much benefit Great Britain derives from the West Indies,
that government is not careful to build more churches in them, and is of
opinion, that “hedicating the <DW64>s is the only way to make them appy;
indeed, in his umble hopinion, hedication his hall in hall!”
NOVEMBER 11.
We sailed at six o’clock, passed through “Nob’s Hole,” the “Girdler’s
Hole,” and “the Pan” (all very dangerous sands, and particularly the
last, where at times we had only one foot water below us), by half past
four, and at five came to an anchor in the Queen’s Channel. Never having
seen any thing of the kind before, I | 2,565.007715 |
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Transcriber's note: Transliterations of Greek were added by transcriber
and are enclosed in {curly braces} This version of this eBook does not
contain actual Greek letters, but other versions do.
Lothian Prize Essay
1884
THE ART OF WAR
IN THE
MIDDLE AGES
Oxford
PRINTED BY HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
THE ART OF WAR
IN THE
MIDDLE AGES
A.D. 378-1515
BY
C. W. C. OMAN, B.A.
FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE
_WITH MAPS AND PLANS_
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, 50 BROAD STREET
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN, 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1885
[_All rights reserved_]
The Author desires to acknowledge much kind help received in the
revision and correction of this Essay from the Rev. H. B. George, of
New College, and Mr. F. York Powell, of Christ Church.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I.
THE TRANSITION FROM ROMAN TO MEDIAEVAL FORMS IN WAR (A.D. 378-582).
Disappearance of the Legion.--Constantine's reorganization.--
The German tribes.--Battle of Adrianople.--Theodosius
accepts its teaching.--Vegetius and the army at the end of
the fourth century.--The Goths and the Huns.--Army of the
Eastern Empire.--Cavalry all-important 3-14
CHAPTER II.
THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES (A.D. 476-1066).
Paucity of Data for the period.--The Franks in the sixth
century.--Battle of Tours.--Armies of Charles the Great.--
The Franks become horsemen.--The Northman and the Magyar.--
Rise of Feudalism.--The Anglo-Saxons and their wars.--The
Danes and the Fyrd.--Military importance of the Thegnhood.--
The House-Carles.--Battle of Hastings.--Battle of Durazzo 15-27
CHAPTER III.
THE BYZANTINES AND THEIR ENEMIES (A.D. 582-1071).
Sec. 1. _Character of Byzantine Strategy._
Excellence of the Byzantine Army.--Scientific study of the art
of war.--Leo's 'Tactica.'--Wars with the Frank.--With the
Turk.--With the Slav.--With the Saracen.--Border warfare
of Christendom and Islam.--Defence of the Anatolic Themes.--
Cavalry as a defensive force.--Professional and unchivalrous
character of Byzantine officers 28-38
Sec. 2. _Arms, Organization, and Tactics of the Byzantines._
Reorganization of the Army of the Eastern Empire by Maurice.--
Its composition.--Armament of the Horseman, A.D. 600-1000.--
Armament of the Infantry.--Military Train and Engineers.--
The Officers.--Cavalry tactics.--Leo's ideal line of
battle.--Military Machines and their importance 38-48
CHAPTER IV.
THE SUPREMACY OF FEUDAL CAVALRY (A.D. 1066-1346).
Unscientific nature of feudal warfare.--Consequences
of headlong charges.--Tactical arrangements.--Their
primitive nature.--Non-existence of strategy.--Weakness
of Infantry.--Attempts to introduce discipline.--Rise of
Mercenaries.--Supreme importance of fortified places.--
Ascendency of the defensive.--The Mediaeval siege.--
Improvement of the Arts of Attack and Defence of fortified
places.--General character of Campaigns.--The Crusades 49-61
CHAPTER V.
THE SWISS (A.D. 1315-1515).
Sec. 1. _Their Character, Arms, and Organization._
The Swiss and the Ancient Romans.--Excellence of system more
important than excellence of generals.--The column of
pikemen.--The halberdier.--Rapidity of the movements of the
Swiss.--Defensive armour.--Character of Swiss armies 62-69
Sec. 2. _Tactics and Strategy._
The 'Captains' of the Confederates.--The Echelon of three
columns.--The 'Wedge' and the 'Hedgehog' formations 70-73
Sec. 3. _Development of Swiss Military Supremacy._
Battle of Morgarten.--Battle of Laupen.--Battle of Sempach.--
Battle of Arbedo.--Moral ascendency of the Swiss.--Battle
of Granson.--Battle of Morat.--Wars of the last years of
the fifteenth century 73-87
Sec. 4. _Causes of the Decline of Swiss Ascendency._
The tactics of the Swiss become stereotyped.--The Landsknechts
and their rivalry with the Swiss.--The Spanish Infantry
and the short sword.--Battle of Ravenna.--Fortified
Positions.--Battle of Bicocca.--Increased use of
Artillery.--Battle of Marignano.--Decay of discipline in
the Swiss Armies and its consequences 87-95
CHAPTER VI.
THE ENGLISH AND THEIR ENEMIES (A.D. 1272-1485).
The Long-bow and its origin, Welsh rather than Norman.--Its
rivalry with the Cross-bow.--Edward I and the Battle of
Falkirk.--The bow and the pike.--Battle of Bannockburn
and its lessons.--The French Knighthood and the English
Archery.--Battle of Cressy.--Battle of Poictiers.--Du
Guesclin and the English reverses.--Battle of Agincourt.--
The French wars, 1415-1453.--Battle of Formigny.--Wars of
the Roses.--King Edward IV and his generalship.--Barnet
and Tewkesbury.--Towton and Ferrybridge 96-123
CHAPTER VII.
CONCLUSION.
Zisca and the Hussites.--The Waggon-fortress and the tactics
depending on it.--Ascendency and decline of the Hussites.--
Battle of Lipan.--The Ottomans.--Organization and equipment
of the Janissaries.--The Timariot cavalry.--The other
nations of Europe.--Concluding remarks 124-134
INTRODUCTION.
The Art of War has been very simply defined as 'the art which enables
any commander to worst the forces opposed to him.' It is therefore
conversant with an enormous variety of subjects: Strategy and
Tactics are but two of the more important of its branches. Besides
dealing with discipline, organization, and armament, it is bound to
investigate every means which can be adapted to increase the physical
or moral efficiency of an army. The author who opened his work with a
dissertation on 'the age which is preferable in a generalissimo,' or
'the average height which the infantry soldier should attain[1],' was
dealing with the Art of War, no less than he who confined himself to
purely tactical speculations.
The complicated nature of the subject being taken into consideration,
it is evident that a complete sketch, of the social and political
history of any period would be necessary to account fully for the
state of the 'Art of War' at the time. That art has existed, in a
rudimentary form, ever since the day on which two bodies of men first
met in anger to settle a dispute by the arbitrament of force. At
some epochs, however, military and social history have been far more
closely bound up than at others. In the present century wars are but
episodes in a people's existence: there have, however, been times when
the whole national organization was founded on the supposition of a
normal state of strife. In such cases the history of the race and of
its 'art of war' are one and the same. To detail the constitution of
Sparta, or of Ancient Germany, is to give little more than a list of
military institutions. Conversely, to speak of the characteristics of
their military science involves the mention of many of their political
institutions.
At no time was this interpenetration more complete than in the age
which forms the central part of our period. Feudalism, in its origin
and development, had a military as well as a social side, and its
decline is by no means unaffected by military considerations. There is
a point of view from which its history could be described as 'the rise,
supremacy, and decline of heavy cavalry as the chief power in war.' To
a certain extent the tracing out of this thesis will form the subject
of our researches. It is here that we find the thread which links the
history of the military art in the middle ages into a connected whole.
Between Adrianople, the first, and Marignano, the last, of the triumphs
of the mediaeval horseman, lie the chapters in the scientific history of
war which we are about to investigate.
I.
THE TRANSITION FROM ROMAN TO MEDIAEVAL FORMS IN WAR.
A.D. 378-582.
[From the battle of Adrianople to the Accession of Maurice.]
Between the middle of the fourth and the end of the sixth century lies
a period of transition in military history, an epoch of transformations
as strange and as complete as those contemporary changes which turned
into a new channel the course of political history and civilisation in
Europe. In war, as in all else, the institutions of the ancient world
are seen to pass away, and a new order of things develops itself.
Numerous and striking as are the symptoms of that period of transition,
none is more characteristic than the gradual disuse of the honoured
name of 'Legion,' the title intimately bound up with all the ages of
Roman greatness. Surviving in a very limited acceptance in the time of
Justinian[2], it had fifty | 2,565.102635 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.1812970 | 105 | 18 |
Produced by Paul Clark and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Secrets of the Sword
Secrets of the Sword
Translated from the original French
of BARON DE BAZANCOURT by
C. F. CLAY, with illustrations
by F. H. TOWNSEND
_La pointe d'une epee est une | 2,565.201337 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.1822990 | 86 | 9 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Richard Tonsing and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
RICHARD THE THIRD,
third sonne to Richard duke of Yorke, and vncle to Edward the fift.
[Sidenote: An. Reg. 1.]
[Sidenote: 1483.]
[Sidenote: (*) This that is here betweene | 2,565.202339 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.1834490 | 7,354 | 14 |
E-text prepared by Joel Erickson, Michael Ciesielski, David Garcia, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
CHRISTIE, THE KING'S SERVANT
A Sequel to 'Christie's Old Organ'
By MRS. O.F. WALTON
AUTHOR OF 'CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN'
'A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES'
'THE KING'S CUPBEARER'
'SHADOWS' ETC ETC
[Illustration]
Contents
CHAPTER
I RUNSWICK BAY
II LITTLE JOHN
III STRANGE MUSIC
IV WHAT ARE YOU?
V THE RUNSWICK SPORTS
VI THE TUG OF WAR
VII OVER THE LINE
VIII A NIGHT OF STORM
IX ASK WHAT YE WILL
X WE KNOW
XI LITTLE JACK AND BIG JACK
XII WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
[Illustration]
Chapter I
RUNSWICK BAY
It was the yellow ragwort that did it! I have discovered the clue at
last. All night long I have been dreaming of Runswick Bay. I have been
climbing the rocks, talking to the fishermen, picking my way over the
masses of slippery seaweed, and breathing the fresh briny air. And all
the morning I have been saying to myself, 'What can have made me dream
of Runswick Bay? What can have brought the events of my short stay in
that quaint little place so vividly before me?' Yes, I am convinced of
it; it was that bunch of yellow ragwort on the mantelpiece in my
bedroom. My little Ella gathered it in the lane behind the house
yesterday morning, and brought it in triumphantly, and seized the best
china vase in the drawing-room, and filled it with water at the tap, and
thrust the great yellow bunch into it.
'Oh, Ella,' said Florence, her elder sister, 'what ugly common flowers!
How could you put them in mother's best vase, that Aunt Alice gave her
on her birthday! What a silly child you are!'
'I'm not a silly child,' aid Ella stoutly, 'and mother is sure to like
them; I know she will. _She_ won't call them common flowers. She
loves all yellow flowers. She said so when I brought her the daffodils;
and these are yellower, ever so much yellower.'
Her mother came in at this moment, and, taking our little girl on her
knee, she told her that she was quite right; they were very beautiful in
her eyes, and she would put them at once in her own room, where she
could have them all to herself.
And that is how it came about, that, as I lay in bed, the last thing my
eyes fell upon was Ella's bunch of yellow ragwort; and what could be
more natural than that I should go to sleep and dream of Runswick Bay?
It seems only yesterday that I was there, so clearly can I recall it,
and yet it must be twenty years ago. I think I must write an account of
my visit to Runswick Bay and give it to Ella, as it was her yellow
flowers which took me back to the picturesque little place. If she
cannot understand all I tell her now, she will learn to do so as she
grows older.
I was a young man then, just beginning to make my way as an artist. It
is slow work at first; until you have made a name, every one looks
critically at your work; when once you have been pronounced a rising
artist, every daub from your brush has a good market value. I had had
much uphill work, but I loved my profession for its own sake, and I
worked on patiently, and, at the time my story begins, several of my
pictures had sold for fair prices, and I was not without hope that I
might soon find a place in the Academy.
It was an unusually hot summer, and London was emptying fast. Every one
who could afford it was going either to the moors or to the sea, and I
felt very much inclined to follow their example. My father and mother
had died when I was quite a child, and the maiden aunt who had brought
me up had just passed away, and I had mourned her death very deeply, for
she had been both father and mother to me. I felt that I needed change
of scene, for I had been up for many nights with her during her last
illness, and I had had my rest broken for so long, that I found it very
difficult to sleep, and in many ways I was far from well. My aunt had
left all her little property to me, so that the means to leave London
and to take a suitable holiday were not wanting. The question was, where
should I go? I was anxious to combine, if possible, pleasure and
business--that is to say, I wished to choose some quiet place where I
could get bracing air and thorough change of scene, and where I could
also find studies for my new picture, which was (at least, so I fondly
dreamed) to find a place in the Academy the following spring.
It was whilst I was looking for a suitable spot that Tom Bernard, my
great friend and confidant, found one for me.
'Jack, old fellow,' he said, thrusting a torn newspaper into my hand,
'read that, old man.'
The newspaper was doubled down tightly, and a great red cross of Tom's
making showed me the part he wished me to read.
RUNSWICK BAY.
This charming seaside resort is not half so well known
as it deserves to be. For the lover of the beautiful,
for the man with an artistic eye, it possesses a charm
which words would fail to describe. The little bay is a
favourite resort for artists; they, at least, know how
to appreciate its beauties. It would be well for any who
may desire to visit this wonderfully picturesque and
enchanting spot to secure hotel or lodging-house
accommodation as early as possible, for the demand for
rooms is, in August and September, far greater than the
supply.
'Well, what do you think of it?' said Tom.
'It sounds just the thing,' I said; 'fresh air and plenty to paint.'
'Shall you go?'
'Yes, to-morrow,' I replied; 'the sooner the better.'
My bag was soon packed, my easel and painting materials were collected,
and the very next morning I was on my way into Yorkshire.
It was evening when I reached the end of my long, tiring railway
journey; and when, hot and dusty, I alighted at a village which lay
about two miles from my destination. I saw no sign of beauty as I walked
from the station; the country was slightly undulating in parts, but as a
rule nothing met my gaze but a long flat stretch of field after field,
covered, as the case might be, with grass or corn. Harebells and pink
campion grew on the banks, and the meadows were full of ox-eye daisies;
but I saw nothing besides that was in the least attractive, and
certainly nothing of which I could make a picture.
A family from York had come by the same train, and I had learnt from
their conversation that they had engaged lodgings for a month at
Runswick Bay. The children, two boys of ten and twelve, and a little
fair-haired girl a year or two younger, were full of excitement on their
arrival.
'Father, where is the sea?' they cried. 'Oh, we do want to see the sea!'
'Run on,' said their father, 'and you will soon see it.'
So we ran together, for I felt myself a child again as I watched them,
and if ever I lagged behind, one or other of them would turn round and
cry, 'Come on, come on; we shall soon see it.'
Then, suddenly, we came to the edge of the high cliff, and the sea in
all its beauty and loveliness burst upon us. The small bay was shut in
by rocks on either side, and on the descent of the steep cliff was built
the little fishing village. I think I have never seen a prettier place.
The children were already running down the steep, rocky path--I cannot
call it a road--which led down to the sea, and I followed more slowly
behind them. It was the most curiously built place. The fishermen's
cottages were perched on the rock, wherever a ledge or standing place
could be found. Steep, narrow paths, or small flights of rock-hewn
steps, led from one to another. There was no street in the whole place;
there could be none, for there were hardly two houses which stood on the
same level. To take a walk through this quaint village was to go up and
down stairs the whole time.
At last, after a long, downward scramble, I found myself on the shore,
and then I looked back at the cliff and at the irregular little town. I
did not wonder that artists were to be found there. I had counted four
as I came down the hill, perched on different platforms on the rock, and
all hard at work at their easels.
Yes, it was certainly a picturesque place, and I was glad that I had
come. The colouring was charming: there was red rock in the background,
here and there covered with grass, and ablaze with flowers. Wild roses
and poppies, pink-thrift and white daisies, all contributed to make the
old rock gay. But the yellow ragwort was all over; great patches of it
grew even on the margin of the sand, and its bright flowers gave the
whole place a golden colouring. There seemed to be yellow everywhere,
and the red-tiled cottages, and the fishermen in their blue jerseys, and
the countless flights of steps, all appeared to be framed in the
brightest gilt.
Yes, I felt sure I should find something to paint in Runswick Bay. I was
not disappointed in Tom's choice for me.
[Illustration]
Chapter II
LITTLE JOHN
After admiring the beauties of my new surroundings for some little time,
I felt that I must begin to look for quarters. I was anxious, if
possible, to find a lodging in one of the cottages, and then, after a
good night's rest, I would carefully select a good subject for my
picture. I called at several houses, where I noticed a card in the
window announcing _Apartments to Let_, but I met the same answer
everywhere, 'Full, sir, quite full.' In one place I was offered a bed in
the kitchen, but the whole place smelt so strongly of fried herrings and
of fish oil, that I felt it would be far more pleasant to sleep on the
beach than to attempt to do so in that close and unwholesome atmosphere.
After wandering up and down for some time, I passed a house close to the
village green, and saw the children with whom I had travelled sitting at
tea close to the open window. They, too, were eating herrings, and the
smell made me hungry. I began to feel that it was time I had something
to eat, and I thought my best plan would be to retrace my steps to the
hotel which I had passed on my way, and which stood at the very top of
the high cliff. I turned a little lazy when I thought of the climb, for
I was tired with my journey, and, as I said before, I was not very
strong, and to drag my bag and easel up the rugged ascent would require
a mighty effort at the best of times. I noticed that wooden benches had
been placed here and there on the different platforms of the rock, for
the convenience of the fishermen, and I determined to rest for a quarter
of an hour on one of them before retracing my steps up the steep hill to
the hotel. The fishermen were filling most of the seats, sitting side by
side, row after row of them, talking together, and looking down at the
beach below. As I gazed up at them, they looked to me like so many blue
birds perched on the steep rock.
There was one seat in a quiet corner which I noticed was empty. I went
to it, and laying my knapsack and other belongings beside me, I sat down
to rest.
But I was not long to remain alone. A minute afterwards a young
fisherman, dressed like his mates in blue jersey and oilskin cap,
planted himself on the other end of the seat which I had selected.
'Good-day, sir,' he said. 'What do you think of our bay?'
'It's a pretty place, very pretty,' I said. 'I like it well enough now,
but I daresay I shall like it better still to-morrow.'
'Better still to-morrow,' he repeated; 'well, it _is_ the better
for knowing, in my opinion, sir, and I _ought_ to know, if any one
should, for I've lived my lifetime here.'
I turned to look at him as he spoke, and I felt at once that I had come
across one of Nature's gentlemen. He was a fine specimen of an honest
English fisherman, with dark eyes and hair, and with a sunny smile on
his weather-beaten, sunburnt face. You had only to look at the man to
feel sure that you could trust him, and that, like Nathanael, there was
no guile in him.
'I wonder if you could help me,' I said; 'I want to find a room here if
I can, but every place seems so full.'
'Yes, it is full, sir, in August; that's the main time here. Let me see,
there's Brown's, they're full, and Robinson's, and Wilson's, and
Thomson's, all full up. There's Giles', they have a room, I believe, but
they're not over clean; maybe you're particular, sir.'
'Well,' I said, 'I do like things clean; I don't mind how rough they are
if they're only clean.'
'Ah,' he said, with a twinkle in his eye; 'you wouldn't care for one pan
to do all the work of the house--to boil the dirty clothes, and the
fish, and your bit of pudding for dinner, and not overmuch cleaning of
it in between.'
'No,' I said, laughing; 'I should not like that, certainly.'
'Might give the pudding a flavour of stockings, and a sauce of fish
oil,' he answered. 'Well, you're right, sir; I shouldn't like it myself.
Cleanliness is next to godliness, that's my idea. Well, then, that being
as it is, I wouldn't go to Giles', not if them is your sentiments with
regard to pans, sir.'
'Then I suppose there's nothing for it but to trudge up to the hotel at
the top of the hill,' I said, with something of a groan.
'Well, sir,' he said, hesitating a little;'me and my missus, we have a
room as we lets sometimes, but it's a poor place, sir, homely like, as
ye may say. Maybe you wouldn't put up with it.'
'Would you let me see it?' I asked.
'With pleasure, sir; it's rough, but it's clean. We could promise you a
clean pan, sir. My missus she's a good one for cleaning; she's not one
of them slatternly, good-for-nothing lasses. There's heaps of them here,
sir, idling away their time. She's a good girl is my Polly. Why, if that
isn't little John a-clambering up the steps to his daddy!'
He jumped up as he said this, and ran quickly down the steep flight of
steps which led down from the height on which the seat was placed, and
soon returned with a little lad about two years old in his arms.
The child was as fair as his father was dark. He was a pretty boy with
light hair and blue eyes, and was tidily dressed in a bright red cap and
clean white-pinafore.
'Tea's ready, daddy,' said the boy; 'come home with little John.'
'Maybe you wouldn't object to a cup o' tea, sir,' said the father,
turning to me; 'it'll hearten you up a bit after your journey, and
there's sure to be herrings. We almost lives on herrings here, sir, and
then, if you're so minded, you can look at the room after. Ye'll excuse
me if I make too bold, sir,' he added, as he gently patted little John's
tiny hand, which rested on his arm.
'I shall be only too glad to come,' I said; 'for I am very hungry, and
if Polly's room is as nice as I think it will be, it will be just the
place for me.'
He walked in front of me, up and down several flights of steps, until,
at some little distance lower down the hill, he stopped before a small
cottage. Sure enough there were herrings, frying and spluttering on the
fire, and there too was Polly herself, arrayed in a clean white apron,
and turning the herrings with a fork. The kitchen was very low, and the
rafters seemed resting on my head as I entered; but the window and door
were both wide open, and the whole place struck me as being wonderfully
sweet and clean. A low wooden settle stood by the fire, one or two plain
deal chairs by the wall, and little John's three-legged stool was placed
close to his father's arm-chair. A small shelf above the fireplace held
the family library. I noticed a Bible, a hymn-book, a _Pilgrim's
Progress_, and several other books, all of which had seen their best
days and were doubtless in constant use. On the walls were prints in
wooden frames and much discoloured by the turf smoke of the fire. Upon a
carved old oak cupboard, which held the clothes of the family, were
arranged various rare shells and stones, curious sea-urchins and other
treasures of the sea, and in the centre, the chief ornament of the house
and the pride of Polly's heart, a ship, carved and rigged by Duncan
himself, and preserved carefully under a glass shade.
Polly gave me a hearty Yorkshire welcome, and we soon gathered about the
small round table. Duncan, with little John on his knee, asked a
blessing, and Polly poured out the tea, and we all did justice to the
meal.
The more I saw of these honest people, the more I liked them and felt
inclined to trust them. When tea was over, Polly took me to see the
guest-chamber in which her husband had offered me a bed. It was a low
room in the roof, containing a plain wooden bedstead, one chair, a small
wash-hand stand, and a square of looking-glass hanging on the wall.
There was no other furniture, and, indeed, there was room for no other,
and the room was unadorned except by three or four funeral cards in
dismal black frames, which were hanging at different heights on the wall
opposite the bed. But the square casement window was thrown wide open,
and the pure sea air filled the little room, and the coarse white
coverings of the bed were spotless, and, indeed, the whole place looked
and felt both fresh and clean.
'You'll pardon me, sir,' said Duncan, 'for asking you to look at such a
poor place.'
'But I like it, Duncan,' I answered, 'and I like you, and I like your
wife, and if you will have me as a lodger, I am willing and glad to
stay.'
The terms were soon agreed upon to the satisfaction of both parties, and
then all things being settled, Polly went to put little John to bed
whilst I went with Duncan to see his boat.
It was an old boat, and it had been his father's before him, and it had
weathered many a storm; but it was the dream of Duncan's life to buy a
new one, and he and Polly had nearly saved up money enough for it.
'That's why me and the missus is glad to get a lodger now and again,' he
said; 'it all goes to the boat, every penny of it. We mean to call her
The Little John. He's going in her the very first voyage she takes; he
is indeed, sir, for he'll be her captain one day, please God, little
John will.'
It was a calm, beautiful evening; the sea was like a sheet of glass.
Hardly a ripple was breaking on the shore. The sun was setting behind
the cliff, and the fishing village would soon be in darkness. The
fishermen were leaving their cottages and were making for the shore.
Already some of the boats were launched, and the men were throwing in
their nets and fishing-tackle, and were pulling out to sea. I enjoyed
watching my new friend making his preparations. His three mates brought
out the nets, and he gave his orders with a tone of command. He was the
owner and the captain of the Mary Ann, and the rest were accustomed to
do his bidding.
When all were on board, Duncan himself jumped in and gave the word to
push from shore. He nodded to me and bid me good-night, and when he was
a little way from shore, I saw him stand up in the boat and wave his
oil-skin cap to some one above me on the cliff.
I looked up, and saw Polly standing on the rock overhanging the shore
with little John in his white nightgown in her arms. He was waving his
red cap to his father, and continued to do so till the boat was out of
sight.
Chapter III
STRANGE MUSIC
I slept well in my strange little bedroom, although I was awakened early
by the sunlight streaming in at the window. I jumped up and looked out.
The sun was rising over the sea, and a flood of golden light was
streaming across it.
I dressed quickly and went out. Very few people were about, for the
fishermen had not yet returned from their night's fishing. The cliff
looked even more beautiful than the night before, for every bit of
colouring stood out clear and distinct in the sunshine. 'I shall get my
best effects in the morning,' I said to myself, 'and I had better choose
my subject at once, so that after breakfast I may be able to begin
without delay.'
How many steps I went up, and how many I went down, before I came to a
decision, it would be impossible to tell; but at last I found a place
which seemed to me to be the very gem of the whole village. An old
disused boat stood in the foreground, and over this a large fishing net,
covered with floats, was spread to dry. Behind rose the rocks, covered
with tufts of grass, patches of gorse, tall yellow mustard plants and
golden ragwort, and at the top of a steep flight of rock-hewn steps
stood a white cottage with red-tiled roof, the little garden in front of
it gay with hollyhocks and dahlias. A group of barefooted children were
standing by the gate feeding some chickens and ducks, a large dog was
lying asleep at the top of the steps, and a black cat was basking in the
morning sunshine on the low garden wall. It was, to my mind, an
extremely pretty scene, and it made me long to be busy with my brush.
I hurried back to my lodging, and found Polly preparing my breakfast,
whilst little John looked on. He was sitting in his nightgown, curled up
in his father's armchair. 'I'm daddy,' he called out to me as I came in.
There was a little round table laid ready for me, and covered with a
spotlessly clean cloth, and on it was a small black teapot, and a white
and gold cup and saucer, upon which I saw the golden announcement, 'A
present from Whitby,' whilst my plate was adorned with a remarkable
picture of Whitby Abbey in a thunderstorm.
There were herrings, of course, and Polly had made some hot cakes, the
like of which are never seen outside Yorkshire. These were ready
buttered, and were lying wrapped in a clean cloth in front of the fire.
Polly made the tea as soon as I entered, and then retired with little
John in her arms into the bedroom, whilst I sat down with a good
appetite to my breakfast.
I had not quite finished my meal when I heard a great shout from the
shore. Women and children, lads and lasses, ran past the open door,
crying, 'The boats! the boats!' Polly came flying into the kitchen,
caught up little John's red cap, thrust it on his head, and ran down the
steps. I left my breakfast unfinished, and followed them.
It was a pretty sight. The fishing-boats were just nearing shore, and
almost every one in the place had turned out to meet them.
Wives, children, and visitors were gathered on the small landing place;
most had dishes or plates in their hands, for the herrings could be
bought straight from the boats. The family from York were there, and
they greeted me as an old friend.
When the little village had been abundantly supplied with fish, the rest
of the herrings were packed up and sent off by train to be sold
elsewhere. It was a pretty animated scene, and I wished I had brought my
sketchbook with me. I thought the arrival of the fishing boats would
make a splendid subject for a picture.
Duncan was too busy even to see me till the fish were all landed,
counted, and disposed of, but he had time for a word with little John,
and as I was finishing my breakfast he came in with the child perched on
his shoulder.
'Good morning, sir,' he said; 'and how do you like our bay this
morning?'
My answer fully satisfied him, and whilst he sat down to his morning
meal I went out to begin my work. It was a lovely day, and I thoroughly
enjoyed the prospect before me. I found a shady place just under the
wall of a house, where my picture would be in sunlight and I and my
easel in shadow. I liked the spot I had chosen even better than I had
done before breakfast, and I was soon hard at work.
I had sketched in my picture, and was beginning to paint, when I became
conscious of the sound of voices just over my head, and I soon became
equally conscious that they were talking about me.
'It's just like it,' said one voice. 'Look--do look. There's Betty
Green's cottage, and Minnie the cat, and the seat, and the old boat.'
[Illustration]
'Let me see, Marjorie,' said another voice; 'is it the old one with
white hair and a long, long beard?'
'No, it's quite a young one; his hair's black, and he hasn't got a beard
at all.'
'Let me look. Yes, I can see him. I like him much better than the old
one; hasn't he got nice red cheeks?'
'Hush! he'll hear,' said the other voice. 'You naughty boy! I believe he
did hear; I saw him laugh.'
I jumped up at this, and looked up, but I could see nothing but a garden
wall and a thick bushy tree, which was growing just inside it.
'Hullo, who's there?' I shouted.
But there was dead silence; and as no one appeared, and nothing more
happened, I sat down and went on with my picture.
Many people passed by as I was painting, and tried to look at what I was
doing. Some glanced out of the corners of their eyes as they walked on;
others paused behind me and silently watched me; a few made remarks to
one another about my picture; one or two offered suggestions, thought I
should have had a better view lower down the hill, or hoped that I would
make the colouring vivid enough. The children with whom I had travelled
seemed to feel a kind of partnership in my picture.
'Let's go and look at _our_ artist,' Bob would say to Harry; 'his
picture is going to be the best of the lot.'
They were so fond of watching me, and so much excited over what I was
doing, that, as time went on, I was often obliged to ask them to move
further away, so eager were they to watch every movement of my brush.
I thoroughly enjoyed my morning's work, and went back very hungry, and
quite ready for the comfortable little dinner which Polly had prepared
for me. In the afternoon the light would be all wrong for my picture;
but I determined to sketch in the foreground, and prepare for my next
morning's work.
I was very busy upon this, when suddenly I became conscious of music, if
music it could be called. It was the most peculiar sound, and at first I
could not find out from whence it came. It was evidently not caused by a
wind instrument; I felt sure it was not a concertina or an accordion.
This sound would go on for a minute or two, and then stop suddenly, only
to begin again more loudly a few seconds later. At times I distinguished
a few bars of a tune, then only disjointed notes followed. Could it be a
child strumming idly on a harmonium? but no, it was not at all like an
instrument of that kind. It was an annoying, worrying sound, and it went
on for so long that I began to be vexed with it, and stamped my foot
impatiently when, after a short interval, I heard it begin again. The
sound seemed to come from behind the wall of the house near which I was
sitting, and it was repeated from time to time during the whole of the
afternoon.
At length, as the afternoon went on, I began to distinguish what tunes
were being attempted. I made out a bar or two of the old French
Republican air, 'The Marseillaise,' and then I was almost startled by
what came next, for it was a tune I had known well since I was a very
little child. It was 'Home, Sweet Home,' and that was my mother's
favourite tune; in fact, I never heard it without thinking of her. Many
and many a time had she sung me to sleep with that tune. I had scarlet
fever when I was five years old, and my mother had nursed me through it,
and when I was weary and fretful she would sing to me--my pretty
fair-haired mother. Even as I sat before my easel I could see her, as
she sat at the foot of my bed, with the sunshine streaming upon her
through the half-darkened window, and making her look, to my boyish
imagination, like a beautiful angel. And I could hear her voice still;
and the sweet tones in which she sang that very song to me, 'Home, sweet
home, there's no place like home.'
I remembered one night especially, in which she knelt by my bed and
prayed that she might meet her boy in the bright city, the sweet home
above the sky which was the best and brightest home of all. I wonder
what she would think of me now, I said to myself, and whether she ever
will see me there. I very much doubt it; it seems to me that I am a long
way off from Home, Sweet Home now.
My mother had died soon after that illness of mine, and I knew that she
had gone to live in that beautiful home of which she had so often spoken
to me. And I had been left behind, and my aunt, who had brought me up,
had cared for none of these things, and I had learnt to look at the
world and at life from her worldly standpoint, and had forgotten to seek
first the Kingdom of God. Oh! if my mother only knew, my pretty,
beautiful mother, I said to myself that day. And then there came the
thought, perhaps she _does_ know, and the thought made me very
uncomfortable. I wished, more than ever, that that cracked old
instrument, whatever it was, would stop.
But, in spite of all my wishes, the strange sound went on, and again and
again I had to listen to 'Home, Sweet Home,' and each time that it came
it set my memory going, and brought back to me the words and the looks
which I thought I had forgotten. And it set something else going
too--the still, small voice within, accusing me of forgetfulness, not so
much of my mother as of my mother's God.
I began to wish most heartily that I had chosen some other spot for my
picture. But it was working out so well that I felt it would be a great
mistake to change, and I hoped that the individual, man, woman, or
child, who had been making that horrible noise might find some other
employment to-morrow, and might leave me in peace.
The next day my wishes were fulfilled, for I was not disturbed, and very
little happened except that my picture made progress. Then came two wet
days, on which I had to paint in my little chamber, and did not get back
to my seat under the wall.
I saw a good deal of Duncan during those wet | 2,565.203489 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.1866530 | 2,418 | 11 |
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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/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate
_italics_ in the original text.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
On Pg 173, the reference to “plate No. 81” was corrected to
“plate No. 80”.
On Pg 181, the references to “plates 85 and 86” was corrected to
“plates 83 and 84”.
WAR DEPARTMENT :: OFFICE OF THE SURGEON GENERAL
BULLETIN No. 9
OCTOBER, 1915
GUNSHOT ROENTGENOGRAMS
A COLLECTION OF ROENTGENOGRAMS TAKEN IN
CONSTANTINOPLE DURING THE TURKO-BALKAN
WAR, 1912-1913, ILLUSTRATING
SOME GUNSHOT WOUNDS IN THE
TURKISH ARMY
BY
CLYDE S. FORD
Major, Medical Corps
PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF THE ACT OF
CONGRESS APPROVED MARCH 3, 1915, AND
WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE SECRETARY OF
WAR, FOR THE INFORMATION OF
MEDICAL OFFICERS
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
1916
TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
RIFLE WOUNDS.
HEAD.
Page.
PLATE 1. Gunshot fracture, skull, lodgment of missile 12
2. Gunshot fracture, head, lodgment of missile 14
3. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, ramus 16
4. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, ramus 18
5. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, body 20
SPINAL REGION.
6. Gunshot wound, spinal region, lodgment of missile 22
7. Gunshot wound, spinal region, lodgment of missile 24
UPPER EXTREMITY.
8. Gunshot fracture, humerus 26
9. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 28
10. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 30
11. Gunshot fracture, humerus 32
12. Gunshot fracture, humerus 34
13. Gunshot fracture, humerus 36
14. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 38
15. Gunshot fracture, humerus, external condyle 40
16. Gunshot fracture (_a_) humerus, (_b_) ulna 42
17. Gunshot fracture, elbow 44
18. Gunshot fracture, elbow 46
19. Gunshot fracture, elbow 48
20. Gunshot fracture, elbow 50
21. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 52
22. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 54
23. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 56
24. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 58
25. Gunshot fracture, radius 60
26. Gunshot fracture, radius 62
27. Gunshot fracture, radius 64
28. Gunshot fracture, radius 66
29. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 68
30. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 70
31. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 72
32. Gunshot fracture, ulna 74
33. Gunshot fracture, ulna 76
34. Gunshot fracture, ulna 78
35. Gunshot fracture, ulna 80
36. Gunshot fracture, ulna 82
37. Gunshot fracture, ulna 84
38. Gunshot fracture, ulna 86
39. Gunshot fracture, ulna 88
40. Gunshot fracture, ulna 90
41. Gunshot fracture, wrist 92
42. Gunshot fracture, wrist 94
43. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 96
44. Gunshot fracture, phalanx 98
CHEST.
45. Gunshot wound, chest 100
PELVIS.
46. Gunshot wound, pelvis 102
LOWER EXTREMITY.
47. Gunshot wound, gluteal region 104
48. Gunshot wound, thigh 106
49. Gunshot wound, thigh 108
50. Gunshot wound, thigh 110
51. Gunshot wound, thigh 112
52. Gunshot fracture, femur 114
53. Gunshot fracture, femur 116
54. Gunshot fracture, femur 118
55. Gunshot fracture, femur 120
56. Gunshot fracture, femur 122
57. Gunshot fracture, femur 124
58. Gunshot fracture, femur 126
59. Gunshot wound, knee 128
60. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 130
61. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 132
62. Gunshot fracture, tibia 134
63. Gunshot fracture, tibia 136
64. Gunshot fracture, tibia 138
65. Gunshot fracture, tibia 140
66. Gunshot fracture, tibia 142
67. Gunshot fracture, tibia 144
68. Gunshot fracture, tibia 146
69. Gunshot fracture, tibia 148
70. Gunshot fracture, tibia 150
71. Gunshot fracture, fibula 152
72. Gunshot fracture, ankle 154
73. Gunshot wound, heel 156
74. Gunshot wound, heel 158
SHRAPNEL WOUNDS.
HEAD.
75. Gunshot fracture, vertex 160
76. Gunshot fracture, vertex 162
77. Gunshot fracture, zygoma 164
78. Gunshot fracture, mastoid process 166
79. Gunshot fracture, maxilla 168
80. Gunshot fracture, supra-orbital 170
81. Gunshot fracture, supra-orbital 172
82. Gunshot wound, shoulder 174
83. Gunshot wound, shoulder 176
84. Gunshot wound, shoulder 178
85. Gunshot wound, shoulder 180
86. Gunshot fracture, clavicle 182
87. Gunshot fracture, humerus 184
88. Gunshot fracture, humerus 186
89. Gunshot fracture, humerus 188
90. Gunshot fracture, humerus 190
91. Gunshot fracture, humerus 192
92. Gunshot fracture, humerus 194
93. Gunshot fracture, humerus 196
94. Gunshot fracture, humerus 198
95. Gunshot fracture, humerus 200
96. Gunshot fracture, humerus and elbow 202
97. Gunshot fracture, elbow 204
98. Gunshot fracture, elbow 206
99. Gunshot fracture, elbow 208
100. Gunshot fracture, elbow 210
101. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 212
102. Gunshot fracture, radius 214
103. Gunshot fracture, radius 216
104. Gunshot fracture, ulna 218
105. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 220
106. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 222
107. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 224
108. Gunshot wound, hand 226
109. Gunshot wound, multiple, hand and forearm 228
CHEST.
110. Gunshot wound, chest 230
111. Gunshot wound, chest 232
112. Gunshot wound, chest 234
113. Gunshot wound, chest 236
114. Gunshot wound, chest 238
PELVIS.
115. Gunshot fracture, ilium 240
LOWER EXTREMITY.
116. Gunshot wound, thigh 242
117. Gunshot wound, thigh 244
118. Gunshot wound, thigh 246
119. Gunshot wound, femur 248
120. Gunshot wound, femur 250
121. Gunshot wound, femur 252
122. Gunshot wound, femur 254
123. Gunshot wound, femur 256
124. Gunshot wound, femur 258
125. Gunshot wound, femur 260
126. Gunshot wound, femur 262
127. Gunshot wound, femur 264
128. Gunshot wound, knee 266
129. Gunshot wound, knee 268
130. Gunshot wound, knee 270
131. Gunshot wound, knee 272
132. Gunshot wound, knee 274
133. Gunshot wound, knee 276
134. Gunshot wound, knee 278
135. Gunshot wound, leg 280
136. Gunshot wound, leg 282
137. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 284
138. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula | 2,565.206693 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.1876340 | 393 | 15 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER, 1848. NO. 5.
THE BRIDE OF FATE.
A TALE: FOUNDED UPON EVENTS IN THE EARLY HISTORY OF VENICE.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.
It was a glad day in Venice. The eve of the feast of the Purification
had arrived, and all those maidens of the Republic, whose names had
been written in the "Book of Gold," were assembled with their parents,
their friends and lovers--a beautiful and joyous crowd--repairing, in
the gondolas provided by the Republic, to the church of San Pietro de
Castella, at Olivolo, which was the residence of the Patriarch. This
place was on the extreme verge of the city, a beautiful and isolated
spot, its precincts almost without inhabitants, a ghostly and small
priesthood excepted, whose grave habits and taciturn seclusion seemed
to lend an additional aspect of solitude to the neighborhood. It was,
indeed, a solitary and sad-seeming region, which, to the thoughtless
and unmeditative, might be absolutely gloomy. But it was not the less
lovely as a place suited equally for the picturesque and the
thoughtful; and, just now, it was very far from gloomy or solitary.
The event which was in hand was decreed to enliven it in especial
degree, and, in its consequences, to impress its characteristics on
the memory for long generations after. It was the day of St. Mary's
Eve--a day set aside from immem | 2,565.207674 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.2841140 | 210 | 11 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Martin Mayer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcribers' notes:
Some tables don't sum to the numbers indicated; no corrections have been
made. All numbers are from the original.
Minor inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained.
Subscripts are represented by underscore and curly braces e.g., CO_{2}.
Italics are represented by underscores before and after e.g., _italics_.
Bold is represented by equal signs before and after e.g., =bold=.
Small caps have been replaced with ALL CAPS.]
AMERICAN SOCIETY OF CIVIL ENGINEERS
INSTITUTED 1852
TRANSACTIONS
Paper No. 1155
THE NEW YORK TUNNEL EXTENSION OF THE
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD.
THE NORTH RIVER TUNNELS.[A]
BY B. H. M. HEWETT AND W. L. | 2,565.304154 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.2841990 | 480 | 31 |
Produced by David Wilson, Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "Seated on a partly submerged post... was John Brown."]
AN AUSTRALIAN
LASSIE
BY
LILIAN TURNER
AUTHOR OF "THE PERRY GIRLS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. J. JOHNSON
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
TO
MY STEPFATHER
CHARLES COPE
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I WYGATE SCHOOL 9
II THE PEARL SEEKERS 20
III "THE DAILY ROUND--THE COMMON TASK" 30
IV GHOSTS 41
V JOHN BROWN 59
VI MONDAY MORNING 68
VII "CAREW-BROWN" 79
VIII THE FIGHT 86
IX DOROTHEA'S FRIENDS 101
X RICHES OR RAGS 112
XI THE ARTIST BY THE WAYSIDE 123
XII BETTY IN THE LION'S DEN 134
XIII "IF I WERE ONLY YOU!" 147
XIV JOHN'S PLANS 162
XV ON THE ROAD 177
XVI THE NOTE ON THE PINCUSHION 189
XVII IN THE CITY 201
XVIII ALMA'S SHILLING 214
XIX THE BENT-SHOULDERED OLD GENTLEMAN 224
XX THE DAY AFTER SCHOOL 234
XXI "GOOD-BYE, GOOD-BYE" 245
CHAPTER I
WYGATE SCHOOL
"Emily Underwood, 19; Stanley Smith, 20; Cyril Bruce, 21; Nellie
Underwood, 22; Elizabeth Bruce, 23--bottom of the class!"
Mr. Sharman took off his eyeglasses, rubbed them, and put them on again.
Then he looked very hard at the little girl at the end | 2,565.304239 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.4865380 | 2,088 | 13 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rick Morris, MFR and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: “CHARLIE”]
BETTER THAN MEN
BY
RUSH C. HAWKINS
J. W. BOUTON
TEN WEST TWENTY-EIGHT STREET
NEW YORK
1896
Copyright, 1896, by
J. W. Bouton
TO MY BELOVED AND LOVING WIFE, EVER FAITHFUL AND TRUE, WHOSE GOODNESS
PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING
CONTENTS
Explanatory 1
The Excursion 13
Tim, the Dissipated 91
Carlo, the Soldier 113
Jeff, the Inquisitive 127
Toby, the Wise 139
Two Dogs 149
Two Innocents Abroad 165
About Columbus, by an old showman 171
In Relation to Mysteries 187
Mysteries 195
EXPLANATORY
The title chosen for the following sketches, written for the purpose of
presenting certain prominent characteristics of the lower animals worthy
of the attention of the human animal, stands for rather a serious
proposition which may be questioned by a majority of those readers whose
kindly interest in our mute friends has not already been seriously
awakened.
To write so that those who read may infer that a certain selected number
of so-called lower animals are better, by nature and conduct, in certain
elemental virtues, than men, is, to say the least, rather imprudent, and
to the optimistic student of human nature may appear irreverent to an
unpardonable degree. Usually, to the minds of such observers, humanity
is accepted for its traditional value, regardless of established
conditions or inherent actualities. Such investigators investigate only
one side of their subject. They start out handicapped with the old
theory that in every respect the human animal is superior to every
other, without attempting to analyze unseen interior conditions, whether
natural or developed.
In relation to natural conditions, the large majority of Christian sects
are perfectly logical. They lay down as a clearly established
fundamental fact that all human beings, owing to what they designate as
Adam’s fall, are born into this world morally corrupt and completely
depraved, but that they have within their control for ready application
an appropriate panacea for a certain cure of these natural defects. But
the optimist neither admits the disease nor the necessity for cure; he
says always, at least inferentially, that all human beings come into the
world in a state of innocence and purity, and that their few defects
represent a certain amount of degeneration.
Both of these theories may be wrong. It is possible that all children
come into the world with a certain number of well-known natural
qualities—good, bad, strong, and weak—in no two alike, and for which
they are in no way responsible; and that what they become in their
mature years depends largely, if not entirely, upon home training and
the care bestowed upon them by the government under whose laws they
exist. Strong, healthy, intellectual, and moral parents, aided by a wise
and honestly administered government, assist each other in forming
characters which make fine men and women. But without the combination of
those parental qualities ever actively engaged in instructing and
controlling, sustained by a wise political organization, there is
usually but little development of the higher and better qualities of our
nature, either moral or intellectual.
It is at this point that we may be permitted to cite the difference
between the so-called upper and lower animal. In the dog and horse,
notably, their better qualities are inherent, born with them, grow
stronger with time, and their almost perfect and complete development is
natural, and continues without aid, example, or instruction. Not more
than one dog or horse in a thousand, if kindly treated and left to
himself, would turn out vicious, and treat them as we may, no matter how
unjustly or cruelly, we can never deprive them of their perfect
integrity and splendid qualities of loyalty to master and friends.
These most valuable of all moral qualities are natural to certain
animals, and, no matter what man may do, they can never be extinguished.
Although intangible, they are as much parts of the living organism of
the horse and dog as are their eyes or the other organs needed for
physical purposes. The affection of the dog for those whom he loves is
actually boundless. It has neither taint of selfishness nor has it
limits, and it can only be extinguished with the loss of life. The
ever-willing horse will run himself to death to carry from danger, and
especially from the pursuit of enemies, those who make use of his
friendly aid. Other animals will do as much, but they never volunteer
for a dangerous service.
In India, where the elephant is used for domestic purposes and is
sometimes treated as a domestic animal, he has been known to protect
children left in his charge, and in the performance of his daily task
will yield willing obedience to orders; but he is a knowing and cautious
constructionist, and seldom goes outside of the strict line of duty. He
will always fight for his own master or friends when told, and sometimes
volunteers to encounter a danger to protect those around him who seek
the aid of his superior powers. He is however, a natural conservative,
and prefers peace to war.
Many other animals are capable of becoming affectionate pets and
interesting companions, but in no respect can they be compared with the
dog, the horse, or the elephant. In their separate and individual
combination of qualities which render them fit and useful companions for
man, they stand quite by themselves. The question of treating animals
with kindly consideration is usually disposed of by saying they are not
capable of appreciating kind treatment; that their brain capacity is so
limited in respect to quantity as to render them quite incapable of
distinguishing active kindness from passive indifference or even cruel
treatment.
This is the theory of the thoughtless.
The Newfoundland dog which, in the summer of 1866, I saw leap from a
bridge into a rapid-running deep creek and rescue a two-year-old child
from death, thought—and quickly at that. In a second he appreciated the
value of a critical moment, and estimated not only the magnitude but the
quality of the danger. No human being could have taken in the whole
situation more completely or caused the physical organization to respond
to the brain command with greater celerity. The whole incident was over
by the time the first on the spot of the would-be human rescuers had
taken off his coat.
Crowley, the remarkable chimpanzee, who had his home in the Central Park
Menagerie for about four years, proved to be a most convincing item of
testimony in favor of the intellectual development of one of the lower
animals. The gradual and certain unfolding of his intelligence betrayed
the presence of a quantity of natural brainpower almost equal to that of
an intelligent child of his own age.
Among his numerous accomplishments was a complete outfit of the table
manners of the average well-bred human being. His accurate holding of
knife, fork, and spoon, his perfect knowledge of their use, and the
delicate application to his lips of the napkin, proved the possession of
exceptional knowledge and a well-ordered memory.
The things he did and the words he tried to speak, for he made thousands
of efforts every day to utter his thoughts, would make a convincing list
of items all going to prove the presence of a capacity for thinking
quite worthy of consideration.
In elaborating the various powers which he employed in his methods of
expression he showed remarkable ingenuity. He, no doubt, reflected upon
his deficiencies, and thought the whole matter over with reference to
means of communication with those he cared to converse with, and then,
from out the store of his natural capacities, invented an extensive
combination of hand and feet signs with the variety of sounds at his
command, which finally enabled him to make himself perfectly understood
by those about him.
The intellectual development of Crowley, of which I have given only an
inadequate idea, came from kind treatment and constant contact with his
keeper and the director of the menagerie, both of whom were his devoted
friends and teachers.
These little character sketches, as they may perhaps be described, were
written for the purpose of awakening the personal interest of those who
may read them, with the hope also of enlisting their active influence in
behalf of spreading abroad a better understanding of the nature of our
four-footed friends and servants, who give so much and receive so little
in return. The better appreciation of their exceptionally fine qualities
will surely lead to closer relations between them and their masters,
and, in the end, insure better treatment for those humble and confiding
creatures which the Creator has placed so completely in the power of
man.
Fiction plays but a little part in these pages. It has long been a
source of pleasure to me to note the marks of intelligence in the
animals that we admit to our companionship, that we make a part of our
family rule and association. These sketches are nearly all based upon
personal experiences and observations of my own. They are my plea for
their greater civil rights—at least in the way of kindness and
appreciation. Incidentally I have given such local color to the stories
as they require. The first sketch, for example, has for its frame the
pleasant hills and valleys of Vermont. It recalls old days worth the
recording | 2,565.506578 |
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Transcribed from the [1894?] Willsons’ edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
INCIDENTS
IN
A GIPSY’S LIFE
BY
GEORGE SMITH.
| 2,565.508861 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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WALKING ESSAYS
WALKING ESSAYS
BY
A. H. SIDGWICK
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD | 2,565.50893 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.5834940 | 7,429 | 30 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Internet Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov02spei
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
A Novel.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.
(_All rights reserved_.)
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
A Novel.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.
(_All rights reserved_.)
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER
I. THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.
II. THE TRIAL.
III. A BOTTLE OF BURGUNDY.
IV. DR. DRAYTON'S SUSPICIONS.
V. HIDE AND SEEK.
VI. FLOWN.
VII. GENERAL ST. GEORGE.
VIII. CUPID AT PINCOTE.
IX. AT THE VILLA PAMPHILI.
X. BACK AGAIN AT PARK NEWTON.
XI. MRS. MCDERMOTT WANTS HER MONEY.
XII. FOOTSTEPS IN THE ROOM.
XIII. THE SQUIRE'S TRIBULATION.
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.
Within a week of Tom Bristow's first visit to Pincote, and his
introduction to the Copes, father and son, Mr. Cope, junior, found
himself, much to his disgust, fairly on his way to New York. He would
gladly have rebelled against the parental dictum in this matter, if he
had dared to do so; but he knew of old how worse than useless it would
be for him to offer the slightest opposition to his father's wishes.
"You will go and say goodbye to Miss Culpepper as a matter of
course," said Mr. Cope to him. "But don't grow too sentimental over
the parting. Do it in an easy, smiling way, as if you were merely
going out of town for a few days. Don't make any promises--don't talk
about the future--and, above all, don't say a word about marriage. Of
course, you will have to write to her occasionally while you are away.
Just a few lines, you know, to say how you are, and all that. No
mawkish silly love-nonsense, but a sensible, manly letter; and be
wisely reticent as to the date of your return. Very sorry, but you
don't know how much longer your business may detain you--you know the
sort of thing I mean."
When the idea had first entered Mr. Cope's mind that it would be an
excellent thing if he could only succeed in getting his son engaged to
Squire Culpepper's only child, it had not been without an ulterior eye
to the fortune which that young lady would one day call her own that
he had been induced to press forward the scheme to a successful issue.
By marrying Miss Culpepper, his son would be enabled to take up a
position in county society such as he could never hope to attain
either by his own merits, which were of the most moderate kind, or
from his father's money bags alone. But dearly as Mr. Cope loved
position, he loved money still better; and it was no part of his
programme that his son should marry a pauper, even though that pauper
could trace back her pedigree to the Conqueror. And yet, if the squire
went on speculating as madly as he was evidently doing now, it seemed
only too probable that pauperism, or something very much like it,
would be the result, as far as Miss Culpepper was concerned. Instead
of having a fortune of at least twenty thousand pounds, as she ought
to have, would she come in for as many pence when the old man died?
Mr. Cope groaned in spirit as he asked himself the question, and he
became more determined than ever to carry out his policy of waiting
and watching, before allowing the engagement of the young people to
reach a point that would render a subsequent rupture impossible
without open scandal--and scandal was a bugbear of which the banker
stood in extreme dread.
Fortunately, perhaps, for Mr. Cope's view, the feelings of neither
of the people chiefly concerned were very deeply interested. Edward
had obeyed his father in this as in everything else. He had known
Jane from a child, and he liked her because she was clever and
good-tempered. But she by no means realized his ideal of feminine
beauty. She was too slender, too slightly formed to meet with his
approval. "There's not enough of her," was the way he put it to
himself. Miss Moggs, the confectioner's daughter, with her ample
proportions and beaming smile, was far more to his taste. Equally to
his taste was the pastry dispensed by Miss Moggs's plump fingers, of
which he used to devour enormous quantities, seated on a three-legged
stool in front of the counter, while chatting in a free and easy way
about his horses and dogs, and the number of pigeons he had
slaughtered of late. And then it was so much easier to talk to Miss
Moggs than it was to talk to Jane. Miss Moggs looked up to him as to a
young magnifico, and listened to his oracular utterances with becoming
reverence and attention; but Jane, somehow, didn't seem to appreciate
him as he wished to be appreciated, and he never felt, quite sure that
she was not laughing at him in her sleeve.
"So you are going to leave us by the eight o'clock train to-morrow,
are you?" asked Jane, when he went to Pincote to say a few last words
of farewell. He had sat down by her side on the sofa, and had taken
her unresisting hand in his; a somewhat thin, cold little hand, that
returned his pressure very faintly. How different, as he could not
help saying to himself, from the warm, plump fingers of Matilda Moggs.
"Yes, I'm going by the morning train. Perhaps I shall never come back.
Perhaps I shall be drowned," he said, somewhat dolorously.
"Not you, Edward, dear. You will live to plague us all for many a year
to come. I wish I could do your business, and go instead of you."
"You don't mean to say that you would like to cross the Atlantic,
Jane?"
"I mean to say that there are few things in the world would please me
better. What a fresh and glorious experience it must be to one who has
never been far from home!"
"But think of the sea-sickness."
"Think of being out of sight of commonplace land for days and days
together. Think how delightful it must be to be rocked on the great
Atlantic rollers, and what a new and pleasant sensation it must be to
know that there is only a plank between yourself and the fishes, and
yet not to feel the least bit afraid."
Edward shuddered. "When you wake up in the middle of the night, and
hear the wind blowing hard, you will think of me, won't you?" he said.
"Of course I shall. And I shall wish I were by your side to enjoy it.
To be out in a gale on the Atlantic--that must indeed be glorious!"
Edward's fat cheeks became a shade paler, "Don't talk in that way,
Jane," he said. "One never can tell what may happen. I shall write to
you, of course, and all that; and you won't forget me while I'm away,
will you?"
"No, I shall not forget you, Edward; of that you may be quite sure."
Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her; and then, after a few
more words, he went away.
It was just the sort of parting that his father would have approved
of, he said to himself, as he drove down the avenue. No tears, no
sentimental nonsense, no fuss of any kind. Privately he felt somewhat
aggrieved that she had not taken the parting more to heart. "There
wasn't even a single tear in her eye," he said to himself. "She
doesn't half know how to appreciate a fellow."
He would perhaps have altered his opinion in some measure could he
have seen Jane half an hour later. She had locked herself in her
bedroom, and was crying bitterly. Why she was crying thus she
would have found it difficult to explain: in fact, she hardly knew
herself. It is possible that her tears were not altogether tears of
bitterness--that some other feeling than sorrow for her temporary
separation from Edward Cope was stirring the fountains of her heart.
She kept on upbraiding herself for her coldness and want of feeling,
and trying to persuade herself that she was deeply sorry, rather than
secretly--very secretly--glad to be relieved of the tedium of his
presence for several weeks to come. She knew how wrong it was of
her--it was almost wicked, she thought--to feel thus: but, underlying
all her tears, was a gleam of precious sunshine, of which she was
dimly conscious, although she would not acknowledge its presence even
to herself.
After a time her tears ceased to flow. She got up and bathed her eyes.
While thus occupied her maid knocked at the door.
Mr. Bristow was downstairs. He had brought some photographs for Miss
Culpepper to look at.
"Tell Mr. Bristow how sorry I am that I cannot see him to-day," said
Jane. "But my head aches so badly that I cannot possibly go down."
Then when the girl was gone, "I won't see him to-day," she added to
herself. "When Edward and I are married he will come and see us
sometimes, perhaps. Edward will always be glad to see him."
Hearing the front-door clash, she ran to the window and pulled aside a
corner of the blind. In a minute or two she saw Tom walking leisurely
down the avenue. Presently he paused, and turned, and began to scan
the house as if he knew that Jane were watching him. It was quite
impossible that he should see her, but for all that she shrank back,
with a blush and a shy little smile. But she did not loose her hold of
the blind; and presently she peeped again, and never moved her eyes
till Tom was lost to view.
Then she went downstairs into the drawing-room, and found there the
photographs which Tom had left for her inspection. There, too, lying
close by, was a glove which he had dropped and had omitted to pick up
again. "I will give it to him next time he comes," she said softly to
herself. Strange to relate, her next action was to press the glove to
her lips, after which she hid it away in the bosom of her dress. But
young ladies' memories are proverbially treacherous, and Jane's was no
exception to the rule. Tom Bristow's glove never found its way back
into his possession.
Jane Culpepper had drifted into her engagement with Edward Cope almost
without knowing how such a state of affairs had been brought about.
When her father first mentioned the matter to her, and told her that
Edward was fond of her, she laughed at the idea of Edward being fond
of anything but his horses and his gun. When, later on, the young
banker, in obedience to parental instructions, blundered through a
sort of declaration of love, she laughed again, but neither repulsed
nor encouraged him. She was quite heart-whole and fancy-free; but
certainly Mr. Cope, junior, bore only the faintest resemblance to the
vague hero of her girlish dreams--who would come riding one day out of
the enchanted Kingdom of Love, and, falling on his knees before her,
implore her to share his heart and fortune for evermore. To speak the
truth, there was no romance of any kind about Edward. He was
hopelessly prosaic: he was irredeemably commonplace; but they had
known each other from childhood, and she had a kindly regard for him,
arising from that very fact. So, pending the arrival of Prince
Charming, she did not altogether repulse him, but went on treating his
suit as a piece of pleasant absurdity which could never work itself
out to a serious issue either for herself or him. She took the alarm a
little when some whispers reached her that she would be asked, before
long, to fix a day for the wedding; but, latterly, even those whispers
had died away. Nobody seemed in a hurry to press the affair forward to
its legitimate conclusion: even Edward himself showed no impatience on
the point. So long as he could come and go at Pincote as he liked, and
hover about Jane, and squeeze her hand occasionally, and drive her out
once or twice a week behind his high-stepping bays, he seemed to want
nothing more. They were just the same to each other as they had been
when they were children, Jane said to herself--and why should they not
remain so?
But, of late, a slight change had come o'er the spirit of Miss
Culpepper's dream. New hopes, and thoughts, and fears, to which she
had hitherto been a stranger, began to nestle and flutter round her
heart, like love-birds building in spring. The thought of becoming the
wife of Edward Cope was fast becoming--nay, had already become,
utterly distasteful to her. She began to realize the fact that it is
impossible to keep on playing with fire without getting burnt. She had
allowed herself to drift into an engagement with a man for
whom she really cared nothing, thinking, probably, at the
time that for her no Prince Charming would ever come riding
out of the woods; and that, if it would please her father,
she might as well marry Edward Cope as any one else. But
behold! all at once Prince Charming _had_ come, and although, as yet,
he had not gone down on his knees and offered his hand and heart for
evermore, she felt that she could never love but him alone. She felt,
too, with a sort of dumb despair, that she had already given herself
away beyond recall--or, at least, had led the world to think that she
had so given herself away; and that she could not, with any show of
maidenly honour, reclaim a gift which she had let slip from her so
lightly and easily that she hardly knew herself when it was gone.
The eve of Lionel Dering's trial came at last. The Duxley assizes had
opened on the previous Thursday. All the minor cases had been got
through by Saturday night, and one of the two judges had already gone
forward to the next town. The Park Newton murder case had been left
purposely till Monday, and by those who were supposed to know best, it
was considered not unlikely that trial, verdict, and sentence would
all be got through in the course of one sitting.
The celebrated Mr. Tressil, who had been specially engaged for the
defence, found it impossible to get down to Duxley before the five
o'clock train on Sunday afternoon. He was met on the platform by Mr.
Hoskyns and Mr. Bristow. His junior in the case, Mr. Little, was to
meet him by appointment at his rooms later on. Tom was introduced to
Mr. Tressil by Hoskyns as a particular friend of Mr. Dering's, and the
three gentlemen at once drove to the prison. Mr. Tressil had gone
carefully through his brief as he came down in the train. The
information conveyed therein was so ample and complete that it was
more as a matter of form than to serve any real purpose that he went
to see his client. The interview was a very brief one. The few
questions Mr. Tressil had to ask were readily answered, but it was
quite evident that there was no fresh point to be elicited. Then Mr.
Tressil went away, accompanied by Mr. Hoskyns; and Tom was left alone
with his friend.
Edith had taken leave of her husband an hour before. They would see
each other no more till after the trial was over. What the result of
the trial might possibly be they neither of them dared so much as
whisper. Each of them put on a make-believe gaiety and cheerfulness of
manner, hoping thereby to deceive the other--as if such a thing were
possible.
"In two days' time you will be back again at Park Newton," Edith had
said, "and will find yourself saddled with a wife, whom, while a
prisoner, you were compelled to marry against your will. Surely, in so
extreme a case, the Divorce Court would take pity on you, and grant
you some relief."
"An excellent suggestion," said Lionel, with a laugh. "I must have
some talk with Hoskyns about it. Meanwhile, suppose you get your
trunks packed, and prepare for an early start on our wedding tour. Oh!
to get outside these four walls again--to have 'the sky above my head,
and the grass beneath my feet'--what happiness--what ecstasy--that
will be! A week from this time, Edith, we shall be at Chamounix. Think
of that, sweet one! In place of this grim cell--the Alps and Freedom!
Ah me! what a world of meaning there is in those few words!"
The clock struck four. It was time to go. Only by a supreme effort
could Edith keep back her tears--but she did keep them back.
"Goodbye--my husband!" she whispered, as she kissed him on the
lips--the eyes--the forehead. "May He who knows all our sorrows, and
can lighten all our burdens, grant you strength for the morrow!"
Lionel's lips formed the words, "Goodbye," but no sound came from
them. One last clasp of the hand--one last yearning, heartfelt look
straight into each other's eyes, and then Edith was gone. Lionel fell
back on his seat with a groan as the door shut behind her; and there,
with bowed head and clasped fingers, he sat without moving till the
coming of Mr. Tressil and the others warned him that he was no longer
alone.
As soon as Mr. Tressil and Hoskyns were gone, Lionel lighted up his
biggest meerschaum, and Tom was persuaded, for once, into trying a
very mild cigarette. Neither of them spoke much--in fact, neither of
them seemed to have much to say. They were Englishmen, and to-day they
did not belie the taciturnity of their race. They made a few
disjointed remarks about the weather, and they both agreed that there
was every prospect of an excellent harvest. Lionel inquired after the
Culpeppers, and was sorry to hear that the squire was confined to his
room with gout. After that, there seemed to be nothing more to say,
but they understood each other so well that there was no need of words
to interpret between them. Simply to have Tom sitting there, was to
Lionel a comfort and a consolation such as nothing else, except the
presence of his wife, could have afforded him; and for Tom to have
gone to his lodgings without spending that last hour with his friend,
would have been a sheer impossibility.
"I shall see you to-morrow?" asked Lionel, as Tom rose to go.
"Certainly you will."
"Good-night, old fellow."
"Good-night, Dering. Take my advice, and don't sit up reading or
anything to-night, but get off to bed as early as you can."
Lionel nodded and smiled, and so they parted.
Tom had called at Alder Cottage earlier in the day, and had seen Edith
and Mrs. Garside, and had given them their final instructions. He had
one other person still to see--Mr. Sprague, the chemist, and him he
went in search of as soon as he had bidden Lionel good-night.
Mr. Sprague himself came in answer to Tom's ring at the bell, and
ushered his visitor into a stuffy little parlour behind the shop,
where he had been lounging on the sofa in his shirt-sleeves, reading
Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy." And a very melancholy,
careworn-looking man was this chemist whom Tom had come to see. He
looked as if the perpetual battle for daily bread, which had been
going on with him from year's end to year's end ever since he was old
enough to handle a pestle, was at last beginning to daunt him. He had
a cowed, wobegone expression as he passed his fingers wearily through
his thin grizzled locks: although he did his best to put on an air of
cheerfulness at the tardy prospect of a customer.
Tom and the chemist were old acquaintances. Sprague's shop was one of
the institutions of Duxley, and had been known to Tom from his early
boyhood. Once or twice during his present visit to the town he had
called there and made a few purchases, and chatted over old times, and
old friends long dead and gone, with the melancholy chemist.
"You still stick to the old place, Mr. Sprague," said Tom, as he sat
down on the ancient sofa.
"Yes, Mr. Bristow--yes. I don't know that I could do better. My father
kept the shop before me, and everybody in Duxley knows it."
"I suppose you will be retiring on your fortune before long?"
The chemist laughed a hollow laugh. "With thirteen youthful and
voracious mouths to feed, it looks like making a fortune, don't it,
sir?"
"A baker's dozen of youngsters! Fie, Mr. Sprague, fie!"
"Talking about the baker, sir, I give you my word of honour that he
and the butcher take nearly every farthing of profit I get out of my
business. It has come to this: that I can no longer make ends meet, as
I used to do years ago. For the first time in my life, sir, I am
behindhand with my rent, and goodness only knows when and how I shall
get it made up." Mr. Sprague's voice was very pitiable as he finished.
"But, surely, some of your children are old enough to help
themselves," said Tom.
"The eldest are all girls," answered poor Mr. Sprague, "and they have
to stay at home and help their mother with the little ones. My eldest
boy, Alex, is only nine years old."
"Just the age to get him off your hands--just the age to get him into
the Downham Foundation School."
"Oh, sir, what a relief that would be, both to his poor mother and me!
The same thought has struck me, sir, many a time, but I have no
influence--none whatever."
"But it is possible that I may have a little," said Tom, kindly.
"Oh, Mr. Bristow!" gasped the chemist, and then could say no more.
"Supposing--merely supposing, you know," said Tom, "that I were to get
your eldest boy into the Downham Foundation School, and were, in
addition, to put a hundred-pound note into your hands with which to
pay off your arrears of rent, you would be willing to do a trifling
service for me in return?"
"I should be the most ungrateful wretch in the world were I to refuse
to do so," replied the chemist, earnestly.
"Then listen," said Tom. "You are summoned to serve as one of the jury
in the great murder case to-morrow."
Mr. Sprague nodded.
"You will serve, as a matter of course," continued Tom. "I shall be in
the court, and in such a position that you can see me without
difficulty. As soon as the clock strikes three, you will look at me,
and you will keep on looking at me every two or three minutes, waiting
for a signal from me. Perhaps it will not be requisite for me to give
the signal at all--in that case I shall not need your services; but
whether they are needed or no, your remuneration will in every respect
be the same."
"And what is the signal, Mr. Bristow, for which I am to look out?"
"The scratching, with my little finger--thus--of the left-hand side of
my nose."
"And what am I to do when I see the signal?"
"You are to pretend that you are taken suddenly ill, and you are to
keep up that pretence long enough to render it impossible for the
trial to be finished on Monday--long enough, in fact, to make its
postponement to Tuesday morning an inevitable necessity."
"I understand, sir. You want the trial to extend into the second day;
instead of being finished, as it might be, on the first?"
"That is exactly what I want. Can you counterfeit a sudden attack of
illness, so as to give it an air of reality?"
"I ought to be able to do so, sir. I see plenty of the symptoms every
day of my life."
"They will send for a doctor to examine you, you know."
"I suppose so, sir. But my plan will be this: not merely to pretend to
be ill, but to be ill in reality. To swallow something, in fact--say a
pill concocted by myself--which will really make me very sick and ill
for two or three hours, without doing me any permanent injury."
"Not a bad idea by any means. But you understand that you are to take
no action whatever in the matter until you see my signal."
"I understand that clearly."
After a little more conversation, Tom went, carrying with him in his
waistcoat pocket a tiny phial, filled with some dark-coloured fluid
which the chemist had mixed expressly for him.
On the point of leaving, Tom produced three or four rustling pieces of
paper. "Here are thirty pounds on account, Mr. Sprague," said he. "I
think we understand one another, eh?"
The chemist's fingers closed like a vice on the notes. His heart gave
a great sigh of relief. "I am your humble servant to command, Mr.
Bristow," he returned. "You have saved my credit and my good name, and
you may depend upon me in every way."
As Tom was walking soberly towards his lodging, he passed the open
door of the Royal Hotel. Under the portico stood a man smoking a
cigar. Their eyes met for an instant in the lamplight, but they were
strangers to each other, and Tom passed on his way. Next moment he
started, and turned to look again. He had heard a voice say: "Mr. St.
George, your dinner is served."
He had come at last, then, this cousin, who had not been seen in
Duxley since the day of the inquest--on whose evidence to-morrow so
much would depend.
"Is that the man, I wonder," said Tom to himself, "in whose breast
lies hidden the black secret of the murder? If not in his--then in
whose?"
CHAPTER II.
THE TRIAL.
"How say you, prisoner at the bar: Guilty or Not Guilty?"
"Not Guilty."
There was a moment's pause. A slight murmur passed like a ripple
through the dense crowd. Each individual item, male and female, tried
to wriggle itself into a more comfortable position, knowing that it
was fixed in that particular spot for some hours to come. The crier of
the court called silence where silence was already, and next moment
Mr. Purcell, the counsel for the prosecution, rose to his feet. He
glanced up at the prisoner for one brief moment, bowed slightly to the
judge, hitched his gown well forward, fixed one foot firmly on a
spindle of the nearest chair, and turned over the first page of his
brief.
Mr. Purcell possessed in an eminent degree the faculty of clear and
lucid exposition. His manner was passionless, his style frigid. He
aimed at nothing more than giving a cold, unvarnished statement of the
facts. But then the way in which he marshalled his facts--going, step
by step, through the evidence as taken before the magistrates,
bringing out with fatal clearness point after point against the
prisoner, gradually wrapping him round, as it were, in an inextricable
network of evidence from which it seemed impossible for any human
agency to free him--was, to such of his hearers as could appreciate
his efforts, an intellectual treat of a very rare order indeed: Even
Lionel had to ask himself, in a sort of maze: "Am I guilty, or am I
not?" when Mr. Purcell came to the end of his exposition, and took
breath for a moment while the first witness for the prosecution was
being sworn by the clerk of the court.
That first witness was Kester St. George.
Mr. St. George looked very pale--his recent illness might account for
that--but he showed not the slightest trace of nervousness as he
stepped into the witness-box. It was noticed by several people that he
kept his eyes fixed straight before him, and never once turned them on
the prisoner in the dock.
The evidence elicited from Mr. St. George was--epitomized--to the
following effect:--Was own cousin to the prisoner at the bar, but had
not seen him since they were boys together till prisoner called on him
in London a few weeks before the murder. Met prisoner in the street
shortly afterwards. Introduced him to Mr. Osmond, the murdered man,
who happened to be in his (witness's) company at the time. Prisoner,
on the spot, invited both witness and Osmond to visit him at Park
Newton. The invitation was accepted. Witness and Osmond went down to
Park Newton, and up to the night of the murder everything passed off
in the most amicable and friendly spirit. On that evening they all
three dined by invitation with Mr. Culpepper, of Pincote. They got
back to Park Newton about eleven o'clock. Osmond then proposed to
finish up the evening with a game at billiards. Prisoner objected for
a time, but ultimately yielded the point, and they all went into the
billiard-room. The game was to be a hundred up, and everything went on
satisfactorily till Osmond accused prisoner of having played with
the wrong ball. This prisoner denied. An altercation followed.
After some words on both sides, Osmond threw part of a glass of
seltzer-and-brandy into prisoner's face. Prisoner sprang at Osmond and
seized him by the throat. Osmond drew a small revolver and fired at
prisoner, but fortunately missed him. Witness then interposed, dragged
Osmond from the room, and put him into the hands of his (witness's)
valet, with instructions not to leave him till he was safely in bed.
Then went back to prisoner, whom he found still in the billiard-room,
but depressed in spirits, and complaining of one of those violent head
aches that were constitutional with him. Witness himself being subject
to similar headaches, recommended to prisoner's notice a certain
mixture from which he had himself derived much benefit. Prisoner
agreed to take a dose of the mixture. Witness went to his own bedroom
to obtain it, and then took it to the prisoner, whom he found
partially undressed, preparing for bed. Prisoner took the mixture.
Then he and witness bade each other good-night, and separated. Next
morning, at eight o'clock, witness's valet brought a telegram to his
bedroom summoning him to London on important business. He dressed
immediately, and left Park Newton at once--an hour and a half before
the discovery of the murder.
Cross-examined by Mr. Tressil:
The only one of the three who was at all the worse for wine on their
return from Pincote was Mr. Osmond. Had several times seen him in a
similar condition. On such occasions he was very talkative, and rather
inclined to be quarrelsome. Osmond was in error in saying that
prisoner played with the wrong ball. Witness, in his position as
marker, was watching the game very carefully, and was certain that no
such mistake was made. Osmond was grossly insulting; and prisoner, all
through the quarrel, acted with the greatest forbearance. It was not
till after Osmond had thrown the brandy-and-seltzer in his face that
prisoner laid hands on him at all. The instant after, Osmond drew his
revolver and fired. The bullet just missed prisoner's head and lodged
in the wall behind him. After Osmond left the room no animosity or
ill-feeling was evinced by prisoner towards him. On the contrary,
prisoner expressed his deep regret that such a fracas should have
taken place under his roof. Had not the slightest fear that there
would be any renewal of the quarrel afterwards, or would not have left
for London next morning. Certainly thought that an ample apology was
due from Osmond, and never doubted that such an apology would be
forthcoming when he had slept off the effects of the wine. Was never
more surprised or shocked in his life than when he heard of the
murder, and that his cousin was accused of the crime. It seemed to him | 2,565.603534 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.5847910 | 930 | 45 |
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; Emma Dudding
CLEOPATRA
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
My dear Mother,
I have for a long while hoped to be allowed to dedicate some book
of mine to you, and now I bring you this work, because whatever its
shortcomings, and whatever judgment may be passed upon it by yourself
and others, it is yet the one I should wish you to accept.
I trust that you will receive from my romance of "Cleopatra" some such
pleasure as lightened the labour of its building up; and that it
may convey to your mind a picture, however imperfect, of the old and
mysterious Egypt in whose lost glories you are so deeply interested.
Your affectionate and dutiful Son,
H. Rider Haggard.
January 21, 1889.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The history of the ruin of Antony and Cleopatra must have struck many
students of the records of their age as one of the most inexplicable
of tragic tales. What malign influence and secret hates were at work,
continually sapping their prosperity and blinding their judgment? Why
did Cleopatra fly at Actium, and why did Antony follow her, leaving his
fleet and army to destruction? An attempt is made in this romance to
suggest a possible answer to these and some other questions.
The reader is asked to bear in mind, however, that the story is told,
not from the modern point of view, but as from the broken heart and
with the lips of an Egyptian patriot of royal blood; no mere
beast-worshipper, but a priest instructed in the inmost mysteries, who
believed firmly in the personal existence of the gods of Khem, in the
possibility of communion with them, and in the certainty of immortal
life with its rewards and punishments; to whom also the bewildering and
often gross symbolism of the Osirian Faith was nothing but a veil woven
to obscure secrets of the Sanctuary. Whatever proportion of truth there
may have been in their spiritual claims and imaginings, if indeed there
was any, such men as the Prince Harmachis have been told of in the
annals of every great religion, and, as is shown by the testimony of
monumental and sacred inscriptions, they were not unknown among the
worshippers of the Egyptian Gods, and more especially of Isis.
Unfortunately it is scarcely possible to write a book of this nature and
period without introducing a certain amount of illustrative matter, for
by no other means can the long dead past be made to live again before
the reader's eyes with all its accessories of faded pomp and forgotten
mystery. To such students as seek a story only, and are not interested
in the faith, ceremonies, or customs of the Mother of Religion and
Civilisation, ancient Egypt, it is, however, respectfully suggested
that they should exercise the art of skipping, and open this tale at its
Second Book.
That version of the death of Cleopatra has been preferred which
attributes her end to poison. According to Plutarch its actual manner is
very uncertain, though popular rumour ascribed it to the bite of an asp.
She seems, however, to have carried out her design under the advice
of that shadowy personage, her physician, Olympus, and it is more than
doubtful if he would have resorted to such a fantastic and uncertain
method of destroying life.
It may be mentioned that so late as the reign of Ptolemy Epiphanes,
pretenders of native blood, one of whom was named Harmachis, are known
to have advanced their claims to the throne of Egypt. Moreover, there
was a book of prophecy current among the priesthood which declared that
after the nations of the Greeks the God Harsefi would create the "chief
who is to come." It will therefore be seen that, although it lacks
historical confirmation, the story of the great plot formed to stamp out
the dynasty of the Macedonian Lagidae and place Harmachis on the throne
is not in itself improbable. Indeed, it is possible that many such plots
were entered into by Egyptian patriots during the long ages of their
country's bondage. But ancient history tells us little of the abortive
struggles of a fallen race.
The Chant of Isis and | 2,565.604831 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
Volume I.
Part 15.
CHAPTER XLII.
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL OTHER
THINGS WORTH KNOWING
With these words the captive held his peace, and Don Fernando said to
him, "In truth, captain, the manner in which you have related this
remarkable adventure has been such as befitted the novelty and
strangeness of the matter. The whole story is curious and uncommon, and
abounds with incidents that fill the hearers with wonder and
astonishment; and so great is the pleasure we have found in listening to
it that we should be glad if it were to begin again, even though
to-morrow were to find us still occupied with the same tale." And while
he said this Cardenio and the rest of them offered to be of service to
him in any way that lay in their power, and in words and language so
kindly and sincere that the captain was much gratified by their
good-will. In particular Don Fernando offered, if he would go back with
him, to get his brother the marquis to become godfather at the baptism of
Zoraida, and on his own part to provide him with the means of making his
appearance in his own country with the credit and comfort he was entitled
to. For all this the captive returned thanks very courteously, although
he would not accept any of their generous offers.
By this time night closed in, and as it did, there came up to the inn a
coach attended by some men on horseback, who demanded accommodation; to
which the landlady replied that there was not a hand's breadth of the
whole inn unoccupied.
"Still, for all that," said one of those who had entered on horseback,
"room must be found for his lordship the Judge here."
At this name the landlady was taken aback, and said, "Senor, the fact is
I have no beds; but if his lordship the Judge carries one with him, as no
doubt he does, let him come in and welcome; for my husband and I will
give up our room to accommodate his worship."
"Very good, so be it," said the | 2,565.604909 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
[Illustration: LITTLE ORIENTALS]
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
TRANSLATED AND ILLUSTRATED
BY
ISAAC TAYL | 2,565.702899 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+-------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| Many words in the text are spelled |
| with or without a hyphen; these are |
| not corrected as both forms occur |
| with almost same frequency and the |
| hyphenated form might indicate an |
| emphasis in words such as |
| re-formation. |
+-------------------------------------+
PEDAGOGICS
AS A
SYSTEM.
By Dr. KARL ROSENKRANZ,
_Doctor of Theology and Professor of Philosophy at the University
of Koenigsberg._
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
By ANNA C. BRACKETT.
(_Reprinted from Journal of Speculative Philosophy._)
ST. LOUIS, MO.:
THE R. P. STUDLEY COMPANY, PRINTERS, CORNER MAIN & OLIVE STS.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
WILLIAM T. HARRIS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
ANALYSIS.
{FIRST PART. {Its Nature.
{In its General {Its Form.
{ Idea. {Its Limits.
{
{SECOND PART. {Physical.
{In its Special {Intellectual.
{ Elements. {Moral.
{
{ { { {Family China.
{ { {Passive. {Caste India.
{ | 2,565.706649 |
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Produced by D Alexander, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE SHOOTING OF DAN McGREW
_A Novel_
BY
MARVIN DANA
Author of WITHIN THE LAW, etc.
BASED ON THE FAMOUS POEM OF
ROBERT W. SERVICE
PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH SC | 2,565.803545 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * | 2,565.902191 |
2023-11-16 18:59:49.8874610 | 213 | 15 |
E-text prepared by Emmy, MFR, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 54219-h.htm or 54219-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54219/54219-h/54219-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54219/54219-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/littleenggallery00guinrich
Transcriber's note:
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: 9^a).
[Illustration]
A | 2,565.907501 |
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